Last Man Standing

Lee shifted position. The subtle tensing of his posture was enough to make Cole glance his way. “It’s personal,” said Lee.

“Me or you?”

“Your mom.”

Cole’s fingers dented the can in his grip. “Yeah?”

“Yesterday morning she was assaulted in a grocery store parking lot. Had her purse stolen.”

Forget anonymity. Cole stared right into Lee’s intense black eyes. “Is Ma okay?”

Lee gestured with his hand at his side, warning Cole to look away. “She’s fine. Scrapes and bruises. But your nephew Alex—I guess he tried to defend her—he got some stitches at the E.R. and was released.”

Cole let the anger surge through him, then forced it to dissipate into mere frustration. His mother had been attacked. Not only had he not been there to help, he hadn’t even known she’d been hurt.

“He’s a good kid from what I’ve seen. Probably did some damage himself. They catch the guy?”

“Not yet. But they got a plate number. Stolen vehicle. No surprise there. But we’re trying to track it. And she called in your cousin Mitch.”

A police captain on a routine purse snatching? His concern ratcheted up a notch.

“The captain doesn’t believe it was random. He seems to think they were attacked because they were Taylors. He wanted me to remind you to watch your back.”

If laughter wouldn’t have drawn attention, Cole would have given in to the irony of the situation. Warning an undercover cop to watch his back? “Every damn day.”

“I think Powers would understand if you wanted to come in off the job.”

“The hell he would. I’m right where he needs me, and my work’s not finished yet.” Cole tossed the untouched candy into the trash. Worrying about his mother wasn’t a distraction he could afford right now. Jericho’s examination would be over soon and he didn’t want his absence questioned. Still, the guilt wouldn’t go away. “Keep me posted?”

Lee grinned behind his glasses. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

Though he couldn’t say he knew Lee well enough to claim him as a friend, Cole appreciated his go-between’s efforts to keep him connected to the real world. “Use it to buy some new clothes. I’ll contact you the usual way when I find out something on the new accountant or where the money’s going. Tell Ma I love her. And if there’s anything I can do to help…” But there wasn’t. They both knew there wasn’t. “Just tell her I love her.”

COLE DISPOSED OF THE SODA can on his way out the door and headed down the long, empty corridor where he’d left Jericho with the doctor. Empty. Completely.

His smooth stride stuttered as his tension shifted in a new direction. The doors were closed now. Every one of them. Efficient cleaning crew? Or cover for hidden adversaries? And where the hell was the driver?

His bones were screaming at him now.

He unhooked the holster beneath his arm and hastened his step. He knocked and shoved open the door to Exam Room 6. “Where’s Jericho?”

Paulie Meredith swung around, his large girth not a handicap when it came to defending his oldest friend. “Jeez, Taylor, you about gave me a heart attack. What’s wrong?”

Cole glanced toward the inner door. “Is he in there?”

“Yeah. Doc Kramer’s giving him the lowdown. It doesn’t look good.” The pinched lines around his mouth deepened. “Something happen?”

“Where’s the driver?”

Now Paulie was glancing around, looking equally suspicious of their surroundings. “I sent the new guy out to bring the car around while Jericho changed.”

Kramer’s office door opened and Jericho himself filled the doorway. He acknowledged the tension in the outer room with a nod, but his stoic expression never changed. “Call me as soon as you know the results of the bloodwork,” he said, saluting the black-haired doctor, then he reached out to link his arm through Cole’s. He patted Cole’s arm and rested his weight against him, suddenly acting old beyond his years.

“Your bones bothering you?” he asked.

Cole understood the reference. “This place is locking down tighter than a prison. We’re leaving. Now.”

Paulie zipped ahead to open the door and check the corridor before moving out. “All clear.”

“Go.” He hurried Jericho along with as much urgency as the old man’s tired steps allowed. Cole’s head swiveled back and forth in 180-degree arcs as he kept an eye on each door. He’d take a crowded hospital any day over this abandoned tomb of waiting danger.

“The doctor can’t figure out what’s wrong with me.” Jericho kept talking, more confident in Cole’s abilities than oblivious to any unseen threat. “He’s prescribed inhalers and steroid treatments to help my lungs, but says my heart isn’t showing the blockage or deterioration he expected. I told him it was just broken.”

Cole supposed a murdered son could aggravate any existing condition or trigger psychosomatic symptoms, even hallucinations. He listened with one ear and tuned the other to the sounds of the clinic. Or lack thereof.

He wasn’t the only one on guard against the eerie emptiness of the main room. He gave a passing nod to Lee Cameron, who had parked his cart in the opposite corridor. Get out! Cole wanted to yell. Something’s going down. But he couldn’t risk audible communication with the detective.

Cole turned Jericho toward the door. He could see the limo outside, the driver striding up the front walk— The young man pulled out his weapon just as the receptionist at the check-in window behind Cole screamed.

“Gun!”

Cole whirled around. She wasn’t alone.

The nervous attendant, armed as well, rose from behind the counter and shoved her aside. “For the glory of the homeland!”

“Get down!” He pushed Jericho to the floor, and the next few seconds ticked by with time-altered clarity.

Caught in the crosshairs of the well-orchestrated hit, Cole dove for the cover of a row of chairs and dragged Jericho behind him. Paulie was there a second later, shielding Jericho with his own body, as an explosion of gunfire shattered glass and popped stuffing out of the upholstery and ricocheted off stainless steel.

Shots rang out from a third direction and the driver fell.

Cole palmed his Glock and fired. Once to move the shooter to the edge of the desk. Twice to nail him in the chest and throw him against the back wall.

The seconds returned to real time as the attendant sank to the floor, leaving a trail of blood on the wall behind him. Cole rose to a crouch to assess the man outside—dead or dying, his gun out of reach. Keeping his Glock trained on the front desk, he stood, bracing his hand on Jericho’s shoulder to keep him down and out of the line of fire.

“Everybody in one piece?” Cole asked, hearing the gasps and wails of the receptionist as she huddled inside the break-room doorway.

Jericho trembled beneath his hand, shaking off Cole’s concern. “Dammit. I never should have hired that lowlife. Couldn’t drive worth—”

“I’m good,” Paulie answered, climbing to his feet. He wielded his gun as well. He scooped a hand beneath Jericho’s arm and helped him stand. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Take him.” Cole pushed Jericho toward Paulie and the door, and rushed to the desk. He knelt down to check the attendant. Dead. Damn.

For the homeland? That didn’t sound like a typical hit. Where was this guy from, anyway?

He’d have Lee run the guy’s face and prints through the computer. If they could ID the hitman, chances were they could track down whoever ordered the hit. Maybe tie it in to a lead on Daniel Meade’s death.

“Cole!” Paulie urged.