“Please.” Sasha held in tears, wishing she could do more to help the man she loved since it felt as if sending videos to news outlets was something safe and removed. Something Nick would have wanted Xander to ask her to do. Like busy work.
“I’ll do everything I can. He helped save me from doing something stupid and sacrificial when London was in danger once. I owe him.”
“I can’t lose him.” She hated the cry in her voice. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart.
“You’ve lost so much.”
Yes. Losing Mike had wrenched her life apart. Losing Nick would forever rip her heart to shreds.
“Is Harper all right?”
“Great. Having fun. She’s almost healed. Dr. Minn saw her this afternoon and was pleased with her progress. Remove her from your list of worries. We’ve got this.”
“Thanks for everything.”
“I’m texting you a picture of Logan, so you’ll know the right guy when he comes to your motel door. Call me if you hear from Nick at all. I’ll do the same.”
With a murmured good-bye, Sasha hung up. If Logan was going to be here in just over an hour, she had some preparing to do. After sending the e-mails to all the TV stations, she grabbed a room key, darted out to the sporting goods store just down the street, and made one purchase, thanking goodness Louisiana had no waiting period.
Sasha was ready for whatever happened—except losing Nick. She was damn determined that wasn’t going to happen.
Nine p.m. rolled around. Nick stood in the middle of Popp Bandstand, feeling the weight of his SIG in his hand. Any minute now, Clifford would show up with a squad of goons and shoot him.
But not before he put a bullet between the criminal DA’s eyes first.
As if his thoughts conjured the crook up, Clifford strolled into the spill of light from the top of the dome accompanied by two thugs, one at each shoulder. It was still cold, so no one else occupied the park. No one would witness whatever happened next.
No one would see if Walter Clifford offed him.
“Stay there,” Nick insisted. “That’s close enough.”
“You don’t tell me what to do, Navarro,” the older man insisted. “Give me the evidence.”
“You’ll leave Sasha Porter and her daughter alone?” Nick hid his gun just behind his thigh, waiting for the right moment.
“Are you really that stupid? That bitch has seen whatever evidence her stupid lug of a husband dug up. She’s a witness. A loose end. She needs to be six feet under. So does the kid. We don’t need any more brats in foster care. I’ll be doing the girl—and the state—a favor.”
Nick gritted his teeth. Only one kind of man could kill a three-year-old. Talk about someone who needed to be six feet under… “Then I’m not giving you shit.”
The DA laughed, the sound scratchy and mean. “That’s fine. Dan?” He looked at the guy on his right. “Shoot the motherfucker. He should pay for raping my niece anyway. What a shame that he wanted revenge for his conviction so badly and drew his weapon on an elected official and two off-duty officers.”
“Yes, sir. Between the pecs or between the eyes?” the cop asked.
“How about one of each for good measure?” Clifford gave Nick a smarmy smile of triumph. “Bye. I’ll send your buddy’s widow and her kid to be with you soon, too.”
“You might want to hold up. I don’t have the video with me, and if you shoot me now, you’ll never see it.”
“I’ll take that chance.” The man looked at his cohort. “Fire.”
Dan raised his weapon and aimed. Nick hit the deck and rolled behind a pillar, his heart racing as he glanced around the column of stone and tried to line up for a clean shot at Clifford’s head.
“Nobody move!” a different voice shouted into the chaos.
Nick froze. Who the hell had crashed their mutual murder party?
“FBI,” that same voice called out. “Walter Clifford, you’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, solicitation of murder, tampering with evidence, and corruption. Hands up. Now!”
“Fuck you!” said the old man.
