Deadly Alliances Read online

  Deadly Alliances

  Candle Sutton

  Text copyright © 2015 Candle Sutton

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogue, incidents, and locations are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to events, places, or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or other – without permission in writing from the author.

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Dedication & Acknowledgements

  Free Book Giveaway!

  A Note from the Author

  Excerpt from Deadly Devotion

  Also Available from Candle Sutton

  Prologue

  The late-May sun beat down with the mercy of a Columbian drug cartel as prosecuting attorney Reilly Tanner crossed the parking lot. Heat radiated off the blacktop and his car would be hotter than Death Valley in August, but nothing could bring him down. Not today.

  The jury had reached a verdict.

  After months of preparing, mounds of evidence, and two weeks in the courtroom, Al Rosetti was finally going where he belonged.

  Prison.

  Reilly glanced at the intern walking next to him. Will Underwood. Without his invaluable support and eager determination, they might not have brought this case home. “Thanks for the long hours you put in on this one.”

  “No sweat. I’m just glad we got that dirtbag.”

  Dirtbag? The kid watched way too many old cop movies.

  Although it was a fitting description.

  A white sedan with black windows glided into the lot. The passenger window slid down. A small cylinder extended out the opening.

  Gun!

  The word caught in Reilly’s throat.

  A sharp crack shattered the silence. Reilly dropped his briefcase and tackled Will to the ground.

  Two more shots echoed through the air.

  Reilly slammed into the blacktop and rolled twice before stopping. He pushed himself up.

  Moisture dampened his hands. His fingers – stained scarlet.

  A dark pool crept across the asphalt. Pouring from Will, whose wide eyes stared at him without blinking. No sound came from Will’s parted, twitching lips.

  Reilly scrambled to Will’s side.

  A faint, erratic pulse flickered under Reilly’s searching fingers.

  Not a good sign.

  The slight gurgling coming from Will’s open mouth was even worse.

  Tires squealed.

  Across the parking lot, the car turned around. Reilly’s gaze traced the barrel of the gun and the hand connected to a well-defined arm before resting on the shooter’s face.

  Tan. Deep set eyes. White-blond hair.

  The shooter’s gaze met his.

  He had to find cover. But he couldn’t move Will.

  If he didn’t run, they’d both die. Surviving was the only way to bring the help Will needed.

  Focusing on Will’s nearly colorless face, he leaned in. “I’m gonna get help. Stay with me.”

  The gun swung his direction. He threw himself to the right, rolled to his feet. A shot echoed across the lot.

  Had to find cover. A light gray minivan about fifty yards away was his closest option.

  He ran.

  Zigged left, zagged right; anything but a straight line.

  A bullet dinged off the asphalt, another ricocheted off a street light.

  Each breath came harder, shorter than the previous. Couldn’t worry about that now. Only three yards separated him from the van.

  He dove.

  Numbness tingled down his arm as his shoulder slammed into the pavement. Sliding several feet, he came to a stop by the front passenger tire.

  Pain radiated down his body.

  Keep moving.

  He pushed himself up and scrambled around the front of the van. Pressure built in his chest as he hauled in air.

  A cough scraped from his lungs, followed by another, and another.

  He plunged his hand into his pants’ pocket. Fumbled for his inhaler.

  Just breathe.

  His body refused to obey. Cough after cough shredded his throat. His clumsy fingers curled around the inhaler.

  Where was the shooter?

  He straightened slightly to peer through the windshield. The sedan eased past the van’s rear doors.

  The shooter’s eyes locked on his.

  The gun’s barrel jerked.

  He ducked as the back window exploded. Another bullet struck the windshield, raining glass on his head.

  Every rasping breath stole precious energy. He ripped the inhaler from his pocket.

  “You think that van’s gonna save you? You’re dead meat, Tanner.”

  He wrenched the cap off the inhaler and pumped the life-saving medication into his mouth. The coughing abated; the pain in his chest did not.

  He needed help. And he needed it now.

  Digging out his cell phone, he punched at the numbers, managed to hit 911 and send. The phone beeped twice and shut off.

  Dead. Just like he’d be when those guys caught up to him.

  He skirted the corner of the van and hurried down the driver’s side. Keeping the van between them should buy him a little time.

  More coughing. Another puff on the inhaler.

  A shot split the air. The window above his head shattered, sent glass cascading over him.

  Weren’t they out of bullets yet?

  Wheezing rattled his lungs. His neck muscles felt as brittle as the broken shards beneath his feet.

  The inhaler wasn’t cutting it. And he was spent.

  He rolled underneath the van. The sedan’s tires rounded the front of the vehicle.

  Shallow breaths lurched from his body. H
is hands shook so violently he had to use both of them to get the inhaler to his mouth and press down the vial.

  Calm down. Breathe.

  He watched the tires round the back of the vehicle.

  How long before the gunman came after him on foot? And where were the police? Someone had to have heard–

  Sirens!

  The welcome sound drew louder by the second.

  He pressed down the inhaler again. Continued coughing and wheezing and fighting for each breath.

  The sedan’s tires slowed. Stopped.

  After a hesitation that lasted a lifetime, the tires turned away, smoking as the car flew across the lot.

  The license plate!

  He rolled out, pushed to his feet, and tried to focus on the plate. Too far away.

  Tremors wobbled up his body. The deafening wail of the siren burped to silence.

  Was Will…?

  He managed four steps, barely rounding the back of the van, before his knees buckled.

  The asphalt seared his back. He tried to find the strength to bring the inhaler back to his lips, but his weighted limbs refused.

  Sit up. Sit up!

  Years of attacks screamed at him to get upright, but his body remained unresponsive.

  Numbness clouded his mind.

  Somewhere he thought he heard footsteps pounding, voices yelling.

  A hand closed around his wrist. A muted voice, a man, said something about blue fingers and lips.

  Paramedics. Speaking urgently. Their words swirled around him.

  Asthma.

  Get him up.

  Airway.

  Oxygen.

  Blurry images swam through his vision. Then the images dimmed, the noises faded, and everything went still.

  ₪ ₪ ₪ ₪ ₪

  “Sir? Sir, can you hear me?”

  Reilly forced his encumbered eyes open. A serious faced African-American kid stared back. Emblazoned on the kid’s blue uniform were the words “First Response.”

  The siren and bumpy, rocking motion confirmed he was in an ambulance.

  “Easy now.” The kid’s lips moved, but the words sounded distant. “Just relax and keep breathing. We’re administering oxygen.”

  Thoughts blasted through his head.

  Severe asthma attack.

  Will had been shot. Someone had tried to kill him.

  Des would freak.

  His parents would worry.

  Lana would smother him.

  Lana. Suddenly there was no one he wanted to speak to more than his sister.

  “Call….”

  The word croaked into the oxygen mask, unheard by the EMT leaning over him. Reilly reached a hand to the mask, but the EMT forced it back to his side.

  “You need to keep that on. Whatever it is can wait until we get to the hospital.”

  No. No, it couldn’t.

  He shook his head, brought his other hand around. The EMT caught it before it touched the mask.

  “Hey, you almost died. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re awake now.”

  The words barely penetrated Reilly’s thoughts. Had to call Lana. Before some well-meaning person took the initiative to track down his parents.

  He tried to pull his hands free.

  “Calm. Down.” The EMT sighed, released his hands, and reached for the mask. “What’s so important it couldn’t wait?”

  “Milana Tanner.” It was harder to push words past his scorched throat than he’d imagined, but he forced himself to continue. “Deputy. U.S. Marshals.”

  “Milana Tanner, deputy, U.S. Marshals, got it.” The EMT replaced the mask. “That who you want us to contact?”

  Reilly barely had the energy for a slight nod.

  Every part of his body screamed for relief. And in spite of the high flow of oxygen pouring through the mask, he ingested air like an addict in withdrawal.

  The vehicle slowed and the siren stopped.

  The EMT leaned in. “I’ll give the nurse the message. You relax and let the doctors do their job.”

  One

  The cell phone vibrating against Deputy Milana Tanner’s hip interrupted what had been a perfectly good run. As much as she wanted to ignore it, she slipped it from her pocket and checked the display.

  An unfamiliar number.

  She accepted the call anyway.

  “Deputy Milana Tanner?” A woman’s voice bit out the words.

  She stopped mid-stride. “This is Deputy Tanner.”

  “Mildred Barton. I’m a nurse at Jacksonville General.”

  The hospital. The realization hit like a fist to the gut. Someone was hurt.

  Her parents were out of town.

  That left one person.

  Reilly.

  “We just admitted Reilly Tanner and he requested that I call you.”

  He requested. Meaning he was alive and at least conscious enough to give a nurse her name and number. “Is he okay?”

  A pause.

  The hesitation spiked her pulse.

  Barton cleared her throat. “He will be. I really can’t release any information without his written consent.”

  Dang medical privacy laws. “I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

  She ended the call and sprinted toward her house. Did this really need to happen when she was two miles away?

  At least she could run a mile in less than eight minutes. Under normal circumstances. With the adrenaline coursing through her right now, she bet she could do it in five.

  In spite of what Nurse Barton said, she wouldn’t really believe Reilly was okay until she was able to see it for herself.

  ₪ ₪ ₪ ₪ ₪

  Sneakers squeaking on the polished tile floor, Lana strode down the nearly empty hallway. The room numbers indicated she was getting close. Should be just around the next corner.

  She whipped around the corner and jerked to a halt.

  A uniformed police officer sat in front of the closed door of room 413.

  What were the police doing here?

  Who cared? Reilly was her first priority.

  Lana whipped out her badge. “Deputy Tanner, US Marshals office. I’m here to see Reilly Tanner.”

  The clean-cut officer who barely looked old enough to drive glanced at her badge before spearing her with a dark stare. “You’re with the Marshals?”

  “I didn’t buy that online.”

  Not even a hint of a smile flickered across his face. He stood, towering over her. Without a word, he reached for her badge.

  Which she released. Grudgingly.

  He examined it, looked at her, returned his attention to the badge.

  Sheesh. Okay, so maybe she should’ve changed out of her workout clothes. But she’d barely taken the time to grab her keys and badge, let alone worry about something as silly as her appearance.

  He handed back her badge. “I was told no one gets in.”

  For crying out loud. Reilly was on the other side of the door and this rookie wouldn’t let her past.

  Maybe she should pull her gun.

  Like that’d get her anything but shot. Or arrested. At the very least, banned from the hospital.

  “Who’s the lead on this?”

  “Detective Sanders. He should be back soon.”

  At least Sanders knew her. “Soon isn’t good enough. Call him. Now.”

  A twitch at the corner of the rookie’s jaw told her she’d pushed too hard. “As I said, he’ll be back soon.”

  Time for a new tactic. She softened her tone, adopted the ultra-persuasive manner she’d perfected over the years. “Look, I’m sorry. But that’s my brother in there. The nurse wouldn’t tell me anything. I need to make sure he’s okay.”

  Hesitation flickered across the kid’s face. “Your brother?”

  “My only brother.”

  He stared at her for several long seconds. “I’d expect some family resemblance if he’s really your brother.”

  Not good. The doubt in his tone told her she was losing him. “I’
m adopted.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She gestured at the closed door behind him. “Ask him yourself.”

  “No one gets in without Sanders’ approval.”

  What were the odds she could skirt past him and get inside the room before he realized what was happening? Slim. And she’d probably get herself kicked out of the hospital for trying.

  This was ridiculous.

  So what if most people’s image of a US Marshal didn’t match her five-foot-two petite frame? The badge ought to speak for itself.

  Although she’d learned long ago that most people placed her closer to twenty-two than her actual thirty-two years. Whether it was her slight frame, long dark hair, deep skin tone, or something else remained an unsolved mystery.

  Someday she’d probably love it. Today was not that day.

  “Look, you might as well have a seat in the waiting room. I’ll let you know when Sanders gets here.”

  She crossed her arms, but didn’t move. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Suit yourself.” The rookie dropped back to his chair, his gaze never leaving her.

  Figured. All the cops in this city and she had to get the newbie trying to prove himself.

  “Why are you guys here, anyway? What happened?”

  “You’ll have to wait for Sanders.”

  Seriously? Was that all he knew how to say?

  She leaned against the wall across the hallway.

  There were only a few reasons the police would be stationed outside Reilly’s hospital room. A direct threat, he’d witnessed something, or he was a person of interest.

  She discarded the last option. Reilly was about as clean as they came.

  Forget this. She didn’t have the patience to wait all day.

  If the rookie wouldn’t try to get ahold of Sanders, she’d do it herself. She still had some friends at the precinct. Surely one of them could get in touch with Sanders and send him up.

  She’d just palmed her phone when a tank of a man appeared. “Well, looky here. Deputy Tanner. What’s up?”

  Not bothering to hide her frustration, she gestured to the kid. “Would you please tell him to let me in to see my brother?”