Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2) (2 page)

When Mutt fell asleep, she quietly let herself out and resumed her run, heading back to her apartment, a much-needed shower, and her own breakfast.

Guilt niggled at her as she ran.
You should be working. The department is way behind because of you.

But I need this time away.
Nearly everyone agreed—Callen, her mother, her brothers, her counselor, her lawyer. Even Joe, Sunset Cove’s chief of police. With budget cuts and a less than adequate staff, Joe needed her at the department. Even though it irked him to lose an officer, he had signed the papers giving her additional time off without pay.

Her father was another story. Disappointment glinted in Frank Delaney’s eyes every time he looked at her these days, making her feel like a traitor. Her mother tried to assure her that the look wasn’t meant to be critical—at least not toward her. “He’s angry, Angel,” her mother had said. “Angry with the doctors, angry with himself and me and the whole world.”

Angel didn’t buy it. Yes, he’d had a heart attack that had led to surgery, then a stroke. He was angry, but that was not the emotion she saw reflected in his eyes. He was disappointed that she had buckled under pressure. Her father had never tolerated weakness in any of his children—why would he start now? In his eyes, she was a quitter—at least that’s how she saw it.

Her chest constricted, more from heartache than from exertion. Angel stopped running and closed her eyes, then, tipping her head back, said, “I wish you could understand, Dad. I’m not doing this to hurt you.” She had become a police officer to please her father, and now she needed to take a step back. She needed time to recuperate and determine what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

Though she didn’t want to admit it to anyone, and hadn’t, except to Janet Campbell, her counselor, and Callen, she wasn’t certain she could work as a police officer again. Two events, both tragic, had left her reeling.

The first tragedy had happened in Florida, where she’d gone to work as a rookie after college and the police training program. She’d been partnered with an officer named Daniella Ortega. During
the two years they’d worked together, Angel and Dani became closer than friends—more like sisters.

A tear slid down Angel’s cheek. She brushed it away, wondering if she’d ever be able to think about Dani without crying and being angry at God for letting her die. But slowly the anger had begun to lessen as she kept reminding herself that God had not killed Dani, the gunman had.

Angel still wondered why Dani had been the one to die; she’d had a husband and two children. Dani and Angel had been the first officers to arrive on the scene of a hostage situation in a day care. The last words Angel had heard her partner say were in the form of a prayer.
“Heavenly Father, don’t let any of those children be harmed.”

Thinking about it now, Angel could still hear the sirens and feel the tightness in her chest as they entered through the back door, hoping to negotiate with the man who’d taken a day-care worker and six children hostage. Two other police officers were supposed to come in from the front. The man must have heard them as he stepped into the hallway at the same moment as Dani and Angel. He fired twice and ducked back into the room with the children and their caregiver, shouting at the police to stay away or he’d kill them all.

His first bullet slammed into Dani’s forehead. The second hit her neck. She staggered back and fell into Angel’s arms, dead before she hit the floor.

God had answered Dani’s prayer that day. The children were spared and the gunman stopped. But Dani was dead, and Angel still bore the emotional scars.

The department had given Angel two weeks off. When she insisted on going back to work, they put her on a desk job. She’d hated it and fought going to counseling, making only the mandatory visit. She realized now that she’d been operating in the same mode as her father, dealing with emotions by stuffing them inside. For far too long, Angel had been in denial, refusing to admit how much Dani’s death had affected her. Delaney pride and stubbornness died hard if it died at all.

She’d eventually quit her job in Bay City and come back home
to Sunset Cove to heal, lick her wounds, and start over. At first, she’d lived with her parents and eventually moved into her own apartment. Police Chief Joe Brady hired her mostly as a favor to his old friend, Frank Delaney, who had served on the Sunset Cove police force for forty-some years.

Angel had worked for the Sunset Cove PD for less than a year when tragedy struck again. This time it came in the death of a twelve-year-old boy who’d been at the scene of a gang-related burglary at a pharmacy. She learned later that he wasn’t one of the gang members after all, and that his gun had been a toy, but by then it was too late.

Images flooded her mind as they often did these days. Janet called them flashbacks, the result of post-traumatic stress. Images of her pulling the trigger, of Billy falling to the floor, of her covered in his blood. She shoved the thoughts aside.

You can’t keep blaming yourself. It’s over. You have to move on.
And she would someday. But Dani’s and Billy’s deaths were carved into her life. Two deep and still bleeding wounds.

Her mother often reminded her that God worked all things for good for those who love the Lord. There had been some good things in her life. She’d made her peace with God and she’d met Callen. And she was growing closer to her mother. Healing came softly in often imperceptible ways. Angel marveled at how differently she felt now as compared to just a few weeks earlier.

Angel continued her run, stopping when she reached her apartment complex. She let herself in, locked the door behind her, and headed for the shower. She wished she could turn off her brain with as little effort as it took to turn off the water faucet. Unfortunately, the worrisome thoughts continued to swirl in her head. As she dried off, she decided she needed something constructive to do with her day so she could quit ruminating about the past and her tenuous future.

“You could look for a different job,” she muttered aloud to the steamed-up image in the mirror.

She’d been off work for nearly six weeks and missed it. Part of her wanted to go back to being a police officer. But part of her wanted nothing more to do with law enforcement.

Problem was, she couldn’t think of anything she would like better than being a cop. Secretarial work got two thumbs-down. She needed to be active and involved with people. Her counselor had suggested that with her degree in criminal justice she could get a job teaching at the local college. Not a bad idea, but would the college hire someone with only four years of experience in the field?

“You’d better make up your mind soon.” Angel brushed through her dark, dripping curls. With her paid leave at an end, the stack of bills lying on the kitchen counter would only get higher.

Angel had enough money for another month, then she’d either have to go back to her old job, quit and go on unemployment, or find another job. At the moment she didn’t feel like doing any of the above. Maybe she could find a cheaper apartment. Or move back in with her parents again.

Angel cringed at the thought. Her mother would love that. Anna Delaney lived to take care of others.

Determined not to dwell on her problems, Angel focused on Callen’s homecoming. She wanted to do something special to welcome him back and knew just the thing. Once she’d dressed in her daily uniform, jeans and a lightweight knit top, she picked up her phone and dialed the Delaney residence.

“Hey, Ma,” Angel said when her mother answered. “What’s your schedule like today?”

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll see if I can work it in.”

“I’d like you to teach me how to make soup. Callen’s coming home tonight, and I want to surprise him.”

“That’s a wonderful idea. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

Angel laughed. “Not Callen’s. He’s a better cook than . . . than I am.” Which wasn’t saying much. Everyone cooked better than she did.

“Speaking of Callen, have you talked to him today?”

“No, why?”

“I was watching the news this morning. The police think they’ve found the car they’ve been looking for. You know the one they
think that high school girl got into with that man. It doesn’t look good.”

“Have they found her?”

“Not yet.”

Angel ran a hand through her damp curls. “There’s still hope.”

“I know. My heart aches for those poor parents. I don’t suppose you’d want to call Callen. Maybe you could find out more.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. He most likely has his hands full. We’ll see him tonight, and he can fill us in then.”

After agreeing to come over for lunch, Angel hung up and finished getting dressed. She couldn’t help thinking about the fate of the high school cheerleader who should have known better than to get into a stranger’s car. If he was a stranger. He could well have been a classmate or relative or friend. Though she’d told her mother there was still hope, Angel couldn’t quite convince herself.

If she were still working as a police officer, she’d have all the facts by now. She might even be part of the team trying to piece clues together.
But you are not working, Angel Delaney
, she reminded herself.
You are not part of the team. You are a civilian and you are about to learn how to make soup.

Whoopee.

THREE

C
allen pushed a tree limb aside and ducked under it. He wished he were home with Angel and Mutt, watching the waves roll in and sitting by the fire, instead of tromping through the soggy woods. He was bone tired and cold.

They’d been searching for Christine Grant for five days and were about ready to give up when they found the abandoned vehicle, a burgundy ’87 Buick LeSabre with Oregon plates and a fish symbol on the bumper. The vehicle, registered to a Mitchell Bailey from Sunset Cove, had been reported stolen the day after Christy disappeared; Bailey had said he’d noticed it missing the day before. Callen had asked the Sunset Cove Police Department to check the guy out. Later, he would interview the car’s owner himself, but for now at least, the guys at the PD could do a preliminary interview. Bailey might be telling the truth—or he may have been setting himself up with an alibi.

Though Callen hated to admit it, he didn’t hold out much hope for the girl’s survival, not with the large amount of blood evidence they’d found in the trunk. Nonetheless, he offered up another prayer for her safe return.

While the CSI technicians processed the vehicle, he and other members of the search-and-rescue team scoured the wooded area near where the car had been found. Callen continued to operate
under the premise that Christy had been in the trunk and that her abductor had either taken off with her or dumped her body.

A shout from one of the search-and-rescue members brought him up short. His pulse shot up as he crashed through brush and skirted around trees.

“Over here.” One of the Lane County sheriff’s deputies waved at him as he came to a clearing.

Callen’s heart dropped to his feet when he saw the cadaver dog sniffing at a large mound of leaves and branches. The sheriff’s deputy, a young guy named Dan Riggs, had already begun to remove the brush. Riggs stopped suddenly, his face pale as he backed away. He tossed Callen a guilty look. “Sorry, I . . .” The young man ducked behind a bush and heaved.

The smell of carrion emanating from the mound stopped Callen too, turning his stomach inside out. He took a stick of Mentholatum from his pocket and spread the stuff on his nostrils to hide some of the smell. Breathing through his mouth, he carefully moved forward to get a closer look. Though the body had begun to decompose, he knew all too well who she was.

Callen closed his eyes for a moment. He’d seen a lot of death in his years as a detective, but no amount of experience could lessen the impact. He stepped back physically and emotionally. When he found his voice, he spoke into his radio. “We’ve found her.”

He gave his coordinates, then called the medical examiner and the CSI team. Callen reassured Deputy Riggs that his reaction was to be expected, then sent him back to the main road to kennel the dog and get the camera. Once the others arrived he began delegating the tasks that went along with securing and processing the body dump. Considering the large amount of blood in the car, he surmised that Christy had been alive when the killer put her into the trunk and was probably dead when he took her out. Dead bodies didn’t bleed much, and they found little blood evidence around the body dump site. She could have been killed in the trunk, or he might need to look for a primary crime scene.

One certainty remained. The search for Christy Grant was over.

His mind whirred with possibilities. They were at least fifty
miles north of Christy’s home and only about fifty feet from where they’d found the deserted vehicle. Who and where was the driver? They’d have to continue to comb the woods. Would they find him dead? Alive? Or would they find him at all?