Red Silk Scarf (21 page)

There was still
the possibility that Sullivan was the killer, and Mark, but her Ben didn't
possess the capability.
  
By making love,
they’d touched each other’s inner depths, touched hearts and souls sealing the
best of friendships in the most intimate manner, no, not Ben.
 
A whirling mind stirred up a barrage of
tears.
      

After learning of
Gretchen’s death, Sullivan and Mark separated, neither in a particularly good
mood, each for a different reason.
  
During the time they spent together at the scene they exchanged looks
full of questions.
 
Neither spoke, both
in their own way mourning the loss of Gretchen.
 

Having both men
hauled into his office separately Dan explained in explicit details Gretchen's
death tossing under their noses additional crime scene photos.
 
Reading them the riot act Dan ended his
lecture with the threat of suspension if the killer wasn't caught, and soon.
 
Slapping their files in front of them, he
made it clear the evidence within meant their badge.
 
This was their last chance to reclaim honor,
to stay away from prostitutes and drugs, to keep each other in line.
 
Ranting that would have normally gone in one
ear and out the other, but not today.

____________

Four men carrying
firearms entered a car, each determined to collect a substantial reward.
 
One held a picture of their target and a
scribbled location.
 
According to
instructions, it didn't matter who got in the way as long as they
succeeded.
 
Now, they were watching and
waiting for the right moment.

____________

Cassidy searched
everywhere for Ben.
  
Never before had he
failed to contact her, whether at her apartment, on the streets, or at a Ronda
view.
 
Her repeated text messages went ignored,
facts that were beginning to convince her of his guilt, and that he was hiding
knowing she’d come after him.
 
Wondering
if he’d kill her too made chills ice her spine.
 

Cassidy was a
walking zombie when she noticed the patrol car rounding the corner.
 
Briefly, she wondered if Michael squealed and
prayed she was wrong.
 
By the time the
patrol car pulled over and stopped, she’d spotted Ben across the street heading
in her direction, a combination that made her heart pound like that of a
run-a-way train.

Sullivan wasn’t
sure he recognized Cassidy, though the resemblance was remarkable, normally at
this hour she’d be dressed for work.
  
Dragging in a long thirsty look, one minute he favored the jeans and
white tee shirt, the lack of make-up, the next danger began throbbing in his
toes.

Reading Patrick's
thoughts, Mark insisted they pull over to the curb.
 
Appraising Cassidy, not liking what he saw,
the same suspicion curled Mark’s hair.
 
It didn’t help that DeMarco had just appeared across the street.
 
Hoping to detour trouble, exciting the car
with long strides both began approaching Cassidy.
 

           
“Stop right there,” Cassidy
vehemently demanded her pointer finger as though a gun pointed at their
heart.
 
“Stay where you are,” warnings
that sounded more like begging, her reaction stunning all three men.
 

Sullivan’s mind
was spinning; did Cassidy do what he asked?
 
Maybe she quit and DeMarco was coming after her.
 
Why else would she be dressed the way she
was?
 
It didn’t matter now; Patrick
recognized fear when he saw it and it was definitely fear disfiguring her
features, and altering her voice.

A vehicle running
a red light squealing round the corner instantly halted everyone.
 
Ben was between parked cars heading in
Cassidy's direction.
 
Glaring at each
other Sullivan and Mark expertly read the identical thoughts stamped there;
something was going down, something was terribly wrong.
 
Someone was a target.
 
Both broke into a run

           
Ben was in the middle of the street
when the speeding car warned of a pending peril.
 
Pedestrian’s screams rifled the air, “Watch
out!
 
Get down!
 
Get out of the way!”

           
Three men lowered windows, prepared
their weapons, steadied the barrels.

Sullivan's long
legs barely brought him ahead of Mark.
 
Ben was closing the distance between himself and Cassidy.
 
Cassidy was screaming, “Run for cover.”
 
Ignoring her warnings, pointing toward
Cassidy, DeMarco yelled out to Sullivan, “Get her out of the way.”
 
Experience was telling everyone the deadly
sin about to take place and that time had run out.

Body in midair,
one of Sullivan's long arms shoved Cassidy to the ground, the other wrenching
around frantically searching for Mark with the same intention, missed.
 
Shots ringing out, one loud bang after
another shattered glass.
 
Terrified
screams erupted.
 
Bullets finding their
mark penetrated and ricocheted.
 
Ben’s
body hit the asphalt three others hit the concrete.
 

The instant
Sullivan's body sprawled on the sidewalk, he was up again making a quick
personal inspection that revealed no blood.
 
A split second later, his glance found Cassidy mimicking his moves.
 
Much to his relief, she appeared
untouched.
 
His glance spun to Mark then
DeMarco.

Panic hurled
Sullivan toward his friend, his bulging eyes zeroing in on three wounds that were
turning Marks clothes rapidly crimson.
   
Writhing in pain, placing a death grip on Patrick’s shirt, Mark hauled
him closer.
 
A voice drowning in blood
begged, “Take care of Margie and the kids.
 
Promise me.”

Hands pressed
over the wounds desperately trying to stop the bleeding, “You're going to take
care of them yourself do you hear me.
 
Damn you, don't do this.
 
Hang on,
God Dammit, hang on,” Sullivan screamed like a terrified child.

           
In the background, Cassidy echoed
Sullivan’s pain, the pitch of her voice verification that Ben was wounded.

To Sullivan’s
tremendous relief, the sound of blaring sirens signaled someone had called
911.
 
He prayed help would arrive in
time, as Mark's breathing pattern had altered he was coughing up blood,
moaning, and pitifully repeating his pleas.

Unable to bear
watching his friend suffer, Sullivan briefly looked away the new view much
worse.
 
Cassidy was holding DeMarco’s
head in her lap, rocking him calling him “Curly” pleading with him not to give
up one second, pledging her love the next.
 
Never before did Sullivan hear a woman's terror so pathetically voiced,
as though he felt the vibrations enter his back, severe each vein, and tear his
heart from its cavity.
 
Like a fool, he
watched DeMarco pull Cassidy closer for a kiss.
 
Blood coated hands smoothed back her hair. “I love you Mo.
 
I have always loved you.
 
You were wrong Mo, whether we were friends or
lovers you have to know I would give my life to protect you.”
 

 
At the time, Sullivan didn't know whether DeMarco
or Cassidy was in worse condition, all that mattered was that Cassidy was
unharmed.
 
Tearing him apart was his need
to run to her, reassure her, to save the man she loved, and his need to be with
his friend.
 
Their pain was ripping him
apart.
 
Believing DeMarco to be the low
life of the earth, by placing himself in the line of fire he had saved
Cassidy’s life and redeemed himself.
 
A
pimp in love with his prostitute, the day would never come when Patrick would
understand.

Unable to help
himself, Sullivan demanded that the paramedics tend to Mark first.
 
After all, his friend was an officer gunned
down in the line of duty, an awful reminder of how his father must have
suffered alone while bleeding to death in the street.

           
Mark was hanging on, the paramedics
explained while professionally connecting paraphernalia.
 
There was a good chance he would make it, but
not unless Sullivan let go.

It was not until
he rushed to Cassidy’s side that Sullivan realized she’d completely lost her
sanity.
 
He literally had to pry each of
her fingers from DeMarco's blood drenched shirt to enable moving him to the
ambulance.
 
That's when Cassidy turned on
him like a female bear with remarkable strength, screaming curses, hitting, punching,
and kicking.
 
She, hated him, accused
him, damned him to hell.
 
Then, just as
suddenly, her voice stilled and she fell limp in his arms.
 

Sullivan didn't
know where he found the stamina to carry Cassidy to the car.
  
How he himself remained upright?
 
How he drove to the hospital knowing the
worst was yet to come when facing Margie, and possibly having to tell her Mark
. . .

CHAPTER 16

Chaos invaded the
emergency room.
 
Nurses were nothing more
than flashes of green rushing to comply with doctors shouted demands.
Scrambling professionals who never acknowledged Sullivan or Cassidy despite
clothing drenched with blood.

Side by side,
careful not to touch, the couple numbly joined a mass of people in a waiting
room bulging with depression so thick and smothering it exploded into the hall.
 
A passageway made narrow by the arrival of
Dan and several officers.

Well aware of
Dan’s insensitive means of interrogation, Sullivan intercepted him before he
entered the waiting area hoping to offer Cassidy time to collect her
emotions.
  
Considering he himself was a
mass of pain, unable to slow his breathing or maintain a normal heartbeat, he
did the best he could when volunteering his rendition of the tragedy foolishly
believing Dan’s appetite would be satisfied.
  

Shouts shattering
the dead silence startled those within earshot the moment Sullivan learned Dan
took the liberty of calling Margie.
 
Knowing that he was an insensitive bastard, little imagination was
necessary as to the finesse he used.
 
Anticipating Margie’s arrival, made Patrick anxious wondering how she’d
hold up upon learning the details.
 

Dan gripping
Cassidy's arm to drag her less than willing into the confines of another room
for interrogation ballooned Sullivan’s agitation.
 
The slamming door probably would have made
him charge the quarters if not for depleted stamina, he needed what little
remained for Margie and the kids.
 

Remarkably,
Cassidy suddenly filled his mind bringing with it a small inward chuckle hard
to suppress.
 
However emotionally and
physically depleted she was, he knew she’d put up an admirable fight all on her
own.
 

           
No sooner had he slammed the door,
“God Dammit, tell me what in hell, happened,” Dan spat, mere inches from
Cassidy's face.

           
Defiance up lifted a sagging
posture, a red nose.
 
Puffy eyes narrowed
as she insisted in lifeless words, “I have nothing to say.”
 

Just short of
shaking her senseless, gathering her arms below the shoulders, Dan forcefully
directed her into a chair.
 
Pulling up a
seat facing her, sandwiching her legs between his, he bellowed, “Nothing to
say, huh?
 
Your precious Ben is dying,
and you have nothing to say.”

Ben was going to
die!
 
Dan had her full attention
now.
 
Out of nowhere came a stinging hand
that almost knocked him off the chair.
 
Pushing and shoving, attempting to stand, desperately trying to escape
the callous bastard, in seconds depleted Cassidy’s strength.
 

           
Palms connecting with her chest just
missing her breasts catapulted her backwards with a thud against the
cushion.
 
“I know you're hiding something,
protecting that prick.
 
You're not going
anywhere until you tell me.”