Page 17 of Gypsy's Lady
Line in the sand
Doug woke and blinked, staring into the darkness inside his bedroom, frantic heartbeats booming in his ears. Straining to hear, he tried to decide what had startled him from sleep, but all was quiet.Stupid dreams. With a soft groan, he turned to his side facing thedoorand settled the covers around him. Shuffling one leg around, he draped the sheetand blanketsohe had a foot and calf exposed, then sighed and closed his eyes, ready to try and find sleep again.
Snick.
It was the smallest of noises. Tiny and unremarkable, except it was out of place. Someone might mistake it for two coins clicking together in a pocket, maybe. Or perhaps keys giving a single rattle on a keyring. But Doug knew it was the latch on his bedroom door sliding freeof the frame. His eyelids flew up againandhe glared fixedly at the door. In thedarkness,he could seemovement,and realized it was slowly swinging open enough to let a widening sliver of dim light ease into the room. That illumination highlighted the shape of a person, seen as a darker shadow that slipped between the edge and the doorframe. He tracked the movement, noting the broad shouldersand long arms on the figure. A man, tall and big.
Shit.
Arms shaking with the effort it took to hold motionless, he let the figure drift closer to the bed, the soft brush of footsteps on the floor scarcely audible. Still only a blurry outline against the bedroom walls, Doug couldn’t determine if there were weapons present in eitherhand,but knew he had to assume something. There was no waysomeone would break into the apartment of a cop without having a plan in place.
Three more steps.
He began a countdown as he studied the movements, not as smooth as he’d first assumed, the figure was as hampered by the lack of light as Doug, heelandtoe of each foot searching for solid and quiet ground.Another step.
Doug watched as the figure drew back one hand, shifting their grip on a darkbar that seemed to appear out of nowhere, adjusting their hold until a knife was clearly visible and angled down into a stabbing position.
Grasping the top edge of his blanket, Doug settled intoquietnessas he waited for the finalfootfall. Time seemed to stand still as a heavy silence rang in his ears. Doug drew a final steady and quiet breath before exploding up off the bed. Folding his legunder him, he threw the covers behind him, and in the same movement grasped the center of the unused pillow on the other side of the bed. Bringing it in front of him when the man’s arm arced downwards, he met the swing of the knife with the pillow, feeling a stinging slice across the backside of his wrist as the knife punched through. With a twist of the fabric, he failed at his attempt to dragthe blade out of his assailant’s grip, urgently clutching at the man’s other hand. Doug stepped in close and bent grasping fingers back with a vicious yank, continuing his attack until he heard the sound of knuckles giving up their place with brittle popping noises. Tightening his hold,heground the bones together, danced a half step to the side, and pulled his attacker off balance. The man reactedviolently, cursing sharply as he drew the knife back for a second swing.
Doug dropped the pillow and gripped the wrist of the hand holding the knife, the muscles of his arm bunched and contracted as he yanked the blade sideways and jerked it upwards. The knife punched through the soft triangle of flesh below the man’s jaw, slicing along his throat as it moved upwards. Doug struggled to preservehis clasp on the man’s now-slippery wrist, tightening his grip again to yank the man towards him and then shove away, trying to regain a few inches of space between them for the fight.
Thick heat splattered his arm and chest, then the man fell, collapsing like a ragdoll and Doug released him. Only seconds had passed since he’d engaged the intruder in hand-to-hand combat, but his chest was risingand falling as if he’d run a marathon. Doug steppedbackwardsand reached blindly to where the nightstand should be, shocked to find the lamp still upright, undisturbed by the struggle only feet away. Fingers fumbling with the switch, he stared in shock at what he saw illuminated on his bedroom floor.
Gasping for breath, he quickly scanned the body and took in the dark clothing and mask, thequivering knife jutting from the man’s undulating throat, and the widening pool of dark, red blood. There was a high-pitched whistle followed by a gargled sound like a clogged pipe, and Doug watched as the man on the floor thrashed side to side, hands lifting to his throat, one coming away coated in red. He heard a quick rattle of a cough, another wet hack as the man dug his heels and pushed, shovinghis body a few inches along the floor. One hand on his throat, the man clawed at the handle of the knife and then gave a final choked cough before stilling. His chest rose and fell a few more times, each slow movement accompanied by the same wet sputteringsounds,until he lay still.
Doug looked around the room in shock and was stunned when he caught sight of himself in the mirror affixed tothe inner surface of his opened closet door. From his lower jaw down, he was drenched in blood. Now that he was aware of it, he could feel the warm, sticky coating on every inch of his skin.Jesus Christ.
The man’s mask had twisted around his face, hemmed holes for mouth and eyes now misaligned, they showed the bristle of a beard in one place, and the shell of an ear in another. Careful to notstep in the seeping pool of blood, Doug moved closer and reached down to place two fingers where the carotid shouldbe,if the man’s neckweren’tso mangled. The double-bladed knife’s passage had done a number on the structures, severing both the interior and exterior jugular, and nearly cutting his esophagus in two. The white cartilage of the structure was visible, the interior clotted with blood,spatter from the last desperate breaths the man had attempted still covered the fabric of the mask in a mist of red.
Suppressing his instinct to call in the attack and get officers on scene, Doug straightened, fists to his hips and stared down, thinking fast.
No coincidence here, he thought.
Three days ago, he’d approached IA about what looked like an unusual number of motorcycle accidents.After hearing the dickbag Schwartz spouting his bullshit, Doug had investigated his activities and found so much to question. Accidents occurring only on the detective’s days off. Wrecks occurring on roads the man was known to frequent. Doug had pulled surveillance video from several ATMs on the east side of town and gained shots of the detective’s car only moments before accidents happened. In hismind the guilt was clear, and while no one had been killed yet, Doug knew it was only a matter of time. That was why he’d gone to IA.
But they hadn’t wanted to talk to him about his report. Not at all. What they wanted to discuss were the failed search and busts he’d been involved in, a topic he’dthoughthad been long closed. When he got back to the bullpen, it had only been a matter of minutesbefore the captain called him in for a private conversation. The threats so straightforward, Doug knew the captain had been on the horn with IA and gotten the entire scoop.
Bending at the waist, he reached down and hooked a finger under the bottom edge of the mask, hesitating only a moment before he tugged it up and off, letting it fall to the side as he stared down into the face of a man he’dbeen partnered with for more than a year.Dom Vogel. Jesus. Not the blowhard Schwartz, which was who he’d expected to be revealed, but someone he’d known well and liked, trusted…respected.
Fuck.Helooked around the room, gaze skittering from theopen door tothe dark closet, over to the windows with tightly closed drapes, and back to the unmoving body onhisbedroom floor.
He came here to killme.
Doug’s stomach made a slow flip in his belly, uneasily settling back into place.
I killed him.
It had been a desperate battle, near silent except for grunts of pain on the side of the man now dead on the floor. Quiet and controlled, there’d be no neighbor complaints about noise. Doug had a cut on his wrist, but the bleeding from the shallow wound had already stopped. So he had a dead manon the floor, killed with a weaponVogelmust have broughtwith him,since Doug didn’t recognize the hilt still jutting obscenely from theundersideof the man’s jaw.
Doug lifted his hands and stared at them, surprised how rock-steady they were. No trembling, not yet, but he knew the adrenaline would ebb and he might not be so steady. He glanced around the room again, and with this visualsweep,he found blood spray was everywhere, more than just on his torso.Bedclothes, side of the mattress, even as far as the legs of the nightstand.
He reached for the phone still undisturbed on the surface of the nightstand but then paused, fingers hovering a bare inch above the device. Logic would dictate the attack,andthesubsequentresult be called in, and he knew if he dialed emergency services,his apartment would be filled within minutes as officers raced to his side. It’s what they did, the brotherhood of blue. That was what he’d wanted for so long, what he’d hoped for when he signed up. But…he held there, not yet committed to making the call.
Would they all have his best interests at heart? Would they be responding hoping to find him safe and well, or dead by an unknown attackerin his bedroom?Can I trust them? Any of them?
He stared down at the unfocused eyes inVogel’sface, mind racing as he ran through scenario after scenario, all of them coming up short from where he stood. Either he’d be framed, or he’d be targeted again. No way would whoever set this up just let this go, not if they’d expended an asset like an eighteen-year veteran.I don’t have a choice, though,do I?
His eyes flicked around the room again and his gaze settled on the open closet door. Just inside the threshold sat his boots, black leather dulled from exposure to the elements on his many long rides. Days and nights spent surrounded by men he could trust.
