Kill and Run (A Thorny Rose Mystery Book 1) Read online

  After setting the dog down, Murphy sat on the arm of the sofa bed—still filled with half-unpacked moving boxes—to take off his boots and socks. “Where’s your mommy?”

  Spencer’s ears perked up, though the very tops remained flopped over. She cocked her head at him.

  “Mommy?”

  When she uttered the start of a yap, he shook his head while making a shushing noise. “Take me to Mommy.”

  Spencer raced around the assortment of moving boxes that littered the recreation room before running up the stairs. While following her up the stairs to the living room, Murphy pulled his shirt off over his head.

  On the main level, instead of taking the next set of stairs to the third floor, Spencer first detoured across the living room. Sailing from one side of a faded, overstuffed chair to the other, the dog hit the floor, made a U-turn back to the stairs, and bounded up to the master suite on the floor above.

  Curled up in the overstuffed chair, Newman, Murphy’s forty-five pound black and white mongrel—who resembled a cross between a Bassett hound and a half dozen other breeds—lifted his head at the sudden interruption to his morning nap. Upon seeing Murphy, he let out a deep sigh and tapped the television remote with his front paw.

  On his way up to the next level, Murphy heard the television station switch from the Cartoon Network to a cable news channel.

  The third level contained two bedrooms. One was the guest bedroom, behind a closed door on the left. The door at the end of the small hallway on the right was ajar.

  Squirming with excitement, Spencer silently waited outside the door for Murphy to catch up.

  Peering through the crack of the door, Murphy saw that she was sound asleep. She had promised to remain awake all night—waiting for his return.

  Knew she couldn’t do it.

  Patting his thigh with his hand, Murphy gestured for Spencer to heel when he pressed open the door to ease through. Gazing up at him with adoration, the sheltie entered the room in step with him.

  At the foot of the bed, Spencer raised her front paws as if to jump up onto the bed. Murphy held up his hand in a stop signal. With a stern expression, he gestured at the window seat that looked out toward the river.

  Spencer’s ears fell back in disappointment, Murphy bent over to pat her on the head and scratch her ears. His touch alone was enough to restore her happiness. With a bounce in her step, she jumped up onto the cushioned seat and laid down.

  Murphy snuck over to his side of the bed. In silence, he watched his bride’s chest rise and fall with each breath. Her long, dark eyelashes brushed across the top of her cheeks, which were flushed from the warmth generated by the comforter.

  How he missed her during their nights apart.

  He unbuttoned his black pants and eased the zipper down. Careful to suppress the rustle of the jeans against his skin, he slid his pants down to over his thighs before allowing them to pool at his feet. Slipping his underwear down over his hips to join his pants on the floor, he stepped out of his clothes and slid under the covers.

  The heat of her body beckoned him to slide across the king-sized bed to press his firm body against hers. Placing his hand on her bare hip, he gently kissed her shoulder.

  Without opening her eyes, she said “My husband is going to be home any minute.”

  “Guess this means it’ll have to be a quickie.” He brushed her hair back to expose an ear. After kissing it, he whispered, “That’s okay. I’ve got a ten o’clock meeting anyway.”

  With a wicked grin, she rolled over to pin him down by the shoulders. Under the covers, she pressed one of her thighs against his erection. Arching an eyebrow over one of her sensuous violet eyes, Jessica said, “I don’t do quickies.”

  Chapter Two

  Rock Springs Boulevard, Chester, West Virginia

  “Cameron’s not up yet?” Holding a plate of hash browns and Eggs Benedict, Tracy Thornton looked at the empty kitchen chair on her father’s left as if to ascertain that she was correct about Cameron not sitting in it.

  Without looking up, Joshua Thornton continued scrolling through the news on his computer tablet. “She didn’t sleep well last night so I didn’t wake her up.”

  “She’s not working on a case, is she?” Tracy slapped her seventeen year-old brother Donny’s hand when he tried to take the plate of food she had meant for her stepmother. “I was hoping that she’d go to the bridal shop with me and Belle to pick out dresses for the wedding.” After setting the plate in front of Cameron’s chair, she dropped into the seat on her father’s other side. “I know Cameron’s not my mother, but as your wife, she is pretty much the mother of the bride. Hunter’s mom has picked out a lovely dress. It’s teal blue and Cameron likes blue.”

  The corner of Joshua’s mouth curled up. “Have you ever seen Cameron wear teal?”

  “She doesn’t like to wear any colors that aren’t found in nature,” Donny said around a mouthful of the Eggs Benedict and hash browns he stole by sliding the plate down the table to his seat.

  Shooting a chastising glare in her brother’s direction, Tracy asked Joshua, “Cameron is coming to the wedding, isn’t she? She said—”

  “She said she’d try.” Joshua laid his hand on top of hers. “Honey, put yourself in her place. You and Hunter are having this lavish wedding. You’ve been planning it for a year. I can see that you love Hunter with all your heart. He’s the love of your life.”

  Happy tears came to Tracy’s lovely blue eyes.

  “Now,” Joshua continued gently. “Imagine four months after that wedding, you end up back in that same church, with all of those same people for Hunter’s funeral.”

  “Dad …”

  “She’s making an effort,” Joshua said. “She hasn’t said no, and that’s a big step for her.”

  “Dad, the wedding is a month away,” Tracy said. “I need a commitment of yes or no.” With a pout, she crossed her arms. “Frankly, I don’t see why she can’t just get over it. She got over her first husband enough to marry you. What’s with this garbage about not doing weddings? You two had a wedding—or so I heard since I wasn’t invited.”

  Clenching his teeth, Joshua dropped the tablet he was reading down onto the table.

  “I was there,” Donny said before eating another forkful of the eggs.

  Tracy shot a glare in her brother’s direction.

  “That wasn’t a wedding,” Joshua said. “We eloped. There’s a big difference between a lavish ceremony with gowns and tuxes and flowers and hundreds of guests and rolling out of bed, putting on your pants and running over to the church to get hitched before lunch.”

  “Then going to Cricksters for ice cream,” Donny said. “I texted you the picture of their wedding sundae. It was huge.” He held out his hands to illustrate the size.

  “Yes,” she bit out. “I got your text, Donny.”

  Joshua folded his arms across his chest. “If anyone needs to get over anything, you need to get over our eloping.”

  “What is everyone going to think if my new stepmother doesn’t come to my wedding?” Tracy asked. “This is as much about our family as it is about me and my wedding.”

  “I thought it was Hunter’s wedding, too,” Donny said.

  This time, Tracy added a snarl to the glare she shot across the table to Donny.

  Patting Tracy’s hand, Joshua said, “She knows how important this is to you.”

  “Murphy and Jessica have already RSVP’d,” Tracy said. “I can’t wait to meet Jessica.”

  “You didn’t go to their wedding,” Donny said around a mouthful of hash browns. “Murphy’s not holding that against you. You were the only one of us kids not there.”

  “Your sister Sarah made it to Deep Creek Lake from the Naval Academy to be maid of honor,” Joshua said. “J.J. rushed there from Penn State to be Murphy’s best man—“

 
“J.J. is Murphy’s twin,” Tracy said. “There was no way he’d miss Murphy’s wedding.”

  “J.J. even brought a date,” Donny said with a chuckle. “The only one of us five kids who didn’t show was you.”

  The sound of the front doorbell prompted Admiral, the Thornton’s Irish wolfhound and Great Dane mix to jump to his enormous feet with a deep bark and gallop for the door. The ruckus woke up Irving where he was asleep on a windowsill, who joined the welcoming committee.

  “Like I could get to Maryland from New York on New Year’s Eve with twelve hours’ notice.” Tracy turned in her chair to counter Donny’s quip. Seeing that he had finished off the stolen breakfast, she said, “Dad, do you see what he did? Donny ate the breakfast I made for Cameron.”

  “You snooze, you lose.” Joshua got up from the table to answer the door.

  In the foyer, he peered through the frosted, cut glass in the door. Two men in suits were taking in the view from the wrap-around porch of the three-story, stone house. The porch provided a view of the rolling front yard which ended at the corner of Fifth Street.

  When Joshua opened the door a crack, the two men turned around. “May I help you?” He kept one hand on the door while holding his dog back. While Admiral was basically a coward, his huge size was enough to intimidate strangers.

  “Are you Joshua Thornton?” the older of the two gentlemen asked. They both displayed their badges designating them as agents with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  “Yes.” Allowing Admiral to stroll out onto the porch, Joshua reached out to take both badges in hand and examine them. After determining they were authentic, he handed them back. “What is this about?”

  “We’d like to speak to your wife,” said the older agent.

  “She’s—”

  Behind him, Cameron interrupted his response. “Who is it, Josh?”

  “The FBI, dear. They want to talk to you.” Stepping back, Joshua allowed them into the foyer.

  Dressed in faded jeans and a light v-necked sweater, Cameron came down the stairs. “What’d I do now?”

  The older agent reached out his hand to shake hers. “I’m Special Agent Peter Sanders. This is my partner, Special Agent Dylan Horrigan.” He glanced around the two-story foyer. “Is there some place we can talk?”

  “What about?” Joshua asked.

  “This is a matter concerning your wife,” Special Agent Horrigan replied.

  “Anything you want to discuss with me, you can discuss in front of my husband,” Cameron said.

  “This has to do with your first husband,” Agent Sanders said. “Pennsylvania State Trooper Nicolas Gates.”

  Cameron grasped Joshua’s hand and squeezed it. He took her hand into both of his. “We can talk in my study.”

  As if to lead the way, Irving trotted ahead of them into the study. Spotting the cat for the first time, Special Agent Horrigan stopped. “Is that—”

  “He’s a cat,” Joshua said.

  “Then he’s not going to spray me,” the agent sighed.

  “But he will give you plenty of bad attitude.”

  In Joshua’s study, Irving jumped up into Cameron’s lap as soon as she sat on the sofa. After closing the door, Joshua took the seat next to her and clasped her hand.

  She opened the conversation by saying, “I would ask if you came to tell me that you found the driver who ran Nick down, but hit and runs aren’t federal cases—even if a state police officer is killed. So what is this about?”

  Special Agent Sanders leaned forward in his seat across from her. “Actually, we’re here to tell you that we have the man who ran your late husband down in custody.”

  Shooting Joshua a weak smile, Cameron sighed.

  Joshua squeezed her shoulders and kissed her forehead.

  Fighting back tears, Cameron swallowed. “I knew that one day—eventually, we’d get him.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” the senior agent said.

  “Something told me it wasn’t,” Joshua said. “Like she asked, what interest would the FBI have in a simple hit and run?”

  “It wasn’t a simple hit and run,” Agent Horrigan said. “It was a paid hit with your husband Nicolas Gates as the target.”

  Cameron’s head shot up. “Why? Who would pay to have Nick killed?”

  “We were hoping you could tell us,” Special Agent Horrigan said.

  “How did you come by that information?” Joshua asked.

  Special Agent Sanders explained, “Last week, we arrested Sal Bertonelli, a professional hit man with a list of assassinations going back over twenty years. This guy was good. He mostly worked for the Russian mob. He’s also done some important hits for major drug cartels. He’s turned government witness in exchange for immunity. He’s testifying against the top echelon of organized crime in the country.”

  “Part of the bargain was for him to give us a list of murders for pay that he has committed,” Agent Horrigan said. “Pennsylvania State Trooper Nick Gates was on that list.”

  Cameron stared at one of them and then the other. When she found her voice, she asked, “Why would the Russian mob or a drug cartel want to kill Nick?”

  “We were hoping you could tell us that,” Agent Sanders replied.

  “What does Bertonelli say?” Joshua asked.

  “He never asked any questions,” Agent Horrigan said. “That’s why he was so popular with the mob. He just took the orders and collected his pay. He was ordered to make Trooper Gates’ murder look like an accident. He was tailing him and saw him pull over a car for speeding—ripe for a hit and run.”

  “Was your husband working any cases involving organized crime or major drug dealers?” Agent Sanders asked Cameron.

  “No,” she blurted out. “He was a patrolman. Yes, he wanted to work up to detective, but he wasn’t working any cases on his own. He …” Speechless, she turned to Joshua.

  Seeing tears in her eyes, Joshua rubbed her back and told the agents in a quiet tone. “As you can tell, this is a big shock for my wife. Can you leave your card with us—”

  “I want to talk to him,” Cameron said in a surprisingly strong voice.

  “I’m afraid—” Agent Sanders started to say.

  “He killed my husband,” Cameron said. “He and whoever hired him took away someone who was very dear to me. That night, my life changed forever. It was never the same from the very second that bastard ran down Nick. I have the right to a face to face with him to find out the name of the monster who ordered him to kill my husband and why.”

  “We have him in protective custody in Washington, D.C.,” Agent Sanders argued.

  “Both the Russian mob and the drug cartels have already put out contracts on him,” Agent Horrigan said.

  “I’m going to Washington,” Cameron said.

  “You’re awfully dressed up for unpacking and doing laundry,” Murphy noted when he went into the kitchen to find Jessica dressed in a pale violet suit with matching four-inch heels and hat. The fitted suit was cinched tightly with a belt to flatter her slender curves and small waist. The skirt was short enough to provide an impressive view of her long legs, which Murphy took in with a grin while she poured coffee into a mug. His green tea was steeping in a United States Naval Academy mug on the counter next to the coffeemaker.

  “I’m taking a friend to the Four Seasons for lunch.” She turned around to offer him the tea. With a sigh, she mused at him in his stark white uniform with four rows of ribbons over his left breast. Man, I love a man in uniform … especially this one.

  “A friend?” Murphy took a cautious sip of the tea. “Are you seeing Amy?” As soon as he asked, he shook his own head at the suggestion. “She works across from the White House. Four Seasons is too far away for her to make it on her lunch hour.”

  “Not only that, but Amy’s working on a huge project
right now,” she said. “But I made her promise to make time for lunch next week.” She cleared her throat. “Speaking of Amy …”

  Narrowing his eyes into blue slits, Murphy set down the mug to brace himself. “Remember what I said last time.”

  “Then we need to think of an excuse because it’s only a matter of time before Amy suggests another double date,” Jessica said.

  “Why do we need to think of an excuse?” Murphy yanked open the refrigerator door and took out a bowl of strawberries. He slammed the bowl down onto the counter with such force that Spencer, who had been sitting next to Jessica’s feet, jumped up with her tail between her legs. “Why can’t we just say no?”

  “Because Amy is my best friend,” Jessica explained at his elbow while he ate one berry after another from the bowl. “How can I tell her that you can’t stand her husband?”

  “It isn’t that I can’t stand him.” Murphy examined a dark spot on a rather large berry to determine if he wanted to eat it as is, or cut out the spot before doing so. “Okay, I guess I can’t stand him. I can’t have any respect for a man who mooches off women.” He decided to toss it down the garbage disposal.

  “He’s an author,” she said while fighting the grin working its way to her lips.

  Laughing, Murphy pointed his index finger at her while clutching a strawberry in the palm of his hand. “You can’t even say that with a straight face.”

  She burst out laughing.

  “Don’t you have to write a book before you can call yourself an author?” he asked.

  “He’s working on it.”

  “How long has he been working on this book?” While they were talking, Murphy held up a strawberry for her. Like an obedient child waiting for her medicine, she opened her mouth and he tossed the fruit in. “Between his YouTube blog where he rants about whatever happens to be on his tiny mind that day—which is usually some computer game—hanging out at the Irish Pub with his other writer wannabe friends, and spending his wife’s money, he doesn’t have time to work on a book. He’s too busy playing author. The guy is at least ten years older than I am. Has he ever had a full time job?”