Into the Fury (BOSS, Inc. #1)(86)

They were safe.

At least for the moment.

He opened the front door with his hands in the air, holding the pistol loosely between his fingers, showing them his weapon. He bent and set the Glock on the ground, then went back to Val to wait for the ambulance. Ethan prayed she’d be okay.



“We’ve got a problem,” the man said into the phone.

“I don’t like problems. What is it?”

“The hit didn’t go down as planned. Our man got away, but it puts Brodie on alert. He won’t give us another opening.”

“Brodie will think the shot was meant for the girl. He’ll be worried about her, not himself. Brodie’s been sniffing around the Internet, setting off all kinds of alarms. I want him stopped before he stumbles onto something.”

“Killing him might just stir things up, make things worse than they are already.”

“The police have moved the Larsen case to a back burner. Brodie’s an ex-cop and a PI. He’s got all sorts of enemies. If he gets killed, it could be anyone. Once we get rid of him, this will be over.”

“What about the girl? He’s been staying with her. She might know something.”

A long pause ensued. “She’s a model. All they think about is their hair and makeup. She won’t be a problem.”

“And if she gets in the way?”

“Then get rid of her, too. Call in some help if you need it, but this time get it done.”

The call ended and he made another, this one to the man who’d been hired to take Brodie out. “You’ve got another chance. Get some men and take care of it. You know who to call.”

“You know I prefer to work alone.”

“Yeah, well, you tried it your way; now you’ll do it mine. And you’d better not blow it. You do, you’ll be the one dodging bullets.” He hung up the phone and sat back in his chair.

He didn’t like this business of murder. But with the money involved, sometimes unpleasant things had to be done. He’d make sure Brodie was taken care of; then things could get back to normal.

Rising from his chair, he walked outside into the humid summer air. The sexy little redhead he’d been seeing for the past couple weeks waved in his direction. She was sunbathing topless. Wouldn’t take much to get her out of her bikini bottoms. He watched as she dove into the pool, started unbuttoning his flowered shirt and stripped it away, leaving him in just his swim trunks.

He liked the good life. He wasn’t about to give it up. He smiled and dove into the water.





Ethan sat in Val’s living room with Val and Detective Bruce Hoover. Two police cars still sat out front. Hannah was next door with Mrs. Oakley, helping the old woman make chocolate chip cookies.

Val’s neighbor had come over as soon as the ambulance arrived. As the EMTs worked over Val, Ethan explained to her about the shooting and the statements they would need to give the police. Mrs. Oakley volunteered to take care of Hannah, bribed her with cookies and kindness, and so far it was working.

Next to him, Ethan’s arm around her waist, Val looked pale and brave, her arm bandaged where the bullet had gouged an inch-long groove into her flesh just above the elbow. He didn’t want to think what would have happened if the shot had gone sideways, hit her in the chest or even the heart.

The EMTs said the injury wasn’t that serious but insisted she go to the hospital to be checked out. Ethan had done his best to convince her. Val had refused, though her arm probably hurt like hell.

“I’m studying to be a doctor,” she’d said. “Well, an animal doctor, but still . . . I know how to take care of a wound like this.”

Then Hoover had arrived and started asking questions, pacing back and forth between the sofa and the shattered front window. As usual, he was in a grumpy mood.

“So you think the shooting is related to the Larsen murder. You think our killer is back.”

It made sense. Though at the moment, he wasn’t sure of anything.

“The killer left a note at the Larsen murder scene threatening to take out another model. The job he did was neat and clean, in and out, and not a clue left behind. The MO here is different, but a sniper’s bullet is just as neat and clean, the shooter’s identity equally hard to track down.”

Hoover held up a chunk of lead Ethan had dug out of the leg of the sofa. “Caliber could be a .308, but until forensics gets a chance to weigh it, we won’t know for sure.”

“You’ll find a couple more embedded in the porch.”

Hoover studied the misshapen piece of lead. “.308s aren’t that uncommon. Marine snipers shoot an M-40 rifle that fires a .308.”

“That’s right.”

“Maybe it was someone from your past.” Hoover turned, the top of his fringed head gleaming as if it had been polished. “You think of that, Brodie? Could be someone you investigated or arrested, someone you pissed off real good.”

Ethan blew out a breath. His gut said this had nothing to do with the past and everything to do with the present. “It’s possible, but I don’t think so.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

“I know one thing for sure—I need to get my little girl somewhere safe, and being with me isn’t it.”

“What are you going to do?”