Shattered Justice (2 page)

DAN JUSTICE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT WOKE HIM, WHAT
pulled him from the heavy weight of drugged sleep. A sound. One that didn’t belong in the empty silence of his house.

He closed his eyes.
House
. Not a home. Just an empty shell where he lived with his memories.

The sound came again. He forced his eyelids up, his vision to focus, and turned his head toward the window. A tree branch scraped against the glass, driven by pelting raindrops and a fierce wind.

A storm.

Yeah, well, why not? The weather might as well fit with the rest of his life. Dark. Raging.

Hopeless.

Bitterness burned at the back of his throat as Dan pushed his heavy limbs to a sitting position.

This was why he didn’t like taking those crummy pills. Sure, they made him sleep—were the only way he slept anymore—but it took too long to shake them off.

Even longer to shake off the dreams they set loose.

Yeah. No sleep beat a night of tortured dreams. He rubbed a hand over his face. Coffee. He needed coffee.

He made his way to the kitchen, his head heavy, feeling every one of his nearly forty years. And then some. He pulled the cupboard open, reaching for the coffee …

Instead, his fingers closed around something hard. Cold. He removed it from the cupboard, holding it, studying it. It fit in his hand with deadly precision; its size belying its power. So compact … barely larger than his hand. The perfect size, which was why he’d chosen this one to put in the cupboard … when? How long ago did he do that? Decide his family needed a measure of protection in the home?

He hoped—no, prayed—they’d never need it. But he’d seen too much in his work as a sheriff’s deputy. And then the threats started. So he brought it home. Put it in the cupboard. Just in case …

He made sure they knew how to use it. Showed them where the ammo was stored, in a small can that once held cocoa.

“Do it like this.”
Now, as he’d done then to demonstrate the moves, he flipped the top of the container open with a thumb, scooped the loaded magazine free, and slid it into place—all with a minimum of motion and sound.

He had them practice until they could perform the action with ease. Was so proud of the way they’d taken his instructions to heart, the seriousness of their study. They were ready. He made sure of that.

What a pathetic waste of time.

His fingers fisted over the gun. All his precautions, all his painstaking preparation and planning … none of it mattered. He hadn’t been able to protect them. To keep them safe. All his life, he’d worked to keep people safe. To see justice done—

Justice
. What a laugh. There was no justice. No right. No wrong. No innocent. No guilty.

That’s just the pain talking. You don’t believe that
.

Believe
. The laugh that sliced through the silence was hoarse, wrenched from deep in his gut. What did belief matter? Did it stop evil? Save those who deserved it? Make the guilty pay?

Hardly.

Justice was a myth. A nice little fairy tale to make children feel safe so they could sleep—

Sorrow cut as deep as any shard of glass, piercing him. No. Justice didn’t exist. He’d been a fool to think it did. There was only …

His gaze lowered to the cold steel in his hand.

This. There was only this.

He shifted the gun in his hand, letting it settle into place. Nestle in his palm, supported by the finger that lay along the barrel. Single action. Semiautomatic. A masterpiece of precision. Reaching with his other hand, he gripped the barrel, slid it back, and heard the round chamber—the sound equal parts comfort and caution, allure and alarm.

One flick, one small motion, and the gun would be ready.

Ready for what? What are you doing?

He drew a deep breath. What was he doing?

A single movement, a tiny click told him the deed was done.

The safety was off.

What was he doing?

The one thing he promised he’d never do.

The one thing left that he could do.

Stop the pain.

Forever.

GO OFF
.

Dan Justice stared down at his pager. Hard. Concentrating.
Go off, darn you. Go off …

“Justice, will you relax? You’re drivin’ me nuts!”

Dan looked at his irritated partner. “Aw, I’m sorry, man. It’s just, well, you know.”

Steve waved off Dan’s words, then his big paw went back to rest on the cruiser’s steering wheel. “Yeah, I know. But it’s not like this is your first.”

Dan couldn’t restrain his crooked grin. “Not like it’s my tenth, either.”

Steve’s brows arched under his hat. Though few sheriff’s deputies wore the hats anymore, Steve seemed surgically attached to his. From the minute he reached the station, he didn’t take it off. Dan couldn’t imagine it. He loved almost
everything about his job as a Jackson County sheriff’s deputy, except the hat. “You making fun of me, partner?”

Dan put his hands in front of him, chuckling. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Any man crazy … er,
brave
enough to have ten kids has my respect and admiration.”

The punch to Dan’s arm was as good-natured as it was solid. “Riiight. Whatever you say, bucko. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that you can’t sit there watchin’ your watch—”

“I wasn’t watching my watch.”

“—
or
your beeper, thinkin’ the kid’s comin’ any minute.” Steve steered the state patrol cruiser to the highway off-ramp. “Babies show up when they’re good ’n’ ready. And nothin’ we do will rush ’em.”

Dan leaned back against the seat. “Yeah, I guess you’re ri—
stop!”

Steve slammed on the brakes. The cruiser fishtailed, then came to a screeching halt. “What?” He looked around, eyes wide, hand already reaching for the release on his seat belt. “What did you see?”

Dan took in Steve’s tensed state. He was ready for action. Dan swallowed. Oh boy. Steve was not going to be happy with him.

He frowned at Dan. “What’s goin’ on?”

Dan offered a sheepish grin by way of apology and pointed to the side of the road. “A flower shop.”

Steve’s gaze narrowed, and he peered through Dan’s window. “A flower shop? Did you see someone inside with a gun?”

Might as well bite the bullet and admit it. “No. Just … flowers.”

Understanding was slow in coming, but Dan knew the millisecond it hit his partner. If the hard glitter in Steve’s eyes hadn’t signaled it, the edge to his voice certainly would have.

“Flowers. Let me see if I’ve got this straight.” He read the sign above the door. “That’s a flower shop—something, I understand, they have in abundance here in good ol’ Medford, Oregon. So you yell at me to stop. For flowers.”

With a sigh that came from somewhere in the basement, Steve pulled the cruiser to the curb. “You got five minutes.”

Dan was out of the car in a heartbeat. He was inside the shop and at the counter in two. “Hello?”

No answer. Dan surveyed the interior of the store. Wasn’t anyone working? He could almost hear precious minutes ticking away. “Hey, anyone here?”

Dan wasn’t sure what he heard first—the scream or the sound of glass shattering. But the next sound was one he recognized all too well.

A gunshot.

His senses slammed into full alert, and he drew his gun as he keyed the mic at his shoulder. “Gunshots fired! Get in here, Steve!”

Vaulting the counter, Dan headed for a large set of double swinging doors, which probably led to some kind of storeroom. From the sound of things, that’s where the action was. Fortunately, there were windows in the doors, so he should be able to get the lay of the land before he went in.

As he drew near the doors, he heard a loud voice. Male. Angry.

No. Furious. Like a bull moose out of control.

Pounding footsteps had Dan spinning, but he relaxed when he saw Steve coming, weapon drawn.

“I called for backup. Whaddya got?”

“One gunshot.” Dan indicated the doors. “Sounds like a fight going on.”

They moved to look through the windows. What Dan saw made his heart plunge. A raging man, gun in one hand, large glass vase in the other, screaming at a woman cowering against the wall. Even from the doors Dan could see her face was bruised, bleeding.

“Domestic.”

Dan nodded. Domestic disturbance.
Lord, help us
. Why couldn’t it have been a simple armed robbery? Crooks you
could reason with, most of the time. But domestics? No way. People in these situations were flat nuts.

And dangerous.

Steve held a hand in the air then counted down with his fingers.
Three … two … one … go!

They burst through the double doors. “Police! Freeze!”

The guy was so far gone, he didn’t even hear them. He just kept screaming at the terrified woman. He threw the vase at her, and she pulled herself into a ball as it hit the concrete floor next to her, glass shards going everywhere.

The man was on her, grabbing her by the hair, jerking her to her feet. “I
told
you what I’d do to you if you ever saw him again, you stupid—”

“Police!”
Steve’s bellow practically shook the walls.
“Freeze!”

The guy heard that. He’d have to be dead not to. He spun to face them, the weeping woman in one meaty paw, the gun in the other. “This ain’t none of your business.”

Steve and Dan inched closer, keeping their guns trained on the man. “You made it our business, pal, when you shot that gun off.”

He shook the woman. “This is
my
store.”

“Drop the gun.” Dan kept his voice low and even.

“I got a permit for this gun—”

“Drop
it!
Now!”

He wavered. The gun started to lower.

The woman’s trembling hands clawed at her hair, trying to pry her captor’s fingers loose.

Stop!
Dan tried to catch her eye. But it was too late.

“Jimmy—” her broken words came out on a sob—“do what they say, baby—”

Her voice was like gas on a sputtering flame. Jimmy spun, slamming the gun into her face. “Shut
up!”

“Drop the gun, Jimmy.
Now!”

Steve managed to keep his voice steady, but Dan knew his partner felt the same thing he did: Time was running out.

As though he sensed it too, Jimmy jerked the battered woman in front of him, clamping an arm around her neck as he pinned her against him—and pressed the barrel of the gun to her temple.

Shock sent Dan reeling as he realized the woman was pregnant.
Oh, Lord … please …
“Come on, Jimmy. Don’t do this.”

Jimmy pressed his cheek against the top of the woman’s head, all but spitting his fury at her. “See what you did, Shelia? See what your whoring around got you?”

Desperation glistened in the woman’s eyes as she looked at Dan. Her hands moved over her slightly swollen abdomen, as though to protect the child within her from what was happening. Terror held her mute, except for a pitiful whimper.

God, please! Stop this guy! You can stop him …

“Drop. The gun.” There was steel in Steve’s tone. If anyone could take this guy out, even hunkering behind his hostage, it was Steve. All he’d need was one opening.

And as much as Dan didn’t want to see anyone die, he’d do everything he could to give Steve that opening.

Father God, give me the words. Help me save this woman
. His fingers tensed on his gun.
This baby
.

He forced a friendly note into his voice. “Come on, Jimmy. It’s not worth it.”

At the change in Dan’s tone, the man’s brow crinkled.

Dan dipped his head toward Sheila. “
She’s
not worth it. No woman is worth dying over, man.” Should he mention the baby? Appeal to him for the baby’s life?

“She
betrayed
me!”

Dan licked his dry lips. No. Keep his attention away from the baby. Too much risk. If he thought the child wasn’t his … “I hear you. But she’s a woman. You know how weak they are.” He took one step forward. “They’re not like us, you know? Not strong.”

“She’ll see how strong I am now.”

Dan had to struggle to keep the anger out of his tone. “That’s right.”

“Strong enough to make her pay.”

“Sure. Make her pay. Let her see what she lost.” He forced a chuckle, amazed when it sounded authentic. “She had a real man with you, and she blew it. She doesn’t deserve you.”