Police Protector. Elizabeth Heiter
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must have sensed the direction of her thoughts, because he said, “We’ve got officers at the scene now, pulling the slugs from your car. The security camera at the grocery store was just for show, but we’re canvassing the area, hoping someone saw the shooter running away. And we’re checking nearby traffic cameras, too. Unless he lives close by, he must have had a vehicle waiting. Once we find that, it’s over.”
There was a dark determination to his voice that told her he planned to be there to slap on the handcuffs himself.
And what he was saying made sense. Although her job was peripheral—she analyzed digital devices like laptops or cell phones that cops brought to her under the fluorescent lights in her lab—she’d seen how investigations worked.
Roy’s Grocery was in a safe area. There were a lot of independent businesses there, and it was close to family neighborhoods. People watched out for one another. They would report someone running away after hearing gunshots. Logically, that would lead to a location where the shooter had a car waiting, and a license plate they could run through their system to get a name. She’d seen it happen before. She’d seen it work plenty of times.
But she’d also helped with cases where they’d come up empty no matter how hard they tried, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to be one of those cases. Even worse, she hadn’t been any help at all. All she could say about the shooter was that he was male, probably white, definitely determined to kill her.
“Do you think it was the same people from last year?” She spoke her deepest fear.
Gangs didn’t give up. They didn’t forgive, and they held grudges.
The police had rounded up the whole group, killing some at the scene, then getting the driver from her identification. After that, they’d worked tirelessly to bring down the leadership, being creative by going after them on racketeering charges, using the digital trail she’d found before the shooting, before she’d quit. But was everyone behind bars, or had they missed someone? Had someone gotten out?
With gangs anything was possible, including someone new making a play to bring the group back, to make a name for himself by taking out the key witness in the trial that had brought down the old leadership. Last year she’d worried that she’d never be safe again. There had actually been talk of the Witness Protection Program.
But Cole and his partner had kept at it, even working with local FBI agents in one of the biggest task forces their small department had ever seen. She’d been gone by then, but she’d heard the rumors. Cole had ignored death threats. He’d kept going until he was certain every member was behind bars.
She’d seen the news headlines later that year, too, proclaiming the demise of the Jannis Crew gang. Her fear of returning to the station hadn’t gone away, but at the time, her logical brain had said there was no more reason for her to be scared.
“We’re looking into it,” Cole said, fury in the hard lines of his jaw. “But don’t worry. Chances are this is totally unrelated. You were probably a random victim, just in the wrong parking lot when he happened to be looking for trouble.”
“You think this guy was planning a mass shooting and the parking lot was emptier than he expected?” she asked. Or had Cole arrived before the shooter could head into the building to find more victims, she wondered, staring at the man who’d saved her life for the second time.
She flashed back to that moment when she’d flattened herself to the ground in a different parking lot, certain she was going to be killed. Back then, there’d been three other men in the lot with her, armed men, who’d each taken a bullet before they could unholster their weapons. She’d gotten as low as she could, with nowhere to run, bullets spraying over her head, and then Cole had run out the front door of the station, right into the line of fire.
“It’s definitely a possibility,” Cole said, and she refocused on their conversation.
Mass shooting. This was different from last year, she reminded herself. Except back then, she hadn’t been an intended target, either. Just at the wrong place at the wrong time. How many chances would she get before she ran out of them, or Cole wasn’t around to save her?
A shiver worked through her, and she spoke quickly to change the subject, knowing he’d seen it. “How long have I been here?”
He didn’t even glance at his watch. “A few hours.”
And he’d stayed beside her the whole time? She didn’t need to ask. She could tell from the way the nurse had maneuvered around him when she’d left the room without even looking, as if she’d been doing it repeatedly.
She had an instant flashback to the day she’d arrived in Jannis, having accepted the job as a digital forensics examiner. She’d walked through the station doors, thinking it was connected to the laboratory she was supposed to report to, her palms slick with nerves and her stride quick with anticipation. She’d turned the corner toward security and walked smack into Cole Walker.
She was tall, and in the heels she’d worn that first day with her carefully tailored suit, she’d been close to his six feet. But even in heels, she didn’t have slow or dainty strides. She walked with purpose, so she’d collided with him hard. Enough that the impact with his rock-hard chest had almost sent her to the ground.
The memory made her flush, warming her up, and Cole’s lips turned up at the corners like he could tell what she was thinking. Before he could comment on it, she blurted, “I’m not quitting.”
He looked surprised by her outburst, and, in truth, it had surprised her, too. She’d had no idea she was even thinking it until the words came out, but as soon as she spoke, she realized they were true.
A year ago she’d let the tragedy at the station derail her career. The fact was she’d let it derail her life.
She was scared. But how many times could she be this unlucky?
And she was tired of running from the things that scared her. She met Cole’s gaze, momentarily distracted by the perfect sky blue of his eyes, then felt her shoulders square on the scratchy hospital pillow. “Whatever needs to be done to catch this guy, I want to be a part of it.”
* * *
HAPPINESS BURST FORTH, then instantly warred with Cole’s need to keep Shaye safe.
He’d been thrilled when she had returned to the lab. It had been part of his motivation when he’d called her a month ago, asking for some off-the-books help with a situation his foster brother Andre had been battling. When she’d provided key information to help them nail the guy who’d been coming after his brother’s new girlfriend, he’d seen it boost her confidence again. Even more, he’d seen it remind her how much she loved the electronic chase.
He’d worked with enough forensics specialists in his years at the police department to know Shaye was special. She had a gift with computers, able to pull from them things no one else could find. And that kind of talent rarely came without passion.
When she’d left the job last year, he’d understood. A tiny part of him had even been glad, because it kept her out of the line of fire while they chased down the dangerous gang nervy enough to stage a drive-by at a police station. But he’d missed seeing her every day, those few moments each morning when they’d walk in from the parking lot together before she veered off to the county’s forensics lab located behind the station. Those few moments each evening when she’d wait for him outside the station doors, and they’d stand and chat before going their separate ways.
Once he’d been confident they’d shut the gang down, he’d reached out a few times, tried to convince Shaye to return. He knew her director had, too. But each time she’d refused, seeming embarrassed by the fact that she was afraid to come under fire again. So he was shocked that she was standing her ground now.
“Are you sure?” he asked. Before she could argue, he continued. “Believe me—I want you to stay. I think this is where you belong. But we don’t know who came after you today—and