But Not For Love, page 2
part #9 of Clint Wolf Series
“I want you to get right in that house,” Jake said as he turned onto their dirt street. “We’ve got some things to discuss.”
Fear reached its icy hands around Allie’s throat and squeezed tight. She could hardly breathe. Is this it? she thought. Is he finally going to do it?
Even as Jake was shutting off the engine, she was still weighing her options. She could go in the house and face what she knew would be a certain beating, or she could make a run for it. Sure, Jake might catch her, but at least she could say she went down fighting, unlike the last time.
“Did you hear—” Jake clamped his mouth shut when Allie threw her door open and bolted from the car. She made a beeline for the lush rows of cane that surrounded the house, and plunged headfirst into them. The broad leaves sliced at her exposed arms, but she didn’t slow down. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, moving blindly through the shadows.
“What the hell are you doing?” Jake called from somewhere behind her. “Why are you running like an idiot?”
Only after she’d made her way deep into the field did Allie stop running and squat in the damp and cool dirt, listening. There was no movement from the edges of the cane. No sound but the rustling of the leaves overhead and the panting of her breath. She had expected Jake to run after her, but he hadn’t.
“Allie, what in God’s name are you doing?” Jake called from the distance. “Come on out so we can talk about this.”
Fearing it was a trick, she sat there quietly, her heart pounding audibly in her ears. She waited, but Jake didn’t call out to her again. She wondered if he was stealthily making his way through the cane field rows, and the thought terrified her.
Shit! she thought. I forgot my phone! Her cell phone was in her purse on the floor in Jake’s car. In her haste to escape, she hadn’t thought about grabbing it.
After what seemed like forever, she heard Jake’s car engine crank up, and after a brief pause, it drove away. Puzzled, she rose slowly to her feet and began slinking toward the house. Her flesh smarted from the tiny slices in her arms and neck. She carefully pushed the edged leaves out of the way and continued padding along the packed dirt between the linear mounds of dirt. When she could finally see light at the end of the rows, she dropped to her knees and crept forward. She had definitely heard the car leave, but it could be a trick. She wouldn’t put it past Jake to move the car up the street and park it there in the hopes she would be lured into coming out of hiding, at which point he could sneak back on foot and catch her out in the opening.
Allie studied the open area that surrounded the house she and Jake shared, searching for the slightest sign of life. Other than the soft breeze blowing the leaves around her and the dark clouds drifting overhead, there was no movement. She was wary about stepping out into the open, because she couldn’t see the dirt road from her vantage point, and Jake could’ve been hiding in that blind spot.
After waiting for about ten minutes, she decided she needed to circle the house and get to where she could see the street. She took a deep breath and then lunged from the ground, running on the tips of her toes. She crossed the open yard and threw her back against the side of the house and froze. The exterior of the structure was wrapped in corrugated steel, most of which were streaked in rust. The wall echoed loudly when she crashed into it.
Allie held her breath, listening. A mosquito buzzed near the side of her face and she swatted at it. Her ear began ringing from the slap. It was the only thing she heard. Pushing the smashed mosquito from her palm, she crept to the edge of the house and peered around the corner.
“Oh, thank God!” She expelled a lungful of air and nearly collapsed to the ground in relief when she realized Jake had really driven off. Was this a sign that he had really changed? Had he learned to go for a drive when he became angry—to take some time to cool off? He had never done that before. In the past when he got angry, he would immediately resort to violence. Sometimes it was a push, other times a slap, but things got really ugly that last time.
Allie stepped away from the house and walked to where she could see up the street. Jake’s car was nowhere in sight. When would he return? Sammy had gone to stay with Jake’s parents for a week or so while they dealt with the trial, but she was now left all alone. Her car was broken and parked alongside the house—Jake had promised to fix it but hadn’t gotten around to it yet—so she was stranded there without transportation. They didn’t own a landline phone, so she couldn’t call anyone. She wrapped her arms around her and shivered. It was scary being stranded in the middle of nowhere with no company.
A thought suddenly occurred to her. What if Jake fell off the wagon? What if he was not cooling off, but, rather, heading for a bar where he would get drunk?
Allie shuddered. If he was getting drunk, there would be hell to pay when he got home. She was afraid…very afraid. Natasha had given her a business card and told her to call if she needed anything at all, but the card was in her purse with her cell phone.
Not knowing what to do next, Allie sighed and headed for the front door. Thankfully, they lived back in the country on family land where no one ever came around. While it was lonely, at least they were able to leave their doors unlocked. Had it not been for that, she would’ve been locked out of the house where the bugs and mosquitoes would’ve surely eaten her to death. And the snakes—they were everywhere and scared her to death.
She felt better when she was safely inside the house and had slammed the door behind her. She thought about locking it, but Jake had a key—if he didn’t have one, he would simply break down the door—and it would only make him suspicious, which would piss him off more.
It was nearly four o’clock but Allie didn’t feel like eating, so she ran a bath and soaked for an hour. Jake still wasn’t home when she dried off and wrapped herself in a terrycloth robe. She padded to the living room, turned on the television, and stretched out on the sofa. Her eyes were tired and she allowed them to slide closed, the evening news droning on in the background…
Allie jerked awake to a living room cloaked in shadows, a scream stuck in her throat. A sharp pain in her chest had disturbed her sleep and pierced through to her very soul. She reached out with her hands, trying to clutch at the source of the pain, but the object was yanked away, slicing her hands as it went. Before she could collect her thoughts, the sharp object entered her abdomen with such force that it took her breath away. The pain was overwhelming. In the flashing glow from the television screen, she caught a glint of light on a long knife blade and suddenly realized what was happening—she was being stabbed to death.
CHAPTER 3
Mechant Loup Police Department, Southeast Louisiana
It was almost ten in the evening and I had just reached my Tahoe when I heard the scream. I paused with my hand on the knob. I’d entered law enforcement work over twelve years ago and I knew the cry of a woman in distress when I heard it.
I tilted my head sideways and listened as a soft breeze blew down the deserted town street and caressed my brown hair. Washington Avenue was always bustling with activity during most days and at night on the weekends, but it became a virtual ghost town on weeknights. Tonight was no exception.
I moved away from my vehicle and took a step toward the west, in the direction of Bad Loup Burgers, straining to see down the dark sidewalk. I was almost positive the scream had come from that direction, but it was possible the wind had played a trick on me. I was about to turn toward the east when the scream sounded again—this one more desperate and shrill.
Without thought, I sprang into action, bursting as fast as I could toward the sound and jerking my police radio from my back pocket. I called dispatch and alerted Beth Gandy, who usually worked weekends but was filling in for our other dispatcher, Lindsey. Beth responded immediately and told me she was calling Officer Melvin Saltzman to respond.
When Melvin’s voice sounded over the radio, Beth gave him my location.
“Clint is on foot heading west on Washington Avenue,” she called, her voice laced with excitement. “A woman is in trouble and he’s trying to find her.”
Before Melvin could respond, I had raced past Bad Loup Burgers and was quickly approaching Mitch Taylor’s Corner Pub. I’d worked a murder case at the Pub eleven months ago, and I had left the courthouse about an hour ago after a jury had found the suspect guilty of murder. The trial had taken three days and the jury had deliberated for nine hours before reaching a verdict. I had called Susan—my fiancée and the Chief of Police for Mechant Loup—to let her know I would be home as soon as I stopped by the office to check in.
I guess I’ll be late, I thought.
As I ran past Taylor’s Pub, I was considering whether or not I should radio Beth and ask her to call Susan to let her know I’d be late, but my thoughts were cut short when I saw movement in an empty lot on the opposite side of the street from where I was running.
“Help me!” a woman screamed. “He’s killing me!”
In the dim glow from a nearby street light, I saw a large man leaning over a woman. She was struggling at his feet and the sound of scrunching gravel gave me an idea of how hard she was fighting to get away. The man was wielding a pipe and he had just lifted it high into the air. He was about to bring it down on the helpless lady.
“Stop right there,” I hollered, reaching for my pistol. I would never reach them in time, but if need be, I could send a bullet in his direction faster than he could bring the pipe to bear on her. I certainly couldn’t let him hit her with the pipe. If he struck her in the head, he would either kill her or cause great bodily harm. I slid to my knees and leveled my pistol, leveling the front sight on the center of his back. “Police! If you don’t drop the weapon, I’ll shoot you!”
The man froze, the pipe poised above his head. He twisted around, trying to get a bead on my location. When he saw me, I knew instantly that he recognized the danger he was in. He let out a screech and broke into a stumbling run. He was a tall man. His legs were so long that he seemed to move ten feet with each step. I rushed across the street and glanced down at the woman as I ran by. There appeared to be blood on her face and hands, but she seemed to be okay otherwise.
When I looked back toward her assailant, I caught sight of him disappearing around the dark corner of a nearby building and into an alley. I headed for the area where I’d last seen him, but I cut a wide berth as I rounded the corner. If he was waiting for me on the other end, I didn’t want to give him the opportunity to take my head off—not because I cared so much about my own well-being, but rather, because Susan would be angry at me for letting him damage her property.
“Stop putting holes in my stuff,” she’d told me once when I’d accidentally punched a hole through my left thumb with a T25 star drive bit. In response, I had started giving her grief about letting other people beat on her during her cage fights, but she told me to stop rehashing old arguments. “I gave up fighting so you and I could start a family,” she’d reminded me. “What have you given up for us—besides a chunk of your thumb?”
We’d both laughed and I’d promised to be more careful with her property. Now, running wide around the corner and taking great care not to be ambushed, I was keeping that promise.
Although it was dark in the alley, I knew he was twenty feet away because I could hear his shoes scraping against the hard concrete in the distance. The muscles in my legs screamed as I forced them to pump harder. I felt myself gaining on the suspect. I could actually see his shadowy figure up ahead against the glow of a streetlight on the next corner.
Within a few seconds, I heard a chain link fence rattle and then the man cursed. The sharp sound of his pipe smashing the fence confirmed that he was cornered, and he didn’t like it.
I was quickly closing the distance between us, and it was apparent the man could feel me breathing down his back, because he whirled around. He lifted the pipe and stepped into the swing as though he wanted to send my head to the outfield.
As fast as things were moving, my mind raced even faster, weighing my options and calculating my chances of success. I could try to stop running, but I was traveling at breakneck speed and would probably slide on the slick surface and fall to the ground, which would put me at a grave disadvantage. I could fire a shot at him, but doing so while I was running would greatly decrease my chance of an accurate hit. Even if my bullet found its mark, it wouldn’t slow the man down in time to stifle the attack. So, I went with the third option.
Letting out a war cry to shock him, I leapt into the air and drove my right leg forward, striking the man full force in the chest. I heard the air leave his lungs with a grunt as the sole of my dress shoe made contact with his flesh. He collapsed in a heap. The pipe clanked as it slammed to the pavement.
When I regained my footing, I spun to face the man, ready for anything—well, anything except what I actually encountered. Even in the limited light glowing in the alley, I could clearly see that he had been knocked unconscious.
“Sir, are you okay?” I approached slowly, holstering my pistol. I squatted beside him and shoved his shoulder with my palm, hoping he hadn’t suffered a heart attack. “Hey, are you okay?”
For a brief moment there was no movement, but then he sucked in a lungful of air and thrashed about. “What the—?”
In one deft motion, I flipped him onto his stomach. I snatched up his left arm first, and then his right. Once he was handcuffed, I pulled out my radio and let Beth know I was Code 4, which meant no other assistance was needed.
Melvin hadn’t heard the transmission, because he appeared at the end of the alley a moment later, his pistol in his hand. I could only make out his stout figure and his smooth head, but I knew him well enough to know he was concerned. “Clint! Where are you?”
“I’m okay,” I called from the back of the alley, pushing the man ahead of me. He was cursing and still straining to catch his breath, but he offered no resistance.
I heard Melvin sigh and then his pistol clicked in place in his holster. He met me halfway down the alley and took the man’s left arm. “Thank God you’re safe. Chief Wilson would’ve fired me had I let you get hurt.”
“Did you check on the lady?” I asked.
“Yeah, she’s shaken up a bit and she’s got some bumps and bruises, but she’ll be fine.” He indicated with his shaved head toward the street. “She’s sitting in the back of an ambulance.”
“I didn’t do nothing to her!” the man said. “If she says I touched her, she lied!”
“You have the right to remain silent,” I said, “so shut the hell up. I’m in no mood for your lies.”
CHAPTER 4
“Where are you taking him?” the woman asked when I approached the ambulance and leaned against the back door. She was short and stocky and seemed somewhat familiar. She was staring intently toward the fully marked F-250, where Melvin was strapping the man into the back seat. I followed her gaze.
“He’ll be transported down to the station so I can question him.” I turned back toward her and pointed toward her skinned elbow and other markings. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve been better, but I’ll survive.”
Before I had a chance to ask her any questions, Melvin drove up beside us. “I’ll transport him to the office,” he said. “There’s another prisoner in the holding cell and I don’t want to leave Beth alone with him for very long.”
The medics were still working on the victim, so I jumped in with Melvin and he drove me down the street to the police department, where my unmarked Tahoe was parked. I helped him escort the prisoner up the stairs and into the police department. I then returned downstairs, fired up my engine, and returned to the scene of the attack.
I thought about calling Susan after stepping out of my cruiser, but I figured she had already been notified and was probably listening to the police radio to keep up with the events as they unfolded.
After the medics finished cleaning off the victim’s scrapes, she stood and thanked them. She signed the necessary paperwork and I walked her toward my vehicle. As we strode along the street, she told me her name was Cassandra Billiot, and it was then that I realized from where I knew her.
“You’re the weekend manager at Mechant Groceries.”
“Yes sir, I am. You came into the store a while back to look at the surveillance videos.” She grunted. “I thought you were coming in that day to pick me up.”
“Why’s that?” I opened the front passenger door and waited for her to step inside.
“Nikia’s always writing bad checks on my account, and the last time he did it they came to arrest me.” She bit her lower lip and stared off into the darkness. “I don’t know why I allow myself to put up with so much of his crap.”
I nodded in silence and closed the door, took my seat behind the steering wheel. I radioed Beth that I had a female passenger and, as was our procedure when male officers escorted female subjects, I provided my odometer reading.
Once we arrived at the Mechant Loup Police Department, I parked under the newly constructed building and radioed my ending mileage to Beth.
Cassandra stepped out of my vehicle and whistled in awe as she stared up at the police department. “This is nice. I’ve driven by here a few times, but I’ve never seen it up close.”
“Yeah, it’s a great place,” I said, staring up at the underside of the massive building, “and definitely hurricane proof.”
After the old police department had burned to the ground two years ago following a gun battle with some bad people, the town council had acquired this piece of property and built the new police department. It was located along Washington Avenue in the downtown district and was a one-story building, but that one story was twelve feet off the ground. We lived in hurricane country, so the town council saw fit to construct a building that would withstand even the most powerful of storms while also being flood-proof. I’d once said that if the massive concrete pillars and walls were any indication of strength, Samson himself wouldn’t be able to pull this building to the ground—and those words had been proven correct last month when Hurricane Samson had roared through our small town.
