Waiting for Backup! by Khandi Tumeo and Don McNair

By Don McNair

Kick-butt special agent (and American Indian) Kari Silvertree searches for an unknown serial killer who loves sending ears, hands, heads and other gruesome trophies to those who can publicize the "works of art". When reporter Wren Alexander IV brings the first such package to Kari she suspects he might be the villain. Conflict and physical attraction build as the murder list grows and the killer targets both Kari and Wren for their interference.
Will they identify and subdue the killer, and admit their mutual love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Don McNair
• Release date: Apr 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301352227

Don McNair

Don McNair, now a prolific author, spent his working life editing magazines (11 years), producing public relations materials for the Burson-Marsteller international PR firm (6 years), and heading his own marketing communications firm, McNair Marketing Communications (21 years). His creativity has won him three Golden Trumpets for best industrial relations programs from the Publicity Club of Chicago, a certificate of merit award for a quarterly magazine he wrote and produced, and the Public Relations Society of America’s Silver Anvil. The latter is comparable to the Emmy and Oscar in other industries. McNair has written and placed hundreds of trade magazine articles and three published non-fiction “how-to” books (Tab Books). He’s written six novels; two young-adult novels (Attack of the Killer Prom Dresses and The Long Hunter), three romantic suspense novels Mystery on Firefly Knob, Mystery at Mangolia Mansion, and Wait for Backup!), and a romantic comedy (BJ, Milo, and the Hairdo from Heck). McNair now concentrates on editing novels for others and teaching two online editing classes (see McNairEdits.com).

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Wait for backup!

I fell back but the bullet whizzed past me so close it ruffled my hair. I ducked around the house and blew the hair from my eyes.

Wait for backup! The first commandment for rookies. I knew that. Of course I did. I was no rookie, but this domestic situation had me facing down a drunken Neanderthal with a .22 caliber rifle and fury in his close-set, piggy eyes. If I hadn’t deflected his attention he would’ve shot his poor, little, scared wife. I held my .40 Glock close to my face and gently squeezed off two shots as I dropped and rolled across the open space between the house and the garage. The rifle roared back in response and a hot fist punched me in my shoulder.

Wait for backup!

High-pitched sirens sounded from far off. I inched to the house’s corner and got a bead on his gun barrel. If he pulled back, we were all screwed. I tossed a rock into the opening and watched him round the opposite corner, the rifle held steady at his hip.

Wait for backup!

Screw that. I slammed another full clip into my weapon and rolled into the opening, getting off two more shots to one of his. I caught him in the right hand and left thigh. The rifle flipped out of his hands and did a double somersault before striking the driveway and exploding in a wild shot. Backup had finally arrived, waving guns, edging slyly around corners.

Come on guys, gimmie a little help here, okay? My hand dripped blood when I wiped my forehead. I stared at it as I turned it over. Everything was happening in slow motion and it felt almost like I was watching it all happen to someone else. I staggered back against the garage, jamming my injured shoulder as I slid down its side, a wide trail of blood marking my passage. I had tunnel vision. My fellow agents had the perp covered and the paramedics securing him to the stretcher appeared to be working on the next block over. Someone’s hysterical crying caused my ears to ring.

Damn, Silvertree, a deep, blue shadow growled.

Mooney. My very own Captain Mooney. His hand pressing down on my uninjured shoulder, he crouched beside me, pulled me back into the real world for a moment, and took the gun from my numb fingers. Do you have to be a hero all the time? You should’ve waited for backup!

* * *

The next things I remembered were bright lights, voices, and the steady hum of machines.

She’s coming around. Increase the morphine, someone said. The voice echoed back and forth between my ears. I felt myself sinking into the deep water of unconsciousness.

The next time I floated up into murky awareness, a sun lamp was in my face. I moaned, at least I think I did. Somebody did.

A cool shadow blocked the light and heat. I turned into it and squeezed one eye open to a narrow slit. I focused on Captain Jay Mooney, leaning over the bed railing, his big hands crossed at the wrists, right at eye level.

I pulled back and tried to sit up against my pillows, but ended up wrenching my sore shoulder. I flinched and realized my shoulder was tight because it was heavily bandaged. Both eyes opened, and I looked up into the captain’s face. His head was wreathed in a false-angelic, golden halo from the brilliant sun shining through the windows, contrasting discordantly with the dark frown covering his handsome face.

Well, Silvertree … He inundated me with breath that smelled suspiciously like coffee and donuts. Here you are again, a guest of St. Anthony’s Hospital. Let’s see… He looked up at the ceiling, mentally counting the items. You’ve been here for a knife wound to your sixth—or was that your seventh?—rib. A concussion, second-degree burns, a torn rotator cuff. Oh, and lest we forget, the torn hamstring and shattered kneecap.

He smiled demonically at me. This time, doctors had to repair muscle and tissue torn by a .22 caliber rifle shot. Luckily, it went right through your shoulder, but you lost a lot of blood. They gave you a Unit on the ride in and two more in triage. Why the hell didn’t you wait for backup? You got a death wish or something? He scowled, leaning his face in close to mine.

I smiled up at him through the fog of the morphine still pumping around in my system. Captain, has anyone told you how handsome you look today? He shook his head. Eleven years ago, he had taken a good officer—a fragile one—under his wing and taught me I could make a difference. I could fly. However, right now, Captain Mooney’s Irish was up and staring me full in the face.

I sighed, the smile melting and dripping from my face. That man had whaled the daylights out of his wife all day. Blackened both her eyes, split her nose and lip, broke a couple of fingers. He would’ve killed her. How is she, by the way?

He frowned. Crying police brutality because you shot her old man. He’s locked up, charged with battery on a LEO, resisting arrest, spousal battery, domestic violence, blah, blah, blah.

So much for trying to be a friggin’ hero, I guess. I sighed. So, can I go home now?

I think they’re planning to keep your sorry ass for observation for the next twenty-four hours. Lucky you, lucky them, lucky me. We’re all lucky.

I hate hospitals. Hate how they smell, how they look, how they sound—I just hate hospitals. The very idea of having to stay overnight in one totally unnerved me. Regressing to a big, whiny baby, I plucked at the captain’s sleeve. Aw, Cap—talk them into letting me go home, please? Pleeeze? Just turn that Irish charm on high and let ‘er rip. That cute little smile you have… Yeah, yeah, that’s the one. You could sell ice in the North Pole with your wit and charm, Cap.

"I don’t know why I should do anything for a rogue agent who keeps putting my nuts in a vice, Silvertree. You pull these stunts, you get the medals. Me? I get my ass reamed by IA."

He sighed loudly, shaking his head as he turned to the straight-backed chair and snatched up his coat. I’ll speak to the doctors on my way out, he said over his shoulder.

My big, teddy-bear of a captain. He was in his early fifties, close to my daddy’s age and closer still to retirement—department regulation. He was a big, bluff man with silver hair and sky-blue eyes. He had a gruff voice but a gentle soul. He had been a father-figure to me for more than eleven years now, and I loved him and his family with all my heart.

Captain? I called to him as he slipped out the door. "You’ll always be my hero, you know?"

Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. He flipped his hand up without looking back. "They’d pay you to leave, if they knew what a pain in the ass you can be."

The marriage proposal still stands, Captain. We’d sure make some pretty babies! I yelled as the door swung shut, cutting off his deep chuckle. He’d been shot in a grocery store robbery. Off-duty, late at night, shopping on his way home. He’d surprised the perpetrator who shot him through his hip. The doctors had fixed him up and sat him in a wheelchair, telling him he would never walk again. But nothing got my captain down for long, and except for cold or wet weather when he walked with a slight limp, you’d never know he’d been given such a tough prognosis.

CHAPTER TWO

I pulled out the IV needle and flung back the covers. It took me a few minutes to figure out how to lower the rail and swing my legs over the side of the firm hospital bed. The room began a slow tilt. At five-feet-nothing, my feet dangled at least a foot above the floor. When the room slowed to an easy crawl, I eased onto the shiny, cold linoleum and had to grab the straight chair and hold on tight as the room took off again like a merry-go-round.

After the room and my stomach quit moving, I made it to the tiny closet where I hoped my clothes hung. They weren’t. The shirt they’d cut off me was somewhere in a manila envelope, marked evidence. I guessed the rest of my clothes were, too. I had to sit down to pull my sneakers on—the Lord only knows why they’d decided those shoes weren’t also evidence—and was tying the left one when a nurse wandered in pushing a medicine cart. When she saw the empty bed she whirled around, almost dropping the medicine tray she’d picked up. She saw me in the chair behind the door and shrieked.

I snatched the plastic cup of pills from her tray. Thanks. I was just waiting to take this before I left. I threw the pills down my throat and dry-swallowed. By the way, what was that?

Miss Silvertree, why are you out of bed? She arched her perfectly plucked brows.

Doctor Baker said I could go home and rest. The glib lie rolled out smoothly while I gazed innocently into her baby-blues. He felt I would heal faster in my own bed.

She sniffed, as if she could smell my lie, and glared at me suspiciously. Doctor Baker, huh? Miss Silvertree, those pills you just swallowed are powerful pain relievers and a sleeping pill. I suggest you get back into bed while you still can. Once they hit your empty stomach, we’ll be scraping you off the floor. Meanwhile, I’ll just check with this Doctor Baker about releasing you.

She sniffed again and eyed me up and down, as if something very rank had invaded her fresh air space, then turned and sailed through the door.

Surely there was a Dr. Baker with the hospital. I hesitated for all of two heartbeats before I eased open the door and inspected the hallway. I guess Nurse Ratched thought she’d scared me pretty good, because there was no one anywhere near my door.

I slipped into the hall and glided to the stairs. The heavy door closed behind me, sounding like a car backfiring, or a gunshot. I froze, straining to catch any noise of pursuit. I heard nothing more alarming than the rapid, pounding staccato of my heart. My hands tingled as the meds kicked in. I ran down the stairs, almost landing on my nose several times in my desperation to get away from the hospital undetected.

I pushed open the ground-level door and stumbled out into the sun’s glare. My head, no longer sitting on my shoulders, floated well over two feet above me, gazing down on this little body swaying in the wind. An out-of-body experience courtesy of the prescription drugs.

I managed to hail a taxi, even though I was clothed in nothing more than a white hospital gown—my naked butt exposed to one and all—but I couldn’t open the taxi’s door. The driver reached back, pulled up the back door handle, and pushed it open, almost knocking me over. I struggled into the back seat where I collapsed against the opposite door. I mumbled my address, and passed out.

* * *

I fingered the yellowing, dog-eared list of names, stared up at the five-story Phoenix condo fronting Arcadia Avenue, and watched the building’s uniformed doorman tip his hat and open the door for an elderly woman walking a gray toy poodle. The door closed and the doorman stood at attention, his hands clasped behind him, looking vulnerable in the cold. He eyed me.

"Top of the morning, he said, beaming. Can I help you?"

"Why, yes. I—I’m looking for an old friend. Someone told me he lived in your building."

The doorman stepped forward, a smile still on his face. And who might that be?

I glanced at a name circled on the list. His name is Owen J. Wright, the Third. I guess he’d be about fifty years old, now. I haven’t seen him since he was a boy.

"He does live here, the doorman said, nodding. But I’m afraid he’s already left for his office. Would you like to leave a message?"

"Oh, no—no, I’m leaving town this afternoon, so I’ll just drop him a long note later. At least now I know where to send it."

I folded the list and slid it into the side pocket of my heavy coat, then turned and continued walking down the street.

* * *

We reached my tiny house in Merlin Springs, an Indianapolis suburb. The taxi door opened, dumping me out into Bryan Shelby’s arms. He scooped me up against his chest, tossed some bills to the cabby, kicked the cab door closed and carried me into my house, pouring me gently onto my couch. My head seemed to bounce repeatedly against the deep, soft cushions.

He rubbed the back of his neck and seemed to snarl through a megaphone at me. Hell, Kari, the captain got me out of bed to come babysit you. Why don’t you ever wait for backup?

I clapped my hands over my ears, hissing like a wet she-cat. Look, Bryan, I’m sorry you lost your beauty sleep. God knows, you need all you can get. But keep your voice down to a dull roar, all right? I have a really nice buzz going on here. Now, if you’d be so kind as to help me get to bed, you can return to Nirvana.

He sighed and scooped me up again and clumped up the stairs, where he threw me on my queen-size bed and pulled off my tennis shoes. Gently, he tucked the covers around my neck.

Bryan, thank you. You’re a good man, you know that?

I cupped his face between my palms and pulled him down, kissing him noisily on the mouth. My arms fell back to the bed and my whole body felt as if it were made of lead. My heavy eyelids snapped shut. Somewhere in that foggy twilight zone, I heard Bryan chuckle, and whisper, I’ll be downstairs if you need me. Then the door softly snicked shut.

In only moments, it seemed, Bryan was back, spoon-feeding me some sort of soup. I could only stay awake for three mouthfuls and a quick sip of water through a bendy straw before I returned to the world of the Great Nothing.

CHAPTER THREE

The tinny chirping of birds awakened me at dawn. I painfully turned my head to stare out my window.

A large, furry animal had stopped by as I slept and shit in my mouth. I hoped someone got the license plate number of the Mack truck that ran over me. I tried to call out, but managed only a low, scratchy whisper. I started to get up—at least I wanted to get up—but my traitorous body wouldn’t obey me. Suddenly, Bryan’s face filled my vision.

Hey, Kari, you’re awake. How’re you feeling? He brushed a large hand through my spiky blue-black hair. It felt cool, resting there against my forehead.

Water, I said, but no sound came out.

Bryan smiled and held a straw to my lips. Easy, Kari. Take it slow so you don’t make yourself sick. How’re you feeling?

Bryan Shelby is a coworker. He is quiet, steady and handsome, and we occasionally date. He’s also tall—I have a passion for tall men—and has deep brown hair that waves over his forehead and into his eyes. Women want to push that soft sable hair back, just to touch him. He’s well built, a real hard body. He has gray eyes that change colors, depending on his moods. Sometimes they are as gray as a snow-filled sky, sometimes as blue as the Mediterranean Sea, and sometimes an olive green. He has a full, sensual mouth that is always quick to curve into a smile.

He turned the full wattage of that irresistible charm on me. In my weakened condition, I was helpless against him. His thumb rubbed my bottom lip. He slipped a couple of pills into my mouth and held the straw to my lips. Obediently, I swallowed. He sat on the bed laughing softly and resting his hip companionably against mine.

Here, have some soup, so those pills don’t make you sick. He fed me like I was a wounded baby bird, mimicking me opening my mouth and running my tongue around my chapped lips.

Bryan shook his head. You sure don’t do anything halfway. His eyes, blue-green today, twinkled as he gently wiped my mouth with a paper napkin. After smoothing lip balm on my cracked lips, he pushed me back down under the covers.

It’s all or nothing with me, Bry, you know? I never could understand how some people can settle for half. Why play the game at all, if you don’t play to win? My speech slurred, and I yawned.

He smoothed my hair against my head. My eyelids lowered, and a purr rose in my throat as his fingers rubbed my scalp. He sighed and whispered from far off.

How come we never made ‘lover’ status, Kari?

I rubbed my face against his hand. Because we were always too good of friends to risk screwing it up with a relationship. Although, right now, I’d kick my ass for not doing it. If I could get my foot that high.

He laughed. "Silvertree, you could get your foot up that high. You’re a wise woman, though there are times I wish you weren’t. He leaned over and touched his cool lips to my hot forehead. But you know? I’m not sure you’ll ever have a relationship. You know, like a man and a woman. You’re already married. To the Unit."

Yeah, I guess … Bryan slowly faded until he disappeared into a thick fog, and my mind went blank.

* * *

I slept most of the next day. By that night, I’d slept enough and didn’t want any more pain pills. I got up to take a