Framing the Marshal, page 5
Nelson’s expression sobered. “Hey, man, is it true? What the news is saying about the murder?”
“Depends on what you’ve heard.” Riker looked down. “Moneyman is dead, but it’s an ongoing investigation—”
Nelson held up a hand, indicating he understood the necessity for confidentiality. “God knows what you need. I’m praying for you.”
The promise touched Riker, lodging an emotional log in his throat. “You know I’d tell you the gruesome facts if I could.”
“Your team are the superheroes of the law enforcement world. You’ll have this wrapped up in no time. Then you can give me all the juicy specifics.” Nelson added, “Over fries.”
Riker grinned. “Count on it. Hey, I noticed the creek behind the house is running high.”
“Yeah, saw that too. Extra line of defense since nobody will cross that, at least not without a bridge or help. And first they’d have to wade through that ocean of corn.”
Riker mulled over the words. Should he offer to stay and assist? No. He needed to find Moneyman’s killer. He glanced at the truck, where Eliana watched him curiously.
Nelson put a beefy hand on his shoulder. “I got this.”
“You’re right.” Nelson’s military career spoke for itself. Riker had no intention of insulting his friend by implying he was inept. “I feel better leaving Eliana—er, Miss Daines—in your capable hands.”
“Commander Walsh didn’t tell me who I was protecting. For real? Eliana Daines?” He peered past Riker and lowered his voice. “As in your first love, who you never talk about?”
“One and the same. And I’m still not talking about her.” Riker grinned.
“A man’s got a right to his secrets.”
Of all the cops Beckham could’ve assigned, Nelson VanMuse wasn’t one Riker would have assumed would handle Eliana’s detail. In all fairness, he’d not known his friend had changed departments. Riker trusted Nelson implicitly. “I understand it’s not protocol, but would you keep me updated on the status here?”
Nelson nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Thanks.” Riker strode to the pickup and gestured for Eliana to unlock the doors. He leaned into the driver’s side and killed the engine. “All clear. Let me introduce you to the officer providing your protective detail.”
“I assumed by the way you chatted that you knew him.” Eliana pushed open her door.
“Yes, he’s an old friend.” Riker leashed Ammo and he hopped down from the truck.
The trio approached Nelson’s cruiser, and after a thorough boot sniffing, Ammo gave his double-time, tail-wagging approval.
“Hey, pup.” Nelson held out a hand, allowing the dog to sniff first before stroking his head. “You’re looking handsome as ever.”
Riker gestured for Ammo to sit and he dropped to his haunches at Nelson’s feet. “Eliana Daines, this is one of Nebraska’s very best, Officer Nelson VanMuse.”
His friend enveloped Eliana’s hand in a firm shake. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“Thank you for doing this,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve got bigger and better things to deal with than wasting time watching my house.”
“Are you kidding? I live for this stuff.” Nelson passed her a business card. “My cell number is on there. Text or call if you need anything at all. No matter what time it is.”
“I appreciate that.”
“We should get you inside,” Riker said.
Nelson slapped him a little harder than necessary on the back before opening his car door and announcing, “I’d better return to my mobile office.”
Eliana led the way to the front steps and turned, pausing. He took the unspoken cue as a hint that their journey ended there. For the second time since arriving at her home, he squelched disappointment. Offering his own business card, Riker said, “My personal cell is on here. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”
Her fingertips brushed his hand as she accepted the proffered card. “I’ll text you both, so you’ll have my number too.”
“Good.” Riker searched his mind for an excuse to linger. Why? He needed to get busy. Eliana’s safety came first, and keeping her outside was selfish and unwise. “Guess Ammo and I will get a move on. Ready, dude?”
His dog trotted to the full extent of his twenty-foot leash, actively sniffing a path around the lawn.
“He’s either ignoring you, or he didn’t hear you,” Eliana said.
“Most likely both.”
“He’s not old and his muzzle isn’t graying.” She blinked and seemed to study Ammo. “Aren’t dogs equipped with super auditory abilities?”
“Ammo was at the top of his game until a D’Alfo Nite set an explosion in a grain elevator that nearly killed us. We healed from the outer wounds, but the attack stole much of his hearing. Doc says it’s possible he’ll recover, so I’m reasonably optimistic.”
“Oh,” Eliana gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
“He’s unofficially retired. Though his physical capabilities aren’t in question, a K-9 with compromised auditory skills can’t qualify to work. Whenever possible, I take him with me. He gets depressed if he’s left at home alone for too long.”
“Dogs get depressed?” Eliana tilted her head, unbelieving.
“Absolutely. Especially working K-9s. They live for the job, and if that’s taken away, it destroys a part of them. He’s multicertified in tracking, apprehension, and explosion detection. Provided he’s leashed, relatively close enough to hear and/or see me and can follow visual commands, the team uses him. Unofficially.”
“Poor guy.”
Shifting discussion gears, he jerked a chin toward Nelson’s unit. “I know it’s weird to have him outside but, please, don’t discount anything. If something feels wrong, or if you’re scared, contact Nelson. He is truly one of the best. He’ll take good care of you.”
A strange urge to stay confused Riker and, once more, he regretted not being assigned to do her detail.
“So, you’re headed to your cabin?” She shifted from one foot to another then leaned against the iron porch railing. “Located where?”
“Smith Falls near Valentine.” He swallowed, averting his gaze with the realization he’d be four hours away from her. “After our last visit, Ammo took off and, after two hours of searching, I found him stuck in the toolshed behind my cabin. He’d nudged through a broken slat. Can’t be upset with him, though. If he doesn’t see or hear me, he won’t obey.”
She turned to look at Ammo. “He must’ve found something interesting.”
Riker chuckled. “Probably.” He tugged on the leash and waved at Nelson. “We’d better get going.”
“Thanks again for saving my life today.”
“All in a day’s work,” he quipped. They remained there for several long seconds and Riker rocked back on his heels. Awkward. “Why not text Nelson and myself so we have your phone number?”
“Right. Good idea.” Eliana withdrew her phone and Riker recited his and Nelson’s numbers. “Okay. I just sent one message with all three of us in it.”
A second later, his cell chimed with a group text notification, and Nelson responded with a thumbs up emoticon.
With no other reasons to linger, Riker said, “Alrighty, I’ll see you later.”
He walked down the porch steps and straight to the pickup before he did anything stupid, like pull Eliana into his arms and promise to never let her go again. What was wrong with him?
Riker loaded Ammo into the pickup and slid behind the wheel. With one last wave, he shifted into Reverse and backed out of the driveway. As he approached the end of the street, he turned, traversing the road that paralleled Eliana’s backyard. Acres and acres of cornfields provided no easy access in or out. She’d be safe.
Wouldn’t she? One night would tell him a lot.
Fremont was a small town by most standards, though the population of about twenty-seven thousand provided full amenities. Like decent accommodations. Riker turned onto Main Avenue and spotted the sign for an established chain hotel a mile from Eliana’s neighborhood.
He pulled into the lot and parked near the front doors, contemplating his options. He wasn’t disobeying Beckham’s orders. His commander had simply said the cabin might be a good place for Riker to go. Technically, he only had to stay out of the investigation. If the Nites dared to show up here, Nelson would notify him, and Riker would respond immediately.
From here. And if the night proved uneventful, he’d travel to the cabin first thing in the morning.
Reassured of his plan, he climbed out of the truck and released Ammo. Hauling his bag, he walked to the front desk to secure a first-floor room.
Even if Eliana’s program served as a catalyst for condemning him to prison for a murder he didn’t commit, he couldn’t bear the thought of someone hurting her.
* * *
Eliana peered out of her office window. A soft breeze fluttered the lace curtain, dispelling the stuffiness. She spotted Officer Nelson’s police cruiser parked on the street in front of her house. A text from him dinged on her phone.
Doing okay?
She smiled and typed.
Yes.
Holler if you need anything.
Will do.
She waved and let the curtain close. Night had fallen and since the time Riker had left hours before, nothing bad had happened.
Proof she didn’t require police protection.
Still, having the officer outside provided a measure of comfort. Riker and Commander Walsh were wrong. The earlier attack had simply been a senseless drive-by shooting. It might not have even been aimed at her personally but could have been someone upset with one of the businesses in that area. Assured of her reasoning, she lifted her favorite pink mug and sipped sweetened oolong tea. She fed her nervous energy by popping three potato chips in her mouth, relishing the salty treat. If she had to work on this case much longer, she might need to resort to eating celery or she’d pick up unneeded pounds quickly.
The clock on her laptop screen read 11:25 p.m. Eliana dropped into her desk chair and studied the computer code she’d nearly memorized.
Planted evidence wasn’t an unreasonable theory, and it explained Riker’s DNA inside the glove, thereby producing the composite sketch. So why did her instincts say something wasn’t right?
“Whose side am I on?” she mumbled aloud.
Eliana pushed away from her desk and stood, pacing a short path. “Lord, I need wisdom here. I tout my belief in unbiased investigations, and now I am trying to disprove my program for Riker’s sake.” No. Not negate the results, explain, and with solid proof, justify them.
Was she biased to the truth because she didn’t want Riker to be guilty? What if he had really killed Moneyman?
And then what? She’d bear the burden of responsibility for Riker’s incarceration. The team would surely embrace her into the fold then, right? Not. Ugh. Eliana slid back into the chair and rested her head on the cool glass desktop, unable to deny her heart.
She cared about Riker...and she believed he was innocent.
Then rely on science. Eliana sat up and pored over her computer coding in search of a reasonable explanation for the sketch’s resemblance. Combined with the strange evidence, her confusion only mounted. When her eyes burned and her vision blurred, she logged out of the program and turned off the lights.
She entered her bedroom where the breeze had grown stronger, wafting in the sweet scent of impending rain and fluttering the lace curtains. Without air-conditioning, her house needed the refreshing coolness. Besides, the window faced the street where the kind officer watched over her. Riker’s instructions to keep the house locked up bounced to the forefront of her mind and she closed the window and secured the lock.
Maybe after a few hours of sleep, the answer to Riker’s dilemma would come to her. Flipping off her lamp, she snuggled down between the crisp cotton sheets and allowed her mind to consider her ex-boyfriend. His touch, like a battery voltage, had awakened her senses and her heart. Though he’d not asked, and she’d not offered, he deserved to know why she’d left school and never told him goodbye. But how could she reveal that without telling him about her past and Hunter’s death? The information would only add to his already antagonistic attitude and Riker would think she’d used him to endorse PHACE for her own benefit, which, technically, she had. She’d been honest about her goal, just not her motive.
Her thoughts transitioned to Riker and she closed her eyes, only to have an idea spring them open again. Eliana reached for her cell phone, activating her favorite voice recording app.
“Perhaps the answers lie in the coding anomalies?” She set the phone down, determined to tackle it first thing in the morning. Satisfied she had a plan, she surrendered to sleep.
A boom and crackling jolted Eliana awake.
Lightning flashed, illuminating an intruder’s hooded face as he hovered over her, wielding a gun. He pressed the barrel hard against her forehead. “You should’ve stayed out of it.”
Eliana thrust her hands upward, striking the man’s hand away and catching him off guard. Then she kicked with all her might, hitting her intended mark. He gasped and bent over.
She scrambled for the edge of the bed, but he clamped her ankles in a powerful hold, dragging her backward. “Help—” Eliana’s plea burrowed into the mattress as the intruder shoved her face down, attempting to smother her.
Stars danced before her eyes as she fought for air.
The distant sound of thunder boomed.
She tucked her legs and managed to get them under her, then jerked upright, headbutting the intruder.
He released his hold momentarily, but he was fast, clamping down again and yanking her closer to him.
Eliana flung her arms wide, grazing the books on her nightstand with her fingers. She clutched the first hardback and twisted, flinging the book hard, and struck him. Jumping off the bed, she landed with a thud on the hardwood floor.
The storm raged outside, casting flashes of light into the room.
He cut her off, blocking her exit. The intruder wavered, obviously still in pain.
In her peripheral, she spotted her open closet door.
“Help!” Thunder drowned out her cry.
Praying against reality that Officer Nelson heard her anyway, she dove for the closet.
A bullet hit the frame, spraying wood just as she whipped the door shut.
Eliana ripped a scarf off the hook and tied it around the knob, then pulled tight and dropped to sit, feet braced on either side of the doorframe.
Her chest heaved with fear and adrenaline.
Dread that she’d die before rescue arrived, she bowed her head. Oh, God, please help me!
The storm continued to rage, rattling the house with booming thunder. A flash of lightning illuminated two black boots at the one-inch gap between the door and floor.
“You can’t hide in there forever!” The man rattled the knob, nearly ripping Eliana’s arm out of the socket as they played a deadly game of tug-of-war.
The door stilled, and his footfalls faded.
The storm rumbled the atmosphere.
Eliana waited, listening. No other sounds. Had he given up? Left? Was Officer Nelson coming?
Hands shaking, she didn’t relinquish her hold on the scarf.
She scooted closer, watching the space for any signs of movement.
Only slivers of shadows appeared on the floor. Rain pelted hard against the house.
Had the intruder gone?
In rapid fire, bullets impaled the door with hissing pffts. Eliana scurried to the side to avoid being shot.
She clung to the scarf.
The gunshots stopped.
Eliana leaned her forehead on her outstretched arms, still clinging to the silk fabric.
Unwilling to move, she waited. Listening.
When she’d counted to a hundred, twice, she slowly released the scarf. Her old softball bat stood in the corner and Eliana grasped it. Weapon in hand, she got to her feet and gripped the knob, careful not to move it too quickly. Sucking in a fortifying breath, she turned the knob with slothlike motion. Inch by painfully slow inch, she pushed the door open enough to peer through a slit.
The room was dark, and the hallway loomed ahead.
She took a step. The betraying floorboards creaked, resounding in her ears, and announcing her presence.
Eliana froze, clutching the bat in both hands. She shifted toward the opening and used the tip of the bat to push the door wider.
A bullet pinged off the steel.
She screamed and ducked.
The intruder flung open the door, and Eliana swung the bat, striking the man.
He stumbled backward.
Eliana’s second swing connected with his jaw, jolting his face sideways with a sickening snap accompanied by the heavy thud of the gun hitting the floor and skidding away.
Another strobe of lightning flashed in the room.
She lunged, but a tackle from behind sent Eliana flying forward. She landed chin-first on the hardwood. Pain exploded up her face.
Air whooshed from her lungs.
The force thrust the bat from her hands and it toppled on the hardwood, out of reach.
The man released her, stood, then kicked her in the ribs, cutting off her next scream. “No one will help you!”
She gasped and rolled into the fetal position.
Clutching her hair, he yanked Eliana’s head back. She reached for his hand, desperate to free his hold, but he gripped tighter. Then a click and the cold steel of a blade touched her neck.
She froze.
Fight. The word floated to her in a war cry.
The distant sound of thunder boomed.
“Your cop isn’t coming.”
She blinked. Riker? Eliana stretched out her fingers, grazing the cord that dangled from her bureau. She clamped down and tugged with all her strength. Her favorite gaudy porcelain lamp came down with a thud, crashing on the assailant and startling him. His switchblade clattered to the floor.
