Identity Unknown (A Parker & Coe, Love and Bullets Thriller Book 1) (16 page)

"Fuck you," I said.

"Ooooh, look at you, getting all aggressive and stuff. If you'd shown this much character when I met you, I probably would've moved on, instead of turning you into my bitch."

"What the hell is wrong with you, Emily? Why are you like this?"

"Oh, please, you remind me of my so-called friend Kateryna. She asked me the same thing, all those years ago, when I told her what I wanted to do to the Brotherhood. Then she threatened to go straight to them and tell them what I was planning."

I thought of the newspaper clipping and the headline,
PROSTITUTE FOUND BUTCHERED IN ALLEY.

"So you killed her, too?"

Another smile. "What choice did I have?"

"But she was your friend. I saw the photograph of the two of you."

"A single moment in time," Emily said. "Sentiment will kill you if you let it."

"But I was your friend, too. I cared about you, Emily. And in some weird way, I still do."

"Yet here you are. You and your new boyfriend. Trying to stop me from doing what needs to be done."

"But why? Why are you doing this?"

"Why else?" she said. "Because I can."

She turned to look out past the ledge, then threw her cigarette aside and stepped toward the rifle, taking a quick look through the scope.

"It looks like Ivan is finally up at bat," she said, then turned and stared at me, her eyes flat and soulless. "And I guess you know what that means."

"That I'm no longer necessary, either."

Apparently that was the right answer, because she smiled again, raised the pistol—

—and I dove, hard and fast, hearing the
plock
of the silencer as I stretched my arms toward Parker's gun lying beneath the Jaguar.

Something thudded against my thigh and a white hot pain exploded, then spread and amplified as I got my hands on the gun and turned.

Still smiling, Emily pointed her pistol at my head and was about to squeeze the trigger as I swung my arms upward, Parker's instructions barreling through my brain—

—
point and fire—

—point and fire—

—point and fire—

And I pointed and pulled the trigger and the gun lurched in my hand as Emily's second shot punctured the side of the Jaguar directly above my head.

I fired again and then again, hitting Emily in the chest and stomach, and she flew backward, slamming against the sniper rifle, knocking it over the ledge, where it clattered on the sidewalk below.

I heard a distant scream, followed by several more, as Emily sank to the ground, blinking at me in disbelief. Then the life went out of her eyes, and she was gone.

I tried to pull myself to my feet, but the pain in my thigh was excruciating. I felt my own consciousness draining away and dragged myself over to Parker. His eyes were closed now, and when I felt for a pulse, I felt nothing.

I heard someone crying.
 

Maybe it was me.

Unable to move, unable to do
anything
, I rested my head on Parker's chest and closed my eyes, letting the darkness overtake me…

EPILOGUE

Silly Girl

I don't remember how we got to the hospital.
 

I was told later that the gunfire and the sight of the sniper rifle crashing to the sidewalk had sent a herd of security guards into the parking structure, where Parker and I were found and transported to Houston General.

I'd lost a lot of blood, but not enough to be life threatening, and once I was patched up, the interrogations began and I told my story, just as I've told it to you, from beginning to end.

Okay, maybe that's a lie.

I didn't fill them in on
all
the details. Especially the intimate ones. Those are between you and me.
 

And Parker, of course.
 

Who, I'm so happy to say, is still alive.
 

It was touch and go for awhile there, but the doctors worked their magic and I'm pretty sure his unceasing stubbornness played a big part in his survival.

When he was finally conscious again, they rolled me into his room in a wheelchair, my leg feeling stiff and sore and useless. He lay in bed with his eyes closed, surrounded by machinery and tubes that fed him fluids and medication and oxygen.

I waited, and after a moment his eyes fluttered open and focused on me.

Then he smiled. "Hey…"

My heart rose up to clog my throat again. "That's it? That's all you have to say after you scared me half to death?"

He laughed softly and winced. He tried to speak and I could see it was a struggle for him.

I rolled my chair closer to the bed and squeezed his hand. "That's okay, don't talk. We'll have plenty of time for that." I grinned. "And other things."

"Thanks… to you…" he croaked.

I shook my head. "We wouldn't be here if you hadn't showed me that gun. So I guess I owe you another one."

"Don't… sell yourself short," he said. "I think… I was… wrong about you."

"In what way?"

His voice was little more than a whisper now. "You are a super woman after all…"

Then he squeezed my fingers, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

I sat there for a very long time, holding his hand and watching him breathe, and wondered how it was possible to care so completely for a man I barely knew.
 

But there it was, a feeling so intense and scary and real that I couldn't deny it.

And as the days go by, that feeling only gets stronger.

I'm sitting in the hospital waiting room as I write this, while the doctors continue to work their magic to help get Parker on his feet again.

Oh—and the million and a half dollar bounty that the feds had on Mia Duncan's head?
 

That was awarded to me, Kelsey Coe, a turn of events I could never have anticipated.

I'm not sure how I feel about putting three bullets in my former BFF, but using some of the money to make sure Haley Parker gets the medical care she needs—experimental procedures and all—is enough to assuage any guilt.

I may not be the super woman Parker thinks I am, but as promised, I didn't come out of this ordeal the same silly girl I once was.

I'm a silly girl in love now.

A rich silly girl in love.

And if luck is on my side—as it certainly seems to be—it's a love that will last forever.

Now, if you'll excuse me…

I need to go check on Parker.

COMING NEXT

This isn't the last you've heard from Parker & Coe.

Check out an excerpt from their next
Love and Bullet
s
Thriller
, as Zach and Kelsey go into the skip tracing business together and Kelsey handles her first solo gig—a simple babysitting job transporting a bail-jumping con man from Houston to L.A.

But to Kelsey's surprise, this particular con man has ties to her past—and a very deadly target on his back.
 

An excerpt from
Present Tense
follows.

PRESENT TENSE

Parker & Coe

No. 2

Excerpt

ONE

The last place I expected to find myself was on a plane that was about to crash.

I've never had a problem with air travel. I'm not one who panics at every hint of turbulence, or clutches my armrest when we come in for a landing. I'm the kind of girl who quickly stows her carry-on, pops in her noise canceling earbuds, then snuggles up to an inflatable pillow and spends most of the flight caught in the loving embrace of the Land of Nod.

But when I'm standing near the cockpit of a rickety twin-engine transport plane, the pilot slumped over the controls, the nose of the fuselage pointed in the direction of the good green earth while hurtling at a speed known only to God… Well, let's just say that panic comes very natural to me.

But at least I wasn't alone in my terror.

Ethan Rider was handcuffed behind me.

And this was only the beginning of a very bad day.

TWO

It was supposed to be an easy job. A simple babysitting gig that wouldn't require anything more than escorting a harmless, nonviolent prisoner from Houston to Los Angeles.
 

It was a cold Thursday morning, and I was in the office alone when the offer came in, while Parker was three hours north, chasing down a lead on what he called a Five Figure Fugitive.

When I told him about the job, he didn't sound thrilled. "I don't know, Kels. I'm not comfortable with you doing this alone."

"What could possibly go wrong?" I said, the irony in my tone probably lost to the cell phone connection.
 

We were both still healing after our encounter a few months earlier with my former BFF, Anastasia Brantov. So it was no real surprise that Parker had immediately shifted into over-protective mode.
 

"I'm just not sure you're ready."

"You're the one who almost died, remember? And I'm not
completely
helpless. Don't forget I saved your life."

I didn't bother to mention that he'd also saved
mine
quite a few times. All within the span of about twenty-four hours.
 

Which was part of why I'd fallen for him.
 

I mean, how could I resist?

It didn't hurt that, unlike the men in my past, Parker was someone I could count on, yet was full of surprises. The good kind. The kind that made you smile and sometimes laugh and wonder how you got so damn lucky. Then, of course, there were the rugged but gentle (and quite talented) hands, the broad shoulders, the narrow hips, and a set of bluer than blue eyes that often had me wishing I was carrying an extra set of panties.

Even the sound of his voice could get me going.

"You're not convincing me," he said.

It took me a moment to remember what we'd been talking about.

Oh, right. The job.

"Come on, Parker, what's the big deal? I pick a guy up, we fly to LA, I collect my fee and come home." My choice of words could've been better, but I continued on. "I'll probably be back before
you
are, and Wilky promised us forty percent."

Wilky was a mid-level bail bondsman whose go-to guy was nursing a broken collarbone. When he'd asked if we'd be interested in a quick, easy score, I'd said "yes" without hesitating.

"Does he know I won't be involved?" Parker asked.

"It didn't come up. Besides, I hate to break it to you, but I don't think he cares. He sounded a little desperate and just wants a warm body to escort the prisoner. We were the first to say yes."

"We?"

"I made an executive decision."

"I'm glad to hear you're stepping up, but you don't have enough experience yet. You haven't even finished your weapons training."

I almost laughed at that one. So far, this so-called training had consisted of three trips to a shooting range and one dead sociopath—not in that order. But I guess he had a point.

"You yourself said I'm a quick study. And if you think I'm gonna spend the rest of my life stuck behind this desk while you have all the fun…"

"Fun? You wouldn't be saying that if you knew anything about prisoner transport. Which you don't."

That was certainly true. Up until now, my job with Parker, Coe and Associates had been limited to setting up an LLC, paying license fees, hiring a freelance accountant, renting some office space, and fielding a few phone calls. I handled the paperwork, made nice with various law enforcement agencies and bail bondsmen, and hoped we'd get enough business to keep our doors open for more than a month or two.
 

"So how am I supposed to
learn
this stuff if I don't start?" I asked. "It's not like I'm hunting down a terrorist. The hard part is done. The prisoner's a con artist, not a killer."

PC&A was a skip tracing outfit, a fugitive recovery firm—or what the great unwashed call a bounty hunting agency. The "Associates" part was merely wishful thinking. Parker was the hunter, while I—Kelsey Alicia Coe—sat in our newly rented office watching lame reality shows and Turner Classic Movies, and collected what little bounty came our way.
 

Not that money was an issue. I had come into a large amount of it a few months earlier—a reward for taking down the aforementioned BFF, whose deception had brought Parker and me together. But that's a story I've told before, and there's nothing worse than someone who repeats herself, so I won't bore you with the details. Let's just say that we're alive and she isn't and the reward check was enough to pay some major medical bills for Parker and his niece Haley, and to put us in business.

Parker drew a breath to launch another protest, but I cut him off. "Besides, this is a partnership, remember? I'm not asking for your permission."

"Then what
are
you asking for?"

"Your blessing. Your well wishes. I want you to say, 'Go get 'em, Kels. And give 'em hell.'"

"Have you been watching old movies again?"

"What else is there to do around here?"

PC&A's survival was more a matter of pride than finances. I had quit graduate school and relocated to Houston to make this happen and I'd be damned if I was going to let it fail. I knew next to nothing about the skip tracing business, but I've never let lack of knowledge prevent me from making a fool of myself. So I plunged into this venture with the kind of deluded optimism only a newly-in-love 25-year-old grad school drop-out can rally, and told myself that a year from now we'd have more business than two people could handle.

Maybe I was blinded by my own enthusiasm, but after being chased and shot at a few times, I knew I wouldn't be happy going back to school to finish my Masters.
 

School seemed so... trivial to me now.

And boring.

Parker sighed. "All right, I give. Go get 'em, Kels. And give 'em hell."

I paused. "Really?"