Read Online What Mattered Most by Linda Winfree - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linda Winfree
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outlook is inspiring, Sheriff.”
Burnett reached out to fiddle with the squelch knob. “And I’m not going to blow sunshine up your rear end, buddy. In that house is a desperate, obsessed man with a freaking vendetta against you, and he has a couple of human bargaining chips. Make that three human bargaining chips. Compared to that, we have squat."
John latched onto his description of Lanie, Beth and the baby. Slight hope rose. “Bargaining chips? You think he’s going to want to bargain?”
“You could say that. Cait thinks he’s going to try to use the women.”
The newborn hope died under Burnett’s ominous tone. “Use them how?”
Burnett fixed him with a look. “She thinks Mitchell will try to force you to choose.”
At the bald statement, John’s stomach churned, bile forcing into his throat. Mitchell would love possessing that power over him, and John knew there wasn’t a real choice to make. Falconetti was right—his own stupidity had thrown Lanie into danger. He couldn’t allow anything to happen to her.
If it hadn’t already happened. He glanced through the windshield at the still, quiet house. Falconetti’s theory remained mere speculation. For all any of them knew, Mitchell may have already taken his revenge. He’d killed once. What was another death if it struck back at John? Lanie could already be dead or dying behind those bright windows.
His fault.
John closed his eyes. Not again. Not Lanie. He’d sworn a long time ago that no other woman would die because of his failures. He hadn’t been able to protect his mother. Even though he’d thought he’d protected Beth, he hadn’t, not really. All he’d accomplished was making everything too easy for Mitchell. He cursed himself in a shaky whisper.
“You don’t look so well. We can handle this. Maybe you should let someone take you back to the hospital.” Genuine concern lingered in Burnett’s voice.
John’s eyes snapped open, and he stared at the house again. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Your shoulder wound is seeping.”
He gave his shoulder a cursory glance. Spots of red dotted the turquoise cotton. “I’m fine. I’m not leaving her.”
“Which her?” The question came in a casual drawl but didn’t fool John for a second. The guy might talk slow, but a quick intelligence lay behind that sharp, hazel gaze. “Which one will Mitchell expect you to choose?”
A pent-up breath escaped John’s burning lungs on a trembling sigh. Agony stabbed at him, and a moment passed while he struggled for breath. “Beth. He thinks I’ll choose Beth, and then he can kill her in front of me.”
“And if you choose Lanie?”
Eyes clenched shut against the images beating in his brain, John swore. “Same thing. Hell, Falconetti’s right. Mitchell wants to take what matters most from me.”
Denim rustled against the tweed seat cover. “I think the real question might be who matters more—your partner or the mother of your child?”
The phone rang, and John jerked in his seat, ignoring the pain that rocketed through him with the action. His gaze locked on the attached caller identification unit. The call came from inside the house, and Burnett drew in an audible breath before picking up the call. “Hello?”
“I want to talk to O’Reilly.” Mitchell’s malevolence crawled through the headphones like a living thing. A chill crept over John’s skin, even as anger heated his gut.
“Detective O’Reilly is still hospitalized.” Burnett’s low voice was even. “Talk to me.”
“You’re one of them. I want O’Reilly.” Chimes rang in the background behind Mitchell’s voice.
Burnett rubbed his palms over his denim-clad knees, the only sign of nervousness John could see. “Then just talk to me until they can get O’Reilly for you.”
“Until I can talk to O’Reilly, I got nothing to say.” The line went dead, the dial tone echoing through John’s head. He wanted to scream, to remove the headset and throw it
Burnett reached out to fiddle with the squelch knob. “And I’m not going to blow sunshine up your rear end, buddy. In that house is a desperate, obsessed man with a freaking vendetta against you, and he has a couple of human bargaining chips. Make that three human bargaining chips. Compared to that, we have squat."
John latched onto his description of Lanie, Beth and the baby. Slight hope rose. “Bargaining chips? You think he’s going to want to bargain?”
“You could say that. Cait thinks he’s going to try to use the women.”
The newborn hope died under Burnett’s ominous tone. “Use them how?”
Burnett fixed him with a look. “She thinks Mitchell will try to force you to choose.”
At the bald statement, John’s stomach churned, bile forcing into his throat. Mitchell would love possessing that power over him, and John knew there wasn’t a real choice to make. Falconetti was right—his own stupidity had thrown Lanie into danger. He couldn’t allow anything to happen to her.
If it hadn’t already happened. He glanced through the windshield at the still, quiet house. Falconetti’s theory remained mere speculation. For all any of them knew, Mitchell may have already taken his revenge. He’d killed once. What was another death if it struck back at John? Lanie could already be dead or dying behind those bright windows.
His fault.
John closed his eyes. Not again. Not Lanie. He’d sworn a long time ago that no other woman would die because of his failures. He hadn’t been able to protect his mother. Even though he’d thought he’d protected Beth, he hadn’t, not really. All he’d accomplished was making everything too easy for Mitchell. He cursed himself in a shaky whisper.
“You don’t look so well. We can handle this. Maybe you should let someone take you back to the hospital.” Genuine concern lingered in Burnett’s voice.
John’s eyes snapped open, and he stared at the house again. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Your shoulder wound is seeping.”
He gave his shoulder a cursory glance. Spots of red dotted the turquoise cotton. “I’m fine. I’m not leaving her.”
“Which her?” The question came in a casual drawl but didn’t fool John for a second. The guy might talk slow, but a quick intelligence lay behind that sharp, hazel gaze. “Which one will Mitchell expect you to choose?”
A pent-up breath escaped John’s burning lungs on a trembling sigh. Agony stabbed at him, and a moment passed while he struggled for breath. “Beth. He thinks I’ll choose Beth, and then he can kill her in front of me.”
“And if you choose Lanie?”
Eyes clenched shut against the images beating in his brain, John swore. “Same thing. Hell, Falconetti’s right. Mitchell wants to take what matters most from me.”
Denim rustled against the tweed seat cover. “I think the real question might be who matters more—your partner or the mother of your child?”
The phone rang, and John jerked in his seat, ignoring the pain that rocketed through him with the action. His gaze locked on the attached caller identification unit. The call came from inside the house, and Burnett drew in an audible breath before picking up the call. “Hello?”
“I want to talk to O’Reilly.” Mitchell’s malevolence crawled through the headphones like a living thing. A chill crept over John’s skin, even as anger heated his gut.
“Detective O’Reilly is still hospitalized.” Burnett’s low voice was even. “Talk to me.”
“You’re one of them. I want O’Reilly.” Chimes rang in the background behind Mitchell’s voice.
Burnett rubbed his palms over his denim-clad knees, the only sign of nervousness John could see. “Then just talk to me until they can get O’Reilly for you.”
“Until I can talk to O’Reilly, I got nothing to say.” The line went dead, the dial tone echoing through John’s head. He wanted to scream, to remove the headset and throw it
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