Czytaj książkę: «Quest For Justice»

ONE

Bailey Cox eased carefully up to the corner of the building, her 9 mm Glock locked and loaded, but pointed at the darkened sky above her. Her finger tensed near the trigger as she moved slowly along the wall, sticking to the shadows. Her heart slammed wildly against her chest. She heard movement up ahead and voices, but they were muffled and she couldn’t recognize them, or hear what they were saying. All she could tell was that they were angry. She moved closer, still not sure what to make of the situation. Her father, a private investigator, had texted her half an hour ago, asking her to rush over to his office because he’d had a break in the case he was working on and he needed her help.

Even though it was after 2:00 a.m., she hadn’t hesitated and had headed out the door as soon as she had received her father’s message. Bailey was used to staying up late and actually did her best thinking in the wee hours of the morning. She hadn’t expected trouble but was now glad that she always traveled with her pistol.

When she’d arrived at her father’s office, she’d found the door cracked open and the small office abandoned. The light had still been on, and her father’s coffee was still steaming on his desk, so he had to be nearby. It wasn’t like him to call her and then not be there when she arrived. A tingle of fear shot down her spine. She’d heard noises in the alley behind her father’s office building and had followed them, having no other clues to lead her.

The voices got louder. She eased around another corner and could barely make out two men arguing near a dark sedan parked by the Dumpster. The trunk door was open, and the men were gesturing toward its contents with angry waves. To her disappointment, neither man was her father. Still, she was glued to the argument as it played out in front of her. One of the men, dressed in a dark sweatshirt, moved closer to the car and kicked angrily at the bumper. They weren’t arguing in a language she understood, which ruled out English, Spanish and French. If anything, she guessed it sounded Slavic, but she was no expert. A soft light emanated from a nearby street lamp, but it wasn’t giving off enough light to help her identify either of the two men. Both had pale skin. The one in the sweatshirt had dark bushy hair. The other was in jeans and a black T-shirt and had dirty blond hair. Both were muscular and well built. The blond’s face was red and seemed to darken with each passing minute as his anger consumed him. She edged closer.

“Freeze, or the next step you take will be your last.” The words were whispered but as hard as steel. Bailey felt the cold metal barrel of the pistol against her neck and did as ordered. She hadn’t heard anyone behind her and was instantly angry at herself for letting someone sneak up on her like that. She had been so focused on the men’s argument that she had totally failed to watch her six. She tried to turn to see who was holding a gun on her, but as she did so, the gun pushed harder against her skin. She prayed the aggressor wasn’t a friend of the two Slavic men.

“I said freeze. That doesn’t mean move. Got it?” The deep voice was masculine and as cold as ice, but it also sounded familiar. Did she know this man? Her mind reeled. Even though he had spoken softly, a seed of dread was planted in her chest and she suddenly felt short of breath.

It couldn’t be. Not here. Not now.

She almost wanted her assailant to speak again so she could prove herself mistaken. It couldn’t be him. There was only one man on the planet who hated her and always thought the worst of her—Franklin Kennedy. She hadn’t seen or heard from Kennedy in years, but she was certain Kennedy was still a cop. He was the kind of man who was born to work in law enforcement and would toe the line until he either got killed in the line of duty or retired to work in some security firm. He was a cop, through and through. He was also a straight arrow that never bent, regardless of the circumstances. But why would Kennedy be here at her father’s office at two in the morning?

“Hands up. Slowly.”

The voice was gritty, but still spoken so softly that she couldn’t verify that it was Kennedy. The gun twisted slightly against her skin and she tensed, then she slowly raised her hands. The man reached forward and took her Glock and stowed it, then roughly shoved her up against the brick wall and frisked her, removing the small knife she had hidden in her waistband and the second pistol she’d secured in her ankle holster. He moved in closer so only she could hear his voice. She could even feel his exhalations warm against her neck and smell the mint from his breath. “Got any more hardware I should know about?”

“No,” she answered softly, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice. “Look, I’m not trying to make trouble. My father called and when I got here, he wasn’t in his office...” She tried to turn around to explain herself face-to-face, but he stopped her before she could turn, grabbed her wrists with one hand and cuffed her with the other.

“We got a report that there was a disturbance in this alley. The caller heard a gunshot, and you’ve got a gun. You have the right to remain silent. I suggest you exercise that right until we get this sorted out.” He tightened the manacles until they bit into her skin. It was Kennedy. She was sure of it now. She didn’t know how or why, but Franklin Kennedy now had her cuffed for the second time in her life. The first had been a living nightmare. She hoped this time wouldn’t be a repeat. She pulled against the cuffs as frustration filled her.

“Easy.” His voice was still low, and when he paused, she imagined he was listening to other policemen through an earpiece. When he spoke again, he wasn’t talking to her and her suspicions were confirmed.

“Roger that. I’ve got one suspect in cuffs. You’re a go. Repeat, you’re a go.”

Suddenly she heard screeching tires and blue police lights lit up the side of the building. The yelling around the corner escalated, but now it wasn’t the foreign language she heard, but cops yelling at the two suspects to halt and put their hands up. The men didn’t obey though, and she heard running and more shouting, but thankfully it sounded like they were moving away from her instead of getting closer. A few seconds later, gunfire erupted. Kennedy instantly pushed her to the ground, shielding her with his body, his own gun drawn, ready to shoot if they were threatened. For the first time, she got a glimpse of his face.

Clean-cut. Bold, direct features. It was Franklin Kennedy, alright. A spike of adrenaline soared through her veins.

“Stay low. Got it?” he growled.

He didn’t wait for an answer and kept his eyes peeled on the area around them.

Bailey’s fear erupted. What was going on? First her father had sent her that bizarre text, and the next thing she knew she was handcuffed by her nemesis just a block or so away from a gun battle. Was her father caught in the middle? Was he even involved at all? Questions filled her mind, as well as a sense of dread. None of this could be good. Being handcuffed and forced to give up her weapons hadn’t helped matters. How was she going to help her father if she was under arrest?

The bullets stopped flying and she felt Kennedy relax against her. He stood and pulled her to her feet. It was only then that he took a good look at his prisoner’s face. His eyes widened and then narrowed.

“Bailey Cox?”

“In the flesh,” she said with a touch of sass and then instantly regretted her tone. The last thing she needed to do was antagonize Kennedy while she was handcuffed and once again at his mercy.

He shifted, started to say something, apparently thought better of it and shook his head. Finally, he muttered, “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Same here,” Bailey agreed.

“How long has it been? Five years?”

“Six.” She said under her breath, “Six very long years.”

He ignored her comment and a wave of anger seemed to sweep over him. “What are you doing armed to the teeth out here in the middle of the night?”

“My father is a private investigator and his office is in this building. He sent me a text and asked me to come over, so here I am. And I don’t go anywhere unarmed.”

Kennedy raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t worry. I have a permit for the guns. It’s in my wallet.”

He raised his eyebrow and she continued. “I petitioned the court and got my rights reinstated. I’m allowed to carry a weapon.” She swallowed. She would rather do anything else than ask for his help, but, at this point, she didn’t have a choice.

“Look, I’m worried about my dad. His office was empty when I arrived, and I don’t know what happened to him. I heard noise in the alley and came to investigate. That’s it. I don’t know anything about a gunshot, but I have to find my father and figure this out. Can you uncuff me?”

“No way.” He grabbed her arm near the elbow and started leading her away from the building. “The firefight is over, but you’re sitting on the sidelines until I get some answers. I don’t want you in the middle of this.”

She tried, but she couldn’t keep the anxiety out of her voice. “You can’t hold me. I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“We’ll see about that.” His tone was icy. He led her toward the road where a nondescript sedan was parked against the curb.

A wave of desperation swept over her. “You can’t do this. My father might be in danger. I have to find him...” She started to struggle but he held her firmly.

“What you have to do is settle down and let us get this scene secured.” He pulled her roughly to the side of the car, apparently unaffected by her pleas or protests. One of her kicks caught him in the shin and he grimaced, but the next thing she knew, he had put his hand on her head, forced her into the back seat, closed the door and locked it. “Stay put and relax. I’ll keep an eye out for your father while I’m working the scene.”

His promise meant little to her. She wanted to be the one out there looking for him. She had a strong sense that something was terribly wrong and her father was either hurt or in grave danger, but with her hands cuffed and the door locked, there wasn’t much she could do. Kennedy walked slowly away and then motioned to a uniformed officer who had just arrived on the scene and directed him to the car. “Stay with her. Watch her carefully. Don’t let her escape or hurt herself. She’s a person of interest. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” The officer nodded and took up his post outside her door.

“Kennedy!” she yelled futilely. “Come back here! I need to know what’s going on!”

* * *

Franklin Kennedy ignored Bailey’s pleas and headed over to the crime scene. He had heard most of what had happened on his earpiece, but he needed to check things out for himself. His fists clenched and unclenched as he approached. Bailey Cox! She was the last person he’d ever expected to see, although the fact that he’d found her in the middle of a crime scene was very telling. Six years ago, Bailey Cox had been his first arrest after he’d made detective with the Jacksonville sheriff’s office.

She’d only been twenty years old then, but her youth and inexperience hadn’t stopped her from stealing over a million dollars from a large real estate firm’s escrow account. Bailey Cox was an incredible hacker and had somehow managed to move the money right under the noses of the firm’s security team. The money had never been recovered. She’d been busted on some other smaller charges and had served some time, but Bailey’s case was the one that bothered him the most since he’d joined the force. She had basically gotten away with her crimes, and, in his book, that was just plain wrong. And where was the stolen money?

A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. He’d had a soft spot for Bailey Cox before she’d stolen that money. He’d run into her several times when he’d been a beat cop, newly on the job, and she was a brash teenager. In fact, he’d even felt sorry for her back then. She’d had a tough start and gotten in with a bad crowd on more than one occasion. Her mother was a meth user who valued drugs above her daughter’s welfare, and her father had abandoned them both years before. She’d basically been left to her own devices, and although she was smart, she’d still made a series of horrible choices.

She’d always had a smile on her face, however, and been full of fire. She was one of those who was given lemons and somehow always figured out how to make lemonade. He admired that.

Once she’d moved up to committing felonies, however, his soft spot had hardened. Now when he thought of Bailey Cox, he felt nothing but anger and frustration. Sure, she’d had a rough life, but nothing justified her crimes. Still, when she looked at him with those dark blue eyes of hers, it still affected him, even though he fought the feelings.

He pushed the thoughts of Bailey aside and approached the scene where gunfire had erupted. A dark-haired man wearing a sweatshirt was lying faceup in a pool of blood. He certainly wouldn’t be answering any questions, but hopefully they could get other clues from the scene. Already two uniformed officers were putting up police tape while another was bagging and tagging the offender’s gun. He had obviously been firing on the officers when he’d been shot.

“Hey, Frankie.” Another detective from his unit, Ben Graham, was leaning near the body and nodded at him.

Frank returned the nod. “What have you got?”

“Here’s the first one. The other is around the corner. Both were firing on us, and both are now dead, shot by our team. We didn’t have much choice.” Ben stood and motioned down the alley. “Take a walk over to the vehicle by the Dumpster and look in the trunk.”

Frank rose an eyebrow and walked over to where the car still sat with the trunk door open. There wasn’t much light from the street lamp, so he pulled out his flashlight and shone it in the trunk of the car.

There was quite a bit of blood pooled around the body, especially around the man’s gunshot wound in the forehead. He turned to the cop who was standing by the car. “You got a name for our victim?”

“Yeah. His wallet had a photo ID. You’re looking at Matt Cox.”

Frank leaned closer to get a better look, not wanting to believe what he was seeing. Bailey’s father’s dead eyes stared back at him.