Internal Affairs (21 page)

Lisa lashed out suddenly, driving a fist straight into Oliver’s kneecap. He howled and stumbled back, grabbing for it as Lisa jumped to her feet and swept past him, heading straight for the bedroom door.

But Oliver spun around and grabbed her by the hair, jerking her back with such force that she thought her scalp might come loose.

Pain rocketed through her skull. She grabbed at her head as Oliver pulled her backward into the room and spun her around again, pushing her toward the bed.

She sprawled across it and saw the white-hot heat in his eyes. A fury so intense that all rational thought had abandoned him, leaving nothing behind but the reptile. The animal brain.

“You just made a very bad mistake,” he said. “A very bad—”

“Sloan!” a voice shouted as the door burst open behind him. And to Lisa’s utter joy and relief, Rafe was standing in the doorway, gun raised, zeroed in on Oliver’s back.

Oliver froze in place. Didn’t move.

“Drop the weapon,” Rafe told him. “Now!”

But Oliver didn’t seem to hear him. As if he had disappeared inside himself and had lost all communication with the outside world.

“Do it now, Sloan! Or I’ll put one in your back!”

Oliver finally nodded, and started to move. Crouching toward the floor, he lowered the gun to lay it on the carpet. But was only halfway there when Lisa saw something deadly flicker in his eyes.

Then suddenly he brought the gun up again, whirled around toward Rafe—

“
Die,
you son of a—”

And Rafe had no choice but to fire.

One. Twice. Three times.

The bullets punctured Oliver’s chest and knocked him backward. He landed in a heap at the foot of the bed and didn’t move.

Rafe stepped forward quickly, kicked the gun aside, looked at Lisa on the bed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared for someone in my life,” he said. “Are you okay?”

And that was when tears sprang into Lisa’s eyes. She launched herself toward Rafe and fell into his arms.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The wedding took place on a Sunday morning in June.

They held the ceremony in Grandma Natalie’s backyard, the entire Franco clan in attendance.

Rafe’s brother, Vincent, served as best man, and Beatrice—dressed in her Sunday best—stood in as maid of honor.

The ceremony was brief and sweet. Lisa wore a beautiful lace chiffon wedding gown that was taken out of mothballs and dry-cleaned for the occasion by Grandma Natalie. It was the very same dress Nonna had worn sixty years and eighty pounds earlier, on the day she married her dear departed husband, Alonzo.

Everyone said that Lisa looked radiant that day. Rafe himself thought she had never looked more beautiful. It seemed as if a weight had been lifted—and indeed it had—and its absence had made her stand taller, prouder, as she held the hand of the man she loved and promised her heart to him forever.

Rafe, in turn, could not have been happier as he offered his vow to her:

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my years,” he said. “And one of the worst was when I was stupid enough to let you go back in college. I won’t make that mistake again, Leese.” He paused. “I don’t know whether it was fate or just good luck that brought us back together, but thank God that it did. Because you are my heart. You beat inside me every moment of every day. And from this day forward I will love you, cherish you and do everything in my power to protect you and our beautiful daughter.”

By the time he was finished, they both had tears in their eyes.

And the kiss that followed was exquisite.

* * *

A
FTER THE SHOOTING
at Sloan’s house, Rafe, the other Francos and their rogue operation had been roundly condemned by the police and the press alike.

Until, that is, the data chip was revealed.

When all the guards had been neutralized and an ambulance was called for Sloan—although resuscitation was a moot point by then—Kate conducted a search of Sloan’s study and found a data chip in one of his desk drawers.

Plugging it into her phone, she quickly discovered that it was indeed the one taken from the bank, complete with promised names, dates and bribe amounts that exposed Sloan’s entire network of sycophants, including some of the very people who had condemned the Francos.

But once the information came to light, the dominoes began to fall. The first to cave was Lola Berletti, Sloan’s attorney, who volunteered to tell all in exchange for immunity. With her statement, Rafe was exonerated and the charges against him were dropped.

Kate and the organized crime unit were tasked with the arrests of five judges, fourteen police officers, two city council members and an FBI agent who had been in Sloan’s pocket for nearly fifteen years.

When the dust had cleared, Rafe did what he should have done three years ago in college. Because he’d known even then, despite their miscommunication, that he wanted his relationship with Lisa to last forever. And ever.

And ever.

So he asked her to marry him.

Now, standing here, exchanging vows with the woman he loved, in front of the
family
he loved, was a moment he would never forget.

But the highlight of the day was little Chloe.

Rafe’s daughter had not only been the picture of perfection serving as flower girl for the occasion, but also she, with the help of Beatrice, had been in charge of decorating, as well.

And taped to the back of every folding chair lined up in Grandma’s Natalie’s backyard, were her carefully colored pictures.

Of pink and blue kitty cats.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt of
Cowboy Cop
by Rita Herron

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Chapter One

Three months later

“Dugan is out.”

Miles’s fingers tightened around his cell phone as he wheeled his SUV around and headed toward the station. “What?”

His superior, Lieutenant Hammond, didn’t sound happy. “Based on the Kelly woman’s murder and some technicality with the chain of evidence when they’d searched the man’s place, Dugan’s lawyer got his conviction overturned.”

The past few weeks of tracking down clues and false leads day and night taunted him. He released a string of expletives.

Hammond cleared his throat. “If we’d found evidence connecting Dugan to a partner, maybe things would have gone differently, but...”

Hammond let the sentence trail off, but Miles silently finished for him. If he and Mason had found such evidence, Dugan would still be in a cell. And the world would be a safer place.

But they’d failed.

The day Dugan’s verdict was read flashed back. Dugan’s threat resounded in his head—
you’ll pay.

“Now that he’s back on the streets—”

“I know. He’s going to kill again,” Miles said.
And he’s probably coming after me.

His cell phone chirped, and he glanced at the caller ID. Marie’s number.

Damn, she was probably on his case for working again last night and missing dinner with Timmy. He’d thought he might have found a lead on the copycat, but instead he’d only chased his own tail.

The phone chirped again.

You’ll pay.

Panic suddenly seized him, cutting off his breath. Dammit...what if payback meant coming after his family?

“I have to go, Hammond.” Sweat beaded on his neck as he connected the call. “Hello?”

Husky breathing filled the line, then a scream pierced the receiver.

He clenched the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip. He had to clear his throat to speak. “Marie?”
God, tell me you’re there....

But the sudden silence sent a chill up his spine.

“Marie, Timmy?”

More breathing, this time followed by a husky laugh that sounded sinister, threatening...evil.

Dear God, no...

Dugan was at Marie’s house.

He pressed the accelerator, his heart hammering as he sped around traffic and called for backup. The dispatch officer agreed to send a patrol car right away.

A convertible nearly cut him off, and Miles slammed on his horn, nearly skimming a truck as he roared around it. Brush and shrubs sailed past, the wheels grinding on gravel as he hugged the side of the country road.

Images of the dead women from Dugan’s crime scenes flashed in his head, and his stomach churned. No, please, no...Dugan could not be at Marie’s house. He couldn’t kill Marie...not like the other women.

And Timmy...his son was home today with her.

The bright Texas sun nearly blinded him as he swerved into the small neighborhood where Marie had bought a house. Christmas decorations glittered, lights twinkled from the neighboring houses, the entryways screaming with festive holiday spirit.

Somehow they seemed macabre in the early-morning light.

He shifted gears, brakes squealing as he rounded a curve and sped down the street. He scanned the neighboring yards, the road, the trees beyond the house, searching for Dugan.

But everything seemed still. Quiet. A homey little neighborhood to raise a family in.

Except he had heard that scream.

His chest squeezed for air, and he slammed on the brakes and skidded up the drive. He threw the Jeep into Park, and held his weapon at the ready as he raced up to the front door.

Cop instincts kicked in, and he scanned the outside of the house and yard again, but nothing looked amiss. He glanced through the front window, but the den looked normal...toys on the floor, magazines on the table, TV running with cartoons.

Only the Christmas tree had been tipped over, ornaments scattered across the floor.

He reached for the doorknob, and the door swung open. His breath lodged in his throat, panic knotting his insides. No sounds of holiday music or Timmy chattering.

Gripping his weapon tighter, he inched inside, senses honed for signs of an intruder.

Slowly, he made his way through the den to the kitchen. The Advent calendar glared at him, mocking him with a reminder that Christmas was only a few days away.

There was a half-empty coffee cup on the counter and an overturned cereal bowl on the table. Milk dripped onto the floor.

Timmy...God...

Terror seized him.

A creaking sound suddenly splintered the air, and he swung around, braced to shoot but he saw nothing. Then another sound came from above, water running...the shower? No, the tub...overflowing...

He clenched his jaw, then inched toward the staircase, slowly climbing it and listening for an intruder, for Marie, for his son.

Any sign of life.

A quick glance into Timmy’s room and it appeared empty. Bed unmade. Toy airplane on the floor. Legos scattered. Stuffed dinosaur on his pillow.

Where was his son?

His hand trembled as he bypassed the room and edged toward the bedroom where Marie slept. One look inside, and his heart stopped.

The lamp was broken on the floor. Pillows tossed on the carpet. The corner chair overturned. Glass shards from the mirror were scattered on the vanity.

A sea of red flashed in front of him. Blood...it soaked the sheets and led a trail into the bathroom.

His stomach revolted, but he forced himself to scan the corners of the room before slowly entering the bathroom. Blood streaked the floor and led toward the claw-foot tub.

A groan settled deep in his gut.

Marie. Her eyes stood wide-open in death. Blood dripped down her neck and bare chest. Her arms dangled lifelessly over the tub edge, one leg askew.

For a moment, he choked. Couldn’t make himself move. He’d seen dozens of dead bodies before but none so personal...none that he cared about.

Emotions crowded his throat and chest, and he gripped the wall to steady himself. He had to. Had to get control. Slide that wall back into place so he could do his job.

Every second counted.

Fighting nausea, he slowly walked toward her and felt for a pulse. Although he knew before he touched her that it was too late.

Dugan had done this. Had gotten his payback by killing his son’s mother.

That creaking sound suddenly echoed again. He froze, hand clenching his gun, then spun around.

Nothing. Except the evidence of Dugan’s brutal crime.

Where was Timmy?

For a fraction of a second he closed his eyes on a prayer. The sound echoed again...