Shelter for Sharla

by Deanndra Hall

  Shelter for Sharla (Police and Fire: Operation Alpha)

  Bluegrass Bravery Book 1

  Deanndra Hall

  Contents

  Foreword

  Introduction

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About the author …

  Also by Deanndra Hall

  More Special Forces: Operation Alpha World Books

  Books by Susan Stoker

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  © 2019 ACES PRESS, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this work may be used, stored, reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher except for brief quotations for review purposes as permitted by law.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy.

  Dear Readers,

  Welcome to the Police and Fire: Operation Alpha Fan-Fiction world!

  If you are new to this amazing world, in a nutshell the author wrote a story using one or more of my characters in it. Sometimes that character has a major role in the story, and other times they are only mentioned briefly. This is perfectly legal and allowable because they are going through Aces Press to publish the story.

  This book is entirely the work of the author who wrote it. While I might have assisted with brainstorming and other ideas about which of my characters to use, I didn’t have any part in the process or writing or editing the story.

  I’m proud and excited that so many authors loved my characters enough that they wanted to write them into their own story. Thank you for supporting them, and me!

  READ ON!

  Xoxo

  Susan Stoker

  In memory of J.C.P.

  The thin blue line was broken that night,

  but a state and a country are grateful

  for your faithful service.

  You will not be forgotten.

  Introduction

  This book is loosely based on an actual crime that took place near Lamasco, Kentucky, on September 13, 2015. At approximately 10:20 that evening, a 31-year-old Kentucky State Trooper assigned to Post 1 out of Mayfield, Kentucky, who was also a U.S. Navy veteran, made a traffic stop on Interstate 24. During that stop, the suspect in the vehicle fled, and the trooper gave chase. When his cruiser drew near again, the suspect’s vehicle stopped abruptly, causing the trooper’s car to rear-end it. The trooper then exited the cruiser to again attempt to talk to the vehicle’s operator. At that time, the individual exited the car and shot the trooper, then fled on foot.

  A passer-by saw the trooper on the ground and stopped. His voice was clearly heard on the 911 recording that was released, telling the dispatcher that the officer had been shot and to send help. Also audible was the trooper’s own voice, reporting his injuries. Emergency vehicles could be heard in the background, but they were too late.

  Law enforcement from all around the area converged and began the search for the suspect who, oddly enough, continued to post to Facebook during the search. In those posts, he confessed to what he’d done, expressed remorse, and acknowledged that he would never see the light of day. Those posts turned out to be his undoing, as they provided law enforcement a steady signal from his cell phone with which to track him. At 7:00 the next morning, he was located in a brushy area. When officers of the Kentucky State Police Special Response Team converged on him and ordered him to put down his weapon, he instead lifted it, and they fired.

  Even more heartbreaking was the trooper’s actions. During the first stop, he discovered that the suspect was driving on a suspended license. At the time he began the second stop, he was actively discussing with his dispatch a way to gain lodging for the night for the suspect and the passengers in that vehicle. His attempt at kindness would be the last act he ever performed.

  As I type this, I weep. Even with two school shootings having taken place here, the incident that took that young trooper’s life forever changed this area and prompted residents from multiple counties to take time to thank their law enforcement officers for putting themselves out there every day. Vehicles all over our area still sport a strip of blue tape all the way across their rear windows in tribute to the “thin blue line” that protects every one of us.

  The next time you see an officer, please thank him. Every shift could be his last.

  This book is based on the incident described above; however, names, locations, and details have been changed to protect those involved. Any actual information used was gleaned from open and public records, as I have no personal knowledge of the case. I am not a law enforcement professional. I do, however, have the utmost respect for those men and women who protect us, so if any of my procedural details are erroneous, I apologize. This was written purely for entertainment, and I hope it is taken as such.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to Anne, who encouraged me to make the connection that caused these books to even exist, and to my faithful betas, Tami and Maggie, my proofer, Emmy, and the always-fabulous Drue.

  About the book

  Welcome to La Tana del Lupo. It’s a deadly place to be.

  The college student who shot and killed a Kentucky State Trooper on the side of the highway committed “suicide by cop”, and the bullet that ended her life came from Trigg County Sheriff Carter Melton’s gun. He wants some answers, and so does her beautiful, grief-stricken aunt, Sharla Barker. On top of being insistent that the Tamara Kent she knew would never kill an officer, Sharla’s also insistently pursuing Carter, and he’s definitely not playing hard to get. His battered, aching heart needs the forgiveness she offers him and the passion she ignites in him.

  The medical examiner’s weird findings, an odd tattoo, and an even stranger on-campus rally prior to the shooting begin to point in a direction that Carter could never have imagined. Before he knows it, he’s working with San Antonio FBI Agent Cruz Livingston to uncover a threat never before seen in far western Kentucky. It’s a criminal element with only one thing on their minds—money—and they’re determined to find it. It’ll take multiple agencies and some help from a very unlikely source to bring the case to a close before someone dies in “The Den of the Wolf.”

  Built on an actual crime that took place in western Kentucky in 2015, Bluegrass Bravery: Shelter for Sharla is an over-18, panty-melting tale of undying love, suspense, crime, and dedication as officers from Kentucky and Texas work together to save Carter, the woman he craves, and the two kids she loves, while bringing those truly responsible to justice.

  Chapter 1

  “Damn it!” Instead of wiping the water from the windshield, the wiper blades just smeared it until it was even harder to see out. He squinted slightly in the light of dusk and wished he’d washed the glass with his last gas fill-up. Note to self: Buy a new set of wiper blades, Carter thought, cursing under his breath because he couldn’t write it down while he was driving. With everything on his mind, remembering something that small would be difficult unless it kept raining.

  Was his mother okay? Ever since Wilda Fern Melton had fallen, Carter had been on red alert anytime his
phone rang. He’d managed to work through her surgery and her hospitalization, then through her rehab, asking the guys to help him out when they could. The smile on his mom’s face when Justin had brought her home from rehab in his cruiser made Carter almost laugh out loud. But she was doing better, thank god. She’d asked him dozens of times to fix that banister but he hadn’t, and the guilt he felt over her pitching off the side of the stairs was huge. He tried not to beat himself up mentally over it, but it was difficult. If only was his daily beratement.

  It was hard enough to be sheriff of a small county like Trigg, much less have time for taking care of a parent. I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have a wife and kids, he told himself as he drove. He’d almost gotten there with Mandy, but she just couldn’t take the idea of him being out all hours of the night, maybe being shot at, maybe being in a high-speed chase, maybe … So many variables, and none of them good. She also couldn’t stomach the idea of holidays without him, and they all would’ve been without him. He felt it was his duty to let his guys have holidays with their families, so he always worked them.

  The thought that he hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast made him want to stop at the next convenience store. If they had some kind of sandwiches, that would have to be okay. Burning plenty of calories in the gym left him able to eat most anything he wanted. Not being in shape wasn’t an option. It was bad enough that he was the oldest guy on the force, and that meant the pressure to keep performing at an optimum level was imperative. He couldn’t let his guys see him falter.

  Henry’s Fast Gas was at the next exit off I-24, so Carter decided he’d get off there and grab a bite. He was ready to snap on his blinker when his radio crackled to life, and it wasn’t county dispatch.

  “KSP post two. Any unit in the vicinity of mile marker eighty-three, shots fired and officer down. Repeat―shots fired and officer down. Please respond.”

  “Trigg County unit one responding,” Carter barked into the radio. The convenience store’s exit was eighty-one, just two miles from the scene, and he pressed the older Crown Victoria cruiser until he was moving at well over one hundred miles per hour.

  As he approached the area, a chill ran up his spine―there was a Kentucky State Police cruiser there, and no one else, at least not that he could see. Drawing closer, he saw a small, dark car in front of the KSP Dodge Charger, and Carter slid to a stop behind the cruiser. He could see a form on the ground, and he trained the spotlight on his door toward it.

  A gray uniform. Bile leaped into his throat as he drew his weapon and opened his car door, crouching behind it. Flashing his tactical light around, he saw no movement, so he crouch-crawled to the trooper on the pavement. Carter assumed he was dead, but the man made a gurgling sound. “Central, this is Trigg unit one. I’m on scene. Need a bus and backup. No perpetrator sighted. Copy?”

  “Roger that, unit one. Emergency services are enroute, ETA of two minutes. Status?”

  “He’s hanging on, but barely. Looks like …” Carter did a quick survey of the trooper’s body. “Two GSWs to the abdomen and one to the chest.” The trooper made another sound and Carter looked down into his face. There was no fear in the young man’s eyes when Carter said, “You’re gonna be okay. Hang in there, bud.”

  A hand came up and grasped Carter’s wrist. “My fiancé … my mom …”

  “You’ll get to see them in a couple of hours, officer. Help’s coming.”

  “No. I … promise …”

  “I promise, I’ll tell them you said you love them, but you can tell them yourself.” Carter listened―there was no siren sound. Where was that bus? “You’re gonna be fine.”

  “I won’t …” The trooper’s hand went slack and fell from Carter’s wrist, and he didn’t even have to check. He knew the man was gone. That was the moment Carter saw movement in the small, dark car.

  Drawing his nine-millimeter Glock, he advanced slowly on the vehicle. “Hands where I can see them!” he yelled. “Come out slowly! NOW!” The back door of the car opened and a young woman stepped out, hands in the air, followed by a young man. “Down on the ground! NOW!” He watched as both people fell to their knees, then lay face down on the pavement. “Hands straight out! DO IT!” When they were finally laid out prostrate, he stepped up to them, weapon still pointed at first one and then the other. “Cross your hands behind your backs!” It took him less than a minute to zip-tie their wrists. As soon as they were secured, he went back to the trooper, but he knew there was no point.

  Two hours later, it was official: Kentucky State Trooper Derek Palmer was dead, shot by a woman they were tracking. The two young people, one the shooter’s brother and the other her cousin, told them who they were looking for. For seven hours KSP, Caldwell County, Trigg County, and Lyon County deputies tracked her by the signal from her phone in what would be one of the most bizarre turn of events any of the law enforcement members had ever seen―the perpetrator posting on social media every few minutes all night long, admitting she’d done a horrible thing and wouldn’t live to see the light of day. At a little after five thirty the next morning they closed in on her, and when she was ordered to surrender, she instead lifted her weapon.

  Seven rounds, one each from seven different handguns, ended her life. Suicide by cop, they called it. A sad, confused, misguided young woman named Tamara Kent lay dead in a thicket of bushes just yards from a high-dollar resort on the shores of Lake Barkley.

  Carter Melton was there. He saw it all. And his gun was the first to fire.

  I know what she wants, and I just can’t. His phone kept ringing, and he didn’t even have to look at it to know it was his mother. She was probably worried sick, but he had too much to do. The first order of business was to turn his service weapon over to the KSP investigators who’d shown up on the scene. There was paperwork to fill out, a statement to give, and a state police psychologist with whom he was expected to meet. Then there was the matter of the two young people who’d been in the car. Since he’d been the first to see them and the one to secure them, he was expected to sit in on their questioning. He wasn’t looking forward to that.

  But it was exactly what he was called to do first. Each of them was in a separate interrogation room. The lead KSP detective, Albert “Bud” Griffin, wanted it that way so officers could compare their stories. “Where do you want me?” Carter asked as he stepped up to the detective.

  “Door number one or door number two. Your choice. One gets you a week’s time off duty. The other gets you a week’s time off duty. Pick a winner, sheriff.” Carter reached for the second door―he’d never liked odd numbers.

  It opened to a weeping young woman sitting at a table, her straight, blond hair sticking to the sweat on her brow. An officer was already there, talking to her, asking her for her name, address, birthdate, and anything else needed on the customary forms. As soon as he entered the room, she looked up and cried out, “Oh, god, officer, please! I didn’t do anything! I’m so sorry! Please let me go, please? I need to call my mom!”

  Emotions collided in the seasoned officer. He hated the tears on her face, her pleading, the desperation in her voice, and yet he’d seen a fellow officer bleed out in front of him, his life ebbing away while someone this girl knew played the coward and left him there like a stray dog hit by a car. Those kinds of feelings were hard to rectify. “Miss, please, just cooperate with us and we’ll get this over with as quickly as possible.”

  “But I didn’t know she was going to do that! I swear! Please, let me call my mom? Please?”

  “How old is she?” Carter asked the officer collecting information from the young woman.

  “Nineteen.”

  “You’re of legal age. We’re under no obligation to call anyone for you. You get one phone call, and I’d suggest it be an attorney.”

  “I don’t know who our attorney is! I don’t know who to call! Please, sir, please? I …” There was a commotion outside the room and Carter could hear a loud, shrill voice. It was hard to
make out what it was saying, but the girl instantly began to scream, “MOM! MOM, I’M HERE! Please, sir, that’s my mom! Mom! I’m in here!”

  Jumping from his chair and whipping through the doorway, Carter slammed the door behind him and came face to face with a woman who was as distraught as any he’d ever seen. “Is my daughter in there? CHELSEA? Are you in there?” she screamed toward the door.

  “Ma’am, you’re going to have to calm down,” Carter said, holding up both palms.

  “I need to see my daughter! Chelsea! I’m here!”

  “Ma’am, again, please, calm down. I’m Sheriff Melton. Let’s go sit down somewhere, okay?”

  “I need to see my daughter! Where’s Lionel? Is he here somewhere? I can’t get him on the phone! Is Tamara here? I can’t reach her either! What’s going on?” the woman shrieked.

  “Ma’am, let’s go sit down. Please. We don’t want to have to cuff you, but we will if you don’t calm down.” He watched as the woman’s face contorted and she began to cry. “Come on. Let’s sit down and talk, okay?” Taking her upper arm, he steered her down a hallway and into another interrogation room. “Have a seat. Would you like some coffee?”

  She could barely speak for sobbing. “I want to see my daughter! Is she okay?”