Tough to Tame (10 page)

“Hold him! I’ll get her!”

The voices came suddenly into what was the sweetest dream of Cappie’s life. She was so relaxed, so happy, that it took precious seconds for her to realize what was about to happen. She felt Bentley torn from her arms. Two men were pulling his arms behind him. A violent jerk brought her around as two bruising hands caught her shoulders and twisted them. Above her, Frank Bartlett’s angry, contorted features came into view, his narrow dark eyes promising retribution.

“Got you at last, didn’t I?” he growled. “Now, you’re going to pay for what you did to me!”

She cried out and tried to pull away from him, but his hands were too strong. He drew one back and slapped her as hard as he could, so hard that she staggered and would have fallen if he hadn’t jerked her back up brutally with the other hand.

Her face stung like fire. There would be a bruise. But it only made her mad. She drew back her high-heeled foot and kicked him in the calf muscle as hard as she could. He yelled in pain and slapped her again. But before he could draw back another time, he suddenly went down under a vicious tackle.

“That’s the way, brother!” came a cheering cry from the sidelines.

“Go get him!” came another hearty voice.

Bentley was knocking the stuffing out of Frank Bartlett, his big fists making the other man, a match for him pound for pound, cry out in pain.

“Now isn’t he talented?” Rourke murmured as he drew a shaky Cappie back from the crowd. He looked at her bruised face and winced. “Sorry we didn’t rush right in, but we wanted to make sure we had plenty of witnesses and an excellent case for the prosecution.” He jerked his head toward Chet and the two men in suits. They had the two men with Frank subdued and handcuffed. The uniformed officer who’d been on the corner was standing with them.

“We had you staked out,” Rourke told her. “I wouldn’t have done it this way, if there had been any other choice.”

She reached up and patted his cheek. “You did good, Dead-Eye,” she said with a smile, and winced when it hurt. “I’m going to look like an accident victim for a few days, I’m afraid.”

“No doubt about that. Your poor face!”

She glanced back toward Frank. Bentley was still pounding him. “Shouldn’t you save Bentley?”

“Bentley?” he exclaimed.

“From a homicide charge, I mean,” she clarified.

“Oh. Right. Probably should.”

He moved forward and pulled Bentley off the other man. It took some doing. The veterinarian was obviously reluctant to give up his pastime.

“Now, now,” Rourke calmed him, “we have to have enough left to prosecute. Besides, Cappie needs some TLC. She’s pretty bruised.”

Bentley was catching his breath as he walked quickly back to Cappie. He winced at the sight of her face. “My poor baby,” he exclaimed, bending to kiss her bruised cheek with exquisite tenderness. “Let me just go back over there and hit him one more time…!”

“No,” she protested, grabbing his suit coat. “Rourke’s right, we have to have enough of him left to prosecute. Bentley, you were magnificent!”

“So were you, kicking him in the leg,” he chuckled.

“I guess we make a pretty good team,” she mused.

“You can say that again.”

She put a hand to her cheek. “Boy, that stings.”

“It looks like hell. You’ll have to see a doctor.”

“Fortunately there are plenty of those right inside,” Rourke came back in time to reply. “See the letters? They spell out
hospital
.”

She drew back a fist.

Rourke held up both hands. “Now, now, I’m on your side.” He nodded toward one of the men in suits who had a long black ponytail. “Recognize him?”

She frowned. “No…”

“That’s Detective Sergeant Rick Marquez,” he told her. “He was just on his way to the opera when we phoned and said an assault with intent was going down in front of the hospital. He broke speed records getting here.”

“How kind of him,” Cappie said.

“Not really. He always goes to the opera alone. He can’t get women.”

“But, why not?” she wondered. “He’s a dish.”

“He carries a gun,” Rourke pointed out.

“You carry a gun.”

“I can’t get women, either.”

“What a shame.”

He moved closer. “I’m available.”

She laughed as Bentley stepped in front of her, glowering.

“Wait, scratch that, I just remembered, I’m not available,” Rourke said quickly.

“Even if you were, she’s not,” Bentley said.

“There you are, again, starting trouble,” Rick Marquez chuckled, joining them. He looked at Cappie’s face and grimaced. “Damn, I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner,” he apologized. “I couldn’t get a cab and I had to run all the way.”

“Fortunately you’re in great shape,” Rourke said.

“Fortunately I am,” Marquez agreed. “What are you and Billings doing here?”

“Trading favors with Eb Scott.” Rourke grinned. “We’re bodyguards. Well, not anymore. Not now that you have those three jackals in custody.”

Marquez moved a step closer to him. “How about telling Chet that he’s not allowed to smoke here?”

“Why don’t you tell him?” Rourke asked, surprised.

“Too many windows overlook my apartment,” came the amused reply. “He might not be able to resist the temptation to get even.”

“Good point. I’ll just pass that along. About the smoking!” Rourke added quickly. “Anyway, he wouldn’t shoot you. He’s not sanctioned.”

“Yet,” Marquez enunciated.

Rourke shrugged, grinned and went to find his partner.

“They really were great,” Cappie told the detective. “I’ve never felt safer. Well, until tonight.”

“We let you walk into the trap,” Marquez replied quietly. “It was the only way we could guarantee a case against Bartlett that he couldn’t escape. His sort doesn’t give up.”

“Yes, but he could get out again…”

“He won’t,” Marquez said curtly. “I promise you that. See that guy I was standing with? He’s the assistant D.A. who put Frank away in the first place.”

“I thought he looked familiar,” Cappie returned.

“He cursed a blue streak because the judge gave him such an easy sentence. He’s been working behind the scenes to get depositions in case Frank slipped.” He grinned. “And did Frank ever slip! In front of all these witnesses, too.” He indicated the uniformed officer, and two others who’d joined him, who were questioning bystanders. “Frank is going back in jail for a long time.”

“What about his friends?” Cappie asked.

“I know what they helped him do to your brother. We couldn’t have proved it, before, but I’m betting one of them will be happy to turn state’s evidence in return for a reduced sentence.”

“Meanwhile,” Bentley said, sliding an affectionate arm around Cappie, “we’re going to have a nice Christmas celebration with Kell in the hospital and then plan a wedding.”

“A wedding?” Marquez sighed. “I used to think I’d
find a nice woman someday who liked cops and opera, who’d love to marry me. But, I’m really happy to be single. I mean, I have all sorts of free time, and I get to watch whatever television programs I like, and TV dinners are just wonderful. In fact, I think I might like to do commercials for them.” He smiled.

“They have psychiatrists in there, don’t they?” Bentley asked, nodding toward the hospital.

Marquez glared at him. “I’m happy, I said! I love living alone! I never want my private life messed up by some sweet, loving woman who can cook!”

“Anybody got a straitjacket?” Bentley asked.

Marquez threw up his hands and walked away.

Cappie felt her face begin to throb. Tears stung her eyes. “Could we go back inside and find the emergency room, you think?” she asked Bentley.

“Right this minute,” he said with obvious concern.

Marquez followed them inside. “I’ve got my digital camera with me,” he said, suddenly all business. “We want to get photos, to make sure a jury sees what Frank did to you.”

“Be my guest,” Cappie replied. “But then I want aspirin and an ice pack!”

“You can come down to my office in the morning to give me a statement. For now, we’ll get the photos and have a doctor look at your face. After that, you can even have a beer if you like, and I’ll buy,” Marquez promised.

She made a face. “Sorry, but I’d rather have the ice pack.”

Bentley’s arm contracted. “Then we have to find some way to keep Kell from seeing your poor face, until he’s through the worst of his own ordeal.”

“Yes, we do,” she said. “That isn’t going to be easy.”

Marquez, seeing the bruising increase by the second, had to agree. And she didn’t know yet how it was going to look a day later. But he did.

They did take X-rays of Cappie’s face. Marquez got his photos and left. The doctor treating her came back into the cubicle where she and Bentley were waiting in the busy emergency room.

“There are two small broken bones,” he said. “I want you to take these X-rays to your primary physician and let him refer you to a good plastic surgeon. Meanwhile, I’m going to write you something for pain. Keep ice on the swelling. Nothing is going to disguise the bruises, I’m afraid.” He glanced curiously at Bentley.

“I didn’t do it,” Bentley said easily. “The man who did was taken away in a squad car, with his accomplices, and he’s going to be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Those X-rays we asked for a copy of are going to help put him away.”

The young resident nodded somberly. “I see far too many injuries like this. A boyfriend?” he queried.

“No,” Cappie said heavily. “An ex-boyfriend who spent six months in jail for breaking my arm,” she added. “He got out and came looking for me. This time, I hope he’ll stay as a guest of the state for much longer.”

“I’ll be happy to testify,” the resident said. He pulled a card out of his wallet and handed it to her. “That
happens too often, you know, a brutal man seeking revenge. We had a young woman killed a few weeks ago for the same thing.”

Cappie felt sick to her stomach.

Bentley put his arm around her. “Nobody’s killing you,” he said.

She leaned her head against him. “Thanks.”

They took the extra X-ray in its envelope, paid the bill and left the emergency room, hand-in-hand.

“Do you want to go and see Kell tonight?” Bentley asked.

She shook her head, wincing, because it hurt. “I’m too sick. I just want to lie down.” She looked up. “Will you go with me to Marquez’s office in the morning?”

“You’d better believe I will.”

“Thanks.”

His arm contracted around her. “Not necessary. Let’s get you back to your room. It’s been a long day.”

“Tell me about it,” she mused. At least, she thought, her ordeal was over for the moment. Tomorrow she could worry about the details, including telling poor Kell what had happened.

C
APPIE GROANED
at her own reflection in the hotel mirror when she climbed out of bed the next morning. One whole side of her face was a brilliant purple, and swollen to boot.

“You okay in there?”

She smiled. Bentley had insisted on sleeping on the sofa in the suite, just in case. Rourke and Chet were already up and packing their things for the trip back to Jacobsville. Cappie and Bentley were staying for another day or two, while she gave statements to the police and looked after Kell.

“I think so,” she said. “I just can’t bear to look at myself.”

“I’ll bet Chet knows exactly how that feels!” Rourke called from the doorway of the room he and Chet had shared.

“Will you shut up?” Chet muttered.

“Now, that’s a good example of how much work your diplomatic skills need,” Rourke admonished.

“I’m through trying to be diplomatic,” Chet said
curtly. “I’m going back to the company and let them send me off on lone assignments, all by myself. Anywhere I don’t have to try to be nice to people!”

“Yes, and you can take those smokes with you,” Rourke added. “Having to share a room with you is punishment enough for any lawbreaker! Man, you reek!”

“Cigarette smoke is beneficial,” Chet told him.

“It is not!”

“If your quarry smokes, you can smell him from five hundred meters,” Chet returned, and he actually smiled.

Rourke’s jaw dropped. He’d never seen the other man smile.

Chet gave him a haughty, arrogant stare, picked up his bag and walked out. “Hope things go well for you, Miss Drake,” he said as she came out of her room wrapped in a thick robe. He winced. “It will look much better in a week or so,” he assured her.

She tried to smile, but it hurt too much. “Thanks for helping keep me alive, Chet.”

“My pleasure. See you back at Scott’s place, Rourke.”

“You wait for me—I’m not paying cab fare back to Jacobsville all alone,” Rourke said. He picked up his own bag, shook hands with Bentley and bent to kiss Cappie’s undamaged cheek. “If he ever walks out on you, just get word to me, and I’ll bring him back to you in a net,” he said in a stage whisper.

“Thanks, Rourke. But I don’t think that will ever happen.”

Bentley smiled. “I can guarantee it won’t.”

“Cheers, then. See you.”

They waved the two men off. Bentley studied her
poor, damaged face warily. “I wish there had been some way to prevent that.”

“Me, too. But it’s insurance. Let’s get breakfast. Then we can go down to Detective Marquez’s office and start giving statements. Later,” she added reluctantly, “we can go see Kell and try not to upset him too much when we tell him what happened.”

“Suits me.”

Detective Marquez had a small office in a big department. It was noisy and people seemed to come and go constantly. The phones rang off the hook.

“This looks like those crime shows on television,” Cappie remarked.

Marquez chuckled. “It’s much worse. You can’t get five minutes’ peace to type up a report.” He got up to retrieve the report he’d typed at the computer as he questioned her. He took it out of the printer tray and handed it to her. “Check over that, if you will, and see if I’ve got it right.” He pulled out another one. “This one’s for you, Dr. Rydel.” He handed the vet another sheet of paper.

They went over their statements, made a couple of corrections. Marquez inserted the corrections and printed the statements out again. They signed them.

“I’ll bet Frank’s foaming at the mouth,” Cappie mused.

“He really is, but this time he’s not going to fool any jury into thinking he’s the injured party,” Marquez assured her.

“I’ll bet that judge is feeling bad about now,” Bentley muttered.

“The judge did feel bad,” Marquez agreed. “So did the
district attorney, especially after Frank and his cohorts beat up your brother. The whole justice system here in San Antonio went into overdrive to catch the perp.”

“Really?” Cappie asked, surprised.

“Really. The assistant district attorney who prosecuted your case was in the vanguard.”

“Somebody needs to take him out for a big steak dinner,” Cappie commented.

“I’m taking him out for one, at my mother’s café in Jacobsville,” he chuckled. “Of course, he’s eligible and so is my mother.”

“I see wheels turning in your head,” Cappie said.

He grinned. “Always,” Marquez said easily. “He and I have worked several cases together. I like him.”

“Me, too,” Cappie said. She hesitated. “Frank won’t get out until the trial, will he?”

Marquez shook his head. “The assistant D.A. is having the bond set in the six-figure range. I don’t think Frank knows a bail bondsman who’ll take a chance on him for that amount of money.”

“Let’s hope not,” Bentley said.

Marquez gave him a keen glance. “He’ll probably stay in jail voluntarily, to keep from having you come at him again. That was some tackle.”

Bentley shrugged. “I used to play football in college.”

“I played soccer. Don’t get to do much tackling, but I can knock a ball half a block with my head.”

“Is that why it looks that way?” a familiar voice drawled from the cubicle doorway.

“Kilraven,” Marquez grumbled, “will you stop stalking me?”

“I’m not stalking you,” the tall man said easily. “I’m just waiting for you to answer my ten phone calls, six voice mails and twenty e-mails.” He glowered at the younger man.

Marquez held up his hands. “Okay. Just let me finish up with Miss Drake and Dr. Rydel and I’ll be right with you. Honest.”

“No hurry,” Kilraven said, smiling. “I’ll be standing right out here, intimidating lawbreakers.”

“Thanks for looking out for Kell,” Cappie told him.

“What are friends for?” he asked.

“How would you know, Kilraven, you don’t have any friends,” a passing detective drawled.

“I have lots of friends!”

“Oh, yeah? Name one.”

“Marquez!”

“He’s your friend?” the detective asked Marquez, sticking his head into the cubicle.

“He is not,” Marquez said without looking up as he glanced over the statements one last time.

“I am so,” Kilraven said in a surly tone.

Marquez gave him a speaking glance.

Kilraven moved back out of the cubicle, muttering to himself in some foreign language.

“I know what that means in Arabic,” Marquez called after him. “Your brother speaks Farsi fluently and he taught me what those words mean!”

A rolling barrage in yet another language came lilting into the cubicle.

“What’s that?” Marquez asked.

Kilraven poked his head in and grinned. “Lakota. And Jon can’t teach you that—he doesn’t speak it. Ha!”

He left.

Marquez grimaced.

“He’s really very nice,” Cappie said.

Marquez leaned toward her. “He is, but I’m not saying it out loud.” His expression became somber. “I’m working on a cold case with him and another detective,” he said quietly. “It involves him. He’s impatient, because we got a new lead.”

Bentley nodded quietly. “I know about that one. One of my vet techs is married to the best friend of our local sheriff. I hear most of what’s going on.”

“Tragic case,” Marquez agreed. “But hopefully we’re going to crack it.”

Bentley got to his feet, tugging Cappie up with him. He winced as she turned toward him.

“I appreciate the copies of those X-rays,” Marquez added, walking out with them. “Everything we can throw against Bartlett will help put him away.”

“He’d better hope he never gets out,” Cappie said. “My brother will be waiting for him if he does.”

Marquez chuckled. “If it hadn’t been three to one against, and your brother hadn’t been in a wheelchair, I’d probably be helping defend him on homicide charges.”

“No doubt,” Bentley replied somberly.

Cappie frowned. “Is there a conversation going on that I don’t know anything about?” she asked.

Bentley and Marquez exchanged covert glances. “Just commenting on your brother’s justifiable anger,”
Bentley told her easily. He caught her fingers in his. “Let’s go see your brother and tell him he’s about to have a new brother-in-law.”

Kell was a little better, until he saw Cappie’s face. He swore brilliantly.

“I know how you feel,” Bentley said. “But for what it’s worth, Bartlett probably looks much worse. It took two detectives to pull me off him.”

Kell brightened. “Good man.” He winced at his sister’s face, though. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll heal.” She didn’t mention the potential surgery she might have to undergo. There was no need to worry him even more. “Detective Marquez said that Frank won’t get out for a long time. He expects one of Frank’s accomplices to turn state’s evidence. If they charge him with battery on both of us, he’ll do some serious time.”

“I expected Hayes Carson to show up here and ask me for a statement for what Frank did to me in Comanche Wells,” he murmured.

“I imagine he’s giving you time to get over the surgery,” Cappie said.

“Probably so.”

“Have you spoken to the surgeon yet?” Cappie asked.

He smiled. “Yes. He’s optimistic, especially since I have feeling in my legs now.”

“At least something good may come out of all this misery,” she said gently.

Kell was looking at Bentley. “Just before we came up here to the hospital, she said she didn’t want to live in a town that also contained you. You told me part of
the story, but not any more than you had to. She was going to explain, then they knocked me out with a shot. Care to comment?”

“I made a stupid decision,” Bentley said with a sigh. “I expect to be apologizing for it for the rest of my life. But she’s going to marry me anyway.” He gave her a tender smile, which she returned. “I can eat crow at every meal, for however long it takes.”

“I stopped being mad at you while you were beating the stuffing out of Frank Bartlett,” she pointed out.

He glanced at his bruised, swollen knuckles. “I’ll have permanent mementoes of the occasion, I expect.”

“You’re getting married?” Kell asked.

“Yes,” Cappie said. She touched her face gingerly. “Not until the swelling goes down, though.”

“And not until I’m able to walk down the aisle and give you away,” Kell interjected.

Bentley pursed his lips. “I could get Chet and Rourke to carry you down the aisle to give her away,” he offered.

“The last wedding Chet went to, he spent the night in jail for inciting a riot,” Kell pointed out.

Cappie frowned. “Exactly how well do you know Chet and Rourke?” she asked pointedly.

He groaned. “Oh. The pain. I need to rest. I really can’t talk anymore right now.”

Cappie’s eyes narrowed on the drip catheter. “Doesn’t that thing automatically inject painkiller into the drip while you’re post-surgical?” she asked.

Kell kept his eyes closed. “I don’t know. I feel terrible. You have to leave now.” He opened one eye.
“You can come back later, when I’ll be much better as long as you don’t ask potentially embarrassing questions. If you do, I may have a relapse.”

“All right,” Cappie sighed.

He brightened. “Be good and I’ll tell you how to get past the Hunters in ODST.”

“Cash told you?” she asked.

He chuckled and winced, because moving hurt. “Not without a bribe.”

“What sort of bribe?”

“Remember that old Bette Davis movie, where she murders her lover and then has to blackmail the man’s widow over a letter that could convict her?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s called
The Letter
…it’s one of my favorite…” She stopped. “You didn’t!”

“Hey, it’s not as if you watch it that much,” Kell protested.

“Kell!”

“Do you want to get past the Hunters, or don’t you?” he asked.

She sighed. “I guess I can always find another copy of it somewhere.”

“That’s a nice sister,” Kell said.

“If I buy you another one,” Bentley interrupted, “will you tell
me
how to get past the Hunters?” he asked her.

They all laughed.

Two weeks later, Kell was walking down the hall, wobbling a little, in his pajamas and robe while Cappie held him up. The swelling in her cheek had gone down, but it still had a yellowish tinge to it. Kell was
much better. He was learning how to walk all over again, courtesy of the rehab department in the Jacobsville hospital.

“This is slow,” he muttered.

“It is not,” Bentley retorted, and the sound of gunfire came from the television in the living room. “Ha! That’s one Hunter down!”

“Rub it in,” she called. “It wasn’t even your favorite movie you had to sacrifice to learn how to do that!”

“I bought you a new one. It’s in the DVD player,” he called back.

“Fat lot of good it’s doing me, since that game console hasn’t been off for five minutes all day,” she muttered.

“Stop picking on my future brother-in-law,” Kell chided. “It isn’t every man who can make tortillas from scratch.”

“He only did it to butter you up,” she told him.

“It worked. When’s the wedding, again?”

“Three weeks from now. Micah Steele says you’ll be able to manage the church aisle with just a cane by then. And we can hope there won’t be a large animal emergency anywhere in the county during the ceremony!” she raised her voice.

“I’m borrowing a vet from San Antonio to cover the practice for me until we’re back from our honeymoon in Cancún,” he said. They’d picked the exotic spot because it had been the dream of Cappie’s life to see Chichen Itza, the Mayan ruin.

“I hope the vet knows he’s covering for you,” she said.

He chuckled. “He does.”

“The guest list just keeps growing,” Cappie sighed. “I’ve already sent out fifty invitations.”

“Did you put Marquez and the assistant D.A. on the list?”

“Yes,” she said. “And Rourke and Chet, too.”

Kell groaned.

“Chet won’t start any riots. I’ll have a talk with him,” she promised. “They took good care of me in San Antonio,” she added.

“Yes, but I was the one who took down Frank,” Bentley called. “Can you believe that little weasel tried to sue me for assault?” he added huffily.

“He didn’t get as far as first base,” Kell assured him. “Blake Kemp had a long talk with his attorney.”