by LENA DIAZ,
“What do you really want, Marcia?” Max asked. “You can cut the crap about caring about Bex. No one in this room believes that.”
She gave him a resentful look. “I was just wondering when Bex plans on leaving.” She waved toward the suitcase. “I’m assuming soon?”
“And why do you want to know?” Max demanded.
Her face reddening slightly, Marcia said, “Mama sent me over with a casserole and her condolences on your mother’s death, Bex.” She cleared her throat. “Not that you really cared, did you? You never bothered to visit her.”
Max stepped even closer. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Bex saw her mother a lot, just not in Destiny. And they spoke on the phone every Sunday evening, without fail. Now, unless you have something nice to say to a woman who’s grieving the loss of her mother, you need to leave.”
Bex almost felt sorry for Marcia. Her face went pale and she seemed taken aback. “I wasn’t trying to be mean.” She aimed a pleading look at Bex. “I’m sorry about your mom. I really am. It’s just that when I see you, it makes me think of Bobby. And I just—”
“Out. Now.” Max used his much larger body to force her into the hallway.
Bex was about to tell him to go easy on Marcia when the other woman turned and ran from the house. Max followed her, and soon the sound of the front door slamming echoed through the little house.
If she hadn’t been anxious to leave before, Bex was anxious now. She’d meant it when she’d told her lawyer that there wasn’t any reason left for her to stay. Marcia was only one of many who blamed Bex for Bobby’s death. And Max wasn’t exactly warming up to her. Not that she could blame him.
Bex stuffed a few more things into her suitcase and zipped it closed.
“She’s gone,” Max said from the doorway. “You’re really leaving, right this minute?”
“I think it’s for the best. I’ll stop at my lawyer’s office in town, then I’m off to Pigeon Forge for a couple of weeks to clear my head before going home.”
He was reaching for her suitcase but stopped with his hand on the handle. “Pigeon Forge?”
It dawned on her what he was thinking about, and she belatedly wished she’d thought more carefully before answering him. She nodded and refolded an afghan at the foot of the bed that didn’t need folding. Pigeon Forge, nestled in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, had been their place, where she and Max had gone on many trips their junior and senior year. Always with friends, to satisfy her mom that they were well chaperoned. But she and Max had found plenty of time to sneak away to be together. It had been the happiest time of her life. And it had become her habit since leaving Destiny to go to Pigeon Forge every time her life seemed like it was falling apart. The moment she’d found out about her mother, she’d reserved her usual cabin in the Smokies for once she was finished with her duties in Destiny. Now she wasn’t sure it was a good idea anymore. Rather than healing her soul, it just might crush her.
Without a word, Max picked up her suitcase and carried it out of the room.
Bex sighed and followed him, grabbing her purse and car keys along the way.
Once he’d placed the suitcase in her trunk, he straightened and leaned against her car. “I may need to contact you with more questions as the investigation goes on.”
“Mr. Leonard has my contact information. He’ll be able to get in touch with me.”
“It’s probably better that you’re leaving. Bobby Caldwell’s death is a fresh wound again now that you’re back in town. A lot of people, like it or not, believe you got away with murder. Marcia’s just one of them.”
She paused beside the driver’s door. “Just like you.”
“No.”
She looked up at him. “You don’t think I killed Bobby?”
He swore and ran a hand through his hair. “Whatever...resentments I have toward you, I never once believed you had anything to do with Bobby’s death.”
She wasn’t sure what to say to that. “You told Marcia I saw my mom, that I called her every week. How did you know that?”
He shrugged. “Small town. Word gets around.”
“Only if my mom told someone about it. And she wasn’t the type to gossip, not about me. And her close friends wouldn’t share that type of information, not with you. The only way you could have known is if Mom told you.”
He didn’t say anything.
“You’re the one who planted the lilies, aren’t you?”
Again, he remained silent. But the truth was in his eyes.
“You really did visit my mom regularly, didn’t you, Max? Why?”
He straightened away from her car. “Just because you pushed me out of your life didn’t mean your mom did. I always planned on marrying you, Bex. From the moment we started hanging out in middle school. I thought of your mom as my future mother-in-law for so long I couldn’t just turn that off when you threw my proposal in my face.”
She sucked in a breath. “I didn’t throw it in your face.”
He waved his hand in the air. “Just go see your lawyer and run off to Pigeon Forge. You’ve probably got some guy waiting there for you. Don’t let me keep you.”
She glared up at him, her hands on her hips. “And don’t let me keep you from those interns you’re sleeping with, either.”
His jaw tightened and he held the door open for her.
Her anger evaporated in a shaky sigh. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes. “Can’t wait for me to leave, can you, Max?”
Something passed in his eyes—regret? His anger seemed to rush out of him, too, and he looked tired and resigned.
“This is never how I wanted things to be between us. But it’s probably for the best, Bex.”
She nodded. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I was so scared when I heard that gunman saying the cop had interfered and they were going to kill him. I figured that was you. I was so scared. I was trying to find you to warn you when I got trapped behind that display of T-shirts.”
“You were looking for me to warn me? Are you insane?”
She stiffened. “Apparently so. Take care, Max. I mean it. I want you to be happy and safe. No matter what you think of me, that has never changed. I’ve always wanted what was best for you. That was the driving concern in every decision that I made.”
He frowned at her words. “Bex, what are you—”
She shook her head, realizing she’d said too much. She stepped into the opening to get in the car. A loud boom sounded and the windshield exploded.
Max grabbed her and shoved her to the ground.
Chapter Six
Max crouched down beside a thick oak tree to examine an impression in the dirt. A shoe print, narrow, small and recent—probably the shooter’s. He glanced over his shoulder, just able to see Bex’s house through the scrub brush. She was inside now, probably hunkered down in a back bedroom with one of Destiny’s finest guarding her. But her car, with its shattered windshield, sat where they’d left it when he’d rushed her inside the house and called his SWAT team. The windshield was in a direct line from where he was, which pretty much confirmed that he’d found where the shooter had stood when he’d tried to kill Bex.
A static sound in his earpiece had him turning around. Twenty feet away, at his two o’clock, Colby crouched in full SWAT gear like Max was now wearing, and pointed toward Max’s eleven o’clock. He held up one finger, then made a circular motion. The shooter was close. Colby had spotted him. Too close to risk speaking into their earpieces, thus the hand signals. Max nodded to let him know he understood, then he looked to his left and made the same motions to Chris, who was also a good twenty feet away.
The rest of the team was out here, too. When Max had called them from Bex’s house, the strategy had been set—half the team would approach from the west, driving the shoo
ter back toward the rest of the team. The plan had worked. And now the shooter was trapped between them.
Max waited, glancing from Colby to Chris, until they both signaled that the whole team was in sync. The static crackled in his ear again, and this time he heard Dillon’s voice, so low he wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t listening for it.
“Three, two, one, go.”
Max crept forward, as silently as possible, in perfect unison with his team. Sweeping his assault rifle out in front of him, he used the scope every few feet, hoping to see what Colby had seen. Five painfully slow minutes later, the shadowy figure of someone peering out from behind a tree, clutching a rifle, had Max freezing in place.
Ever so carefully, he signaled his teammates. Shooter spotted. He also signaled that this was his takedown. He was the closest. Hell, even if he wasn’t, he’d have demanded the right to finish this. Bex might not be his anymore, but he still cared about her—a fact that had been ruthlessly revealed to him today. And he wasn’t about to stand by while someone else took down whoever had tried to kill her. No, this shooter was his. And they were definitely going down.
Realizing the rifle was too bulky and cumbersome for such close quarters, he carefully set it against a tree. Then he pulled his pistol from his holster, motioned to his teammates and started forward.
The shooter ducked back behind the tree. Had Max been spotted? He stopped, listened, waited. When he didn’t see or hear anything, he started forward again.
Fifteen feet.
Fourteen.
Thirteen.
Something snapped up ahead. He froze. Was that a twig? Or had someone just ratcheted a round into a chamber?
Sweeping his pistol in front of him, he scanned the trees to his left, right. Chris and Colby were still within sight, just barely. They’d stopped, like him, and were waiting, listening.
Two minutes later, Max signaled his teammates and started forward again. His gaze was riveted on the tree where he’d last seen that shadow.
Steady and slow, inch by inch. He stopped a yard back from the thick tree. Breathing through his mouth, as quietly as possible. He played the waiting game once again. Then he heard it. Fast, shallow breaths. His prey was still exactly where he’d seen him, hiding behind the tree. And from the sound of it, he was practically hyperventilating—afraid.
Good. Max wanted him to experience fear, just like Bex had felt. He was about to spring around the tree when he spotted another shadow, a good thirty feet in front of him. The quick hand signal told him it was Dillon. And then the shadow disappeared behind cover. Dillon was letting Max know that he was close and in the line of fire. Time to switch strategies.
Max ever so carefully holstered his pistol. Then he slowly and quietly pulled the long serrated hunting knife from his boot. He listened to the shallow, rapid breathing. Crept a foot to his left, planning his approach. Without taking his gaze from the tree, he held a hand up in the air, letting his teammates know he was about to strike.
Three.
Two.
One.
He rushed forward, swinging around the tree. Wide, terrified eyes met his. He registered the identity of the shooter a millisecond before he struck, knocking the shooter’s rifle skyward and dropping the unneeded knife to the ground as he tackled his prey.
The capture was far too easy for Max’s liking. He’d wanted, needed, that explosion of violence against the person who’d nearly killed Bex. But his thirst for vengeance had been discarded the instant he’d seen how scared and pale his opponent was and realized there would be no fighting back.
Underbrush crashed around him from all sides as the rest of the SWAT team swooped out of their hiding places and aimed their rifles toward Max’s prisoner.
Marcia Knolls stared up at them, at the guns pointing at her head, then projectile vomited on Max’s vest.
* * *
MAX STOOD NAKED from the waist up in front of Bex’s guest bathroom sink, trying one last time to scrub the stained, reeking fabric of his bullet-resistant vest. Thanks to an always-packed go-bag in his truck, he had a fresh shirt hanging over one of the towel racks. But he didn’t want to risk getting it soiled, so he hadn’t put it on yet. He scrubbed at the cloth on the vest one more time, then, realizing it was pointless, he swore and tossed it to the floor.
“I could have told you it was a lost cause.” Dillon stood in the bathroom doorway, a grin on his face. “Trade it with Blake. You two are about the same size.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he wants a vest that smells like vomit.”
Dillon shrugged. “As a newbie, you take what you can get.”
“You don’t really mean that.”
Dillon shrugged again. But Max knew he was right, that their team leader wouldn’t try to give Max’s ruined vest to the rookie. Dillon might be playing hardball right now with Blake, but he didn’t play dirty.
Max rested his hands on the countertop as he looked at Dillon in the mirror. “Speaking of Blake—”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. The chief is going to be ticked. But, honestly, this time I completely forgot about the guy. It didn’t even occur to me to include him on the callout.”
Max laughed.
Dillon frowned. “It’s not funny. I’m going to get a thirty-minute lecture out of this. I probably won’t hear right for a week after the chief yells at me.”
Max grabbed a washcloth from the neat stack in the open shelving above the toilet. “Yeah, well. Maybe that will ensure that you remember next time.” He wet and soaped up the cloth to scrub the sink.
“Oh, sorry,” a feminine voice said. “I didn’t know you were still changing.”
Max turned around to see Bex backing up from the doorway, a handful of fresh washcloths and towels in her hands. Dillon melted back into the shadows of the hallway, leaving the two of them alone.
“Don’t go,” Max said. “You can put those up in here. Sorry about the mess I’m making.” He plopped the washcloth into the sink and moved back so she could enter the small room.
She hesitated, her gaze falling to his chest, before she cleared her throat and looked away. “No problem. Are you kidding? You saved my life. Again. Make all the messes you want. I didn’t remember whether I had enough towels still in here, with all the packing I did. Looks like there are plenty. I’ll just put these back in the box—”
“Bex, wait.” When she still turned to leave, he added, “Please.”
She froze, then turned back toward him, a foot back from the doorway. “Was there something else you needed?”
He let out a deep sigh. “Are you okay?”
“Of course.” She absently stroked her fingertips across the bandage on her left forearm. “Like I said, you saved my life. Thank you. That sounds so inadequate. But...thank you.”
He braced his hands on the door frame on either side of her. “It can’t be easy having someone try to kill you twice in one day. Especially with the two events appearing unrelated.”
“Appearing? You think there’s a chance that they are related?”
“I didn’t say that. Just reserving judgment until we investigate.”
“But the shooter, Marcia, she wasn’t at the grocery store this morning.”
“No. She wasn’t.”
“Did she say why she tried to shoot me?”
“She collapsed after I cuffed her. They took her to Blount Memorial in Maryville. Probably won’t get to interview her until tomorrow. Assuming she doesn’t lawyer up by then.”
She seemed to ponder that for a moment, biting her lip as she considered all the possibilities.
“Don’t think too hard on it,” he said. “That’s my job. I’ll figure this out. Your job is to be careful, stay alert.”
“Because someone else might try to kill me today?”
The
bitterness and underlying fear in her voice had him automatically reaching for her, wanting to comfort her. But she hurriedly backed up before he could touch her.
He dropped his hand to his side and smiled as if it didn’t matter. Because it shouldn’t. What the hell had he been thinking to reach for her? Had he really expected that she’d want his touch? She was the one who’d left. She was the one who’d been gone for ten years. If she wanted anything to do with him, she knew where to find him. And she hadn’t come back even once. She hadn’t called, texted, sent a freaking email. Clearly, that horse had galloped away years ago, never to return. The sooner he got that through his thick skull, the better off he’d be.
“You can’t drive home tonight with your windshield blown out. I’ll ask the chief to assign someone to watch over you until your car is fixed. They can—”
“Follow me around? How long would it take your boss to tell them to haul me to the station like he’s wanted all along? Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t want police protection. I’ll take my chances on my own.”
“You’re being stubborn. At least let me call a security company. They could assign bodyguards—”
“I’m fine, Max. Really. In spite of how things seem, I assure you I can and do usually take care of myself.”
And then she was gone, taking her armload of towels with her.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and Dillon stuck his head in the door again. “Hey, man. One of the Piggly Wiggly suspects at Blount Memorial is already out of surgery. The chief wants me to head over there to question him the moment he wakes up, preferably before he asks for a lawyer. But Marcia Knolls is at the hospital being checked out, too, and already saying she wants to cut a deal, so I’ve got my hands full. Everyone else’s plate is loaded already. Can you help me out?”
“You bet.” Max grabbed his clean shirt and yanked it over his head.
Dillon hesitated. “Could be an all-nighter. You sure you don’t want to hang here? With Bex?”
Max stared at him. “You sure you want to ask me that question?”