Killjoy

Chapter 26

Numb with shock and despair, Avery couldn't move. Carrie was dead. Carrie, who had given her unconditional love, always, no matter how crazy Avery made her with her career choices.

And Avery had failed her. Carrie would still be alive if Avery had been faster or more clever. All that time wasted running

from point to point for the demented woman on the phone who taunted her with lies that Avery could save Carrie. She should have found a way to rescue Carrie and the other women. Now it was too late.

John Paul held her in his arms and let her ramble as she told him over and over how she was to blame.

Verna made soup and all but force-fed Avery, then led her upstairs and stood like a prison guard outside the bathroom while

she showered. The old woman, hearing Avery's sobs, kept whispering, "The poor dear."

When she was finished, Verna handed her one of the chief's gray T-shirts to put on, then gathered up her clothes to wash.

She hovered over Avery like an anxious mother hen. She sat Avery down on one of the cots and knelt on the floor with her first-aid kit. The cut on her leg wasn't deep, but it needed to be cleaned. She applied a liberal amount of iodine and wrapped the wound in gauze.

When she was finished, she tucked Avery into bed and headed downstairs to fix a cup of hot tea for her. When she turned back

at the doorway to ask her if she wanted a dab of milk in her tea, Avery was already fast asleep.

John Paul was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. "Is she okay?"

"She's sleeping, and that's the best thing for her now. She's all tuckered out."

Nodding agreement, John Paul went back into the station. The chief was on the phone verifying that John Paul was who he claimed he was. When he'd gotten the information he needed, his attitude became more open and friendly.

"The troops are on their way," he said. "I know you've got to be hungry, so I called over to the restaurant, and one of the employees is bringing some food for you."

"Thanks," John Paul said.

"I checked you out," he said then. "You were a Marine."

"Yes."

"I was in the army," he offered. "Went through West Point, then did some duty in Germany. My best friend was a Marine. He died last year, and I sure do miss him. He was a good man."

John Paul wasn't sure why he was telling him his history. "I hear you're good with a gun," Tyler continued. "Do you think trouble's coming this way? Until the FBI gets here, we're on our own."

"If Monk knows where we are, then maybe he'll try to end it here. I don't think he knows, though, and I'm guessing he's gone to ground to reorganize. That's what I'd do."

"We can't be taking any chances," Tyler countered as he stood and crossed to a cabinet on the other side of the room. He pulled

a key from his pocket and unlocked the padlock. When he opened the doors, John Paul smiled. Chief Tyler had an arsenal at

his disposal.

"You like to be prepared for just about anything, don't you?" he asked with approval.

The chief grinned. "Sometimes we get a cranky bear I have to go after."

"You go after them with an M1911?"

"No, that's just a leftover from my army days. Take your pick," he said. Turning to his assistant, he said, "Verna, you go on home to your daughter and stay there until this is finished."

"I don't want to leave that girl alone upstairs. She needs comfort now. I'm worried she might be going into shock."

"She's tougher than she looks," John Paul said. "I'll com- I'll watch out for her."

He'd damned near said he'd comfort the woman, but he'd caught himself in time. What was the matter with him? He didn't have

a clue how he was supposed to make Avery feel better, only knew he didn't want her crying on anyone else's shoulder. None

of this made any sense to him. She confused him, turned his thinking upside down, and put all sorts of crazy, impossible thoughts into his head. He couldn't understand how or why she had become so important to him, only knew he was driven to keep her safe

from harm… at all costs.

Protect and serve. If he kept thinking like this, he would end up on the side of law and order again. He shuddered at the possibility.

The chief interrupted his thoughts. "I've got good strong doors with double-bolted locks. There's a back door out of this area, and that has a glass window, but I put in an alarm because of all the firepower I've collected, and the whole town will hear the noise

if anyone tries to get in."

John Paul checked out the perimeter. Fifteen minutes later he and Tyler were satisfied with the lock-down. He ate, then went upstairs, showered, and put on the sweats and T-shirt Tyler had given him. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Verna was waiting with a plastic trash bag to collect his wet clothes.

"My son-in-law will drop these off with Avery's after they've been laundered," she said as she started down the stairs.

"You take care of her. You hear?"

"I will," he promised.

She left a few minutes later with her daughter.

Tyler had insisted that he could hold down the fort while John Paul caught some shut-eye.

He hadn't argued. He tried not to make any noise as he walked into the dormitory where Avery slept. There were four cots, all with clean bedding, lined up against one wall. The chief had told him that when the building was constructed, the town believed they would have a full-time fire department, but when the town didn't develop the way the city planners thought it would, the budget couldn't afford salaried firefighters. It was volunteer now.

John Paul noticed the window was unlocked. It overlooked the alley behind the building, and there was a fire escape ladder just

a couple of feet to the left. He locked the window and then sat down on the cot next to Avery's.

She was sleeping on her back. Her face was scrubbed clean; her hair was still damp from washing, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She looked like an angel, but she had a little vinegar in her disposition, the way she tried to boss him around. He liked the fact that she stood up to him, held her own. He liked her attitude too. She viewed the world the

way he used to when he had been naive.

He was tired, and surely his fatigue was the reason he was thinking such foolish thoughts. When the FBI arrived, he'd leave. Simple as that. Avery was the ultimate team player, he reminded himself, so he'd let her team watch out for her.

"Hell," he muttered as he rolled onto the cot.

He got in two full hours of sleep before Tyler woke him. John Paul had heard him coming up the stairs and had the handgun

aimed and ready when he opened the door.

The chief waited until John Paul put the gun down. Then he walked inside. "We've got company," he whispered. "The FBI's

here, and the man in charge wants to see you."

Avery was still out cold. She'd kicked off the sheet, and one leg was hanging off the side of the bed. There was a bandage wrapped above her ankle. Spots of dark blood dotted the gauze. When had she hurt herself? he wondered as he carefully

lifted her leg and tucked her back under the sheet. And why hadn't she told him?

He knew the answer to that one. She would never think to complain.

Fighting the urge to kiss her, he went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.

He became angry thinking about the interview he'd have to suffer through with the Feds. If the team leader turned out to be

like so many others John Paul remembered, then he'd be an arrogant, opinionated, we-do-it-my-way-or-no-way prick.

By the time he'd dried his face and hands, he was ready for a fight. Fact was, he was looking forward to it. He found himself hoping the guy did turn out to be a prick because he was suddenly in the mood to kick some ass.

Unfortunately, Agent Knolte was neither a prick nor a know-it-all. The freckle-faced agent was intelligent, eager, and sincere,

and seemed to know what hewas talking about as far as strategy went. He'd certainly done his homework on Monk, knew

almost as much about him as John Paul did.

There were only two problems with Agent Knolte. One, he looked like a twelve-year-old. And with a cowlick and braces, no less. What were they doing in the Bureau these days? Recruiting from grade school? The second problem was monumental. Knolte was a by-the-book agent.

"Mr. Renard, it's an honor to meet you," Knolte said, extending his hand as four other eager agents crowded around.

"We all heard about the hostage rescue down in South America, and I want you to know we consider it a privilege to be able

to work with you."

John Paul stared into Knolte's brown eyes. "I was never in South America."

"But I talked to-"

"I was never there."

"Yes, sir. If you say so," Knolte hastily agreed.

Another agent stepped forward. "Sir, we understand the Agency was elated to hear you decided to come back to work after

your long leave of absence."

John Paul didn't look at the man when he responded. "I didn't take a leave of absence. I retired and I'm still retired." Then

without missing a beat, he asked, "How old are you, Agent Knolte?"

The question didn't seem to faze the man. "Older than I look," he answered. "Let me introduce you to my team."

John Paul suddenly found himself surrounded by agents wanting to shake his hand. The attention didn't sit well. Chief Tyler observed the spectacle from the back hallway. When John Paul caught his eye, the middle-aged man shook his head and

muttered something about a damn fan club.

"We'll need to question Miss Delaney," an agent named Brock said.

"Not until she's had some sleep," John Paul said. "You can talk to me."

The interview lasted an hour. There were constant interruptions as Knolte kept getting updates from another agent at the explosion site. He told John Paul that they'd brought in the dogs and were searching for bodies. Thus far, two had been found. From the remains of the vehicle near the site, they knew that one of the women was the former wife of Dennis Parnell, the

owner of the house.

The wait for the discovery of the other bodies was grim and tense. Then Knolte got another call and thrust the phone at

John Paul. "You'll want to hear this."

A minute later John Paul bounded up the stairs. Knolte could have sworn the brooding man actually smiled for a second there.

The door to the dormitory banged against the wall when he rushed inside, but the noise didn't disturb Avery.

He shook her awake. "Sweetheart, open your eyes. Come on, Avery, wake up."

She was slow to respond. She felt drugged and disoriented. She finally opened her eyes and struggled to sit up.

"Is it time to go?"

"Carrie's alive."

She squinted up at him, shaking her head as she tried to comprehend what he was saying. "Alive? How can she be alive?

The house-"

"She got out before the explosion. I don't know how she managed it, but she's okay."

Avery burst into tears. John Paul sat down next to her and pulled her onto his lap. He held her while she cried all over him.

When she was finally able to calm down, she asked, "Did everyone get out? Where's Carrie now? Have they called Uncle

Tony? The poor man will be beside himself. First, they tell him she's dead, and then they tell him she's alive. I hope to God he has a strong heart."

John Paul wasn't sure which question to answer first. "Carrie's in a hospital in Aspen."

She jerked away from him. "Why is she in the hospital? You told me she was okay."

"She is," he insisted. "But the other woman was hurt. The judge tore up one of her knees when they fell into a deep ravine," he explained. "Carrie twisted her ankle, and fractured her arm, but she was still able to drag some dead branches over them so they could hide the rest of the night. One of the police dogs found them," he added. "They were taken to the hospital, and the judge is

in surgery."

"But what about the other woman? There were three… weren't there?"

"Anne Trapp. She stayed inside the house."

"Why? Why would she stay?"

"I don't know. You'll have to ask Carrie, or maybe Knolte knows the reason now."

Avery stood and nearly tripped over her backpack and duffel bag. "How did these get here?"

"The chief called a friend. He got my car working and drove it here."

Avery was so relieved and jubilant about Carrie, she felt limp and giddy. She wanted to laugh and cry, and kiss John Paul.

Oh, she really wanted to kiss him, and a whole lot more. What was wrong with her? Maybe it was the endorphins. Yes, that's what it was.

She mentally shook herself. She needed to concentrate on Carrie now. And Uncle Tony. "Did anyone call my uncle?"

"Yes," he answered. "He's a happy man right now, but scared too. He wants to get on the next flight to Aspen."

She nodded approval. "Who's downstairs?" she asked as she knelt beside her duffel bag and unzipped it.

"FBI," he said. "There are five of them downstairs, all talking on their cell phones. They've taken over the police station, and

Chief Tyler isn't real happy about that. Tyler's an okay guy," he added. "He doesn't much like the FBI either."

She rolled her eyes. "Your prejudice is juvenile, John Paul." She pulled out a pair of khakis. "I should go down and find out

what they have so far. Any word on where Monk might be?"

"No," he answered. He was staring at her legs, noticing how long and shapely they were. One thought led to another, and

another, and before he could stop himself, he was picturing her legs wrapped around his thighs.

He looked at the wall behind her head. "You can't go downstairs like that."

"Like what? I'm going to put on slacks," she said. "And since when do you care what I look like?"

"I don't care," he answered gruffly. "But I can see through that threadbare T-shirt."

She looked down, whispered, "Oh, God," and grabbed the sheet from the cot, tugging with all her might to get the end out from under John Paul. She dropped her slacks as she wrapped the sheet around her.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" She was blushing.

"Now, why would I want to do that?"

His grin was lecherous. Shaking her head, she said, "I need to go to Carrie as soon as possible. She must be crazed after what she's been through."

His smile vanished. "Not a good idea," he said. "Sit down, Avery. We need to talk."

His tone of voice indicated it was serious. She sat down beside him. "You don't think I should go see Carrie?"

"No, I don't. Talk to her on the phone if you need proof she's okay, but don't go to her."

"Why not?"

"Because that's what the FBI wants you to do," he said. "The agent calling the shots from Aspen told Knolte-"

She interrupted. "Who's Knolte?"

"The kid agent downstairs running the show here," he explained. "He told me the game plan. They want to put you and Carrie

and the judge together in protective custody until they get Monk, and that's not a good idea."

"John Paul, they're good at what they do."

"Yeah? Well, so is Monk," he said. "And staying together is gonna make it real easy for him."

Avery didn't say a word. She silently agreed, but she felt it would be disloyal to the Bureau to admit her reservations.

She tried to get up, but he put his hands on her shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

"Bracing you so you won't hit your head if you faint."

"Listen," she said. "Downstairs… when I lost it… that was the first time in my life I ever passed out. I'm not a weakling.

I was sleep-deprived and stressed… really stressed out. I won't faint again. Now let go of me. I want to get dressed and go downstairs to talk to Agent Knolte."

"In a minute," he promised. He tightened his hold as he said, "There's something else you need to know."

"Yes?"

He was suddenly at a loss for words. He was searching for the best way to tell her. "It's going to be difficult…"

"I can handle it. Just tell me." She relaxed her shoulders then and said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. What is it?"

"Carrie knows who the woman with Monk is." She tilted her head. "She knows her?" "Yes." He took a breath. "You know

her too." "Come on, John Paul. Stop fencing. Just tell me," she demanded.

"Jilly. Carrie said her name is Jilly."

Avery's reaction stunned John Paul. She didn't faint; she didn't cry; she didn't argue, and she didn't go into full-blown denial.

She roared.