Touching Evil (4 page)

“DCI!  Put your weapon down!”

 A figure was standing behind the couch in the next room, gun drawn.  Flinging himself sideways, Sonny fired twice, hitting the floor as the man returned fire.  He scrabbled along the carpet on his knees and elbows.  The stranger had taken shelter behind the couch.  Sonny didn’t wait for him to raise his head to fire again.  Instead he sent three shots through the back of the couch in the area where he’d last seen the man and raced toward the door he’d entered through.  Caution was no longer an issue.  Speed was.  He burst through the back door, ran across the patio and was stung by a volley of what appeared to be a swarm of bees, stinging his ankles and legs.

“DCI!  Lay down your weapon!”

The goggles painted the man standing before him in a ghostly green glow.  But the weapon he had pointed directly at Sonny’s chest looked all too real.  “Don’t shoot.”  Slowly he bent to let his gun clatter to the patio.  “I’m unarmed.”

“Hands behind your head.  Kick the weapon to the side.  Now!”  

“I heard you shooting at Dr. Channing, Mister,” a small voice said almost simultaneously.  “So I’m gonna shoot you!”  Another volley of bees.  Which weren’t bees at all, Sonny realized then, but BBs.  

“Go back in the house, son.  Now!  Now!”

Sonny dove toward the small shadow crouched on the next patio even as a bullet sang by.  He tackled a miniature body—a kid—rolling, and came to his feet with the writhing boy held tightly before him.  

“You don’t want to do that,” the DCI agent warned, but Sonny couldn’t hear him.  It was Mommy’s voice that screamed through his mind, echoes of fear and anger clawing through him.  

“Drop your gun or I break his neck.”  Sonny knocked the puny BB gun out of the kid’s hand as he tried to aim it over his shoulder.  He hefted him up, caught the boy’s neck in the crook of his elbow.  For a kid he was heavy, one leg hanging uselessly down in front of him.  “Don’t think I won’t.”

The agent made no attempt to comply. “You’re just digging a deeper hole for yourself,” he warned.  “Maybe you were justified for what you did inside.  We can talk about that.  But there’s no going back from this.”

Sonny bent awkwardly to pick up the gun he’d dropped, making sure the kid’s head was shielding his own.  The boy was
heavy
.  In a flash of comprehension he realized the weight came from a cast on his leg.  “Put your gun down.  Do it!” he demanded fiercely when the agent didn’t comply.  “Do you want me to kill this kid?”

“There’s no need to bring the boy into it.  Let’s settle this ourselves, man to man.”  The agent began to inch to the side.  Sonny knew he was looking for an opening.  In a flash of brilliance, he hoisted the kid up and over one shoulder in a fireman’s carry, one arm clamped across his cast and free hand.  The kid made a perfect human shield.  And then Sonny turned and ran like a deer.

Not in the direction he’d come, but in the most direct route that would take him to his vehicle.   He ran as fast as he could, but the boy was making it difficult.  No longer rigid with fear, the kid was pounding his free fist into Sonny’s back.  Kneeing him in the side.

He yanked sharply on the kid’s injured leg, smiled when he heard his high-pitched screech.  The little bastard would behave or he wouldn’t live through this.  It made no difference to Sonny either way.  

He swung around to fire several shots before running again.  The cop didn’t return fire.  He wouldn’t dare risk hitting the kid in the dark.  But he was still chasing them.  Sonny shot again, causing the man to duck for cover.

Lights were flicking on in house after house.  One large dog sped along the fence line Sonny was running by, barking ferociously.  Sonny paused for an instant and undid the latch on the gate, before resituating the kid on his shoulders and stumbling awkwardly toward his car.  With a backwards glance he smiled in satisfaction as the dog tore toward the agent who had risen to give chase again.  The man halted for a few precious moments, earning Sonny the most valuable of commodities.  Time.

The vehicle was just yards away now.  Sonny ducked down and dumped the kid on the ground, then sprinted for his car.  A volley of shots sounded, and something sharp and hot sliced into his thigh.  He squealed and returned fire before jumping painfully into the car, turning the key in the ignition and squealing away.

*  *  *  *

 Agent Micki Loring met Cam at his front door, a questioning look in her ebony gaze.  “We had a quiet night here.”

“Glad someone did.”  

“I heard things didn’t go as planned.”  He toed off his shoes and she followed him through the family room.  “But if you hadn’t had the foresight to move Sophia out of her condo and into protective custody, it could have been far worse.”

Cam’s skin prickled at the reminder.  He took a quick glance at his watch.  Barely seven-thirty AM.  Sophie was probably still asleep.  At least he hoped like hell that she was.  “Listen if you want to run home, grab a shower and some sleep I can get someone else in here…” he started.

“I slept on the couch and I’ve already used your shower.”   She aimed him a meaningful look.  “From the sounds of things you need to take your own advice.”

“Probably.”  He rubbed the back of his neck wearily.  A drill of frustration was jackhammering through him. Vance’s accomplice had taken the bait they’d laid so carefully.  But he’d slipped through their fingers, less than two minutes before backup had arrived.  The near miss was bitter.

“You talk to Franks?”  From her words he assumed she’d gotten the rundown on the last few hours from someone.  The scene in Sophie’s guest bedroom earlier had been chilling.  If that had, in fact been Sophie laying in the bed, and not a wig-clad dummy sporting fake blood packets…an icy finger traced down his spine at the thought.  Rationally he knew Sophie was fine.  Safely ensconced in his condo with an agent at her side at all times.

But right now emotion trumped logic.  He needed to see for himself.  Just a glimpse of her sleeping peacefully might be enough to dispel the sight of that dummy blown to bits, fake blood sprayed all over the room.

Swallowing hard, he headed in the direction of his spare bedroom.  And tried not to recall the times, not all that long ago, that Sophie had spent her nights in
his
bedroom.  With him at her side.

That was history.  Recent enough, unfortunately, for the details to remain stubbornly, erotically vivid.

“No, I haven’t talked to Franks.  Special Agent Gonzalez filled me in.”  

Cam froze in his tracks.  He turned to look at Loring.  “She called you?”  He couldn’t figure why she would.  He’d talked to Maria twice to apprise her of the events of the night as they’d unfolded.

Loring snorted indelicately.  “As if.  She’s here.  In your office with Dr. Channing.  Didn’t you see her car in the drive?”

Lack of sleep must have made him slow.  “I thought it was yours,” he said numbly.  Gonzalez was here.  Talking to Sophie.  And he had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what that conversation entailed.  Striding rapidly toward the hallway that would lead to the office at the back of the condo, he barely heard the agent behind him say, “My car is in your garage.  Remember?  You told me…”

“I don’t want to press you.”  Special Agent Maria Gonzalez’s voice drifted through the half open doorway to the office.  “Of course, time is of the essence, but you’ve been through a terrible ordeal.  Take some time to consider it.” Cam was certain he was the only one to find her words fraught with irony.

“Glad you at least recognize that Dr. Channing has been through a trauma.”  Cam propped a palm on either side of the open doorway, sending a meaningful glance toward Maria.  

As usual her black hair, liberally threaded with silver was pulled back, its severe style reflected in the plain dark pants and jacket she wore.  She returned his gaze imperturbably.  “I’m not without sympathy for what Sophia’s been through.  That’s why I told her to take some time before deciding whether to resume her assistance on the task force.”

“Dr. Channing,” Sophie’s spirited response held just a hint of inflection, “is standing right here.  And while I appreciate everyone’s concern, it’s unnecessary.  I’m going crazy sitting around while everyone else tiptoes around me as if I’m a bomb ready to detonate.  If I can continue to be of help in light of last night’s developments, of course I want to do so.  Vance terrorized me while I was his captive, but I didn’t suffer what his other victims did.  I’m fine. ”

Cam studied her, mingled resignation and concern threading through him.  Her slender frame was wrapped in a thin thigh-length robe, her long blond hair tumbling down her back.  But it was her injuries that brought a clutch to his chest.  “You look fine,” he drawled, a dangerous heat to the words.

As if on cue, she flushed.  The bruise on her jaw had graduated from navy to purple, ringed with yellow.  Her lip was still puffy and her left arm in a splint.  From the careful way she moved he realized her injuries weren’t limited to those visible.

But it was the emotional injuries that concerned him most.  He knew they were there, even while she continued to deny it.  Cam still suffered the occasional post-traumatic stress flashback himself from the nearly two years he’d spent undercover on a multi-agency drug taskforce.  He knew from personal experience that there was no way someone could have survived what Sophie had without some collateral emotional damage.

Which is why he no longer wanted her anywhere near this case.

Clearly believing that she’d gotten what she’d come for, Maria said, “Take all the time you need, Sophia. You can call me when you make your decision.”

Cam fixed Sophie with a look, as if by sheer force of will alone he could alter what she would say next.  Their gazes did battle as she responded, “I don’t need time.  I’m ready to resume my consulting duties whenever you need me.”

Maria switched her attention to Cam.  “Nine o’clock briefing?”  He gave a curt nod before she exited the room.  He walked over to the overstuffed chair in front of the desk and sank down heavily.  Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his hands over his face.  He’d been up over twenty-four hours.  It was going to be a lot longer before he’d get any rest.

But it wasn’t sleep that concerned him most right now.  Dropping his hands, he studied the woman who was watching him soberly.  Aside from her physical injuries she looked none the worse for wear.  The bruises provided stark contrast to her gilded angel appearance, highlighted the refined features and intelligent brow.  Most wouldn’t notice the mauve shadows under her eyes.  They were silent testament that she was anything but
fine
.  She wasn’t sleeping.  After what she’d been through, who the hell could?

Her smile was tentative.  “I know what you’re thinking…”

“I made you a promise.”  He heard the bleakness in his tone, was unable to temper it.  Not now.  Not when there was just the two of them.  “Three days ago.  Do you remember it?”

Something in her expression softened and she came over to lean a hip against the overstuffed arm of his chair.  “You said you wouldn’t let anyone hurt me again.  I believe you.  That’s what this around the clock protection detail has been all about, hasn’t it?  And it’s been successful.  You and the rest of the team are working yourselves into the ground toward that end.  The least I can do is make myself useful.”

Useful.  The word was masterful understatement.  No one looking at the petite blonde in the filmy pink robe would ever imagine the mind housed behind those cultured looks.  Dr. Sophia Channing was a leading international expert in forensic psychology.  She trained under the legendary Louis Frein of FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit.  In the course of her career she’d interviewed the most notorious serial killers in captivity and her services were highly sought after by law enforcement around the country.  It was in her professional capacity that she’d signed on to develop the criminal profile when they were hunting Vance.

But it wasn’t Dr. Sophia Channing, the professional that concerned Cam now.  It was Sophie, the woman.  

“I really am okay….” she began.  But the look he gave her then had her voice tapering off.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.  You’re anything but fine.”  He bit the words out, incapable of finesse or diplomacy.  He’d have to find those traits again in an hour or so when he briefed the rest of the team, but they were beyond him now.  “You told me once that you could tell when I’m lying.  The same goes.  Last I noticed you weren’t wearing a cape and tights, so drop the superwoman act.  Vance beat the hell out of you.  The only reason you weren’t raped is because you convinced him to give you time to write a new profile on him.  But thoughts of what he did to his other victims were in your mind the entire time.  They had to be.  It isn’t your outward injuries that concern me, it’s what’s going on in here.”  He tapped her temple lightly and she flinched a little.  

“As it happens, I do have a cape.”  He snorted, and looked away.  “It’s pink.  Studded with rhinestones along the edge, elegant but not too flashy.”

Dammit, he wasn’t going to smile, although she was clearly trying to lighten the tension.  “As I recall, you have a purse to match.”

“Well, it’s all about accessorizing.”

Against his will, a corner of his mouth quirked.  She reached over then, laid her hand gently on his arm and Cam froze.  His gaze fell to where she was touching him.  Her flesh was pale.  Smooth.  The fingernails painted a pastel color he’d never be able to name.   A few short days ago, after they’d found her escaping with Vance’s other victim along a lonely gravel road in rural Polk county, her nails had been bloody and broken from the efforts of breaking out of the cell the man had kept her in.  Sometime since they’d been repaired, as if the damage had never occurred.  She’d have him believe that she was recovering from all her injuries that easily.  He wasn’t buying it.

Rivers of heat traced on his skin beneath her fingers and he mentally damned his response.  Their affair had been short and spectacularly hot, but those twelve days had been just long enough for Sophie Channing to lodge herself under his skin, take up residence in the corners of his mind.  And he needed to distance himself from the personal to retain his objectivity.