Keller County Cops Book Seven: Code of Vengeance (19 page)

He chuckled and typed in,
You have court.

Right. Gnight, Rick. Enjoy the drugs.

A full-blown laugh spilled from his lips, and he quickly pecked out another text.
I'm trying, but you keep texting me.

His phone didn't ping again, and with the aid of the morphine he eventually settled into a fitful sleep broken only by nurses slipping in to check on him. By the time six a.m. rolled around, he'd vowed to sacrifice the cloudy drug haze for a chance to sleep in his own bed.

Rick begged to go home when the doctor examined him on his early morning rounds, and the doctor grudgingly agreed -- provided Rick didn't return to work for at least another three or four days, and then only on limited duty. He also recommended Rick have someone stay with him for a while, since he needed to keep his left arm in a sling. Rick failed to mention that to Jonah when the detective arrived to pick him up promptly at eight o'clock and helped him dodge the reporters slinking around the hospital. Instead, the sheriff remained mum as he settled into his seat and allowed the detective to ferry him to his small frame house.

"I really appreciate the ride, Jonah," Rick said once the detective turned onto his street.

With a quick bob of his head, Jonah wheeled into the sheriff's driveway. "No problem, sir. Need any help getting inside?"

"No, thanks. I've got it." He climbed from the car and fished in his pockets. He only had one good hand, and that made digging tough. "Long as I can find my damned keys."

"Um, Sheriff," the detective said in an amused tone. "You might wanna rethink this."

"Rethink what? Why?" With a frown, Rick finally located his keys and pulled them out.

Jonah pointed toward the house. "You have a visitor."

"Who could possibly--" He shaded his eyes from the sun and gaped at the figure he hadn't noticed until now.

Mindy Ravens sat in the swing on his front porch.

*****

Keegan cursed and slapped her alarm clock. No telling how long it had been bleating while she overslept. The flashing blue numbers mocked her. Eight-twenty already, and she had to be in court at nine o'clock for the Wicker verdict.

"I don't believe it." She threw off the covers and jumped from the bed. "No time for a shower or to even make a sandwich for lunch. Why in the world did I stay up so late?"

Her cheeks flamed as she recalled texting Sheriff Blaylock -- Rick -- not once, but twice last night, and her happy surprise when he had finally responded.

"I had no business texting him at all, let alone so late," she murmured with a groan.

Still in disbelief, she dashed into the bathroom and relieved herself, then brushed her teeth, choked down her vitamins, and bathed via the sink. Luckily she had something clean to wear, because she hadn't washed clothes all week. She stepped into a fresh pair of black dress slacks and dug out a flowing white tunic, not something she'd normally wear to work, but the blouse looked good on her, so she tugged it on over her head and wrapped a stretchy belt around her middle. A trio of matching bronze bracelets completed her look. Her heart thudded as she checked herself in the mirror.
Nope, I'm not hoping to see Rick later. Not at all.

On her way out of the house, she snatched a banana out of the bowl on the counter and picked up her purse and keys. Only twenty minutes to go. If traffic was heavy, she was sunk.

To her relief, maybe because of the hour, she ran into fewer cars on the road than usual, a fact that thrilled her, and made it to the courthouse with five minutes to spare, giving her time to dispose of the banana peel and grab her satchel out of her office.

Just as she squirmed her way onto a crowded bench near the front of the courtroom, the bailiff walked in and halted beside the jury box. The jury was already seated, as were Wicker and his attorney and the two prosecutors. Keegan studied the faces of the jurors in an attempt to ascertain their verdict, but their stoic expressions gave nothing away.

"All rise," the bailiff intoned, his face as blank as theirs.

Keegan got up and surreptitiously popped a mint into her mouth to dispel the banana taste. Her stomach rumbled as Judge Rouse strode in and climbed the two steps up to the bench.

"Be seated," he said as he lowered himself into his chair behind the bench.

With a worried sigh, Keegan reclaimed her place and pulled out her sketchpad and a single black pencil. Her hand flew over the paper as she quickly drew a rough outline of Rouse's hangdog expression. She'd color it in later. Then she sketched the prosecution and the defense, taking care to note Wicker's complete lack of emotion. He might as well have been a plastic doll folded into the chair behind the defense table.

Keegan's nerves thrummed as Rouse explained what was about to happen.

"Please stay seated and keep your comments to yourself, unless you want to spend tonight behind bars on a contempt charge," he continued, his bitter growl letting everyone know he meant business. He faced the jury. "Madam Foreman, have you reached a verdict?"

"Yes, Your Honor." A somber woman with short salt and pepper hair came to her feet. "We have."

"Thank you." Rouse turned to pin Wicker with a distasteful gaze as the bailiff ordered the defendant to his feet.

Wicker rose, his face still devoid of emotion, and stared at the judge.

Rouse turned back to the jury foreman. "What say you?"

"On the single count of capital murder," the woman said in a grave tone, "we, the jury, find the defendant, Ronald Wicker,
not guilty."

A flurry of angry gasps rode the air. Keegan's stomach flip-flopped.

"No!" a man on the next row exclaimed.

Rouse banged his gavel and yelled, "Quiet!"

A look of elation on his face, Wicker grinned from ear to ear and clapped his hands. Quincy slapped the smug bastard on the back and congratulated him, while Abington and his stunned co-counsel whispered to each other, then turned and glared at both Wicker and Quincy.

Outraged whispers filled the courtroom, rising in volume until the judge banged his gavel a second time and shouted for order. The whispers died down, but didn't cease.

"Let go!" A scuffle broke out on the row behind the defense table, and a man with a red face broke free of two men holding him down and leapt over the rail.

"Don't, Dave!" another man shouted. "Stop him!"

"You killed her in cold blood, you bastard!" Dave pulled out a gun and shot Wicker. The resounding blast echoed through the courtroom.

Half the crowd screamed, and half hit the floor. Before Dave could fire again, the bailiff tackled him and wrestled the gun away.

"No!" Dave cried, tears streaming down his face as he struggled against the bulky bailiff and the two detectives and one uniformed sheriff's deputy who jumped over the rail and joined him. "He killed my sister. He killed her, and you people just let him go. Goddamn it, get off me!"

Keegan sat rooted to the bench, gaping in disbelief at Wicker lying on the floor behind the defense table bleeding out. Again, someone had done her dirty work for her.

"Call nine-one-one!" Quincy yelled, pulling off his coat and pressing it to Wicker's side.

Abington crouched beside him. "Already done."

With shaking hands, Keegan dug her phone out of her purse and pressed Sheriff Blaylock's number. He needed to know what had happened, and this time she had no need to hide her identity. She was only one of a courtroom full of witnesses.

The phone rang, but Rick didn't pick up.

Her call went straight to voicemail.

*****

"What are you doing on my front porch?" Rick asked Mindy Ravens as he climbed the steps. He shifted his keys into the hand sticking out of his sling, pulled out his phone, and put it on silent so no one would interrupt him. Then he narrowed his eyes and glanced around. No vehicle. "How'd you get here, anyway?"

"My cameraman is parked around the corner. Figured if you spotted the car with the WHBZ logo in your driveway, you wouldn't stop."

"You're damned right." He turned back to her. "I wouldn't have."

"Should we go inside to have this conversation?" She lifted a brow.

He slid his phone back into his pocket and changed hands with the keys. "We're not going to have a conversation. I've said all I'm going to say to you about our open cases, including the armed robbery at the coffee shop and Dirk Woodward's murder. So you might as well go."

"Sheriff, I--"

"No comment." He found the correct key and stepped toward the door.

She came to her feet. "Fine. I'll go if you want me to, but first you need to know I have information about your witness in the Woodward case you might find interesting."

"What are you talking about?" His chest tightened, and against his better judgment, he swung around to look at her.

A big smile stretched her painted lips. "Thought that might get your attention. I'm talking about Keegan Riley, of course. I suppose you wondered how she reacted so quickly during that armed robbery. I know I did."

"Yeah, so?" Rick scowled. "I asked her if she'd ever trained as a cop, and she said no."

"Ms. Riley told you the truth. She's never had any
official
law enforcement training." Mindy sidled closer, and he couldn't help but notice her too-sweet, flowery scent. "She has, however, taken four self-defense classes, six different martial arts classes, including karate -- she's now a brown belt -- and three firearms training courses within the past six months. That would explain how she knew what to do with the gun."

"Seriously?" He gaped at her. A sick feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. "All of those classes in
six months?
Why in hell would she train so intensely?"

"You don't know her backstory?" A gloating look in her eye, Mindy tilted her head. "Keegan found her sister Jenny dead in her kitchen six months ago, almost to the day. She swore Dirk Woodward did the deed, but you people never charged him."

"She took those classes because she wanted revenge?"

"That would be my guess." The reporter shrugged. "Think about it... and about the implications. You and Ms. Riley have been pretty chummy lately, you know. She even visited you in the hospital yesterday and got caught up in that nasty little kidnapping incident."

"She came to see me because I asked her to stop by."

"Oh, really, Sheriff?" Mindy lifted a brow. "Tell me more."

"Not because I wanted to see her." He shook his head. "Well, I did want to see her, but only because I never finished questioning her the day before. I was feeling well enough, and I wanted to know why she was at the Kitty Kat Klub the night of Woodward's murder."

"Well, now you know."

"Yes, I do." He squeezed the keys so hard his hand hurt. "She told me she followed her boyfriend to the club that night."

"Her
boyfriend?
Please." The reporter scoffed. "The woman doesn't have time for any social activities, much less a relationship. Her daily schedule goes like this: She goes to work, comes home, and then leaves again to either attend one of her many classes or visit her niece. Her parents are raising Jenny's little girl, Haley, and Keegan obviously feels a connection with the child. Probably because she comforted Haley the day Jenny died."

Son of a bitch.
Rick reeled from Mindy's statement but did his best not to react. That's what she wanted, and he didn't want to give her the satisfaction. Instead, he concentrated on the throbbing in his shoulder. He needed a pain pill in the worst way.

"Oh, dear. Did I surprise you, Sheriff?" The reporter's lips curved in a sly, knowing smile. "With all that's happened to you over the last couple of days, I doubt you've had much time to dig into Ms. Riley's background. Thought I might drop by and shake things up a bit."

"Well, I appreciate the info," he gritted out, avoiding her gaze. "Sorry, but I need to go inside. It's time for my medication."

"Sorry to be such a bother at a time like this. Of course you need to go." She backed away, a condescending look on her face. "I'll go so you can get some rest. I need to pay Ms. Riley a visit, anyway."

"No." He bristled. "Leave her alone, Ms. Ravens. I mean it. She's part of our investigation. And besides, haven't you meddled enough for one day?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, Sheriff," she said with a sneer, "but I'm just getting started."

He opened his mouth to retort, but reminded himself she was a reporter who could sink his campaign and ground his teeth instead. He couldn't wait until the damned election was over so he'd be rid of her poking around into his business.

To his relief, she spun on her heel without another word, marched off down the steps, and turned the corner without another word. He stumbled a bit as he let himself into the house, cursing her all the while, and made a beeline to the kitchen so he could take his meds.

Once he was done, he washed up as best he could one-handed and then went into his bedroom. Changing clothes was another challenge he hadn't anticipated. Pain arced through his shoulder once he took off his sling, and he decided to wait for the meds to kick in before changing out of the tee shirt Jonah had brought him to wear home. He went ahead and awkwardly shucked his pants, and his cell phone tumbled out of his pocket onto the floor.

He scooped it up with a wince and checked the display.

One missed call from Keegan.

"Now what do I do?" he murmured, unsure if he should call her back. She might not have stabbed Woodward the other night, but according to the meddling reporter, attacking the man had been Keegan's plan until someone else had conveniently killed him for her.

Rick lowered himself wearily onto the edge of the bed, dropped the phone onto the comforter beside him, and raked a hand through his hair. He needed a shower. Luckily, he had plenty of gauze pads, paper tape, and antibiotic ointment from an earlier injury, so he hadn't needed to stop on the way home to buy anything to dress his wound. The meds were starting to kick in, so he decided to go ahead and strip off his shirt and shower before calling Keegan back.