Line of Duty Read online

  ZONDERVAN

  Line of Duty

  Copyright © 2003 by Terri Blackstock

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan.

  ePub Edition January 2009 ISBN: 978-0-31053-994-0

  Requests for information should be addressed to:

  Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Blackstock, Terri, 1957–

  Line of duty / Terri Blackstock.

  p. cm.—(Newpointe 911 ; bk. 5)

  1. Women lawyers—Fiction. 2. Missing persons—Fiction. 3. Fire fighters—Fiction.

  4.Skyscrapers—Fiction. 5. Bombings—Fiction. 6. New Orleans (La.)—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3552.L34285L56 2003

  813'.54—dc22

  2003014625

  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible: New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920.

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  Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  Chapter Ninety

  Chapter Ninety-One

  Chapter Ninety-Two

  Chapter Ninety-Three

  Chapter Ninety-Four

  Chapter Ninety-Five

  Chapter Ninety-Six

  Chapter Ninety-Seven

  Chapter Ninety-Eight

  Chapter Ninety-Nine

  Chapter One Hundred

  Chapter One Hundred and One

  Afterword

  Three ways to keep up on your favorite Zondervan books and authors

  About the Author

  About The Publisher

  Share Your Thoughts

  Acknowledgments

  As many of you know, I fully intended to end this series with Book 4, Trial by Fire. But on September 11, 2001, as I mourned the loss of so many firefighters, paramedics, and police officers in the line of duty, I was overwhelmed with the need to say even more about those men and women who are among America’s truest heroes. For the work they do day in and day out, keeping us secure and saving our lives, they have my deepest gratitude and admiration.

  And for all of those readers who wrote me and encouraged me to continue the Newpointe 911 series, thus convincing my publisher that it might be a good idea after all, I thank you. Without such loyal readers, I’d still be searching the want ads for a “real job” to support my writing habit and trying to get out of jams that my daydreaming got me into. You have validated my neurosis and given focus to my fertile imagination. I thank God for blessing me with you.

  This book is lovingly dedicated to the Nazarene.

  Chapter One

  Ashley Morris sensed the doom in the Icon International Building. She had listened to the news reports of layoffs and the company’s crashing stock value with the detached interest of a sixteen-year-old, but it was hard to ignore the reality now. In the lobby, grim-faced employees spoke in low voices. Some wiped tears as they carried boxes out to their cars. Reporters with camera crews waited outside, interviewing exiting employees who’d just gotten the ax.

  She’d picked a lousy day to hit her mother up for money.

  Popping her gum, Ashley got onto the elevator with two women and a man. One of the women gave her a look as if she had just parachuted out of a UFO. Ashley looked right back at her and blew a bubble. The woman looked away.

  Ashley grinned and looked down at a chipped fingernail. She had to admit, she had dressed for the occasion. Her bright orange T-shirt—two sizes too small—clashed with her burgundy hair. She had cut the sleeves off at the seam and frayed the edges, so that her tattoo of some Chinese word she didn’t know was more visible. The shirt didn’t quite meet her jeans, and her belly-button ring sparkled against her pale skin. Her jeans had been slit in parallel lines down the fronts of her legs, revealing other tattoos—a butterfly and a rose. And she’d worn a chain from her nose ring to her earring, just for added effect.

  “Sarah got canned,” the man said. “She’s cleaning out her desk.”

  “I’m next.
I know I am. And my whole retirement’s gone. Where am I going to find another job at my age?”

  “They’re saying they’re going to indict Merritt in the next day or so,” the woman who’d stared at Ashley muttered.

  “They ought to take him out and shoot him.”

  When the others got off on the tenth floor, Ashley leaned back against the elevator wall. This could be serious. Her mother was the administrative assistant to Donald Merritt, the corrupt CEO. And if things weren’t looking good for him, Ashley’s mother was probably taking the brunt of it. She would be in a terrible mood and wouldn’t have much patience for her daughter.

  Yeah, her timing really stank.

  She stepped off on the thirtieth floor, her hiking boots squeaking on the tiles. A large, opulent Christmas tree blocked the view of Canal Street. She wondered if her mother had been responsible for decorating it this year. She remembered so many years past, when she had come here with her mom on a Saturday and helped dress the tree. Ashley had hung some of her own cheesy handmade ornaments among the expensive balls and lights. Her mother had given them spots of honor.

  Ashley walked through the door to the executive office suite.

  The suite that housed the CEO, president, and CFO looked much like a hotel lobby. She remembered when the company had moved into this building. Her mother had been irritated at the amount of money spent on the decor. But some designer had really racked up on it.

  There was a sitting area on either side of the door, with leather sofas and homey easy chairs clustered around oriental rugs. Lamps created a soft glow around the room, making it look less like a place where deals were made and schemes were laid than a place of comfort and rest.

  The walls were painted in a rich jade green, and artwork, which Merritt had picked up on one of his junkets to Paris, graced the walls, illuminated by inset spotlights.

  Three doors marked the offices of the men who ran the company, and outside their doors sat their administrative assistants, who did all the real work.

  Her mother sat at her desk now, just outside the CEO’s door. She was deeply engrossed in whatever filled her computer screen and hadn’t seen Ashley come in. She looked as if she’d aged ten years since Ashley had last seen her a week ago. Deep lines seemed etched around her eyes and into her forehead, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept in days.

  Ashley wondered whether she was responsible for that, or if she could blame it on Icon.

  “Hey, Mom,” she said.

  Debbie Morris looked up, and a smile flickered on her face. “Ashley!” She seemed glad to see her daughter, even though her eyes swept over Ashley with critical dread. She got up and hugged her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just dropped by to say hi.”

  Her mother’s face tightened. Clearly she knew better than that. She glanced toward the closed glass doors of the conference room. Ashley could see people inside. “Honey, I’ve asked you—begged you—to try to look a little more conservative when you come here.”

  “I’m not changing my look for a bunch of judgmental snobs. If they don’t like the way I look, they can turn their heads.” She ran her fingers through her mousse-tousled hair. It stuck up all over, just as she liked it.

  Debbie sighed. “It’s not a good time for a visit. It’s chaos around here, and I’m trying to hold it together.”

  Ashley picked up a paperweight off of her mother’s desk and rolled it around in her hand. “I don’t know why you want to hold things together for that crook.”

  “Ashley!” Her mother took the paperweight back. She looked around, making sure no one had heard. The CFO’s assistant seemed to be concentrating on the file on her desk, and the president’s assistant was talking on the phone.

  “Lower your voice,” her mother whispered. “He’s right in there with a lawyer who’s suing him. Trust me, he’s in a firing mood, and no one’s job is sacred.”

  “He wouldn’t fire you. You know where all the bodies are buried.”

  She thought her mother might faint. “Come with me, young lady,” she said through her teeth. She grabbed Ashley’s hand and started pulling her toward the door.

  “What did I do? I need to talk to you. Are you throwing me out?”

  Debbie pulled her into the hall and turned to her. She was shaking. “It may not have occurred to you that I need this job, Ashley. There are already plenty of reasons I might lose it without my daughter’s mouth getting me fired.”

  “Sorry,” Ashley said, raising her hands innocently. “I didn’t know you were so touchy. I was just kidding.”

  Debbie blew out a heavy breath and started toward the exit sign. “Come with me. I need to get a printer cartridge out of the twenty-ninth-floor stockroom.”

  Ashley knew her mother just wanted to get her off the floor before she said something else to embarrass her. Amused, she followed her. “I really hate that you’re ashamed of me.”

  “No, you don’t. You work too hard at it.” Debbie opened the door to the stairwell and started down the steps. Halfway down, she turned and regarded Ashley again. “You’re a beautiful girl, Ashley. Why you insist on having things hanging from you and stamped on you—”

  “Oh, I forgot to show you this.” Ashley stuck out her tongue, revealing the gold stud in the center of it.

  Her mother gasped.

  Ashley laughed. “Get used to it, Mom. I’m an individual, with my own style.”

  “No, you’re not, honey. You’re a clone of those friends of yours. And they’re out to destroy you. Making you drop out of school and leave home to live in some kind of commune—”

  “Mom, this is not the sixties. Several of us just share a house to help with expenses.”

  “You’re sixteen, Ashley! You should be living at home with me!”

  Ashley considered a smart-aleck comeback but then remembered that fifty bucks she needed.

  “I didn’t come to fight with you, Mom. I came because I got a speeding ticket and if I don’t come up with the fifty-dollar fine by this afternoon, they’re going to arrest me.”

  Her mother stopped on the landing and gave her a skeptical look. “Ashley, I’m not giving you money. I told you when you left home that you can’t expect me to support you financially. Not until you come back home.”

  “Fifty bucks, Mom. That’s all I need. Come on, please. I make minimum wage. I didn’t count on a stinking speeding ticket this month. Do you want me to go to jail?”

  Debbie opened the door onto the twenty-ninth floor. The light caught a tear in her eyes.

  “Well, do you?” Ashley demanded.

  “No, I don’t want you to go to jail. I don’t think they put people in jail for speeding tickets.”

  “They do if you don’t pay your fine.”

  “All right, Ashley. Let me get the cartridge I need, and when I get back to my office, I’ll write a check to the municipal court.”

  Ashley might have known her mother would pull that. “Mom, they don’t take checks. I need cash.”

  Her mother wasn’t buying. “You’re not using this to buy drugs, are you? I want to see that ticket.”

  Ashley grunted. “Well, it’s not like I carry it around with me.”

  “Then I’m not giving you a dime.”

  Ashley rolled her eyes and followed her mother toward the stockroom. Her mother had read too many books about tough love and parenting prodigals. Some author who probably didn’t even have kids was dictating their relationship now. Ashley resented it.

  “What do I have to do to convince you that I’m not a drug addict?”

  Debbie reached the stockroom door and turned back to her. “Come home. Move back in and go back to school.”

  “Mom, come on.”

  Her mother opened the door. “Ashley, I’ll give you the fifty dollars if you’ll come home tonight.”

  Ashley could agree to that. She didn’t have to follow through. “It’s a deal.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Ashley.”

 
; “Mom, come on. I’m in a hurry.”

  Her mother flicked on the light . . . and gasped.

  A crude machine sat at the center of the floor, surrounded by ten-gallon watercooler jugs. Wires ran from the contraption to a digital clock on the floor next to it.

  “Whoa, what’s this?” Ashley asked. “Is that a bomb?”

  Her mother froze. “Ashley, get out of here. Take the stairs and get out of the building.”

  “It is a bomb!” Ashley just stood there, staring as if it were a joke.

  “Leave!” Debbie reached for the phone on the wall. “Ashley, get out!”

  Ashley knew she wasn’t kidding. “Mom, you have to come, too.”

  “I will,” her mother cried, punching numbers into the phone, “but I have to tell security so they can evacuate the building! Go! I’ll be right behind you!”

  The numbers on the digital clock changed, second by second. . . .

  “Answer the phone!” Debbie cried, her back to Ashley. “For heaven’s sake, pick it up!” She turned and saw Ashley still standing there. “Ashley, for once in your life will you do what I tell you?” she screamed.

  Ashley took off. She burst through the exit door and started down the stairs. Twenty-nine floors. What if the bomb went off before she could get out? What if her mother didn’t make it before it exploded?

  She thought of the Twin Towers and the Pentagon. And she began to take the stairs two at a time.

  Chapter Two

  Donald Merritt fit his reputation.

  Jill Clark Nichols had hoped that the rumors she’d heard about him weren’t true. After all, it took brains and integrity to build a business from the ground up and make it the fifth-largest communications company in the world. But whatever integrity he had begun with had long since been bartered away.

  His good-ol’-boy charm wore thin when coupled with his condescension. Ever since she’d arrived to take his deposition this morning, he had treated her as if she were some country-bumpkin attorney who’d cheated her way through the bar exam. Not a good attitude when she represented twenty-five former employees and shareholders who’d filed a civil suit for a long list of fraudulent bookkeeping schemes. Any day now, the Grand Jury was likely to indict him, and the Securities and Exchange Commission was expected to file civil fraud charges sometime this week.

  Jill didn’t intend to let her clients down.