Mistaken Twin. Jodie Bailey
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him.
Officer Wyatt Stephens turned onto Valley Street and cranked the heat. The air in his patrol SUV was taking forever to warm, the damp chill of a January evening proving to be one of the toughest enemies in Mountain Springs.
His gut sank. Not as tough as the real enemy seeking to encroach on the town he’d grown up in and loved. The box truck they’d located on the old Gaskins property on Overton Road a few months earlier had reeked of body odor and long-term living. It was clear several people had been forced to call the cramped space home for quite a while, but the truck had been empty by the time a couple of deer hunters had stumbled upon it.
Someone had tried to move people through town like cargo.
The FBI and the Department of Homeland Security had completed their investigation last month, concluding the traffickers had broken down while passing through, but Wyatt wasn’t so certain. Lord, please don’t let them be looking to use Mountain Springs as a depot.
It was his biggest fear. He would lie awake at night considering the horrors of someone using the tiny town as a stop on the trafficking pipeline that ran from the country’s northern border to its southern border. For months, he’d eyed every stranger in town with suspicion. He had even taken a closer look at some of the families of the old-timers who’d once run moonshine along these ridges. The very idea someone would treat a human being like a commodity made him nauseous.
The idea someone so vile and heartless might be a person he actually knew—
The ringing of his cell phone jerked him out of a dark reverie. Erin. His cousin was always good for a smile.
She’d been living at his house since she’d left her father’s house in the fall, and was preparing to marry her fiancé, who also happened to be his closest friend.
She probably had another wedding assignment for him. As the best man, his to-do list grew every day. He punched the answer button on his Bluetooth. “I’m on duty, E. I can’t be running your wedding errands right now.”
“Where are you?”
The frantic tone of her voice had his foot easing to the brake pedal, and he cast his eyes to the rearview to see how quickly he could make a U-turn and get to the house. No, to downtown. She was supposed to be at the Fine Arts Center with Jason. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“It’s Jenna.”
Wyatt’s mouth tightened into a grim line and he hung the U-turn, headed toward downtown and the strip of historic buildings along the main street. Jenna Clark wasn’t high on his list of likable personalities, but she was Erin’s best friend. “Talk to me.”
“I think someone’s broken in to the store and she’s there. She set the phone on the counter to walk to the back and check on a noise, then I heard a crash, her scream and a man’s voice. I—I can’t tell what they’re saying.”
“Stay away from the store. Tell Jason not to go in, either. I mean it. I know him. He’ll try.” Wyatt’s foot dug into the accelerator, and the engine roared as it tackled the hill toward downtown. He might not trust Jenna Clark, but if she was in danger... “Hang up the phone. Call 911 and get them rolling. I’ll radio in from my end.” He killed the call and took a right onto Barnett Street, reaching for his radio. One other officer was on duty in town for the night, but their calls would bring in the county as backup.
His headlights swept across the alley as he turned in. Jenna’s small crossover sat close to the back door, but a dark late-model sports car with Texas plates was parked slightly behind hers at an angle calculated to prevent her from backing out.
Adrenaline crashed into his system, thrumming through his veins. This was no break-in. Blocking her vehicle was targeted. And those Texas plates? The same state as the box truck on Overton Road. The odds the two were connected were slim, but if traffickers were in the area and one had stumbled upon Jenna or Liza alone at the shop in the dark of the evening...
His throat tightened and he rolled in behind the unfamiliar vehicle, cutting off its escape route. After notifying Dispatch, Wyatt eased out of his SUV, eyes on the door of the shop, hand resting on the pistol at his side. An attacker would never try to take Jenna or Liza out the front door, not with so many people flowing past on their way to tonight’s concert. They’d head straight out the back, directly toward him.
He inhaled deeply, steadying his nerves. He’d hated approaching situations with no intel ever since his very first domestic call when he was a rookie cop. There’d been five first responders in the small yard, a mix of town and county officers, pinned down by shotgun blasts. While he’d been in numerous firefights during his enlistment in the army, being an untested cop taking fire on home soil had sent him into a tailspin that still echoed in his emotions.
But they couldn’t today. Not if he was going to deal successfully with whatever was behind Jenna’s door. You’re in control, Stephens. You know he’s here. He has no idea you’re waiting. You have the upper hand.
Maybe Jenna had a friend visiting, someone who’d surprised her. Though she’d never mentioned exactly where she’d lived before moving to Mountain Springs, her drawl tilted toward the Deep South.
Maybe to Texas.
Even with the vague hope this was all a misunderstanding, he couldn’t let down his guard. Assumptions could get a man—or a woman—killed.
So could acting too quickly. As much as he wanted to bust in alone to make certain Jenna was safe, smart training told him to wait for backup. He approached the door from the left, where it would open out should anyone leave.
A crash echoed through the alley as the door burst open and a man shoved through a couple of feet from Wyatt’s position.
Wyatt jumped back and took aim but the man was dragging Jenna by the throat and blocked any chance at a clean shot.
Kicking and fighting, Jenna clawed at her assailant’s thick muscled arm. Her wide-eyed gaze scanned the alley before she spotted Wyatt, froze, then renewed her struggle.
The fear in her eyes ripped through him. He had to rescue her.
Busy with Jenna, the other man hadn’t seen Wyatt or his patrol vehicle. Thankfully, the man also didn’t appear to have a weapon out, though one peeked from beneath his jacket at his hip.
Surprise would be the best offense and would keep him from drawing his weapon. As Wyatt prepared to make his presence known, he nodded once at Jenna then holstered his pistol. It was a risky move, but he had a better shot of keeping Jenna safe if he could wrestle the stranger to the ground than if he drew a weapon and instigated a shoot-out with her in the middle.
Sirens sounded in the distance, from the direction of the police station.
The man hesitated and was still facing away from Wyatt. His hold on Jenna relaxed.
Now.
Wyatt dove from his position, crashing into the assailant’s lower back and driving both him and Jenna into the side of the car.
Her cry of pain mingled with a deeper angry curse. The stranger’s grip on Jenna loosened as he whirled toward Wyatt, fists in front of him, prepared to fight.
Wyatt was more than ready. He swung an uppercut to the man’s thick jaw, staggering him backward. “Jenna! Get inside and lock the door!” If she was still within reach, her attacker likely wouldn’t think twice about lunging for her, either for leverage against Wyatt or to attempt an escape.
She didn’t hesitate, disappearing behind Wyatt as he kept a wary eye on his opponent.
With Jenna out of the way, Wyatt reached for his pistol, but the man turned and ran for the entrance to the alley, ducking around the corner as Wyatt took off in pursuit.
The suspect hit the main street before Wyatt and blended into the crowd flowing toward the Fine Arts Center. In the shadowy light from the ancient streetlights, he melted into the small sea of humanity.
Wyatt