The Cop. Cara Summers

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СКАЧАТЬ Philly would be following in his aunt Cass’s footsteps since she seemed to have a special knack for communicating with animals.

      The light changed to green and Nik inched his way through the intersection and down half a block before he had to stop. His patience, never his strong suit, wore even thinner. He was never going to get out of the city at this speed. Nik was sorely tempted to slap the light on the hood of his car and start the siren.

      He was eyeing the string of cars to his left, waiting for an opportunity to cut in, when there was a blast of static from his radio.

      “Attention all units. Two callers reporting shots fired at St. Peter’s Church on Skylar near Bellevue. At least one man seriously injured. Ambulances have been dispatched.”

      The sensation in Nik’s thumbs sharpened and he felt adrenaline shoot through his system. This was it. He was sure of it. Bellevue and Skylar was only about ten blocks away. He grabbed the light and slapped it on the hood of his car. Then he picked up the handset. “Detective Nik Angelis. I’ll take it. I’m only a few blocks away.”

      “Roger. I’ll send backup.”

      Nik turned on the siren, executed a U-turn, and pressed the gas pedal to the floor.

      2

      ST. PETER’S CHURCH looked quiet enough when he pulled up to the corner of the intersection. No cars parked in front. No pedestrian traffic on the street. Since there was no sign of backup yet, Nik turned the corner and pulled into the parking area behind the church. Three vehicles were parked there. One was a black Mercedes sedan, another a white van with Have an Affair with J.C. scrawled across the side. It was the third one that had Nik frowning. He recognized both the car and the plate; it had been parked in the driveway of his aunt Cass’s house often enough. It belonged to his brother’s best friend, Roman Oliver.

      He got out of his car, pulled out his gun and moved quickly toward a covered walkway connecting the rectory to the church. He should wait for backup to arrive, but the door to the church was open…and it was too damn quiet.

      Nik spotted the body from the walkway. The tightening in his stomach eased the moment that he registered the man lying on the floor of the sacristy was too big to be Roman. Crouching, he stepped into the room and fanned his gun.

      No one. The space was small and lined with cupboards. Shots had been fired all right. A mirror had been splintered and so had a doorjamb. The body at his feet was lying in a pool of blood. Keeping his gun aimed at the open door leading to the altar, he squatted down and checked for a pulse. None. The dead man was large, with the kind of build that required regular maintenance and custom-made suits. His tie was silk, his shoes expensive-looking. He was also holding a Glock in his right hand. Bodyguard or hired gun?

      This wasn’t going to be the only body. Nik was certain of that. Sirens sounded in the distance as he rose and moved into the doorway that opened onto the altar. Once more he fanned his gun, taking in the choir loft that ran along both the sides and the back of the church.

      Nothing. Then he moved toward the body of the priest that lay behind the altar. This time he found a pulse—weak but steady. From what he could see, the blood was coming from a shoulder wound. Pulling off his shirt, he ripped it in half, then fashioned a pressure bandage. He’d just satisfied himself that he’d slowed the bleeding when the priest’s hand closed over his wrist.

      “Pro…tect.”

      Nik leaned closer. “Don’t try to talk, Father. An ambulance is on the way.”

      “Protect…them.”

      The words carried only a thread of sound. “Protect who?”

      “Bride,” the priest breathed, tightening his grip on Nik’s wrist. “Ju…liana Ol…iver.”

      The pricking sensation in Nik’s thumbs grew very sharp. “And the groom?”

      “Paulo…” the priest gasped. “Carlucci. Grave danger.”

      Dread formed a cold hard ball in Nik’s gut. He recognized the names—and if there was ever a pair of star-crossed lovers, Juliana Oliver and Paulo Carlucci had to be it. If his memory served him correctly, Juliana was young, still in her teens, and Paulo couldn’t be much more than that. Nik couldn’t imagine how they’d even met. The Oliver and Carlucci families had a bitter rivalry that went back over fifty years, to a time when both families had ties to organized crime. Since then, both the Olivers and the Carluccis had become rich and influential by running legitimate businesses, but the rivalry was just as bitter as it had been three generations back. They refused to even appear in public together.

      Of course, San Francisco was reaping great benefits. If the Carluccis donated a pediatric wing to a hospital, the Olivers, not to be outdone, would build a new aquarium. Recently, the feud had been freshly stoked by a lucrative land deal—a still pristine stretch of beach along the California coastline that both families had bid on. For the past week, the papers had been hinting that the Olivers had clinched the deal.

      “Help…them.” The priest’s eyes drifted shut. “Choir…loft.”

      “Hang on, Father,” Nik murmured.

      A sudden noise from the sacristy behind him had him raising his gun and whirling. The uniform in the doorway had his gun raised, too. He was young, a rookie, Nik surmised. They’d each lowered their weapons by the time the young man’s partner appeared in the doorway.

      Nik spoke to the young officer. “I want you to stand in the walkway and keep everyone but EMTs out.”

      “There’s another squad car—they’re coming in through the front of the church,” the older officer said.

      Nik gave him a nod. “Come here. I need you to put pressure on the wound until the EMTs arrive.” Once he had the officer in position, Nik rose and started off the altar. He paused when he spotted a cell phone lying on the marble floor a few feet away. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “When the crime-scene guys arrive, tell them to bag this cell phone.” Then he hurried down the aisle. Two more uniforms waited for him in the vestibule. One was kneeling over a man’s body. Nik tried to ignore the sensation in his thumbs as he noted the gun in the man’s hand and the twisted position of the body. Moving quickly, he squatted down and confirmed what he already knew. The man lying to the side of the circular staircase was Roman Oliver.

      “Alive or dead?” Even as he asked the question, he rested his fingers lightly against Roman’s throat. Relief shot through him when he detected the pulse.

      “He’s breathing, but unconscious,” one uniform replied. “No bullet wound. But his gun’s been fired. Looks like he took a bad tumble down the stairs.”

      “Either that or he fell over the railing,” the other cop said.

      Even as his mind raced, Nik managed a nod. Roman Oliver was the bride’s older brother and even though he usually kept his temper under control, Nik had seen it flare on occasion. The dread in his gut grew colder. Not only had Roman been Kit’s best friend since college, but he’d helped Theo out when he’d first opened his own law office. And six years ago, Roman had saved his sister Philly’s life. She’d wanted to take Nik’s sailboat out by herself. Roman, who’d been with them at the cabin that weekend, had been the only one to object, and he’d insisted on going with her. When the sudden squall had come up and the boat had capsized, Roman had gotten her to shore.

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