Risk of a Lifetime Page 2

  A year later, there’d been a message on her voice mail saying he’d be out-of-contact for a while. She should get on with her life. Find someone new. She could only wonder when the hell had he been in contact over the past months? A few days later, an envelope had come addressed to her. Confidential. It included a form stating she was JB’s next-of-kin, a power of attorney to make health and financial decisions for him if he was incapacitated, and an insurance policy naming her his beneficiary. She hadn’t wanted those; she’d wanted him.

  That’s when she’d hired an attorney from outside Crayton and sent divorce papers. Even scribbled in bright red ink “Come home or sign these papers” across the top of the first page. Thought that would force him to make a decision. It had worked. He’d signed the papers and sent them back with a black-marker line slashed through the “Come home” part. That was the last she’d heard from him until now.

  “Don’t go back inside.” The corner of JB’s mouth twitched as he refocused his attention on the bank door. “I’ll take one step forward and to the right. You jump behind me.”

  “I can’t. Joanie’s in there, plus three others. Leon said he would shoot them if I didn’t return.”

  “Leon may be a bully, even mean, but that doesn’t sound like something he’d do.” JB’s stare remained fixed across the street.

  “Most days, I’d agree. Not today. He’s juiced. Head shakes. Crazy eyes. Sweating.” She lingered a second. “Don’t go getting yourself killed before I can give you a piece of my mind.”

  A hint of a smile jerked at the corners of his mouth before he clenched his jaws. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Damn it to hell, even after all this time, he still made her insides quiver with just a few words. Why hadn’t he come home and talked before he signed the divorce papers? Her uncle had told her it was the way she’d pushed JB away—the whole packing his bag and leaving it on the front porch deal. That’s all he would say. To this day, she still didn’t know what that meant.

  But she’d decided if that’s the way JB wanted it, then it was okay with her. She’d done just fine on her own the past few years. She would continue to make it without his help…except for now. She’d be more than grateful if he could get her out of this situation without getting either one of them hurt.

  She walked back to the open bank door and stepped inside. Leon grabbed her from behind, shielding himself with her body as he stood in the doorway.

  “Hold that bullhorn up to my mouth.” His grip wrenched tighter across her chest and shoulders. He wrapped his arm around her and forced her further outside to the edge of the sidewalk.

  Her hand shook as she raised her arm. JB still stood where she’d left him.

  “Press that damn speak button before I blow your lover boy away,” Leon hissed in her ear. “You think I don’t know who he is?”

  She searched the metal with her fingers for the button. “It’s on. Don’t do anything foolish. It’s on.”

  His gun arm straightened as he aimed at JB. “Back off,” he shouted, “or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

  JB didn’t move except to slide a hand behind his back.

  Her uncle had once told her about a hostage who’d stood so still, the SWAT team was able to take the shot at a kidnapper. Right now, that was all she could think about. Stand stone-still.

  Leon swung the gun back at her. “Maybe I’ll shoot your off-again, on-again, off-again wife. What about that?”

  JB backed all the way to the patrol car. “Far enough?”

  …

  JB focused on Marcy. At five-foot-six and what still looked to be one-hundred-thirty pounds, she wasn’t much of a shield for Leon’s frame. She didn’t move. Good girl.

  Taking a shot at the bully wouldn’t serve any purpose. Not as long as there was a chance he could talk him down. His gun would be the last resort.

  This wasn’t the way he’d planned on seeing Marcy again. In fact, he’d hoped to be in and out of town before she even got wind he was around. So much for that plan. Three years was a long time, and he’d learned how to live without her. Still, he wouldn’t stand by and see her hurt, either.

  Leon shoved the gun against the side of her head. “No. All the way to the building behind you.”

  After feeling his way around the hood of the car, JB continued backwards until the cold brick of the building bit into his shoulders. She’d been right. Leon’s haggard look spoke of bad home brew mixed with meth or something stronger.

  Coming back to Crayton had been a mistake, but his dad’s estate needed to be settled. The thought of handling everything by mail had entered his mind, but his undercover assignments weren’t all that conducive to signing papers with a notary. He’d learned that with the divorce. So here he was, caught between what might have been and the reality of Marcy with a gun pointed at her head.

  The drugged-out man’s day was about to get a whole lot worse if he hurt her. JB would take him out in a flash and make it look like self-defense. FBI training might have been intense, but in-the-field operations had taught him things not mentioned in Quantico’s hallowed halls. Like how far he’d go to stay alive. Or to save someone he loved. Had loved, in this case.

  Leon leaned forward and set Marcy on her feet. Yanked back a handful of her auburn hair. A quick flash of fear shadowed her face as she gasped. He laughed, low and menacing.

  Right now she looked like a small, defenseless woman. JB knew different. She could be a hellcat when she wanted. Her eyes, the color of dark chocolate, held fear today instead of their usual warmth. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like it one bit.

  “Hey, JB, I think I’ll have me a little taste of what you had.” Leon yanked harder on her hair, then leaned in and licked her cheek from her chin to her forehead. “Not bad. Maybe I’ll have a little more once we get out of town.”

  The sonofabitch had no idea how close he was to being blown away. All JB needed to do was roll and yank the gun from his back waistband. Gun up, pull the trigger, gun down. Situation resolved.

  His insides edged in that direction, but his training said negotiate. Try another tactic.

  Marcy closed her eyes and flinched. She clenched her fingers around the metal of the horn. JB knew she was afraid now. Mad and afraid. Not a good combination for her.

  The veins on JB’s forearms pulsed to attention, and the muscles in his biceps hardened like steel. “You’re okay, Marcy. You hear me? I’ve got you.”

  Her body eased as she opened her eyes and stared into his. The expression on her face softened. Even her lips had tipped upward, parted a bit. He knew that look. Surrender. Trust. Come what may, she’d put herself in his hands. He tore his focus from her. Cemented it on the man with the gun.

  He relaxed into the role of negotiator. “What do you want, Leon?”

  The bully waved his gun around. “A truck. And…a…a…bag of money.”

  “Okay. You want a Ford or a GMC or—”

  “Ford. A black Ford. And two bags money. Two big bags.”

  “If we give you the pickup truck, what do we get in return?” JB stood away from the wall, took a couple steps forward.

  Marcy closed her eyes again. Not in a fearful way, JB realized, but so as not to distract him.

  Leon tightened his grip on her. “That bank guy. I’ll give you the bank man.”

  “Why not Marcy?” JB took a couple more steps. “She’s already outside.”

  “No! She’s mine.” Leon jerked his gaze upward as if caught by a movement. “I’m gonna—”

  A shot rang out. Leon’s body recoiled, and she lurched to the side as his hold released. She screamed as he crumbled.

  “Who fired that shot?” Gun drawn, JB vaulted over the hood of the patrol car and raced toward her. “Hold your fire.”

  She turned to him, and a second shot echoed through the air. A cry of anguish escaped her mouth as a bright red trickle snaked down her arm where the bullet had grazed her. His back to the line of fire, JB caught her before her le
gs bent and cradled her in his arms. He knelt, shielding her with his body. Her head flung back, and her eyes went half-lidded. Was she reacting to the sight of her own blood or a wound he hadn’t seen?

  He clutched her hand. “I’m here, sugar. Hold on.”

  She responded with a soft press of her fingers.

  Another bullet clipped through the air. Ricocheted off the concrete. Crashed through his shoulder. Her body sagged, wilted.

  “Marcy? Marcy!”

  He felt like the shots were directed at them instead of Leon. Why? The force of his fear for her grabbed his heart and shoved it into his throat. He scanned the area for a safe, quick path to a barrier. Nothing. Moving was not an option.

  What had he heard? Silencer. What had he seen? Nothing so far. Of course, the silencer could lower the flash. This wasn’t the police taking shots. This was a sniper. The rifle scope might be off, or the guy might be nervous shooting in such a confined area, or maybe this was his first job as a hired gun, but there was one thing for sure—the guy was a damn pro.

  Who in this sleepy, little town had that kind of training except for the police? And, him?

  Who?

  Chapter Two

  Phone shoved against his ear, JB paced around the commandeered office of Dr. Crowley at Our Lady of the Lake Medical Center while speaking to his boss Kenneth Wilson at the FBI’s Regional Office in Kansas City.

  The paramedics had brought the three victims of the shooting here. Thankfully, Marcy’s injuries were mild compared to what might have happened. No bullet wound—she’d been hit by a few chunks of pavement. She was somewhere down the hall being prepped for exploratory surgery on her shoulder to make sure they got all the fragments out.

  The bullet that had hit him had only grazed his shoulder, a flesh wound that had already been cleaned and stitched up.

  “That’s what I said. No one from the sheriff’s office fired the shots that hit the robber or my ex-wife. Evidently, Leon’s made some enemies in town.” He didn’t half believe his statement, but until he had more proof, he wouldn’t bring up the possibility of a sniper. “The local police asked if I’d be available to help them out on a small task force to work through the bank robbery and shooting.”

  He figured the frown on his boss’ face had just deepened. And, truth be known, he didn’t want to stay in town any longer than he had to.

  “Afraid I can’t let you do that since you’re emotionally involved.” His boss sucked in air and cleared his throat on the release. “I’ll send Dwight Landon to work with them. You remember him, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. We worked a drug bust in Springfield last year.” Even though JB’s main FBI office was located in Kansas City, Missouri, the satellite offices stretched from Garden Center, Kansas, to St. Joseph, Missouri, from Jefferson City to Springfield, Missouri.

  Landon seemed okay, but the idea of someone else on his own Crayton turf didn’t sit well. Besides, the agent didn’t compare to his first FBI partner, Albert Jennings, whose death was still an open case. Leads might have faded, but to JB, that case would always be active.

  He scrubbed his palm across his hair and glanced through the open doorway into the hall. Sadie Dawson, Marcy’s mom, leaned against the wall, staring at him as if he were the only person she could count on at the moment. He nodded. She nodded in return. Her fingers trembled when she moved them to cover her quivering chin.

  Locals referred to Sadie as a resilient, stand-up broad. The tall, willow-thin woman with carrot-red hair would do anything for anybody in need, even the few in town who bad-mouthed her. Right now, she looked scared and needy herself.

  A nurse approached her with a handful of papers and a pen. The women talked, then Sadie pointed at him. An uneasy feeling grabbed him as the two walked in the office and stopped. He could feel the hard ache at the involuntary clench of his jaw. He turned and moved to the window, then scanned the parking lot and the surrounding area.

  “You still there?” his boss asked.

  “Yeah. I don’t know about Landon. There may be a problem with him fitting in around here.”

  “Give the guy a chance.” Wilson cleared his throat. “I know you looked up to Jennings, but he’s gone. Move on.”

  JB cringed. He’d move on when his partner’s killer rotted behind bars. “Landon’s a shadow. Stays to himself. And if you ask me, which you didn’t, he comes real close to crossing the letter of the law a lot of times. I don’t like working with someone like that.”

  He heard what he’d just said and cringed. Hell, he was someone like that. The words he’d just used hit awfully close to home.

  “I hear you. For now, see how this goes. Let me know if he gets in the way more than he helps.”

  “Hey, I’m not staying around here. I’d planned to be in and out of town in one day, but this robbery has put a hitch in those plans. Once I’ve consulted briefly with the police, I’ll be on my way.” JB raked his fingers through his hair, heaving a loud sigh.

  No way in hell was he staying in town. From the letters Sadie had dropped him every so often, Marcy was doing just fine without him.

  Wilson cleared his throat. “Don’t you think your wife—”

  “Ex-wife!”

  “Okay. Don’t you think your ex-wife may feel safer with you around for a few days?” The man paused. “Women are funny that way. Hate you one minute. Can’t live without you the next. Besides, you never know when your expertise may be needed.”

  “Then put me in charge of the case.” JB was amazed at the inconsistencies being bantered around in this conversation. His boss never seemed to make up his mind lately.

  “What do I have to do to get this through your head?” Wilson’s harsh tone gave no room for discussion. “Special Agent Landon will be lead on this.”

  JB fingered his wedding band tucked in his jean’s watch pocket. He had planned to leave it in an envelope at the sheriff’s office before he left town. JB glanced at the nurse and Marcy’s mom waiting just inside the office doorway. Maybe he should stay a few days. Make sure evidence wasn’t being ignored. Man-up and give the ring to his ex-wife in person.

  He turned back to the window, braced his hand against the frame. No way would his boss change his decision. No way would Landon come close to knowing how to talk to the locals. No way the Crayton Police Department had the resources or guidance to follow through on leads. Especially with the sheriff being out of town.

  Might not be JB’s case, but this was his town, and he wasn’t leaving until the pieces fell into place. Besides, he’d already been wavering about his job with the Bureau. “Remember last month when you put a warning in my personnel file for a no-brainer infraction? Said I needed to be more careful at following your boss’s orders.”

  “Sure. I remember. No big deal.” Wilson’s tone sounded less than straight forward.

  “Wrong. Being called on the carpet for no good reason was a hell of a big deal in my book.” JB focused on the life-changing words he’d mulled over for the past few weeks, ever since he put in for a transfer. “You know that resignation letter you’re holding for me? The one I gave you in case my transfer request didn’t go through?”

  “Now hold on there. I’ve got a good idea what you’re going to say, so take this piece of advice before you speak. Don’t make any rash decisions. You’ve got a career to think about. Your future.” Wilson’s flat, non-conciliatory tone sounded about as sincere as dirt.

  “I already thought.” JB steeled his resolve around his next words. “Pull the resignation out and file it. Effective. Immediately.”

  Enough said. He ended the call. Protocol would have been to handle the leaving in person, but unusual times called for unusual means to an end.

  After clicking to his e-mail files, he pulled out a copy of the resignation and forwarded it to Wilson and Wilson’s boss as added assurance that they both knew he quit. Whatever he needed to do to protect Marcy and this town would be his own call. Not the Bureau’s.

  The pho
ne rang as he turned back to the women. Caller ID showed his boss—ex-boss. JB powered the handset off with a long, hard push of his finger. So much for a career with the FBI.

  Sadie joined him by the window, and he draped his arm across his ex-mother-in-law’s shoulders, pulling her into his hold. She’d kept him up-to-date on Marcy for the past few years. Never asking why they were apart. Then after the divorce, Sadie’d still dropped him a note every so often.

  “How you doing, Sadie?” He owed her an explanation. But how would he explain that the suitcase on the porch that last night before he’d left town had been an echo from the past that he couldn’t handle?

  She leaned on him for a moment, then straightened and blinked her eyes to clear the tears. When a couple trickled down her cheek, she brushed them away as if daring anyone to say they existed. “This nurse needs to talk to you.”

  “Okay.” He looped his thumbs in his back pockets. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

  The woman in scrubs placed the papers on the side table then held the pen in front of him, impatience etched across her face. “Dr. Crowley wants these forms signed by the next of kin before we operate on Marcy Bradley.”

  He stepped back. Waved his hands in front of the paperwork. “You got the wrong person here. Her next of kin is her mama. Marcy divorced me a long time ago. Besides, she didn’t look bad enough that she can’t sign.”

  She’d always wilted at the sight of someone else’s blood. Especially his. Evidently, his fleshy bullet wound had been enough to cause her to faint earlier. Sure, hers needed to be explored, cleaned, and sutured, but there hadn’t been enough blood for the injuries to be life-threatening.

  Clearly irritated, the nurse slammed the pen to the table and headed out the door. “Dr. Crowley said one of you had better have signed that form by the time Ms. Bradley’s ready to roll into that operating room.”

  He held the pen out to Sadie, but she shook her head.