Snapped (42 page)

The doors
whooshed
open behind her, and Jonah jumped to his feet. He was in front of the doctor in two strides. The man wore blue scrubs and had a surgical mask hanging around his neck. He was much shorter than Jonah, but he put a hand on Jonah’s shoulder and guided him to a nearby row of chairs.

Sophie’s heart squeezed.

Jonah watched the doctor, nodding. His face froze. He sank like a stone into the chair behind him.

Sophie clamped a hand over her mouth as the doctor walked away and disappeared back through the doors. Jonah rested his elbows on his knees and bowed his head.

Sophie crossed the waiting room and stood beside him. He didn’t move. She kneeled down.

“Jonah?”

He glanced up, and the stricken look on his face tore her heart out.

“Is he …?”

He nodded. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “He made it.” His shoulders sagged forward and he heaved a sob. “He’s going to be okay.”

Jonah didn’t talk the whole way home. He didn’t think he could. Every time he started to say something, his throat closed up and it felt like a sandbag was pressing down on his chest.

He’d almost lost his dad today.

He’d almost had his head blown off.

He’d almost lost Sophie.

For the first time since he’d become a police officer, he’d fired his weapon in the line of duty, and he’d killed a man.

And although the last thing was the most permanent, it was the least disturbing thing that had happened, and Jonah knew he wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep over it.

The rest was another story.

“Do you mind if I stay with you?”

He looked at Sophie, beside him in the rental car.

“I still don’t have a key to my apartment,” she said. “And even if I did, I don’t have transportation, so …”

He stared at her.

“But if you’d rather be alone, I understand.”

“No.” Jonah trained his gaze on the highway. Shit, he was so distracted, he’d nearly missed his exit. He flipped on the blinker and skated across three lanes of traffic.

“No, you don’t want to be alone? Or no, you don’t want me to stay?”

Jonah pulled off the interstate and rolled to a stop at the light.

“Yes, I want you to stay.”

They drove in silence the rest of the way to his house. Jonah reached for the automatic garage-door opener, only to discover it wasn’t clipped to the visor. It was back in his pickup, where it belonged, but that truck was still out at the lease or maybe at some FBI lab by now being examined for evidence.

Jonah didn’t know.

He didn’t particularly care.

He only cared about one thing at the moment, and she was sitting beside him.

He parked in the driveway, got out, and waited for Sophie to come around. She wore his dusty barn jacket over the thin scrub top the hospital had given her to replace her T-shirt. She had blood and dirt under her nails. Glass in her hair. A pistol grip poking out of her jacket pocket. He remembered the steely look in her eye when she’d pointed that gun at him. She was brave and strong, a one-woman SWAT team, and his heart turned over just looking at her.

He took her hand and led her inside.

Jonah’s house was cold, and she stood in the dimness, shivering as he locked the door behind them and turned on the porch light. He must have left the air-conditioning on, and they’d been gone for days. How many days? She counted backward and couldn’t believe it when she came up with five.

Time was a blur. Her brain felt muddled. She
didn’t even know how late it was, just that it was dark and she was beyond tired. She knew Jonah was, too.

He took her hand and led her down the hallway, straight into the bathroom. She stood beside the sink while he flipped on the light and turned on the shower.

He closed the door and the room started to fill with steam. She stood there, facing the sink and her reflection as Jonah eased up behind her. He reached around her and plugged the sink drain, not saying a word as he gently tipped her head forward and started picking through her hair. He dropped little chunks of glass in the basin and she stared down at them. A few of the chunks had blood on them, and she realized they were responsible for the tiny cuts along her cheek and jaw. When there was a little mound of glass in the sink, Jonah’s arms came around her and unzipped the jacket, sliding it off her shoulders. She undressed, noticing how her neck and arms were covered with brown dabs of disinfectant from where they’d cleaned her up at the hospital.

Jonah swiped back the shower curtain. He took her arm and helped her over the side of the tub. The curtain closed again and she tilted her head back and let the hot water sluice over her hair. The curtain scraped back again and she felt Jonah climb in with her, completely disregarding the bandage on his side. He turned her around and reached for the shampoo. Then his hands were in her hair, lathering it and combing through.

“Careful,” she said.

He turned her around again, and she leaned back and rinsed. She stood for a few minutes, eyes closed, under the scalding spray, as Jonah moved around, soaping
himself. Then he took her shoulders and eased around her.

She stared down at her feet. The water was brown and sudsy as it swirled down the drain. He’d really coated on the mud out there, and she remembered how wild he’d looked when he’d come up on her in the pickup. She’d hardly recognized him, and she’d almost pulled the trigger. Just thinking about it made her want to throw up.

He turned off the water. The curtain scraped back again, and he held her arm as she stepped out. He pulled a towel off the rack and used it to squeeze water from the ends of her hair. Then he wiped her down, head to toe. As he crouched at her feet, she rested her hand on his head.

He stood up. He gazed down at her, and she couldn’t read his face. She couldn’t read anything about him now, hadn’t been able to all day. Was he sad? Was he worried about his father, still recovering in that hospital? Was he angry at her for getting them both involved in this?

Did he feel numb, like she did?

She leaned her forehead against his sternum, right above his heart. She brought her hand up and traced the damp bandage on his right side.

A
nick
, he’d called it.

“Are you going to tell me about the knife?” She gazed up at him.

“Later.”

He opened the door and let the steam escape. Then he scooped her into his arms and carried her to bed.

•••

Allison sank into the chair and blew on her coffee. It had been a bitch of a day, and it wasn’t even over yet.

Ric Santos collected his change from the airport coffee vendor and joined her at the table.

“Trade places with me,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because if he gets a look at you, he’ll bolt.”

Allison got to her feet and surrendered the chair facing the terminal. Ric plunked his coffee on the table and sat down.

“I heard about your Good Cop bit.”

Allison sat back, defensive. “I got the information, didn’t I?”

“Won’t hear me complaining.” The side of Ric’s mouth twitched up. “Just remind me never to piss you off.”

Allison turned to the side and watched the security checkpoint in her peripheral vision. Any moment now, they were expecting Maxwell to pass by on his way to Gate 11, where the last plane to Seattle was departing in fifty minutes. The judge who’d released him on bond on the obstruction-of-justice charges had made him surrender his passport, but Allison had believed he was still a flight risk, so when the FBI got involved, she took advantage of their enviable computer access to look up outbound flight reservations for any Ryan Maxwells.

They’d come up with a hit.

“The feds have been doing some digging,” Ric said. “Turns out our boy’s got money problems.”

She snorted. “Who doesn’t?”

“These are the big kind. D-Systems lost its largest
client six months ago, and they’re scrambling for cash. Company’s way in the red. Maxwell personally has a two-million-dollar mortgage that’s about to balloon on him and he’s close to broke.”

Allison thought about the artwork and the infinity pool. “Just goes to show,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

Ric sipped his coffee and looked at her. Then his gaze veered behind her. “How ‘bout this guy?”

Allison glanced subtly at the mouth of the security line, where passengers stopped to put on shoes after going through X-ray. A guy slipping into a pair of Nikes had Maxwell’s build, but he was traveling with a woman and two kids. Allison studied him carefully.

“Not him.”

“Kids could be a decoy.”

“Nope.”

Allison sipped her latte. It was going to keep her up all night, which was what she needed. She had a crapload of reports to do for this case, and it wasn’t as if she had a personal life to get back to on this holiday weekend. So, hey, why not work?

A man stepped through the X-ray machine and stopped to collect a backpack and slip on a pair of Teva sandals. Five-foot-eight. Baseball cap. Goatee.

“This could be him,” she said.

He was wearing a flannel shirt in July.

“It’s him.” Allison turned to Ric.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Ric dialed his brother. “Rey? Yeah we’re here at the
coffee shop. He just cleared security.” Pause. “Positive.”

He clicked off and Allison sat there, waiting. “You okay?”

She shrugged. “A little nervous.”

“Worried you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.”

Ric’s gaze flicked over her shoulder. “Okay, here we go.”

Allison glanced to her side as a pair of FBI agents in dark suits approached the backpacker. They flashed their badges. Allison caught the look of horror on the man’s face.

“Got him,” she said.

She and Ric stood up. They sauntered over to the man, who was now being turned around and frisked. That goatee hadn’t been started yesterday, and it was going a long way toward confirming Allison’s theory about his plan to slip into Canada on a fake passport.

Ric’s brother turned the man around and cuffed his hands. “You’re under arrest for soliciting the murder of Tyler P. Dorion.”

“What? That’s absurd.”

Maxwell saw Allison and flinched.

“Hey, Ryan. How’s it hanging?”

His cheeks flushed. “This is outrageous! I want to talk to my lawyer. I’ll sue every one of you people!”

“You’ll have to get in line,” Ric said.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Special Agent Rey Santos intoned. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

The other agent picked up his backpack while Rey led Maxwell away, still reciting his rights. His face went crimson as they passed the crowd of other travelers at the security gate, and Allison shook her head. Public
humiliation was the least of his worries now. He was looking at treason and murder charges.

“Not bad, Doyle.”

She looked at Ric.

“don’t be surprised if there’s some reshuffling,” Ric told her. “You’ll probably be moving from property crimes to CAP.”

Allison watched Maxwell getting smaller and smaller as he was escorted down the terminal. She was going to get a promotion out of this. Joining the Crimes Against Persons squad had been her goal for years.

“So, how’s it feel? Your first big arrest?”

“Not like I thought,” she said. “I expected to be happy, but I just feel … I don’t know. Slimed.”

“That’s homicide. Even when it turns out for the best, it still sucks.”

She looked up at him. “Why do you do it?”

Ric gazed off into the crowd. “Started out, I was doing it for the kick. The ego boost.” He looked at Allison. “Homicide dicks, we think we’re pretty hot shit.”

“You guys? I hadn’t noticed.”

He looked away again. “Now I’ve got a teenage daughter. It’s more complicated. When I take trash off the street, I’m doing it for her. And people like Becca Kincaid.”

Way down the concourse, the agents and Maxwell reached a secure exit and disappeared through a door.

Allison slipped her hand into her pocket and felt Ty’s business card.

“I figure it’s not a bad reason to get up in the morning,” Ric said.

Allison nodded. “Good enough for me.”

•••

Sean hung up with Allison and dialed Gretchen. She answered on the third ring.

“Any word?”

She must have seen his number on caller ID.

“Joe Shugart, aka John Sharpe, is dead,” he told her.

She didn’t say anything, but Sean watched through the window as her shoulders slumped with relief. She sank down on the arm of the couch.

“I never thought I’d be happy to hear news like that, but … thanks.”

“Ryan Maxwell has been arrested,” Sean added. “I thought you’d want to know.”

“Ryan who?”

“The man who hired the hit on the witness. And probably, indirectly, the man who hired your husband.”

“Ex-husband.” She stood up and took the phone across the room, away from where her kids were seated at the kitchen table kneading Play-Doh with their aunt.

Gretchen stepped toward the window of the cabin and gazed out at the trees. She’d had the blinds open all night, which had been driving Sean crazy, even though he’d been running surveillance on the place for twelve hours and had detected nothing amiss.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just kind of … numb. I don’t know. This all seems surreal. Do you think—” She sighed.

“Do I think what?”

“This may sound paranoid, but do you think that’s it? Just those two? Is there anyone else I need to worry about, you know, coming to bother us?”

“I don’t think so. Everything we’ve dug up so far points to one money person who hired Sharpe, and Sharpe hired Jim. We have no evidence of anyone else, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Thank you.”

He paused. “You’re going to have to give the money back.”

“I know.”

“It’s evidence.”

“I understand. I don’t want it, anyway, now that I know where it came from.”

Sean hesitated. He didn’t want to insult her, but he’d seen her bank accounts as part of the investigation. “Are you going to be okay?”