by Barb Han
Nothing really stood out in her sister’s personal effects but she wanted to take them home with her anyway. This was all she had left of Autumn.
She glanced up in time to see Marcy studying her.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, I like the natural look on you much better than what you did before.”
“I’ll take all the compliments I can get.” Summer realized if there was anything important, Matt would have picked it up when he came and got Autumn’s stuff. He must’ve been worried something might link her back to him.
“Don’t take it the wrong way. You were always beautiful, but you never really talked much.”
“I was going through a lot while deciding if we were going to give our marriage another shot.” Summer felt defensive of her sister, which was silly. Marcy didn’t mean anything by it and she didn’t come across as the most sensitive person.
“There are earrings in the makeup holder that I had my eye on to buy,” she admitted and then seemed to catch herself. “Before I realized you were coming back for your stuff, of course. Most people never do. Once they skip out on rent, we don’t see them again. Their stuff ends up in here and we eventually sell it. My boss takes forever to get rid of this stuff.”
All Summer could figure was that was Marcy’s way of offering an apology.
“Which earrings did you like?” Summer knelt down beside the makeup container and then opened it, kicking up a small storm of dust.
Summer coughed.
“Sorry about the dust. No one has run a broom through here in forever.” Marcy waved her hand in front of her wrinkled nose.
The makeup container had pockets like a tackle box. Summer unfolded it and in the bottom were several pairs of earrings.
“Those are beautiful.” Marcy pointed to an art deco throwback. The pair she was talking about were like chandeliers. They had more sparkle than a craft store’s glitter aisle.
Summer picked them up, figuring she could buy a little more good will. “They’re yours if you want them.”
“Are you serious right now?” Marcy was ecstatic. If a pair of cheap free earrings could do that for her, so be it.
“Definitely.” Summer picked them up and held them out.
“I’m not sure I should. I mean, I want to...but... I don’t know what the company policy is.”
“How about this? They belong to me. I don’t want them anymore since I wore them on a date with my ex-boyfriend. I don’t think my husband would appreciate me bringing them into our home and I don’t want the reminder of a horrible relationship. So, you’d be doing me a favor if you took them off my hands.” Summer could tell she was winning Marcy over with her logic.
“Well, if I was doing you a favor...”
“You would be.” Summer meant it, too. They were not her style one bit and she’d rather they bring someone else joy than end up at a garage sale. She wouldn’t even begin to know what to charge for them.
Marcy took the offering and splayed them out on her flat palm. “They’re so gorgeous.”
“They’ll look better on you than they would on me.” Summer caught her slipup, but Marcy was too busy admiring her new earrings to notice.
The door opened and Summer’s heart dropped. She stood up a little too fast and scared Marcy.
“Is that you, Dawson?” she asked as she heard boots shuffling across the dusty floor.
“It’s me. Pickup is outside. We can gather up your things and head home.” He must’ve noticed the panic in her voice because he was a study in calm when he got to them.
She flashed her eyes at him and he walked straight over to her and kissed her. It was another couple move and probably for show but being with him and especially when he made contact in any way made her feel like she’d found home.
* * *
“TRUCK IS BACKED UP as close as I could get it.” Dawson realized his mistake in leaving Summer alone the minute he looked into her eyes. He wouldn’t do that to her again. He’d jogged back to the front parking lot and gotten back as fast as he could.
A bad feeling caused the hair on the back of his neck to prick. He’d scoped the area without seeing any cause for alarm and yet that uneasy feeling wouldn’t let up.
He was keenly aware that he had Summer at a known hangout of her sister’s. The killer was powerful and had connections. He might have eyes everywhere and especially his old haunts.
Dawson was ready to get Summer out of there.
With three of them, loading the truck only took three trips. Marcy had warmed up to Summer, who she believed was Autumn. He noticed Marcy had a pair of earrings tucked into her shirt pocket. They seemed like prize possessions considering she patted her pocket after every load to make sure they didn’t fall out somewhere along the way.
When they’d tucked in the last load, he thanked her for her help.
“No problem.” She patted her pocket again and looked straight at Summer. “Thank you for these.”
Summer smiled one of those genuine, ice-melting smiles that was unique to her at the exact time the crack of a bullet split the air.
Chapter Nineteen
Before Summer had a chance to process what she’d heard, Dawson’s arm wrapped around her and he was taking her and Marcy down. He covered them with his heft and the next thing she knew she was on all fours being ushered around the side of the truck.
The sight of blood normally made her sick to her stomach. This time, it sent panic rocketing through her. In the crush of the three of them, she couldn’t tell which one of them was bleeding.
Everything started happening fast after that.
“Stay down.” Dawson had drawn his weapon and was on his feet in a heartbeat. He made eye contact with Summer. “You got this.”
And then he seemed to see the blood, too. He clenched his back teeth and took in a sharp breath.
A bullet whizzed by over his head. In another second, he’d held up his index finger to indicate he’d be right back and then moved toward the driver’s side of the truck.
Head low, weapon leading the way, he glanced over the hood of the truck, fixated on someone and then fired.
Despite originally being from Texas, Summer didn’t know much about guns. She couldn’t tell what kind Dawson had except that it fired real bullets, one at a time. She scanned her own body looking for signs of a bullet wound but when she looked at Marcy, her stomach sank.
Marcy had that shocked expression that Summer had only seen in movies—a look that said she realized she’d been shot but the news hadn’t quite been absorbed yet. Eyes wide, mouth open, she grabbed at her side.
There was a lot of blood. Too much.
Summer jumped into action, sitting on her back haunches and lifting Marcy’s blouse on her left hip to assess the damage. The minute she saw the wound area, she knew she needed to stem the bleeding.
She dropped her shoulder, letting her purse fall onto the pavement.
“I need you to do something for me, Marcy,” Summer whispered. When that didn’t work, she brought her hand up to Marcy’s chin and forced her gaze to meet her own. “Find my phone in my purse. I have to put pressure on your wound to stem the bleeding.”
Dammit. She wasn’t getting through to Marcy.
Oh, well, she didn’t have time to waste. She glanced around looking for something she could use. The answer came to her. The scarf. She quickly untied it and then wadded it up into a ball.
“This might hurt but I need you to stay with me, Marcy.” Summer had no idea if the woman understood a word, but she had to try to explain. This must be what shock looked like.
The minute Summer put pressure on the wound, Marcy let out a scream and tried to slap away her hand.
“I’m so sorry.” Summer had to fight to keep the scarf in place. She took a hard slap to the face. Ringing noises sounded in her ears, but she spun a
round to her side instead of giving up. She realized Marcy wasn’t rational.
With one hand keeping pressure on the wound and the other trying to keep Marcy from digging her fingernails into Summer’s shoulder, it was all she could do to contain the situation. And then, out of nowhere, Marcy seemed to snap.
“It’s okay,” she said.
“Yes. You’re going to be okay,” Summer confirmed firmly. Marcy needed to hear that Summer believed those words one hundred percent. No question about it. No hesitation.
“Sorry,” Marcy said.
There was no time to worry about being polite. Summer didn’t fault Marcy one bit for her panic.
“Can you grab my phone out of my purse and call 9-1-1?” Someone in the apartment complex might have already done it by now but Summer had no plans to chance it. She needed to get back up on the way for Dawson.
“Yes. Where?” Marcy glanced around and her eyes landed on the purse. “Oh. Here.”
“Just reach in and feel around for it,” Summer instructed.
“Got it.” Marcy came up with the phone. Her skin was pale but her eyes were bright. She held out the phone. Summer put her thumb on the pad to get through the security feature because it was easier than explaining the step wasn’t necessary for emergency calls. The screen came to life and Marcy called for help.
With Marcy’s cooperation, Summer could risk a glance toward Dawson. Most of his head and body would be covered by the truck and yet she still panicked that exposed sliver of him could be hit. Realistically, the shooter would have to be an excellent marksman.
He’d missed his mark, Summer. Despite the fact he’d shot Marcy, he clearly wasn’t accurate. Summer would have been his target.
Dawson identified himself as a law enforcement officer as Marcy relayed what was happing to the dispatcher on the call.
“Tell them you need an ambulance,” Summer urged.
Marcy complied. Now that she’d snapped out of the temporary shock, she seemed to be rational again. Good. They would need all the help they could get.
“She wants to know how bad it is,” Marcy said to Summer, glancing down at her wound.
“You’re going to be okay. I’ve stopped the bleeding for now but we’re in a situation that could blow up any second. Tell them we don’t have any more time.”
She did.
“Do they have an ETA?” Summer asked.
Marcy nodded. “An officer is en route. He’s five minutes out.”
“And the ambulance?” she asked.
“Oh, right.” Marcy asked the dispatcher. “Right behind him. They might get here first.”
“Okay. We need to get you to a safer spot.” Summer glanced around. The storage shed?
No. That wouldn’t work. They could be shot while on the move. There was enough furniture inside to hide, though, and it would provide much-needed mass between them and bullets.
Whatever gun this shooter was using seemed to fire one at a time. That was a saving grace that could turn at any second if he had accomplices on the way.
And the storage shed could also trap her and Marcy. What about inside the truck?
It seemed dangerous but offered a getaway.
“Put your hands where I can see them,” Dawson commanded.
The response came in the form of a shot being fired.
And then she heard the glorious sound of sirens wailing in the distance. Backup would be there in a matter of minutes.
The sounds of tires squealing from across the parking lot sent an icy chill racing down her spine. The shooter was going to get away.
Dawson hopped into action. He was by her side in a second and pressing a small handgun into the flat of her palm.
“This is the safety and how you take it off. Use the gun if you have to. Go inside the storage shed and find a hiding spot until help arrives.” His voice was a study in calm, but his words sent another chill down her back.
Dawson was going after the shooter.
He pressed a kiss to her lips and then he was gone. He climbed into the driver’s seat as she helped Marcy to standing.
Summer glanced around as the truck pulled away. Relief washed over her when no one was standing on the opposite side of the parking lot like she’d half feared. The respite was a temporary feeling at best. And it was shattered when she heard another shot ring out.
Marcy flinched.
“We need to tell dispatch where we’re going,” she said to Marcy, who had a death grip on the cell phone. Within a few seconds, Marcy and Summer were back inside the shed. Marcy mumbled into the phone and, best as Summer could tell, she provided a good update.
At least Marcy knew her way around the storage. Summer flipped off the light and they felt their way around, kicking up enough dust for both of them to cough.
Summer’s nose and throat burned but she figured they had more pressing problems at the moment.
* * *
DAWSON GUNNED THE ENGINE. He had dispatch on the line. He’d given them a quick rundown of the situation. A uniformed officer was being sent to Summer and Marcy’s location along with an ambulance.
He was currently giving chase to a late model SUV, all black with blacked-out windows. The SUV was heading toward the highway where it could get lost in all the traffic. There were temporary plates on the vehicle that, up close, looked like homemade jobs.
The SUV was already onto a road that led to the highway. Dawson cursed under his breath because it had sped up and navigated through enough traffic that he was having difficulty keeping pace. The engine must have been modified.
“I’m losing him,” he said to dispatch. And then he saw something he didn’t expect. The SUV made a U-turn over the median despite traffic and honking horns. Most people had the sense to get out of the way, but the vehicle was heading right toward him. “Scratch that. He did an about-face.”
Dawson ducked low as the driver fired at him. The bullet pinged the top of his truck missing the windshield but nailing the metal roof.
“Are those shots fired?” dispatch asked.
“Yes, they are.” He filled her in on the SUV’s new direction. “Heading southbound.”
“Copy that.”
The sound of a chopper roaring toward them clued Dawson in on the change in direction. The SUV weaved in and out of traffic before popping a curb and nearly wiping out a sidewalk full of people.
Folks scattered as the SUV came to an abrupt stop. From this angle, Dawson had to make a U-turn to see the driver’s side but he’d bet money on the fact the guy just took off.
“I’m going on foot.” He glanced up and then provided the street name before parking. He jumped out of his vehicle, caught sight of a guy full-on running, and gave chase.
Runner was fast. The man was in good shape. He also had a weapon and wasn’t afraid to turn and shoot, which he did.
The bullet took a small chunk of brick out of one of the buildings they were cutting in between. It was a wild shot, far off the mark.
Weapon drawn, Dawson wouldn’t risk injuring an innocent person. But he sure as hell wasn’t letting Runner get away when he was this close.
This was the first mistake and real break in the case.
Staying back far enough for Runner not to be able to get off a good shot was key. Dawson could keep running for a long time without a break. He hoped Runner’s stamina was weak.
Runner spun around and fired. Dawson flattened his back against the wall. He’d gotten a little too close for comfort that time, the bullet pinging a couple feet away. He muttered a curse and froze when he realized Runner had stopped.
This time, the man slowed down enough to take aim when he fired. Except nothing happened. Nothing but a click noise came out of the gun.
Dawson made his move. He charged toward Runner and dove at him, tackling him at the knees as he tried to
turn and run. Pavement bit hard. Pain shot up Dawson’s elbow where he took the brunt of the fall. That was going to leave a mark, he thought wryly.
The weapon in Runner’s hand went flying. It was no good to him anyway unless he wanted to use the butt of it as a hammer against Dawson’s skull. The thought probably occurred to Runner as his gaze seemed to search for something to use.
And because everything that could go wrong usually did, Dawson’s weapon flew out of his hand, too.
His target spun like an alligator with prey in his mouth. Runner might be middle-aged, but he was in great shape. Dawson could almost hear the crack as his head slammed into the concrete alley. A raging headache would spoil the rest of his day. He tried to shake off the ringing noise in his ears as Runner’s hands wrapped around Dawson’s neck.
Oh. Hell. No.
Curling up in a ball, despite Runner’s best efforts to stop him, Dawson launched the heel of his boot at Runner’s chest like it was on a spring. Impact knocked Runner back.
Hard contact loosened the man’s grip on Dawson’s throat. He sucked in a burst of air just in time to stave off the dizziness threatening. He coughed the minute air hit his lungs. His throat burned. But he couldn’t focus on that right now. Runner was scrambling to his feet and reaching for Dawson’s Glock.
Chapter Twenty
Summer kept pressure on the wound as she and Marcy crouched down behind a dresser. Marcy had led them to the middle of the room and to a spot where there was heavy furniture.
The door opened when they’d barely had time to squat down. Since she didn’t hear sirens right outside, she feared someone had been left behind to deal with her and Marcy.
Fear tried to clasp its icy talons around her chest and squeeze her lungs. She forced herself to breathe and prayed Marcy would stay quiet.