Night Shield

  and flexibility.”

  She bolted forward. “Listen to me.”

  “No, you listen to me.” His voice was quiet, cool, inflexible. “I could do what you’re asking. What’s to stop him from waiting me out? I close down, he goes under. I open, he surfaces. We could play that game indefinitely. I prefer running my own game, on my own turf.”

  “I’m not going to say you don’t have a point, because you do. But we’ll nail him within two days. I promise you. All you have to do is shut the place down, take a little vacation. My parents have a great place in the mountains.”

  “Would you be coming with me?”

  “Of course not. I have to stay here and close this thing.”

  “You stay. I stay.”

  “You’re a civilian.”

  “Exactly, and until this is a police state, I have a right to run my business and come and go as I please.”

  She wanted to tear at her hair but knew that would just amuse him. “It’s my job to keep you alive to run your business.”

  He got to his feet. “Is that what you think? Are you my shield, Ally? Is that why you’ve been wearing your gun until we’re up here behind locked doors? Is that why you keep it within reach even when we are here?”

  He came around the desk, even as she cursed herself for the slip. “I don’t like the implications of that.”

  She met him toe to toe. “You’re a target.”

  “So are you.”

  “This is a waste of time.”

  He spun her around before she could stalk to the elevator. “You will not stand in front of me.” He said it slowly, distinctly, with that rare glint of ready temper in his eyes. “Understand that.”

  “Don’t tell me how to do my job.”

  “Don’t tell me how to live my life.”

  She threw her head back, released a muffled scream. “All right. Okay, forget it. We do it the hard way. Here’s the deal. Twenty-four-hour guards outside. Cops in soft clothes in the bar and club areas at all times. You take on undercover officers as kitchen and wait help.”

  “I don’t like that deal.”

  “Tough. Take it or leave it. Leave it and I pull strings and have you slapped into protective custody so fast even a slick customer like you won’t be able to slide through the knots. I can do it, Blackhawk, and I will. My father will help me do it, because he cares about you. Please.” She grabbed him by the lapels. “Do it for me.”

  “Forty-eight hours,” he agreed. “And in the meantime, I put out word on the street I’m looking for him.”

  “Don’t—”

  “That’s the deal. It’s fair.”

  “All right. That’s the deal.”

  “Now, what would you like to bet that I can go downstairs right now and pick out every cop you’ve already planted?”

  She puffed out her cheeks, then showed her teeth in a smile. “No bet. I don’t suppose I can convince you to stay up here tonight?”

  He traced a fingertip down the center of her body. “I will if you will.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Sometimes compromise, however annoying, was the only out. “Hold that thought until closing.”

  “That I have no problem with.” He walked over to call for the elevator. “Tonight, or tomorrow night.”

  “Yeah. It’s just as likely, more really, that they’ll take him at the condo. But if he slips through the net, or senses anything, it’ll be here. And it’ll be soon.”

  “Will’s got good eyes. He’ll know what to look for.”

  “I don’t want you, or any of your people, taking chances. If he’s spotted, you tell me.” She glanced over, caught him studying her. “What?”

  “Nothing.” But he traced his fingers over her cheek. “When you’ve closed this down, can you take any time?”

  “What do you mean time?”

  “A few days. Away. Somewhere away.”

  “I might be talked into that. Do you have anywhere in mind?”

  “No. Pick it.”

  “Well, aren’t you open-minded and daring? I’ll start thinking.” She took a step out of the elevator, already shifting her focus, but he took her arm.

  “Ally?”

  “Yeah.”

  There was too much to say. Entirely too much to feel. And it wasn’t the time, not the time to play it straight or any other way. “Later. We’ll get into it later.”

  Chapter 12

  Traditionally business at Blackhawk’s was light on Sunday nights. There was no live music as a lure, and the first day of the workweek loomed heavily.

  Ally decided a great many people in Denver were taking advantage of the gorgeous weather and mild evening, and most who strolled in out of the night lingered an hour or more over their drinks or bowls of guacamole and chips.

  She watched the entrance, checked the exits, studied faces and counted heads. Throughout the evening she slipped into the lounge at regular intervals to check in with the stakeout at Lyle’s condo.

  An hour before closing, and still he hadn’t been spotted.

  Itchy, she roamed the floor, checking faces, watching doors. The crowd was thinning out, and she imagined there’d be no more than a scatter of customers left by last call.

  Where was he? she asked herself. Where the hell was he? He’d run out of places to hide.

  “Detective.” Jonah danced his fingers over her shoulder. “I thought you’d be interested to know one of my sources reports a man fitting Lyle’s description has been asking questions about me.”

  “When?” She gripped his arm and pulled him toward the alcove. “Where?”

  “Tonight, actually. At my other place.”

  “Fast Break?” She swore, whipped out her phone. “We didn’t put anyone there. They never hit there. It’s not his style.”

  “I’d say that holds true.” He laid a hand over hers before she could dial the phone. “The bartender there just got in touch. Apparently Lyle—I assume it was Lyle though he was wearing glasses and sporting a beard—dropped into Fast Break a few hours ago, loitered at the bar, started asking if I ever came in.”

  “Hold on.” Ally tapped his hand away and put her call through. “Balou? Cut a pair of uniforms loose from the condo. Tell them to see the bartender at Fast Break. The address is …”

  She looked at Jonah, repeated the address he gave her. “Lyle was in there tonight. He’s reported to be wearing a beard and glasses. Make sure that gets out.”

  She disconnected, looked back at Jonah.

  “As I was saying,” he continued, “my man didn’t think anything of it initially, then it started to bother him. He says Lyle was jumpy. Hung around about a half hour, then said to tell me he’d see me around.”

  “His center’s crumbling. He’s psyching himself up to move.” She wanted Jonah out of the way. “Look, why don’t you go up, give your man another call. Let him know a couple of cops are on their way.”

  “Do I look like I’d fall for that lame a con?”

  He strolled away from her to check on a table of customers who were preparing to leave.

  The shouts came from the kitchen, followed by an explosive crash of dishes. Ally had her gun out, bolting for the door when it burst open.

  He’d ditched the glasses, and the beard was a thin and scraggly dusting over his chin. But she saw she’d been right. He’d psyched himself up. His eyes were wide and wild.

  And he had the barrel of the nine millimeter pressed to the soft underside of Beth’s jaw.

  “Don’t move! Don’t anybody move!” he shouted over the screams, the rush of running feet as customers scattered.

  “Stay calm. Everybody stay calm.” She sidestepped, kept her gun trained on him, her eyes trained on him. Forced herself to block out Beth’s terrified face. “Lyle, take it easy. You want to let her go.”

  “I’ll kill her. I’ll blow her head off.”

  “You do that, I kill you. Think, you need to think. Where does that get you?”

  “Put your gun do
wn. Drop it, kick it over here, or she’s dead.”

  “I’m not going to do that. And neither are any of the other cops in here. You know how many weapons you have aimed at you right now, Lyle? Look around. Do a count. It’s over. Save yourself.”

  “I’ll kill her.” His gaze jittered around the room, bounced off guns. “Then I’ll kill you. That’ll be enough.”

  Someone was sobbing. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the bar area where civilians were being rushed outside to safety.

  “You want to live, don’t you? Madeline would want you to live.”

  “Don’t you say her name! Don’t you say my sister’s name!” He shoved the gun harder against Beth’s throat and made her cry out.

  No place to run, Ally thought. His sister had had no place to run and still she’d turned and fired.

  “She loved you.” Ally edged closer, keeping his focus on her. If she could get him to lower the gun, a few inches, get him to shift it toward her. Away from Beth. “She died for you.”

  “She was all I had! I got nothing to lose now. I want the cop who killed her, and I want Blackhawk. Now! Right now or she dies!”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Ally saw Jonah move forward. “Look at me!” She shouted the words. “I’m the one who killed your sister.”

  He screamed, one long howl as he jerked the gun away from Beth, swung it toward Ally. There was a burst of gunfire, a blur of movement, wails of terror.

  With fear locked in her throat, Ally rushed forward to where Jonah lay tangled with Lyle. Blood coated them both.

  “Damn you! Damn, are you crazy?” With urgent hands she began to pat him down, looking for wounds. He’d thrown himself at the gun. In front of the gun.

  He was breathing. She held on to that. He was breathing, and she would make sure he kept on breathing. “Jonah. Oh, God.”

  “I’m all right. Stop poking at me.”

  “All right? You jumped into cross fire. You nearly got yourself killed.”

  “You, too.” He looked past her to where the starry floor was cracked an inch from where she’d stood.

  “I’m wearing a vest.”

  “And that takes care of your hard head, too?” He sat back as a cop turned Lyle over.

  “He’s gone.”

  Jonah spared Lyle’s face one glance, then looked into Ally’s eyes. “I’d like to calm my customers down.”

  “You’re not calming anyone down.” Ally rose with him. “You’ve got blood all over you. Is all of it his?”

  “Mostly.”

  “What do you mean mostly?”

  “I’m going to deal with my customers and my people.” He held her at arm’s length before she could snatch at him again. “Do your job, and let me do mine.”

  He turned away to take Beth from the female officer who was holding her. “Come on, Beth, come on with me. Everything’s all right now.”

  Ally pressed her fingers to her eyes, then looked down at what was left of Matthew Lyle. “Yeah, everything’s dandy.”

  * * *

  “Slipped in the back,” Hickman told her while they sat in the nearly empty club. The civilians were gone, the body had been removed and the crime scene unit was packing up.

  She wondered idly what time it was and how soon she could fall on her face and tune the world out. “He stopped being smart,” she said. “He stopped thinking.”

  “You got that right,” Hickman agreed. “Got himself one of those white kitchen uniforms, slapped on a wig and glasses. Before the cop who spotted him could call in or move, all hell broke loose.”

  “He didn’t think we were smart enough to close him in. I saw his face when he spotted all the cops. Pure shock. My guess? He figured on breaking in here, taking Jonah down, me if I was around, then he’s got hostages. He’d demand we turn over the cop who killed his sister. He really figured we’d do it, and he’d get out.”

  “Arrogant. Speaking of which, it was pretty cocky, telling him you were the one he wanted.”

  “I don’t know why he didn’t spot me in the first place.”

  “You look different.” Hickman scanned a look up, then down. “Very un-Fletcher-like.”

  “Give me a break, Hickman. I look how I look. I’ll tell you how it was. He came in here for Jonah. When he looked at me, all he saw was cop—no face, no form, just another cop. He didn’t put me together with the one who’d worked here.”

  “Maybe.” He got to his feet. “I guess we’ll never know.”

  He glanced over at the starburst crack in the floor. “Too bad about that—classy floor. Bet it’ll cost an arm and two legs to fix it.”

  “Maybe he’ll leave it like that. Conversation piece. Draw a crowd.”

  “Yeah.” The idea tickled Hickman. “We’d’ve taken him out right away, you know, but he would’ve gotten that shot off anyway. At that range, the vest would’ve stopped the bullet. Probably. But one way or the other, if the shot hadn’t been deflected, you’d have been seriously hurt.”

  Absently she rubbed a hand between her breasts, imagined the breathless pain. “You ever taken one in the vest?”

  “Nope, but Deloy did. Had himself a softball-size bruise.” Hickman held up his hands, made a circle. “Knocked him clean off his feet, too, and tossed him back like a rag doll. Ended up with a concussion where his head hit the pavement. That has to hurt.”

  “I’ll take it over a bullet.”

  “Any day of the week. I’m going home.” He got to his feet. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. Nice work.”

  “Back at you. Oh, your guy’s in the kitchen, getting patched up.”

  “What do you mean patched up?”

  “Caught a little friendly fire. Just a nick.”

  “He’s shot? Shot? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  Hickman didn’t bother to answer. She was already gone.

  Ally slammed into the kitchen, her eyes dark and furious when she saw Jonah at one of the worktables, stripped to the waist, calmly drinking a brandy while Will rolled gauze over his upper arm.

  “Hold it. Just hold it. Let me see that.” She slapped Will away, unwound the gauze and poked at the long, shallow cut until Jonah pushed her face up with the heel of his hand on her chin.

  “Ouch,” he said.

  “Put that drink down, you’re going to the hospital.”

  He kept his eyes on hers, lifted the brandy. Sipped. “No.”

  “No, my butt. What is this? Some idiot, male, macho deal? You’ve been shot.”

  “Not really. Grazed is more the accepted term. Now, if you don’t mind, Will’s got a kinder touch with this than you. I’d like him to finish so he can go home.”

  “It could get infected.”

  “I could get hit by a truck, but I don’t intend for either to happen.”

  “It’s okay, Ally, really.” Playing peacemaker, Will patted her shoulder before picking up the gauze again. “I cleaned it real good. We got some worse in the old days, didn’t we, Jonah?”

  “Sure did. Looks like I’m another scar up on you now.”

  “Well, isn’t that nice?” Ally grabbed the brandy, glugged.

  “I thought you hated brandy.”

  “I do.”

  “Why don’t you get a glass of wine,” Will suggested. “I’m nearly done here.”

  “I’m fine. I’m okay.” Ally blew out a breath. Now, she thought, after everything, her hands wanted to shake. “Damn it, Blackhawk. I was probably the one who shot you.”

  “Probably. I’ve decided to weigh in the circumstances and not hold it against you.”

  “That’s real big of you. Now, listen to me—”

  “Frannie went home with Beth,” he added, wanting to distract her. “She’s okay. Shaky yet, but okay. She wanted to thank you, but you were busy.”

  “There we go.” Will stepped back. “Your arm’s in a lot better shape than your shirt. I’d say that’s a loss.” He held up the bloodstained linen and made Ally’s stomach turn over.
“Want me to go up and get you a fresh one before I go?”

  “No. Thanks.” Jonah lifted his arm, flexed. “Nice job. Haven’t lost your touch.”

  “All in a day’s work.” Will picked up his discarded jacket. “You sure stand up, Ally. Could’ve been an awful mess out there tonight. But you sure stand up.”

  “All in a day’s work.”

  “I’ll lock up. ’Night.”

  Ally sat at the table, waited until she heard silence. “Okay, smart guy, what the hell were you thinking? You interfered with a police operation.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I was thinking that lunatic was going to kill you. It bothered me.” He held out the brandy snifter. “How about a refill, since you drank mine?”

  “Fine. Sit here and swill brandy and look stoic.” She shoved back, grabbed the glass, then gave in and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

  “I won’t if you won’t. No, just stay right there a minute.” He turned his face into her hair, breathed deep. “I’m going to see you stepping in front of that gun for a long time. That’s hard.”

  “I know. I know it is.”

  “I’ll deal with that, Ally, because that’s the way it is.” He drew her back, his eyes intense on hers. “There are some things you need to figure out if you can deal with. If you want to deal with.”

  “What are they?”

  He rose to get the brandy himself, poured, set the bottle on the table. “Are there still cops in my place?”

  “Other than me?”

  “Yeah, other than you.”

  “No. We’re clear.”

  “Then sit down.”

  “Sounds very serious.” She pulled up her chair. “I’m sitting.”

  “My mother left when I was sixteen.” He didn’t know why he started there. It just seemed to be the spot. “I couldn’t blame her, still don’t. My father was a hard man, and she was tired of it.”

  “She left you with him?”

  “I was self-sufficient.”

  “You were sixteen.”