The Last Execution (35 page)

Leigh found her cousin taking pictures of the body. “Charlie,” she called out.

Her cousin had seen dozens of gruesome crime scenes, yet tonight, when he turned and faced her, his grim expression sent shivers coursing across her skin. He skirted the perimeter and came to her.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Charlie’s hands gripped her upper arms.

“Why not?”

“The dead guy is Jason Carrington.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Tuesday, May 18, 2:20 a.m.

Breaking every rule of training, Doyle hadn’t left the execution site. Leigh McBride and the Fed were working these cases. He had to be there when she arrived. Albeit from a distance, he had to share this moment with her. Had to see the joy on her face. He hid amongst the group of spectators who’d gathered across the street. Overhead lights had been set up, giving him a good view of the small army of officials who moved around the body with the precision of choreographed dancers.

His hands shook as he contemplated the importance of tonight for both of them. His skin tingled thinking about this, the culmination of his career. A new beginning lay ahead for Leigh and for him, because after he shared Leigh’s relief when she realized her tormentor was dead, he’d head home to begin a new life.

The young detective was free.

Free of looking over her shoulder in constant fear.

Free to live and love.

The same way he would live and love.

His commitment and promise to avenge the defenseless was righteous, but lately the white-hot, burning need for retribution had faded and vengeance simmered instead of flamed.

Had he not felt the special connection with Leigh, he would’ve skipped this execution. He’d considered quitting after watching the news on television last night. The show’s misrepresentation of him had sickened him, shaken him to the core. The FBI boss said his profilers had analyzed the sniper and his executions. How could such supposed brilliant people misunderstand? Their perception of him was all wrong. They’d described him as a man who’d snapped and lost touch with reality. Referred to him as a sociopath—a man with no conscience.

The experts didn’t understand. Ungrateful bastards. All of them. He’d been so angry that for a fleeting moment he’d considering killing the FBI agent.

Tonight, he’d cleaned his Winchester for the last time. He’d left the rifle on the roof of the restaurant where he’d given Ellen her engagement ring. The 700 had become his signature, his legacy.

Carrington was his last execution.

The crowd grew in size as more people gathered and craned their necks to get a glimpse of the dead body. The disgusting vultures gave him protection from prying eyes but forced him to jockey for a better position. His skin became clammy with anticipation. He rubbed his aching left arm. Sweat trickled down his neck while he scanned the group of cops. He shoved his way through the mass of flesh. He had to get closer, had to have a better vantage point.

His breath caught. A tall, blonde woman strode onto the scene. Leigh had arrived. Her walk shouted authority, her bearing proud. The same FBI agent who’d been working with her was at her side.

He barely stopped himself from running across the street when she staggered backwards, and the agent wrapped his arms around her. She screamed, struggled, and fought against his restraining arms. She broke free and ran toward the remains of Jason Carrington.

Confusion washed over Doyle. Was she upset? Why? His mind swirled. He’d executed Carrington for her safety. She should be overjoyed. Ecstatic. How dare she pretend an injustice had been done? Her reaction of disbelief and horror exploded in his chest.

The woman next to him muttered something he didn’t understand. His ears roared. Blood rushed to his brain with the velocity of a freight train. Hearing or thinking clearly became difficult. His heart pounded violently. Something was crushing his chest. He opened his mouth to speak. The excruciating pain radiated down his arm and across his chest prevented him from forming a coherent sentence. Fighting for control, he staggered and stumbled, unable to focus. The darkness around him grew thicker, heavier.

Hands roughly shoved him out of their way. With legs melting like butter, and vision dimming, he thought he saw his dead daughter. Had she come for him? Not now. Please. He didn’t want to cross that threshold tonight.

His new life was beginning.

He’d given Leigh McBride a new life too. One she didn’t appreciate. The last thing he saw before the back hole swallowed him was her sobbing.

The ungrateful bitch.

****

Tuesday, May 18, 2:30 a.m.

Leigh pushed her way to where the body lay sprawled across the sidewalk. The scene looked much like the other sniper killings. Brain matter and bone had exploded when the bullet hit its target sending blood spatters over the area.

They had to be wrong. This couldn’t be Jason. Could it?

Thank God.
Ethan would be safe.

Reality slammed into her. Her stomach lurched. A human being had been murdered. She hated Jason and the terrible things he’d done. Weeks of constant fear ending so abruptly sent her thoughts swirling. A myriad of emotions washed over her. Tears rushed from her eyes and down her cheeks while she fought back a loss of control inching toward the surface.

She leaned into J.T.’s strong hands when he gripped her elbows and offered assistance for the second time in the past few minutes. The rift she’d created between them vanished, and she turned around, resting her head against his chest. She needed his strength, and again, he was there for her. His hands rubbed the knotted nerves in her back, telegraphing silent reinforcement.

“Shit. You were right.”

She pulled away, unable to stop the release of tears and searched his face for answers. “Could we have stopped this? What happens now? Do I have to explain all of this to Ethan? Or can I stick with the story that his dad disappeared? Jason’s parents may insist on Ethan knowing the truth.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions. Whatever happens, Ethan will be fine. He’ll have your strength.” J.T. squeezed her arms. “But if the ID is right and this is Carrington, you should leave the scene. Let the ME and crime scene techs do their job.”

“Nonsense.” Her blood pressure shot up. Granted her stress and tension had boiled over, and she’d temporarily lost her composure, but she had to see this through. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not thinking rationally. The press will have a field day if they tie you to the victim.”

She glanced at the horde of reporters behind the barrier. “All they care about is who’s dead.”

“Detective McBride.” Chief Hampton’s voice came from behind her.

She whirled, spotting something out of the corner of her eyes as she turned. Her gaze locked on the right hand of the dead man. Her heart dropped straight to the tops of her shoes. She wobbled on her feet.

“Leigh?” J.T. rested his hand on her shoulders. He gently shifted her body, turning her to face him and her boss. “What is it? You’re white as a sheet.”

“I can confirm the body is Jason Carrington.” She blinked hard to clear her vision. “Run his prints. They’ll come back as his.”

“Walk with me, Detective.” Her boss turned and charged across the street.

She caught J.T.’s hand and was grateful when without hesitation, he fell in step beside her. Together they followed the chief down the block to an ambulance.

“What are we doing?” Confused by her boss’s appearance at a crime scene and curious at his brusque tone, Leigh searched his face. His cold stare unnerved her.

“Sit down before you pass out.” His tone left no room for argument.

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” She grudgingly sat.

An EMT wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm. She sat quietly while he took her reading and then listened to her heart. She stated she hadn’t taken any blows, while he felt around her head and neck as if checking for a bump. After she followed his finger back and forth then up and down a few times, she’d had enough.

“Well?” She pushed to her feet and stepped away, looking at the technician for assurance.

The EMT shrugged and raised an eyebrow. “Blood pressure’s a little high.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” She gave him her your-not-making-sense expression. The one she usually reserved for Ethan.

“Thanks.” Her boss waved off the EMT.

“I don’t understand why you’re here, sir.”

“You do understand. I’m expecting a call from the mayor before morning. Perhaps you’d like to explain how you positively identified a body with no head.”

Heat scorched her face, and she failed to contain her gasp of surprise. J.T., who hadn’t strayed far from her side since they’d arrived, moved a step closer.

“Detective McBride—”

“If you don’t mind, Agent Noble,” her boss interrupted. “My question wasn’t directed at you.”

“I recognized the ring on his finger, right hand.” She answered fast, because J.T. looked ready to pop a vein. “Jason wore that ring the night he beat the hell out of me.”

“You’re positive?”

“Yeah. I am.” She shook off the seven-year-old memory of her battered and swollen face, refusing to go there.

“I’ll pass the information on.”

“That’s okay. I’ll tell the forensics team.”

“No. You won’t.” His words fell out of his mouth like bricks hitting the pavement. Hard and heavy. “Go home, Detective.”

Leigh’s head snapped back as if he’d slapped her. The sting caught in her throat. She had to try to convince him not to send her home. Panic slammed a heavy hand over her lungs and squeezed.

“Sir, with all due respect, you have no reason to send me home.”

“You’re not thinking clearly, and I don’t justify my decisions to you.” His nostrils flared. “Your liaison assignment to the FBI is over.”

“Why am I being punished? I have a right to know.”

“We’ll talk in the morning after you’ve rested and returned to your desk at CID.”

The chief whirled and walked away. Stunned, she stared at his back.

“Why?” The bitter word burned her tongue when she spoke. She looked up into J.T.’s steady eyes.

“It’s procedure and bureaucracy.”

“It’s bullshit.”

“Casey would’ve done the same.”

The weight of a dozen anvils crashed down around her shoulders. “God. Enough. What else can happen?” Her spirit whooshed out of her.

“Be thankful it was the sniper’s bullet that killed him.”

She recoiled. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Think about it. If he’d been shot in the back, hell, any place other than his head, you could’ve been considered a viable suspect.”

“Please. No more,” she whispered. Looking upward, she wished she were at home where she’d crawl in bed, roll into a ball, and hide under the blanket. Instead, she sank down on her knees and covered her head with her hands. “No more.”

J.T. lifted her in his arms, and she allowed herself to curl into his chest. He carried her further away from the crowd. Holding her as if she were fine china, he gingerly placed her on the curb, sat behind her, and pulled her between his legs. She leaned back against his strong chest and gave in to the crushing pain in her heart. She cried.

She had no idea of time passing. No real sense of how long the tears flowed, purging the turmoil of the past few weeks. The tsunami of self-pity finally subsided, and Leigh stared up at the vast sky with its twinkling stars and full moon lighting the night.

The warm breeze caressed her wet cheeks, a gentle reminder to stop feeling sorry for herself. She’d taken everything life had dished out and made a good life for herself and Ethan.

“I’m over my bout of poor-poor-pitiful-me.”

J.T.’s arms were wrapped snuggly around her waist.

“Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”

“You held me like this the night Jason broke into my house.”

“I remember.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Your hair smelled like grapefruit, and you trembled with a combination of fear and anger. He’d hurt you, and I wanted to kill him myself.”

“Thank you.” She turned her shoulders, rested her head on his chest, and listened to the strong, steady rhythm of his heart.

“For?”

“For two long, heartwarming sentences you just said.”

“Look out, Hotshot.” He tightened his grip around her waist. “Don’t push it.”

“I can’t believe Jason’s dead. Dozens of questions and emotions are running through my mind.”

“I can only imagine.” His lips brushed the top of her head.

“I hated him. God, how I hated him, and I can’t make myself feel remorse.”

“There’s no reason you should. Maybe now things will calm down.”

“I’m sorry about the past few days. I’ve been a bitch to everybody.”

“You do have a talent.” His chest vibrated under her with a soft chuckle.

“Now who’s pushing it?” Her spirit lightened. Joking felt good. “I said I was sorry.”

“Apology accepted. They don’t need me here. How about I take you home?”

“I’d like that.” But she didn’t stand. Instead, she caught his hands with hers, tightening his grip on her.

His warm breath shot heat down her neck when he bent his head and softly growled into her ear.