Safeword (33 page)

He snorted. “They’re not very secure. Even putting officers at the front and back of your house didn’t guarantee they were watching the whole time.” He sniffed. “I was in the mood for barbecue at lunch today, though. Is there anything left, or did it burn to the ground?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’m more concerned about you.”

“That’s sweet. Would you let me tie you up next?”

This was out of control, and we were getting nowhere.

“Put the gun down, Alex. It’s not going to help your case for getting into a hospital if you kill Marshall. Or anyone else.”

He swung the gun wildly. “No? I blow everyone here away, I can walk outta here, no problem. No hospitals, no jail cells, just me and my good friend, Marshall, my blood brother.” Trigger fingers tightened throughout the room. My shoulders ached from holding the shooting stance for so long, but I ignored the burn. Marshall looked ready to pass out.

“Alex, you’re suffocating Marshall. Ease up, yeah?”

Alex looked down for a split second to his friend, the boy he called his brother, the one who’d been beside him through years of the worst abuse imaginable. It was a split second long enough for the officers in the room to move. At the front, Myah and I lunged, her aiming for the gun hand, me going for their waists in a standard football tackle. Alex shouted and squeezed the trigger as I closed my arms around Marshall’s torso, bearing them both to the floor. There was a grunt of pain and a cry of surprise. A gun clattered against the wooden bed frame and skittered off somewhere. From behind me, Ben yelled my name. The other officers screamed for Alex to stay down, not to move, to show his hands.

There were too many hands in the pile, and I could no longer tell who was who. Myah said my name in a strange voice, but I couldn’t see where she was. I lost my gun in the shuffle as I tried to pry Marshall out of Alex’s grip and wedge myself between them, to get him out of immediate danger. I spied it a nanosecond after Alex did. Marshall saw it, too.

“Alex, no!” he screamed as the broken young man, the focus of three months of police work, the boy whose life had been brutally misshapen and twisted at the whim of a pedophile, turned my gun, pointed it into his mouth, and swallowed a bullet.

The air went out of the room, and the only sound for long seconds was Marshall’s keening wail as he crawled to Alex and fell on him, burying his face in Alex’s chest.

Chaos descended once more. One of the officer’s radios crackled as he called for paramedics and the medical examiner.

“Multiple officers down,” he said authoritatively, demanding more than one ambulance.

MY HEAD whipped around.
Trent and who?
I did a quick survey, landing on Myah, who sat against the footboard of the bed, her face pale and sweaty. There was a small stripe of blood climbing the side of her neck, but that’s all I could see, and it could have been splatter from Alex’s final Rorschach. But it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t. She was
off
somehow. Her head stayed straight, but her eyes were frantic, searching the corner she couldn’t quite see where I was busy yanking myself free of the tangle of limbs on the floor.

Ben knelt beside her and held her hand, resting it on her thigh as he spoke low in her ear.

“You’re fine, Myah. So brave. It doesn’t look bad, so don’t worry, okay?”

“Gavin,” she wheezed, her teeth painted a macabre red.
Fuck, punctured lung.

“I’m here, hon. Can I see? Gotta know what we’re dealing with.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Get the... vest off. Can’t... breathe.”

That wasn’t the vest, but I didn’t say it. I wouldn’t give her reason to worry that much, though I’m sure she could taste the blood. She wasn’t stupid. I pulled loose the shoulder and chest straps, cracking the vest open and lifting it away from her. She white-knuckled Ben’s hand on her thigh and groaned.

“Ow.”

“I know, honey. I know. But we have to see.” The red on her white shirt was dark, and soaking the cloth, but didn’t appear to be gushing. “Okay, looks like you got hit on the left side, almost in your armpit.” I pressed on the wound, making her wince. It was bleeding, but it had already begun to slow. I was more concerned about internal damage, so I still put pressure on her side.

“Fucking boobs,” she gritted out. “They make the... vests gap.”

I couldn’t help the desperate laugh that bubbled out. “Fucking boobs is right, hon. Why do you think I’m not interested in them? They’re just dangerous.”

“Ow.” She smiled at me, a gruesome caricature of her normally gorgeous one. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Okay,” Ben purred in a calming tone, shooting me a half-dirty, half-relieved look. If she still had her sense of humor, we were mostly okay. For a few minutes. Sirens drew closer by the second, and it sounded like a whole fleet of saviors was on the way.
Please, hurry up.

“Sweetie, Ben’s gonna stay with you, okay? I need to see how bad Trent is. You’re too tough to need my help right now. He’s such a wuss, he went and passed out. Can I check him and come right back? You’ll be okay in Ben’s hands?”

She nodded. “Long as he... doesn’t... get fresh.”

Ben clucked his tongue as I stood up. “I may be a taken man, beautiful, but you’re too hot to resist right now,” he said with a smile, smoothing her sweaty hair back from her forehead as she blinked and swallowed with difficulty.

“Flatterer.”

I moved to the bed and said Trent’s name as one of the uniforms unlocked the handcuffs. There was no response. With two fingers pressed to his neck, I felt for a pulse, finding it, but it was weak and thready. I snagged a blanket from the floor, where they’d been carelessly tossed aside, and covered his nakedness, knowing how embarrassed he’d be if anyone else saw him in that state. It was bad enough for eight cops to have seen it. From the looks of the other officers in the room, what had happened and what they’d heard would haunt them. There’d be no derision for Trent’s suffering. And I knew from experience, he had a long road ahead of him. The state of his injuries didn’t need to be made public, and I would see to it the files regarding his assault were sealed away in the closed case vault.

There would be no trial. No reason to dredge this up beyond the statements written by the officers involved. Brass would be sure no misconduct needed to be investigated, but truthfully, I didn’t give a shit if they got on me for tackling this while suspended. Myah had already told Kittridge of Louderback’s involvement in the leaks, so our suspension had been a moot point from before the scene at Aldrich’s house. And with a hostage involved, no one would fault me for dealing with it as swiftly as possible.

I took a moment to check on Marshall, who had been moved against the wall, his knees up and forearms resting on them, his still-taped hands dangling lifelessly. His expression was just as blank. It was scary to see. His eyes were open, but no one seemed to be home. I knelt beside Myah once more.

“Ben? Marshall. He could be going into shock. Or worse. Can you check on him? I got her.” Ben nodded, and Myah squeezed his hand and let him go. I pressed a hand against her wound again.

“Motherfucker... Gavin. Stop... feeling... me up.”

“This is the only chance I get to do it, Myah. When you’re weak and can’t kick my ass.”

“Quit flirting,” she said with another red-tinged smile.

A tear from out of nowhere slipped down my cheek. “You were awesome, today. Keeping me from falling apart.”

“Someone has to... save you... from yourself.”

Booted feet hit the floor somewhere nearby, and one of the officers showed the paramedics into the room. There were suddenly too many bodies. I watched Ben pull a wooden Marshall to his feet and drape his shoulders with a blanket, leading him out the door. Everyone else cleared out, giving the medics room to work on Trent and Myah. I stepped away while they strapped Myah to a backboard, making sure she could see me the whole time. Trent was a higher priority, due to his unresponsiveness, so he was taken out first. I followed as Myah’s medics carried her out to their rig, strapped her down to a gurney, and then loaded her up.

“I’m right behind you, okay?” I called to her. The oxygen mask on her face muffled her strained words, but I knew she heard me. Confirming they were taking her to Barnes-Jewish Hospital at her request, I watched the truck pull away from the curb. Ben stood by another ambulance with Marshall, one arm wrapped around the boy’s shoulders. He met my eyes with his usual warmth, and I was gratified to see Marshall speaking to one of the paramedics, his stupor seemingly receded somewhat. I walked over and reached out to pat him on the shoulder as he accepted a bottle of water, but thought better of touching him at the sight of blood on my hand. Instead, I linked my hands behind my back, not wanting Marshall to have any unnecessary reminders of the last few hours.

“Hey,” I said quietly. “Are you okay?”

He was slow to raise his gaze to mine, but he did it and nodded sluggishly. “I’m... numb. I can’t... think right.”

Ben gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Marshall, you’ll be okay. But you’ll have to talk to some people about what happened, okay? Can you promise me you’ll do that?”

“I want to sleep.”

“After you talk to someone at the hospital, okay? I’ll call ahead and make sure they’re waiting for you so you can go to sleep sooner.”

“Thanks,” he said absently. Ben shot me a worried look, which I returned. The medics wrangled Marshall into the back and strapped him to the gurney for the ride. Ben pulled the driver aside, asking him to request a psych consult when they arrived at the hospital once the ER was finished with their exam. Then that ambulance was off, running dark and silent. Marshall’s situation was, perhaps, not as life threatening as Myah’s or Trent’s, for which I was grateful, but I was glad they were taking him for assessment. His condition was still dire.

“We gotta go,” I said, surprised I hadn’t been accosted by anyone looking for a statement. Yellow tape was already going up, cordoning off the house, and the medical examiner’s van pulled to the curb, Jencopale and his assistant emerging with quiet reservation, their jobs much less time-sensitive now that the wounded had been cleared. More cops were arriving by the second, and suddenly the last place I wanted to be was standing on the lawn of my former residence answering endless questions. “Get me outta here before I have to give a statement fifteen different times.”

Ben agreed, herding me to the car around the corner. I’d had the presence of mind to lift my keys from Myah before she was whisked away, and I passed them over with a shaking, bloody hand.

“Shit,” I cursed, popping the console lid and diving for the handful of fast food napkins I kept there, scrubbing at my stained skin until the paper began to shred. It wasn’t coming off. I became frantic, especially when the sound of another siren reached my ears, and I feared the incoming rush of cops would detain us further, keeping us from getting to Myah’s side.

It wasn’t until Ben’s arms slid around me and he made shushing noises that I realized it wasn’t a siren at all, but me, emitting a high pitched whine that broke loose into a strangled sob as I crumpled into his chest. He held me for a long moment in the darkening front seat as the sunset began to fade into deep evening, and we remained largely ignored in the bustle around us. When the media showed, up, however, Ben let me go so he could drive us away. Before pulling away from the curb, he grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him as I snuffled, my swollen eyes tired and gritty.

“You are the bravest man I know.”

Without waiting for a response, he rescued me from the day from hell and took me to my partner’s bedside.

§§§

COLE’S FURY was worse than I’d expected. He didn’t say a word when he entered the waiting room, and I thought his purposeful stride in my direction meant he was going to hug me.

Instead, he punched me.

Ben planted a hand on Cole’s chest and kept him from doing more damage as I picked myself up off the floor, wiping the corner of my mouth and tasting blood.

“That is for getting my fiancée shot, you bastard,” Cole jeered, pointing a finger at me. “And for not telling me your fucking house burned down.” Behind me, my parents, who had come to the hospital when I called them about Myah, gasped. “You are not allowed outside for the rest of your life, you stupid shit,” he finished, pushing against Ben’s hand. But the struggles had changed tenor, and Ben let him go. This time, when he advanced on me, it was to throw his arms around me and hold on tight. A lump swelled in my throat, and anything I would have said got jammed, so I stayed silent.

“Your house burned down?” my mother asked Ben, who nodded and put an arm around her. She let herself be sucked into a hug from him, while she tried to form more questions. But no words seemed to express what she wanted them to, so she gave up and finished the hug. When she pulled back, she straightened her shirt and smoothed her hair, trying to compose herself. My father stood behind her, a helpless look on his face.

“Of course, you’ll stay with us until you get back on your feet.”

Inwardly, I groaned. The same thing had happened nearly two years before, and after a couple weeks, I’d been ready to flee and join a circus. Despite having only been dating Ben a short while, that’s when I moved in with him. It had seemed less risky than remaining at my parents’ and no longer being responsible for my actions.

“Maybe for a few days, Ma, until we can find something temporary, like an apartment. We don’t know how long it could take for the arson investigation and insurance.”

“Arson?” my dad asked, incredulous.

Cole stood by, arms crossed over his chest. “Still convinced being a cop is the best job there is, Dad?”

“Well.” My dad cleared his throat. “It’s not without its... risks.”

Cole snorted. “No shit.”

“Language, son,” my mother admonished.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I said, cutting them off. “I’m quitting in the morning. I’ll be, I don’t know, a professor or something. I’ll figure it out.”

We stared at each other, me challenging them to protest, Cole looking smug and pissed off at the same time, and my parents unable to maintain eye contact for longer than a few seconds.

“Whatever you think is best, Gavin,” my father eventually conceded. “You and Ben, well... you’ve been through enough, I think. And your ma’s right. You can stay with us until you get on your feet.”

“Myah’s already getting on her feet?” Mason asked as he, Sandra, and their girls hurried into the waiting room.

“No,” I said wearily, looking for a seat far away from Cole. “We haven’t heard anything yet. But she was awake and talking when I saw her last.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Sandra said, letting out a shaky breath and coming over to hug me. “Gavin, dear, I know you’re good at what you do, but can you please stop it with this hospital stuff? I’m getting gray hair.”

Over her shoulder, I smiled at Ben. “Yeah, I think I can do that for you.”

After a minute, I felt another pair of arms around the two of us, and looked up to see Cole joining in. Then Ben. Then my mother. Before long, the whole clan had fit themselves into a giant group hug, including Shawn and Chrissy, who’d just walked in.

“Chrissy?” Mason said after a minute.

“Yeah?”

“I think your baby belly just kicked me in the kidney.”

A whoosh of tension bled from us in one collective chuckle, and we pulled apart to find chairs and settle in for the long wait.

The next few days were a blur. Myah required surgery to remove the bullet and repair her lung, and she was spending at least a week in the hospital. Ben and I alternated between her bedside, my parents’ house, Cole’s apartment to keep him company so his loneliness didn’t force him to drive the rest of us crazy, and my going in to work to fill in the endless reports regarding the final showdown with Alex Dennan. Marshall was admitted to the psychiatric wing for severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and his parents were regular fixtures at the hospital. They stopped by to see Myah and thank both of us for looking after their son. I got the impression Mr. Schofield had coerced his wife’s gratitude, but there wasn’t any reason to poke that hornet’s nest. They had dealt with enough.

Trent wasn’t faring so well. He’d been in a coma since the night he was admitted, and while most of his injuries were healing, the bleed he had in his head from being pistol whipped had put a lot of pressure on his brain. It wasn’t going down as quickly as the doctors would have liked. Worst of all, the damage was in the area of the brain that controlled motor skills. The doctors feared that when he did wake up, he would have complications that would require him to learn how to walk or use his hands again. At the very least, his recovery would be a long and bumpy one. Especially because he was alone. Victoria had visited him the first few days, but the more dire the doctors’ predictions became, the more she withdrew, until she disappeared from his life like a wisp of smoke. She wasn’t built for the commitment Trent needed from her.