Cover Shot (A Headlines in High Heels Mystery Book 5) (8 page)

11.

No way out

I
sprinted in bare feet as a doctor and second nurse crept out from under the station desk and scrambled to the doorway.

Their murmurs told me the first nurse had fainted. I peeked into the room, which appeared to be a meds supply center, to see why.

And wished I hadn’t. Blonde hair, matted with blood and bits of something I didn’t care to identify, a black-red hole above the left eyebrow.

My eyes took in a sharp business suit and gorgeous Prada pumps on autopilot before I turned away, my stomach churning around the cornbread and cocktail that seemed hours upon hours ago.

Clumsy fingers fumbled in my bag for the radio. “Aaron.” My voice came out as little more than a rasp. No reply. I shook it, then noticed the lack of the little red LED in the top corner. Could help to turn it on. I clicked the switch and tried again.

“Nichelle! What the hell is going on in there? I have SWAT ready to blow open a door, and a highly agitated federal agent at my elbow who wants to draw and quarter me for letting you go inside.”

“Simmer down, Kyle,” I said, my voice shaking. “Aaron, I have the gun.”

“You what?”

“I have the gun. The guy turned it on himself and I kicked it free and grabbed it.”

“Jesus, Nichelle—” That was Kyle.

“Everyone okay?” Aaron.

“I’m fine. But I have a woman up here who is decidedly not.”

“And the shooter?”

I froze. That guy didn’t do this. Did he? I looked at the rifle, still dangling from my free hand. Maybe it was a better thing than I knew, me having this gun.

“His wife is a patient. Terminal cancer. He’s back in with her.” I swallowed hard. “Long story. I’ll fill you in.”

“Coming in now.”

“You come out this inst—” Kyle’s most commanding ATF agent voice blared from the speaker. I pushed the talk button and cut him off.

“The situation up here has been diffused, Kyle.” The adrenaline tremble extended to my voice. “And I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

A tap on my shoulder nearly sent me right out of my skin. I whirled to find the nurse who hadn’t fainted, her pink and purple scrubs creased from crouching under the desk.

“Excuse me, miss—are you a police officer?”

I chuckled, which seemed slightly ridiculous, what with the dead body and hostage situation. “I can’t do the shoes.” I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m a reporter at the
Telegraph
. But the police are on their way in.”

“Poor Mr. Ellinger.” Her soft soprano broke, her dark blue eyes filling with enough compassion for two hundred Peace Corps volunteers. “He loves his wife so much. We see a lot of heartbreaking things up here, but that’s made me cry more than once in the past few weeks.”

I nodded, putting a hand on her arm as her eyes brimmed with tears.

She took a hitching breath and continued, “I suppose he finally snapped. I thought I’d nodded off and was dreaming when he walked off the elevator waving a gun. It took me probably three minutes to hit the alarm and call 911.”

“You’re the one who made the call?” I asked.

She nodded, one tear slipping off her lashes and trailing mascara down her cheek. “He leveled the gun at me and told me to call the police. That he had something to say and needed them to be here so people would hear it.”

I closed my eyes. He needed them to be here so I’d come. I flipped the safety on the gun and laid it down.

“Did he ask you to call anyone else?”

She shook her head, two more tears escaping. “No. He said no screaming, because he wanted Amy to sleep. And he told me to call the police. I pushed the silent alarm so security would lock the building down and did what he said.”

My eyes slid toward the meds closet. “And then?”

“I closed the doors to the patient rooms and locked them, and got under the desk like we’re supposed to. The only shots were just a few minutes ago.”

I nodded, shaking off the adrenaline and rooting in my bag for a notebook and pen.

“Can I get your name?” I asked.

“Alisha. Alisha Royston.” She sniffled, wiping at her face and smearing mascara all over half of it.

“Do you know this woman?”

“Her name is Stephanie. Stephanie Whitmire. She’s a marketing rep at Evaris. I just can’t believe…”

I nodded, turning when I heard the elevator bing. Kyle rushed off first, Aaron and Landers on his heels.

“Nichelle!” I wasn’t even sure which of them was shouting. Or if it was more than one of them.

I raised the hand that held my pen and tried to smile. Kyle broke into a run, clearing the rest of the hallway before I could open my mouth to say, “I’m really fine.”

His big hands closed over my head, his eyes scanning me from head to toe while he palpated methodically for signs of injury.

“I appreciate the concern, Kyle,” I said, grabbing his wrist when his arms dropped below my waist. “But really. I’m fine.”

He crooked one finger under my chin and tipped my face up to his. “You don’t appear to be hurt. But you are cracked in the head somewhere. This place have a psych ward? Because I’m admitting you to it. Where the hell did you get the notion it was a good move to walk into an active shooter hostage situation?”

I stepped backward, feeling temper bubble under all the adrenaline rushing through my system. “Remember those messages I showed you the other day?” I tried to control my voice. He was worried, not being a jerk. “This is who was sending them. Landers said he asked to speak to me. Me and Charlie. And she wouldn’t come in—”

“But of course, you would,” he interrupted. “I’m on my way home after a long day. Thinking, ‘I’ll have a beer and see if I can find some football on TV.’ Then I get a newsbreak on the radio—there’s a shooter inside St. Vincent’s. The hospital is on lockdown, the staff won’t leave the patients and come out. Oh, and the cops reporter from the
Telegraph
just went inside. I thought I was going to have a stroke driving my car. I’m still not sure how the damned thing steered itself over here. Do I look like Knight Rider?”

He paused for a breath and I laid a hand on his arm. I didn’t care for him bawling me out, especially in front of my detectives, but I couldn’t fault him for caring about me. “Kyle. I’m fine.”

He put his hand over mine and squeezed, then pulled me to him and cut off my air supply with a bear hug, dropping his chin to the top of my head. “But what if you weren’t? Why is the story that important?”

I wriggled until he relaxed his hold enough to let me breathe, aware that Aaron and Landers were picking up every word. Every touch. They were talking to witnesses, sure, but they were good cops, and good cops are champion busybodies.

“Hey there, pot. I’m kettle,” I said, stepping back so I could look at Kyle when he let go of me. “You chase cases into danger every week. I watched you get shot a few months ago going after the bad guys, remember?”

“I’m a cop. You’re not. I’m trained to protect myself.”

“Until your luck runs out.” I wanted to stuff the words back into my throat as soon as they hit the air.

He froze for a split second before he forced a smile. “Let’s hope it holds. Generally speaking, my life is pretty charmed.”

“I pray for it every night. I didn’t mean to be harsh.”

“I hate to interrupt.” Aaron’s tone said he didn’t mind one bit. “But I’m going to need a statement, Nichelle. The radio had a mysterious transmission failure.”

I spun to face him, my lips already forming the first syllable of “I’m not sure what happened.”

“When did he shoot the woman?” He got the question out before I could talk.

“He never went near that doorway,” I said. “Not after I came in. He didn’t even look that way that I can remember. I don’t know for sure what happened to her.”

Aaron’s brows went up and he checked his watch. “I’m thinking the guy with the rifle had something to do with it.” He turned toward Landers, who was bagging the gun as nurse Alisha pointed toward Amy’s hospital room.

I grabbed Aaron’s arm. “Wait.” My mouth filled with cotton, a bunch of it leaking up to my brain. What to say? There was a dead woman ten feet away, and it sure looked like a bullet had done her in. But I felt so sorry for the guy. And I sympathized with him, to an extent. Not his methods, maybe, but his desperation and intent. Fear and grief can make people do some screwy stuff.

Did he kill someone? Maybe. Could Aaron and a jail cell wait ’til his wife was gone? Very possibly, though I hadn’t the first clue how. But there was justice, and then there was cruelty. Why take this dying woman’s husband from her in her last days? And what about his kids?

So many questions. A few answers this week would be really freaking nice.

“Aaron, please. Hear me out.” I gestured toward Landers. “Stop him.”

Aaron locked his eyes with mine. “Why?”

“Trust me.”

More staring. “I suppose I have good reason to.” He heaved a sigh. “Chris!”

Landers’ head appeared in my peripheral vision in a flash. Did he run?

“What’s up?” he huffed.

Yep, he did.

“I don’t know. But Nichelle seems to not want you to go talk to the shooter. I thought we’d see why. Nobody’s going anywhere.”

Landers nodded and they both turned to me.

No pressure. “I know you’ve had a rough evening. And I know your suspect is in that room. I saw him go in there. But…do you have to take him out of there right now?”

“Why would I have the slightest intention of doing anything else?” Landers sounded impatient. And annoyed.

Because the thought of it broke my heart. But Landers wouldn’t care unless I could convince him I had a point. “This man is half out of his mind because his wife is lying in that room dying, and if you haul him to jail, you’re taking away the person who loves her most when she needs him the most. She didn’t do anything. How is that fair?”

Aaron listened without comment, twisting his mouth to one side when I paused to breathe.

Landers tapped a foot and opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. He and Aaron exchanged a long look.

“If the suspect was sick, we’d put a guard outside his door and leave him here.” Aaron’s words were quiet. Kyle’s eyebrows shot up and Landers rolled his eyes.

My face split into a grin. “Like a modified house arrest? Y’all are overcrowded anyway, with all the drug arrests the last few weeks.”

Kyle vanished, reappearing a minute later with my shoes. I took them and smiled a thank you, my eyes staying on Aaron and Landers, who looked for all the world to be having some sort of silent battle of wills.

“Come on, Landers.” I slid my feet into my Louboutins. “They have young kids, and she’s dying.” I paused, fixing him with an I-know-you’re-not-an-asshole stare. “Don’t do this.”

He sighed. “Do you know what happens to us if we walk out of this building without a collar?”

“The press will have a field day,” Kyle said.

I tipped my head to one side. “Are you kidding? Who are you talking to?”

They exchanged a look. “Girl Friday,” they said in unison.

Ah, Alexa. Yeah, she’d bitch.

“No one reads her blog anyway,” I said. “She’s still got the same two hundred conspiracy nuts she had in June. She even lost a few followers after she got such a huge piece wrong. I can handle that. And you can, too.”

“Never mind the press,” Aaron said. “I have pretty thick skin and I’m used to being raked over the media’s brand of coals. The problem will come from the brass.”

Landers nodded, stepping toward Amy’s room.

“Wait!” I grabbed his arm. “They won’t be mad.”

Two skeptical faces.

“They won’t. This is how you’re going to pitch it to them. The PD has had more than its share of bad press the past say…eighteen months.”

Kyle snorted and I shushed him.

“I’m offering you the best PR ever on a silver platter. Work the case, get some leads, and leave this guy where he is. Let Charlie harpoon you at eleven, and at 11:03, the
Telegraph’s
website will go live with an exclusive report from inside the hospital that includes several inches on how wonderful you two are. How Richmond cops take that whole ‘to protect and serve’ thing seriously. I know it’s true. Let me splash it across the front page tomorrow.”

Kyle’s head bobbed an approving nod.

“Trust me, guys.” I smiled. “They can’t slam you when you look like heroes in the paper.”

I held my breath.

Landers didn’t move, and Aaron nodded. “Here’s what I can do. I can put a uniform outside the door tonight and I can argue for it. But if they say no, we have to come pick him up tomorrow.”

“What about her family?” Landers jerked his head toward the storage room door. “There are people somewhere who are going to miss her, too. What are we supposed to tell them?”

“That you’re investigating her death and are confident you’ll have the culprit in custody soon.” A twinge accompanied the words, because he had a point. But it’s not like the family wouldn’t see justice served. And something was up, even if I couldn’t put a finger on exactly what through all the adrenaline haze.