Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(83)

Once he reached the deck, he couldn’t avoid the camera aimed right at him. He approached the darkened window, seeing that the bars weren’t latched. That sent his spider-sense into overtime. No way would she leave this open. He followed a loose wire, which brought his attention to the section leading up to the camera. It was cut.

Hell.

That’s when he heard the plaintive sound. Not words, but a cry. He couldn’t see inside, but the light was on in a room beyond her bedroom. He pulled the bar grate open, then tested the window. It was unlocked. Someone had come in this way. But how had he opened the bars?

Griff climbed in, scraping his back against the top of the window, and felt carefully for a place to land without making noise. His marine training came right back as he landed soundlessly.

A man’s voice floated in from the living area. “Aren’t you going to beg for mercy, Kristy? Aren’t you afraid?” he taunted. “You’re a model. Give me some fear. How about some tears? Work it.”

Son of a bitch! Griff shifted enough to see the most terrifying scene he’d ever taken in, worse than anything he’d encountered in the war. Kristy was tied to a chair, her mouth bound with a gag. She was bleeding from tiny cuts on her shoulders, neck, and cheeks, but her face was a cold mask.

He went into soldier mode, a deadly calm replacing the rage threatening to roar through him. The man’s back was to him, and he stood directly in front of Kristy, making for a dangerous angle to shoot. Not some grungy psycho. He was dressed in business attire, even had his shoes shined.

“And you call yourself a model,” he sneered.

Griff knew that voice. From where? He held the gun in a ready position and assessed the situation. If he moved out of the shadows, she would see him, and the flick of her gaze would give him away to her tormenter.

The man lifted a knife. “Maybe a deeper cut will make you cry? I bet you won’t ignore me now.”

Griff stepped out, Kristy looked up, and the man spun around. Which shifted him two inches from Kristy. Griff only had a second to reconcile the disbelief of seeing the detective’s face. When the man started to swing the knife down toward her, Griff pulled the trigger twice.

Blood splattered across Burns’s chest, his face now registering shock. He kept bringing the knife down. Griff couldn’t shoot at his arm; it was too close to Kristy. But she saw the knife coming her way and threw herself to the side, sending the chair crashing to the floor. Griff shot Burns again.

The knife dropped, and so did Burns. Griff scooped Kristy up as he kept the gun aimed at Burns. He was gasping, holding his chest while blood spurted out between his fingers.

“I’m the youngest detective on the force,” he whispered, grimacing in pain. “I have a spotless record. But you still didn’t see me.”

Griff wanted to shoot him again, but he knew the legal system wouldn’t see it as self-defense. He kept an eye on the man as he tugged on the gag and took inventory of Kristy. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, her breaths coming fast. Relief washed over him, nearly sending him to his knees. He tugged the ropes to free her.

Someone was banging on the door. The cop from the car, hollering about opening up. Griff didn’t want to leave Kristy, nor did he want to take his gun off Burns. “Call an ambulance!” he shouted, just as the door smashed open and the officer rushed in, weapon pointed. “Drop the gun!”

The fresh-faced guy was barely a kid, and he clearly couldn’t begin to make sense of the scene in front of him. Griff set the gun down. “Burns is Eye.”

Kristy clung to Griff, her body trembling, tears flowing.

“Now you cry,” Burns whispered, one last bittersweet statement before his mouth went slack and his head rolled to the side.

? ? ?

Griff stood vigil as the paramedics checked Kristy and treated cuts that were, thank God, superficial. Her gaze kept going to him, which was good because she didn’t see Burns get carried out of the apartment on a covered stretcher. She also didn’t see the five obvious members of law enforcement who were waiting to hear her official statement.

“I let him in, Griff,” she said, her voice strained. “I let Eye into my home. He said he wanted to test the cameras, the back way in. And I believed him.”

The medic gave Griff a nod, and he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. “Of course you did, honey. The man was a police officer.” At least that answered how the bars had ended up open. The rest, he could wait for. He kissed her forehead. She was alive. And free. But he knew better than anyone that the injuries of war took longer to heal on the inside than they did on the outside.

She melted into him, her hands gripping his back. “I was so afraid you thought I was rejecting you.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and damp. “You came to Atlanta. I just realized that. You were already here when you called.”

He brushed a strand of bloodied hair from her cheek. “Four blocks away. I decided I had a lot more to lose by staying in my comfort zone. I had you to lose. And I almost did.” God, he wanted to squeeze her tight, but he held back so he wouldn’t hurt her. When he sensed the officers approaching, he tilted her chin up. “The police need to talk to you. But I’m going to be here holding your hand, just like I did with the noodlin’. And if you can still stand to see my ugly mug in the morning, I’m going to be here all night. All day. For as long as you can stand me.”