Cold Touch (45 page)

He saw the smal gravel driveway, right where Mick had said he would . . .

and it did, indeed, have a metal chain with a shiny new sign. Knowing he was

probably ending his police career for bursting onto a potential crime scene

without a warrant or any provable probable cause, Gabe gunned the engine

and drove right through the chain, tearing down the two posts that had been

holding it up.

“Guess we’re not going for the element of surprise,” Mick said.

“No time.”

There were no streetlamps, of course, and the woods overhead blocked out

much of the sky. It wasn’t ful dark out on the road, but here in the woods, he

couldn’t see any farther than the distance of his headlights. He tapped the

high beams, gaining a few extra feet, and kept fol owing the narrow road,

twisting and turning around hairpin curves and over downed limbs and brush.

Ahead, he suddenly spotted something—a glow in the woods. Some kind

of light. His foot nearly hit the floor, taking the gas pedal with it, and he heard

Julia fly around in the backseat. But he couldn’t slow down.

Olivia, please, God, please be okay
.

Suddenly, ahead of him, he saw a shocking sight and hit the brakes. A

blond woman, her hair tangled over her face, obscuring it, came staggering

out of the woods, clutching her stomach. Her hands were covered with blood,

which dripped down freely, drenching her body.

“Who the hel is that?” he asked.

Julia was already getting out of the car, reaching for the gun at her hip. Mick

joined her, and together they raced to the woman.

But Gabe didn’t get out. They’d do what they could for her, but right now, he

was focused on getting to Olivia, finding the shed Aidan had seen in his

vision, since that’s where the psychic had been sure she was being held.

Those lights ahead, probably coming from the camper, were only yards away,

he couldn’t just sit here and stare at them.

He hit the gas again once Julia and Mick reached the woman’s side. They

waved him on, silently tel ing him to do what he had to.

Rounding one more curve, he suddenly emerged into a clearing and spied

the mobile home. And the shed. He lurched to a stop, jumping out and running

toward it, cal ing Olivia’s name. But the word died on his lips when he saw that

the door was wide open and nobody was inside.

“Gabe!” a voice cried.

Olivia
.

He spun around, charging toward the sound, past the camper, into the dark

woods. He knew a predator was out here, knew he was deadly. But Gabe was

like a predator now, too. He was fil ed with rage and deadly purpose, wanting

to save the woman he’d begun to love and avenge the partner he’d lost.

His weapon in his hand, down by his side, he paused midstep, hearing

noises from two directions. A woman speaking somewhere to the right, a

child’s answering cry.

And to the left . . .

“Jack! You get back here, boy!”

“There you are,” Gabe whispered, melting back against a large live oak,

disappearing into its shadow. He waited, hearing the branches breaking as

the murderous bastard lumbered through the woods, bel owing the boy’s

name again and again.

“You’re not getting anywhere near him again,” he mumbled, meaning it.

The man suddenly stopped yel ing and stopped running, too. Gabe held his

breath, not making a sound, knowing that, like any other deadly animal, John

Traynor smel ed danger.

Gabe was no murderer; he wasn’t lying in wait to shoot the man down in

cold blood. He’d just wanted Traynor to come closer, close enough so that

there would be nowhere to run once Gabe leveled his gun on him and ordered

him to freeze.

But he was stil too far away. He could break left or right, disappear into the

woods, where Gabe didn’t dare randomly shoot for fear he’d hit Olivia or the

boy.

“You’re never going to hurt him again,” a voice said, loud and deliberate.

Olivia’s.

She was close. Not more than a few yards away, though he couldn’t see her.

But she hadn’t been talking to him; she’d been talking to Traynor. Baiting him

like a bear.

Just like a wounded bear, Traynor bel owed, then lurched out of hiding,

enraged by her voice, losing al caution. Which was obviously what she’d

intended.

Gabe counted to five, watching the man step closer, sure Olivia had already

taken cover again and was wel hidden. Traynor drew even with him and then

moved on past. Exactly two steps past.

“Freeze, you son of a bitch,” Gabe snarled as he leapt out from his hiding

place, putting the barrel of the gun against the man’s lower back. “Drop that

gun.”

He’d expected him to do it, to know he had nowhere to go, no possible

chance to get away from Gabe before he would be shot. But he was stil

operating on animal instincts. Those vicious, cornered-animal instincts must

have told him to fight. He began to swing around, the muzzle coming up as he

prepared to fire.

Somewhere out in the trees, Olivia cried out. The boy sobbed.

“Don’t,” Gabe ordered.

But it was clear the man wasn’t going to stop. He intended to kil or be

kil ed.

Knowing which of those two options he preferred, Gabe didn’t even

hesitate. He just pul ed the trigger.

Traynor dropped. Gabe stared down at him, already knowing this man

who’d kil ed so many, including the best friend he’d ever had, was never going

to get up again.

Which was just fine with him.

“Gabe?” Olivia cried, running toward him through the trees. She held a boy

in her arms, a gangly boy, not too big, but then neither was Olivia.

He jogged toward her, reaching out and taking the child from her arms. The

boy, who looked like he was in shock, came without protest, staring down at

the ground where the man who’d made his life miserable lay in a pool of

blood.

“Are you okay?” Gabe asked, reaching out to touch Olivia, stroking her

cheek, brushing his thumb across her bottom lip.

She curled her face into his palm, kissing his hand. “I’m fine. I think I real y

am fine at last.”

After she arrived home from Ty’s funeral, Olivia kicked off her black shoes and

sat down on her front porch swing. She hadn’t used it in months—nobody

used porch swings in the height of a Southern summer.

It was
still
the height of summer—stil August, stil hot, stil miserable. But for

the first time in at least two months, there was a hint of coolness on the

breeze. Like Georgia had decided to take pity on her residents and send a

tiny breath of fal a couple of months early, just as a tease.

It wouldn’t last. But she’d take it while she could.

Pushing her bare feet against the plank floor of the verandah, she set the

swing in motion, watching kids ride their bikes down the street, waving to one

of her neighbors who was emptying groceries out of her car. They were living

their lives. Normal lives. Normal families.

Normal days.

Would they ever be that way for her? Was normalcy something she could

even understand at this point in her life much less strive for?

Most important, was she living her life the way she should be, or had her

choices driven al chance of normalcy away for good?

That question had plagued her for a long time but never more so since

Monday, when Gabe had looked at her with both anger and emotion in his

eyes and told her what he thought of the job she’d been doing so far—the job

of living the life she’d been given not once but twice.

She thought of Ty, whose murderer was now where he belonged, six feet

under the ground. As was the murderer’s cousin, who’d destroyed lives out of

greed yet tried to do the right thing in the end.

She thought of John Zachary, who was final y at peace.

She thought of poor little Tucker Smith, whose parents had come to town as

soon as they’d gotten word their boy was alive. He’d probably need years of

therapy, but maybe, just maybe someday he’d be al right. He certainly

seemed to have the love of good people—a family that sick monster had told

him was dead.

She thought of Brooke, who’d broken her engagement this morning, and

cried at the funeral this afternoon, mourning something she’d caught just a

glimpse of that was now forever beyond her reach.

She thought of her parents, who’d listened to every word she’d said,

realized how badly they’d been manipulated, and had then clasped hands,

saying nothing but stil somehow communicating more than they had in at least

a decade. She knew they both blamed themselves—her mom for bringing

Sunni into their lives, her dad for keeping her there. They might never be

Sunni into their lives, her dad for keeping her there. They might never be

together again, but for now, they were united in sheer regret.

Then she did something she rarely did: Olivia thought of herself.

She considered her future, what she wanted, what she longed for, how she

intended to fil her thoughts and her days.

And none of those things included death, hers or anybody else’s.

She wanted life. She wanted it desperately. Wanted to be fil ed with laughter

every minute of the day rather than sorrow. Wanted to go to sleep and dream

happy dreams about the people she loved, not strangers living their agonizing

final moments. She wanted to feel alive, rather than like she had one foot in

the grave at any given moment. Wanted that light, giddy feeling of being young

and free and in love . . . the one she felt when she was with Gabe.

Gabe. He was the one she wanted al those things with. The man who was,

at this very minute, walking up the sidewalk, having stayed behind in the car to

finish a phone cal while she came to the porch and dropped onto the swing.

Gabe said nothing. He simply sat down beside her and draped an arm

across her shoulders, letting his fingertips brush her arm. She pushed her toes

against the floor again, setting them swinging, and they swayed together, the

silence broken by the creak of the old hooks anchored into the ceiling.

“Are you al right?” she asked him, knowing today had been beyond awful.

Burying a fel ow officer was hard for any cop. Burying a friend and a partner

was something few ever had to experience. She wished to God he hadn’t

been one of them.

“I’m okay. Ty’s parents cal ed to say they were getting ready to head to the

airport.”

“I’m glad I got the chance to meet them.”

He continued to caress her arm, sighing deeply, so much more on his mind.

She knew one thing that wasn’t worrying him—his job. She guessed that

having a U.S. senator cal your boss, the mayor, the chief, the media and

everyone else to thank a young police officer for saving his cousin’s life and

bringing a cop kil er to justice was enough to keep anybody employed. Gabe

would probably end up getting a commendation.

Ty already had. Posthumously.

“What are you thinking?” she final y asked.

“I’m thinking about you. About us,” he admitted.

She shifted so she could look up at him. “Funny, I was just thinking the same

thing.”

“Liv . . .”

She lifted a hand, putting her fingers over his lips. “Please, let me say

something.”

He nodded.

Swal owing hard, she admitted, “I gave Julia my letter of resignation.”

His eyes widened in shock. “You did?”

“Not because you wanted me to,” she was quick to point out, “even though I

know you did.”

“I didn’t necessarily want you to quit your job. Hel , I’m no caveman.”

“I know. You just wanted me to stop doing the most important part of it.”

He didn’t deny it.

“And that’s what I decided to do.” She shrugged helplessly, having to admit

the truth, even to herself. “You were right. It was breaking me. I kept tel ing

myself I was helping, doing what needed to be done. That the ends did justify

the means. But they don’t. Not if what I’m doing ends up destroying me, which

it would.”

She could never have a normal life unless she stopped. Her sanity would

slip away, along with her security and her peace of mind. It might not happen

right away, but it would happen. In the meantime, being so sure of that bleak

inevitability, she would never
allow
herself to have a normal life. She’d never

trust herself to give her heart completely or to accept his.

And she would never—ever—inflict her inner darkness on a child.

Olivia wanted children—she always had. She just hadn’t al owed herself to

think about the choices she faced, the decisions she would have to make,

before she could even dream of having them.

“I’m final y ready to put down al this baggage I’ve been carrying around,”

she told him, knowing no other way to put it. “It’s too much to haul. From now