Enemies and Playmates Read online

  Damn. What now? He couldn’t use his own gun. That would be like putting a neon sign on his head for the cops and FBI to come running. Crouching here in the bushes certainly wasn’t getting him anywhere. He had to make a move. Do something.

  His phone chirped. He cursed, realizing he’d forgotten to set it on vibrate. He punched the button and muttered a quiet hello.

  “Jesse,” Tim said. “Where are you? What’s going on?”

  “Umm… I’d rather not get into that right now.”

  “Barnes ordered an all out hunt for you.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “You okay? Where the hell are you? And why are you whispering?”

  “I’m okay,” Jesse said. “But that’s all I can say right now. Better for you that way.”

  “Christ.”

  “I’ll call you later. Thanks for the heads up.”

  Jesse disconnected, then switched the ring to vibrate. Something rustled inside the garage. He chanced a peek in the window. Covington was there, by his trunk, lifting a suitcase. Going on a trip. Finally running scared.

  While Jesse crouched in the bushes contemplating his next stupid move, another car approached. He caught a glimpse of the driver as the car slowly passed, making the turn into Covington’s driveway. Captain James Barnes. Perfect. Killing a cop, even a crooked cop, definitely was not on his list of stupid things to do today. So he did the only thing he could think of. He crouched deeper into the bushes, pulled out his phone, and dialed Rob Taylor’s number.

  “Robert Taylor.”

  “It’s Jesse Ryder. If you want Covington, you’d better get someone to his house quick.”

  “You think he’s going to run?”

  “I know he is.”

  “We’re on route there now,” Rob said. “Got a warrant for his arrest.”

  “How far are you?”

  “Another fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.”

  “Long time.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Watching him,” Jesse said. “Captain James Barnes is with him.”

  “Any way you can safely keep him in place?”

  “I could shoot him.”

  “Aside from that.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “If he takes off, try and follow,” Rob said. “Safely, of course.”

  Sure, that might work if his car wasn’t two blocks away. “Yeah, okay,” Jesse muttered.

  He stuffed the phone in his pocket and crept around to the side of the garage. No voices, no sounds. He peeked inside. No one there.

  Jesse hunkered down and waited. No sense doing anything crazy. Not with a cop in the house. And the feds on their way. That was a surprise. They’d actually gotten their shit together quicker than Jesse expected.

  His legs began to throb. This was not the highlight of his career. Voices drifted out from the garage. He checked his watch. Ten minutes had passed. He could always blow out Covington’s tires. That would sure stop him.

  The voices rose and fell. Jesse couldn’t make out the words. Then the garage door eased open.

  “I have a five o’clock flight,” Alex was saying. “But I won’t say where I’ll end up.”

  “I understand,” Barnes said. “I’m going to talk to Anna. I have to tell her. I don’t imagine she’ll come with me. You know Anna, she wouldn’t like life on the run.”

  “I don’t intend to be on the run. Long ago I took precautions. I have a new identity already built. Enough money to do as I please. I’ll be quite comfortable where I’m going.”

  “I wish I’d had your foresight,” Barnes said.

  A car door creaked open at the same moment that a brown sedan pulled in front, blocking the driveway. Rob Taylor and another man stepped out of the car, guns drawn. Rob shouted, “Alex Covington, FBI. Both of you step away from the car.”

  Jesse stepped out from his hiding place. He was stunned to see Alex pull a gun from his coat pocket, grab Barnes around the neck, and press the gun against his forehead. “Put your guns on the ground,” Alex demanded.

  Both agents froze. “Now,” Alex said. “Or I’ll splatter this police captain’s brains all over the pavement.”

  “Okay, calm down,” Rob said. “Killing him isn’t going to get you anywhere. You know that.”

  Jesse stood unnoticed by the edge of the garage. No one had made eye contact or even turned his way. But Rob knew he was there. He was sure of that.

  Alex squeezed his arm tighter around Barnes’ neck. Red-faced and frozen with fear, Barnes stared at the FBI agents, a silent plea in his eyes. Several minutes passed in which both agents tried calmly talking to Alex. But Alex was not about to give in. He was a desperate man.

  Alex demanded the agents move their car, then toss him the keys. He couldn’t get his car out of the garage, as Barnes had parked his own shiny Lincoln in the way. So he’d been shoving Barnes toward the Lincoln’s driver’s door. He kept Barnes directly in front of him so that the agents had no clear shot.

  Jesse drew his gun. He watched Rob, who gave him an almost imperceptible nod. Then Jesse called, “Hey Covington, isn’t it me you really want?”

  Alex turned. His icy glare instantly narrowed. “You son of a bitch.”

  The agents had no clear shot. Alex turned the .38 he’d been holding against Barnes’ temple, aimed it at Jesse. That split second seemed to last an eternity. Jesse’s eyes fixed on Alex’s hand. He was slow on the trigger. Inexperienced.

  The agents moved closer. Cautious. They didn’t want heroics getting them shot. Barnes’ mouth hung open. The agents shouted commands. Jesse heard the sounds but didn’t comprehend the words. He was busy staring into the eyes of his enemy. For a brief moment, they were suspended in time, appraising each other, despising each other.

  Jesse dropped his gaze. Barnes struggled. Alex tightened his grip, repositioned his aim. His fingers tightened around the .38 that had probably never been fired.

  Jesse squeezed his trigger. Two shots. One his. Another whizzed by him and struck the tree to his right. The gun fell from Alex’s hand. Barnes scrambled away. A spray of red splattered over the Lincoln’s windshield. Alex sank to the ground, a perfect round hole in the center of his forehead.

  34

  Lauren tossed the rose she’d been holding onto the grave. She stood in the bright July sunshine, staring down at the headstone. Stephen Alexander Covington. Seventeen years old. Wherever he and their father were right now, maybe they were at last able to make peace.

  Lauren said a silent prayer, then turned and took Jesse’s arm. As they walked down the hill, they passed her father’s grave. A chill ran through her. His presence, even in death, was still enough to make her shudder.

  “You okay?” Jesse asked.

  “Yeah, it’s getting easier.”

  “Well don’t be crying anymore today. The guest of honor can’t have smudged makeup.”

  Lauren stopped and wrapped her arms around Jesse’s neck. She pressed her body against his and their lips met. “I love you,” she said. “But I wish you hadn’t done this.”

  “It wasn’t all me.” He pulled the car door open and held it for her. “Your mother wanted it to be a surprise party but I knew you’d freak. Surprise parties aren’t your thing.”

  “No, definitely not.”

  Jesse slid into the driver’s side. “I am proud of you,” he said.

  Lauren’s cheeks flushed. “I know. Thanks.”

  “How does it feel to have an actual book contract?”

  “Great. Scary. But, you know, in a weird kind of way, it makes me feel like something good came out of all the hell my father caused.”

  “Any ideas for a title yet?”

  “I’m thinking Enemies and Playmates.”

  The parking lot at the rented hall was jammed. Lauren was shocked when they pulled in. For some reason, she’d assumed this would be a small gathering. “Are all these people here for the party?” she asked.

  “You’re a popular lady,” J
esse said.

  Lauren received a greeting like she’d never expected. More than a hundred people applauded as she walked through the door. The hall was beautifully decorated and they’d even managed to get her favorite local band to play.

  Later, Lauren stood by the buffet table while Jesse danced with her mother. Marc came up beside her. “How is the guest of honor doing?” he asked.

  “Great,” Lauren said. “I’ve been watching my mom. She looks beautiful tonight. Better every day.”

  “I think so, too. The therapy has helped her a lot.”

  “I have a feeling it’s more than the therapy.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” Lauren grinned. “She finally fulfilled that dream she’d always had. She’s happily married.”

  “Well that makes two of us.”

  Gina came in the front entrance and stood scanning the room. She was holding her son, Michael Stephen Kent, in her arms. Lauren spotted her and waved. “I was hoping you’d make it,” she said as Gina approached.

  “I wanted to feed Michael before we came,” Gina said. “Congratulations!”

  “Thanks.” Lauren reached her arms out. “Can I hold my godson?”

  “Sure.”

  Lauren took the sleeping baby in her arms. “He’s so beautiful, Gina.”

  “That’s because he looks like his godmother.”

  Lauren laughed. “No, I think that crop of dark hair definitely says he’s a mommy’s boy.”

  She stroked his cheek. His eyelids fluttered and fought to open. For one brief instant, they opened wide. In that moment Lauren couldn’t miss those eyes. Those same steel blue eyes.

  Lauren snuggled up against Jesse. His bare skin was warm against hers. He snored softly. She glanced at the clock. Nearly four a.m. and still she hadn’t slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her father and those icy steel blue eyes that had haunted her most of her life. She reminded herself that just because the baby had his same eyes didn’t mean he’d be anything like her father. Their father.

  Maybe Michael Stephen Kent would grow up to be everything their father was not. And everything Stephen Alexander Covington could have been.

  Lauren twisted the ring on her finger. A new ring. A beautiful diamond that would soon be accompanied by a wedding band. That brought a smile.

  She turned and studied Jesse’s sleeping face. He was the most peaceful man she’d ever known. He had no need for power, no need for control. He was comfortable with who he was, just as he was.

  She traced a path from his cheek to his belly button. He moaned softly in his sleep. She kissed his neck. Her fingers slid over the tops of his thighs.

  His body responded eagerly, even before he woke. Lauren pressed her body against his. Her fingers lightly stroked him.

  Jesse opened one eye. He smiled and pulled her closer.

  She lay back, enjoying the sensations his touched created. She gazed into his eyes. Her father’s eyes finally disappeared. All she saw was Jesse. His dark, intense eyes spoke to her in ways she now understood so well.

  She was safe.

  She was loved.

  She’d made it.

  ###

  About The Author:

  Darcia Helle writes because the characters trespassing through her mind leave her no alternative. Originally from Massachusetts, she now writes in the sunshine of Florida. She lives with her tolerant husband in a home ruled by four-legged babies.

  You can learn more about Darcia and her writing on her website: http://www.DarciaHelle.com or http://www.QuietFuryBooks.com

  Other Novels by Darcia Helle:

  Hit List

  No Justice (A Michael Sykora Novel)

  Beyond Salvation (A Michael Sykora Novel)

  Miami Snow

  The Cutting Edge

  Short Stories by Darcia Helle:

  Wilted Brown Eyes

  The First Kill

  You Can Call Me Ari (included in the BestsellerBound Short Story Anthology)

  ###

  Lyrical Inspiration

  Ever have a song get stuck in your head? A line or two of the lyrics playing on a loop through your mind until it becomes a silent mantra? Annoying as that can be, sometimes it also provides inspiration.

  My music addiction rivals my book addiction. If I’m not writing or reading, I’m listening to music. Some music lovers barely acknowledge lyrics. For me, the lyrics make the song.

  When I write, I step inside my characters’ personalities. I need to feel what they feel, so that I can present them to my readers as a three-dimensional person, not just a character on a page. While writing my novel Enemies and Playmates, I had a relatively minor character whose impact on the story turned out to be much larger than his small part. His name is Stephen and he is the younger brother of Lauren, the main character.

  Stephen’s character ran continually through my mind, along with the lyrics from two songs. The lyrics drove his character, as much as his character sparked the endless loop of the lyrics in my mind. The first was a line from ‘The Struggle Within’, a Metallica song from their Black album. Home is not a home it becomes a hell… Turning it into your prison cell. The other was a song called ‘Fade’ from the Break The Cycle album by Staind. That entire song, in my mind, became Stephen’s song. I could hear him singing it, see him living it. One line from that song – But I never meant to fade away – became Stephen’s plaintive cry.

  I don’t know whether the songs sparked the character or Stephen’s character made me pay closer attention to the lyrics in those songs. I’m also not sure that it matters. Lyrics are pieces of a story. When I listen to a well written song, I can see that story play out in front of me. Sometimes it becomes more than a three to five minute vignette.

  I am sure that what I visualize is most often not the same vision that inspired the song’s writer. However, that’s often the beauty of words. They can be many different things to many different people. It’s all in how we listen. Or how we read.

  ###

  Hit List: An Excerpt

  Chapter 1

  It didn’t rain today. She thought it might but it didn’t. Not that it made any difference.

  The clock ticked in the background. That was the only sound. Tick-tock, tick-tock…

  She wandered about the house, clad in her worn-out terrycloth bathrobe. Her frizzy orange hair stood out from her head in a wild mass. Corinne had never been beautiful. That implied perfection, which she had never achieved. Nor had she ever tried. But once Corinne had possessed a commanding magnetism.

  She had large brooding blue eyes with dark lashes that curled at the tips. Her nose was just a bit too large. Full lips had once smiled often, while giving men something to fantasize about.

  She wouldn’t have been considered thin. Instead, she’d been shapely and always well toned. Her flame-colored hair, then a tamed curl, had demanded attention for her. And she’d received it. Quite often. She’d relished in that spotlight.

  Now she walked on too-thin legs, back and forth. The clock continued to tick. She listened, finding the sound comforting. Shivering, she wrapped the tattered robe tighter around herself. She felt as if she were a hundred. She was forty-eight.

  Having exhausted herself, she sat in the chair by the window. The gray sky grew darker. Soon it would be night. “Damn you!” she shouted into the empty air.

  No one was there to respond. “Damn you,” she repeated. But this time the force was gone from her voice.

  Corinne didn’t know he’d come in through the back and was now standing in the kitchen doorway watching her. Ian rubbed his hands over his eyes. In the house less than two minutes and already his head throbbed. He didn’t think they could go on like this much longer. Guilt, anger, sadness, frustration. He experienced the entire realm of emotions, all at once, every minute of the day. Sort of like living out a jumbled combination of the movie Groundhog Day and a Freudian textbook.

  Ian forced himself into the living room. Her perfume assaulte
d him. His cough caused her to turn in his direction. Her red painted lips started to curve into a smile but straightened quickly. She’d been mad at him when he left and was evidently reminding herself to stay that way.

  “Hello ma,” he said.

  Corinne turned away, pulling her robe tighter around herself. She stared off at the television as if the blank screen held some mystical secret. He wanted to scream out every obscenity he could think of. Instead he ran his hand over the stubble on his chin and conjured up an image of a deserted island. The psychiatrist’s idea.

  Dr. Endicott had suggested that he create his own “happy place” in his mind. A place he could escape to when he felt on edge. What better escape than a deserted island? Of course, the trick never worked. As if he could possibly trick himself into relaxing on some deserted island in his mind, while standing in the midst of chaos with his crazy mother.

  Ian perched on the edge of the sofa and stifled a sigh. “Why didn’t you get dressed today, ma?”

  Corinne stood in a flurry of motion that somehow managed to make him dizzy. She fussed over the knickknacks on the mantel as she spoke. “They were outside today. I saw them. I saw them. I saw them outside today.”

  He tried to interrupt her singsong chatter but she continued fidgeting with the knickknacks, talking to the room as much as to him. “They saw me watching them. Watching them watching me.” An odd sort of tormented giggle escaped her lips. She said, “They have her. They have her. They know I can’t. I can’t. They have her.”

  “Ma, stop.” His voice came out sharper than he’d intended. He swallowed the dry lump and tried again. “Please, ma. Sit down.”