“It looks bigger than the bullet from last night,” Sam said. A text beeped in, and he checked his phone. Clayton.
Do you know if Trey is coming?
He hasn’t arrived? I saw him less than an hour ago and he was on his way to the site.
He’s not here yet.
Sam turned to the sheriff. “Have you heard from Trey? He hasn’t arrived at the site yet.”
“Sorry, I meant to tell you he had to run by the nursing home to check on his dad.”
“How is Carter?” he asked as he texted his ranger the information.
“The Alzheimer’s is getting worse. Half the time he doesn’t even know Trey, and when he does, he’s abusive.”
“It’s a terrible disease,” Sam said. He’d seen it take brilliant people down.
Nate agreed with him and then said, “Fill me in, starting with when you left Mount Locust.”
Sam started with the visit to the walk-in clinic and ended with their drive from the restaurant. Nate rubbed the back of his neck. “Did you notice anyone following you?”
“No, and I checked. We didn’t have a tail. I figure whoever fired the rifle—and it definitely was a rifle—was waiting for her to come home.”
“Show me exactly where each of you were standing when it happened,” Nate said.
Sam retraced their steps in his mind. “I was here.” He pointed to the left of the door. “Emma was in front, ready to unlock it. If we both hadn’t tried to catch her key when she dropped it . . .” Each time he thought about how close Emma had come to being hit, his stomach churned.
Nate frowned. “So, you weren’t right behind her?”
Sam shook his head. “I was standing a little to her left.”
The door opened from the left and he’d stood almost in front of the doorframe. His breath caught in his chest as he stared at the bullet hole that was level with his eyesight. If he hadn’t bent over to catch the key . . . “The shooter was aiming at me?”
“That or he was a bad shot.”
“We keep saying he, but there’s nothing that keeps the shooter from being a woman,” Sam said. He scratched his chin. “But why me? I haven’t been back in Natchez long enough to make enemies.”
“Good question.”
Nate had to be wrong, at least about Sam being the target. “Maybe the shooter was just trying to scare her again,” he said.
“From what?” Before Sam could answer, both men’s attention shifted as a car turned into the drive and one of the Natchez officers stopped it. The officer questioned the driver and then allowed the man to proceed to the back of the house.
“If that’s one of Emma’s neighbors, I’d like to question him,” Sam said. A hallway ran the length of the house. “I bet he’ll come in the back way.”
“I’ll stay here in case he comes around front.”
Sam was waiting when a man who had the lean look of a runner came in the back door. His eyes widened when he saw Sam. “Who are you? And what’s going on? That policeman wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“Ranger Sam Ryker. And you are . . . ?”
“Gregory Hart.” He shifted the case he carried to his other hand. “I live here. Why are all these policemen here?”
Hart looked to be in his early forties and stood a couple of inches taller than Sam’s six-one. “There was a shooting tonight.”
The man blanched. “Here? In this neighborhood? You must be mistaken.” He looked past Sam as Nate joined them. “Sheriff? I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Greg.” Nate nodded. “No reason for me not to be here.” Then he turned to Sam. “He works at City Hall.”
“You don’t normally deal with city matters. Why this one?”
For a second, Sam thought Nate would ignore the man, then he said, “It’s connected to a county investigation. Have you seen any suspicious people hanging around the neighborhood?”
Greg frowned. “Does this have anything to do with the flowers Emma received this morning?”
“You know about those?” Nate asked.
“I was leaving for work when she discovered them in front of her door. Is Emma the one who was shot at?” He directed his question to Nate.
“Maybe. Did you see who left the flowers?”
“Like I told her, I didn’t see anyone. If our landlord had installed the surveillance system as we requested . . .” Greg’s eyes widened. “Wait. You do think the flowers are connected to the shooting.”
“Could be,” Nate said.
“Sheriff, that’s crazy. Emma’s an attractive woman, and she probably gets flowers from guys all the time.”
“Sounds like they could’ve been from you,” Sam said as he studied the case in Greg’s hand. It was definitely large enough for a disassembled rifle.
Red crept into his face. “They weren’t. If you two will excuse me, I haven’t eaten dinner yet.” He nodded to the case. “Symphony practice went longer than usual.”
“Greg plays trumpet in the symphony orchestra,” Nate said.
Sam nodded. “If you see anyone suspicious hanging around this area, give us a call.”
“I will. I’d hate to see anything happen to Emma. Good night, gentlemen.” Greg walked to the steps.
Sam waited until the man ascended the stairs and his door clicked shut. “What do you think?”
“He’s not the type to go around shooting at people—it takes a certain amount of passion to kill someone. The only thing Gregory Hart has ever been passionate about is himself and his music,” Nate said. “Besides, my wife plays violin in the symphony, and they’ve been practicing every evening for the past week for the Valentine’s Day concert, so he couldn’t have been at Mount Locust. And if you were the target, well, let’s just say I don’t think he would be shooting at you since he doesn’t even know you.”
“Ask your wife if he was at practice.” Sam wasn’t so quick to dismiss him as their suspect. “I’d have loved to have seen inside that case.”
“And he would have been highly insulted if you’d asked. It wouldn’t be worth the animosity—you might need something from City Hall one day.”
“You’re saying he’d hold a grudge?”
“Like an elephant,” Nate said with a chuckle. “Where’s Emma?”
“Upstairs with one of the city detectives. He’s taking her statement.”
“I have a few questions for her as well, but before I talk to her, I want to run something by you. We just received two license plate readers. Haven’t tried them out yet, but with Pete Nelson’s approval, I want to set up the cameras in front of Emma’s apartment.”
Sam was familiar with the ALPR devices that recorded the license plates of cars that passed by. “I didn’t realize Adams County had anything like that.”
“We just got them, thanks to a federal grant,” Nate said. “Hers will be our test case.”
“Maybe that will help us catch her stalker,” Sam said as he followed the sheriff up the stairs to Emma’s apartment.
She opened the door before Nate had a chance to respond. Relief showed in her eyes when she saw the sheriff.
“Come on in.”
“How’s your hand?” Nate asked.
“Hurting.”
“I’m sorry.” Nate turned to the Natchez police officer and held out his hand.
“You planning on taking over the case?” the detective asked as he shook hands with the sheriff.
“No, sir. I’m only trying to figure out how it connects to a case at Mount Locust. Are you in charge here?”
While Emma was focused on the two men as they talked, Sam checked her out. She’d regained her color, and trouper that she was, she showed no sign of the fear she must have felt when the bullet plowed into the doorframe. She turned, and he looked away, but not before she caught him watching her.
“I’m going to make an ice pack for my hand,” she said, color rising in her face.
Sam nodded and turned his attention back to the detective. He extended his hand. �
��Sam Ryker,” he said. “Friend of Emma’s and the Southern District law enforcement ranger on the Trace.”
The two men shook hands. “Jonathan Rogers, sergeant with Natchez PD. No reason we can’t work together on this, right?”
“None whatsoever,” Nate replied. “In fact, I want to discuss putting two ALPR cameras out front.”
“You have license plate readers? I’ve been trying to get the chief to purchase one for the past six months.”
“I’ll get them to your chief tomorrow.” The two men discussed the best place to locate the cameras, and when they finished, Rogers slipped his notepad in his jacket. “I’m done here and need to check on my men. Keep me informed.”
As the detective closed the door behind him, a text alerted on Sam’s phone, and he glanced at it. His sister, Jenny.
Where are you?
In town. Whatcha need?
Jace wants a milkshake.
I’m tied up right now. How is Jace?
He purposely didn’t mention Emma’s name since Jenny had been less than sympathetic when he told her about the attack last night. Talk about holding grudges. Jenny was still upset at the way Emma had dumped him.
Better. Call me when you can.
Sam texted her a thumbs-up. Jace needed a positive male role model, and helping out with his nephew had been one reason for accepting the district ranger position after Jenny’s deadbeat husband took off. He looked up from his phone when Nate nudged him. “I’m sorry. Text from my sister. What were you saying?”
“Just making sure you’re driving Emma back and forth to Mount Locust.”
“And anywhere else she needs to go,” Sam added. “She’s a ranger, and one of the shootings happened on NPS property. Emma will be my top priority until this person is caught.”
“Good. I asked Chief Nelson to station an officer at the apartment,” Nate said, “but he doesn’t have the manpower. He did agree to have his night-shift officers drive by more often.”
Pete Nelson had been the third law enforcement official Sam had sought out after his arrival, and from what he’d seen of the man, he seemed to be the sort who would do what he said. “I think Emma will be safe here in the apartment, and I’ll check out the area before I pick her up.”
“Sounds good,” Nate said. He turned to Emma as she approached with a bag of ice on her wrist. “See you tomorrow.”
“You okay?” Sam asked after the sheriff left.
Her eyes narrowed. “What I am is mad. Why would anyone target me?”
“You might not be the target,” he said. “But if you are, I’m beginning to believe your attacker is a terrible shot.”
“What?”
“This is the third time he’s shot at you and missed, if he was shooting at you.” Sam explained what he and Nate had discovered.
“You think you could have been the target?”
“It’s possible.”
She tipped her head to one side. “I don’t buy that. You’re too new to the area.”
“I can’t discount it altogether,” Sam said. “Any chance I can get that cup of coffee we talked about earlier?”
14
Emma laid the ice pack on the counter while she made a pot of coffee. “You still like it black?” she asked from the kitchen area. When he answered in the affirmative, she smiled. “Good. You really don’t want to ruin my coffee with any additives.”
“That good, huh?”
“I make just about the best coffee in town. Sit down and I’ll bring it to you.” At least her attempt to lighten the mood didn’t fall too flat. And she did make good coffee, buying Kona coffee beans and grinding them herself.
When the coffee finished brewing, she poured Sam’s cup and took it to him before returning for her own. He’d taken the leather recliner, leaving her either the gold paisley chair or the blue-and-white sofa. The extra-strength Tylenol she’d taken earlier had dulled the pain in her wrist, and she was starting to get the hang of using her left hand. The pill had done nothing to calm her nerves, though. Her insides twitched like a jumping bean.
“You okay?” he asked.
The gleam of concern in his eyes touched her. Maybe getting shot at again had broken the barrier between them. “As good as anyone could be after getting fired at two nights in a row.”
“You’re tough,” he said.
“I assume the two shootings are connected.”
“Maybe. Probably,” he corrected.
“Which is it?”
“It’s not impossible that there are two different shooters, but until we have more evidence, I really can’t hazard a guess.”
How did she get in this kind of mess? When she couldn’t think of anything else to ask him, Emma took a sip of her coffee. Even though she’d asked him up to discuss their past, now that the time was here, she wasn’t ready. Maybe if she poked food at him . . . “I have some chocolate chip cookies, if you’d like one.”
“No, your coffee is good enough without anything.” His brown eyes twinkled. “But when did you start liking chocolate chip cookies?”
He remembered a lot more about her than she would’ve ever dreamed. “I haven’t. I keep them for other people.”
They both fell silent, and Emma felt like the man in a downstairs apartment waiting for the other shoe to drop. Finally she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Look—”
“I think—”
There was a pause, then they both laughed at having spoken at the same time.
“You first,” she said.
“No, ladies first.”
She took a fortifying breath. “There seems to be a lot of tension between us, and I don’t know how to change it. Being around you is like walking on eggshells. One minute I’m convinced you’d like to be a hundred miles from me, and the next, I think maybe we can be friends.”
He stared into his coffee without answering. When he looked up, there was hesitancy in his eyes. “There’s something I’d like to know.”
“What?”
“I never understood why you broke off our relationship.”
That made two of them. It’d seemed her only choice at the time, but she wasn’t proud of that time in her life. “I was so angry at Ryan for deserting me, the family. He wasn’t here to blame, but you were.”
“But you had started pulling away even before Ryan left.”
“I don’t remember it that way,” she said. “You were the one pulling away.”
Sam stiffened. “What are you talking about? I had just asked you to marry me.”
No . . . He had been pulling away—just like her high school boyfriend who dumped her for someone else.
That had been the last time she’d been humiliated because of a relationship. At her first doubt, she ended it before the other person could. Emma raised her gaze, and the pain in Sam’s eyes almost undid her. What if she’d been wrong about him all these years?
“But you let me go without a fight,” she said, her voice low. “I thought it was what you wanted.”
He set his cup down and moved from the recliner to the sofa beside her and took her hand. “I thought you wanted out.”
She’d probably given that impression. “It wasn’t just that I thought you were pulling away. I was so hurt when Ryan deserted us, and I took it out on you.” She couldn’t think with him so close, his fingers covering her left hand. Emma swallowed hard and pulled from his grasp, immediately missing the strength his touch conveyed. Her wrist throbbed again, and she held her hand to her chest, above her heart.
“Hurting again?”
“A little.” Not nearly as much as her heart. “I’m sorry for the things I said when he went missing.”
Sam was quiet for a minute. “I really wish you could accept that whatever happened that night wasn’t my fault and it wasn’t your fault either.”
He hadn’t heard the words she’d hurled at Ryan. “I wish my head could believe you about my part.”
“I understand—I really do. Ryan was my best friend,
and in the beginning, I blamed myself after he disappeared.”
She bit her lip. “You had no choice, not with your sister stuck on the side of Highway 61 with a flat tire. Ryan was too old for a babysitter, and your sister needed help.”
His face flushed. “There’s—”
“You don’t owe me any explanation. I know you hated what happened.” Even now she could remember the sadness in his eyes when he learned Ryan hadn’t come home.
“I . . .” He bit his lip. “That doesn’t mean I don’t feel really bad about it.”
“I know you do. I just wish I knew where he is and why he’s never contacted us.” She ached all over and rubbed the back of her neck. “His disappearance split our family apart. It was too much for Mom and Dad’s marriage, and it caused a huge rift between Mom and me. She’ll barely discuss Ryan with me anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
Emma stretched the tight muscles in her neck. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get a migraine. She raised her head. “You know Ryan’s history. The marijuana. Drinking. It’s no wonder he and my parents didn’t get along. Dad was a little more lenient—Mom always said he enabled Ryan. They were always fighting about him.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “I remember those days. I was even part of the problem for a while.”
“But you quit.” She frowned. “Did you ever even use marijuana?”
“No. And I stopped drinking when our coach gave us an ultimatum—alcohol or football. I chose football—”
“And my brother chose drinking.” She blew out a breath. “Maybe if I hadn’t been the favorite, it would have made a difference in him.”
“I don’t think your parents consciously made you their favorite.”
“He thought they did, especially Mom. Said she always believed me over him. According to Ryan, I was Little Miss Perfect in her eyes.”
“Well, you were the ‘good’ kid. You didn’t give them any trouble.”
“I didn’t want any of Mom’s tough love.” A dull throbbing started on the side of her head, and Emma pulled the ponytail holder off, letting her hair fall free. “Mom thought I was as bad as Dad about enabling him, covering for him when he messed up.”
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