Rita had seen the move many times before, and somehow, the visual command was impossible for her to ignore. Her feet froze on the small set of steps to the little door.
Cole shoved the door wide, gun drawn and ready. A string of fervent curses bit the air.
Before he could bark another order, Rita’s eyes landed on a small black device near Cole’s feet. Bright red numbers counted backward toward zero. The soft ticking of a clock registering with each change on the display. 17, 16, 15...
Rita gasped. “Is that a bomb?”
Papers fluttered through the air as Cole tossed the stack of folders from her hands toward the dock. He swung back to face her, this time gripping her wrists and tugging her up the steps toward him.
Rita’s feet bumbled forward, catching each rung on autopilot while she stared, transfixed by the device that would end her too-short life.
9, 8, 7...
He yanked her arms, dragging her away from the device when she landed on deck beside it, but her body didn’t respond.
“Rita!” Cole yelled, his voice thick with demand and authority. “Move your ass before I throw you overboard.”
6, 5, 4...
Her brother would be all alone. An orphan without a sister to watch over him. Abandoned by everyone because his stupid bleeding-heart sister, the only thing he had left, had to feed cats at a murder location.
Something gripped her mercilessly, and she winced with the shock of pain that followed. A powerful jerk hoisted her off her feet and hefted her into the air. Rita’s arms flew wide as she sailed away from the boat and crashed painfully into the now-choppy river like an anvil. Her eyes stung and her lungs burned as she broached the surface a moment later, swallowing mouthfuls of disgusting, frigid river water in the process.
Cole followed immediately, launching himself over the polished chrome rail. His arms were around her in the next second, forcing her farther from the boat with each powerful thrust of his legs. He made a show of filling his cheeks with air, then dunked them both underwater.
The explosion that followed shoved them through the water in a powerful undertow. They resurfaced to chaos. Her teeth rattled and her vision blurred. Heat scorched over the river in an invisible wave, and Cole curved himself around her like a shield, pressing her face against his chest and wrapping her in his iron arms.
Smoke plumed and billowed overhead. Debris dropped from the sky and floated around them in a rancid stew of scorched plastic and burning fuel. Rita coughed and hacked, kicking instinctively to stay above water as fragments of torn metal and burning planks shot into the water like missiles.
“Are you okay?” Cole asked, petting Rita’s hair and dragging it away from her skin for a closer look at her nonexistent injuries.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t move. I should’ve moved.” He’d saved her life. Again. Her heart welled with emotion, and she gripped his handsome face in both palms.
The shadow of something large barely registered with her before crashing over them.
“Cole!” But her cry was too late.
The still-burning debris landed across his broad shoulders with a sickening crack.
His handsome face went slack, and his protective grip on her released.
Chapter Ten
Rita caught hold of the dock with one hand as she struggled to keep Cole above water. One hand wrapped under his arm, she pressed her cheek to his.
Cole’s eyes flashed open. Shock and confusion raked his brow.
“Be still,” she warned through trembling lips. “I don’t know how hurt you are.”
He began to tread water slowly, attempting to shift away from her. “Are you okay?” His voice was rough and low, his face pinched in pain.
The precious sound was nearly enough to push her under. She pressed her forehead to his and let her tears fall on his cheeks. “I’m perfect,” she cried, and it was true.
Cole Garrett’s presence in her life had changed everything, and she never again wanted to go a day without him in it. Ten thousand words lodged in her throat and on her tongue, but she could only pull back for a better look at his face and state the obvious. “Be still. You’re hurt.”
The pounding footfalls of marina workers and nearby boat owners soon rattled the dock. Life preservers and rescue ropes were lowered into Cole’s and Rita’s reach. A mass of voices churned the acrid air. Moments blurred and time elapsed in a surreal and unsettling way as Rita was pulled from the water by the careful hands of a dozen men.
Cole insisted on climbing out unassisted.
Rita watched the remains of the flaming boat in disbelief. Had she really stood in the below-deck cabin only minutes before? Had someone nearly blown her up?
The distant, lamenting cry of an ambulance wound into a frenzy at the marina’s main entrance, then stopped just short of mowing her over in the name of rescue.
Newly arriving deputies and marina security corralled the hodgepodge rescue team and detained them for questioning behind a flimsy line of yellow tape. The ambulance workers had divided themselves between Rita and Cole. Rita got the younger, friendlier one. Cole got a familiar-looking man, at least fifteen years his senior. Rita’s guy gave her a quick once-over and an oxygen mask. She was fine. Thanks to Cole.
The other guy’s job wasn’t nearly as easy. Cole’s complaints had started at the sight of him and persisted with fervor. “Knock it off!”
“Hold still,” the medic snapped. “I’d be done by now if you’d stop fighting me, or didn’t you learn that in medical school.”
“I’m fine.” Cole wiggled on the ambulance’s shiny silver bumper. He was far too large for the seat he’d chosen, but had refused the gurney and all attempts to get him to go into the vehicle willingly.
“Good thing you quit school,” the man snarked, dabbing Cole’s back with sopping cotton pads. “They’d have kicked you out eventually if you’re dumb enough to think people are fine after a bombing and near drowning.”
Rita smiled through another round of Cole’s fervent cursing, glad he was alive and thankful the medic was ignoring his protests. Her ringing ears made it hard to understand everything he said, but she got the gist.
She tried not to think about the moment Cole’s eyes had fallen shut and his limbs had gone limp. The sickening curl of her gut was something she never wanted to feel again.
Firemen blasted the charred remains of Minsk’s boat and walked the dock, taking pictures and scribbling on clipboards.
Rita refocused on breathing in the sweet oxygen from her mask and blowing out the terror that had constricted her lungs and throat more often than not over the last thirty-six hours.
Beside her, the paramedic continued to mumble as he worked over Cole’s battered skin.
Cole swatted the man’s hands away. “Leave it!”
The older man sucked his teeth and pressed on, cleaning the burns and wounds across Cole’s scarred back. “Hold still and suck it up. Let me do my job. You know, you could try being thankful you’ve still got breath to complain with.”
Cole’s gaze lifted to Rita’s.
She offered a small smile, tugging the blessed oxygen mask away from her face to speak. Her throat ached with emotion, still raw from her cries for help. “He’s right. You should let him finish.” Cole had only been unconscious for a few seconds, but those moments had felt like consecutive eternities to Rita. The giant hunk of the boat’s hull would have killed her if Cole hadn’t been there to take the blow. Protecting her at any cost. Guilt clawed her heart, but darned if his bravery wasn’t sexy as hell. It had been a long while since anyone other than her baby brother had played the role of her protector.
The fact that Cole probably thought he was just doing his job soured the moment. She did her best to mask the sudden disappointment.
“See?” the medic said. “Listen to her.
Maybe she should go to medical school.”
Rita smiled. “Besides, if any of that gets infected, you’ll have all new reasons to swear.”
Cole turned his frowning face toward the water without any more argument.
The paramedic gave Cole a long look before casting Rita a curious grin. “Well, well, well.”
“No,” Cole said. “None of that.” He jerked his shoulder away from the man’s touch and shot him a warning look. “Just patch me up so I can get back to work.”
The sharp bark of a siren set Cole on his feet, immediately free from the medic’s reach. “About damn time.”
West appeared at the dock’s end, running full speed toward them.
Reporters and spectators moved aside as he hopped the makeshift yellow fence.
He slowed as he drew nearer, both hands anchored to his hips. “What the holy hell happened here?” His growling voice was the perfect mix of fear, relief and outrage. It was the sound of an older sibling whose little brother had been wronged.
Being a big sister, Rita knew that one well. She’d had her Thank goodness you’re okay, now who do I need to flatten? voice at the ready for nineteen years and counting.
West stopped at her side, flipping his hands into the air. His eyes darted from Cole’s scowl to the paramedic’s kind eyes. “Well? Uncle Henry?”
Uncle Henry?
“I don’t know about the boat,” the paramedic started, “but Stanford over here is lucky to be alive. He’s got extensive first and second degree burns over most of his back and shoulders, lacerations on the head and neck, multiple contusions—” he made an unintelligible sound “—everywhere. No signs of a concussion, despite the temporary loss of consciousness after being clocked on the head with a hunk of the flaming hull.” He shrugged. “I want to take him to the hospital for a thorough exam.”
“Cole?” West asked, arms crossed, brows furrowed.
“No.”
Uncle Henry lifted his palms, looking exactly like his nephew had a minute prior. “Tell your mama I tried.”
“Always do,” West said. He embraced the older man briefly. “Thanks, Uncle Henry.”
“Don’t thank me.” Henry tipped his head in Rita’s direction. “He blacked out in the water. This one pulled him to the dock and kept him afloat until help arrived.”
Rita’s face heated. “He threw me off the boat when I was too scared to move. Then he jumped in and shielded me from the explosion. I’m the reason he’s hurt.”
West rubbed his forehead. “He’s hurt because he should’ve been a doctor.”
Cole groaned. “I didn’t want to be a damn doctor. Now, if you’re all done mothering me, we need to get back to work.”
“You’re hurt,” Henry started. He snapped his mouth shut a moment later and raised his hands in surrender.
“I know,” Cole agreed, softening his tone slightly. “I’m cut, burned and bruised, none of which is critical, and we need to focus on what’s happening around here. We had a literal boatload of information on Minsk’s business and it just went up in flames.”
Henry shifted his gaze to Rita and the young paramedic at her side. “Your patient doing better than mine?”
“Yes, sir. Some minor abrasions, smoke inhalation, probably a lifelong aversion to watercraft, but she’ll be fine.”
Henry bobbed his head and swung his attention back to Cole, a growing look of pride on his face. “Good work, deputy.” He slapped Cole’s shoulder, then winced. “Sorry.”
Cole gritted his teeth until his face was as red as his back.
“Take this.” Henry handed Cole a clean, dry T-shirt. “I want it back, so don’t get any ideas about keeping it.”
West closed in on Cole.
Henry delivered a pile of first aid supplies to Rita. “For my nephew’s burns. See if you can get him to change the bandages twice a day and take something for pain.” He dumped the packages into her palms, then unhooked her oxygen mask. “Good luck.” He marched back to his ambulance and swung himself inside. His sidekick followed.
Rita stared at the creams and bandages. Back to being somebody’s keeper. Trusting someone else to call the shots had been nice while it lasted, but at least caretaking was a role she understood, unlike how to be the target of a psychopath, for example. She took a seat on the dock and piled the supplies at her side. Yesterday had been rock-bottom bad, but today was unfathomably worse.
She slumped forward, resting tired forearms against her thighs. Her skin and clothes smelled like dirty river water and burned hair. No amount of soap would ever remove it.
“Everything’s completely destroyed,” Cole complained behind her. “The files. Blueprints. Everything. I took some pictures to send to you, but now my phone is at the bottom of the river.”
West sauntered closer to the smoldering husk of Minsk’s boat. “Two shootings in two days. A bomb on a boat.” Disappointment colored his cheeks and frustration sharpened his words. “What’s happening to my county?”
Rita pressed her eyes shut. A lunatic had also chased her down the crowded street of a college town and forced her headfirst into an historic fountain, but she didn’t think West needed to be reminded of that right now. She peeled stinging eyes open and concentrated on being alive. Whatever else happened, she’d try not to think too hard about the angry look on Cole’s face when he’d awoken in her arms.
* * *
COLE WATCHED RITA drift away from them, choosing to sit alone on the dock several feet away rather than stand in their little huddle and listen to him gripe any longer. Not that he blamed her. He wasn’t his biggest fan at the moment, either. Throwing her from the boat and shielding her from the explosion was supposed to be heroic. Maybe even epic. It should have been the kind of story he’d relish telling his future grandkids, but instead, he’d become the one in need of rescue.
Rita had saved Cole’s life.
Dammit.
“Don’t forget the car in Rivertown,” Cole grouched. “He tried to run her down on a crowded street in broad daylight.”
West’s long-winded ramble about the last few days’ events was true, but incomplete. He’d forgotten one of the scariest things Cole had ever seen. “The nut nearly killed her in front of a hundred college kids.”
Rita shot him a look over one shoulder. The disappointment in her expression was a perfect match for Cole’s current feelings. “I can’t believe everything’s gone,” she said. “I’m trying to be thankful we survived, but it really stinks that all those files are a total loss.”
Cole agreed. He scanned the gathering crowd of nosy locals and news crews. More than one set of male eyes watched Rita as she plucked river-drenched fabric away from her skin, where it had become somewhat transparent.
He moved into the onlookers’ line of sight and returned their stares until they found something other than Rita to gawk at. He turned back to her a moment later, satisfied by his success.
Rita squinted up at him and smiled.
Heat spread through his core, warming him until his chest burned with the same intensity as his back. A sneaky realization poked its way into his thoughts. His irritation with those rubberneckers had nothing to do with protecting a traumatized woman from their stares and everything to do with protecting this woman, his woman, from their stares. Dammit.
Cole rolled his shoulders uselessly, hating the unfamiliar knotting of his muscles and the setting of his jaw. He was jealous. Of strangers. He hadn’t been bothered by this particular emotion since high school. He didn’t like it then, and he downright hated it now.
Not to mention, he had no business feeling anything personal for Rita Horn. She was a citizen in need of temporary protection and nothing more. Once the threat to her was eliminated, she’d go back to her life in progress, probably glad to be rid of a man who’d toss her in the river, then force her to keep him afloat or watch
him drown.
Humiliation knotted in his chest.
He flicked his attention to West, who’d gone the length of Minsk’s boat and back, apparently still in disbelief. “Hey.”
Concern dragged West’s brows into a deep V. “Yeah.”
“Before it blew up, that boat had a bunch of blueprints for other waterfront locations like our docks. All the way from Louisiana to Missouri. Any chance you’ve had time to find out who Minsk was seeing at the municipal building?”
West’s wrinkled forehead went flat. “No. I was pulled off that hunt when someone took a shot at you over at our first victim’s house. I couldn’t find that shooter, but I did find another body about thirty minutes before you were nearly blown up, and now I’m here wondering who’s trying to kill you.”
Rita bent her knees and hugged them to her chest. “Maybe the bomber wasn’t trying to kill anyone,” she said.
West hiked an eyebrow and gave what was left of the boat a pointed look.
“I thought so, too, at first,” Rita said, lifting a hand to her forehead as she squinted against the sun. “But look at this mess.” She waved her free hand at the bits of charred wreckage floating in the water and scraps of torched paper blowing over the dock. “Maybe this was just about getting rid of evidence.”
“With a bomb?” West asked.
She shrugged. “I’m just saying. If the shooter came here to kill us, he could’ve opened the door and gotten the job done with a lot less noise. We know a handgun is his weapon of choice. Why change attack methods so drastically? He could have taken his shot while we walked to or from the boat if he didn’t want to climb aboard and look for us. Honestly, I don’t think anyone knew we were in there.”
West pinned Cole with a meaningful stare.
Rita could be right.
“Cole?” Rita shifted onto her hands and knees, staring intently between the wooden boards beneath her. “Look.”
Cole crouched to follow her gaze. “What?”
“It’s the pen!” She crawled over the ash-littered deck, keeping close tabs on something bobbing in the water below them. “Why did you have it with you? That was our only evidence! It might have had the killer’s fingerprints!”
Shadow Point Deputy Page 9