Chance Collision (4 page)

Liz was after the same thing he was—sex.
Only
sex. Or so she’d said.

But the look on her face, the feelings in her eyes, changed the game. Made her off limits.

All the times her gorgeous naked body had moved beneath his flashed through his mind. Full breasts, arched back, she always screamed when she came—

“What’s on your mind?” Pete prompted.

Liz made a show of trying not to be obvious as she looked around his place. She’d never seen it before, and after all, his giant big-screen
was
impressive. “You ignored my messages all day.”

“I was busy.”

The look she flashed him was more sad than hurt.

Guilt crept up from the pit of his stomach. He’d been honest with her from the start, but he didn’t want to hurt her.

“I see,” Liz whispered. She averted her face, staring at the TV he hadn’t bothered to turn off.

“Well, what was so urgent?”

“I met someone.”

Oh.

Pete’s text message alert sounded and rescued him from answering his lover.
Former
lover.

It’s a BOY!!!!!

The screen shouted with Cole’s message.

Micah Benjamin Lucas, born at 7:17pm. 8lbs, 5 oz, 21 inches long. He’s perfect! Andi says he looks just like me. And believe it or not, I’m sitting here crying like a wimp. Pictures to follow.

When Pete met Liz’s eyes, his smile didn’t even get a chance to come to life.

Irritation flashed across her face. “I just thought you should know.” Her voice dropped.

“It’s okay. Liz—”

“I could have loved you, you know.”

Pete swallowed back a curse, but she kept talking before he got a chance to open his mouth.

“I know that’s not what
this
was between us.” She wiped her face and shook her head. “I
know
it. But…”

“Liz—”

“It’s fine, really. I did meet someone, and he’s great. So I’m gonna go for it. Like I said, I thought you should know.”

Sighing, Pete closed his eyes and forced a nod. It wasn’t okay,
she
wasn’t okay. And he was at fault. He’d been selfish with her. A total ass. He sincerely hoped there really was a new guy and she wasn’t lying to cover unwelcome feelings. That would only make things worse.

His phone dinged twice—probably pictures of his partner’s new baby.

Nothing like a royal dumping to ruin the occasion.

How can your fuck buddy dump your ass? You. Are. Pathetic, Peter Crane.

“I hope you’ll be happy, Pete. And find what you’re looking for.”

Then she was gone, before he could assure Liz he wasn’t
looking
for anything.

The front door closed at the same time as the phone rang. Pete cursed and jumped, expecting to see Cole’s number flash on the screen. But it was work.

Shit
. He’d almost forgotten he was on call.

He cleared his throat. “Crane.”

“Detective, this is Sean from dispatch.”

* * * *

The body crumpled just as easily as the little nurse’s.

’Cept this one has more holes
.

But it leaked more. The pool of deep red spread slowly from beneath the guy. Luca stepped back before the blood reached the tip of his shiny black loafers.

He scowled and holstered his Beretta, only to curse as the leather rubbed the deep cut on his thumb.
Fucking windowsill.
His whole hand throbbed.

They’d taken too much time at the rehab centre, so he couldn’t tell Caselli with a certainty that Berto’s little whore was dead.

Oh well, it wasn’t the first lie he’d told in his life. Wouldn’t be the last, either.

“Let’s go.” The urgent bark made him scowl.

Who did Caselli’s nephew think he was? Mickey’s balls were getting too big for his diapers. Luca was running this show. Even the orders from the top confirmed it. The little bastard might be the boss’s blood, but he wasn’t supposed to question Luca.

“We go when
I
say.”

Mickey frowned and glanced at the dead man, saying nothing.

“Did you take care of the Hummer?”

“Yeah. Parked it behind the warehouse and took the plates off. Wiped it clean, except jackass’s prints”—Mickey gestured to their former driver before looking back at Luca—“are all over it. Did you get the ten grand back?”

“Yes.” Taking a breath, he cautioned himself to calm. Mickey wasn’t interrogating him, it was a just a question.

“How’re we gonna get outta here?”

“We’ll lift something.” Luca looked around the old trailer. How long would it take for their
friend
to be found? He smirked.

Mickey muttered something that sounded like, “That’s what I just said,” but Luca ignored him.

Turning away, he surveyed the decrepit place. The wallpaper was peeling, rolling over on itself down every wall, the printed pattern barely discernible. The kitchen counter was no longer whole, with great chunks missing from the linoleum. Cupboard doors hung on hinges or were missing entirely. There were no sinks and the carpet in what passed for the living room looked like it’d had a bad experience with a lawnmower.

“Luca…”

“What?”

“The redheaded chick and the old woman saw us.”

“And?” Luca snapped. “What did they see? We were in and out.”

“What if—”

“Shut the fuck up. There is no
what if.
I have it handled.”

Mickey frowned again and scratched his head. His shaggy dark hair fell into his eyes but he shoved it back. Opened his mouth, then closed it.

Smart.
Because it was either pound him or shoot him. Luca’s boss wouldn’t appreciate either. And he had to prove himself to Caselli.

He hadn’t spent the last ten years working his ass off for nothing. This—the whole Texas mission—was his chance to prove to the boss that he could handle more responsibility. Luca
could
run the show. Like Bruno had, and Berto before him. Only he wouldn’t get sent up river like a dumbass and he sure as hell wouldn’t be a traitor for a little pussy, either.

“Should have burned the Hummer,” Mickey said.

Luca whirled on his boss’s nephew. “You’re a fucking stupid shit, do you know that? Fire brings
attention.
We’re trying to avoid cops.”

“I would have made it look like the dead asshole had a mishap with his meth,” Mickey said.

“Yeah? How? When he’s here playing Swiss cheese?”

Mickey shifted on his feet, grumbling something Luca didn’t catch. Which was just as well. His restraint was waning. He was likely to do something he’d regret—but only after Caselli had found out.

Maybe he could off his boss’s nephew and blame it on the cops. A shootout with the locals wouldn’t be so bad if he could come out the sole survivor. But then again, he wouldn’t want to trifle with
Uncle Tony’s
temper until
after
Luca was considered his right hand. “Let’s go get a decent ride and find a place to crash.”

Mickey nodded and headed for the door of the crappy trailer without another word.

Dead guy didn’t have a car, so they were shit out of luck there. They’d have to figure something out.

Luca had a call to make and a ranch to get to.

One down, one to go.

Chapter Five

Police cruisers covered the parking lot. The Chevy Tahoe that patrol supervisors always drove blocked the front doors of Health Solutions
as Pete pulled in.

His stomach roiled. Something about knowing Nikki was inside bothered him more than it should. She was fine. It’d been confirmed by Sergeant Stein, the officer in charge of the scene. But still—she’d been
in
the damn room.

Calm down.

The scene was secure. One vic, shot twice, probably already on her way to the hospital. This was clean up, canvass and find out what happened.
Investigate.

He’d done it a million times.

Pete slammed the car door shut and plastered on his game face, meeting Cole’s partner, Detective Jared Manning, in the parking lot. The guy had an evidence kit slung over his shoulder.

“Don’t think you’ll need that. CSI’s already on scene.” Pete thumbed the white van with
Crime Scene Unit
displayed on the side.

The younger man shrugged. “Thought it might come in handy.”

Pete nodded and they fell into step, heading into the long L-shaped one-storey building. “Thanks for showing up since Andi’s out.”

“No problem. Cole’s out, too, after all. It’s a boy, did you hear?” Jared asked.

“Yeah. Cole sent me a text.”

“Too bad the kid’s arrival is overshadowed by this crap.” Jared gestured to the chaos inside the rehab centre.

Jared’s expression was grim as they arrived at the room where the shooting had gone down. He yanked blue booties on over his shoes and nodded to the two crime scene techs already processing the scene.

Glancing from the doorway, Pete saw a pool of blood on the floor, glass everywhere.

Damn, would the woman even stand a chance with all that blood?

Marion was snapping away with her high-tech digi cam, her navy Crime Scene Unit
windbreaker rustling with her movements. The yellow lettering caught his eye, distorting as she paused to push up the long sleeves. It was a warm evening.

Cole’s partner went inside, appearing to do a visual sweep. He had a keen eye, so Pete let him do his thing. They both needed to note what they could, in addition to getting the lead tech’s take on everything.

Doctors, nurses and other gawkers swarmed the hallway outside, talking over each other. They’d need to clear everyone out, weed through who’d seen what.

Nikki stood close to Sergeant Chloe Stein. Their heads were bent together as they spoke, Nikki leaning into the shorter woman when Chloe put her arm around her. Nikki’s back was to an elderly woman on a gurney against the wall just down from the room. Two nurses were hovering at her bedside, their expressions concerned, voices low and urgent.

“I will not.” The slight woman crossed her arms over her thin chest and glared hard enough to make Pete twitch.

“But, Mrs Jenkins, please—”

“I
will not
leave my granddaughter.” Mrs Jenkins scowled.

Pete’s feet carried him closer of their own accord, just as Nikki pulled away from the sergeant.

“Gram, I’m fine. Please let Rebecca take you to a new room.” She spared him a glance, but nothing more. Her fear was glued to her grandmother.

Rebecca, the taller of the two nurses, sighed, her shoulders relaxing. She was a curvy, attractive black woman with short hair. When she glanced at Pete, she flashed a smile.

“I’ll go with you,” Nikki said to Mrs Jenkins. “Be right back,” she told Chloe, but her gaze finally raked Pete.

He inclined his head as the sergeant told her to take her time. Pete let Nikki handle getting her grandmother resettled without protest. He’d speak to her when she was back. She probably needed the breather anyway.

“Detective.”

Pete swung his head around, meeting Sergeant Stein’s blue eyes. “Chloe.”

She squared her shoulders. “The staff took Nikki and her grandmother out of the room before I made scene with Ricketts, or I would’ve told them to hold tight. Gram’s and Nikki’s clothing appeared clean, but you might want Neil to do a thorough check. Blood spatter on the bed sheets—I told the nurses not to touch anything. Nikki recounted what she could, and I’ve had dispatch put a BOLO out for the car. The vic was rushed to the hospital, stable, but I told the docs you’ll likely head there and to not give you a hard time.”

“Thanks. Good job.” Pete nodded. He could only pray that the
Be On The Lookout
would yield something.

They
would
have to hightail it to the hospital. But he wanted to talk to Nikki first. “What’s your take?” He studied his longtime colleague. She’d been a cop longer than Pete, and knew her stuff. Had anyone else been on duty, he would’ve asked for a lieutenant to run the scene, but Sergeant Stein was more than capable.

“It was quick. They were in and out.”

“Like a hit?”

Chloe nodded, her light brown ponytail bobbing. “They were definitely after her. No one else was hurt.”

“She gonna make it?”

“The doctor here got her stable, but I don’t know. He said she lost a lot of blood.” Chloe’s eyebrows drew tight.

“Pete.” Jared leaned out of the room. “C’mere.”

Pete trotted back to the room, pulling elastic blue foot covers from his back pocket and tugging them over his cowboy boots. “Whatcha got?”

Neil glanced over his shoulder from the windowsill. “Some blood over here. Looks like someone got cut on the way out the window. Maybe we’ll get a DNA match.”

“Good deal,” Jared said, before looking back at Pete. “Two different guns. A forty and a nine.” Squatting down, he gestured to numerous shell casings on the floor. “Looks like about fifteen shots.”

Marion hovered over the bed behind him, snapping pictures of various spots of blood. They were on the sheets as well as the bedframe.

She threw a wink at Pete. Tall for an Asian chick, she was a stunner, her dark hair in a librarian bun at the back of her head. Her ever-present camera bag slung across her body was almost as big as she was.

Looking around the room, Pete mentally catalogued everything. Blood on the floor, glass scattered everywhere. Smeared bloody shoeprints on the way to the window, but no full print.

“Neil, is there a flower bed outside? Below the window?” Pete asked.

The older, balding man nodded. “Yup. Got nice prints. I’ll get out there to take an imprint ASAP. I see one complete boot outline and maybe another partial from here. Hope I get something from them both.”

“Great,” Pete said.

“No prints on the sill, though,” Neil said, shaking his head.

“Damn,” Jared muttered, straightening to his full six-foot-plus height. Cole’s partner scooted around the photographer and she glared at him.

Pete arched a brow as Jared averted his gaze from her dark, almond-shaped eyes.

Jared cleared his throat and grabbed a notebook from his back jeans pocket, looking a little too conveniently busy as he jotted down some notes.