Protective Duty. Jessica R. Patch
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grabbed for her sidearm, but he was quicker and snatched it from the holster.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he growled as his wiry beard scraped against her ear.
Would he shoot her? Shudders rolled down her back as the scene from Ohio chiseled back into her bones. No. He couldn’t be crazy enough to squeeze off a round. Every officer on the scene would come running. They may not be able to see out here, but they’d hear gunfire.
He tossed her Glock several feet away.
“Who do you think you are? Miss High and Mighty-FBI.” His breath smelled of smoke, beer and mints that hadn’t done their job. “You got no business here.”
Bryn’s heart kicked into a sprint.
Fear slicked down her back in arctic streams; a wave of hysteria clouded her brain, stopped her from reacting.
Spots dotted her vision.
“You better back off before you find yourself dead like those other ones.”
No.
That’s why she was here. For the other ones. To fight for them.
Adrenaline raced, and Bryn rammed her elbow into rock-solid abs. He barely flinched but tightened his grip, and a tattoo covering his hand came into view.
Fight. She had to fight.
She brought her foot down on his. He didn’t budge. She glanced down. Boots. Probably steel-toed.
Her attacker dragged her even farther into the woods as he assaulted her ears with vile, hateful words.
“Agent Eastman! Bryn! Hey...you! I’m not sure how to address you these days.” Beams of light pulsed in their direction. “Where are you? Marco!”
Eric.
If she could manage a sound, she’d call out to him. She dropped her legs like deadweight, refusing to make this easy for the brute.
Bryn’s eyes burned. She needed more oxygen. With this grip, a whimper wouldn’t make it from her lips. She sank her teeth into the bionic man’s arm. His heavy coat would probably protect his arm from the bite. But she’d try. By granny, if she had to break every tooth out of her gums she would.
“That’s your cue to holler back ‘Polo.’ Bryn? You out here? I’ll even take an ‘over here.’”
The savage grabbed her hair, which hung in a low ponytail. “This ain’t over.”
She rammed his rib cage again, but he thrust her in the air and into the cluster of bushes he’d been dragging her away from. Her head popped against the ground with a thud, and white-hot pain seared up her back. Boots pounding and rustling bushes sounded in the distance. He was getting away. Whoever he was. Had he been out here all along, hidden away watching from a distance? Was he the killer? She clawed breath into her lungs. Sweet, wonderful breath. Her throat ached, and pain continued to streak down her spine into her tailbone.
“Over...over here,” she croaked.
* * *
Eric had needed a minute. He still needed a minute. How was Bryn Eastman back in Memphis? And not just back but an FBI agent? He had five billion questions and no time to ask even one.
Fancy meeting you here.
Seriously? That’s what came from his mouth the second he laid eyes on her? He’d rehearsed time and again what he’d say if they ever met again. That line had never made it into the script. He flashed his light, hunting for her through the foliage.
“Eastman!” His voice echoed through the silent park. A secluded place to dump a body or attack someone—like Bryn.
Bryn Eastman. FBI. Eric gave his head a good shake. Chief had said the female agent being sent to assist specialized in victimology and profiling, and had an impressive track record for such a young agent. She’d worked on the Dayton Date Rapist case, the Cleveland Creeper case, a few others in Iowa, plus one in New York.
All successes.
But his Bryn Eastman?
Whoa. Where had that come from? She wasn’t even close to being his. Hadn’t been his since their relationship tanked when she was still in college and he was working as a patrol officer. When her brother had turned out to be a serial killer who had set his sights on Eric’s sister, Abby.
Which was why they could never be together again.
But that fact hadn’t stopped his heart from slamming into his rib cage when she cast those blue eyes on him. Long golden hair secured at her neck. Creamy skin and high cheekbones. She was the epitome of the All American Dream Girl. A California dime—if she were from Cali and not Memphis. Either way she was still a ten.
Where was she? Was she ignoring his calls on purpose?
“Bryn?” Cold pinpricks traveled up his spine. Why wouldn’t she call out? About twenty feet ahead, a flock of blackbirds burst from half-naked maples. He cast his light in the direction.
Was that a figure?
His gut tightened. His pulse galloped. God, please let her be okay.
“Over...over here.”
Eric sprinted toward the sound of her garbled voice and found her slumped against a tree, her hand on her temple. “Bryn!” He knelt. “What happened?” Her bottom lip quivered, and her eyes appeared glassy. “Bryn, talk to me.”
“That...way. He went that way.” She pointed.
He hesitated.
“Go. Don’t worry about me.”
How could he not with her face paler than snow and trembling hands? A mix of fear and utter rage pulsed through Eric’s veins. Someone had laid a hand on her. Hurt her. God had protected her, though. Two things Eric had never ceased doing: thinking about Bryn and praying for her. Looked like God had been listening.
“Go...you’ll lose him.”
Eric touched her cheek, then bolted in the direction of the shadow, radioing backup to help canvass the area and letting them know an officer needed medical attention. Weaving between trees, he followed the sound of footsteps that led up a hill and onto the highway.
No one. Where had he disappeared to? He searched the area for a few more minutes. Pulse pounding in his ears, heart hammering, he raced back to Bryn and dropped to his knees at her side. “What happened? Other than you refused medical treatment.” First responders were leaving the area.
“I didn’t refuse. I politely declined to go to the hospital.” She removed her hand from her forehead; a streak of blood trailed down her temple and cheek. “It’s a minor abrasion.”
It didn’t look minor, but there was no point arguing. “The attacker? What happened?” Eric huffed.
“One minute I was picking up a scarf and then out of nowhere...” With shaking hands, she stared at the blood on her fingertips. “I’m... I’m okay, though. I fought.” Bryn squeezed her eyes shut, and everything in Eric screamed to gather her close to him, assure her that she was safe. But he couldn’t. Instead, he laid a hand on her cheek.
She stood up and winced. “Must have been the killer.”
The thought of what could have gone down, and only a few feet away from his protection, was more than he could stomach. Better to make light than fall apart right here and now. “Or someone who really doesn’t like you,” he teased in a shaky voice.
“Har. Har.” She crossed to the left, bent, then retrieved her gun and holstered it.
“He got your gun?” A thump formed behind his right eye. A guy this crazy could have shot her. Killed her!
She nodded. The expression on her face told him to tread lightly, and behind her narrowed eyes pumped raw fear.
“Promise