Jeanne Adams - Dark and Deadly

“I never made any secret of that, Melvin. I never lied. You lied. You’re still lying.”

“I am not,” Melvin nearly screeched. He hated to be called a liar.

Behind Melvin, Paul saw the barest movement. If it was help, he needed to be sure Melvin didn’t know it was there.

“Shut the fuck up, Weaselboy,” he taunted, keeping Melvin’s attention directed his way. “You were never up to the standard. How you ever pledged Delta Phi, I’ll never know.”

“You shut up,” Melvin screamed, and the gun wavered, then steadied. “Stop it, Paul. You think you’re so clever, baiting me, trying to get me to lose my temper. Uh uh uh.” He waggled the gun like a scolding finger. “I’m not falling for it.

“You need to die quickly, and so does she,” he said, pushing back the top of one of the gloves to check the time. “My father should be loading into the ambulance about now. I’ll get back to the mansion in time to speed off to the hospital. Oh, gosh—” he pretended to be shocked and appalled—“whatever happened to dear old Dad? Heart attack?” he roared with laughter, but the gun never wavered.

“Now, do as I say. Move aside so I can kill her first. A nice little murder-suicide, I think.”

“Drop the gun,” a voice called out of the darkness.

How the cops had crept up so quietly, Paul had no idea. He didn’t care. All he knew was that the cavalry had arrived, and he could tend to Torie.

“Don’t move,” Melvin ordered. “You come any closer and I put a bullet through both of them. Come out into the light where I can see you.”

“I said, drop the gun.” The disembodied voice was insistent.

“I’m never going to jail,” Melvin said, as if they were having a conversation over lunch. “I’d rather die. Hell, my father would rather I die before I disgraced his name.” He laughed. “Oh, if he only knew.”

“Drop it, Pratt,” a new voice called. Tibbet was over to Paul’s left, beyond the circle of light made by the headlights. How he’d gotten through the city and out to them that fast, Paul didn’t even want to know.

“I’m taking both of you with me,” Melvin said, calmly. “These bullets are a little special. They’re Sampson bullets. They’re loaded hot. They have enough extra oomph to penetrate your body and kill her, too. You made a mistake, Paul. You should never have put her behind you.”

“Drop. The. Gun,” Tibbet ordered again.

Everything happened in slow motion. Paul saw Melvin smile, and knew the shot would kill him.

But it didn’t have to kill Torie. With a wrench, he tossed her down, throwing himself over her body just as Melvin fired.

Shots rang out and he heard a scream, but he didn’t look up.

“Paul? Jameson? You okay?”

He felt Tibbet’s hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, God, Torie? Torie?” He rolled off her as Tibbet turned on a high-beam flashlight. “Torie?”

“Paul?” She put her hand up to shield her eyes from the glare. “Are you okay?”

She struggled to sit up, far more quickly than he could have guessed, and launched herself into his arms.

“Torie,” he breathed, holding her tight, stroking her hair over and over. “Oh, I thought I’d lost you.”

“No, Paul, no. You’ve found me.”

Epilogue

“We’ve got to stop hanging around in ambulances and hospitals,” Paul quipped, sitting on the seat in the back of the emergency vehicle, wrapped in a blanket. He had no idea why they’d given him the blanket, since he wasn’t cold. He was glad, though, because it gave him something to hold onto as they loaded Torie onto a stretcher, and readied her for transport to the hospital.

“You’re right,” she managed around the muffling oxygen mask. “This sucks. And I didn’t get my dance.”

He laughed, but felt tears rise up as well. The emotion was so new, so raw, it choked him as he looked at her. Her sexy dress was dirty now, and her hose torn.

Her shoes sat in a bag at the side of the stretcher. It seemed so odd.

“He was so angry,” he heard her whisper. Tearing his gaze away from the strappy dancing shoes, he nodded.

“Yeah. How could he have gotten that twisted up?”

“Don’t know,” she whispered.

In the hospital room, Dev, Pam, and Paul perched like birds around the small space. Pam had the lone chair, but Dev, still looking battered, sat on the arm. Paul was as near to Torie as he could get, one hip on the bed itself.

“You,” Torie said as she pointed at her cousin, “have some ’splainin’ to do, Lucy.” She put on a Ricky Ricardo accent.

“To a lot of people,” he drawled. “We’ll get to that, you know?”

“Yeah.” She focused on Paul. “When are you getting me out of here, hmmmm?”

“Doctor has to clear you. Besides, Tibbet wants to talk to you.”

“I’ll bet.”

“He should be here any minute.”

“That’s what they all say,” she joked, then sobered. “How’s Mister Pratt?”

Paul’s face fell, and his eyes were sad. “Whatever Melvin gave him kicked off a massive heart attack. He’s still unconscious. They won’t tell me anything else, because I’m not kin.”

“Oh, that’s terrible.” She reached for his hand, both giving comfort and seeking it.

“Did you get any sleep, Torie?” Pam finally spoke. She looked happy, in spite of the circumstances. Torie had to smile at the possessive hand Dev was keeping on her shoulder.

“Some, once I stopped, well, you know.” She didn’t really want to talk about how much she’d thrown up. The drug Melvin had used made her sick. Between her first bout with it after the fire and now, she’d thrown up more in the last six weeks than she had in the past eleven years.

“Yeah. What—” her question was aborted as Tibbet knocked and came in.

“Good morning. Looks like you’ve drawn a crowd again,” he said with a smile.

“Yeah, but it’s my crowd, so I’m okay with it.”

“I can see that. I’ll make this brief and get out of your way. The warrant on Melvin Pratt Jr.’s home was served, and we were able to find enough evidence to link him not only to Todd Peterson’s death, but to the fire at your house, Ms. Hagen. He kept journals in a funky shorthand, but it only took our guy a few minutes to figure it out. Had ’em in a safe, too, but that was easy. Evidently, he’s also partially responsible for the computer crash at your office.” He directed the last bit to Paul.

“He was,” Torie said. “I was in and out in the car, but he planned the thing at the frat house. The one we discussed? He wanted to marry me.”

“Ah.” Tibbet flicked a glance at Pam and Dev. “You said something last night about the lottery as well?” The ubiquitous notebook was out, and Tibbet was jotting things down.

“Yes, he had been the one to buy all the tickets that day for everyone in the office. He said that Todd stole the money from him, since he had been the one to actually purchase the winning ticket. He believed Todd got me to marry him as a slap, in addition to the money.”

“Ah, okay. That makes more sense when you put it that way.”

“I guess I wasn’t all that coherent last night.”

“You did fine,” Tibbet praised. “I’ve just got a couple of other questions. Do you have any idea what he might have given his father?”

“No.” She paused, trying to remember exactly what Melvin had said. “But I’m sure it was him. Melvin said that he’d kill me and get back to the hotel in time to ride with the old man to the hospital.”

“Hmmm. Very good.” He closed his book, looked over at Dev. “What about you, Mister Chance?”

“Me? I’m living life, Detective.”

“Uh huh.” Tibbet didn’t look convinced. “You now think the attack on you was unrelated, you said.”