Jeanne Adams - Dark and Deadly

Well. Water under the bridge, as his dear old mother would have said. Hmmphf.

She should have known better, too. It had been so easy with her, after all. She couldn’t swim.

The doors to the restaurant opened, and a couple came out. He cursed himself for sitting, wallowing in the past. Nothing could be done about it now. Nothing that he wasn’t already doing, that is.

He’d never get the shot planned, get the silencer on. His palms began to sweat as he fumbled for the sections of the gun.

“Damn it all.”

He froze at the sound of his own voice. Silence was the rule. You couldn’t…

The couple was getting into another car. Some kind of SUV. It wasn’t Torie and Todd…Torie and Paul. Todd was dead. Already dead. He’d been to the funeral. Yes.

Now, to get his aim down pat before his real target came out.

Chapter Fourteen

“You’re sure?” He slid his hand over the nape of her neck, deliberately repeating the gesture he’d used to bring her closer before, when they’d only kissed the first time.

“I’m not sure of anything right now, Paul. I can’t help it, I want this.”

“That’ll do.” Paul pushed the door of the restaurant open, resting a hand on her back to keep her close, feel her. He also registered the cool night air, the feeling that rushed over him as he contemplated taking Torie home, making love to her again.

He helped her into her seat. It was impulse that made him do it, bend to kiss her.

He barely heard the thwick of the bullet whizzing over his back, but the window next to him shattered into a million glittering shards.

“What the—”

“Get down, ” a voice called out of the darkness. Another windshield exploded into fragments, over where the voice had come from.

“Shit!” a different voice yelled.

He heard the sound of an engine, heard the shuffle of moving feet, but all he could see was the glass. It covered his feet, covered Torie’s lap. She’d thrown herself sideways, a wise move.

“No.” He pushed her back down as she started to shift. “Stay there.”

“You okay?” Detective Tibbet appeared seemingly out of nowhere, peering through the blasted window.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“You okay, Ms. Hagen?”

Torie turned to look at him. Nodded.

“I heard a car—” Paul began.

“Yeah. I think he beat it. Harry, my partner, radioed for black and whites, but he’s probably gone.”

“Damn.”

“Tell me about it.”

Tibbet grilled them about what they had been doing, what they’d heard. He helped Torie out of the car, but asked them not to touch anything else. Within minutes, he had a team out searching for the bullets or any casings.

“What are casings?” Torie asked Paul as they sat together on the tailgate of an ambulance. A crowd had gathered, of course. The owner of the other car, the one hit by the bullet, was protesting the need for his car to be impounded, towed back to the city lot for examination. Torie didn’t blame him.

“What do you mean?” Paul asked.

“What are these casings they’re talking about?”

“Shell casings,” Paul answered the question, but gave her a funny look.

She looked exasperated. “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Gunshots mean bullets. Bullets mean shell casings. It’s what holds the shot while it’s in the gun.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“You don’t watch the news? Or TV?”

How irritating. “Of course I do. I simply don’t watch a lot of violent TV. I can’t sleep when I do.”

“Ah.” He sounded odd. And a little condescending.

She scooted away from him, just a little. She needed distance. Even that much helped.

How could this still be happening?

“Ms. Hagen. Mister Jameson.” Tibbet came over to where they waited, his ubiquitous notebook open and ready for more squiggly notes.

“You were following us,” Paul said. She could tell he was a little angry, a little embarrassed.

“Yeah. Obviously someone wants to kill your client. Possibly you, too. You don’t torch a house, and shoot a guy, and then stop, ya know?” Tibbet didn’t quite roll his eyes, but it looked like he wanted to. “My partner and I had some time, so we’ve been watching over Ms. Hagen. Saw the bodyguard bug out. Guess we’ll have to tag you, too. Now, if you separate…” he said to Paul.

“Separate? Tag him, too? What do you mean?” Torie jumped in.

“That shot wasn’t meant for you, Ms. Hagen. Whoever this guy is, he had a clean shot at you through the back window. Or while you were walking to the car. Nope.” Tibbet looked at Paul, his expression quizzical. “That one was meant for Mister Jameson here.”

Torie’s heart squeezed in painful understanding. She had gone to dinner with Paul. That had painted a big fat target on his back.

“Oh, my God,” she gasped, horrified at the implications.

“Torie,” Paul said sharply. “This could as easily be someone after me for other reasons.”

“No, I don’t think so, Mister Jameson,” Tibbet interjected, cutting off Torie’s reply. “We’ve checked your cases. Pretty much none of your work has been controversial. No divorces, nothing that’s big press. Those being the usual causes of a grudge,” he explained. “I think your friend, Todd, is the unifying factor, but I can’t get a handle on it.”

“But why Torie?”

“She dumped him. Or was dumped by him.”

“But the accidents…” Torie began.

“Were deliberate. Look,” Tibbet said, leaning in, foot on the bumper. “I don’t pretend to know what this guy’s thinkin’, okay? But seems to me that the common denominator is your friend Todd Peterson. He wins money, and goes gallivanting off into the wild blue, right? Leaves you behind. If your time line’s right, the one you gave me a rundown on?” He directed this toward Paul, who nodded.

Tibbet turned to Torie. “Then the accidents and incidents your friend had began the first time he returned to the U.S. for a visit. You put down on your time line that you were on a date with—” Tibbet references his book—“a guy named Trey Buckner?”

“Jeez, you dated Trey?” Paul shot her an amazed look.

“Yes, I did. He was very nice, but we didn’t click,” she said defensively, and nearly cursed at how it came out. She’d have preferred to be cool and calm about the whole thing.

“Yeah, that’s the guy who had the nuisance complaint, right? Where someone canceled all his stuff.”

“Yes. I only found out because he thought I might have done it.”

“Why?” Paul asked, turning to look at her. She could see the knowledge in his face. Knowing Trey’s reputation, Paul could guess why.

“Because I said no.” Torie left it at that.

Tibbet, of course, wouldn’t let it rest. “No?”

Torie sighed. “No to his advances, which were fairly aggressive. We got into a shouting match involving a lot of bad language on his part.” She felt so prim saying it that way, but she wasn’t about to tell them Trey had called her a cocktease, and Todd’s throwaway whore of a bride. With the way Paul was already looking, Trey might get a visit, and she didn’t want that.

“Bad language, I see,” Tibbet scribbled again. “Any pushing or shoving?”

“It’s been more than four years, Detective. But none that I remember. Not on my part anyway.” She remembered the bruises on her arms where he’d grabbed and shaken her, but mentioning them did no good.

“I’ve read the notes from the complaint. We weren’t very smart about internet stuff or the whole identity thing, even that short time ago.” Thankfully Tibbet let it go, but the look he gave her told her he knew more. “And Mister Peterson lost four tires, hubcaps, and a windshield.”