Another shot. It was fired from a gun rigged with a silencer.
It came too damn close.
And that close shot riled Sloan to the core. How the hell had he let this happen again? He should have done something, anything, to keep Carley safe. Instead here she was, right back in harm's way.
Keeping low, Sloan maneuvered them toward a thick cluster of trees that was on the opposite end from where those shots originated. If the killer could use the thick woods for cover and concealment, so could they.
"Who's doing this?" Carley whispered.
"I don't know." But he intended to find out.
Once he had Carley safe, that is.
He couldn't put her at further risk.
Sloan positioned her to the side of a sprawling oak and he followed right behind her, using his body to shield her as best he could.
"I can't return fire like this," she reminded him. It was also likely a reminder that she didn't need kid-glove protection.
Tough. She was getting it anyway. Sloan knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to her.
"If it becomes necessary for you to return fire," he whispered, "then I'll move." But he figured that wouldn't happen anytime soon.
Carley huffed, but she stayed put. Mainly because he didn't give her a choice. Sloan pinned her in place so that he could protect her.
"Do you see anyone?" she snarled.
Sloan didn't answer right away. He took a moment to comb the woods around them. And he listened. Because it would be almost impossible for a killer to walk through the woodsy debris without them hearing him or her.
At least Sloan hoped that was true.
"I don't see anything," he said putting his mouth directly against Carley's ear.
He must have tempted fate, because he'd no sooner finished saying that when there was another shot. Then another. Both bullets slammed into the oak, tearing through the bark.
Sloan didn't move. Didn't make a sound. Though he was concerned that both Carley and he were breathing loudly enough to be heard. It couldn't be helped, though. The escape from the explosion had left them both out of breath and ragged from the spent adrenaline. Of course, he hadn't counted on a double attack tonight.
If that's what this was.
Maybe the explosion and these silenced shots weren't the work of the same person. Of course, it was entirely possible they were. And that meant someone was deadly serious about trying to murder them.
Overkill, indeed.
There was another shot. Then a fourth. This one didn't go into the tree. Instead it went just to the right of them. That meant the gunman was on the move.
And Sloan hadn't heard the movement.
It also meant Carley and he could be ambushed.
That brought on another surge of anger. He was tired of this sick game. Tired of being on the receiving end of those bullets.
"Don't move," he warned Carley.
Sloan did a split-second calculation of point of origin of that last shot and leaned out of cover. Just a fraction. Just enough for him to get off a clear shot. He took aim and fired.
And fired again.
Unlike the silenced shots, his blasted through the otherwise quiet woods. Those blasts were quickly joined by another sound.
Sirens.
Someone had apparently alerted the Justice fire department. Thank God. At a minimum, they could stop the blaze from spreading to other buildings. As an added bonus, the sirens might scare the shooter away.
"Listen," Carley said. "Do you hear it?"
Because Sloan didn't think she was referring to the sirens, and because her body tensed completely, he tried to sift through the sounds. The crackle of the fire. The building collapsing bit by bit. And, yes, the sirens. He could hear no voices, but he thought he might have heard some kind of movement.
Hurried footsteps, maybe.
"The person's coming closer," Carley concluded.
She wriggled herself away from the tree and took aim. Sloan silently cursed her choice of action, but he had to go along with it. It might be the only way to save themselves from being killed.
He just hoped he didn't regret it.
Sloan put his back to hers and angled his body slightly so that he could cover the north and west portion of the woods. Carley took the south.
They stood there. Breaths held. Hearts racing. Waiting. For a sound or some other indication of where and when to fire their own shots.
The sirens screamed closer, and the intensity of the sound seemed to set the rhythm of his heartbeat. He wasn't scared. Not for himself, anyway. But he was worried about Carley. She'd been through so much and she apparently had even more to go through. Despite the impending arrival of the fire department, Carley and he literally weren't out of the woods yet.
Seconds passed. Slowly. The fire truck stopped on the street in front of what was left of the police station. Sloan glanced at it. But it wasn't a good time for such a glance.
The bullets returned.
Three shots. Rapid succession.
Three shots.
All slammed through the woods and came right at them. Specifically all came right at Carley.
Carley returned fire.
Sloan turned to do the same, but the sudden overwhelming sensation had him changing his mind.
Something was wrong.
Sloan slung his arm around Carley's waist and hurriedly dragged her to the ground.
The next bullet slammed into the thin air where Carley had just stood. Another second, another fraction of an inch, and she would have been killed.
Carley obviously grasped that concept.
Her breath shattered, but she didn't just lie there and accept it. She came up, preparing to fire. And likely would have.
If Sloan hadn't stopped her.
He totally understood her need to get this person who was responsible. But it was paltry compared to his need to keep her alive and safe.
"No!" Carley shouted, trying to fight him off.
Sloan didn't let go because he knew with this rage storming inside her that she would no doubt go in pursuit. While it was something he wanted to do, he couldn't let that negate common sense.
So Sloan held on to Carley while she struggled to get free. Behind them, he heard the shouts of the firemen who were already battling the blaze.
He also heard something that robbed him of a few years.
Sloan heard the voices of some people from the town. Frantic shouts. Bystanders who'd come out to see what'd happened.
Bystanders who could be shot and killed by stray bullets.
He prayed that the gunman was finished for the night. Not just for the bystanders but for Carley, who was still struggling to get up.
Despite the noise and activity, Sloan forced himself to concentrate on only one thing.
The shooter.
Was the person still out there, ready to fire?
If so, he didn't hear footsteps. Nor did he see anyone moving around in the woods.
"You should have let me go," Carley mumbled. Just like that, she gave up her struggle. Probably because she also realized the gunman was gone.
"No, I shouldn't have."
"Don't you understand?" Her voice was nothing but pure, raw emotion. As was the stark expression on her face when she rolled over to face him. "We could have ended it here, now!"
Sloan pointed to the bullet embedded in the tree. "And you could have been killed. Do you have any idea how close that last shot came to your head?"
Now it was his turn to express some emotion. His voice was strained and burning. Just the way he felt.
She stared at him, blinking hard.
"I had no intention of losing you tonight," he said, just in case she needed any more clarification. "I won't trade your life for an arrest, got that?"
And he didn't leave room for argument.
Carley blinked again. "I understand. I feel the same way about you." She immediately looked away, dodging his gaze, lookin
g everywhere but at him. "You saved my life tonight. Thank you."
"You're welcome. And don't worry, I won't tell anyone." When he snared her gaze, he winked at her.
"Don't joke. Not now." With her gun still clutched in her hand, she slipped her arm around his neck. Her face touched his, and that's when Sloan felt her tears.
Because she was trembling and because he wanted to hold her, Sloan pulled her to him. It didn't last long. Mere seconds. They pulled away from each other and took aim again, when they heard the voice.
"Sloan?" someone called out.
He turned and spotted Deputy Luis Spinoza making his way toward them. "You two all right?" the deputy asked.
"We've been better," Carley answered. Sloan got to his feet, caught onto her arm and helped her to hers.
The deputy nodded and then glanced over his shoulder. Not a furtive, uneasy glance, but it still conveyed that he wasn't comfortable. "Your mother's here."
It took Sloan a moment to realize the deputy was talking to him and not Carley. "Stella's here?"
"Yeah."
"Why?" Carley and Sloan asked in unison.
The deputy shrugged. "We found her sitting by the side of the sheriff's office. She's pretty shaken, Sloan, and she says she's not leaving until she talks to you."
Chapter Eighteen
Sloan stood at the front entrance of the inn and tried to decide what to do. Not about his mother. He knew what he had to do about her—he had to go see what she wanted.
It was Carley that was the issue.
She stood behind him, occasionally making huffing sounds, and she was more than a little upset that he wanted to leave her behind while he visited Stella.
"What she has to say could be related to the case," Carley reminded him.
He glanced over his shoulder at her to let her know he wasn't buying that argument. "This is my mother. She probably wants to browbeat me just in case I have any notion of trying to question my father."
"If that's all she wanted, then why didn't she wait until at least the fire was put out?"
It was the billon-dollar question, but then, logic wasn't always at play when it came to his mother.
"I'd feel better if you stayed put," he told Carley.
"I'd feel better if you stayed put," she countered. "There's no reason to do this face-to-face. You can talk to Stella on the phone."
True, but something told Sloan this was best done in person. Despite his assurances to Carley that this would probably be a browbeating meeting, Sloan really didn't believe that.
Something was wrong.
But what?
Was it linked the murders? To the explosion? To his father? Or was this truly Stella being Stella?
There was only way to find out. Sloan had to see her. Carley apparently felt the same way. If he left her behind, he'd worry about her every minute. Because maybe the killer was watching. Waiting. For Sloan to leave Carley alone so he or she could go after her again.
A truly sickening thought.
At least if Carley was with him, he could protect her. Well, maybe. He hadn't exactly done a stellar job with that so far. Worse, he'd complicated the hell out of things by making love to her.
And it was a complication.
The kind that could cause a man to lose focus. In this case, that could be fatal for both of them.
Still, there was no way he could go back and undo things. The only thing he could do was proceed forward and solve this case. Putting a killer behind bars was the only way he could keep Carley safe.
"All right," Sloan grumbled, turning toward her. "You can come. But, so help me, Carley, you better not take any unnecessary chances."
That pert chin came up. "And neither will you."
Semisatisfied that they'd both gotten their points across, Sloan motioned for Luis Spinoza, the deputy, to go with them, and Carley stepped out when they did. In fact, she fell in step right alongside him, with the deputy following behind. All three of them drew their weapons.
"I'd really prefer that you not be out here in the open," Sloan said to her.
It didn't do any good.
"Well, I don't want you out here, either." Carley glanced around them.
He cursed under his breath. This wasn't good. Each wanted the other to stay tucked away. Where it was safe. But in their line of work, safety wasn't always an option.
His brain knew that. So did hers.
But their hearts weren't in tune with the logic.
"See what sex does?" he mumbled. "It makes us crazy."
She made a sound of agreement. "You regret it?"
"No." Sloan said it so quickly and with so much emotion that he decided to take a moment to level his voice. "But I regret what it's done to us."
He glanced at her to see how she was taking that. She obviously wasn't taking it well. Probably because Carley didn't know what to make of a comment like that.
Sloan didn't know what to make of it, either.
Nor would he figure it out. Not now, anyway. There wasn't time. He spotted the remains of the police station just ahead. And amid all that still-smoking rubble he spotted his mother. Stella was sitting on the ash-layered curb just a few yards away from what was left of the front door.
Stella looked up when he approached her, and Sloan had no trouble seeing her reddened eyes. That wasn't his only indication that something was wrong. His mother's hair was disheveled and her hands were trembling.
"Mom, what are you doing here?" he asked when he reached her.
She looked away, staring at the empty street, and for a moment Sloan didn't think she would answer.
"Mrs. McKinney?" Carley greeted.
Stella didn't look at her either. Instead his mother shook her head and plowed her hands into the sides of her hair. "I can't live with this anymore."
All right. That didn't do much to steady Sloan's nerves. "What do you mean?"
"This." Stella slid one of her hands over her heart. "I can't live with what I know."
Since this sounded like something both of them might have trouble hearing, Sloan eased down on the curb beside her. "Is this about the explosion?"
"It's about everything." Stella moistened her lips. "I didn't tell the truth about what happened all those years ago. The night Lou Ann was murdered."
Obviously intrigued, Carley came closer.
"You can tell the truth now," Sloan assured his mother.
Stella nodded. "But you aren't going to like it." And with that, she turned her tear-filled eyes toward him.
"I'm listening," Sloan promised. And he was praying, too. Praying that he could accept whatever his mother was about to say.
"That night, I went after Jim to try to stop him from seeing Lou Ann," Stella said as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. "Lou Ann was a very bad woman. She didn't care about our family. She didn't care what she was doing to me."
Sloan cleared his throat when his mother didn't continue. "Did you do something about that, Mom?"
Stella nodded. "I called her. Told her to stop."
"That's all you did—you called Lou Ann?"
"Yes."
Sloan hadn't realized that he'd been holding his breath until his lungs started to ache. "Calling her wasn't a crime, Mom. Many women in your position would have done the same thing."
Or worse.
Much worse.
"Your father came home that night," Stella continued.
That did away with any relief he'd gotten from her previous comments. "Of course he came home," Sloan added.
"Your father and I talked," Stella said as if she hadn't even heard Sloan. "He was drunk and he reeked of that woman and her thick, cheap perfume. We argued. I even slapped him. And that's when he told me."
Carley touched his arm. Rubbed gently. Trying to soothe him. It didn't help. Sloan felt as if his world was about to come tumbling down.
"What did your husband tell you, Mrs. McKinney?" Carley asked.
Stella looked past him and her gaze connected wi
th Carley. "I asked him if he'd broken off things with Lou Ann, and he said yes, that he may have broken them off permanently."
"He was drunk," Sloan interjected.
His mother kept her attention focused on Carley. "Jim said he thought he'd killed her."
That hit Sloan like a heavyweight's punch. He couldn't catch his breath. He got to his feet somehow, but once he'd stood, he had no idea what to do.
"Mrs. McKinney, could you come back to the inn with me so I can take your statement?" Carley asked.
Stella didn't answer.
"Mrs. McKinney?" Carley pressed. "Are you all right?"
His mother didn't say a word. Stella hugged her knees to her chest and began to rock. She no longer was focused on Carley. She didn't appear to be focused on anything.
"I'm so sorry," Carley whispered to him.
She reached for him, but Sloan stepped away. Though she meant well, he couldn't handle that kind of compassion right now. One thing was for sure—he had to get out of there. He had to think.
He had to breathe.
Hell.
He had to have answers.
Was his father a killer after all?
* * *
CARLEY ADJUSTED HER position on the bed in the "safe house." Or, rather, the upscale Dallas condo that qualified as a Rangers safe house. And she tossed and turned again.
And again.
It was futile. Sleep was out of the question. Yet, when Sloan had gotten her settled into the condo in the wee hours of the morning, she'd promised him that she would at least rest and let the medics check her for injuries. She'd done the latter, only after he'd assured her that he would do the same, but sleep and rest were things she couldn't control.
At the time she'd made the promise to rest, Carley knew it was one she couldn't keep, but she'd wanted to do everything within her power to relieve some of Sloan's stress. After all, he'd just received a bombshell. He'd heard his mother admit that Jim McKinney had possibly murdered his former lover, Lou Ann, and then Sloan had had to watch an ambulance take his mother for a psychiatric evaluation at the hospital.
That was way too much for one person to deal with. Hence her assurance that she'd do whatever Sloan had asked—which was get some rest and stay put, even if that meant she could no longer be actively involved in the investigation. She'd made that promise as Sloan had given her a mechanical kiss on the cheek and reminded her that there was a diligent, highly qualified Ranger in the living room who'd keep watch.
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