Hostage at Hawk's Landing Page 2

  Fear clawed at Melissa. “Who?”

  “Smith,” the man snapped.

  “I’m right here.”

  Melissa’s eyes widened as Smith stepped into the doorway, his hands held up in surrender. His dark brown eyes met hers, worry and an apology that she didn’t understand etched in the depths.

  Then Smith shot an angry look at the gunman. “Let her go and I’ll do whatever you want.”

  Chapter Two

  Melissa clenched her jaw. She didn’t know why this gunman wanted Jim, but her protective instincts for the drifters at the shelter kicked in. She’d taken self-defense classes, and was tempted to jab her elbow into the man’s stomach, then jerk his arm up so hopefully he’d drop the gun. But common sense warned her that if she made a mistake, she’d end up dead and so might Jim Smith.

  She couldn’t live with his death on her conscience.

  The brute with the gun tightened his hold, the gun barrel pressing against her temple. “You’d better back off, Smith, or the little lady gets it.”

  Tension radiated from Jim’s body as he went ramrod still. “It’s me you want. Let her go and we’ll take this outside.”

  The man shook his head and shoved her toward a chair in the corner. “Tie her up, then we talk.”

  Melissa bit her lip to keep from crying out as she sank into the metal folding chair. As much as she wanted to fight, she had to consider the other men in the back. The intruder pulled a rope from his pocket and tossed it toward Jim. He snatched it, then shocked her by swinging it like a cowboy and throwing it toward the gunman like a lasso. The movement caught the gunman off guard, and Jim charged the brute.

  The man grunted and the two of them slammed against the wall as they wrestled for the gun. Footsteps sounded from the back, and two of the homeless men, Gunther and Dwayne, rushed into the doorway. She shouted for them to stay back.

  Jim threw the intruder to the floor and jerked the man’s arm up. The weapon went off, the bullet hitting the ceiling. Jim knocked the gun from the man’s hand, and it skidded across the floor. Melissa ran for the weapon, but the shooter snagged her leg as she passed him. She tripped and went down hard, her knee slamming into the wood floor.

  Jim rolled twice, then reached the gun and snatched it. The brute jumped him, and they struggled, but the gun went off again. Melissa covered her mouth to stifle a scream as the gunman collapsed on top of Jim.

  Was Jim hurt?

  A second later, he shoved his attacker off him. Blood oozed from the gunman’s chest, and he made a choking sound, then gurgled blood.

  Jim pushed himself to stand, the gun in his hands, the other man’s blood soaking his shirt. The shooter’s body jerked and spasmed, then he suddenly stilled, eyes wide and blank.

  Jim looked over at her, his jaw clenched. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, too stunned to speak. He gestured toward Gunther. “Call 9-1-1.”

  Gunther nodded and rushed toward the phone the men were allowed to use on the counter in the corner. Melissa swallowed, and struggled to stand on shaky legs. She had to know why the man wanted Jim.

  But he jammed the pistol into the back of his jeans and ran for the side door. “I’m sorry, Melissa,” he murmured, then he unlocked the door and disappeared.

  Outside, a siren wailed. The police. Jim had left just in time to avoid them. Why? She would have vouched that he’d acted in self-defense.

  And that he’d saved her life.

  * * *

  DEX CLIMBED IN his SUV and flipped on the radio as he left the homeless shelter near Tumbleweed. Damn. Another drifter had gone missing. That was three in recent months.

  The director had reiterated what he’d heard at the two other places he’d visited: the homeless who took refuge at the shelters didn’t stay long. The center had no control over where the men went and rarely was informed of their destinations when they left.

  Worse, none of the men wanted to talk to him. They seemed wary, even suspicious of his intentions. He’d tried to assure them that he was concerned that someone might be preying on transients, but the only thing he’d accomplished was planting fear in the men’s eyes.

  Grief still made his chest ache. The damn DNA had confirmed that the man found at Briar Creek was his father. He and his family had mourned and buried him beside Chrissy.

  But questions over where his father had been and what he’d been doing for eighteen years gnawed at him. What had happened to drive him to alcohol and the streets? Chrissy’s disappearance had been horrible for all of them. But his mother hadn’t walked out on her sons or buried herself in a bottle.

  Had his father seen the news about Chrissy’s body being found, and been driven over the edge by grief?

  Dammit, there was nothing he could do to bring his father back. But in his search for answers, he’d stumbled on another mystery.

  Even if his father’s death wasn’t connected to the other missing men, Dex was determined to make sure a predator wasn’t taking advantage of these homeless men when they were already down. If nothing else, he’d find the truth in honor of his father.

  A newscast broke into the country music on the radio as he headed toward the small apartment he rented over his PI office in Austin.

  “This late breaking story just in. A man was shot and killed tonight at the Lend-A-Hand Shelter outside Austin. Assistant Director Melissa Gentry stated that a gunman broke into the facility just as the shelter was locking up for the night and held her at gunpoint. According to Ms. Gentry, one of the men at the shelter jumped the gunman to defend her, and the gun went off. The gunman died on-site, then the other man disappeared.”

  Dex’s heart pounded. Melissa Gentry. Her name was a blast from the past. A blast of happy memories and a time when he’d allowed himself to enjoy the company of a good woman. Although when he’d found himself falling in love with her, he’d broken it off. Well, technically he hadn’t exactly done that. He’d walked away like a coward.

  Maybe he was like his old man...

  Melissa was sweetness and kindness and way too damn good for the likes of him.

  He’d known that she’d wanted to be a social worker, so hearing about her job at Lend-A-Hand fit.

  The reporter segued to another story, and he veered to the side of the road, plugged the name Lend-A-Hand Shelter into his GPS, then pulled back into traffic and drove toward it.

  The thought of a man holding a gun to Melissa made his blood turn cold. He wanted to see for himself that she wasn’t harmed. And if she knew anything about the other missing transient men.

  If someone was targeting them, tonight’s shooting might be connected.

  * * *

  MELISSA WAS STILL trembling as the police roped off the shelter as a crime scene. Detective Frank Lamar from the Austin PD was in charge, delegating a female cop named Nikki Whalen to question the men at the shelter. Melissa could barely control her anger. These men had fallen on hard times, yet now they were being treated as suspects.

  She’d given her statement. Told the truth. Assured the detective that none of the other men were involved in the shooting incident, but he’d quickly silenced her with a warning to let him do his job.

  Questions about Jim Smith needled her. If he wasn’t hiding from the law, why had he run?

  A noise from the front door jarred her from her thoughts. Detective Lamar strode to the door to speak to the officer in charge of securing the scene.

  “What’s going on, Frank?”

  Melissa paused to listen. A male voice. Angry? Concerned?

  “I want to talk to Melissa.”

  Melissa tensed. The man...his voice sounded familiar. She hadn’t heard it in ages, but...it sounded like Dexter Hawk.

  “This is a crime scene. I can’t let you come in,” Detective Lamar said bluntly.

  Melissa hurried to the door and nudged up
beside the stocky cop. He was about her height, but his voice and demeanor were intimidating. By design, probably.

  “Melissa?”

  Her heart pounded. It was Dexter.

  “Dex?”

  The cop looked back and forth between them, his bushy eyebrows furrowed. “You two know each other?”

  “Yes,” they said at the same time.

  “Well, hell.” The cop scraped a hand down his chin.

  Dex took a step forward. “Lamar, you know I’ve been investigating the missing transients since we found my father. This incident could be related.”

  “It’s not,” the detective said brusquely. “You saw Dr. Hudson’s autopsy report. Your father’s death was an accident, Dex. Accept it and move on.”

  “I wish we could have used Dr. Weinberger from Tumbleweed,” Dex said. “I know him and trust him.”

  “Hudson is a good ME,” Lamar said.

  Melissa twisted her hands by her sides. Apparently Dex and this detective knew each other, too. PI to cop, or were they friends?

  “Go home, Dex, and let me handle this,” Detective Lamar said.

  Melissa made a snap decision. She hadn’t seen Dex in almost ten years. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was about his father. To ask him why he thought his father’s death, the missing transients and the shooting might be connected.

  “Excuse me, Detective,” she said, giving the cop a gentle push as she reached for the door. “I need some air.”

  He started to protest, but she slanted him an icy look. Ever since he’d arrived at the shelter, he’d made her and the residents feel as if they’d done something wrong. “You can’t make me stay inside,” she said simply. “Not unless you’re going to charge me with something.”

  The man’s thick lips pressed into a tight line. A breath laced with the foul scent of cigarettes wheezed out, then he stepped aside. “Just don’t leave the county without telling me,” he said. “I might need to ask you some more questions.”

  She gave a quick nod, then pushed past him and out the door. The odor of blood and death inside the shelter was making her nauseous.

  She quickly dragged in a breath, then looked up to see Dex’s handsome face. Worry darkened the depths of his eyes as he gently took her arm and led her down the steps to a cluster of trees. She was still shaking so badly that her legs nearly buckled.

  “Ahh, Melissa.” A second later, Dexter pulled her up against him, and she leaned her head into his chest.

  * * *

  DEXTER WRAPPED HIS arms around Melissa, his heart racing. Although he hadn’t seen her in years, he’d never forgotten how wonderful she felt in his arms. He stroked her back, and inhaled the fragrance of rosewater, the fragrance that had taunted him in his sleep every day since they’d parted ways.

  His nights had been filled with dreams of her to the point that he’d thought he’d never get over her.

  She clung to his chest, her shaky breathing doing a number on his emotions.

  Maybe he hadn’t gotten over her. He sure as hell hadn’t let any other woman in his life or heart since. No...he’d been too damn afraid of loving to put himself out there and chance getting hurt. Watching the heartbreak his mother had suffered when his father left had taught him a lesson.

  He hadn’t deserved Melissa anyway. Not after he’d told his sister to get lost that night. And then she had. Forever.

  Still, he couldn’t help himself. He rubbed Melissa’s back again, savoring the feel of her in his arms for another minute. She was alive. She appeared unharmed, at least physically.

  Time to do his job and talk. Not lose himself traipsing down memory lane.

  “You okay, darlin’?”

  She nodded against him and gave a deep sigh. “Thanks.” She patted his chest, then eased from his embrace and lifted her chin. “Sorry.”

  “No apologies,” he murmured, his chest squeezing with emotions again. Damn, she had that effect on him. The thought of anyone hurting her made him want to pound something.

  He swallowed hard, forcing his mind back on track and his eyes away from her beautiful face. The sight of that unruly dark auburn hair that had driven him mad when he’d run his fingers through it taunted him to touch it again.

  He had to resist.

  “I saw the story about your father. I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  Dexter ground his teeth, the pain back. “I want answers,” he said honestly.

  “He died in an automobile accident?”

  He nodded. Thankfully, the paper hadn’t revealed that he was inebriated at the time. “I found a card from another homeless shelter in his truck.”

  She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, a frown marring her heart-shaped face. “He was living in a shelter?”

  “I don’t know,” Dexter said. “But I’ve been visiting some of them to see if anyone knew him. I’m curious as to what he was doing all this time.” And why he never came back.

  Lamar’s voice as he spoke to the officer guarding the scene echoed from the front stoop, jerking Dex back to the reason he’d come.

  “You were involved in a shooting tonight?” Dex asked.

  Her face paled, and she wrapped her arms around her waist as if to hold herself together. He wanted to draw her back into his arms.

  But if he did, he might never let go.

  Something he’d have to do. He’d walked away from her before because she deserved better.

  She still did.

  Chapter Three

  Melissa rubbed her arms to erase the chill invading her. Dex’s warm embrace reminded her of feelings that had never really gone away.

  Dex exhaled. “What happened here?”

  “We were locking up for the night when this man burst in the back door. He had a gun and grabbed me, said he wanted Jim Smith.”

  “Did he say why?” Dex asked.

  She shook her head. “No, it happened really fast. He pushed me toward the common room, then Jim appeared. Jim offered to trade himself for me, then the gunman told Jim to tie me up. He tossed him a rope. Smith grabbed the rope, then charged the man with the gun.”

  Detective Lamar stepped outside, his voice carrying in the slight breeze that stirred. “I want an APB out on this man. Name is Jim Smith. Approach with caution. He’s already killed one man tonight, and is armed and dangerous.”

  Melissa tensed at the detective’s tone. She crossed the space to him as he hung up. “Detective Lamar,” she said. “Jim isn’t dangerous, at least not in the way you’re suggesting. He acted in self-defense. He wasn’t armed when he came here.”

  Dexter had followed her over to the cop, his arms crossed as he listened.

  “How do you know Smith didn’t have a gun?” the detective asked. “Did you search his belongings?”

  “Well, no,” Melissa admitted. “But I didn’t see any signs of a weapon. In fact, he was almost gentle at times. He tried to talk the gunman down, then he wrestled with the man and the gun went off.” Her voice cracked as the memory returned. “He was a hero, not the enemy. He saved my life.” And she wanted to thank him for it, not see him hunted down like an animal.

  “You certainly are defensive of him.” The detective narrowed his eyes. “Exactly how well did you know Mr. Smith?”

  Anger shot through Melissa at the insinuations in the cop’s voice. “He was a welcome guest here just like all of the other men who seek housing with us at Lend-A-Hand.”

  “What was his story?” Detective Lamar asked. “Did he have a family?”

  Melissa bit the corner of her lip, a habit she had when thinking. “I don’t know. He’d only been here a couple of days and didn’t share much about himself.”

  “What did he share?” the detective asked.

  Melissa searched her memory banks. “Nothing really. He was quiet, and kept to himself. But he was a
lways polite at mealtimes and respectful of the other men and our volunteers.”

  “So you’re defending a man you know virtually nothing about,” Detective Lamar said flatly. “His name sounds fake. He could be a criminal hiding out.”

  She had considered that. “I don’t think that’s the case.”

  Detective Lamar raised a brow. “What do you think?”

  Dex cleared his throat. “Lamar, why don’t you lay off? Melissa told you all she knows. It’s her job to help the men who come here, not interrogate them.”

  Officer Whalen, who’d been questioning the men inside, stepped to the door. “I’m finished here.”

  The detective shrugged. “You get anything useful?”

  Officer Whalen shook her head. “No one seemed to know anything about Smith. General consensus was that he didn’t want to talk. One guy thought Smith was hiding something. Another said Smith hinted that he didn’t have family. But Smith didn’t elaborate so we don’t know if he was married, divorced, had kids, or if he did, what happened to them.”

  “What about a job?” Detective Lamar asked.

  The officer shook her head. “Didn’t mention one.”

  The detective turned back to Melissa. “Did he tell you what kind of work he did?”

  He’d thrown that rope lasso-style, like a pro. Maybe ranching? Then again, most men in Texas knew how to rope and ride. “I’m afraid not.” She lifted her chin. “Instead of investigating Smith, why aren’t you looking into the dead man on the floor in the shelter? He’s the one who broke in here and put a gun to my head.”

  * * *

  DEX COULDN’T DRAG his eyes from Melissa and that tangled mass of hair. She had a heart of gold. But was she naive? Was Smith a criminal, using the shelter to hide from the law? Or...perhaps he was in trouble and the gunman was a bad guy chasing him?

  Various scenarios bombarded him. Smith might have owed the man or someone else money. The shooter could have had a personal vendetta against Smith for some transgression against him.