Code of Valor Page 2

  Not careful enough.

  Rapid puffs of air escaped her lips as she resumed her rush to the vehicle.

  Her heels clicked on the parking garage concrete floor, echoing in the quiet. Covering the sound of the person following her. Why had she stayed so late? Why hadn’t she asked security to walk her to her car? She pulled her phone from the other pocket of her blazer just as she reached the silver Toyota Camry.

  Heather opened the driver’s door and slid into the seat. Slamming the door with one hand, she hit the locks with the other and lunged toward the glove compartment. The door fell open and she grabbed for her Smith & Wesson 642. Only to find it gone. “What?” she whispered. But how? It didn’t matter right now. She jabbed the key at the ignition, her shaking fingers betraying her as she dropped the set.

  She leaned down to grab them, praying she had enough gas to get out of the garage. Why oh why hadn’t she stopped to fill up the tank?

  When she straightened, a figure was approaching from her left, walking slowly, clearly not in any hurry. Yet the threat emanated from him. She jammed the keys into the ignition and twisted.

  Nothing happened.

  “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.” Terror centered itself in her midsection. With another glance at the person dressed in black, she grabbed her phone and dialed 911. And still he continued his slow stroll toward her. He was stalking her, toying with her. She put the phone on speaker, then switched the screen to her text messages.

  “911. Where is your emergency?”

  “I’m in the Cannon Street Garage, third floor. My name’s Heather Gilstrap. There’s a guy following me and I think he’s going to kill me.” She had to get out of the car, but she couldn’t go out the driver’s door. He’d catch up to her in seconds. She lunged across the seat and pulled the handle.

  Nothing happened. What?

  “The door won’t open!” Heather yelled, cutting off the dispatcher’s words. She pounded the door and tried again with a low grunt.

  Again, nothing.

  “I can’t get out! No, no, no.”

  She tossed the phone onto the back seat and climbed over, tried both doors. Same result. No wonder he wasn’t in a hurry. Somehow he’d jammed the doors. She was trapped. And he was enjoying his game.

  She rolled on her back and kicked the window. Once, twice. It didn’t even move. And there was nothing she could use that would smash through the glass. “I can’t get out!”

  With shaking fingers, she grabbed her phone and heard the operator above the rush of blood in her ears. “Heather? I’ve got officers en route.”

  “My car won’t start and my doors are jammed. He did something to my doors!” Pictures. She had to send them. She punched the text string of the one person she could trust, and quickly tapped a message, added a photo from her gallery, then hit send.

  Adrenaline surged, muffling her other senses. Another picture, the next text went. Then the next. Emily needed the pictures for evidence. If she simply texted the words and tried to explain, it wouldn’t hold up in court. But the photos would.

  “Heather? Heather! What’s happening?” The operator’s voice cut through her panic.

  A frantic glance showed the man coming closer. She whimpered. “He’s almost here. He has a gun. With a suppressor.” Please, Jesus. I love you, but I don’t want to die today.

  “Do you know who he is?”

  Another text went. If God didn’t intervene and she was going to die, she was going to take down the people who killed her. Unfortunately, her texts might not be enough—but it was all she had.

  “No. He has a ski mask on.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. She sniffed. “Please, God, don’t let me die in vain,” she whispered as her fingers worked the phone. “Please, he’s going to kill me—”

  “I have someone on the way right now. You have to find a way out of the car and run.”

  “I can’t!”

  Maybe he would just take her. Demand to know what she knew. Force her to hand over the evidence she’d gathered. But he might not. Her breathing came now in harsh gasps while her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

  She hit send on the final text, then started erasing them from her phone even as the dispatcher’s voice asked her another question she missed.

  “What?” No. She needed one more text. The location.

  The lake where we

  “Can you break the window?” the woman demanded.

  “I tried,” she whispered. “Tell Em I tried. Emily Chastain, tell her! Warn her she’s in danger!”

  The back window shattered. Glass rained over her and she screamed. The phone fell into her lap. Frantic, she grabbed for it. The last text shot off to Emily only half finished. She looked up into dark eyes that held nothing. Just empty black pools. He placed the gun against her head and she froze.

  “Please, don’t,” she whispered.

  He reached in and disconnected the call. Then took her phone and stepped back. He kept an eye on her, the gun in his left hand never wavering as he tapped the screen and scrolled. “Emily Chastain? What did you tell her? What did you send her?”

  “Leave her alone. She doesn’t know anything.”

  “Unfortunately, while that might have been the case three minutes ago, it might not be now.”

  Wait, what? Was he going to—

  The gun lifted.

  Heather screamed again.

  The muzzle flashed.

  Sharp pain hit her, then darkness.

  Thursday, October 24

  3

  Brady St. John sat on the porch of the cabin he’d rented for the next two weeks and let his mind drift behind closed eyes. Unfortunately, the current took it to places he’d rather not revisit, so he lifted his lids and let his gaze settle on the lake.

  Peaceful. Gentle. A great place to solo dive or fish for largemouth bass and catfish. He’d had the catfish for dinner tonight. Remnants of the meal that consisted of two ears of corn, a side of baked beans, and an apple pie now lay pushed to the side. Chloe had made the pie and insisted he take it with him.

  On his vacation.

  Because he’d needed a break before he snapped like a toothpick. Only now the October evening air had gone from brisk to downright freezing, sending goose bumps to pebble his skin under the long-sleeved sweatshirt. But he wasn’t ready to go inside just yet.

  He finished cleaning the Glock and wiped it down. Setting it on the table next to his empty plate, he shook his head as his sister’s voice echoed in his mind.

  “Go somewhere peaceful, someplace quiet,” Chloe had said. “Where you can go diving or just sit. And be. Like the Drummonds’ little cabin on Lake Henley. They rent it out on a regular basis, I think.”

  “Yeah, during the summer. Lake Henley’s closed up for the winter.”

  “So sweet-talk them into letting you stay there. They probably wouldn’t mind making a little extra money on it.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You need to, Brady, you’ve been through a lot. Don’t think, just go. And just . . . be. And take your Bible with you.”

  He’d realized she was right. He probably did need a break. Especially after the latest case where a mother had driven her two children, ages four and six months, into the river, drowning all three of them. On purpose. Not to mention the fact that Krystal had managed to make a complete fool out of him. What had he seen in her anyway? She’d been smart. He’d liked that. And beautiful. That hadn’t hurt either. And mercenary.

  But he wasn’t going to think about that. He was going to sit.

  And be.

  So here he sat.

  Just . . . being.

  And he was bored out of his skull. He sighed and leaned back to stare at the porch ceiling. No, not bored. There just weren’t any distractions, which meant too much time to think about things he’d rather not think about. That was the real problem. He should have asked one of his brothers to come with him.

  With a groan, he rose and raked a hand through his hai
r. Fine. He’d go inside and start a fire, warm up—and pack. So he could go home and do what he did best.

  Which was to throw himself into work until he was so exhausted he fell into bed and slept without nightmares.

  A scream ripped through the air and he froze for a split second before reaching for his weapon.

  With the sun setting in the next several minutes, light was quickly diminishing.

  Another scream.

  Brady shot off the porch and into the yard, trying to discern the direction of the cry.

  There. On the water.

  A speedboat motored out to the middle of the inlet, aimed toward the open water, and the silhouettes of two people came into view. One sitting behind the wheel. The other sat on the bow, hands tied to the rail that ran along the side of the boat. She struggled, yanking and twisting against her bonds.

  “Hey! Let her go!”

  The driver jerked his head in Brady’s direction. Then lifted his weapon and fired. Brady dove to the ground and rolled. The bullet missed but was a little closer than he was comfortable with. He lifted his head to see the man taking aim at his captive. She stilled, head ducked, shoulders heaving with her sobs. Brady fired while running toward the water. The man jerked and swung his weapon back in Brady’s direction.

  And then the woman was loose. She launched herself over the side and into the water. The man’s curses reached Brady even as he settled back into the driver’s seat and spun the wheel. The boat sped away.

  Brady caught sight of the woman’s head just above the surface, but her arms flailed, slapping the water.

  She went under.

  Brady ran to the edge of the dock, stopped long enough to shuck his sweatshirt and loafers, and dove in. The icy water wanted to steal the breath he held, but it wasn’t the first time he’d swum in freezing water. He reached her in ten long strokes.

  Just as she was going back down, he got behind her and slid his forearms beneath her armpits, lifting her head up once again. Her back pressed against his chest. She gasped and coughed. Started to struggle. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, relax. I’m here to help you. Rest your head back on my shoulder and just breathe, okay?”

  She gave one last hacking cough, then went limp. Hoping she hadn’t passed out, he kicked toward the shore. The dock would get them out of the water faster, but if the guy decided to circle back and start shooting again, he could pick them off.

  “Are you conscious?” he asked. Then kicked, wishing he’d had the time to get rid of the heavy jeans, but he ignored the weight and aimed them for land.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Emily,” she gasped. “Chastain.”

  “I’m Brady. Are you hurt?”

  “I d-don’t th-think so.”

  But she was cold. “Can you swim?”

  “No. I mean yes, but . . . no strength.”

  “All right. Just be still and don’t fight me and I’ll have us on shore in a couple of minutes.”

  She trembled against him. A combination of fear and cold. Finally, his feet found the sandy bottom of the lake and he hefted her into his arms.

  She gasped, coughed, then wiggled. “I can walk. I’m too heavy to c-carry. P-put me down.”

  He wanted to laugh. “Be still. I bench press more than you weigh. A lot more.”

  She stilled and he set her next to the dock, out of sight of the lake, protected by the wood. “Stay here for just a second.”

  Shuddering, she nodded. At least he thought it was a nod. Keeping low, hunched against the wind that sent shudders whipping through him, he made it to the end of the dock, all the while feeling like he had a target on his back.

  But no one fired. He shoved his feet into his shoes and grabbed the sweatshirt. He hurried back to find Emily curled into a ball, back against the dock post, tremors wracking her frame.

  Without asking for permission, he tugged the sweatshirt over her long-sleeved T-shirt and swept her into his arms once more. She didn’t protest, simply turned her face into the side of his neck and clutched his shoulders.

  Emily used the towel to clear the steam off the mirror and tried to calm her shaking. The hot shower had chased away the bone-deep cold, but the horror of what she’d just lived through wouldn’t loosen its hold. She’d thought she was going to die.

  Tears dripped down her cheeks as the images flashed in her mind.

  A knock on the door made her jump, and she pulled the plush white robe tighter, then swiped the tears from her cheeks. “Yes?”

  “You okay? I’ve got some sweats and a dry sweatshirt you can put on while your clothes and shoes dry if you want.”

  She opened the door and looked up into the kindest blue eyes she’d ever seen. The gentleness she found there eased her pounding pulse. “Thank you.” She took the clothes from him.

  “There’s a hair dryer under the sink too. If you need to use it.”

  “I do. Thanks.”

  “Anything else you need?”

  “No. I’ll be out in just a moment.”

  He nodded and she shut the door.

  After drying her chin-length chocolate-colored hair, she changed into the clothes, for once doing so without studying herself in the mirror and judging. She had to roll the waistband to shorten the length, then roll a thick cuff around her ankles. The sweatshirt hung midthigh. Once she had on the wool socks, she took a deep breath.

  She was alive and finally warm.

  Only now she had to go explain to the man who’d just saved her life why someone wanted her dead and that he was now in danger as well. Which meant she should probably leave quickly.

  Gathering her nerve, she stepped out into the hall and followed it into the spacious den area. Her rescuer sat in one of the wingback chairs facing the warm flames from the logs. His right hand worked a cloth over the weapon held in his left hand. Probably the gun he’d fired at her captor.

  “Excuse me while I take care of this,” he said. “It went into the lake with me and I need to get it dried out just in case we need it.”

  “In case they find me here, you mean?”

  “I would think that whoever was in the boat would be long gone, but you never know about people—or how desperate they are.” His eyes locked on hers for a moment.

  “He seemed pretty desperate,” she said. He’d showered and changed into jeans, warm socks, and a red-and-blue flannel shirt. She stepped up next to him and held her hands out to the fire. “This is lovely.”

  He gestured to one of the chairs to his right. “Have a seat. Your clothes and shoes are in the dryer.”

  “Thanks.” She lowered herself into the chair and curled her legs under her. “I should probably leave as soon as my clothes are dry. I don’t want to put you in danger.”

  He went back to cleaning the gun. “I’m not worried about it.”

  “But I am.”

  He glanced up again. “Don’t. I can take care of myself. And you.”

  “But—”

  “Seriously. Okay?”

  She sighed. “Okay. For now.” She took in her surroundings for the first time. “This is a nice cabin. Big, but still cozy.”

  “I think so. It’s got three bedrooms and three baths.” He shot her a smile. “Too much room for one guy, but the people who own it are friends and gave me a deal I couldn’t refuse.”

  “Good friends if they let you undo all their winterizing.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, they are. And I promised to leave it like I found it.” He studied her.

  With a deep sigh, she shook her head. “Thank you for saving me. I probably would have drowned if you hadn’t jumped in.” She paused. “Actually, I might not have made it to the drowning part. He was going to shoot me.”

  His hands stilled. Those blue eyes met hers. “You want to tell me what that was all about?”

  She shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

  “I’ve done complicated before.”

  “That’s cryptic.”

 
; His lips curved, but the slightly haunted expression that slipped into his eyes said he’d seen things better left alone.

  “I’m a financial crimes investigator for a bank,” she said.

  His hands paused in their cleaning and he looked up. “I’ve worked with a couple of those before. Cool job if you like numbers.”

  “It can be. Apparently, it can also be quite dangerous,” she muttered.

  “After your late-night swim adventure, I’m inclined to agree.” He set the cloth aside and put the parts of the weapon back together, then wiped it down once more. “So, you think your job had something to do with all this?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I think someone didn’t like what I was investigating, decided to grab me as I was walking out of work, throw me in the trunk, and bring me here to kill me.”

  Finished with the weapon, he set it aside and turned his full attention on her. “I know that was scary for you.”

  “A bit of an understatement, but yes. It was definitely scary. And they would have gotten away with it too, if not for you.”

  “Did the guy on the boat say anything? Give you any clue about why he wanted you dead?”

  “No. That was the weird thing. He never said a word. Even when I was begging him to tell me why.” She shuddered and looked away, the fear washing over her once again.

  “You said they grabbed you as you were leaving work. How did they do that?”

  “They drugged me.”

  “They?”

  “There were two of them, I think. Could have been three.”

  “So they got you after work. Did you yell? Try to grab someone’s attention?”

  “I never had a chance. And even if I had, it was late and there wasn’t anyone around.” She rubbed her eyes. “It all happened so fast. They stuck me with a needle and whatever was in it made me feel weird and lethargic. I remember being in the trunk, but I must have passed out, so I have no idea how long they drove or what happened until I woke up in a shed, tied to a boat ramp.”

  “What time did you leave work?”

  “I don’t know, sometime after midnight?” She shook her head. “I’m a night owl. I don’t have anything to rush home to.” She grimaced. “That sounds pathetic, but nevertheless, as long as I’m doing my job, my boss, the bank manager, Calvin Swift, lets me flex my hours so they’re convenient for me.” She paused and stared at the flames. “I fought them, but—” Goose bumps pebbled her arms even though she wasn’t cold. “What lake are we on anyway?”