Forged in Ash (14 page)

“We’re here now. You want it moved or not?”

Keeping low to the ground, Jillian crept toward the running vehicle.

“Just hurry it up.” The door creaked again. “I was supposed to be home thirty minutes ago.” The voices faded.

Afraid to breathe, Jillian went up on her tiptoes and peered into the cab. Empty. Carefully she eased the driver’s door open, climbed inside, and gently closed it behind her. So far, so good. She stomped on the parking brake to release it and shoved the gear into drive. As she rolled down the alley, it occurred to her that she might not have lost her opportunity to take out Marcus Simcosky after all. From the volume of sirens, the police had been called. Which meant he
could still be somewhere around that parking lot, answering their questions.

As a bonus, he wouldn’t be expecting her to strike again, at least not so soon. Nor would he be on the lookout for a van. Maybe that bald bastard would still be there too.

She hunched down in the seat to make herself less visible as she turned left at the end of the alley. The fact she’d found both Simcosky and her kidnapper in the same parking lot was proof the SEALs were involved in what had happened to her family. The men who’d killed her brother obviously knew the men who’d kidnapped and killed her babies. They’d probably been having a meeting. If she hadn’t rushed Marcus Simcosky, maybe she could have taken them both out at once.

Not that it mattered. If they were still there, she’d take them both out this time.

And if they weren’t, well, she knew where to find them now, which was more than she’d had when she’d awakened that morning.

Cosky tuned out the gangly kid next to him. Mr. Chatty hadn’t stopped talking long enough to take a breath in over a minute. If luck was with him, which it sure as hell hadn’t been so far today—hell during the past four months—his new buddy would pass out from heat and asphyxiation and give him some damn peace.

Not that the temperature seemed to be bothering the kid.

“She sure did a number on your truck.”

Cosky transferred his glare to the bench seat of his truck, which hosted half the glass from the windshield. The hood carried the rest. Damn it. He needed to call a tow truck.

Almost afraid to see what damage his crazy stalker had done to his door, he pushed the sucker closed and winced at the collection of dents marring its previously pristine condition. Swearing softly, he ran his palm over the dimpled metal. He’d have to send it through the body shop too, which meant days, if not weeks before he got his ride back.

Shaking his head in disgust, he shot a quick glance toward the back of the parking lot, where the monstrosity the crazy bitch had driven hid behind a cluster of trucks, Jeeps, and convertibles. He should put a couple bullets in it and see how she liked driving without a windshield and some new venting in the door. But then again…his gaze lingered on the rusting red paint; considering the vehicle’s condition, she probably wouldn’t care.

He itched to check the car out. Maybe there was something there that would confirm his suspicion that she was connected to Branson. Worst case, they’d be able to pull prints from the steering column and her name from the registration. Find out who they were dealing with. Hell, maybe she was even stupid enough to circle back and try to claim the damn thing.

If so, he’d be waiting.

Assuming she didn’t try it after the cops showed up or before the new buddy he’d acquired crashed from his adrenaline rush and staggered home for a nap.

He forced his attention away from the back of the lot. It was doubtful the kid would pick up on his interest, but there was no sense chancing it. He needed to search that vehicle before the cops impounded it, so he couldn’t afford Mr. Chatty mentioning it to the locals. He’d throw the cops off its scent by claiming the woman had been on foot. After they’d conducted their investigation and taken off, he’d check the car out. He just needed to be patient.

And he hoped the cops didn’t discover it first.

When the first responder to his nine-one-one call arrived, he parked in front of the entrance to the parking lot, partially blocking it off. Cosky waited for them to approach him, then identified himself by rank and name and alerted the flat-faced, tired-eyed officer of the Glock locked in his glove box. The cop didn’t blink, just took Cosky’s driver’s license and military ID and went back to his black and white. Cosky leaned against his truck’s bed, shifting his weight onto his good leg, and ignored the crowds of interested gawkers on the sidewalks ringing the apartment complex.

What he wouldn’t give for an ice pack, a cold beer, and an even colder shower.

The officer who’d taken his information returned as a second cruiser pulled into the parking lot, parking nose to nose with the first responder, which blocked the entrance completely. Cosky accepted his license and military ID back and took the cop through what had happened. Or at least most of what had happened. Certain tidbits he kept to himself—like the piece-of-crap sedan and the name she’d shouted at him. No sense in alerting them to his suspicion that she was connected to the events in Seattle. It was pretty obvious the men behind that clusterfuck had long arms. If word reached them that Branson’s wife was down in Coronado making trouble, they’d come looking for her.

Cosky intended to track her down first.

The kid actually made himself useful and unknowingly backed Cosky’s account. He’d apparently seen the woman following him down the sidewalk, which tailored with Cosky’s claim of her being on foot.

He’d just finished giving his statement when Zane’s dark-blue minivan pulled around the back of the parking lot and headed toward him. A patrol officer stepped in front of it, waving it off.

Groaning beneath his breath, he shot the apartment entrance a quick look, praying that Kait wouldn’t decide to check into all the commotion downstairs. But then again, he eyed the chattering crowds of people watching the police from the lawns and sidewalk; half the apartment building was already on scene. Maybe the boys wouldn’t notice Kait if she did put in an appearance. Assuming she didn’t duck under the crime-scene tape for a howdy-boys-let’s-make-Cosky’s-life-hell round of payback.

And assuming the cop who’d taken his statement and her name didn’t decide to mention her.

The groan deepening, he turned back to the van, watching it swerve into a parking space several spots down from the eyesore Cosky was trying to ignore. Three doors opened and three pairs of boots hit the ground. That’s when it occurred to him that his teammates had just given him the perfect excuse to get closer to his target, and get one of them inside the sedan for a quick look-see.

He pushed away from the truck. “My Lieutenant Commander’s here,” he told the officer who’d taken his statement. He nodded toward the minivan. “I need to fill him in. If you have more questions you can catch me there.”

He didn’t wait for the officer’s permission, simply started walking—or hobbling was more like it. Mr. Chatty’s verbosity worked in Cosky’s favor this time; the kid was so busy yakking at the officer taking his statement, he didn’t notice Cosky’s escape.

If he’d suspected his teammates had warped to his rescue because they feared he couldn’t take care of himself, he would have been pissed beyond endurance. But that wasn’t why they’d come. They’d hotfooted it over because they
were
his teammates and they had his back. Dry dock or not, whether he wanted the support or not. He would have done the same if the circumstances had been reversed.

Such instant support was the plus and minus of team life.

“How the hell did you hear about this so fast?” Cosky called as he limped over.

“We would have been here ten minutes ago.” Rawls reached over to punch Zane’s shoulder. “If our pregnant mama here didn’t keep pulling over to hurl his lunch.” He paused and grinned. “Thank sweet Jesus, we’re not on deployment.”

Zane grimaced, his face turning slightly green. “It was once, damn it.”

Cosky fought a smile. There was no end to the entertainment value of watching Zane mirror Beth’s pregnancy. “Hell, she’s four months along. Isn’t morning sickness supposed to ease by this stage?”

“Morning sickness?” Zane released a disgusted bark of laughter. “Try morning, noon, and night.”

“Do you think we can stop talking about your delicate condition long enough to concentrate on why we’re here?” Mac snapped, with a glare at Zane. He transferred his scowl to Cosky. “Radar said shots were fired.” He gave Cosky a quick up and down before turning to survey the shattered windshield of the truck. “Glad to see your ride took the hit. What the fuck happened?”

Cosky shrugged and limped closer. “Some crazy bitch walked up to me and started shooting.”

Rawls quirked an eyebrow and grinned, although his eyes were shadowed and serious. “I keep tellin’ you, if you’d treat the little ladies right they’d leave their trigger fingers home.”

Mac snorted and swung toward Rawls. “Cosky? Fuck no. He’s smart enough to avoid entanglements. If some pissed off ex-girlfriend is gonna start shooting, it’ll be at you.”

Kait’s huge brown eyes, liquid with shock and hurt, flashed through Cosky’s mind. No doubt she’d disagree with Mac’s statement.

Rawls’s mouth fell open in exaggerated shock. He lifted a hand to his chest. “
Moi
? I’m hurt ya’ll think so little of my people skills.”

Zane’s gaze zeroed in on Cosky’s face. “You didn’t know her?” He frowned at the shake of Cosky’s head. “She say why she attacked?”

Cosky frowned. “Nothing that made sense.”

He turned slightly to glance behind him. The cop who’d interviewed him had closed his notebook and was scanning the pavement. The officer who’d waved the van off had returned to bag the gun, and Mr. Chatty was keeping the third suit busy.

Turning back to his teammates, he lowered his voice. “She said, ‘this is for my babies and for
Russ.
’”

Bodies stiffened and eyes sharpened. Zane glanced toward the cops in front of Cosky’s truck and lowered his voice as well. “Branson?”

“Hell if I know.” Cosky wiped a hand down his face, sudden exhaustion hitting him.

“You didn’t ask?” Mac demanded.

“When was I supposed to ask?” Cosky snapped, fighting to keep his voice low. “While I was dodging her bullets? Or after she took off across the street?”

Rawls’s lips twitched. But that shadow still darkened his eyes. “Doesn’t make sense. If she’s connected to Branson, why target you? Zane’s the one who took the bastard out. You were too busy bleeding all over the ER.”

“Let’s back up.” Zane stepped in calmly. “How did you end up here?”

Cosky took a deep breath, and shot the rusted sedan behind them a quick glance. So far, so good. His crazy stalker hadn’t arrived to reclaim her car, the police had no interest in it and Kait—thank God—hadn’t exploded onto scene.

“I picked up a tail on Silver Strand, just outside the gate. Female. White. Total amateur.” He paused, shook his head. “I thought she was a reporter at first.”

Mac swore, disgust touching his face, and a round of sour looks passed between the four of them. They’d all had their run-ins with reporters.

“What clued you in that she wasn’t after a story?” Zane asked, with a quick cock to his head.

“Her ride,” Cosky said dryly. “It shouts vagrant rather than reporter.” He shot a look toward the sedan and stared—hard—before glancing back at his teammates to see if they’d picked up on the silent message.

Mac’s gaze sharpened. He took a step closer, his voice dropping even lower. “Shouts?”

“It’s the ugliest, loudest piece of red rusted crap you’ve ever seen.” He glanced toward the sedan again and lifted his eyebrows.

“Do tell.” Rawls linked his fingers behind his neck and did a slow stretch to the side. He shot a quick glance in the direction Cosky had indicated. When he turned back to Cosky again, surprised amusement sparkled in his blue eyes. “That must have been quite the tail.”

“Hard to miss,” Cosky agreed.

“You didn’t tell the cops about this?” Mac’s voice was so low Cosky barely heard it.

Cosky silently shook his head. There was a moment of silence.

“They could stumble across it any moment,” Zane murmured softly. “We need access before it’s impounded.”

“No shit,” Cosky drawled under his breath, his temper spiking as a wave of heat rolled through him and a cramp ripped into his thigh.

“Is it locked?” Mac asked without glancing in the sedan’s direction.

With a deep breath, Cosky locked his irritation down. “No clue.”

Zane shot him a hard look. “You need to sit down?”

Yeah, he did. Badly. He ignored both the question and the need.

“Rawls.” Zane tilted his head toward the rusted sedan.

“On it, Skipper.” Rawls casually moved off.

Cosky, Zane, and Mac shifted their bodies until their huddle was directly between the cops and the sedan, although so far the officers were so busy cataloging the crime scene, they weren’t paying attention to the parking lot.

Zane and Cosky launched into a round of banal bullshit while they waited for Rawls’s return.

The minutes ticked by. A burst of radio static sounded behind them, and one of the cops climbed into his cruiser and barreled out of the parking lot.