Cold Fury, page 9
part #1 of Cold Justice® - Most Wanted Series
The US Marshal Service were proving prickly when it came to jurisdiction, and they outranked the FBI. But they also knew they might need the FBI’s resources eventually, so they were willing to share information up to a point. That point being no sign of Julius Leech had been found, nor did they have any idea where the other two escaped felons were.
Aaron checked the news. Local and national. The media had picked up the story of the prison break and, as predicted, were abuzz with the possible danger to the public while constantly regurgitating the history between Leech and Harper.
Aaron didn’t like the way they flashed photos of his principal all over the news. He especially hated the ones taken of her sobbing at her late husband’s and child’s funeral.
Didn’t a loving mother and wife deserve to grieve in private? In one image he spotted Brendan Harper holding her up when she collapsed.
Aaron didn’t particularly like the guy. Didn’t matter. The detective was Hope Harper’s former brother-in-law and likely to be part of this situation whether HRT approved or not.
Aaron was satisfied with the security protocols in place, but the media had started to camp outside Hope’s row house which might make things trickier. Livingstone and Griffin had gone shopping earlier for the team, so they’d be self-sufficient regarding food supplies for a few days. They used the back entrance, and so far, the press hadn’t spotted them. The plan was to make a very public show of strength when Hope returned home tonight. Let Leech see the FBI did not intend to let anything happen to either Hope Harper or Judge Abbotsford.
Omega team had split up. Seth Hopper and Sebastian Black were nearby with the vehicle, tuned into traffic reports and police scanners while ready to move to the court entrance at a moment’s notice. Cowboy and Demarco watched the residence. Kincaid was in the courtroom, and Aaron was monitoring the corridor as well as coordinating.
He might take someone off the nightshift and add them to the dayshift if the security updates they’d made worked as designed and assuming Hope Harper stayed home every night.
Probably not a good thing to assume, although maybe she’d accommodate them while Leech was AWOL. She didn’t strike him as having a death wish, although the thought of Leech sure as hell didn’t freak her out the way it would most people.
Of course, she’d spent a lot of time with Leech. She knew the monster was just a man.
It was 4 p.m. now. Except for a brief break for lunch—he’d had Seth Hopper deliver sandwiches from a local deli—Hope and her intern had been busy all day with these proceedings.
Her client was a petite bleached blonde who looked like a strong wind would knock her over. The guy she’d accused of attacking her was five-feet ten-inches of wiry muscle with a dangerous glint in his eye and a nasty turn to his lips.
The doors to the courtroom opened, and people began to stream out.
Aaron stood and headed inside.
Hope was talking to her client when the defendant climbed to his feet and threw a glare at them both. Aaron was pleased to see Kincaid place himself directly between the defendant and Hope. The accused shot Kincaid a look that bounced off him. Kincaid had been a solid agent, and he was going to make a great Hostage Rescue Team operator with a little more seasoning and experience.
The defendant’s lawyer put a hand on the scumbag’s arm and sent him firmly down the aisle. Aaron kept an eye on the asshole and his equally dumb-looking friend.
The defense attorney smiled at Hope, a bright empty shell of a smile full of smug satisfaction.
“Counselor.” The man folded his hands over an expensive-looking leather briefcase. He wore a long, camel-hair coat and an affected air of superiority. Two presumably junior associates, carrying much heavier loads stood behind the guy. Both kept their features expressionless. “I hope you forgive us for putting you through your paces today. I’m sure you weren’t expecting to have to work for your measly salary.”
“On the contrary, it will liven things up for what is going to be a slam dunk of a trial. I can’t wait to see you in court every day while we call up character witness after character witness. I’m particularly looking forward to all the former girlfriends, not to mention Mr. Swann’s own mother testifying about his violent temper.”
“Your client is hardly a saint.”
The young woman flinched and turned away. Hope shifted in front of her.
“My client is not on trial.”
“You know better than that.” The man’s tone was snide and condescending.
Hope gathered her belongings then took a step closer to the guy. Kincaid was still between them and watched the man’s hands.
Good.
One of the first lessons of close protection. People couldn’t shoot you with their faces.
“Things must be going well at the firm if one of the senior partners is taking on pro bono work. Or did you run out of rich scumbags to defend and have to look further afield to make your quota?”
Obviously, they knew one another well.
The man smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “The jury will discount the allegations as soon as they hear about your alleged victim’s drug problem.”
“Being a recovering addict doesn’t mean the law doesn’t protect you from violent crime. You are no less of a person because you’ve made a mistake. And if you are, well, you and I are royally screwed. My client, however, is a hard-working young woman trying to make a life for herself without some brainless thug attempting to kill her simply because she broke it off with him.”
“So she claims.”
Ella Gibson seemed to cave in on herself. The idea of putting her on the stand to be interrogated by this heartless bastard was like throwing Bambi into a wolf’s den.
Aaron moved closer to Hope and Kincaid.
Hope’s features were cool with disdain. “We both know he’s guilty so why are you really here, Jeff?”
Jeff.
It clicked then.
This was Jeff Beasley, the lawyer who’d defended Julius Leech the second time around. When Hope had testified, and the jury had convicted.
Beasley flicked a glance over Aaron. “Hiding behind your FBI protection detail, Hope?”
“Leech threatened us both from what I remember of that day in court when you lost. Of course, your firm is probably still on retainer…” Hope shook her head. “Shit. Tell me he isn’t still your client.”
The man said nothing.
“You’re here because you want to keep an eye on me. For Leech? Or for your own twisted amusement?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not the one who’s being ridiculous but you’re obviously not self-aware enough to perceive that.”
Beasley sneered. “You always thought you were better than the rest of us. But all you ever were was a mindless drone who could be persuaded to do almost anything if it meant career progression.”
Hope went sheet white.
Aaron didn’t like the insinuation this man was making.
Hope spoke to the other two attorneys. “It sounds like you’re suggesting I did something unethical or immoral in return for…for what? A shitty office, an overflowing caseload? The only unethical thing I ever did was accept the cases you offered me without question. And what really sticks in your craw is that I am ten times better than you in court on any given day.” She spoke to the junior lawyers again. “Whatever the salary is, take it from me, it isn’t worth it. Even if he offers you a partnership, run far away from the scumbags he represents.”
The two young attorneys were wide-eyed.
“Jeff Beasley continues to represent the man who was convicted of killing my husband and child in cold blood. A man I defended because Jeff promised me a partnership if I did so. I didn’t even have to win. I just had to show up for that motherfucker. If you think he cares about you at all, take a look at someone you love, picture them bleeding out on the floor, then picture this man defending the bastard holding the knife. That’s the person you’re working for.”
Jeff Beasley flushed and took a step forward. Aaron put his hand out to stop him getting any closer.
“Get your hands off me.” Jeff tried to brush him aside.
Aaron wasn’t going anywhere. “Step back. ADA Harper is under FBI protection, and you are too close for my comfort.”
“Mine too,” Hope muttered.
“Hear that? You are making my principal uneasy with your aggressive words and demeanor. I suggest you step back before I have to arrest you for not obeying the instructions of a federal law enforcement officer. Step. Back. Now.”
Jeff Beasley quickly backed off. “I never figured you for a coward, Hope.”
Hope Harper snorted. “Funny. I pegged you for a coward the moment I met you.”
Aaron inserted himself fully between the bickering attorneys. “You were also offered FBI protection until Julius Leech is apprehended, Mr. Beasley. You declined, but I’m sure it can still be arranged.” Aaron crossed his arms over his chest. The thought of being assigned to protect a man like Beasley was abhorrent, but he’d do it if ordered. That was the job.
Then he’d bathe in disinfectant.
He glanced at Hope Harper. He guessed they both did things they didn’t necessarily enjoy because of their profession.
Beasley wasn’t done. “If you think I’m hiding behind anyone in front of a jury you’re as big an idiot as you look.”
Aaron held back a smirk.
“Plus, I don’t need underpaid FBI drones as bodyguards.” Jeff took a step away and raked a derisive glance over Aaron and Kincaid. “I’ve hired my own protection.”
Aaron glanced to the door where two beefy-looking men in black suits wearing obvious earpieces stood watching them.
Jesus. They looked like a couple of extras on a movie set.
Aaron reached out and pointed at Beasley’s chest, his hand mimicking the shape of a gun. “Pretty difficult to protect you from over there.” He pulled the imaginary trigger.
Beasley stepped back and swung away. The two junior lawyers scurried after him. “See you in court, Hope. Better bring reinforcements—the ones with brains rather than firepower.”
Ouch.
“Well, that was fun. I would apologize, but I’m not taking responsibility for that asshole.” Hope spoke through gritted teeth as the man’s coat flapped through the door.
Aaron smiled grimly. “What’s that saying? If silence be good for the wise, how much better for fools.”
“Ha. He always did like the sound of his own voice.” She fished for her sleeve.
Aaron held up her coat. “Home?”
“Is it a half day, or do the FBI work bankers’ hours?”
“Ask me at midnight.”
She had the grace to wince. “Sorry.”
“Back to the office?” He cupped her elbow and felt a little zing of something he hadn’t expected, something he hadn’t felt in years zip along his skin. He stepped back. “We can leave through the side door.”
“Fine. But we need to make a detour and drop my client home first.” At whatever she read in his expression she doubled down and prepared for an argument he wasn’t about to make. “I don’t want her to make her way home on public transport when they could be waiting for her.”
“Does she have a restraining order?”
The young woman was talking to Hope’s intern as they both waited off to the side.
Hope’s lips pulled back. “She has one against Swann but not his buddies.” She lowered her voice. “For all the good it’s worth. Maybe I should bring her home with me.”
“So she can be on the evening news?”
“The press knows?” A flicker of vulnerability washed over her features. “Of course, they know. Damn. I’d hoped we’d find Leech before it became national news.” Her lips pressed together and formed a mirthless smile. “Another reason to go back to the office after we take Ella home. Maybe they’ll get bored after they miss the deadline for the evening news and leave my home alone.”
“We can drop her off, no problem.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Good thing we drove, isn’t it?”
11
Sylvie Pomerol stood stirring a pot of beef stew on the stove. Way back in college she’d been a vegetarian, but meeting her husband had changed that. If he didn’t eat some sort of meat at a meal, he didn’t think he’d been fed, and his cooking prowess was limited to the grill, so she was the main cook. He did other things to balance the scales of their lives together, but she had no desire to make two separate meals every day. Still, occasionally she’d make soups for lunch that were meat-free. Bart compensated by slathering the bread she made from scratch with slabs of butter.
She tensed as she heard a vehicle drive up, then relaxed when she saw Bart jump out of the blue 1970 Ford F-250 pickup that he’d restored from a rusting hulk of steel when he’d gotten out of the Marine Corps five years ago. Security lights flooded the yard. She bit her lip then walked over and unlocked the back door.
News of Julius Leech’s escape had made her nervous, but the chances of him even remembering her name, let alone figuring out where she lived when he was on the run from every law-enforcement agency in the country was small.
Still. She’d kept the door locked all day and worked remotely.
She didn’t underestimate people like Leech. He was cunning and deceitful. He was also enough of a narcissist to hold a grudge, even if, ultimately, it was his own fault he’d been arrested and convicted of murder.
Sociopaths rarely saw themselves as they truly were. It was always someone else’s fault, someone else was to blame.
He hadn’t liked her assessment of the crimes he’d committed, nor of the profile she’d created of him that had been uncannily accurate. The fact his childhood had messed him up was no excuse. Many people had sob stories even if his was particularly tragic. His father had smothered his mother with a pillow when she’d stabbed him. They’d both died, neither of them realizing their son was hiding in the closet, watching. He’d been six.
She tasted the stew and turned the heat down to a low simmer. Bart came in the back door in his socks as he’d left his boots in the mudroom.
“Hey, there.” He walked over and kissed her. “Everything okay?”
She nodded.
He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. “That smells amazing. I’m going to grab a quick shower.”
He kissed her again and headed upstairs. She sighed with relief. Bart always made her feel safe.
A bang made her jolt. She walked over to check the window. The door to the mudroom hadn’t latched properly, and the wind had blown it open. “Dammit.” It happened all the time in winter when the ground shifted. She stepped outside, avoided the melting snow from Bart’s boots, and grabbed the handle, pulling it closed and shutting out the bitter wind.
Her heart stopped when a hand gripped her mouth from behind and a handgun pressed tight against her temple.
“Hello, Dr. P.”
Bile rose in her throat as she struggled, and the fingers clamped more firmly over her mouth and nose. She couldn’t breathe, but she made as much noise as she could.
“No, you don’t.” Julius Leech cuffed her on the side of the head with the heavy metal of the pistol, making her stagger and her eyes roll as she fell to her knees.
He grabbed her hand and slipped a metal cuff tight around her wrist. Pulled her arm behind her back along with the other one as she fought not to pass out. If she passed out, she was dead. Bart was dead.
Bart…
She let out a cry, but Leech slammed her head with the butt of the pistol again, this time dropping her to the floor. Then he slapped a piece of duct tape over her mouth.
Terror ran through her veins.
Oh God.
He rolled her onto her back, her wrists straining painfully from the pressure of their combined weight. His groin pressed against hers. Revulsion filled her.
“Now you get to feel what it’s like to be shackled like an animal.” Leech looked thinner, features more defined. But something glittered in his pale blue eyes as he looked at her. Something more dangerous than she remembered.
Had Bart heard their struggle?
She thought of her cellphone, useless in a pocket she couldn’t reach. The gun in the drawer, gathering dust.
She couldn’t even use her training to distract him as he’d silenced her.
He dragged her roughly to her feet, and she stumbled as her head swam.
“I’ve got you, Dr. P. You didn’t make it easy to find you, but I’ve been keeping tabs for a while now. Never expected I’d get the opportunity to call on you personally. I guess you never know what life’s going to throw at you.” He grabbed her arm with biting fingers and pushed her ahead of him, pistol in his other hand, pointed at her head.
She had to warn Bart. In the kitchen she shoved against the table as hard as she could. Dishes rattled as the heavy wood scraped the floor.
Leech jerked her head back by her hair, and her eyes watered at the pain.
His grip tightened, and he kept his voice to a malevolent whisper. “Tut tut. Let’s not ruin the surprise for Bart. You know how we unfeeling sociopaths don’t appreciate others upsetting our evil plans.”
The living room was empty, and they could both hear movement on the floor above.
She stumbled on the stairs, but Leech jerked her hair so hard her scalp burned.
They reached the bedroom, but rather than Bart jumping out and tackling Leech like she’d prayed, she heard him singing Bohemian Rhapsody in the shower.
She made a muffled squeal and Leech shoved her face down on the bed and sat on her back, pressing her face into the duvet so she couldn’t breathe…
Please, please, someone save us.
As she heard the shower turn off and the door open, followed by the blast of a gunshot, she knew it was too late.
