Best Defense by Randy Rawls Page A

at the first 7-Eleven that crossed my path. Coffee was the magic elixir needed to sharpen my mind. I was already awake—wide awake—with anticipation of what the rest of the night would bring.
    My driving went on autopilot as my mind wrestled with the situ ation. What kind of lowlifes could murder a mother and kidnap a five-year-old? Not to mention the needless death of the maid. What did she do to incite such violence? Wrong place at the wrong time? Leave no witnesses? Disgusting.
    There was little doubt I was rushing toward a person or, at the minimum, a note telling Hammonds what it would cost to see his daughter again. How could they put a price on the love of a parent? I wanted them, wanted them bad. Where I wanted them was in the sights of my Walther. The judicial system was too good for them.
    Of course, I wasn’t naïve enough to think they were unique. I remembered some of the reprobates I pursued in Dallas while a cop. No section of the country has a monopoly on scum. But this particular pond in South Florida would be sanitized.
    I took University Drive to Wiles, then turned west. Approaching Royal Springs Drive, I scanned the area. On my left was a rectangular, one-story school surrounded by small trees and bushes. The parking lot had no cars. Same with the business beside it that occupied the corner lot. The shadows were dark and deep in the full moon, but there was no obvious lurker.
    I turned to the right and pulled into the parking area alongside the soccer field. One lonely streetlight illuminated the darkness, while all others were dark. Saving energy, maybe. I appreciated the city’s thrift, but wouldn’t have complained if the place looked like high noon.
    It was a full-sized playing surface, at least a hundred yards long. The width was sixty to seventy yards, and I had to cross half of it. I parked so my headlights shone across the center circle, but if there was anything there, I couldn’t see it. Leaving the engine running, I slid out, careful to make sure the door did not close. I wanted it open in case I needed to make a hasty getaway. Also, the open door and the inside light might deter any bad people. Yeah, right. Folks who would strangle a maid and put two slugs into Ms. Hammonds’ back deterred by a small light? Happens every day—not.
    I took the Walther from my purse, then slung the bag over my body, crosswise. I didn’t want anyone to be able to grab it and run. Bumping my chest with my wrist, I reassured myself the derringer was in place. Okay, I thought. Enough with the stalling. Let’s get it over with.
    After scanning the area one more time, especially the school and the business across the street, I filled my lungs, then moved into the tough first step, holding the pistol along the seam of my jeans. I set a fast pace, staying on the edge of the beams of the headlights. I wanted to see, not cast a shadow. I couldn’t hide, but there was no point in illuminating myself. They already held all the cards except the joker. That was my role.
    Approaching the center circle, I saw an envelope laying on the kickoff spot. It appeared to be plain manila, five by seven. My first thought was letter bomb, showing how paranoid I was—and how scared. I fumbled in my purse, found a pair of latex gloves, and slipped them on over my sweaty palms—with difficulty. If there was evidence, I didn’t want to ruin it.
    With the padded envelope firmly between my fingers, I stepped into the darkness and did a slow pirouette, scanning the area. Nothing. I didn’t see a thing that looked human, just the quietness of the middle of the night in a city park.
    My eyes kept jumping to the envelope until I finished my scrutiny of my surroundings in a herky-jerky fashion. Then I examined it in the glare of my headlights. No identifying data. No writing of any kind. A metal clasp secured it.
    I hotfooted it toward my car, my head spinning in one direction, then