Chapter
Thirteen
Ira came to visit Paulie two weeks after Christmas. “Give me good news.”
“She’s not in protective custody, as far as we can ascertain. Tony said one of his contacts came through. Her license was run the day after she jumped ship by an FWC officer. He usually works out of a marina in Aripeka.”
“Fuckin’ game warden?”
Ira shrugged. “No official report on her being located, but they did a little digging. Get this, the FWC officer’s a faggot. His boyfriend is a fishing guide. Our contact’s working on that angle now.”
“You think this guide found her, picked her up?”
“Makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“I want this problem to disappear.”
“Don’t worry,” Ira assured him. “They’re working on it.”
“Try not to whack the fucking fish cop while they’re at it. Last thing I need is a dead cop rap added to the list.”
“Your father said absolutely no collateral damage, Paulie. That’s the final word.”
* * * *
It was warm even for late January in Florida. Alan and Daphne had a few honey-do items to check off the list, including pressure washing the outside of the house. He wanted to paint it in preparation for their eventual move, but this step had to be completed first.
She’d spent many hours with Alan at the contractor’s office, going over the plans for the new house. The men urged her to pick things like the cabinets, paint, and flooring. Every step closer to breaking ground hammered home to her how much they loved and wanted her.
Their
house. Always including her in that phrase. The men never let her forget it.
She rode with him to the equipment rental place where they picked up the pressure washer. She still felt nervous leaving the house, but as time wore on with no sign of Paulie Scorsini’s goons catching up with her, she could relax a little.
Jerald had to work today but would most likely come home for lunch because he’d had to work late into the night on a poaching investigation. The property survey for the new house had been completed and the contractor was in the process of securing the needed permits.
They had several other errands to run too, and by the time they returned to the house, Jerald was pulling in behind them before they even got out of Alan’s truck.
* * * *
Across the street, hidden in a stand of trees, a man silently swore. He’d been given specific instructions. No collateral damage. Just the girl. Especially not the cop. Considering who footed the bill for this job, he didn’t dare screw up.
He settled in to await a better opportunity.
* * * *
Jerald was slow to push back from the table after lunch. “Jesus I’m freaking tired.”
“You can’t call in? Take the rest of the day off?” Alan asked. “You look wiped out.” He stepped behind Jerald and rubbed his shoulders.
“No, I don’t have anyone to cover me.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Just three more hours and I can call it an early day. They’ve got someone coming in a little early for us.”
“Want me to make you some coffee?” Daphne offered. “It’ll only take a minute.”
“Thanks, sweetie, but I’ll be okay. I need to get moving.” He kissed Alan, then her, before heading for his truck.
* * * *
Across the street in his wooded hiding spot, the man watched the cop get into his truck and leave. A few minutes later, the other man and the woman also walked out the front door.
Crap.
She didn’t look like the picture he had. At least not from where he sat. The picture he had was of a platinum blonde. He’d have to get closer.
He watched as she helped the man unload a pressure washer from the back of the truck and lug it around the side of the house. Well, at least it would help cover any noise.
Stepping out of his hiding place, he looked around. He knew no one was home in the three houses closest to this one, the nearest one almost a hundred yards away. The quiet side street ended three blocks up at the woods, meaning very little traffic.
He’d done his homework.
He heard the pressure washer start up on the back side of the house and took that as his cue to quickly cross the street and work his way through the yard, the gun in his hand held close by his thigh.
* * * *
Jerald pulled into the marina parking lot and unsuccessfully suppressed another yawn.
Fuck. Three more goddamn hours.
Maybe he could just sit here and do paperwork. It was a Tuesday, only three empty trailers in the parking lot, most of the regular boats tied up in their slips.
He stared at Alan’s two boats, safely tied up. He’d love to be snuggled up in bed with Alan and Daphne, catching up on his sleep.
With a weary sigh, he opened his truck door and climbed out. Maybe it was time to consider retiring. Past vested in the state pension plan, he was getting too old for this shit. He reached for his waterproof duffle bag when Corporal Steve Charon pulled into the marina parking lot.
Oh, good, another delay.
Steve waved and walked over to him. “Jesus, Jer, you look wiped out.”
“That’s what Alan said.”
“I heard about the bust last night. I figured I’d come in early and see if you wanted to go home.”
Jerald let out a huge sigh of relief. “Man, that would be freaking awesome. At this rate I’m liable to fall asleep behind the wheel. Sucks getting old.”
Steve smiled. “Beats the alternative.”
“Well, that’s true.” He tossed his bag into the truck. He hadn’t written any citations yet that morning, so nothing to process. “It was really quiet today, nothing happening. Tell them I’ll file my reports in the morning.”
“No problem.”
Jerald climbed into the truck and headed home, then groaned.
The pressure washer.
He rolled his eyes. Hell, he’d be willing to pay an extra day’s rental charges if it meant Alan would keep the damn thing shut off.
He rounded the turn to get home and immediately spotted the tell-tale spray blowing over the roof from the back of the house.
Damn, he got it set up fast.
As he pulled into their driveway, he thought he caught a glimpse of a man disappearing around the far corner of the house. Instinctively on alert, he jumped from the truck and thumbed his holster open, his hand on the butt of his nine millimeter.
This was wrong. He knew without a doubt it wasn’t Alan, and from the way the guy moved, he was up to no good, sneaking around.
When he reached the corner of the house, he heard the shot even over the sound of the pressure washer. Breaking into a run, Daphne’s screams reached him as he spotted the man preparing to shoot again.
That’s when he instinctively drew his own weapon and fired.
* * * *
Alan watched as Daphne tried to stand upwind of the spray, but the light, confused breeze blew it everywhere.
He laughed at her. “Come down here and stand behind me,” he said. “Seriously. I’ll even show you how it’s done.”
She grinned. “You just want to get your hands on me.”
“Guilty as charged. You know I can’t keep my hands off you, babe. Come here.”
She walked across the deck to him. He put the pressure washer wand in her hands and wrapped his arms around her. “Like this.” He ground his hips into her backside as he led her in a sexy little dance while they pressure washed the wall.
She laughed. “You keep this up, the house won’t get done.”
“Ah, babe, but you sure will.” He nibbled on her neck, making her laugh.
She was getting the hang of it and he stepping back so she could do it on her own when he caught movement at the corner of the house. By the time he realized the man had a gun, he knew it was too late.
Screaming her name, he dove in front of her, knocking her down as he felt pain explode through his gut.
* * * *
Jerald’s pulse raced so fast he couldn’t tell one beat from the next. He kicked the guy’s gun away and checked his pulse, even though that was unnecessary. Half the fucker’s head was gone.
He screamed into his radio for them to send deputies and an ambulance as he followed the sound of Daphne’s screams. At least she was alive.
He rounded the corner and knew he was still screaming into his radio when he dropped to his knees beside them. Alan’s eyes were closed, and Daphne—Holy Christ! She was covered in blood!
She looked at him. As her screams turned to sobs he realized the blood was Alan’s.
“Are you okay?” he yelled, shaking her shoulders.
She’d pressed a hand to Alan’s wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. “He threw himself in front of me! I never saw the guy!”
Alan’s eyes fluttered open and Jerald breathed a sigh of relief as he grabbed his hand. “The ambulance is on the way, buddy, hang on.”
“Jer, do me a favor,” he muttered.
He fought his tears. “What?”
“Go shut that fucking power washer off, please?”
Jerald’s hands shook as he fumbled and found the power switch. As silence descended, Jerald heard the scream of approaching sirens.
“You get the fucker?” Alan asked.
“Yeah, I got him.”
“Good.” His eyes closed.
Daphne sobbed, screaming his name. Jerald checked his pulse, he was still alive, still breathing.
When he heard the sirens reach their driveway, he screamed for them and had to fight to pull Daphne away from Alan as the EMTs ran to them. He held her as she struggled in his arms, trying to get back to Alan.
Still numb from shock, all he could do was hold her and watch them work on Alan. As more deputies arrived and the EMTs prepared to take Alan, he waved one of them over and forced Daphne to go with them. “She’s not hurt, but she needs to go with him. She’s his girlfriend.”
Daphne was too out of it to realize what he’d said and let the EMT lead her around the house to the ambulance.
They loaded Alan on a gurney and Jerald realized his knees wouldn’t support him when he tried to stand. He knelt there, hands on the ground, struggling not to cry, not to scream.
One of the deputies made it over to him. “What happened?”
Jerald couldn’t answer him. He shook his head, then threw up.
The deputy called for help and two of them hauled Jerald to his feet and got him seated at the picnic table on the deck. With shaky hands, he managed to unholster his weapon and lay it on the table as he told them what happened and why he suspected the gunman was there.
“So you live here, and Alan Walker is your boyfriend?”
He was too heartsick and worried to think about pretenses. “It’s the three of us. Me and Alan and Daphne.”
Thirty minutes later, his supervisor showed up right behind the Medical Examiner’s van, delaying his departure to the hospital even longer until he went through everything again. He knew he’d be put on administrative leave until the investigation wound up, and that was fine with him. All he wanted to do was get to Alan.
Please let him live.
When they finally told him he could leave, he ran inside, grabbed clean clothes for Daphne, and locked up before driving to the hospital. They already had a deputy there with Daphne, keeping her in a private conference room near the ER.
When he walked in, she started crying and hugged him desperately, sobbing as she fell into his arms. “He’s in surgery,” she choked out. “They can’t tell us anything yet.”
He guided her over to a small sofa and pulled her into his lap. She wore a patient’s gown over her shorts and they’d gotten the blood scrubbed off her.
His stomach rolled at the memory of how she looked holding Alan and covered in his blood.
“I brought clothes for you, babe,” he managed. “Why don’t we get you changed.”
The deputy stepped outside while he helped her change. Then when Jerald realized how much she was shivering, most likely still in shock, he asked for a couple of blankets and sat with her wrapped in them and laying on his lap.
Her eyes had glazed over and he wondered if they’d given her any kind of sedatives. “He jumped in front of me,” she whispered. “He saved me.”
He tightened his grip on her. “He’s going to be okay.”
“You got the guy?”
“Yeah, I got him.” She started crying again, and he was about to send the deputy out for a doctor when she finally fell asleep in his arms.
When a nurse knocked on the door an hour later, she noticed Daphne asleep. “Mr. Walker’s family?”
Jerald nodded.
“He’s doing well, the doctor is about to close him up. He’ll be in to talk to you when he’s finished.”