Tennessee Takedown (16 page)

The man suddenly stiffened and slowly raised his hands.

Chris stepped into the opening, his pistol pointed at the man’s head. The white
SWAT
letters seemed to glow against his black flak jacket in the dimness of the barn’s interior.

“The cavalry’s here,” he announced. He grinned as the other four SWAT team members hurried into the barn.

“It’s about time.” Dillon shoved himself off the floor. “Some Billy the Kid you are.”

“I don’t see you doing much better, John Wayne. How many more bad guys?”

“Iceman’s still unaccounted for. I got one outside the barn, plus this guy. He was calling for Jack, asking for help.” He waved toward the man Max was holding and Donna was currently handcuffing. “If that guy isn’t Jack, there’s another one close by, within earshot.”

Chris pointed at two of the team members. “Check it out.”

They nodded and headed out the back door again.

“That’s the tack room.” Dillon pointed to the door with the wood propped in front of it. “Griffin and the farmhands should be in there.”

Chris kicked the boards out of the way while Dillon checked his gun’s loading and grabbed another gun off the floor.

The farm hands spilled out of the room, their wide-eyed faces mirroring their relief. On the floor behind them, Griffin clutched his hurt leg but waved his other hand, letting Dillon know he was okay.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Dillon twisted around. He looked toward the house, where the gunshots had come from.

“We’ve got this,” Donna yelled.

Max shoved their prisoner into the tack room and squatted down beside Griffin. He motioned back to Dillon. “Go, go!”

Dillon and Chris ran out of the barn and sprinted toward the house.

“You go in the back,” Dillon yelled. “I’ve got the front.”

Chris signaled that he’d heard him and ran to the back porch. Dillon was halfway up the front steps when he heard an engine revving. He whirled around. A man stood in the rear passenger door opening of the green sedan parked behind the white van. He raised his gun. Dillon fired. The man whirled around and fell into the dirt.

The car’s tires spun and it took off. Dillon caught a glimpse of Ashley’s long hair in the front passenger seat just before the car topped the hill and disappeared.

He swore and leaped off the steps, landing in a crouch. He tore off back toward the barn.

The sound of someone running behind him had him twisting around, pointing his gun.

“It’s me,” Chris yelled, sprinting to catch up with him.

Dillon didn’t stop. He doubled his efforts to reach the barn.

“What are you doing?” Chris demanded, sounding far away as he tried to catch Dillon.

Dillon fairly flew through the barn, digging his keys out as he ran past a startled-looking Donna and Max. He veered right and hopped the fence between the barn and the shed. His Jeep was fifty yards away. His long strides ate up the distance and he hopped into the front seat. He started the engine just as Chris ran out of the barn.

“Dillon! Wait!”

“Can’t! Iceman has Ashley!” Dillon floored the accelerator and took off, praying he’d reach the highway before the sedan disappeared.

* * *

I
CEMAN
BARELY
SLOWED
the car for the sharp left turn at the end of the road from Dillon’s farm. Tires screeched and the car banked hard, almost bottoming out before straightening and tearing off down the rural highway.

He steered with his left hand and kept his pistol pointed at her with his right.

She bit her lip, debating whether to try to grab the gun.

His gaze slid toward her. “The only reason you’re alive is because Jack called and warned me the SWAT team had arrived. You’re my insurance if I need a hostage. But if you give me any trouble, I can always get another hostage. You’re completely expendable. Got that?”

She nodded and slid closer to the door so he wouldn’t think she was going to try anything. What
could
she try, other than trying to grab his gun? She had no weapons, no phone, no way to fight him or escape. The grass beside the road went by so fast it was a blur. She could always jump. But at this speed, the fall would kill her. Was there some way to make him slow down? How slow would he have to drive for her to survive jumping from the car?

* * *

O
NCE
AGAIN
, I
CEMAN
had Ashley in a car and was too far ahead for Dillon to catch up. He ground his teeth in frustration, wishing he had a faster car. The green sedan topped the next hill and disappeared.

Dillon’s accelerator was already to the floor. He fished out his cell phone and called Chris. “He’s heading east on County Road 224. I need air support and roadblocks.”

“You’re a fool, Dillon. You should have waited for me!”

“If I’d waited I wouldn’t have even known what direction he went. Call the state police and get a chopper in the air before he disappears.” He hung up without waiting for Chris’s response.

He topped the next hill, relieved to see he was gaining on the sedan. But he wasn’t gaining on him nearly fast enough. There were a lot of turns coming up, and then the intersection with the interstate. If Iceman reached the interstate before Dillon caught up to him, and before the state police could offer air support, he could blend in with traffic or pull off an exit ramp and hijack another vehicle before anyone knew what was happening.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. He had to do something. Now. He had to find a way to get ahead of Iceman and stop him before he reached the interstate.

Praying he wasn’t making a horrible mistake that would cost Ashley her life, he slowed the Jeep, then barreled into one of the many cornfields that bordered County Road 224.

* * *

T
HE
CAR
TOPPED
the next hill. A bright red Jeep sat at the bottom of the hill, parked sideways, with a massive flat trailer full of hay bales hooked behind it, completely blocking the road from shoulder to shoulder.

Iceman swore and slammed the brakes. The car fishtailed sideways and came to a bouncing stop. Ashley shoved the door open and dove out of the car. Deafening shots echoed through the air, too many for her to count. She covered her ears and lay half under the car, curled up in a fetal position.

And then the noise stopped.

She lay there, afraid to even breathe. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears that for a moment she thought someone was shooting again. She should run. She knew she should run. But she couldn’t get her legs to move, and she couldn’t seem to force her hands down from over her ears.

Gravel crunched on the shoulder of the road. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Ashley? Honey, it’s me. Dillon. It’s over. You’re safe. Ashley?”

She slowly opened her eyes, afraid to hope. But there he was, crouching down beside her, his gray-blue eyes looking at her with concern. He wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t dead.

Thank you, Lord. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Dillon is safe.

And suddenly, it was all too much. Horrible images flooded through her mind. Stanley Gibson, crumpling to the floor. The truck, plunging into the cold, raging river. Lauren’s terrified voice crying out, moments before that first, horrifying gunshot from the library. She covered her face with her hands and started sobbing, her shoulders shaking so hard they scraped across the rough asphalt.

And just as suddenly, she was in Dillon’s lap. His strong arms held her tightly against him. His hand rubbed up and down her back and he whispered soothing, nonsensical words in her ear. She put her arms around his neck and sat there in the middle of the highway, crying for all the people who’d been hurt, all the lives that had been destroyed, all because she’d been too busy, too self-absorbed, to see the pain buried deep inside the woman she’d once considered her best friend in the whole world.

Chapter Sixteen

Yesterday, after having a major meltdown on the highway in Dillon’s arms, Ashley had been too exhausted and drained to give her statement to the police. Dillon had dropped her off at her rental house after making her promise to come to the station in the morning to wrap everything up.

A full night’s sleep and a hot shower had worked wonders. And now Ashley was sitting in the Destiny Police Department squad room across the desk from Dillon, writing up her final statement.

A thud sounded behind Ashley, making her jump. She turned in her chair to see Patricia Dunlop standing in the open front door to the police station. The woman’s eyes narrowed when she saw Ashley, and she marched toward her.

“I want that woman arrested,” Mrs. Dunlop sneered.

Suddenly Dillon was standing in front of Ashley’s chair, blocking the other woman from reaching her. Chris and Max hurried over from their desks and flanked him. The chief must have heard the commotion, as well, because he hurried out of his office and disappeared behind the male wall surrounding Ashley.

“Mrs. Dunlop,” he said. “I already told you on the phone that the charges against Miss Parrish have been dropped. The FBI and the Destiny Police Department are satisfied that she had no involvement with embezzlement or illegal activity of any kind.”

“I don’t believe that for one second,” the woman insisted in a snide voice, making Ashley shudder at the hate that leached out from every word. “I want my money, and I know she knows where it is.”

“Your husband’s company’s money was wired to an offshore account by Mr. Luther Kennedy. As I previously explained, the FBI is actively working to try to get the money returned, but it will take time. And until the court settles the dispute over your husband’s will, even if we had the money we couldn’t give it to you.”

“This is an outrage,” she complained. “How am I supposed to live? I need that money.”

“Again, as I already explained on the phone,” the chief said, sounding far more patient than Ashley could have been in his position, “you can petition the courts to increase your stipend. If they agree the need is there, they’ll provide an increase from the estate.”

“Let me talk to that woman! All I need is two minutes and I can get the account information from her.”

Feet shuffled from behind the wall of protection, followed by an outraged shriek.

“Get your hands off me this instant!”

“I’m happy to talk to you and reexplain everything,” the chief assured her. “But only if you quit trying to speak to Miss Parrish and come sit in my office.”

“I’ll do no such thing. The only person I’ll be speaking to is my lawyer. I assure you, this is
not
over.”

The front door banged open again, and the wall of men blocking Ashley’s view visibly relaxed. Dillon went back to his seat across from her. Chris and Max both gave Ashley reassuring smiles before taking their seats at their desks in the next aisle. And the chief headed to the kitchenette and started making himself a cup of coffee.

“Well, that was...exciting.” Ashley gave a nervous laugh.

“If she calls you or harasses you in any way, let me know.” Dillon signed her statement and turned it around for her to sign.

When she finished, she put the pen down and blew out a relieved breath. “It feels good to be done with this. It still doesn’t feel real that it’s all over.”

He nodded and shoved the statement into a folder. “I suppose you’re going back to Nashville now. Your contract is finished and you have to get back to work.”

She frowned, wondering why he was acting so formal. “Yes, my contract is finished. And I do have to get out of the rental today. My landlord already has a long-term lease with the new tenants, and they’re anxious to move in.”

“Sounds good. Your car’s in good working order? No problems?”

“Uh, no. No problems. I drove it here.”

“Good. Don’t forget to change the batteries in that key fob. You’re going straight to Nashville?”

She didn’t answer. She waited until he finally looked at her.

“Actually, I’m going back to my hometown first, Sweetwater. The coroner released Lauren’s body this morning and her parents are flying her home. I want to be there for the funeral.”

He nodded, his gaze sliding away from hers.

She fisted her hands in her lap. “After that,” she continued, “I guess I’m going back to Nashville.” She hesitated. “Unless...I mean, well, I could come back here...if there was a reason. That is, if you...needed me to?” She waited, hoping, watching him.

He cleared his throat and tucked the folder into his top drawer before crossing his arms on top of his desk. “No. I think we’ve got everything we need. The FBI has cleared you of all charges, in spite of what Mrs. Dunlop said. Their investigation will continue until every little detail is covered, but as far as this office is concerned, the case is closed.” His gaze finally met hers again. “There’s no reason for you to come back. But thank you for offering, just the same.”

His words hit her like a blow, making her spine stiffen in her chair. She blinked and looked around. Chris was one desk away, his jaw hanging open. Max had his arms crossed and was glaring at Dillon. Even the chief was staring at them, his coffee suspended midair as if he was about to take a drink and had stopped when he heard Dillon’s words.

Ashley’s face heated as she realized everyone in the station had witnessed Dillon’s rejection of her. With as much dignity as she could manage, she pushed her chair back and stood.

“Thank you, Detective Gray. I owe you my life, many times over. I’ll always be grateful for everything you and your team did to help me.” She offered Chris and the others a watery smile, then slowly turned and walked out of the station.

* * *

A
S
SOON
AS
the front door closed, Dillon raised his gaze and watched Ashley walk down the sidewalk to her car and out of his life. He ached to call her back, to tell her he wanted her to stay. But what did he have to offer her? She’d made it more than clear she hated small towns. And he couldn’t imagine living in a city. But even more than that, he didn’t think he could survive if he allowed himself to love her and then lost her. No, it was better not to even go down that road.

Someone shoved him and he jerked around in his chair.

Chris planted his hands on the desk and glared at him. “You, my friend, are a complete moron and a jerk. Did you not realize she was giving you an opening, that she
wanted
you to ask her to stay?”

Dillon turned back to the papers on his desk. “Butt out. It’s none of your business.”

Chris swore. “You
did
know what she was asking. So why didn’t you even try to talk to her? Everyone who’s seen you two together knows there have been sparks flying between you since the day you met. What are you so afraid of?”

“I said, it’s none of your business. Back off.”

“Fine. You don’t want her. Maybe she’ll be interested in a guy like me. Maybe I’ll head over to her house and—”

Dillon shot out of his chair and grabbed Chris by the front of his shirt. “Leave her alone.”

“No. She’s beautiful and smart and sexy—”

“And out of your league,” Dillon growled. “And even if she would agree to date a sorry soul like you, she wouldn’t hang around for long and she’d end up breaking your heart so she could go back to the city.” He shook Chris. “Or worse, she’ll make you fall in love with her and then she’ll do something foolish like jump in front of a speeding car to save a dog or something stupid like that. She’ll just up and die on you.”

Chris’s eyes widened. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That if you love her she’ll end up dying? Dillon, man, she isn’t Harmony. You can’t live your life afraid to love someone because you think they’ll die on you.”

Dillon released his shirt and shoved him out of his way. “We’re done here.” He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair. “I’m taking the day off.”

“Hold up.” The chief met him halfway to the door with his cell phone in his hand. “The coroner’s report on Luther Kennedy said someone stitched up his shoulder, the shoulder Miss Parrish shot on Cooper’s Bluff. And I just got a call from Dr. Brookes’s office manager. When she arrived at his office this morning, his car was in the parking lot but he wasn’t there. And he’s not answering his cell phone. Stop by there on your way home and do a wellness check.”

Dillon nodded and headed out the door. He hopped into his Jeep and had just started the engine when Chris got in on the passenger side.

“Get out.”

“Stuff it. I’m going with you. Deal with it.”

Dillon cursed and shoved the Jeep in Reverse, then peeled out of the parking lot. Twenty minutes later he and Chris were in Dr. Brookes’s living room, helping him onto the couch. Dillon worked at the duct tape still wrapped around the man’s wrists while Chris held a glass of water to his dry, cracked lips.

“An ambulance is on the way. They’ll be here in a few minutes,” Chris said.

Dillon tossed the duct tape on the coffee table. “From what you’ve told us, it sounds like Luther Kennedy is the man who abducted you and made you sew up his shoulder. He’s dead now. You don’t have to worry about him coming back and hurting you again.”

Brookes gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you, Detective, both of you. I don’t know how much longer I could have lasted on that floor all taped up like that.”

Sirens sounded outside, getting closer.

“You said that man is dead? Did you catch his partner?”

“Partner?” Dillon asked.

“The woman he spoke to on the phone. They were arguing about how to find some account, something about getting their money out.”

“You heard her? He had her on speaker?”

“No, no. He said her name.”

“Lauren?”

Brookes shook his head. “No, Trisha.”

Dillon shot a look at Chris.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Positive. Why?”

Dillon took off at a run.

“Wait!” Chris called out behind him.

Dillon raced down the front steps, past two startled-looking EMTs who’d just gotten out of the ambulance. He hopped in the Jeep and wheeled it around, then slammed on his brakes.

Chris stood in the road directly in front of him with his gun drawn.

“If you try to go around me, I swear to God I’ll shoot out your tires,” Chris yelled.

“What are you doing? You heard the doctor. Patricia Dunlop was Luther’s partner. She could be at Ashley’s house right now.”

“You’re right, which is why we need to get over there. But you’re
not
doing this alone. One of these days you’re going to get killed because you’re so busy trying to be the hero. You
have
to learn to trust someone else again. Trust
me.
”

Frustration roiled inside Dillon. He clenched his hands on the steering wheel, sweat popping out on his forehead as he pictured Ashley facing yet another person trying to kill her. The last time she’d nearly died. If he hadn’t plowed through that cornfield and gotten ahead of Luther’s car, she would have died.

No, that wasn’t true. Or at least, he couldn’t be sure. Chris had called for the air support, and the roadblock would have been in place before Iceman reached the interstate. Dillon hadn’t known that at the time, of course, but he’d learned about it later. And back at the barn, if Chris and the SWAT team hadn’t showed up when they had, he might not have made it to the house in time to see Ashley being taken by Iceman.

He forced himself to ease his grip on the steering wheel. Maybe Chris was right. Maybe it
was
time he learned to trust someone else for a change.

“Get in. Hurry up.”

Chris shoved his gun in his holster and ran to the passenger side. He hopped through the open plastic window into the seat without even opening the door.

“Show-off,” Dillon accused.

“Being younger has its perks.”

Dillon rolled his eyes and floored the accelerator. “I’m only two days older than you.”

“It shows, man. It shows.”

“Make yourself useful and find out Ashley’s phone number. We need to call and warn her that Cruella de Vil might be stopping in for a visit.”

* * *

A
SHLEY
LOOKED
AROUND
the house one last time. Since the place had come furnished, including a kitchen fully stocked with pots, pans and dishes, all she’d had to pack were her clothes and what few personal items she’d brought—which basically amounted to her laptop.

She hadn’t expected to feel nostalgic about leaving, but it seemed that everything had changed since she’d come to live here four, no, almost five, weeks ago. What she’d gone through had changed her, too, and she wasn’t sure yet if that was good or bad. The only thing she was sure of was that she’d miss Dillon Gray far more than he deserved after the way he’d coldly dismissed her at the station.

Forgetting him was at the top of her to-do list once she got out of Destiny, Tennessee. But that was hard to do when she had a picture of him in her palm. She looked down at the tiny gold locket she’d just discovered in her jeans pocket, the jeans she’d been wearing when she’d been at Dillon’s parents’ house.

When Iceman had pulled her out of the house, she’d fought with everything she had, desperate to get away and help Dillon. She remembered her hands flailing for something to hold on to and raking across the mantel. Her fingers had caught something and she’d later shoved it in her pocket and had forgotten about it. She’d grabbed the locket that contained the picture of Dillon and his family.

She’d have to give it to him, of course. Maybe it would help take the sting out of the horrible loss he and his parents would suffer after losing all those personal mementos in the fire. But she sure wasn’t giving it to him in person. She’d mail it to him when she got back to Nashville.

After gently closing the locket, she slid it into her pants pocket, grabbed her purse and headed out the door. Her car was already packed, and there was nothing else to do. It was time to go.

She’d just reached her car when another car pulled down the long gravel driveway, coming toward her. She shaded her eyes against the sun, but she couldn’t make out who was behind the windshield. Was the new tenant already here? Leaning against her car, she waited until the other car pulled to a stop behind hers.