by Lynn Shannon
His phone beeped with an incoming text message. He opened it and the image of a chubby-cheeked newborn filled his screen. Luke’s baby. They’d named the beautiful little girl Ava Marie Tatum. Weston’s mouth curved into a smile, but somewhere deep inside a jolt of pain ricocheted through him.
He sent a congratulatory message to Luke, then leaned his head against the back of his seat. His hand drifted to the chain around his neck. Weston pulled out the wedding rings from beneath his shirt. That initial jolt of pain spread into a familiar ache. Before Melissa was diagnosed, they’d talked about having a family. His finger traveled the edge of his wife’s band. It was half the size of his own. Toward the end of her cancer treatment, Melissa had lost so much weight, she hadn’t been able to wear it.
He missed her. Every day. It’d been five long years since Melissa’s death. The loss had become hollower and more poignant with time. Weston couldn’t imagine moving on, falling in love, and getting married again. Yet a part of him yearned for a second chance at happiness.
The door to the house opened, and Weston tucked the wedding rings back inside his shirt. Avery appeared. She hugged her grandmother before strolling to her car. In her hand was a tinfoil-wrapped object. Probably her slice of chocolate cake. Weston’s lips tipped up thinking of their teasing exchange in the kitchen.
Just as he pulled away from his hiding spot to follow Avery home, his cell phone rang. Luke’s name flashed across the navigation screen. Weston hit the button on his steering wheel to accept the call from his fellow ranger. “Hey, man, congrats on your daughter. Love the name Ava Marie. How’s Megan?”
“Getting some much deserved rest. Ava’s being checked out by the doctor in the nursery, so I have a few minutes to talk. What’s going on with Avery?”
Weston gave Luke a quick rundown of the events. His fellow ranger listened carefully, only interrupting to ask questions for clarity. Avery’s taillights glowed and her turn signal flashed. Weston mimicked her movements, keeping several car lengths behind. There wasn’t much traffic this time of night, which made following her easier. It, unfortunately, also made his official state vehicle more noticeable.
“You believe the murder may be connected to Avery’s dad?” Luke asked, once Weston was done talking.
“She thinks so. It’s not a bad theory. Kenneth Madison worked for the Union County Sheriff’s Department for over twenty years. Criminals tend to hold grudges, and if our killer was in jail, it’s possible he’s had a lot of time to plan and stew.”
“I suppose. Seems to me, though, the most logical target is Avery. Have you asked about former boyfriends?”
“Absolutely. Her last serious relationship was with a prosecutor in Houston. His name is Jeffrey Strikes, and they were engaged until last year.” Although Avery hadn’t provided many details, he sensed the relationship had been troubled. “Jeffrey was attending a conference at the time of the murder. Rock solid alibi. The few guys she dated in college have all moved on and gotten married.”
“What about professionally? Cops make enemies.”
“I’m not taking anything off the table. I’ve got investigators running down the people she’s arrested, starting with the biggest cases first. I’ve also called Grady in for assistance.”
Grady West was another ranger with Company A. The three of them—Weston, Luke, and Grady—were also good friends.
“I hate to drag him away from his family,” Weston continued. Grady had a wife and two children. “But I don’t see any way around it. I can’t leave Avery alone and this case is bigger than I anticipated.”
“No, you made the right call.” Luke huffed out a breath. “Okay, let’s say Avery is right and this is connected to her father. Kenneth Madison died fifteen years ago. Does the sheriff’s department keep records that old?”
“Partially. If the case ended in a guilty plea or a conviction, it’s been destroyed. However, if it’s unsolved, they still have it. I’ve requested those files to be pulled. Trouble is, that leaves a lot of wiggle room. The killer could easily be overlooked.” Rain sprinkled his windshield. Weston flipped on the wipers. “One of Kenneth’s former partners, Mike Steel, is still a detective with the sheriff’s department. Avery’s reached out to him, but we haven’t heard back yet.”
“I’ll contact some of the retired detectives I know in the area. Maybe something about this case will ring a bell with them.”
“You just had a baby, Luke. Give the contacts to me—”
“Not a chance, Weston. Avery’s my friend. And Megan’s.” Luke paused and seemed to realize his tone was harsher than he intended. He took a deep breath. “Making a few phone calls is easy enough to do from the hospital. Besides, these detectives know me. They’re more likely to be candid if I speak to them.”
“I appreciate it. Just don’t mention the note. We’re trying to keep it out of the media.”
“Understood. I’ll be discreet.”
“Thanks, Luke.”
He hung up. Avery took another turn and Weston followed. The street bordered the university, but on the opposite side of campus from the Fairman Building. Houses were on one side of the road and a thick row of trees lined the other, hiding the campus from view.
Suddenly, Avery pulled over and got out of her vehicle. Weston quickly closed the distance between them. She wouldn’t have deviated from the plan if something wasn’t wrong.
“What is it?” he asked, climbing out of his truck. The steady drizzle pelted his shoulders and ran off the brim of his cowboy hat.
Avery shrugged on a tactical jacket with the word POLICE placed on the back. “I saw a flashlight beam in the woods. I have to check it out. We’ve had several thefts on campus in the last few months. One was reported tonight in the last hour. A laptop taken from the library, which isn’t far from here.”
Weston didn’t argue. As chief of police for the university, Avery was responsible for its safety. “Okay. Let’s go.”
He undid the snap on his holster but didn’t draw his weapon. They couldn’t be sure the person in the woods had a nefarious purpose. It could be a student taking a shortcut to the street from the university. Or a neighbor looking for a lost dog. There were any number of legitimate reasons someone could be tramping through the trees.
They crossed the street. The scent of pine and wet leaves mingled with the sound of the rain. Lightning flashed, illuminating the surrounding woods, and Weston spotted a figure dressed in a black raincoat. Judging from the height and build, the person was male.
“Excuse me, sir,” Avery called out. “Campus police. I need to—”
The man spun. Something whistled past Weston’s ear and thudded into the tree behind him. Bark exploded, tossing chunks into the air. A piece scraped his cheek.
He was shooting at them.
“Get down!” Weston flung himself at Avery, wrapping his arms protectively around her. They tumbled to the ground as more gunshots followed.
Avery cried out.
Six
Weston’s heart rate skyrocketed. Had Avery been hit? Another gunshot hit the tree next to them. He rolled, taking Avery with him, seeking shelter behind a large oak. A rock jabbed into Weston’s ribs. He sucked in a sharp breath but ignored the pain, twisting his body to cover Avery’s. One hand cradled her head; the other held her secure against his chest. Two more thumps followed.
Please, Lord, guide me. Help me keep Avery safe.
“Have you been shot?” Weston whispered in her ear. Warmth trickled over the hand buried in Avery’s silky hair, fueling his worry. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine. Scraped my head on a sharp stick. You hit?”
“No, he missed.”
She pushed against his chest, turning her head in the direction the shots had come from. Weston belatedly realized his mistake. Avery wasn’t a civilian. She was law enforcement and his equal. His instincts to protect her had overrode everything.
Weston eased away from her, pulling his weapon. He purposefully slowe
d his breathing to counteract the dose of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Beside him, Avery was doing the same. Her gun was in her hand and she scanned the surrounding woods.
“What’s he doing?” she whispered.
“Calculating.”
Either the shooter would stalk closer with the intention of killing them or he would flee. The weight of that pressing decision stretched out. One breath. Two. Weston strained to listen for any sounds beyond the steady patter of the rain. He’d lost his hat somewhere in the attempt to save Avery from the shooter. Water dripped from his damp hair into his face.
The snap of a branch cut through the night. It was followed by footsteps moving away from them. Weston raised up and glanced around the tree. The shooter was nothing more than a dark, moving shadow. He was heading for the street.
Weston bolted after him, knowing Avery would follow. Branches tore at his clothes and his boots slid on the damp pine needles. His heart thudded against his rib cage. Lightning flashed again followed by a roaring boom of thunder.
He drew up short. Where was the shooter?
Avery bumped into the back of him. Weston caught her arm just in time to keep her from falling. The sky opened up and the rain beat down on them. It flattened Weston’s hair to his head and soaked his clothes. He swung his gaze from one end of the woods to the other, searching for the shooter.
The roar of an engine came from the street. Weston raced toward it. He burst out of the tree line in time to see a taillight fading into the distance. A motorcycle. The streetlights were bright enough he could make out a person on it, but not the license plate.
“Look.” Avery pointed to the ground. A muddy tire track came from the trees and coursed along the grass divider to the street. “The shooter parked his motorcycle in the woods. This doesn’t make sense. The thefts on campus have been problematic, but there’s never been any indication the perpetrator was violent. At least, not until tonight.”
Weston glanced down the street. Avery’s vehicle, along with his, were several yards away. A sinking feeling settled in his chest. “Is this the route you normally take home from your grandmother’s house?”
She sucked in a breath. Avery’s mouth tightened and she nodded slowly. “It is.”
Weston didn’t have to say what he was thinking out loud. She already knew. It was written in the curve of her shoulders and the way her jaw tightened.
The shooter might not be connected to the thefts on campus. It could’ve been the killer, lying in wait.
For Avery.
An hour after the attack, the thunderstorm let up enough to collect forensic evidence from the shooting. Avery bent down to assess the water-logged tire track left in the grass. There was no way they would be able to pull a tire tread from it, and any footprints were also gone. That left them with only the bullets. Not much to go on.
She rubbed her forehead. The gash hidden in her hair had stopped bleeding, but it’d left her with a mean headache. She was in desperate need of a hot shower, dry clothes, and painkillers. Two out of the three were impossible, but she had some ibuprofen in her car.
Half a dozen law enforcement vehicles crowded the street. The thunderstorm had kept curious neighbors at bay for a while, but once the rain stopped, they crowded around the crime scene tape. Several reporters had also arrived. Avery needed to make a statement for the cameras, but she had to make sure there wasn’t blood in her hair first.
Was the shooter from tonight also the killer? A part of her wanted them to be the same person. The alternative was so much worse. If the killer and the shooter weren’t the same person, then there were two madmen running around on campus.
Yet questions plagued her. Why would the killer leave a note on the victim if he only intended to shoot Avery as she drove home from Nana’s? And how could he be certain she would take that route?
Lord, help me find the answers I need to keep people safe. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.
Avery popped open the trunk of her vehicle. The red first aid kit beckoned. She rummaged around inside and located the bottle of painkillers, then dry swallowed two.
“You might try an ice pack as well,” Weston said, coming around a patrol car.
He’d put a light jacket on, but his pants and boots were stained with mud. Avery’s gaze locked on the scrape marring Weston’s cheekbone. Her gut clenched. They’d recovered five bullets in the woods. One—the first shot fired—had missed Weston by a hair. He’d nearly been killed tonight.
Don’t think about it.
“Ummm, I don’t have time for an ice pack,” Avery said. “The dean called. He wants me to make a statement to the media.”
She rummaged around in her purse for a makeup mirror and a brush, but couldn’t find them. Not that they would help much. She probably looked like a drowned rat. Running her fingers through her hair, she gently tied it back into a low ponytail. She used a wet wipe to clean her face.
“Can you see any blood in my hair?” she asked.
Weston’s gaze drifted across her face to the left side of her head. The look was so intense, it felt as physical as a touch. Avery’s breath hitched. The scent of Weston’s cologne—something warm and musky—mingled with the scent of the rain. She kept talking to distract herself. “I’m not great with the media. I hate being on camera and having reporters shout questions at me. But it’s part of the job, you know?”
“I know. There’s no blood in your hair. The rain washed it all away.” He reached out and pulled something from the end of her ponytail. A pine needle. “There. Now you’re camera ready. Or as camera ready as someone who was nearly shot an hour ago could be.”
Her gaze drifted to the cut on his cheek. Guilt and responsibility tugged at her. She couldn’t let it go. “Weston, just for the record. I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I know being a cop can be dangerous, but…this wasn’t supposed to be your case. You’re doing a favor and you nearly got shot in the process—”
“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” His hand closed over her forearm, his touch warm and gentle. “None of this is your fault, and I’m thankful I was here to provide backup.”
Their eyes caught and Avery’s heart skipped a beat. She became immediately aware of the proximity of their bodies. One step forward and she would be pressed up against him. The memory of his arms cradling her as they fell to the ground, the way his hands protected her head, flashed in her mind.
It also sent off warning bells. Their fledgling friendship might’ve become cemented under a spray of bullets, but anything romantic was out of the question. Avery couldn’t. Her last relationship had been with someone she worked with. It’d ended in unmitigated disaster, and she’d nearly lost her career in the process. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Avery cleared her throat and took a step back, forcing Weston to drop his hand. “Okay, I’d better go do this.”
He gave her a thumbs-up. She turned and strolled toward the crime scene tape and the bright camera lights. With every step, Avery’s spine straightened. The reporters shouted questions at her with rapid-fire precision. She ignored them, raising a hand until everyone grew quiet.
“At approximately 9:00 p.m., dispatch sent out an alert that a student’s laptop had been stolen from the university library,” Avery said. She continued to give a brief overview of the events and provided a description of the perpetrator. “Anyone with knowledge of this crime is requested to contact the Harrison University Police Department immediately. Thank you and good night.”
She turned on her heel. The reporters’ questions followed her, but she ignored them. A man stepped into her path. Around fifty, he had a full beard and wore dark-framed glasses. He shoved a phone in her face. “Chief Madison, how did it feel to be shot at?”
“What are you doing behind the crime scene tape?”
The reporter ignored her question. “Could this shooting have anything to do with the murder on campus last Friday?”
Avery tamped down her temper. It would
n’t be good for public relations if she lost it on a reporter. “Sir, you need to move back behind the yellow line. Now.”
“Is it true the woman found murdered on campus was hanging in one of the classrooms? Did you believe it was a suicide at first? What changed your mind?”
“Sir, if you don’t remove yourself from my crime scene, I’ll have you arrested.” She waved one of her men, Officer Samuels, over. “Escort this gentleman off the premises, please.”
“This is a public street,” the reporter huffed. “You can’t remove me.”
Avery stepped back. “Actually, sir, I can and I will.”
“I’m a member of the press. My name is Greg Kilbourne of the Texas Tribute.” Officer Samuels took his arm and Greg tried to pull away. “Let me go.”
Avery was done playing nice. “Arrest Greg Kilbourne of the Texas Tribute if he causes you trouble.”
The officer gave her a nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Avery spotted Weston moving in their direction. His expression was thunderous. By his side was Detective Mike Steel of the Union County Sheriff’s Department. Pushing fifty, Mike was dressed professionally in a business shirt and slacks, although the collar was undone at the top and he had no tie. His hair was turning gray at the temples.
Avery moved to intercept them. “Crisis averted, gentlemen. Stand down.”
“First you get shot at. Then you give the reporters a hard time.” Mike gave her a one-armed hug. Worry was in his eyes, but he plastered on a smile. “You sure are creating a ruckus tonight, kid.”
The old term of endearment brought a small smile to her face. Mike and Avery’s father had worked together at the sheriff’s department. They’d even been partners for a while. As a result, Mike had known Avery since she was fifteen years old.