Love Inspired Suspense December 2013 Bundle: Christmas Cover-Up\Force of Nature\Yuletide Jeopardy\Wilderness Peril (57 page)

“No!” he screamed when the message ended.

He willed his shaking fingers to punch in her number and waited for her to answer. When it went to voice mail, he yelled into the phone. “Grace, the killer is Patrick Caldwell. Do not trust him. I am on my way to the bridge. I hope you get this message.”

When he'd hung up, he looked back at her message. It had been sent twenty minutes ago. The Peabody wasn't too far from the entrance to the bridge, and she had a head start on him.

Shoving the phone in his pocket, he ran from the building, jumped in his car and roared off to the park where Grace had told him to meet her. He hoped he wouldn't be too late.

THIRTEEN

G
race pulled the van to a stop in the parking lot where Mr. Caldwell had directed her. She then turned off the ignition and sat back in her seat. “What now?”

“Give me the keys,” he said. She passed the key ring to him and locked gazes with him in the rearview mirror. He opened the back door, stepped out and motioned for her to do the same. When she stood on the ground beside him, he pointed toward the grassy rise that led to the side of the bridge. “Now walk up that way.”

She turned around, and he stuck the gun in her back as they began their ascent toward the bridge. “You can't get away with this, you know. Alex will track you down and see that you go to jail.”

“Don't waste your breath, Grace. Alex should have kept his nose out of this, and he would have been all right. Now he knows too much, so I have to get rid of him, too.”

“How do you think you can escape? The police patrol this area all the time. Gunshots would bring them on the double. Then how are you going to get away?”

He chuckled. “I already have my escape plan. I stopped by here earlier and left my motorcycle underneath the bridge before I called for a cab to take me to the Peabody. I'll be out of here before anybody knows what's happened. Now get moving.”

She walked a few more steps before she stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “But I don't understand. What is your connection to the Wolf Pack?”

“It's simple. They killed my son.”

Her eyes grew wide. “You had a son?”

“Yes. His mother and I divorced before he was born, and she kept him in Chicago and away from me for years. When she finally sent him to me, he was a nineteen-year-old drug addict. I tried everything to help him, but it was no use.”

“So your son was the one who died from the drug overdose?”

“Yes. I tried to keep an eye on him, but he hooked up with Landon and his friends right away. They were only too glad to sell him what he wanted.”

“And you blame them for his death?”

“Partly, but I also blame the dealers in Chicago who got him started—there was someone else to blame, too.”

“Who?”

“Your father. I could have saved my son if it hadn't been for him.”

Grace's mouth dropped open, and she stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. “How on earth is my father involved in this?”

“When Denny got so bad, I knew he had to go into rehab, but I didn't have the money to put him where he'd get the best help. I went to your father at the bank and begged him.” He hesitated, and his features dissolved into that of a madman. “I begged him,” he yelled, “to give me a loan so I could put Denny in rehab. And do you know what your father did?”

“N-no.”

“He turned me down without a second thought. I pleaded and told him it was a matter of life and death, but he called the guards in and had me removed from his office. When they were dragging me out of there, I told him he'd be sorry. And he was, when I put him in that wheelchair.”

Grace's legs wobbled, and she struggled to stand. “You shot my father?”

He laughed. “Yes, and when I saw you on television talking about Landon's father dying at the bridge, I knew I could hurt him even more if I killed you.” He eased closer and grabbed her arm. “So you see this past week, it's been all about killing you.” He put the gun to her head. “And that's what I'm about to do.”

“Hold it right there, Caldwell. I have a gun pointed at your back.” Alex's voice sent a shock wave of relief flowing through her. She'd known he would come. Before she could move, Mr. Caldwell grabbed her around the waist, whirled around, and held her in front of him with one arm while the other held the gun to her head.

“Hello, Alex. I wondered when you would get here. As you can see, we're at a standoff right now. You may shoot me, but you can't stop me from killing Grace. Now back off, or she's a dead woman.”

Alex looked at her from perhaps ten feet away, and Grace held her breath. She sensed the hesitation in Alex, and she screamed at him. “Shoot him, Alex, before he kills us both.”

Alex moved a step closer, his gun pointed at Mr. Caldwell. Suddenly, a police officer emerged from the darkness beside Alex, a gun in his hand. “What's going on here?”

Alex glanced over at him, but before he could say anything two shots rang out. Alex and the officer both hit the ground.

“No,” Grace screamed and struggled to free herself.

Mr. Caldwell's grip tightened, and he laughed. “I should have told Alex I've been trained in how to handle a gun.”

A surge of energy rushed through her body, and she slipped one arm free from the vise he held her in. Raising her hand, she gouged at his eye and then dug her fingernails into the side of his face and pulled downward.

He screamed in pain, grabbed at his face, and released her. She drew her foot back and kicked him in the knee with all the force she could manage. He started to point the gun at her, and she kicked him in the other knee. He sank to the ground. “You'll pay for that,” he yelled.

Grace longed to go to Alex and make sure he was alive, but there was no time for that now. In case he and the policeman were still alive, she needed to get Mr. Caldwell away from them before he finished the job.

She turned and ran toward the bridge and onto the walkway headed toward Arkansas. She'd only gone a few feet when she realized her mistake. She should be running back toward the streets of Memphis. There she could find hiding places and elude capture until she could get some help.

She turned to head back the way she'd come, and then she heard the engine of a motorcycle crank. Before she had time to process what that meant, the bike roared to life, and she heard it coming up the bank toward the bridge.

Mr. Caldwell stopped the motorcycle at the entry to the walkway and let the motor idle. He smiled and called out to her. “There's no escaping me, Grace.”

The lights on the bridge lit the Memphis sky, and she realized she would be visible to any passing car. She glanced helplessly around, but there wasn't a single vehicle in sight. He revved the engine again, and she swallowed her fear. Slowly, the motorcycle glided onto the walkway and stopped. Breathing a prayer, Grace turned and ran toward the Arkansas side of the river.

* * *

Alex opened his eyes and saw the sky. The stars twinkled, and a peaceful feeling filled him. He blinked and tried to remember what had happened. The heavens appeared lit with a bright light, and he looked around to see where it came from. His gaze came to a stop on the lights outlining the bridge span between Memphis and Arkansas.

He tried to move, but a pain in his left shoulder ricocheted through his body. He gasped and grabbed at the spot where the pain seemed concentrated. A sticky substance covered his fingers. Blood. He shook his head to clear it, and the memory of Patrick Caldwell holding Grace in front of him and firing at him and another officer who had appeared out of nowhere flashed in his mind.

He pushed into a sitting position and closed his eyes to ward off the dizziness that had everything in his vision spinning out of control. After a moment his head cleared, and he opened his eyes and looked around. Where were Grace and Caldwell? From somewhere near the bridge an engine cranked, and a motorcycle roared out from underneath the abutment. He caught sight of Patrick Caldwell on the bike as it skidded across the dew-covered grass and sped up the embankment to the bridge walkway where it came to a stop.

Alex patted the grass with his right hand until he touched his gun. He picked it up and pushed to his feet. From somewhere in the darkness a woman's soft cries drifted on the night air. Grace? Where was she? On the walkway?

He pushed to his feet and clenched his teeth to keep from crying out at the pain in his shoulder. Patrick Caldwell's voice rang out from the top of the hill. “There's no escaping me, Grace.”

Alex took a deep breath and willed his legs to move. With his left arm dangling at his side and his gun clutched in the other, he staggered up the hill. Perspiration popped out on his forehead even though the night air was cold. Halfway there he stumbled but regained his footing.

The engine revved again, and Alex staggered on. Grace must have gotten away from Caldwell, and he was the only one who could help her. Something warm trickled down his arm and dripped from his hand to the ground. He'd seen gunshot victims before, and he knew he was losing too much blood. His body screamed he didn't have the strength to go on.

Then words Grace's father had spoken welled up inside him as if he stood there on the banks of the Mississippi River with him.
When I feel like I've gone as far as I can go, I turn it over to Him, and He gives me the strength to carry on. He can do it for you, too, Alex.

Alex looked up at the stars again.
God,
he prayed,
help me save Grace
.
She's the only woman I'll ever love.

The motorcycle eased onto the walkway, and with renewed strength Alex charged up the embankment. He arrived at the end of the walkway just as Caldwell accelerated and headed down the concrete path. In the distance Alex saw Grace running in the opposite direction.

Taking a deep breath, Alex steadied his arm, aimed at the rear tire of the motorcycle and fired. The back tire of the motorcycle exploded in a blast that split the night air, and the bike skidded. Pieces of rubber flew into the air as the motorcycle crashed into one side of the walkway, veered across to the other side and hit the opposite wall. Caldwell struggled for control, but it was no use. The bike careened once more from side to side and jumped the barrier that separated the walkway from the highway.

The motorcycle landed on its side in the middle of the highway and skidded across the asphalt with Caldwell pinned underneath. Sparks like those from a Roman candle shot up from the pavement as the metal scraped the surface and the bike slid to a stop.

Alex climbed the barrier and stumbled across the road to where Caldwell lay unconscious. Behind him Grace's voice called out from somewhere down the walkway. “Alex, are you all right?”

She leaped over the barrier and reached him just as he sank to his knees. He laid his gun on the pavement, pulled his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to her. “Call 911. Tell them two officers and a suspect are down at the bridge. We need help right away. We have no way to stop traffic.”

Grace nodded and grabbed the phone from his hand. He heard her speaking, but he couldn't concentrate on what she was saying. He slumped to the pavement and closed his eyes. All he wanted was to sleep, but he needed to stay awake until the EMTs arrived.

He licked his lips and swallowed. “Grace,” he whispered.

She dropped to her knees beside him and grabbed his hand. “Help is on the way. Stay with me, Alex. Talk to me.”

He stared up at her and tried to focus his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Thanks to you.”

“We're in the middle of the bridge. Watch for cars.”

She clasped his hand tighter. “Don't worry about anything right now. I told the 911 operator. She's getting word to the Arkansas Highway Patrol to shut off that end of the bridge.” She glanced past him and smiled as a siren wailed. “And here come our guys now.”

A vehicle screeched to a stop near him, and then the sound of voices filled the quiet night. Alex closed his eyes and thought of the mighty river flowing so far below them. The muddy water stopped for no one, and it felt as if he floated with it. He reached for Grace's hand and let the darkness carry him away.

* * *

Grace glanced at the clock on the wall as she paced the hospital waiting room. It was 3:00 a.m. Alex had gone into surgery two hours ago, and she hadn't heard a word.

The room and hallway looked like a constantly shifting sea of blue from the uniformed, on-duty police officers who arrived and then departed after checking on two of their own who had been shot. As Grace let her gaze travel over the assembled officers, she realized how fortunate Alex was to belong to such a brotherhood.

The sound of the elevator opening in the hall caught her attention, and she looked out the door to see Police Chief Watson striding toward them. Captain Wilson, the officer who'd been at the bridge the morning Mr. Mitchell died, rose from the sofa where he was sitting and met the chief at the door.

“Evening, sir,” he said.

The chief nodded. “More like good morning, I'd say. How's Detective Crowne?”

“He's in surgery, sir. The bullet hit an artery, and he lost a lot of blood. The EMTs said he was fortunate he got to a hospital so quickly.”

“Good, good. And the other officer. How is he?”

“Patrolman Grayson suffered a head wound, but the doctors are optimistic. He's still in surgery, too.”

“And the suspect? What's his condition?”

“Mr. Caldwell has a broken leg, a broken arm and multiple contusions. He's in surgery down on the orthopedic floor. I have officers waiting there for him to come out of surgery.”

“Have the families been notified?”

Captain Wilson nodded. “Patrolman Grayson's parents are on their way from Nashville where they live. I've talked to Detective Crowne's father in Florida, but his friend Miss Grace Kincaid is here.”

“It seems like you have everything under control, Captain. Good work.” He turned and smiled at Grace. “I understand you and Detective Crowne have had an interesting night. Not only have you solved a twelve-year-old cold case, but you've captured the killer of four other people and the man who shot your father. Would you like to tell me about it?”

“I'd be happy to.” Grace walked to a sofa, and the Chief followed. When they were seated, she related the events that began the year she and Alex were in high school and ended in the middle of the Memphis-Arkansas Bridge that night. When she finished, she clasped her hands in her lap and glanced toward the door. “Now I wish someone would come tell me how Alex is doing.”