breath and sidled out of the kitchen, keeping close to the wall, moving lightly toward the back door. Her hand went to her hip and found nothing. Damn it. She’d left her gun upstairs.
The tinkle of breaking glass brought her up short. The French doors that led into the backyard had been breached. It was too late to head upstairs and get the gun. She would have to walk right through the living room to get to the stairs. Whoever had just broken through her back door was not going to let her stroll on by. She started edging back toward the kitchen, holding her breath, as if that would help her not make any noise.
She didn’t see the fist, only felt it crack against her jaw. Her eyes swelled with tears and before she could react, the fist connected again. This time, her teeth exploded into her mouth and blood sprayed from her lips. She spun and hit the wall face-first. The impact knocked her breath out. She felt the intruder grab her as she started to slide down the wall.
He moved fast, lightning quick. Now that he had his hands on her, she had the advantage, she knew exactly where her attacker was. She started to turn and duck, but a hand on her shoulder pushed her face-first into the wall. Fuck, that hurt.
She fought back with everything she had. She could tell it was a man, not just because of his strength but also from the telltale hardness pressing into her lower back. Great, he wasn’t going to be satisfied with just beating her up, he wanted to get his rocks off too.
Not if she could help it.
She twisted hard, coming face-to-face with his chest. She threw a punch but he grabbed her fist, wrestled her back against the wall. He got his hands around her throat. She struggled against him, quickly realizing that he wasn’t there for a rape and a beating. He was there to kill. Since he was overpowering her, she went limp. She lolled bonelessly against him, surprising him with the sudden weight. She took that moment to push off the wall with her right leg and shove with all her might. It created some space between them, enabling her to slip out of his grasp. She fell into the living room, crashing into the slate end table, opening a bloody gash on her shin.
Her attacker lunged after her. Taylor used the sturdy table to right herself and whipped out her left arm in a perfect jab, aiming lower than where she suspected his chin would be. She connected on target and heard him grunt in pain. Spitting blood out of her mouth in satisfaction, she kicked him in the stomach and felt the whoosh of his breath as it left his body. He fell against the wall as she spun and leapt to the stairs. He jumped up to pursue her, but she was quicker. She pounded up the steps as fast as she could, rounding the corner into the hall just as her attacker reached the landing. The lights snapped back on, blinding her for a brief second.
The gun was on the edge of her pool table, next to the phone, right where she had left it when she went downstairs for a soda. She was getting careless. With everything that was happening, she shouldn’t have taken for granted that she was safe in her own home.
Her hand closed around the grip of the Glock. She palmed the nine-millimeter, spinning around to face the door just as the man came screaming through it. She didn’t stop to think about the repercussions, simply reacted. Her hand rose. Using instinct instead of taking aim, she put a bullet right between his eyes. His momentum carried him forward a few paces. He was five feet from her when he dropped with a thud.
She heard her own ragged breathing. She tasted blood and raised a bruised hand to her jaw, feeling her lips and her teeth gingerly. Son of a bitch had loosened two molars. The adrenaline rush left her. She collapsed on the floor next to the lifeless body.
The throbbing in her jaw brought her back. The sky outside was brightening, the morning light highlighting the horrible mess in front of her. She must have been out for a while. Rising, she took in the scene. The man was collapsed on her game room floor, slowly leaking blood on her Berber carpet. She idly eyed the stain.
“That’s going to be a bitch to get out.”
She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. What an inane thing to say. Shock, she must be going into shock. How long had they fought? Had it been only five minutes? Half an hour? She felt like she had struggled against him for days; her body was tired and sore. Never mind the blood caked around her mouth and the gaping slash across her shin. She put her hand up to her face. Her nose was broken again. Damn.
She eyed the man. He was facedown and canted slightly to one side. She slipped her toes under his right arm and flipped him with her foot. Maybe there was some adrenaline left in her system. The shot was true; she could see a tiny hole in his forehead. Reaching down, she felt for his carotid pulse, but there was nothing. He was definitely dead.
“Oh, David,” she said. “What were you thinking?”
“I still have the scar on my leg from the coffee table.” Taylor brushed tears out of her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat. She shifted, coming back to the present, shaking the past away. She stared at Delores.
“The grand jury heard this story. They felt I’d acted in self-defense. I did act in self-defense. Your office cleared me of any wrongdoing. Whatever you’ve seen on this tape is a lie. It’s been doctored. The electricity had cut out during the attack and came back on. Surely that would give a gap in the tape. It would be easy to fill in the blank.”
The Oompa squiggled off her chair. Standing, she was the same height as Taylor was sitting. She looked Taylor over.
“ We’ll be the ones who determine that, Lieutenant. There has also been a complaint filed against you for harassment and unlawful detainment. It seems you had an unpleasant conversation with a possible witness. He says you drew your weapon. Is this true?”
Crap. God damn Tony Gorman. She’d underestimated him.
“That’s not exactly what happened.”
“We’ll see. I think you’ve crossed one too many lines, Miss. I’m sorry, but while we investigate, you’re going to have to turn in your badge and gun. We have to do this by the book. You are on an unpaid suspension as of this moment, and the investigation into your actions will tell us what really happened the night of your fellow officer’s murder. It’s hard to manipulate a videotape, despite what television might tell you. And we’ll be looking into the harassment charges as well.”
“What?” Taylor asked, as Price said, “You can’t suspend her for this! She’s done nothing wrong.”
The Oompa smiled her crooked smile and held out her hand. “Oh? I think killing a fellow officer in cold blood qualifies as wrong, Captain. I think threatening witnesses qualifies as wrong. I can suspend the lieutenant, and I just did. The public would have my head if they thought we were covering this up. Your weapon and badge, Lieutenant.”
Taylor struggled to shut her mouth. She wasn’t going to help herself by reacting any more than she already had. The Oompa had it in for her, she realized that now. And that could be deadly for her career. Without looking at Price, who was shouting curses at Norris, she stood. She towered over the Oompa, who didn’t blink, just raised her hand higher.
Taylor unsnapped her Glock from her hip holster and set it in Norris’s tiny little palm. Then she removed her shield from her belt and set it gently on top of the service weapon. She swallowed and the roar sounded in her ears. Her heart started to pound, and she heard nothing else. She turned smartly on her heel and marched from the OPA offices.
Twenty-Nine
T aylor didn’t stop. She ignored Price calling her name, ignored the snickering coming from Norris, just walked straight out of the administrative offices, and out of the building. The sun was preparing to set, the darkness of early spring supple in the sky.
Suspended. And here she’d been worried about Lincoln. That was fine. She didn’t care. All she knew was she needed to get far away from the sneer of the Oompa, from Price’s indignation on her behalf, from her own memories. She kicked it into high gear as soon as she was down the stairs, her cowboy boots ringing out on the pavement as her steps got faster and faster. She hit full speed, legs stretching out, her stride lengthening as she crossed the parking lot. She went to the first available car, a cream-colored Caprice. The door was unlocked, the keys tucked into the visor. She barely slowed, just threw herself into the seat, slammed the key home, turned the ignition and peeled out.
