C.J. Carmichael - A convenient proposal

Mick concentrated on Kelly’s determined expression. She didn’t appear to be pulling his leg.

“Let’s go to my place and talk,” he suggested.

Kelly nodded. She hadn’t spoken since telling him…. Perhaps she’d gone into shock.

The drive to his house took less than five minutes.

“I understand that you must feel terrible about my brother,” he told her.

And he did. His journalistic training was too ingrained for him not to see both sides of the story. Despite his grief, he knew that Kelly had tried to defuse his brother’s fear, speaking to him calmly and gently. But his brother had been too worked up. He’d cocked the trigger of his handgun and that was it. Kelly had aimed, fired…

“Don’t think it’s guilt behind my suggestion,” Kelly said now. “Mick, I genuinely care about those children. I would do anything to help them. Anything.”

Something in him wanted to give her whatever she asked for. And, face it, she was offering him a solution to his own dilemma. “How will you feel in a year, or two, or ten? Kelly, I’m not interested in a temporary fix here.”

“I understand that. I do.”

In the small, bookshelf-lined room, her words echoed like a marriage vow….

Dear Reader,

“Shooting to kill is an officer’s nightmare.” This is the headline that caught my eye a few years ago when I was reading the Calgary Herald at my breakfast table. Years of Westerns, cop shows and mystery novels had ingrained in me the simple maxim that good guys shoot bad guys. But I had never before contemplated the complex dilemma an officer faces when making the choice to pull the trigger and end another life.

That morning the seed for A Convenient Proposal was planted. I knew I wanted to write a story about a cop who responds strictly by the book in a dangerous situation, then reacts like a sensitive human being in the months that follow. The cop is Kelly Shannon, the youngest of the three Shannon sisters.

If you read the first book of this trilogy, A Second-Chance Proposal, you may have wondered what Kelly was doing during her lengthy, unexplained absences from the Larch Lodge Bed and Breakfast near the end of the story. She wasn’t at work—she’d been suspended, remember?—and she certainly wasn’t out having fun.

Now I invite you to find out. To dive into Kelly’s story and meet the children and the man who will change her life forever.

Sincerely,

C.J. Carmichael

P.S. I’d love to hear from you. Please send mail to the following Canadian address: #1754-246 Stewart Green, S.W., Calgary, Alberta, Canada T3H 3C8. Or send e-mail to: cjcarmichael@shaw.ca. For more information visit: www.cjcarmichael.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This trilogy is dedicated to my editors, Beverley Sotolov and Paula Eykelhof, with my thanks and affection.

Thanks to those who assisted me in my research, in particular Corporal Patrick Webb of the RCMP in Calgary, Constable Barry Beales of the RCMP Canmore Detachment and Lynn Martel, a reporter with the Canmore Leader.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SHE COULDN’T STOP SHAKING as she stared at the gun—her own Smith & Wesson—in a carefully labeled plastic bag. The weapon was Crown evidence; she wouldn’t see it again for months.

On second thought, make that ever.

“You’d better sit down, Kelly.”

“What?” RCMP officer Kelly Shannon looked from the .38 to the familiar face of her commanding officer, Staff Sergeant Springer.

That brief thought of her future, of there being moments, days, years that would follow, made her so damn weary. All she wanted was to curl up on the rain-dampened ground and be left alone. But Springer had stuck by her side since he’d arrived at the Thunder Bar M forty minutes ago.

“Let me take you to your car. You need to get off your feet.”

If Kelly hadn’t already understood the gravity of the situation, the staff sergeant’s consideration and gentle tone would have tipped her off.

“I’m fine.” She tried to protest, but large, well-muscled Springer put a hand to her elbow and courteously led the way to her patrol car. She noted her driver’s-side door was still open, from that instant when she’d leaped out—galvanized by the sight of Danny Mizzoni holding a gun to her sister’s head.

Springer settled her in the passenger side of the car, then checked his watch. “Backup from Calgary should be here shortly.”

Kelly leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes briefly. Sitting wasn’t such a bad idea. Her trembling was getting worse. Springer must have noticed, too, because he found a blanket and settled it over her lap.

“Thanks.” She knew this calm wouldn’t last long. Once the officers from Ident and the Major Crimes Unit arrived, there would be hours’—if not days’—worth of work to be done. She’d seen it before.

Homicides were rare in the rustic mountain community of Canmore, Alberta, but two-and-a-half years ago a young girl, Jilly Beckett, had been shot dead on this very property. Kelly had worked on that case.

But she wouldn’t be working on this one.

“Someone from MAP will be here shortly, too.” Springer patted her shoulder.

The representative from the Member Assistance Program would guide her through the next few hours. She would be suspended from duty, of course. There would be an investigation. Springer had already notified her of her rights. At some point she would need to hire a lawyer.

Anxiety set off another spasm of trembling. Kelly filled her lungs with air, then groped for the badge she’d always worn so proudly. Being a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police meant carrying on a tradition of honor. A tradition of which she was no longer worthy.

“I suppose you’ll want this,” she said, fumbling with the catch.

Springer put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “That isn’t necessary, Kelly. Keep it. You’re still one of us.”

The wail of approaching sirens crescendoed with the rumbling of tires on gravel as the squad cars from Calgary arrived. Kelly watched them stream onto Thunder Bar M land. They lined up behind the ambulance, where the paramedics were standing by the open back doors and watching calmly, knowing it would still be some time before the coroner gave them permission to move the body.

Car doors and voices slammed into the afternoon quiet. Springer’s hand tightened on her shoulder. She would soon be taken to the station, while these men and women worked at recording the details of the crime scene, collecting and cataloguing every shred of potential evidence.

How Dylan must hate this, she thought—having his land overrun with police and emergency workers. She wondered about her sister Cathleen, and hoped she was recovering from the shock of having Danny Mizzoni’s gun held to her head. Dylan and Cathleen were out by the creek now. Sharon, Danny’s wife—widow—and two kids, were in the kitchen with Danny’s brother.

Thinking of those innocent bystanders, Kelly couldn’t hold back a groan. Their pain, their anger, she could only imagine. Oh, what have I done?

The body was still prone on the top step of the veranda. Her shot had struck Danny square in the chest. Death had been almost instantaneous.