Читать книгу Security Risk - Janie Crouch - Страница 11

The noose around his throat slowly strangled Tanner until gray blurred the edges of his vision. At the very last moment before he lost consciousness, he forced his weight onto his legs, providing blessed air. He knew the relief was short-lived. One leg was broken, the other almost useless after the hours of trying to support his weight on just his toes on the stool where he balanced precariously.

“Tell us who the cop is, and this can all end.”

Tanner could barely see through his swollen eyes. “I already told you.” The words were garbled whispers—blows to the face and the trauma to his throat had ensured that. “I’m the cop.”

Someone pushed his leg out from under him, causing the rope to tighten around his neck once again, his hands tied behind his back rendering them useless. Airflow immediately ceased, although he didn’t jerk or move unnecessarily. He’d learned after the first hour that flailing didn’t accomplish anything but using up more energy and oxygen.

He had a limited supply of both.

“Which one of them is the cop? We know you were communicating with one of them.”

The voice was referring to the two men also tied up with Tanner, but sitting in chairs, one barely twenty-one years old. Tanner couldn’t see them. Couldn’t hear them. Could only try to survive this moment.

Someone helped him plant his good leg back on the stool so he could relieve the tension on his throat. At least they’d finally figured out he couldn’t talk while they were attempting to suffocate him.

He breathed in as much as his swollen throat would allow. “I wasn’t communicating with one of them.” That was the truth. He’d been communicating with both of them. All three of them had been sent undercover together. “It’s just me.”

The blow to his stomach caught him completely unaware and had him coughing up blood and struggling to balance on the stool. Tanner didn’t know how much more he could take. But he would do whatever he had to if it meant Nate and Alex would walk out of here.

Tanner definitely wouldn’t. He’d already made peace with that.

Before he could prep himself for another blow, someone ran into the opposite side of the warehouse screaming curses that would make a sailor proud.

“Cops! They’re everywhere outside!”

For a split second Tanner felt hope. They were going to make it.

The hope died a moment later at the simple instructions the leader of the syndicate gave his men.

“Kill them all.”

It echoed over and over in Tanner’s head.

Kill them all.

Kill them all.

At the first blast of gunfire and thump of a body, Tanner used all his strength in one last Hail Mary attempt to dive from the stool. He could barely believe it when the rope gave way, snapping from the ceiling rather than ending his life. He crashed to the floor and—ignoring that agony lighting through his entire body—forced himself onto his feet.

And turned just in time to see one of the syndicate members point his Glock at twenty-one-year-old Nate Fletcher’s forehead where he was strapped to a chair.

Tanner dived for them.

* * *

EIGHT HOURS LATER the nightmare still felt slick and slimy on Tanner Dempsey’s skin. The flying motion had woken him up. It was what had woken him up, often violently, hundreds of nights since what happened in that warehouse three years ago.

Tanner was never in time to save Nate in his dream, just like he hadn’t been in time to save him in real life. He’d watched as the life of a promising law enforcement officer—and human being—had been snuffed out.

Tanner had been too late to save Alex, the other undercover officer, too. He’d died with the first bullet when Tanner had still been strung up.

The place had been swarming with cops not a minute later. Almost everyone in the Viper Syndicate, a human-and weapons-trafficking cartel, had been caught or killed that day, too.

But not in time to save Nate or Alex.

Tanner scrubbed a hand over his face. He was sitting in a Denver courthouse, having finished giving his testimony in a drunk-driving case. Normally, he would’ve already left after providing his info, but he was staying to catch the prosecuting attorney during the court recess for lunch.

Ryan Fletcher, Nate’s brother.

Maybe knowing he would be seeing Ryan today was what brought the nightmare back last night. Although, after three years’ worth of required visits with the department psychiatrist, Tanner knew there didn’t necessarily have to be a reason for his subconscious mind to start dwelling on what had happened that day. Sometimes his mind just went there of its own accord. Some PTSD triggers were visible, but many more were hidden.

He and Ryan had become not quite friends, but more than just professional colleagues over the last year since Ryan had moved to Colorado and become one of the district attorneys. When Tanner was in Denver, or Ryan was in Grand County to see the sheriff, they sometimes got together to spar at the gym. Ryan might be a lawyer, but he kept himself in good shape.

And Tanner had worked damn hard to come back from what had happened at that warehouse. Tried to use his wounds—both physical and mental—to make him a better police officer. He demanded it of himself. As captain of the southeast department of the Grand County Sheriff’s Office—which included his hometown of Risk Peak—he would do whatever it took to keep the people in his care safe.

A half smile popped up on his face before he could stop it. Risk Peak now included Bree Daniels, the woman who’d been causing smiles to pop up on his face unbidden for months.

She’d run out of money, and hope, in Risk Peak three months ago while being chased by a terrorist organization. Normally, Tanner wasn’t thankful for bad guys, but the fact that these had led the socially awkward yet breathtakingly beautiful Bree to his front door was enough for him to make an exception.

“We haven’t won the case yet.” Ryan walked up to him and slapped him on the shoulder. “You might want to save grinning like an idiot for when we do.”

Tanner reached out to shake the man’s hand. “Think there’s going to be any problem getting a conviction?”

“That would be a definite no. Guy was on a suspended license and ran from the police. Plus, I’ve got Dr. Michalski providing his professional evaluation of the defendant this afternoon.”

Tanner nodded. “Dr. Michalski is good.” Tanner should know—he’d been seeing the man for three years. Tanner wasn’t a huge fan of his sessions—sometimes it felt like he had a million other things to do than just sit around and talk about the past, but he couldn’t deny that Dr. Michalski was a good psychiatrist.

“Yeah, he’s definitely better on the stand than the last department psychiatrist I worked with in Seattle. Jury responds much better to him.” Ryan grinned. “Of course, he’s never going to be as good as putting you on the stand. Anytime I know you’ll be testifying, I try to get as many women in the jury as possible.”

Tanner rolled his eyes. He’d been teased about his looks before, by both the district attorneys and his colleagues in the sheriff’s department. But as far as he was concerned, there was only one person whose opinion of his looks mattered. And it definitely wasn’t anybody in a jury.

“Anything I can do to help get bad guys off the street.”

“Speaking of.” Ryan’s easy smile slid from his face. “You heard that Owen Duquette got released on parole last week?”

Tanner swallowed a curse and nodded. “I made my objections known to the parole board. Strongly. Both in written form and in person at the parole hearing.”

“It just feels like a slap in the face, you know? Duquette might not have been in the warehouse that day, but he knew what was going on. He was complicit in Nate’s death. I’m sure of it.” Ryan’s fist tightened around his briefcase handle.

But they both knew that knowing something and proving it in court were two entirely different things. Duquette’s ties to the Viper Syndicate had been tentative at best, legally. The district attorney at the time had only been able to charge Duquette with relatively minor trafficking charges, not murder.

But still, to get out after only three years? Tanner was angry. He couldn’t even imagine how Ryan felt, knowing someone they both highly suspected was connected to his brother’s murder was now back out on the streets.

“I’ll make it my business to keep an eye on him,” Tanner said. “And not just while I’m in uniform. The second he steps out of line, I’ll make sure he goes down.”

Ryan nodded. “Thanks. It’s just...you know. Nate would’ve been twenty-five this month.”

Tanner had to look away. If he had just snapped that rope a few seconds earlier, maybe Nate would’ve been here.

But that was Tanner’s burden to bear. “Duquette will get what’s coming to him. Don’t doubt it.”

A career criminal like Duquette wouldn’t stay on the straight and narrow very long. Tanner would use whatever resources he had to know the moment Duquette stepped in the wrong direction.

Ryan nodded, then looked over Tanner’s shoulder. “Oh, hi, Dr. Michalski. Got a moment to go over a couple of last-minute details?”

“Sure, Ryan.” Dr. Michalski stepped up beside Tanner and offered his hand to shake. “Tanner, good to see you. It’s been a while.”

Translation: You missed your last required appointment.

Response: Sorry, it just happened to be scheduled when I was off saving the country from a terrorist group about to illegally access cell-phone data all over the world.

Neither man actually said it.

“Doc. Good to see you, too.”

“Everything okay? No anger...problems?”

The good doctor had obviously heard Tanner’s discussion about Duquette.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little frustrated when my job gets harder because of criminals getting released early.”

“Maybe we can talk about that sometime.”

Tanner resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll let you guys get to your discussion.”

Ryan smiled. “Tanner, thanks again for your work on the stand. Stellar, as always. Next time bring a cowboy hat in case we need an extra push with the lady jurors.”

Tanner shook hands with both men before saying his goodbyes.

Because there was someone else he knew for a fact found him attractive in a cowboy hat. Someone who barely came up to his chin and had waves of thick brown hair running down her back. Someone to whom it never occurred to wear makeup, but it didn’t matter because her natural beauty could give a cover model a run for their money any day of the week.

One look into her green eyes would have him forgetting about psychiatrists, witness stands and even the ghostly itch of a noose stretched around his neck.