The Defender's Duty. Shirlee McCoy
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her against the house with his body. Moving into her space. Stealing her breath as he whispered in her ear. “I said don’t move.”
Lacey wanted to slip away, peer around the side of the house and figure out exactly what was going on, but Jude’s chest pressed against her back, his breath tickling her ear, and she knew if she moved he’d only press closer. She didn’t like people in her space. Especially if those people were men.
“I can’t see a license plate. Stay here. I’m going to see if I can get a look at the driver.” Jude eased away, and Lacey breathed a sigh of relief, turning to face him.
“You can’t—” The words lodged in her throat as she caught sight of Jude’s gun.
“Sure I can. Stay here, Lacey. I don’t want to shoot the wrong person.”
“Jude!”
But he’d already moved away, was slipping through the darkness, part of the shadows and barely visible.
Leaving her standing in the darkness. Alone. Praying that whoever was in that car had a good reason for idling at the top of the driveway and that Jude wouldn’t end up killing someone. Or being killed.
Having her client murdered while she watched was not how Lacey intended to spend her first night in Lynchburg. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket, frowning when she realized the battery had died.
Stupid, Lacey.
Don’t you ever think?
The words were from the past, and she pushed them aside. She couldn’t use her cell phone, but she could keep her new client from getting himself killed.
She hoped.
“A plan would be nice right about now, Lord.” She whispered the prayer as she crept toward the front of the house. Her door was unlocked and open. All she had to do was get inside and call the police.
Piece of cake.
Sure it was.
The car rolled closer to the house. Jude inched closer to the car. And Lacey tiptoed toward the front door. All of them pawns in a macabre chess game.
It was a shame Lacey had never been very good at chess.
She kept moving anyway, danger breathing down her neck, reminding her of other nights, other dark, shadowy places. Terror. Anger. The overwhelming need to survive.
Memories better left in the darkest recesses of her mind.
Gravel crunched. Jude whispered something into the night. And Lacey was pulled firmly back into the present and the menace that seemed to fill the air and deepen the darkness, stealing the light and threatening to steal everything Lacey had worked so hard for.
THREE
Jude knew he’d told Lacey to stay put. Twice. Yet there she was, creeping toward her front door, just begging to be shot by whoever was driving the black Honda sedan. “Get down.”
He whispered the command for the second time, but she kept on going. He had no choice but to change his course and follow. He’d spent enough years working as a beat cop in New York City to sense danger. Right now it was nipping at his heels just as it had been in the weeks preceding the accident that had almost taken his life.
Accident.
That’s what his supervisor insisted it was. That’s what the police report indicated. It’s not what Jude believed. Someone had tried to kill him two months ago, accelerating toward him as he helped a stranded motorist. There wasn’t a doubt in Jude’s mind that the act had been deliberate. Nor did he doubt that the person would try again.
But next time, Jude would be ready.
The car inched forward, moving as quietly as a car could. Nearly coasting. Lights off. License plate concealed. And instead of moving toward it, Jude was heading up the porch stairs, his need to keep Lacey safe outweighing his need to confront the driver of the car.
It was the same need to protect that had nearly gotten him killed. He’d been on vacation, heading out to a cabin in upstate New York when he’d spotted a woman and two kids standing on the side of the road, steam rising from the hood of their minivan.
He could have passed them like everyone else had, but denying someone help wasn’t something Jude had ever been able to do. He’d pulled up behind the car, gotten out of his vehicle and been run down by a black sedan.
One that looked a lot like the one idling at the end of his driveway.
“Get away from the door. You’re lit up like a Christmas tree.” He hissed the warning as he tugged her out of the light from the door and into the shadowy corner of the porch.
“What’s going on, Jude? Who’s in the car?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I find out. Stay here.”
“But—”
“We’ll talk after I deal with my visitor.”
He limped down the porch steps and jogged toward the car, his gun in hand, knowing he and Lacey had already been seen. Maybe, if he were lucky, he’d get a glimpse of the driver anyway. And maybe he wouldn’t get a bullet through the heart while he did it.
The car U-turned, kicking up gravel as it sped away.
Gone.
A missed opportunity.
And Jude knew exactly who to blame.
He gritted his teeth and made his way back up the stairs, slamming his fist on Lacey’s door as he moved into the foyer.
“There’s no need to slam things around.” Lacey stepped inside and closed the door, her shoulders stiff. Jude wasn’t sure if she was scared or angry, and he wasn’t sure he cared.
“Sure there is. I’ve been waiting months to confront the person in that car. Thanks to you, it didn’t happen.”
“Thanks to me? I was trying to save your sorry hide.”
“I didn’t need saving. I needed to get a good look at the car’s driver.” He stalked away before he could say anything worse. Lacey didn’t know what was going on, and she couldn’t be blamed for not understanding.
“I’m sorry, Jude. I just wanted to help.” She touched his arm, her fingers warm through his shirt, searing his skin and cooling his temper.
“There are things going on that you don’t understand, Lacey. For now on, when I tell you to do something, do it.”
He limped back outside, his legs protesting every step, and watched as the retreating car braked at the top of the road. Two months ago, Jude would have sprinted around the side of the house, hopped into his car and sped after the retreating vehicle. Unfortunately, his sprinting days were over.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to find the car and its driver.
“I’m going for a drive. You go back in the house, eat your pretzels and then try to get some sleep,” he called over his shoulder as he started down the porch steps.
“There you go again. Trying to order me around.” Lacey shut the front door and hurried after him.
“I’m not trying. I’m doing it.”
“And wasting time while you’re at it. I don’t know who you think is in that car, but if you’re planning to catch up to him, the sooner we follow, the better.”
“We’re not following. I am.”
“My car is right in front of the house, and I’ve got the key.”
She didn’t add that it would make more sense to take her car since it was obviously closer than his. Probably because she knew she didn’t have to. Jude hadn’t made the grade as a homicide detective because he was ruled by his emotions. He’d made it because he was logical and meticulous.