High-Caliber Holiday
High-Caliber Holiday
Susan Sleeman
CAUGHT IN THE CROSSHAIRSHeld hostage on a train, ex-lawyer Morgan Thorsby finds her powers of persuasion failing her for the first time. Former marine sniper Brady Owens is her only hope—but his split-second hesitation on the trigger leaves her wounded. Yet when an obsessed stalker threatens Morgan, Brady steps up. Protecting someone so tough and beautiful is hardly a chore, but Brady pulls back every time they get close. Morgan isn't ready for the connection forming between them, either, but she knows she needs his help. Can Brady capture the culprit in time for Christmas?First Responders: Brave men and women alert and ready for danger and love.
CAUGHT IN THE CROSSHAIRS
Held hostage on a train, ex-lawyer Morgan Thorsby finds her powers of persuasion failing her for the first time. Former marine sniper Brady Owens is her only hope—but his split-second hesitation on the trigger leaves her wounded. Yet when an obsessed stalker threatens Morgan, Brady steps up. Protecting someone so tough and beautiful is hardly a chore, but Brady pulls back every time they get close. Morgan isn’t ready for the connection forming between them, either, but she knows she needs his help. Can Brady capture the culprit in time for Christmas?
First Responders: Brave men and women alert and ready for danger and love.
A scream pierced the air. Shattering glass followed.
The kitchen. Morgan.
Adrenaline rekindled in his veins. His hand on his sidearm, he closed the distance to the kitchen in a few strides. He stepped inside, his boots grinding over broken glass. Morgan stood by the sink, physically unharmed, but her face was white.
“Someone was here. He left—” Her words were barely more than a whisper.
Brady looked around. He saw nothing odd other than the glass she’d dropped on the wood floor. “Left what?”
“Those.” She pointed at the countertop. “I didn’t leave them there.”
Brady looked at the counter, then back at her ashen face. His pulse kicked into high gear, and he drew his weapon. It was a good thing he’d walked Morgan home. A very good thing.
Brady needed to check the other rooms for an intruder, but he also wanted to take a better look at the photograph lying under a long-stemmed red rose.
The downright creepy photo was an engagement announcement. A man sat next to Morgan, but some picture-editing program had left only a silhouette with the words Your One True Love superimposed on it. The caption below read, “You are mine. You will marry no one but me.”
SUSAN SLEEMANis a bestselling author of inspirational and clean-read romantic suspense books and mysteries. Awards include RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book for Thread of Suspicion; No Way Out and The Christmas Witness were finalists for the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence. She’s had the pleasure of living in nine states and currently lives in Oregon. To learn more about Susan visit her website at susansleeman.com (http://www.susansleeman.com).
High-Caliber Holiday
Susan Sleeman
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
And my God will meet all your needs according to
the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.
—Philippians 4:19
For the many law enforcement and military snipers
who perform such a necessary job to keep all of us safe. Thank you for your service even when people often don’t understand and appreciate the job you do.
Contents
Cover (#u3d70d012-3598-5405-9586-c144b104ffe2)
Back Cover Text (#u3d70d012-3598-5405-9586-c144b104ffe2)
Introduction (#ud058000c-d1d8-579f-8c94-cf56a1a79c0c)
About the Author (#u5e2840b9-e3cb-5d53-9ad0-c71c5550b05f)
Title Page (#ub244de81-188d-5550-a6ea-c9b4424966ae)
Bible Verse (#u2abe14ca-fbb0-5ad1-8497-f079f5554abc)
Dedication (#u27eb8754-9971-52b8-9f54-7f423888e478)
ONE (#u351fcb2f-45bc-532a-8819-1458ac1544cc)
TWO (#ufa4580df-001a-504b-8a52-881cc16bd328)
THREE (#u0fcd7dd8-333f-56ae-9d79-f9f7bcd06967)
FOUR (#u35a87c78-85d1-5019-a210-02f146942c29)
FIVE (#u022d9df9-9f68-52be-a772-a2db951c9885)
SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
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SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
ONE (#ulink_49e99ccf-5773-5044-949a-541e55d0e44f)
The gun couldn’t be real. Could it?
Morgan Thorsby clutched her friend Lacy’s arm and scooted back from the gun-wielding man charging onto the MAX light rail train. Brisk, chilling air rushed in behind him as she looked at the silvery gun glinting in the overhead light.
The weapon looked real. Very real.
The man took a step closer. Anger radiated from his body. His breathing was ragged as he made a quick survey of the space, skimming tortured eyes over the few passengers on board this late at night.
Please, God, don’t let this be real, Morgan begged, her heart thumping in her chest. She fought to control her fear and studied the man’s jittery behavior.
Could he be one of those shooters who’d been pushed beyond his breaking point until he’d decided to randomly kill people? She couldn’t just sit here and wait to find out. Her life was in immediate danger and it was up to her to protect herself. She had to do something, but what?
Run. Hide. Fight. The active shooter video she’d viewed at work rushed through her mind. The video taught them not to sit back passively but to run, hide or fight. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t hide. She could fight. But how? With what?
She searched the train looking for a weapon. Any weapon.
The man’s distressed gaze landed on her with a finality that took her breath away.
“He’s coming toward us.” Lacy grabbed Morgan’s hand.
“Don’t panic,” Morgan said and forced herself to look into the gunman’s eyes. She saw no life in the depths. Desperation, panic, yes, but nothing to prove he was alive.
Oh no. No.
She knew this man. She’d seen him in the sea of men and women who’d brought a class-action lawsuit against her family’s company, claiming Thorsby Mill had polluted the water and caused cancer in the residents. As the company’s attorney at that time, she’d seen the plaintiffs’ turmoil day in and day out during the trial.
Plaintiffs who’d threatened her life then and continued to send threatening letters after the mill had been cleared of any wrongdoing. The gunman was one of those people. And that meant he’d come for her. Her alone.
Her heart raced faster. Beating at an unstoppable gallop.
He continued moving, his ragged jeans whispering through the quiet. Step by step, he advanced on her, purpose in each thump of his dirty boots on the metal floor. Hatred spewed from his expression.
Morgan felt time stop. She was aware of Lacy’s touch. Of the cold. The icy cold. Her palms starting to sweat. The bag holding a Christmas present for her mother slid from her fingers, the crystal vase falling to the floor. The sound of breaking glass caught his attention, distracting him for a moment. But it all seemed to be happening at the end of a tunnel. In a foggy haze. All except the gun. It was clear and sharp and she could reach out to touch it.
Lacy clutched Morgan’s hand tighter, drawing her attention. Lacy didn’t deserve to be a party to this. Morgan had to do everything she could to portray strength and confidence for her friend, to ease her fear. Morgan sat up straighter. Firmed her shoulders. Jutted out her jaw and waited for him to act.
Eyes riveted to her, he took the last few steps. He raised the gun. Slowly. Purposefully. He planted it on her temple. The cool steel bit into her skin, and she recoiled in fear.
“Don’t back away, Morgan,” he said, his voice flat, as if he took hostages every day.
She could smell the sour stench of alcohol radiating from him. The blood drained from her head. She felt weak. Powerless.
“I’ve come for you. To pay you back. Just like I promised I would in my letter.” He glared down on her. “Your stinkin’ mill has taken my entire family, and it’s time for you to pay.”
Anything she said would make him angrier so she didn’t speak at all, but waited for his finger to drift to the trigger.
Silence descended on them, coursing through the space, tight, pervasive, building into a frenzy. A pressure cooker ready to erupt.
An announcement carried into the silence, warning that the doors would soon close. His eyes grew wilder, his hold on reality a mere thread. Seconds ticked by, feeling like an hour. Panic threatened to swamp her.
A twisted, mean smile claimed his thin lips as the doors whooshed together, cocooning her inside the car with a killer. The train set off, the side-to-side motion rocking Morgan, but the gunman stood strong, his weapon never wavering.
With the gun at her head, she couldn’t form a coherent thought except that she was going to die. She didn’t know what he was waiting for, but he simply stood there. Watching. Maybe enjoying her terror. Wanting to make her suffer as his family suffered.
Focus. Now. Figure a way out of this.
The train slowed for the next stop, brakes squealing as they bit into the metal. Doors slid open. A rush of freezing air sliced into the train. There were no passengers waiting on the platform to board. The only other passenger on the train, a man in the back of the car, bolted out the door. Quick, staccato steps took him outside and into the cover of darkness.
The gunman didn’t turn. Didn’t see. Didn’t notice.
Lacy. Morgan could save Lacy the same way.
Morgan forced herself to make eye contact with him. “You’re not upset with my friend. Just me. Can she please get off?”
He eyed Lacy for a moment. She cringed. He took a breath and gave the briefest of nods. “Go now. Before I change my mind.”
She stood slowly and looked back at Morgan, regret hanging in her eyes.
“Go,” Morgan said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Ha!” he shouted, sending Lacy fleeing. “You’ll be as fine as all of my family and friends your greedy family killed.”
Morgan ignored his words and kept watch on Lacy as she scurried through the falling snow into the dark shadows of the buildings. Good. She was safe. The car was now empty. If he fired his weapon, she’d be the only one injured.
The doors slid on the track, closing with a thump of finality.
“Now we’re alone, and we can get down to business,” he said.
Business. Meaning her death.
Time slowed and she was aware of everything around her. The grating of the train as they took a curve. The pungent scent of his alcohol. The unmistakable cloying smell of fear in the air.
“Do you even know who I am?” he sneered.
Morgan wished she could say she knew his name, but the plaintiff list was long and she couldn’t identify them all. She knew the truth was plastered on her face so she didn’t speak a word.
“You don’t know me, do you?” He shifted and pressed the gun deeper into her forehead. “I’m not surprised. Not after your coldhearted representation in the trial.”
He huffed out a laugh and ground the gun into her skin, his eyes fixed on hers. “Well, know this, Morgan Thorsby. I’m Craig Shaw and everyone will soon know my name. The minute we reach the last stop, I’m the man who’s going to drag you off this train, haul you out to your precious mill and end your life.”
* * *
Brady Owens listened to the hum of tires as the First Response Squad raced toward MAX’s final Yellow Line stop near Portland State University. A 911 call from the train operator who’d been listening into the hostage situation told them the shooter planned to disembark with his hostage at this stop.
“ETA two minutes,” team leader Jake Marsh announced from the driver’s seat.
“Roger that,” Brady said, his pulse ratcheting up at the call to action.
His fellow FRS members sitting on bench seats in the rear of the truck responded with somber affirmatives. Negotiator Archer Reed bowed his head in prayer. He would carry the heaviest duty tonight, talking the gunman down, hopefully preventing the need for Brady’s services as the team sniper. Paramedic Darcie Stevens would render aid to the traumatized woman and anyone injured in the incident. Jake would direct the action and bomb tech Cash Dixon would fill in wherever Jake asked. The only one missing from their six-person emergency response team was their other negotiator, Skyler, who was on her honeymoon.
Brady couldn’t imagine any other people he’d want to take with him into the tense situation awaiting them. All team members except Darcie were sworn sheriff’s deputies who fulfilled other job responsibilities when they weren’t responding to an emergency. Though assigned to the county sheriff’s department, they were dispatched to handle negotiations and major emergencies for the entire Portland metro area regardless of county lines.
“We’re here.” Jake swung their mobile command center the size of a package delivery truck to the curb out of view of the MAX stop.
Even late at night, students would be milling about. The team would contain the shooter in the train and cordon off the area to protect innocent lives. Then Archer would use the train’s PA system to communicate with the gunman.
That was the plan. But they had no time to run the scenario, and plans could go wrong.
Curling his .330 Winchester Magnum rifle closer, Brady mentally checked off his steps. Ammo first. Check. Already loaded in his rifle. If he had to shoot, it would be through glass, requiring special ammo to reduce deflection on glass penetration. Extra ammo was in his vest. Scope was fixed and calibrated. Binoculars and laser range finder snug in his pocket. He patted his vest pocket to confirm. He was ready. He could do this.
Jake cut the engine, then joined the team. He glanced at Darryl Collins, the computer tech assigned to their team, who sat behind a console. “We have eyes or ears on the train yet?”
“I’m still working with the MAX tech team to patch us through.”
“Well, get ’em. No way we’re going in blind.” Jake eyed the team, his gaze sharp and focused. “The gunman is not getting off the train with Morgan Thorsby and she’s getting out of this alive and well. You got that?”
They nodded.
“You have your assignments.” Jake clapped his hands. “Let’s roll.”
Brady slung his rifle over his shoulder and headed into the night, toward the perfect location he’d chosen in a yard abutting an apartment complex. He jogged across the road and slipped through the gate. Resting his arm on a fence post topped with snow, he took a shooting stance. He’d like to get into a more natural position, but that wasn’t an option. No problem. He’d made shots in every position imaginable as a Marine Scout Sniper. He sighted in the scope and adjusted for the wind.
“Falcon, in position,” he said into his microphone.
“Roger that, Falcon,” came Jake’s response. “Stand by. Train ETA in one minute. Audio streaming.”
With more than one agency responding to the incident, they would use code names when communicating. The group had long ago voted on an animal name for each person. Brady was tagged Falcon, as the bird and he both moved fast. Cash got Termite since they were demolitions experts. Archer, Mockingbird for his soothing voice. And Jake? He had the best name of all. Papa Bear.
“Got eyes and ears, sir,” Darryl’s voice came over Brady’s earpiece.
“Then we’re a go, Falcon,” Jake said. “TriMet has confirmed the doors will remain closed on this car and Mockingbird is patched through to the train. We’ll give Termite time to escort passengers in the other cars to a secured spot, then Mockingbird will take over.”
“Roger that, Papa Bear,” Brady confirmed. “I’m ready.”
But was he ready? He wasn’t sure. Not completely, anyway. Not after their last callout, when he’d hesitated to take the shot. He was good with taking extreme measures for hostage-taking criminals and drug dealers, but the prior callout involved a former marine. Brady had felt like he was taking out a family member. Couldn’t be helped, though. The man had lost touch with reality. If Brady hadn’t acted, the guy would have killed his wife and three sweet children.
Now Brady wasn’t sure how he’d react when it came time to pull the trigger.
The train rolled in, the brakes squealing to a stop.
Focus, man. Focus. He fine-tuned his scope and shut out everything around him. The biting wind. The falling snow. The flag flapping on the next building. The sound of Cash moving people out of the line of fire. All of it faded into the background, his eye fixed dead center on his scope.
The occupants of the car came into focus in the crosshairs. Morgan Thorsby was blonde, petite and wearing a trench coat tied over what looked like an expensive suit, but it was the gunman, Craig Shaw, who Brady was most interested in.
Brady adjusted his scope. Sighted on the T-zone of Craig’s head.
“I have a target, but no shot. No shot.” Brady kept his eyes on the scope, but wouldn’t shoot before an attempt was made to end this standoff without loss of life.
“Craig,” Archer’s voice came over the train’s speaker.
Craig’s head shot up. “Who’s that? How do you know me?”
Brady listened through his earpiece as Archer introduced himself and started the process of talking Craig into surrendering.
Craig seemed to listen, then suddenly pivoted and pounded on the door, the sound reverberating through the silent car. “Open it now or I’ll kill Morgan right here!”
“Don’t do anything rash, Craig,” Archer said over the train’s speaker. “We’ve got all the time in the world to talk this through.”
“I don’t want to talk,” Craig screamed. “I want out of this tin can, now!”
“I’m afraid I don’t have the ability to open the doors, Craig.” Archer was a tough law enforcement officer. Sharp. Intense, but he also had a soothing way about him and his voice was unhurried and comforting.
“I don’t care, man,” Craig fired back. “Get these doors open or I will shoot her. I swear I will. You’ve got five minutes. You hear me? Five minutes. If I’m still locked in here then, she dies.”
TWO (#ulink_ef6197cf-9c01-546f-9011-d30cdaa649c5)
“Dumb cops,” Craig muttered as he gestured at the door with his gun. He obviously thought Archer was no longer listening, but Brady knew his teammate was not only listening, he was intently watching.
“I could help you with them,” Morgan Thorsby said. “As an attorney, I can act as a go-between to negotiate your demands.”
“Demands? I don’t have demands. I just want to get off the stupid train with you in tow.” He massaged his forehead with his free hand.
“They’ll let you off if you surrender your gun,” Morgan continued.
Brady was surprised she had the presence of mind to talk so calmly to a man holding her life in his hands. Even more surprising, Archer didn’t shut her down. Maybe she was saying the right things and Archer thought she could help.
“And then what?” Craig asked. “I step off the train and some hotshot kills me? No, thanks.”
“You have it backwards. If you don’t surrender the gun, that hotshot you mentioned is going to go to work and you won’t get off the train alive.”
“Fine. But if that happens, I’m taking you with me.” He grabbed Morgan and jerked her head back, planting the gun against her temple again.
“Wait. Let me talk to the negotiator when he comes back on. I’ll tell him you haven’t harmed anyone and that you’re going to surrender. You can give me the gun, and we can walk out together. Then I’ll represent you or find a good criminal lawyer for you.”
Brady heard the underlying tremble in Morgan’s tone but it was still soothing, almost hypnotic. If Brady were the shooter, he would gladly do what she asked.
Craig took a step back. “You’d represent me, even after this?”
“Yes,” she said. “You’ve been drinking to mask your loss. If you had a clear head, you—”
“I’d do the same thing.”
The guy’s biting tone said he was planning to pull that trigger. It made Brady want to end this now, but he wouldn’t do so without Jake’s authority.
Craig stood unmoving and staring at her. Suddenly, something caught his attention in the distance and he spun.
“No!” he shouted. “It’s a trick. I can see them—all of them—cops...coming for me. Well, they won’t find me. I’ll make my own way out.”
He jerked his finger. The gun erupted. Bullets blasted into the window, the safety glass cracking and splintering, but holding.
“Falcon, you are clear to take a shot,” Jake announced.
“Roger that, Papa Bear.” Brady’s gut cramped as he dropped his finger to the trigger. Took a deep breath. Released a long hiss of air. Prepared to squeeze. Craig—no, the target, Brady reminded himself—shifted, his eyes coming into view. Filled with rage, with pain.
Brady hesitated.
Craig started for Morgan, bending toward her. Brady had to act now or the window of opportunity would be gone. He quickly adjusted and squeezed the trigger. The bullet sliced through the air. Craig suddenly lurched forward, Morgan falling in the other direction. She hit the ground, disappearing from the scope.
Brady’s mouth dropped open. He didn’t think his shot hit Craig. Looked more like he’d fallen. But what about Morgan? His bullet couldn’t have hit her, could it? Even if it hadn’t, his moment of hesitation had given Craig a chance to move closer to Morgan and changed Brady’s angle. Maybe it had put Morgan in the path of shattering glass. He wouldn’t know until he had a chance to get inside the train car and look around.
“Move, move, move,” came Jake’s voice as he dispatched the team to secure the gunman and train.
Brady kept his scope honed on the train when all he wanted to do was race across the street and see if Morgan was alive. He couldn’t, though. He had to hold his position until Jake gave the all clear.
He waited. Watched.
The team charged the train. The doors slid open. Brady caught a look at Craig and Morgan on the floor. Blood colored Morgan’s arm. Good. If Brady had hit her, it wasn’t a body shot. She should make it.
She held up Craig’s gun. Looked like it hadn’t been her injury taking her down. Instead, she’d dropped to the floor to retrieve the gun. Archer put a knee in Craig’s back and cuffed him. Jake retrieved Craig’s gun while Cash went to Morgan and comforted her.
“Stand down, Falcon,” Jake said.
Brady wasted no time strapping his rifle over his shoulder and taking off toward the train, moving as fast as he could. His gaze went straight to Morgan. On the floor, sitting up and alert, she’d clamped a hand over her injured arm. Blood had oozed through her fingers. Fresh. Red. But no longer increasing.
Brady sighed out his relief. Guilt flooded in. His hesitation had likely caused her injury. Still, it could have been far worse. He could have severely injured her.
Thank You, God, for protecting her, he thought and joined Cash who was standing over her and calling on his radio for Darcie.
“Hang tight,” Cash said to Morgan. “Our medic is on the way.”
“Seems like the bleeding has stopped,” Morgan said, not sounding as fearful as Brady expected.
Sure, lingering fear darkened her eyes, but he liked the strength he saw in her. She was something else. Most women would be fainting or falling apart in this situation, but Morgan remained strong.
Brady’s kind of woman. Not clingy. Not needy. Her own person, standing strong. Until he shot her. Or his bullet sent glass flying into her arm.
Right. She’s hurt because of me. He should apologize for the injury, but to do so, he’d have to admit he’d frozen, and his hesitation could very well have caused her injury.
He’d have to find a way to deal with that. Because one thing he knew for certain, a sniper who froze wasn’t good for anyone, least of all the First Response Squad. The only way to combat that was to get over what was causing it or leave the team.
* * *
Icy-cold air laden with flurrying snow rushed into the train car as Morgan reached for a pole to get to her feet. It hit her then. She’d been shot. Shot! It was only a superficial wound, but even so, a bullet had grazed her arm.
A bullet. An honest-to-goodness bullet.
The night came flashing back like a fast-forwarded video. The pictures were bright, but blurred. The sounds frantic. Craig coming for her, wanting to kill her, his bullets piercing the glass, sending spidery cracks racing through it. Her decision to put the active shooter training into practice. To fight. When Craig no longer had his gun planted against her head, she’d shot out her foot and tripped him. It was risky, but she’d had no choice. He was going to kill her. Right there in the train if she did nothing.
He’d crashed to the floor. The gun skittered away. She’d started to go after it when another gun blast sounded from a distance. The zip of a bullet was followed by the slice in her arm, pain radiating up. But she’d kept her cool and located the gun before Craig could get to his feet.
She shuddered and forced her thoughts to the present. The deputy who’d called for a medic was hauling Craig off in handcuffs. His face was peppered with cuts from the glass. His shoulder was bloody, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He came to a stop next to Morgan and glared at her. “Don’t think this is the last of this. I’ll make you pay.”
“Pretty hard to do from prison,” the deputy said.
Craig sneered at her. “I’ll find a way.”
“Come on, Shaw.” The deputy jerked Craig’s cuffs and prodded him off the train.
With Craig gone, she was suddenly aware of another deputy who’d arrived later than the others staring down at her. He stood tall and commanding as if protecting her from an unseen foe.
Unseen foe. Ha! A thought she’d never expected to have.
It was all so surreal, and she couldn’t handle much more. She needed to give her statement and get out of there before she fell apart. First, she had to get off the floor, out of the glass and away from the blood.
She pulled up on the pole. Her knees buckled and the blood drained from her head. She wobbled.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” the deputy asked. The car seemed to be spinning, and it was all she could do to find a seat before hitting the floor.
“Head between your knees or you’re going to keel over.” He stepped forward and a strong hand pushed her head down, then held it in place.
A whooshing noise rushed through Morgan’s ears, and she blinked hard to try to clear the dizziness. She was aware of movement around her and the man’s foot as he tapped on the metal floor, as if anxious to leave. Her vision was starting to clear, and she tried to sit up.
“Not yet,” he said, obviously used to getting his way.
She waited a few more moments. “I’m good to sit up.”
“You’re sure you won’t faint on me?” His tone had lightened. “’Cause superhero code says a damsel in distress can only be rescued once a day.” He grinned.
“No worries. I don’t need rescuing, by you or anyone else,” she replied more vehemently than called for. He was simply trying to alleviate her stress with a joke, but she was tired of people thinking she needed taking care of.
“Have it your way.” His hand retracted.
She shot up. Her head spun. She closed her eyes and waited it out.
“Maybe you should’ve taken your time sitting up there,” he said, a Midwestern flavor to his tone.
She opened her eyes and glared up at him. Her gaze had to travel quite a distance to reach his eyes. Past a broad chest. Past some very nice shoulders, to a handsome face. With his blond hair worn in a messy style, he looked more like a laid-back surfer than a cop.
How in the world had she missed him when he’d come barreling into the car? Sure, all the deputies were fine-looking men, but something about this one made her want to linger on his flinty-black eyes that watched her intently as she studied him.
“Deputy Brady Owens at your service,” he said as his lips turned up in a dazzling smile that she assumed made women swoon, but she could see it was forced. His eyes were troubled. He wore the same uniform as the others, black tactical pants and a polo shirt with a Kevlar vest on top, but an expensive-looking rifle with a high-powered scope hung over his shoulder. He didn’t at all seem the type to carry a rifle.
Rifle? Wait.
“You’re the sniper,” she said, her mind processing the fact that this man standing here ended lives with a simple pull of the trigger.
He gave a clipped nod but said nothing else, leaving her feeling uneasy.
“How does someone get a job like that? I mean, do you wake up one morning and say I think I’ll learn how to shoot people?” She knew she was rambling and sounding rude, but she’d never met anyone with this job and didn’t know what to say to him.
“Marines needed me, ma’am, and I did my duty.” He stood taller and gone was the easygoing expression. It was now stony and unyielding. “Our armed forces are the reason you have the freedom to offer representation to a man who takes a woman hostage at gunpoint. And the reason that police officers can save lives in hostage situations like this one.”
“Wait,” she said quickly. “No... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by my comment. I was just wondering about it, that’s all. I meant no disrespect. I appreciate the men and women of the military and the police.”
He looked doubtful before his gaze lifted above her. She swiveled to see what he was looking at.
A woman wearing the same black uniform and a stethoscope hanging around her neck marched forward. The thirty-something woman looked familiar, but Morgan wasn’t sure from where. When she got closer, their eyes connected.
The woman smiled. “Hi, Morgan. It’s me, Darcie. Remember? From OSU.”
Morgan rose slowly, searching her memory for a Darcie and testing her strength before stepping toward the door. As she got closer, the picture of a young girl in her philosophy class as naive as Morgan had been swirled in Morgan’s mind. “Darcie Wiggins?”
She nodded. “Not Wiggins anymore, but Stevens, and yeah, it’s me.”
“Of course,” Morgan said. “I’m surprised you remember me.”
“I’d never forget the girl who set off to save the world one person at a time.”
“Oh, that girl. She’s long gone.” Morgan laughed and grabbed her old Oregon State University friend in a hug, but pulled back when the pain in her arm made her wince. “Crazy to run into you here. I thought you were working as an ER nurse. What happened? Did the ER get too tame for you and you had to move on to the front lines?”
“Changed jobs a few years back,” Darcie said, her impenetrable tone stopping Morgan from asking additional questions.
“Ms. Thorsby just about passed out,” Brady inserted. “She put her head between her knees for a bit and seems better. She either took a bullet or got in the way of flying glass, but the bleeding’s stopped.” He frowned as if the situation bothered him personally. This man, the one whose bullet cut like butter through the glass and whizzed by her, was concerned for her?
An uncontrollable tremble started at her head and rushed down her body. “It was a bullet. At least it felt like one.”
His frown deepened.
“Go ahead and sit down, Morgan, and I’ll take a look at it.” Darcie dropped onto the chair next to Morgan and started poking at the wound. “Superficial. Not from glass. Odd,” she said, and paused to look up at Brady. “The wound is thicker than I’d expect from the rounds Shaw was firing.”
“Meaning what?” Morgan asked as she swung her gaze between the two of them.
Darcie smiled at Morgan, but it was forced. “It should heal quickly, but it’s gonna hurt like crazy for some time.”
She didn’t have to tell Morgan that. As the adrenaline ebbed, the pain became more acute. Or maybe the flashes of her near death were making her more aware of everything around her.
Darcie moved on to Morgan’s vitals and strapped a blood pressure cuff on her arm. Brady continued to stand beside them, his arms raised, his hands clinging to an overhead bar. Tapping a finger on the metal, he stared down on Morgan, making her aware of his every movement. Aware of his muscles flexing as he moved, which he did. A lot.
“I heard the whole conversation with Craig.” Darcie removed the cuff. “Did I hear you right? You’re not representing Thorsby Mill anymore?”
The last thing Morgan wanted to talk about was the lawsuit, but she didn’t want to be rude and it would take her mind off the man hovering over her. Maybe keep thoughts of Craig at bay, too. “I changed jobs a few months ago.”
“Are you with a local firm?” Darcie dug bandages and antiseptic from her bag.
Morgan shook her head. “I’m not practicing law at all. I’m directing a local jobs program. Portland Employment Assistance—PEA for short. We help unemployed people seeking government assistance to find jobs.”
That brought a look of surprise to Brady’s face, and Morgan was starting to wonder why she was noticing every little thing he did.
Darcie’s hand stilled midair. “Wow, I never imagined you’d leave the law.”
Morgan shrugged. “We had this particularly contentious class action lawsuit that consumed my life for the last few years. Burned me out and I just couldn’t do it anymore.”
“Class action, huh? That’s what the shooter was talking about. But what happened? I mean a lawsuit against a paper mill seems odd.” Darcie went back to her bag.
“Surprising, right?” Morgan dug deep for the will to discuss something she never wanted to think about again.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Darcie said. “I understand.”
Morgan drew an uneasy breath. “A couple of years ago people downriver from the plant started getting cancer in record numbers. They claimed we dumped chemicals in the river, causing the cancer. Of course, that didn’t happen and water tests proved our story, but it still wasn’t easy to defend against.”
Darcie applied antiseptic to Morgan’s wound, the sharp sting taking all of her concentration. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out and seeming weak.
“People sue at the drop of a hat these days,” Darcie said.
“Honestly, I could hardly blame them,” Morgan rushed on, trying to ignore the pain. “A larger than normal distribution of a single type of cancer in their small population was unusual. They wanted to blame someone. And find money to cover medical bills.”
Darcie looked up. “You won, though, right? And that’s why this Craig guy was so angry?”
Morgan nodded but an uncontrolled sigh slipped out over the memory of the mental and physical cost that winning had taken on her life. She had to change the subject before Darcie pried any deeper. “And you... Stevens, now. You’re married.”
“Was. Not anymore.” Darcie applied the bandage.
“You two gonna gab all night or can we get moving?” Brady’s voice broke in.
Darcie offered him a thankful smile. She seemed glad he’d jumped in. Was she not willing to share about her past? It made Morgan even more curious about her old friend.
“We should get together for lunch and catch up.” Morgan looked up at Brady. “When we don’t have an armed deputy standing over us.”
“Who, Brady?” Darcie chuckled as she secured the gauze bandage. “He’s so laid-back, I sometimes forget that he’s this intense sniper guy.”
“Come on, Darcie.” He mocked a knife to the chest and grinned. “Don’t hurt my cred like this.”
He fixed a genuine, easygoing smile on Morgan, softening the hard, angular lines of his face. Making him even more handsome and difficult to look away from. She shouldn’t be noticing. Should be looking anywhere except at him, but he was like a puzzle waiting to be solved.
One minute he was easygoing, the next intense and fierce. Both attractive. Both needed to be avoided. If she was going to get her life back on firm footing after her recent move and job change, she had no time for romance.
“So,” she said to Darcie. “Am I cleared to go?”
Darcie sat back and started packing up her case. “My official response is that you should have your arm checked out at the hospital.”
“And unofficially?”
“Put some antibiotic cream on the wound. Keep it bandaged and change it once a day. If it doesn’t heal or becomes red, puffy or painful see a doctor.”
“I’ll take the unofficial advice so I can get out of here.”
“Sorry, friend.” Darcie squeezed Morgan’s knee. “You’ll have to stay to give your statement and answer questions. Brady will escort you back to the command post.”
“She’s right,” he said coming to full attention. “The detectives will want to talk to you.”
Right. She’d have to relive the experience, play by play, all over again.
She supposed it would be better to do so here with people surrounding her than at home alone. That would come later, she knew. Much later. When she had nothing to distract her.
No handsome guy. No old friend. No pretense of a smile. Not even the shock, which would have worn off by then.
She’d be alone in her new apartment. In the dark. Recounting each terrifying second of the ordeal and trying hard to remember why she’d so desperately wanted to stand on her own two feet.
THREE (#ulink_17e560e7-ba64-59e5-beca-b05bb5a73401)
Wind whistled through the FRS truck, but at least the snow had let up. Brady wanted to head home, sit in front of a roaring fire and have time alone to process the night. He’d pull out the small chunks of wood he’d cut to carve into ornaments for the FRS team and whittle long strips into the flames. But first, he had to help the team button down the specialty truck. Then they would meet to debrief and wind down in the communal living space of a remodeled historic firehouse where they all lived in private condos on the upper floors.
Brady was required to attend the debrief, but then he’d go straight to his condo. After a shooting, even one that hadn’t ended in the loss of a life, he liked to decompress on his own. The sooner the better. And that meant getting the truck loaded so they could all get home.
He stowed his rifle case in a bench seat midway in the truck and turned to find Darcie watching him. He suspected she wanted to ask about the graze on Morgan’s arm. Darcie couldn’t prove the injury had come from Brady’s rifle, no one could, but the thickness of the wound was a good indicator that he’d been the one to shoot Morgan.
“What?” he asked, when he couldn’t stand her eyes on him any longer.
She continued to watch him as a mother might watch a wayward child. “I have a favor to ask.”
He wasn’t in any frame of mind to do her favor, but he would hear her out. “Okay.”
“Can you hang around and escort Morgan home? She lives a few blocks away, and I don’t want her walking home alone after this.”
He let out a breath and almost offered a quick yes. After all, Morgan was a real beauty. And tough. But there was also something vulnerable about her. He’d seen it when he’d left her with the detectives. Like she needed him. Not just now, but long term.
Too bad. He wasn’t in a position to be needed by any woman. And especially not a woman who was all wrong for him. She was a lawyer, for Pete’s sake. Dressed in an expensive coat and suit. Shoes and purse that screamed designer. A last name that everyone in town knew from her father’s involvement in the business world.
No, a guy from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t need the heartache that would come with such a relationship.
He closed the bench and looked at Darcie. “I’m sure the detectives will give her a ride.”
“You’re right. They will, especially if there might be someone else out to get her.” Darcie shivered.
“The detectives can protect her.”
“I know that, too, but I’m concerned for more than her physical safety. She and I go way back, and I want to make sure she’s okay. You know...really okay. That she’s not going to freak out when she steps inside her apartment, closes the door and thoughts of the gun-wielding creep take over—which we both know could happen. You’re good at reading people. You’ll be able to tell if she shouldn’t be left alone.”
“So are you. Why not go with her yourself?”
“A, I may carry a weapon because I’d never hear the end of it from you guys if I didn’t, but I’m not skilled at protecting someone. And B, I’m on duty in an hour. You’re not.” She watched him carefully, her motherly concern still evident on her face. She’d lost her only child four years ago, but instead of the loss leaving her cold it had caused her to transfer her motherly devotion to the people around her—especially her team members. “You’re usually one of the first guys to step up and help someone. What’s different with Morgan?”
He wasn’t about to admit that Morgan’s vulnerability made him wary of getting too close to her. She needed someone. He got that. It just couldn’t be him. Not now, when he was struggling to do his job. And not with a woman like Morgan. He’d learned his lesson in high school about mixing with a girl out of his league and wouldn’t repeat that mistake.
“Okay, then. Maybe Archer can do it.” Darcie started to walk away.
She only had to take two steps before he felt like a real heel. “Wait, Darcie. I’ll do it.”
She smiled her thanks and it wasn’t hard to see she’d known he’d cave. All the guys on the team believed in defending the downtrodden, so her assumption wasn’t a stretch, but it still irked him. “I’ll go tell Jake.”
“No need. I already told him.” She smiled.
“You were that certain I’d do it, huh?”
“I’m certain that you’re a good man, Brady Owens, and you’d never let a woman who’d been through a terrifying standoff walk home alone.”
He wrapped Darcie under his arm and knuckled her head. “And you, my friend, are a master manipulator.”
“Guilty.” She grinned up at him as she freed herself. “I’ll go say goodbye to Morgan and tell her you’ll escort her home. Call me if she needs anything.”
Brady took his time packing up his vest and helping the other team members, but soon there was nothing left to do so he climbed down from the truck. He watched the team drive off, then went to the command post.
Morgan sat in a metal folding chair, her hands clasped in her lap, her body shivering in the biting wind. Detective Rossi, a thick and pudgy man with a wild head of black hair and a dark complexion that went perfectly with the Italian name, stood over her.
He looked up when Brady approached. “Help you, deputy?”
“I’ll be escorting Ms. Thorsby home.”
Morgan’s focus swiveled to him and she opened her mouth as if to argue, but then clamped down on her lips.
Rossi nodded. “An escort is a wise idea. She just told me she’s received additional threatening letters from plaintiffs.”
Brady glanced at her to see how she was doing with these ongoing threats. She was biting down on her lip even harder.
He turned back to the detective. “Are you planning to look into these threats?”
“You can be assured I’ll be following up on each letter.” He fixed a firm gaze on Morgan. “As I said, I’m glad Owens is escorting you home, but he won’t be around to watch your back after that. You’ll need to be careful until I can make sure there aren’t any other crazies out there who want to attack you.”
Morgan shivered again. From the cold? Maybe. Or from Rossi’s dire tone? More likely.
Brady would had liked to offer Morgan encouragement here, but if what she said about the letters was true, he didn’t think Rossi was overreacting. Not one bit. Brady couldn’t help with her fear, but he could solve her problem with the cold. He shrugged out of his coat and settled it over her shoulders.
Her eyes flashed wide in surprise. “Thank you, but I can’t take your jacket.”
“You’ve had a much harder night than I have and you deserve to be warm.”
“But I—”
Brady held up a hand stilling her and focused on Rossi. “Is Ms. Thorsby free to go?”
Rossi nodded, then handed a business card to Morgan. “Get those threats to me ASAP.”
She took the card and Rossi produced another one for Brady. “Just in case you need to contact me for anything.”
“You ready, Ms. Thorsby?” Brady asked.
“It’s Morgan, and yes, I’m very ready.” She rose, and despite his heavy coat, she trembled.
“I’m Brady, by the way, in case you didn’t catch that,” he said, lightening his tone to help ease her anxiety. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of this.” He made sure his apology carried his sincere regret. Not only for the situation, but for her injury, as well.
“Thank you. I’m just glad it all worked out okay. If I hadn’t tripped Craig at the end to send the gun flying, things might have been far different.” She sighed and started toward the sidewalk.
So that’s what had happened and why she’d fallen to the ground. Not that it eased Brady’s conscience.
“We see vulnerable and disillusioned people all the time at PEA,” she continued. “Puts us at risk for one of them going off on us, so we regularly train on active shooter scenarios.” She looked up at him. “Have you seen the ‘Run. Hide. Fight.’ video made by Homeland Security?”
He nodded. “Our agency uses it in training all the time. Especially at schools and with people who come in contact with the public. We also suggest people watch it on YouTube.” He smiled at her. “Sounds like it worked for you, reminding you to take action. If you hadn’t...”
She frowned, and he decided it was best to move on to something other than tonight’s incident.
“Are you from this part of town?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’ve only lived in the city for a few months. I’m a suburban girl. West Linn.”
He knew all about the pricey suburb. “City living must be very different for you, then.”
“Exactly,” she said vehemently.
He suspected there was a story there, but his job was to walk her home, not learn all he could about her.
He picked up his pace, escorting her past looky-loos who lingered at the edge of the crime scene, probably still hoping for a shootout or other action they could film for social media. Morgan didn’t seem to notice them. Brady supposed she was lost in her thoughts, likely replaying the night. Darcie had been right. Not that Brady would ever tell her that. Morgan needed someone to make sure she was okay. Whether he liked it or not, he was tasked with that duty.
“This is me.” She stopped outside a historic redbrick apartment building and dug out her keys. She returned his jacket, then held out her hand. “Thanks for walking me home, Brady. It wasn’t necessary, but I really do appreciate it.”
He considered shaking her hand and taking off, but he’d be in a heap of trouble if he ignored Darcie’s command to make sure Morgan got into her apartment all right. “I’ll see you inside before I go.”
She crossed her arms and eyed him, but he wouldn’t let that deter him. He’d rather face her wrath than Darcie’s. He started up the steps before Morgan could argue, then stood to the side while she unlocked the street entrance. They stepped inside, and as he stomped his feet to clear the snow, he admired the small but ornate lobby. A tall Christmas tree sat in the corner covered with white twinkling lights and white balls. Simple and elegant, like the costly apartment building.
Christmas, ha! The last thing he wanted to think about. Early December was way too soon to start. He’d actually prefer never to think about. Just brought back bad childhood memories. He’d only ever received one Christmas present the year his mother had managed to stay sober. Still, he couldn’t ignore the holiday the way he had before joining the FRS. Skyler had decorated their firehouse in November for her annual Christmas party for homeless families. She loved the season. He didn’t, but he wouldn’t go all Scrooge and ruin it for her or the others on the team.
They boarded the old elevator car with wood paneling and brass furnishings.
“How old is this building?” he asked when the silence in the small space turned uncomfortable.
“It was built in 1910 and just recently restored.” Morgan’s eyes lit up, and he had to look away before he stared at the captivating sight she made. “I love that the renovations stayed true to the time period. I’d have hated it if they’d made the apartments sleek and modern like my parents’ home.”
She’d just moved to the city from West Linn. Was it possible she’d lived with her family until she’d moved here? If so, it was totally in opposition to the independence she seemed to exude, piquing his curiosity even more.
He leaned back against the wall, listening to the elevator’s ancient motor carry them to the top floor where the bell’s sharp ping cut through the quiet.
“Penthouse,” he said jokingly.
“Hardly.” She frowned.
At her door, he reached for the keys. Their fingers touched and unexpected warmth spread through him. She hastily stepped back, nearly dropping the keys, but her eyes remained riveted to his. He could see she was interested in him.
So he wasn’t the only one. Interesting.
She took another step back from him.
Even more interesting. She didn’t want to feel anything for him. Slumming it with a guy like him was probably the furthest thing from her mind. Or, for all he knew, she was involved with someone.
She unlocked the door, pushed it open and he waited for her to enter. She turned to close the door on him.
He took a step inside to fulfill his promise to Darcie. “Could I get a glass of water before I head out?”
“Sure, of course.” She stiffened, belying her generous words. “I should have thought to offer you one.” She hung her coat on a hook and kicked off her shoes, visibly relaxing, and headed down a short hallway. She stopped to flick on a gas fireplace. “Have a seat, and I’ll get your water.”
He stepped into the room, the heat from the fire already warming the small area. The space had hardwood floors, white bead board and chunky moldings reminiscent of the period. The walls were beige, the furniture traditional with red accents. A tiny artificial tree with equally tiny sparkling white stars sat on a small table in the corner.
Perfection. Like from a magazine.
Not a place where people like Brady actually kicked back and lived. Watched a ballgame and got snack crumbs all over the floor. After seeing Morgan’s designer clothing, he should have expected this. Just like Heather, his high school crush who had everything he didn’t. Big house. Fancy car. Nice clothes. All of it contrasted with his double-wide trailer and hand-me-down or thrift store clothes. Back then, he’d been fool enough to think Heather actually liked him, but she’d shut him down faster than a bullet from his rifle. So would Morgan if he was crazy enough to follow this attraction.
Feeling like he could easily break the small sofa and chairs, he went to the window and stared onto the quiet street so in contrast with the shooting from earlier. His adrenaline had subsided and a headache was forming. He massaged his temples and tried to relax, but he felt jittery.
If Morgan’s place wasn’t so unbelievably clean, he’d pull out his knife and the small hunk of wood that he always carried in his jacket pocket to whittle when he was left standing around.
A scream pierced the air. Shattering glass followed.
The kitchen. Morgan.
Adrenaline rekindled in his veins. Hand on his sidearm, he closed the distance to the kitchen in a few strides. He stepped inside, his boots grinding over broken glass. Morgan stood by the sink, physically unharmed, but her face was whiter than the snow of a Minnesota blizzard from his childhood.
“Someone was here. He left—” Her words were barely more than a whisper.
Brady turned off the running water and looked around. He saw nothing odd other than the glass she’d dropped on the floor. “Left what?”
“Those.” She pointed at the countertop. “I didn’t leave them there.”
Brady looked at the counter, then back at her ashen face. His pulse kicked into high gear, and he drew his weapon. It was a good thing he’d walked Morgan home. A very good thing.
FOUR (#ulink_d464d609-9eb3-529c-838c-1ef061462f7e)
Brady needed to check the other rooms for an intruder, but he also wanted to take a better look at the photograph lying under a long-stemmed red rose. He positioned his body so he could keep an eye on the door and still check out the picture.
The downright creepy photo was of an engagement announcement from the Oregonian newspaper. A man sat next to Morgan, but his body had been erased with a picture-editing program, leaving only a silhouette with the words Your One True Love superimposed on it. The caption below read, You are mine. You will marry no one but me.
“This looks like a real announcement that someone modified.” He quickly checked her hand to see if he’d missed a big sparkling ring. Her finger was bare.
“It’s from my engagement to Preston Hunter. I broke it off a few months ago. Apparently some sicko thinks it’s funny.” She stared at the counter.
“Not funny. Stalkerish.”
A flash of horror widened her eyes. “You think I have a stalker?”
“That’s what I aim to find out.” He headed for the door.
“Wait,” she called out, looking like she might be sick. “Where are you going?”
“I need to make sure no one else is in the apartment.”
Grim realization dawned on her face. “You think whoever left this is still here.”
“It’s a good possibility. I didn’t notice any signs of forced entry. Any chance this is a current boyfriend with a key who has a sick sense of humor and wanted to surprise you?” he asked, not liking the fact that she might be in a relationship.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” She wrapped her arms around her slender waist.
“The message doesn’t point to the former fiancé, but I have to ask. Is he mad that you ended things with him?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“And no other boyfriends?” he asked again, to be sure.
“I haven’t even dated since I broke off with Preston, and I haven’t given anyone a key to my place except my parents.”
So, stalker it is.
“Then stay put while I check it out. And don’t move or you could cut your feet.” Brady eyed her for a long moment to be sure she would follow his instructions.
“Be careful.” She clutched her arms tighter and chewed her lip.
After the second shock of the night, he hated to leave her alone, but it would be foolish not to check for an intruder. A few strides across the hall and he was in a bedroom. The space was neat. Organized. The same colors as the family room. He checked the closet and under the bed, then made sure the windows were locked even though the apartment was on the fifth floor. He glanced into a small bathroom with a pedestal sink, claw-foot tub and subway tiles. Also empty.
He stepped to the front door and searched for any signs of forced entry. The wood was smooth and free from pry marks.
Odd. Very odd.
He dug out his phone, called Jake and relayed the incident so they could report it to the Portland Police Bureau. The FRS responded to emergencies across the entire city, but they didn’t have jurisdiction to investigate crimes within city limits.
“I’ve got the detective’s card from the shooting,” Brady continued. “But I don’t get the feeling that this is related to the train incident or another disgruntled plaintiff. Do you think I should call Rossi or should this be handled separately?”
Jake didn’t answer right away. Brady knew he was thinking. Pondering. The usual Jake. He cleared his throat. “With no sign of forced entry, it seems more like you have a relationship gone bad. You really want to bother PPB this late at night with that?”
“Normally I’d agree with you, but Morgan says she doesn’t have a boyfriend and hasn’t dated in months. Plus, I’m getting a stalker vibe here.”
A long hiss of air. “I’ll have to call in favors to get a quick response so you’d better be right.”
“Not sure I am, but then, her life could depend on us taking the right action here.”
“You’re right. Can’t be too careful. I’ll call the watch commander. Rossi is likely the detective on call and if he’s finished at the scene, the commander will send him over. Otherwise you’ll have to hang out there until someone else arrives.”
Not a hardship, Brady thought and it surprised him. “I’m off tomorrow so I can stay as long as needed.”
“I’ll text you when I know something.” Jake disconnected.
Brady kept his phone in hand so he wouldn’t miss the text and returned to the kitchen. A hint of color had returned to Morgan’s face, and she was talking on the phone to someone named Lacy. He suspected this was the woman who’d taken the train with Morgan. It sounded like they were good friends.
Not wanting to interrupt, he leaned against the counter and took the opportunity to study her while she was distracted. He couldn’t put his finger on the word that best described her. Maybe delicate. Or pampered. Her features were fine, hence delicate, and her skin was creamy and flawless. Maybe from expensive beauty treatments. He could be wrong, of course, but he suspected she’d been pampered all her life.
His phone chimed, and he read a message from Darcie. You get Morgan home okay?
He didn’t want to tell Darcie about this incident via text. He typed, In her apartment safe and sound.
He phone chimed another message and he switched to Jake’s profile. Rossi on the way. ETA 5 minutes.
Perfect.
Morgan hung up, and glanced at him, seeming surprised to see him still standing there.
“Why don’t we go into living room to talk about this?” He didn’t give her a chance to respond but lifted her into his arms to carry her over the glass.
She pushed back and gaped at him. “What are you doing?”
“The glass. You’ll cut your feet.” As he continued walking, her scent wrapped around him. Soft, feminine. Fresh, like a spring breeze after the rain.
She scowled. “You could have gotten my shoes instead of taking over and manhandling me.”
It was his turn to gape. “Manhandling? I’m simply helping you out.”
The minute they hit the living room she squirmed out of his arms and planted her hands on her hips. “That kind of help I don’t need.” She stormed across the room, moving as far from him as possible.
He liked the fire in her eyes as she stared at him. Liked her animated expression. Liked that the vivid fear was gone from her face.
He glanced at his watch. Four minutes remaining until Rossi’s arrival. If he continued to let his interest in her distract him, it’d be four very long minutes.
Distance and professionalism. That’s what he needed.
He gestured at the sofa. “Let’s sit down and talk about the rose and picture.”
He expected an argument, but she perched on the edge of a red chair.
He took the far end of the sofa, feeling like a giant. He didn’t know how to start this conversation other than bluntly stating his opinion. If she was lying, he’d soon know. “There was no sign of forced entry. Whoever left this surprise either had a key or is a master at picking locks.”
“As I said, only my parents have a key.” Her tone remained terse and irritated. “I suppose that means their live-in staff would have access, too, but I’ve had little to do with my family since I moved out of their guesthouse three months ago.”
Live-in staff. Just as he’d suspected. Pampered. He’d have to make sure Rossi knew about the staff. Maybe one of them had a thing for her or resented her. “Would you mind calling your parents to see if their keys are missing?”
“Mind?” Her eyes narrowed. “Honestly, yes. If my father hears about this, he’ll drive over here and demand I move back home.”
“At your age?”
She sighed, a long, drawn-out breath, her eyes lifting to the ceiling. “I think I could be headed for the retirement home, and as his only child, he’d still insist on taking care of me. By his definition, that means keeping me where he can see me.”
“We need to know if they still have the keys or if they’ve been stolen and the intruder used them to gain access.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “Then I’ll have to call them, but only after I figure out what to say that doesn’t bring Dad running over here.”
“Okay, so give it some thought, but be sure you make that call tonight.” Her response was a clipped nod so he moved on. “Is there a building superintendent or manager here, who might have a key?”
“Obviously the rental company would, but they’re off-site.”
“They could have had a break-in where keys were stolen, I suppose,” Brady said, thinking aloud. “Though they’d likely inform you of such and replace your locks. Did you ever leave your keys unattended?”
“Unattended?” She chewed on her lip, something he was beginning to think was a habit. It was full and plump and far too distracting.
“You know,” he rushed on, though no explanation was necessary. “You left the keys out where someone could get to them when you weren’t watching.”
She tapped her chin with a slender finger. “I suppose I’ve dropped the ring on my desk at work. Who doesn’t do that? But I’m sure no one took them long enough to get a duplicate made.”
He wished. “Unfortunately, keys can now be duplicated by sending a digital picture to an online locksmith.”
“You’re kidding, right? They just have to take a picture?” Fear widened her eyes. She seemed even more vulnerable, tempting him to cross the room to take her hand.
He planted himself more firmly on the sofa instead. “I’m afraid it’s true. That’s why I need you to think of any place you could’ve set the keys down long enough for someone to snap a picture.”
She tapped her chin again, her fingernail painted a light pink and perfectly manicured. “Work, like I said. And the gym.”
“You leave your keys unattended at the gym?”
“Not really. Just set them on the bench in the locker room as I dress. Or on the counter when signing in and out, but from what you say that’s long enough.” She stared at him. “I’ve left them out at church, too, though I doubt anyone there would do this.”
“You never know.”
She arched a perfectly plucked brow. “I doubt it.”
Fine, she didn’t believe him. Most people wouldn’t, but he saw people at their worst and knew what they were capable of. He also suspected the ex-fiancé had been alone with her keys at some point, but the message didn’t lead Brady to believe this Preston guy had left the note.
“So how do we find out who might have a key?” she asked.
We? There’s no we here. “I’ve arranged for Rossi to come over. He’ll be here any minute to take your statement and go from there.”
“What?” She laughed. “Aren’t you a police officer? Can’t you handle this—wait.” She covered her mouth for a moment, then circled her arms around her waist. “You think this is related to Craig. That it’s not over.”
He held up his hands. “Slow down. I’m not saying that at all. It’s just a jurisdictional matter. I’m County and you live in Portland’s city limits. It’s the Portland Police Bureau’s responsibility to investigate this incident.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding disappointed. “Does that mean you’ll be leaving?”
“I’ll wait for Rossi and make sure you’re in good hands before I leave.”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Morgan startled.
“Relax. I’m sure it’s Rossi.”
She started to rise.
“I’ll let him in.” Brady shot to his feet before she could get up. “Do you have a photocopier?”
“On my printer, why?”
“You should make a copy of the threats you received. Then you can give the file to Rossi so he can get started on it ASAP.”
“Oh, right, okay.”
Brady headed for the door. She’d have plenty of time to make the copies as he intended to have a conversation with Rossi before the other man entered the apartment. It would be better if this conversation happened without Morgan, because Brady suspected without evidence of an intrusion, Rossi would think Morgan was lying about not having any relationships gone bad. And if Rossi thought the items were from a disgruntled ex-boyfriend, he wouldn’t take this threat seriously, leaving her in potential danger. Relationships gone bad made people say stupid things—sometimes even do stupid things like leaving a rose and note for the former girlfriend—but it was less common for actual physical harm to occur.
Brady grabbed the doorknob. An image of a man turning the same knob flashed into his brain. A sick man, focused on Morgan. Doing everything necessary to gain her affection. Stalking. Hunting when she was alone. Unprotected.
What if Rossi blew her off like Brady suspected? Left her to fend for herself?
Brady couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let that happen despite his desire to put distance between them. This was no longer about a promise to Darcie to see Morgan home. About guilt for hesitating to pull the trigger. This was about a woman’s life. Plain and simple.
If he couldn’t convince Rossi to help Morgan, he’d have no choice. He’d force down these feelings that kept surfacing around her and step in. She could count on him to be by her side and keep her safe.
* * *
Waiting for Brady to return with the detective, Morgan shoved her phone into her pocket and sent the threat letters feeding into the printer. She’d called her mother and learned that the keys were right where her father had left them. She’d also managed to raise her mother’s suspicions, but Morgan had avoided telling her the truth. If her dad had answered, it might have been a different story.
Morgan listened to the hum of the copier and looked around the room she’d so carefully decorated. The space was neutral on purpose. No photos. No mementos from time spent with her family, which would only remind her of their disagreement about where she should live.
She’d planned this place as a sanctuary. A symbol of her new independence. Now each shadowed corner held fear. Her space had been violated. Along with it, so had she. Again. For the second time tonight.
Stress weighed heavily on her and nausea formed in the pit of her stomach. Stress. When she’d worked on the lawsuit, the stress had left her with daily nausea. So many people had depended on her back then. Her father. Preston. The mill workers who would lose their jobs if she lost the case. Despite feeling sick, she’d dug deep for the strength she needed to go on. She did her duty, then broke free of her father’s desire to keep her employed at the mill. She’d formed her own life, and her stomach had settled down. Even when her father basically disowned her.
She’d just started to enjoy life and now this? It was almost too much to bear.
“Why, God?” she whispered. Isn’t my father disowning me enough? Do You have to take my new start in life, too? My peace?
Okay, fine, she got that God didn’t actually take her peace. She let the fear take over and steal it. But after her night, how could she not?
She heard a noise in the bedroom and jumped. She knew it was the old building groaning with age as it often did, but still, the room suddenly seemed oppressive without Brady. She didn’t want to admit to needing anyone. Would never admit it aloud, but his presence had kept the panic at bay.
Despite what common sense told her, she hurried to the front door and slipped into her shoes before jerking it open. Brady stood, his feet planted wide, his shoulders back like a tower of strength. She was reluctant to lean on him, but she needed him to get through this.
Tonight only, she told herself as joined the men. Tonight only.
“Ms. Thorsby.” Rossi stepped forward and ran a wide thumb over the doorjamb.
“Please call me Morgan.”
He gave a clipped nod. “As Owens said, there’s no sign of forced entry.” Instead of looking at Brady, he eyed Morgan, his eyebrow raised, as if she’d done something wrong. She didn’t like his attitude, but didn’t know what to say so she said nothing.
“Show me the rose and picture,” he said, his voice almost accusatory.
He seemed to be blaming her for this. Or was he mad at having to stay out all night? Regardless, she wouldn’t let the surly bear of a guy intimidate her. She’d state her case and keep to the point so she didn’t waste his time.
“Follow me.” She led the way to the kitchen. Rossi stomped behind her and Brady’s lighter footsteps sounded farther behind. She dreaded entering the kitchen with slivers of glass so representative of the shards of unease she felt, but she had to be strong.
She stepped in, picking her way through the glass, and turned to face Rossi, who stared at the rose and picture. Brady moved to the far side of the room and rested against the counter. She couldn’t get a read on his mood, but then he’d be going home in a little bit, so it didn’t much matter.
She focused on Rossi. “I’ve already told Deputy Owens that I don’t have a boyfriend and haven’t dated in the last few months.”
“This picture looks like a real announcement,” he said.
She stifled a sigh at having to tell her story again and quickly brought Rossi up to speed.
“Other than property management, my parents are the only people with a key,” she added. “I just talked to my mother. She confirmed the keys are in my dad’s desk drawer right where they keep them. They obviously wouldn’t do this, so this person got into my apartment another way.”
Rossi looked her straight in the eyes. “Are you suggesting a secret admirer, then?”
“It’s the only explanation. Unless of course, a plaintiff from the trial is trying a different way to scare me.”
“Doesn’t feel like that to me,” Brady spoke for the first time.
“I’d have to agree. More like a jilted lover or a boyfriend wannabe.” Rossi frowned. “Still, I can’t fully rule out a connection to the lawsuit. Shaw’s behind bars, but until now we had no reason to check his whereabouts before the shooting. I’ll investigate, and once you provide the other threats you’ve received, I’ll review them to see if there’s a connection.”
“I made copies so you can take them with you.”
Rossi gestured at the floor. “The glass?”
“I dropped it when I saw the picture.”
Rossi pulled out a small notepad and pen. “Tell me more about this engagement. You said the guy’s name is Preston Hunter, right?”
She nodded, and he jotted it down.
“I honestly don’t think he did this,” she continued. “He’s moved on and is already engaged.” Plus he’s a white rose kind of person, she thought but didn’t add.
“You’d be surprised what guys might do,” Rossi said. “I’ve seen it all. Tell me more about Preston.”
Rossi was barking up the wrong tree, but she’d answer his questions so they could get to how he was going to find this stalker. “He comes from a well-respected family. They own Orion Transport. Our family businesses work hand in hand so we go way back. In fact, I’ve known him since we were children. It was natural for us to start dating and get engaged.”
“Why’d you break up?” Brady asked, surprising her for a moment. She hadn’t realized that he was still standing there.
“We weren’t compatible.” She crossed her arms and hoped he’d leave it at that.
“How so?” His gaze remained fixed on her, direct and searching.
So much for hoping he’d let it go. “I’m more laid-back. He’s controlling.” The desire to explain her actions had her opening her mouth to continue, but then she clamped it closed. Neither Brady nor Rossi had a reason to know about Preston’s incessant need to plan her life and activities.
Both Rossi and Brady’s eyebrows rose.
“No, wait,” she said. “If you’re thinking there’s something sinister there, you’re wasting your time. I still see Preston on occasion when I visit my parents, and we are completely cordial. And, like I said, he has a new fiancée. Someone far more suited to him than I was.”
“And her name is?”
“Natasha something. Sorry, I don’t remember her last name.”
Rossi scribbled something in his notepad then shifted on his feet. “And you really haven’t dated anyone else since then?”
“No.”
Rossi tapped his pen against the paper. “No one. Not a single guy. Really?”
“Really.” She tightened her arms and tried to hold on to her temper.
“You’re an attractive woman, Morgan, so that’s hard to believe.” Rossi turned to Brady. “Isn’t that hard to believe, Owens?”
“Yes,” Brady said, his gaze fixed on her. “But then, I’ve seen how strong willed she is and if she set her mind against dating, I suspect she would succeed.”
Searching for a response, she looked at Brady. “You don’t have a ring on your finger. How many women have you dated in the last few months?”
“Darcie fixed me up a couple of times. I tried to get out of them, but she’s kind of pushy.” He frowned. “If not for her, I wouldn’t have gone on a date, either.”
Morgan switched her focus to Rossi. “Brady’s single and attractive. Does it surprise you that he hasn’t been dating?”
“Don’t know about how attractive he is,” he scowled. “But we’re not talking about Owens, here. He isn’t claiming someone left a surprise in his apartment.”
“Claiming?” The word shot out, ending Morgan’s plan to keep to the point. “You don’t believe me, do you? You think I staged this for some reason.”
“Honestly?” Rossi arched a brow as the charged air hung between them. “Your story rings false. I’m more inclined to believe you had a fight with a boyfriend, and now you want him to get in trouble so you call us with a bogus story.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “I did no such thing, and I certainly hope you’re planning to investigate my complaint.”
“Frankly,” he said flipping his notebook closed, “I’m not. There’s no proof of a break-in and our resources are stretched thin already...”
“Hold up,” Brady stepped in. “You can at least canvass the neighbors and dust for prints. Maybe talk to the management company.”
Rossi scowled at Brady, but Morgan smiled her thanks at him.
“That I can do, but you should know, every minute I spend on this takes time away from looking into the other threats that have been made against you.”
“That’s obviously a priority,” Brady said.
Rossi held up a hand. “Don’t worry. I understand and I’ll do my part. Just know that I have a lot on my plate right now. So I’ll grab my fingerprint kit and get started.” He stepped out of the kitchen.
Morgan sighed out her frustration. She caught sight of the rose again. Red and threatening against the white countertop. Like blood. Vivid and terrifying. A sharp jolt of fear stabbed through her. She looked at Brady, found his focus fixed on her.
“Are you going to leave now?” Her voice caught as she asked.
“I’ll stay until Rossi finishes up,” he replied.
“Thank you,” she whispered in relief.
She hated that she sounded weak. Hated feeling weak, but she hated the thought of being alone even more. For the first time since she’d moved into her apartment, she wondered why she’d ever been so desperate to be alone.
FIVE (#ulink_18bc936a-d0d6-5574-aa45-04d33fb3a48d)
Morgan slung the straps for her briefcase and gym bag over her shoulders and stepped to the door. Fear that had plagued her all night made her hesitate and her hand lingered on the knob. “You’re being ridiculous. No one’s waiting to hurt you.”
She pulled her shoulders back and stepped outside. Wind howled down the tree-lined street, but the sun shone bright and the snow was melting. She huddled into her coat and carefully made her way down the slippery sidewalk. A nutty scent drifted up from the coffee shop on the lower level of her building. Her salary left little money to spend on coffee, and she rarely did, but after her lack of sleep and the unusually cold morning she couldn’t resist the aroma.
She took the steps down to the shop and ordered a large mocha with whipped cream. She’d have to work harder tonight at the gym to burn off the extra calories, but after her day yesterday she deserved a treat.
The barista was efficient and Morgan was soon pressing the remote for her car. She checked for oncoming cars on the busy street as she sipped her coffee, the chocolaty goodness sliding down her throat and leaving a warm trail. Traffic cleared for a moment and she quickly opened the door before another car could charge past and sideswipe her door. Her gaze landed on the driver’s seat. She jumped back in horror. The coffee cup dropped from her hand, exploding on the pavement, darkening the brilliant white snow and splashing up her leg. She yelped at the pain but even that couldn’t take her eyes from the seat.
Two long-stemmed red roses crossed like an X lay on the seat, an envelope beneath them. She was curious about what the envelope contained, but the roses captured her thoughts. Maybe the X meant something, maybe not. Didn’t matter. What mattered was that someone broke into her car without damaging it. No broken windows. No jimmied lock. The roses were fresh, as if they’d just come from a garden or a cooler, not been exposed to freezing temperatures for hours. They’d been left recently, which meant her stalker had to be close.
She fired a look down the street, searching for anyone watching her. Two people headed for their cars. No one looked at her. At least, no one standing out in the open.
Could her stalker be hiding in the bushes across the street—behind trees down the road—while she stood out here? Vulnerable. Her life in danger.
A car horn sounded behind her, and she spun around, clutching her briefcase like a shield. A man sat behind the wheel of his car. His gaze frustrated, he made shooing gestures with his hands.
Feeling as if she was coming out of a fog, she looked around. She’d backed into traffic, but she didn’t care. Could she ask this man for his help? Ask to sit with him while she called 911? Could she even trust this man? Was he the stalker?
You’re still vulnerable. Move, now. Go. Quickly.
She slammed her car door and ran for her apartment building. She frantically slid her fingers along the ring to locate the right key for the main entrance. Her hand trembled. The key refused to fit the lock. A noise from behind startled her. The keys flew from her hand as she shot a look over her shoulder. Spotted a woman walking her fluffy white dog down the street.
Not a threat, but one still existed. She had to get inside. She scrambled to find the right key. Got it into the lock and twisted.
Now what? The thought came unbidden. With the rose and photo left on the counter, you’re no safer inside.
You’re not safe anywhere.
* * *
Brady’s phone rang, dragging him out of a deep sleep. He groaned and glanced at the clock. Better be important for someone to get him out of bed at 6:00 a.m. when he’d stayed with Rossi until two o’clock. Fat lot of good it did them. They’d lifted a few fingerprints but located no other leads.
He grabbed his phone and when he saw the caller ID, he was instantly alert.
“Morgan,” he answered. “Is something wrong?”
“Roses,” she whispered. “Two of them. In my car with an envelope.”
A vision of her standing near her vehicle, a dangerous stalker nearby, had Brady lurching to his feet and grabbing a pair of jeans. “Where are you?”
“In the coffee shop of my building. I thought staying in a public place would be the most secure location right now so I hurried down here.”
“Stay there. I’m on my way.”
“Thank you, Brady.” He heard the relief in her voice, and he hated to admit it, but he liked that she’d called him to come to her rescue.
He pulled on a T-shirt and quickly brushed his teeth, then grabbing his jacket on the way out, he made a mad dash down the stairs to his ancient pickup truck. One set of footprints led across the asphalt to Jake’s car.
“Brady?” he called out.
“It’s Morgan. More roses,” he explained and jumped into his truck. He used the wipers to clear the snowy windshield and coaxed the ancient truck to start in the unusual cold. On the road, Brady called Rossi who was even grumpier than last night, but he agreed to meet Brady at Morgan’s car.
Rush hour had begun, but with the snow, most people would stay home until later, allowing Brady to pull up to the coffee shop in less than ten minutes. He grabbed latex gloves from his console and headed over to talk to Morgan, searching the area for potential threats on the way.
He didn’t like what he saw. Plenty of places for a stalker to hide on the street and watch Morgan’s movements. No way would he bring her out into the open like this. He’d insist Morgan remain in the shop while he checked her car.
She met him at the door. Dressed in another suit that appeared tailor-made, this one blue, she looked professional, but it was the fear darkening her eyes that struck him hard.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, sounding like he’d arrived at a social event instead of another invasion into her life.
Part of Brady was impressed that she could control her emotions, the other part was mad that she was hiding her real feelings. Still, her body language told the story. Arms clutched around her waist. Leaning forward as if she might drop any minute. Her face pale. Her hands trembling.
“Tell me exactly what you found,” he said, making sure he sounded comforting and reassuring.
She flicked a gaze outside then quickly back at him, the fear stronger now. “I stopped for coffee, then unlocked my car with the remote. When I opened the door, I found two roses lying in an X pattern and sitting on top of a white linen envelope.”
Likely another picture. “This X pattern mean anything to you?”
She shook her head.
“And the envelope?”
“I didn’t open it. I was too afraid.” She was shaking, and looked like she’d melt to the floor.
He took her elbow and moved her to a chair. She looked up at him, seeming small and defenseless.
He wanted to rail at the injustice heaped on her head, but he held it together by shoving his hands into his pockets. “Did you notice anything else?
She stared off into the distance. “The windows weren’t broken or the doors jimmied. I guess he could have used one of those bar things I see on TV shows, but since my key is on the same ring as my apartment key, he likely made a copy of that one, too.” She paused and chewed on her lip for a moment.
“Anyone else have your car key? Do you keep a spare set hidden somewhere?”
“Just at my parents. No other spare set.”
“Have you checked with them to see if anyone stole the keys overnight?”
“I called my mom right after you. They’re still in the drawer.” She looked like she wanted to add something but stared over his shoulder instead.
He followed her gaze through the street level window. “Which vehicle is yours?”
“I’ll show you.” She started to rise.
“No.” He stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You stay here. It’s safer.”
She jerked free and cast him a defiant look. She was suddenly all fire and passion, much like last night. He watched, enjoying the metamorphosis from timid victim to fierce warrior and waited for her to refuse his directive. He didn’t like the thought of her rushing out onto the street, but he respected her determination in the face of danger.
She kept eye contact with him for a long while until she finally sighed, her agitation disappearing with it. She dug her keys from a leather briefcase, then handed them to him. “It’s the blue BMW. Three cars behind your truck.” Panic returned to her eyes.
So she’d let her fear take over enough that she’d been watching for his arrival. A protective feeling surged to the surface and the urge to touch her was strong. She needed reassurance. Needed to know that he’d be there for her. Any hour of the day. The minute she called.
Not a good idea. She should call Rossi instead.
Brady shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled to ease her fear. “You hang tight. I’ll be right back.”
Outside, he fought through the biting wind as he passed his truck to get to the sleek BMW. Talk about contrasts. Battered and rusty from Minnesota winters, his pickup was on its last legs. Her Beemer, a metallic blue coupe that Brady recognized as the top-of-the-line, was polished and shiny. Of course.
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Susan Sleeman
CAUGHT IN THE CROSSHAIRSHeld hostage on a train, ex-lawyer Morgan Thorsby finds her powers of persuasion failing her for the first time. Former marine sniper Brady Owens is her only hope—but his split-second hesitation on the trigger leaves her wounded. Yet when an obsessed stalker threatens Morgan, Brady steps up. Protecting someone so tough and beautiful is hardly a chore, but Brady pulls back every time they get close. Morgan isn't ready for the connection forming between them, either, but she knows she needs his help. Can Brady capture the culprit in time for Christmas?First Responders: Brave men and women alert and ready for danger and love.
CAUGHT IN THE CROSSHAIRS
Held hostage on a train, ex-lawyer Morgan Thorsby finds her powers of persuasion failing her for the first time. Former marine sniper Brady Owens is her only hope—but his split-second hesitation on the trigger leaves her wounded. Yet when an obsessed stalker threatens Morgan, Brady steps up. Protecting someone so tough and beautiful is hardly a chore, but Brady pulls back every time they get close. Morgan isn’t ready for the connection forming between them, either, but she knows she needs his help. Can Brady capture the culprit in time for Christmas?
First Responders: Brave men and women alert and ready for danger and love.
A scream pierced the air. Shattering glass followed.
The kitchen. Morgan.
Adrenaline rekindled in his veins. His hand on his sidearm, he closed the distance to the kitchen in a few strides. He stepped inside, his boots grinding over broken glass. Morgan stood by the sink, physically unharmed, but her face was white.
“Someone was here. He left—” Her words were barely more than a whisper.
Brady looked around. He saw nothing odd other than the glass she’d dropped on the wood floor. “Left what?”
“Those.” She pointed at the countertop. “I didn’t leave them there.”
Brady looked at the counter, then back at her ashen face. His pulse kicked into high gear, and he drew his weapon. It was a good thing he’d walked Morgan home. A very good thing.
Brady needed to check the other rooms for an intruder, but he also wanted to take a better look at the photograph lying under a long-stemmed red rose.
The downright creepy photo was an engagement announcement. A man sat next to Morgan, but some picture-editing program had left only a silhouette with the words Your One True Love superimposed on it. The caption below read, “You are mine. You will marry no one but me.”
SUSAN SLEEMANis a bestselling author of inspirational and clean-read romantic suspense books and mysteries. Awards include RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book for Thread of Suspicion; No Way Out and The Christmas Witness were finalists for the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence. She’s had the pleasure of living in nine states and currently lives in Oregon. To learn more about Susan visit her website at susansleeman.com (http://www.susansleeman.com).
High-Caliber Holiday
Susan Sleeman
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
And my God will meet all your needs according to
the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.
—Philippians 4:19
For the many law enforcement and military snipers
who perform such a necessary job to keep all of us safe. Thank you for your service even when people often don’t understand and appreciate the job you do.
Contents
Cover (#u3d70d012-3598-5405-9586-c144b104ffe2)
Back Cover Text (#u3d70d012-3598-5405-9586-c144b104ffe2)
Introduction (#ud058000c-d1d8-579f-8c94-cf56a1a79c0c)
About the Author (#u5e2840b9-e3cb-5d53-9ad0-c71c5550b05f)
Title Page (#ub244de81-188d-5550-a6ea-c9b4424966ae)
Bible Verse (#u2abe14ca-fbb0-5ad1-8497-f079f5554abc)
Dedication (#u27eb8754-9971-52b8-9f54-7f423888e478)
ONE (#u351fcb2f-45bc-532a-8819-1458ac1544cc)
TWO (#ufa4580df-001a-504b-8a52-881cc16bd328)
THREE (#u0fcd7dd8-333f-56ae-9d79-f9f7bcd06967)
FOUR (#u35a87c78-85d1-5019-a210-02f146942c29)
FIVE (#u022d9df9-9f68-52be-a772-a2db951c9885)
SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
ONE (#ulink_49e99ccf-5773-5044-949a-541e55d0e44f)
The gun couldn’t be real. Could it?
Morgan Thorsby clutched her friend Lacy’s arm and scooted back from the gun-wielding man charging onto the MAX light rail train. Brisk, chilling air rushed in behind him as she looked at the silvery gun glinting in the overhead light.
The weapon looked real. Very real.
The man took a step closer. Anger radiated from his body. His breathing was ragged as he made a quick survey of the space, skimming tortured eyes over the few passengers on board this late at night.
Please, God, don’t let this be real, Morgan begged, her heart thumping in her chest. She fought to control her fear and studied the man’s jittery behavior.
Could he be one of those shooters who’d been pushed beyond his breaking point until he’d decided to randomly kill people? She couldn’t just sit here and wait to find out. Her life was in immediate danger and it was up to her to protect herself. She had to do something, but what?
Run. Hide. Fight. The active shooter video she’d viewed at work rushed through her mind. The video taught them not to sit back passively but to run, hide or fight. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t hide. She could fight. But how? With what?
She searched the train looking for a weapon. Any weapon.
The man’s distressed gaze landed on her with a finality that took her breath away.
“He’s coming toward us.” Lacy grabbed Morgan’s hand.
“Don’t panic,” Morgan said and forced herself to look into the gunman’s eyes. She saw no life in the depths. Desperation, panic, yes, but nothing to prove he was alive.
Oh no. No.
She knew this man. She’d seen him in the sea of men and women who’d brought a class-action lawsuit against her family’s company, claiming Thorsby Mill had polluted the water and caused cancer in the residents. As the company’s attorney at that time, she’d seen the plaintiffs’ turmoil day in and day out during the trial.
Plaintiffs who’d threatened her life then and continued to send threatening letters after the mill had been cleared of any wrongdoing. The gunman was one of those people. And that meant he’d come for her. Her alone.
Her heart raced faster. Beating at an unstoppable gallop.
He continued moving, his ragged jeans whispering through the quiet. Step by step, he advanced on her, purpose in each thump of his dirty boots on the metal floor. Hatred spewed from his expression.
Morgan felt time stop. She was aware of Lacy’s touch. Of the cold. The icy cold. Her palms starting to sweat. The bag holding a Christmas present for her mother slid from her fingers, the crystal vase falling to the floor. The sound of breaking glass caught his attention, distracting him for a moment. But it all seemed to be happening at the end of a tunnel. In a foggy haze. All except the gun. It was clear and sharp and she could reach out to touch it.
Lacy clutched Morgan’s hand tighter, drawing her attention. Lacy didn’t deserve to be a party to this. Morgan had to do everything she could to portray strength and confidence for her friend, to ease her fear. Morgan sat up straighter. Firmed her shoulders. Jutted out her jaw and waited for him to act.
Eyes riveted to her, he took the last few steps. He raised the gun. Slowly. Purposefully. He planted it on her temple. The cool steel bit into her skin, and she recoiled in fear.
“Don’t back away, Morgan,” he said, his voice flat, as if he took hostages every day.
She could smell the sour stench of alcohol radiating from him. The blood drained from her head. She felt weak. Powerless.
“I’ve come for you. To pay you back. Just like I promised I would in my letter.” He glared down on her. “Your stinkin’ mill has taken my entire family, and it’s time for you to pay.”
Anything she said would make him angrier so she didn’t speak at all, but waited for his finger to drift to the trigger.
Silence descended on them, coursing through the space, tight, pervasive, building into a frenzy. A pressure cooker ready to erupt.
An announcement carried into the silence, warning that the doors would soon close. His eyes grew wilder, his hold on reality a mere thread. Seconds ticked by, feeling like an hour. Panic threatened to swamp her.
A twisted, mean smile claimed his thin lips as the doors whooshed together, cocooning her inside the car with a killer. The train set off, the side-to-side motion rocking Morgan, but the gunman stood strong, his weapon never wavering.
With the gun at her head, she couldn’t form a coherent thought except that she was going to die. She didn’t know what he was waiting for, but he simply stood there. Watching. Maybe enjoying her terror. Wanting to make her suffer as his family suffered.
Focus. Now. Figure a way out of this.
The train slowed for the next stop, brakes squealing as they bit into the metal. Doors slid open. A rush of freezing air sliced into the train. There were no passengers waiting on the platform to board. The only other passenger on the train, a man in the back of the car, bolted out the door. Quick, staccato steps took him outside and into the cover of darkness.
The gunman didn’t turn. Didn’t see. Didn’t notice.
Lacy. Morgan could save Lacy the same way.
Morgan forced herself to make eye contact with him. “You’re not upset with my friend. Just me. Can she please get off?”
He eyed Lacy for a moment. She cringed. He took a breath and gave the briefest of nods. “Go now. Before I change my mind.”
She stood slowly and looked back at Morgan, regret hanging in her eyes.
“Go,” Morgan said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Ha!” he shouted, sending Lacy fleeing. “You’ll be as fine as all of my family and friends your greedy family killed.”
Morgan ignored his words and kept watch on Lacy as she scurried through the falling snow into the dark shadows of the buildings. Good. She was safe. The car was now empty. If he fired his weapon, she’d be the only one injured.
The doors slid on the track, closing with a thump of finality.
“Now we’re alone, and we can get down to business,” he said.
Business. Meaning her death.
Time slowed and she was aware of everything around her. The grating of the train as they took a curve. The pungent scent of his alcohol. The unmistakable cloying smell of fear in the air.
“Do you even know who I am?” he sneered.
Morgan wished she could say she knew his name, but the plaintiff list was long and she couldn’t identify them all. She knew the truth was plastered on her face so she didn’t speak a word.
“You don’t know me, do you?” He shifted and pressed the gun deeper into her forehead. “I’m not surprised. Not after your coldhearted representation in the trial.”
He huffed out a laugh and ground the gun into her skin, his eyes fixed on hers. “Well, know this, Morgan Thorsby. I’m Craig Shaw and everyone will soon know my name. The minute we reach the last stop, I’m the man who’s going to drag you off this train, haul you out to your precious mill and end your life.”
* * *
Brady Owens listened to the hum of tires as the First Response Squad raced toward MAX’s final Yellow Line stop near Portland State University. A 911 call from the train operator who’d been listening into the hostage situation told them the shooter planned to disembark with his hostage at this stop.
“ETA two minutes,” team leader Jake Marsh announced from the driver’s seat.
“Roger that,” Brady said, his pulse ratcheting up at the call to action.
His fellow FRS members sitting on bench seats in the rear of the truck responded with somber affirmatives. Negotiator Archer Reed bowed his head in prayer. He would carry the heaviest duty tonight, talking the gunman down, hopefully preventing the need for Brady’s services as the team sniper. Paramedic Darcie Stevens would render aid to the traumatized woman and anyone injured in the incident. Jake would direct the action and bomb tech Cash Dixon would fill in wherever Jake asked. The only one missing from their six-person emergency response team was their other negotiator, Skyler, who was on her honeymoon.
Brady couldn’t imagine any other people he’d want to take with him into the tense situation awaiting them. All team members except Darcie were sworn sheriff’s deputies who fulfilled other job responsibilities when they weren’t responding to an emergency. Though assigned to the county sheriff’s department, they were dispatched to handle negotiations and major emergencies for the entire Portland metro area regardless of county lines.
“We’re here.” Jake swung their mobile command center the size of a package delivery truck to the curb out of view of the MAX stop.
Even late at night, students would be milling about. The team would contain the shooter in the train and cordon off the area to protect innocent lives. Then Archer would use the train’s PA system to communicate with the gunman.
That was the plan. But they had no time to run the scenario, and plans could go wrong.
Curling his .330 Winchester Magnum rifle closer, Brady mentally checked off his steps. Ammo first. Check. Already loaded in his rifle. If he had to shoot, it would be through glass, requiring special ammo to reduce deflection on glass penetration. Extra ammo was in his vest. Scope was fixed and calibrated. Binoculars and laser range finder snug in his pocket. He patted his vest pocket to confirm. He was ready. He could do this.
Jake cut the engine, then joined the team. He glanced at Darryl Collins, the computer tech assigned to their team, who sat behind a console. “We have eyes or ears on the train yet?”
“I’m still working with the MAX tech team to patch us through.”
“Well, get ’em. No way we’re going in blind.” Jake eyed the team, his gaze sharp and focused. “The gunman is not getting off the train with Morgan Thorsby and she’s getting out of this alive and well. You got that?”
They nodded.
“You have your assignments.” Jake clapped his hands. “Let’s roll.”
Brady slung his rifle over his shoulder and headed into the night, toward the perfect location he’d chosen in a yard abutting an apartment complex. He jogged across the road and slipped through the gate. Resting his arm on a fence post topped with snow, he took a shooting stance. He’d like to get into a more natural position, but that wasn’t an option. No problem. He’d made shots in every position imaginable as a Marine Scout Sniper. He sighted in the scope and adjusted for the wind.
“Falcon, in position,” he said into his microphone.
“Roger that, Falcon,” came Jake’s response. “Stand by. Train ETA in one minute. Audio streaming.”
With more than one agency responding to the incident, they would use code names when communicating. The group had long ago voted on an animal name for each person. Brady was tagged Falcon, as the bird and he both moved fast. Cash got Termite since they were demolitions experts. Archer, Mockingbird for his soothing voice. And Jake? He had the best name of all. Papa Bear.
“Got eyes and ears, sir,” Darryl’s voice came over Brady’s earpiece.
“Then we’re a go, Falcon,” Jake said. “TriMet has confirmed the doors will remain closed on this car and Mockingbird is patched through to the train. We’ll give Termite time to escort passengers in the other cars to a secured spot, then Mockingbird will take over.”
“Roger that, Papa Bear,” Brady confirmed. “I’m ready.”
But was he ready? He wasn’t sure. Not completely, anyway. Not after their last callout, when he’d hesitated to take the shot. He was good with taking extreme measures for hostage-taking criminals and drug dealers, but the prior callout involved a former marine. Brady had felt like he was taking out a family member. Couldn’t be helped, though. The man had lost touch with reality. If Brady hadn’t acted, the guy would have killed his wife and three sweet children.
Now Brady wasn’t sure how he’d react when it came time to pull the trigger.
The train rolled in, the brakes squealing to a stop.
Focus, man. Focus. He fine-tuned his scope and shut out everything around him. The biting wind. The falling snow. The flag flapping on the next building. The sound of Cash moving people out of the line of fire. All of it faded into the background, his eye fixed dead center on his scope.
The occupants of the car came into focus in the crosshairs. Morgan Thorsby was blonde, petite and wearing a trench coat tied over what looked like an expensive suit, but it was the gunman, Craig Shaw, who Brady was most interested in.
Brady adjusted his scope. Sighted on the T-zone of Craig’s head.
“I have a target, but no shot. No shot.” Brady kept his eyes on the scope, but wouldn’t shoot before an attempt was made to end this standoff without loss of life.
“Craig,” Archer’s voice came over the train’s speaker.
Craig’s head shot up. “Who’s that? How do you know me?”
Brady listened through his earpiece as Archer introduced himself and started the process of talking Craig into surrendering.
Craig seemed to listen, then suddenly pivoted and pounded on the door, the sound reverberating through the silent car. “Open it now or I’ll kill Morgan right here!”
“Don’t do anything rash, Craig,” Archer said over the train’s speaker. “We’ve got all the time in the world to talk this through.”
“I don’t want to talk,” Craig screamed. “I want out of this tin can, now!”
“I’m afraid I don’t have the ability to open the doors, Craig.” Archer was a tough law enforcement officer. Sharp. Intense, but he also had a soothing way about him and his voice was unhurried and comforting.
“I don’t care, man,” Craig fired back. “Get these doors open or I will shoot her. I swear I will. You’ve got five minutes. You hear me? Five minutes. If I’m still locked in here then, she dies.”
TWO (#ulink_ef6197cf-9c01-546f-9011-d30cdaa649c5)
“Dumb cops,” Craig muttered as he gestured at the door with his gun. He obviously thought Archer was no longer listening, but Brady knew his teammate was not only listening, he was intently watching.
“I could help you with them,” Morgan Thorsby said. “As an attorney, I can act as a go-between to negotiate your demands.”
“Demands? I don’t have demands. I just want to get off the stupid train with you in tow.” He massaged his forehead with his free hand.
“They’ll let you off if you surrender your gun,” Morgan continued.
Brady was surprised she had the presence of mind to talk so calmly to a man holding her life in his hands. Even more surprising, Archer didn’t shut her down. Maybe she was saying the right things and Archer thought she could help.
“And then what?” Craig asked. “I step off the train and some hotshot kills me? No, thanks.”
“You have it backwards. If you don’t surrender the gun, that hotshot you mentioned is going to go to work and you won’t get off the train alive.”
“Fine. But if that happens, I’m taking you with me.” He grabbed Morgan and jerked her head back, planting the gun against her temple again.
“Wait. Let me talk to the negotiator when he comes back on. I’ll tell him you haven’t harmed anyone and that you’re going to surrender. You can give me the gun, and we can walk out together. Then I’ll represent you or find a good criminal lawyer for you.”
Brady heard the underlying tremble in Morgan’s tone but it was still soothing, almost hypnotic. If Brady were the shooter, he would gladly do what she asked.
Craig took a step back. “You’d represent me, even after this?”
“Yes,” she said. “You’ve been drinking to mask your loss. If you had a clear head, you—”
“I’d do the same thing.”
The guy’s biting tone said he was planning to pull that trigger. It made Brady want to end this now, but he wouldn’t do so without Jake’s authority.
Craig stood unmoving and staring at her. Suddenly, something caught his attention in the distance and he spun.
“No!” he shouted. “It’s a trick. I can see them—all of them—cops...coming for me. Well, they won’t find me. I’ll make my own way out.”
He jerked his finger. The gun erupted. Bullets blasted into the window, the safety glass cracking and splintering, but holding.
“Falcon, you are clear to take a shot,” Jake announced.
“Roger that, Papa Bear.” Brady’s gut cramped as he dropped his finger to the trigger. Took a deep breath. Released a long hiss of air. Prepared to squeeze. Craig—no, the target, Brady reminded himself—shifted, his eyes coming into view. Filled with rage, with pain.
Brady hesitated.
Craig started for Morgan, bending toward her. Brady had to act now or the window of opportunity would be gone. He quickly adjusted and squeezed the trigger. The bullet sliced through the air. Craig suddenly lurched forward, Morgan falling in the other direction. She hit the ground, disappearing from the scope.
Brady’s mouth dropped open. He didn’t think his shot hit Craig. Looked more like he’d fallen. But what about Morgan? His bullet couldn’t have hit her, could it? Even if it hadn’t, his moment of hesitation had given Craig a chance to move closer to Morgan and changed Brady’s angle. Maybe it had put Morgan in the path of shattering glass. He wouldn’t know until he had a chance to get inside the train car and look around.
“Move, move, move,” came Jake’s voice as he dispatched the team to secure the gunman and train.
Brady kept his scope honed on the train when all he wanted to do was race across the street and see if Morgan was alive. He couldn’t, though. He had to hold his position until Jake gave the all clear.
He waited. Watched.
The team charged the train. The doors slid open. Brady caught a look at Craig and Morgan on the floor. Blood colored Morgan’s arm. Good. If Brady had hit her, it wasn’t a body shot. She should make it.
She held up Craig’s gun. Looked like it hadn’t been her injury taking her down. Instead, she’d dropped to the floor to retrieve the gun. Archer put a knee in Craig’s back and cuffed him. Jake retrieved Craig’s gun while Cash went to Morgan and comforted her.
“Stand down, Falcon,” Jake said.
Brady wasted no time strapping his rifle over his shoulder and taking off toward the train, moving as fast as he could. His gaze went straight to Morgan. On the floor, sitting up and alert, she’d clamped a hand over her injured arm. Blood had oozed through her fingers. Fresh. Red. But no longer increasing.
Brady sighed out his relief. Guilt flooded in. His hesitation had likely caused her injury. Still, it could have been far worse. He could have severely injured her.
Thank You, God, for protecting her, he thought and joined Cash who was standing over her and calling on his radio for Darcie.
“Hang tight,” Cash said to Morgan. “Our medic is on the way.”
“Seems like the bleeding has stopped,” Morgan said, not sounding as fearful as Brady expected.
Sure, lingering fear darkened her eyes, but he liked the strength he saw in her. She was something else. Most women would be fainting or falling apart in this situation, but Morgan remained strong.
Brady’s kind of woman. Not clingy. Not needy. Her own person, standing strong. Until he shot her. Or his bullet sent glass flying into her arm.
Right. She’s hurt because of me. He should apologize for the injury, but to do so, he’d have to admit he’d frozen, and his hesitation could very well have caused her injury.
He’d have to find a way to deal with that. Because one thing he knew for certain, a sniper who froze wasn’t good for anyone, least of all the First Response Squad. The only way to combat that was to get over what was causing it or leave the team.
* * *
Icy-cold air laden with flurrying snow rushed into the train car as Morgan reached for a pole to get to her feet. It hit her then. She’d been shot. Shot! It was only a superficial wound, but even so, a bullet had grazed her arm.
A bullet. An honest-to-goodness bullet.
The night came flashing back like a fast-forwarded video. The pictures were bright, but blurred. The sounds frantic. Craig coming for her, wanting to kill her, his bullets piercing the glass, sending spidery cracks racing through it. Her decision to put the active shooter training into practice. To fight. When Craig no longer had his gun planted against her head, she’d shot out her foot and tripped him. It was risky, but she’d had no choice. He was going to kill her. Right there in the train if she did nothing.
He’d crashed to the floor. The gun skittered away. She’d started to go after it when another gun blast sounded from a distance. The zip of a bullet was followed by the slice in her arm, pain radiating up. But she’d kept her cool and located the gun before Craig could get to his feet.
She shuddered and forced her thoughts to the present. The deputy who’d called for a medic was hauling Craig off in handcuffs. His face was peppered with cuts from the glass. His shoulder was bloody, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He came to a stop next to Morgan and glared at her. “Don’t think this is the last of this. I’ll make you pay.”
“Pretty hard to do from prison,” the deputy said.
Craig sneered at her. “I’ll find a way.”
“Come on, Shaw.” The deputy jerked Craig’s cuffs and prodded him off the train.
With Craig gone, she was suddenly aware of another deputy who’d arrived later than the others staring down at her. He stood tall and commanding as if protecting her from an unseen foe.
Unseen foe. Ha! A thought she’d never expected to have.
It was all so surreal, and she couldn’t handle much more. She needed to give her statement and get out of there before she fell apart. First, she had to get off the floor, out of the glass and away from the blood.
She pulled up on the pole. Her knees buckled and the blood drained from her head. She wobbled.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” the deputy asked. The car seemed to be spinning, and it was all she could do to find a seat before hitting the floor.
“Head between your knees or you’re going to keel over.” He stepped forward and a strong hand pushed her head down, then held it in place.
A whooshing noise rushed through Morgan’s ears, and she blinked hard to try to clear the dizziness. She was aware of movement around her and the man’s foot as he tapped on the metal floor, as if anxious to leave. Her vision was starting to clear, and she tried to sit up.
“Not yet,” he said, obviously used to getting his way.
She waited a few more moments. “I’m good to sit up.”
“You’re sure you won’t faint on me?” His tone had lightened. “’Cause superhero code says a damsel in distress can only be rescued once a day.” He grinned.
“No worries. I don’t need rescuing, by you or anyone else,” she replied more vehemently than called for. He was simply trying to alleviate her stress with a joke, but she was tired of people thinking she needed taking care of.
“Have it your way.” His hand retracted.
She shot up. Her head spun. She closed her eyes and waited it out.
“Maybe you should’ve taken your time sitting up there,” he said, a Midwestern flavor to his tone.
She opened her eyes and glared up at him. Her gaze had to travel quite a distance to reach his eyes. Past a broad chest. Past some very nice shoulders, to a handsome face. With his blond hair worn in a messy style, he looked more like a laid-back surfer than a cop.
How in the world had she missed him when he’d come barreling into the car? Sure, all the deputies were fine-looking men, but something about this one made her want to linger on his flinty-black eyes that watched her intently as she studied him.
“Deputy Brady Owens at your service,” he said as his lips turned up in a dazzling smile that she assumed made women swoon, but she could see it was forced. His eyes were troubled. He wore the same uniform as the others, black tactical pants and a polo shirt with a Kevlar vest on top, but an expensive-looking rifle with a high-powered scope hung over his shoulder. He didn’t at all seem the type to carry a rifle.
Rifle? Wait.
“You’re the sniper,” she said, her mind processing the fact that this man standing here ended lives with a simple pull of the trigger.
He gave a clipped nod but said nothing else, leaving her feeling uneasy.
“How does someone get a job like that? I mean, do you wake up one morning and say I think I’ll learn how to shoot people?” She knew she was rambling and sounding rude, but she’d never met anyone with this job and didn’t know what to say to him.
“Marines needed me, ma’am, and I did my duty.” He stood taller and gone was the easygoing expression. It was now stony and unyielding. “Our armed forces are the reason you have the freedom to offer representation to a man who takes a woman hostage at gunpoint. And the reason that police officers can save lives in hostage situations like this one.”
“Wait,” she said quickly. “No... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by my comment. I was just wondering about it, that’s all. I meant no disrespect. I appreciate the men and women of the military and the police.”
He looked doubtful before his gaze lifted above her. She swiveled to see what he was looking at.
A woman wearing the same black uniform and a stethoscope hanging around her neck marched forward. The thirty-something woman looked familiar, but Morgan wasn’t sure from where. When she got closer, their eyes connected.
The woman smiled. “Hi, Morgan. It’s me, Darcie. Remember? From OSU.”
Morgan rose slowly, searching her memory for a Darcie and testing her strength before stepping toward the door. As she got closer, the picture of a young girl in her philosophy class as naive as Morgan had been swirled in Morgan’s mind. “Darcie Wiggins?”
She nodded. “Not Wiggins anymore, but Stevens, and yeah, it’s me.”
“Of course,” Morgan said. “I’m surprised you remember me.”
“I’d never forget the girl who set off to save the world one person at a time.”
“Oh, that girl. She’s long gone.” Morgan laughed and grabbed her old Oregon State University friend in a hug, but pulled back when the pain in her arm made her wince. “Crazy to run into you here. I thought you were working as an ER nurse. What happened? Did the ER get too tame for you and you had to move on to the front lines?”
“Changed jobs a few years back,” Darcie said, her impenetrable tone stopping Morgan from asking additional questions.
“Ms. Thorsby just about passed out,” Brady inserted. “She put her head between her knees for a bit and seems better. She either took a bullet or got in the way of flying glass, but the bleeding’s stopped.” He frowned as if the situation bothered him personally. This man, the one whose bullet cut like butter through the glass and whizzed by her, was concerned for her?
An uncontrollable tremble started at her head and rushed down her body. “It was a bullet. At least it felt like one.”
His frown deepened.
“Go ahead and sit down, Morgan, and I’ll take a look at it.” Darcie dropped onto the chair next to Morgan and started poking at the wound. “Superficial. Not from glass. Odd,” she said, and paused to look up at Brady. “The wound is thicker than I’d expect from the rounds Shaw was firing.”
“Meaning what?” Morgan asked as she swung her gaze between the two of them.
Darcie smiled at Morgan, but it was forced. “It should heal quickly, but it’s gonna hurt like crazy for some time.”
She didn’t have to tell Morgan that. As the adrenaline ebbed, the pain became more acute. Or maybe the flashes of her near death were making her more aware of everything around her.
Darcie moved on to Morgan’s vitals and strapped a blood pressure cuff on her arm. Brady continued to stand beside them, his arms raised, his hands clinging to an overhead bar. Tapping a finger on the metal, he stared down on Morgan, making her aware of his every movement. Aware of his muscles flexing as he moved, which he did. A lot.
“I heard the whole conversation with Craig.” Darcie removed the cuff. “Did I hear you right? You’re not representing Thorsby Mill anymore?”
The last thing Morgan wanted to talk about was the lawsuit, but she didn’t want to be rude and it would take her mind off the man hovering over her. Maybe keep thoughts of Craig at bay, too. “I changed jobs a few months ago.”
“Are you with a local firm?” Darcie dug bandages and antiseptic from her bag.
Morgan shook her head. “I’m not practicing law at all. I’m directing a local jobs program. Portland Employment Assistance—PEA for short. We help unemployed people seeking government assistance to find jobs.”
That brought a look of surprise to Brady’s face, and Morgan was starting to wonder why she was noticing every little thing he did.
Darcie’s hand stilled midair. “Wow, I never imagined you’d leave the law.”
Morgan shrugged. “We had this particularly contentious class action lawsuit that consumed my life for the last few years. Burned me out and I just couldn’t do it anymore.”
“Class action, huh? That’s what the shooter was talking about. But what happened? I mean a lawsuit against a paper mill seems odd.” Darcie went back to her bag.
“Surprising, right?” Morgan dug deep for the will to discuss something she never wanted to think about again.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Darcie said. “I understand.”
Morgan drew an uneasy breath. “A couple of years ago people downriver from the plant started getting cancer in record numbers. They claimed we dumped chemicals in the river, causing the cancer. Of course, that didn’t happen and water tests proved our story, but it still wasn’t easy to defend against.”
Darcie applied antiseptic to Morgan’s wound, the sharp sting taking all of her concentration. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out and seeming weak.
“People sue at the drop of a hat these days,” Darcie said.
“Honestly, I could hardly blame them,” Morgan rushed on, trying to ignore the pain. “A larger than normal distribution of a single type of cancer in their small population was unusual. They wanted to blame someone. And find money to cover medical bills.”
Darcie looked up. “You won, though, right? And that’s why this Craig guy was so angry?”
Morgan nodded but an uncontrolled sigh slipped out over the memory of the mental and physical cost that winning had taken on her life. She had to change the subject before Darcie pried any deeper. “And you... Stevens, now. You’re married.”
“Was. Not anymore.” Darcie applied the bandage.
“You two gonna gab all night or can we get moving?” Brady’s voice broke in.
Darcie offered him a thankful smile. She seemed glad he’d jumped in. Was she not willing to share about her past? It made Morgan even more curious about her old friend.
“We should get together for lunch and catch up.” Morgan looked up at Brady. “When we don’t have an armed deputy standing over us.”
“Who, Brady?” Darcie chuckled as she secured the gauze bandage. “He’s so laid-back, I sometimes forget that he’s this intense sniper guy.”
“Come on, Darcie.” He mocked a knife to the chest and grinned. “Don’t hurt my cred like this.”
He fixed a genuine, easygoing smile on Morgan, softening the hard, angular lines of his face. Making him even more handsome and difficult to look away from. She shouldn’t be noticing. Should be looking anywhere except at him, but he was like a puzzle waiting to be solved.
One minute he was easygoing, the next intense and fierce. Both attractive. Both needed to be avoided. If she was going to get her life back on firm footing after her recent move and job change, she had no time for romance.
“So,” she said to Darcie. “Am I cleared to go?”
Darcie sat back and started packing up her case. “My official response is that you should have your arm checked out at the hospital.”
“And unofficially?”
“Put some antibiotic cream on the wound. Keep it bandaged and change it once a day. If it doesn’t heal or becomes red, puffy or painful see a doctor.”
“I’ll take the unofficial advice so I can get out of here.”
“Sorry, friend.” Darcie squeezed Morgan’s knee. “You’ll have to stay to give your statement and answer questions. Brady will escort you back to the command post.”
“She’s right,” he said coming to full attention. “The detectives will want to talk to you.”
Right. She’d have to relive the experience, play by play, all over again.
She supposed it would be better to do so here with people surrounding her than at home alone. That would come later, she knew. Much later. When she had nothing to distract her.
No handsome guy. No old friend. No pretense of a smile. Not even the shock, which would have worn off by then.
She’d be alone in her new apartment. In the dark. Recounting each terrifying second of the ordeal and trying hard to remember why she’d so desperately wanted to stand on her own two feet.
THREE (#ulink_17e560e7-ba64-59e5-beca-b05bb5a73401)
Wind whistled through the FRS truck, but at least the snow had let up. Brady wanted to head home, sit in front of a roaring fire and have time alone to process the night. He’d pull out the small chunks of wood he’d cut to carve into ornaments for the FRS team and whittle long strips into the flames. But first, he had to help the team button down the specialty truck. Then they would meet to debrief and wind down in the communal living space of a remodeled historic firehouse where they all lived in private condos on the upper floors.
Brady was required to attend the debrief, but then he’d go straight to his condo. After a shooting, even one that hadn’t ended in the loss of a life, he liked to decompress on his own. The sooner the better. And that meant getting the truck loaded so they could all get home.
He stowed his rifle case in a bench seat midway in the truck and turned to find Darcie watching him. He suspected she wanted to ask about the graze on Morgan’s arm. Darcie couldn’t prove the injury had come from Brady’s rifle, no one could, but the thickness of the wound was a good indicator that he’d been the one to shoot Morgan.
“What?” he asked, when he couldn’t stand her eyes on him any longer.
She continued to watch him as a mother might watch a wayward child. “I have a favor to ask.”
He wasn’t in any frame of mind to do her favor, but he would hear her out. “Okay.”
“Can you hang around and escort Morgan home? She lives a few blocks away, and I don’t want her walking home alone after this.”
He let out a breath and almost offered a quick yes. After all, Morgan was a real beauty. And tough. But there was also something vulnerable about her. He’d seen it when he’d left her with the detectives. Like she needed him. Not just now, but long term.
Too bad. He wasn’t in a position to be needed by any woman. And especially not a woman who was all wrong for him. She was a lawyer, for Pete’s sake. Dressed in an expensive coat and suit. Shoes and purse that screamed designer. A last name that everyone in town knew from her father’s involvement in the business world.
No, a guy from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t need the heartache that would come with such a relationship.
He closed the bench and looked at Darcie. “I’m sure the detectives will give her a ride.”
“You’re right. They will, especially if there might be someone else out to get her.” Darcie shivered.
“The detectives can protect her.”
“I know that, too, but I’m concerned for more than her physical safety. She and I go way back, and I want to make sure she’s okay. You know...really okay. That she’s not going to freak out when she steps inside her apartment, closes the door and thoughts of the gun-wielding creep take over—which we both know could happen. You’re good at reading people. You’ll be able to tell if she shouldn’t be left alone.”
“So are you. Why not go with her yourself?”
“A, I may carry a weapon because I’d never hear the end of it from you guys if I didn’t, but I’m not skilled at protecting someone. And B, I’m on duty in an hour. You’re not.” She watched him carefully, her motherly concern still evident on her face. She’d lost her only child four years ago, but instead of the loss leaving her cold it had caused her to transfer her motherly devotion to the people around her—especially her team members. “You’re usually one of the first guys to step up and help someone. What’s different with Morgan?”
He wasn’t about to admit that Morgan’s vulnerability made him wary of getting too close to her. She needed someone. He got that. It just couldn’t be him. Not now, when he was struggling to do his job. And not with a woman like Morgan. He’d learned his lesson in high school about mixing with a girl out of his league and wouldn’t repeat that mistake.
“Okay, then. Maybe Archer can do it.” Darcie started to walk away.
She only had to take two steps before he felt like a real heel. “Wait, Darcie. I’ll do it.”
She smiled her thanks and it wasn’t hard to see she’d known he’d cave. All the guys on the team believed in defending the downtrodden, so her assumption wasn’t a stretch, but it still irked him. “I’ll go tell Jake.”
“No need. I already told him.” She smiled.
“You were that certain I’d do it, huh?”
“I’m certain that you’re a good man, Brady Owens, and you’d never let a woman who’d been through a terrifying standoff walk home alone.”
He wrapped Darcie under his arm and knuckled her head. “And you, my friend, are a master manipulator.”
“Guilty.” She grinned up at him as she freed herself. “I’ll go say goodbye to Morgan and tell her you’ll escort her home. Call me if she needs anything.”
Brady took his time packing up his vest and helping the other team members, but soon there was nothing left to do so he climbed down from the truck. He watched the team drive off, then went to the command post.
Morgan sat in a metal folding chair, her hands clasped in her lap, her body shivering in the biting wind. Detective Rossi, a thick and pudgy man with a wild head of black hair and a dark complexion that went perfectly with the Italian name, stood over her.
He looked up when Brady approached. “Help you, deputy?”
“I’ll be escorting Ms. Thorsby home.”
Morgan’s focus swiveled to him and she opened her mouth as if to argue, but then clamped down on her lips.
Rossi nodded. “An escort is a wise idea. She just told me she’s received additional threatening letters from plaintiffs.”
Brady glanced at her to see how she was doing with these ongoing threats. She was biting down on her lip even harder.
He turned back to the detective. “Are you planning to look into these threats?”
“You can be assured I’ll be following up on each letter.” He fixed a firm gaze on Morgan. “As I said, I’m glad Owens is escorting you home, but he won’t be around to watch your back after that. You’ll need to be careful until I can make sure there aren’t any other crazies out there who want to attack you.”
Morgan shivered again. From the cold? Maybe. Or from Rossi’s dire tone? More likely.
Brady would had liked to offer Morgan encouragement here, but if what she said about the letters was true, he didn’t think Rossi was overreacting. Not one bit. Brady couldn’t help with her fear, but he could solve her problem with the cold. He shrugged out of his coat and settled it over her shoulders.
Her eyes flashed wide in surprise. “Thank you, but I can’t take your jacket.”
“You’ve had a much harder night than I have and you deserve to be warm.”
“But I—”
Brady held up a hand stilling her and focused on Rossi. “Is Ms. Thorsby free to go?”
Rossi nodded, then handed a business card to Morgan. “Get those threats to me ASAP.”
She took the card and Rossi produced another one for Brady. “Just in case you need to contact me for anything.”
“You ready, Ms. Thorsby?” Brady asked.
“It’s Morgan, and yes, I’m very ready.” She rose, and despite his heavy coat, she trembled.
“I’m Brady, by the way, in case you didn’t catch that,” he said, lightening his tone to help ease her anxiety. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of this.” He made sure his apology carried his sincere regret. Not only for the situation, but for her injury, as well.
“Thank you. I’m just glad it all worked out okay. If I hadn’t tripped Craig at the end to send the gun flying, things might have been far different.” She sighed and started toward the sidewalk.
So that’s what had happened and why she’d fallen to the ground. Not that it eased Brady’s conscience.
“We see vulnerable and disillusioned people all the time at PEA,” she continued. “Puts us at risk for one of them going off on us, so we regularly train on active shooter scenarios.” She looked up at him. “Have you seen the ‘Run. Hide. Fight.’ video made by Homeland Security?”
He nodded. “Our agency uses it in training all the time. Especially at schools and with people who come in contact with the public. We also suggest people watch it on YouTube.” He smiled at her. “Sounds like it worked for you, reminding you to take action. If you hadn’t...”
She frowned, and he decided it was best to move on to something other than tonight’s incident.
“Are you from this part of town?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’ve only lived in the city for a few months. I’m a suburban girl. West Linn.”
He knew all about the pricey suburb. “City living must be very different for you, then.”
“Exactly,” she said vehemently.
He suspected there was a story there, but his job was to walk her home, not learn all he could about her.
He picked up his pace, escorting her past looky-loos who lingered at the edge of the crime scene, probably still hoping for a shootout or other action they could film for social media. Morgan didn’t seem to notice them. Brady supposed she was lost in her thoughts, likely replaying the night. Darcie had been right. Not that Brady would ever tell her that. Morgan needed someone to make sure she was okay. Whether he liked it or not, he was tasked with that duty.
“This is me.” She stopped outside a historic redbrick apartment building and dug out her keys. She returned his jacket, then held out her hand. “Thanks for walking me home, Brady. It wasn’t necessary, but I really do appreciate it.”
He considered shaking her hand and taking off, but he’d be in a heap of trouble if he ignored Darcie’s command to make sure Morgan got into her apartment all right. “I’ll see you inside before I go.”
She crossed her arms and eyed him, but he wouldn’t let that deter him. He’d rather face her wrath than Darcie’s. He started up the steps before Morgan could argue, then stood to the side while she unlocked the street entrance. They stepped inside, and as he stomped his feet to clear the snow, he admired the small but ornate lobby. A tall Christmas tree sat in the corner covered with white twinkling lights and white balls. Simple and elegant, like the costly apartment building.
Christmas, ha! The last thing he wanted to think about. Early December was way too soon to start. He’d actually prefer never to think about. Just brought back bad childhood memories. He’d only ever received one Christmas present the year his mother had managed to stay sober. Still, he couldn’t ignore the holiday the way he had before joining the FRS. Skyler had decorated their firehouse in November for her annual Christmas party for homeless families. She loved the season. He didn’t, but he wouldn’t go all Scrooge and ruin it for her or the others on the team.
They boarded the old elevator car with wood paneling and brass furnishings.
“How old is this building?” he asked when the silence in the small space turned uncomfortable.
“It was built in 1910 and just recently restored.” Morgan’s eyes lit up, and he had to look away before he stared at the captivating sight she made. “I love that the renovations stayed true to the time period. I’d have hated it if they’d made the apartments sleek and modern like my parents’ home.”
She’d just moved to the city from West Linn. Was it possible she’d lived with her family until she’d moved here? If so, it was totally in opposition to the independence she seemed to exude, piquing his curiosity even more.
He leaned back against the wall, listening to the elevator’s ancient motor carry them to the top floor where the bell’s sharp ping cut through the quiet.
“Penthouse,” he said jokingly.
“Hardly.” She frowned.
At her door, he reached for the keys. Their fingers touched and unexpected warmth spread through him. She hastily stepped back, nearly dropping the keys, but her eyes remained riveted to his. He could see she was interested in him.
So he wasn’t the only one. Interesting.
She took another step back from him.
Even more interesting. She didn’t want to feel anything for him. Slumming it with a guy like him was probably the furthest thing from her mind. Or, for all he knew, she was involved with someone.
She unlocked the door, pushed it open and he waited for her to enter. She turned to close the door on him.
He took a step inside to fulfill his promise to Darcie. “Could I get a glass of water before I head out?”
“Sure, of course.” She stiffened, belying her generous words. “I should have thought to offer you one.” She hung her coat on a hook and kicked off her shoes, visibly relaxing, and headed down a short hallway. She stopped to flick on a gas fireplace. “Have a seat, and I’ll get your water.”
He stepped into the room, the heat from the fire already warming the small area. The space had hardwood floors, white bead board and chunky moldings reminiscent of the period. The walls were beige, the furniture traditional with red accents. A tiny artificial tree with equally tiny sparkling white stars sat on a small table in the corner.
Perfection. Like from a magazine.
Not a place where people like Brady actually kicked back and lived. Watched a ballgame and got snack crumbs all over the floor. After seeing Morgan’s designer clothing, he should have expected this. Just like Heather, his high school crush who had everything he didn’t. Big house. Fancy car. Nice clothes. All of it contrasted with his double-wide trailer and hand-me-down or thrift store clothes. Back then, he’d been fool enough to think Heather actually liked him, but she’d shut him down faster than a bullet from his rifle. So would Morgan if he was crazy enough to follow this attraction.
Feeling like he could easily break the small sofa and chairs, he went to the window and stared onto the quiet street so in contrast with the shooting from earlier. His adrenaline had subsided and a headache was forming. He massaged his temples and tried to relax, but he felt jittery.
If Morgan’s place wasn’t so unbelievably clean, he’d pull out his knife and the small hunk of wood that he always carried in his jacket pocket to whittle when he was left standing around.
A scream pierced the air. Shattering glass followed.
The kitchen. Morgan.
Adrenaline rekindled in his veins. Hand on his sidearm, he closed the distance to the kitchen in a few strides. He stepped inside, his boots grinding over broken glass. Morgan stood by the sink, physically unharmed, but her face was whiter than the snow of a Minnesota blizzard from his childhood.
“Someone was here. He left—” Her words were barely more than a whisper.
Brady turned off the running water and looked around. He saw nothing odd other than the glass she’d dropped on the floor. “Left what?”
“Those.” She pointed at the countertop. “I didn’t leave them there.”
Brady looked at the counter, then back at her ashen face. His pulse kicked into high gear, and he drew his weapon. It was a good thing he’d walked Morgan home. A very good thing.
FOUR (#ulink_d464d609-9eb3-529c-838c-1ef061462f7e)
Brady needed to check the other rooms for an intruder, but he also wanted to take a better look at the photograph lying under a long-stemmed red rose. He positioned his body so he could keep an eye on the door and still check out the picture.
The downright creepy photo was of an engagement announcement from the Oregonian newspaper. A man sat next to Morgan, but his body had been erased with a picture-editing program, leaving only a silhouette with the words Your One True Love superimposed on it. The caption below read, You are mine. You will marry no one but me.
“This looks like a real announcement that someone modified.” He quickly checked her hand to see if he’d missed a big sparkling ring. Her finger was bare.
“It’s from my engagement to Preston Hunter. I broke it off a few months ago. Apparently some sicko thinks it’s funny.” She stared at the counter.
“Not funny. Stalkerish.”
A flash of horror widened her eyes. “You think I have a stalker?”
“That’s what I aim to find out.” He headed for the door.
“Wait,” she called out, looking like she might be sick. “Where are you going?”
“I need to make sure no one else is in the apartment.”
Grim realization dawned on her face. “You think whoever left this is still here.”
“It’s a good possibility. I didn’t notice any signs of forced entry. Any chance this is a current boyfriend with a key who has a sick sense of humor and wanted to surprise you?” he asked, not liking the fact that she might be in a relationship.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” She wrapped her arms around her slender waist.
“The message doesn’t point to the former fiancé, but I have to ask. Is he mad that you ended things with him?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“And no other boyfriends?” he asked again, to be sure.
“I haven’t even dated since I broke off with Preston, and I haven’t given anyone a key to my place except my parents.”
So, stalker it is.
“Then stay put while I check it out. And don’t move or you could cut your feet.” Brady eyed her for a long moment to be sure she would follow his instructions.
“Be careful.” She clutched her arms tighter and chewed her lip.
After the second shock of the night, he hated to leave her alone, but it would be foolish not to check for an intruder. A few strides across the hall and he was in a bedroom. The space was neat. Organized. The same colors as the family room. He checked the closet and under the bed, then made sure the windows were locked even though the apartment was on the fifth floor. He glanced into a small bathroom with a pedestal sink, claw-foot tub and subway tiles. Also empty.
He stepped to the front door and searched for any signs of forced entry. The wood was smooth and free from pry marks.
Odd. Very odd.
He dug out his phone, called Jake and relayed the incident so they could report it to the Portland Police Bureau. The FRS responded to emergencies across the entire city, but they didn’t have jurisdiction to investigate crimes within city limits.
“I’ve got the detective’s card from the shooting,” Brady continued. “But I don’t get the feeling that this is related to the train incident or another disgruntled plaintiff. Do you think I should call Rossi or should this be handled separately?”
Jake didn’t answer right away. Brady knew he was thinking. Pondering. The usual Jake. He cleared his throat. “With no sign of forced entry, it seems more like you have a relationship gone bad. You really want to bother PPB this late at night with that?”
“Normally I’d agree with you, but Morgan says she doesn’t have a boyfriend and hasn’t dated in months. Plus, I’m getting a stalker vibe here.”
A long hiss of air. “I’ll have to call in favors to get a quick response so you’d better be right.”
“Not sure I am, but then, her life could depend on us taking the right action here.”
“You’re right. Can’t be too careful. I’ll call the watch commander. Rossi is likely the detective on call and if he’s finished at the scene, the commander will send him over. Otherwise you’ll have to hang out there until someone else arrives.”
Not a hardship, Brady thought and it surprised him. “I’m off tomorrow so I can stay as long as needed.”
“I’ll text you when I know something.” Jake disconnected.
Brady kept his phone in hand so he wouldn’t miss the text and returned to the kitchen. A hint of color had returned to Morgan’s face, and she was talking on the phone to someone named Lacy. He suspected this was the woman who’d taken the train with Morgan. It sounded like they were good friends.
Not wanting to interrupt, he leaned against the counter and took the opportunity to study her while she was distracted. He couldn’t put his finger on the word that best described her. Maybe delicate. Or pampered. Her features were fine, hence delicate, and her skin was creamy and flawless. Maybe from expensive beauty treatments. He could be wrong, of course, but he suspected she’d been pampered all her life.
His phone chimed, and he read a message from Darcie. You get Morgan home okay?
He didn’t want to tell Darcie about this incident via text. He typed, In her apartment safe and sound.
He phone chimed another message and he switched to Jake’s profile. Rossi on the way. ETA 5 minutes.
Perfect.
Morgan hung up, and glanced at him, seeming surprised to see him still standing there.
“Why don’t we go into living room to talk about this?” He didn’t give her a chance to respond but lifted her into his arms to carry her over the glass.
She pushed back and gaped at him. “What are you doing?”
“The glass. You’ll cut your feet.” As he continued walking, her scent wrapped around him. Soft, feminine. Fresh, like a spring breeze after the rain.
She scowled. “You could have gotten my shoes instead of taking over and manhandling me.”
It was his turn to gape. “Manhandling? I’m simply helping you out.”
The minute they hit the living room she squirmed out of his arms and planted her hands on her hips. “That kind of help I don’t need.” She stormed across the room, moving as far from him as possible.
He liked the fire in her eyes as she stared at him. Liked her animated expression. Liked that the vivid fear was gone from her face.
He glanced at his watch. Four minutes remaining until Rossi’s arrival. If he continued to let his interest in her distract him, it’d be four very long minutes.
Distance and professionalism. That’s what he needed.
He gestured at the sofa. “Let’s sit down and talk about the rose and picture.”
He expected an argument, but she perched on the edge of a red chair.
He took the far end of the sofa, feeling like a giant. He didn’t know how to start this conversation other than bluntly stating his opinion. If she was lying, he’d soon know. “There was no sign of forced entry. Whoever left this surprise either had a key or is a master at picking locks.”
“As I said, only my parents have a key.” Her tone remained terse and irritated. “I suppose that means their live-in staff would have access, too, but I’ve had little to do with my family since I moved out of their guesthouse three months ago.”
Live-in staff. Just as he’d suspected. Pampered. He’d have to make sure Rossi knew about the staff. Maybe one of them had a thing for her or resented her. “Would you mind calling your parents to see if their keys are missing?”
“Mind?” Her eyes narrowed. “Honestly, yes. If my father hears about this, he’ll drive over here and demand I move back home.”
“At your age?”
She sighed, a long, drawn-out breath, her eyes lifting to the ceiling. “I think I could be headed for the retirement home, and as his only child, he’d still insist on taking care of me. By his definition, that means keeping me where he can see me.”
“We need to know if they still have the keys or if they’ve been stolen and the intruder used them to gain access.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “Then I’ll have to call them, but only after I figure out what to say that doesn’t bring Dad running over here.”
“Okay, so give it some thought, but be sure you make that call tonight.” Her response was a clipped nod so he moved on. “Is there a building superintendent or manager here, who might have a key?”
“Obviously the rental company would, but they’re off-site.”
“They could have had a break-in where keys were stolen, I suppose,” Brady said, thinking aloud. “Though they’d likely inform you of such and replace your locks. Did you ever leave your keys unattended?”
“Unattended?” She chewed on her lip, something he was beginning to think was a habit. It was full and plump and far too distracting.
“You know,” he rushed on, though no explanation was necessary. “You left the keys out where someone could get to them when you weren’t watching.”
She tapped her chin with a slender finger. “I suppose I’ve dropped the ring on my desk at work. Who doesn’t do that? But I’m sure no one took them long enough to get a duplicate made.”
He wished. “Unfortunately, keys can now be duplicated by sending a digital picture to an online locksmith.”
“You’re kidding, right? They just have to take a picture?” Fear widened her eyes. She seemed even more vulnerable, tempting him to cross the room to take her hand.
He planted himself more firmly on the sofa instead. “I’m afraid it’s true. That’s why I need you to think of any place you could’ve set the keys down long enough for someone to snap a picture.”
She tapped her chin again, her fingernail painted a light pink and perfectly manicured. “Work, like I said. And the gym.”
“You leave your keys unattended at the gym?”
“Not really. Just set them on the bench in the locker room as I dress. Or on the counter when signing in and out, but from what you say that’s long enough.” She stared at him. “I’ve left them out at church, too, though I doubt anyone there would do this.”
“You never know.”
She arched a perfectly plucked brow. “I doubt it.”
Fine, she didn’t believe him. Most people wouldn’t, but he saw people at their worst and knew what they were capable of. He also suspected the ex-fiancé had been alone with her keys at some point, but the message didn’t lead Brady to believe this Preston guy had left the note.
“So how do we find out who might have a key?” she asked.
We? There’s no we here. “I’ve arranged for Rossi to come over. He’ll be here any minute to take your statement and go from there.”
“What?” She laughed. “Aren’t you a police officer? Can’t you handle this—wait.” She covered her mouth for a moment, then circled her arms around her waist. “You think this is related to Craig. That it’s not over.”
He held up his hands. “Slow down. I’m not saying that at all. It’s just a jurisdictional matter. I’m County and you live in Portland’s city limits. It’s the Portland Police Bureau’s responsibility to investigate this incident.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding disappointed. “Does that mean you’ll be leaving?”
“I’ll wait for Rossi and make sure you’re in good hands before I leave.”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Morgan startled.
“Relax. I’m sure it’s Rossi.”
She started to rise.
“I’ll let him in.” Brady shot to his feet before she could get up. “Do you have a photocopier?”
“On my printer, why?”
“You should make a copy of the threats you received. Then you can give the file to Rossi so he can get started on it ASAP.”
“Oh, right, okay.”
Brady headed for the door. She’d have plenty of time to make the copies as he intended to have a conversation with Rossi before the other man entered the apartment. It would be better if this conversation happened without Morgan, because Brady suspected without evidence of an intrusion, Rossi would think Morgan was lying about not having any relationships gone bad. And if Rossi thought the items were from a disgruntled ex-boyfriend, he wouldn’t take this threat seriously, leaving her in potential danger. Relationships gone bad made people say stupid things—sometimes even do stupid things like leaving a rose and note for the former girlfriend—but it was less common for actual physical harm to occur.
Brady grabbed the doorknob. An image of a man turning the same knob flashed into his brain. A sick man, focused on Morgan. Doing everything necessary to gain her affection. Stalking. Hunting when she was alone. Unprotected.
What if Rossi blew her off like Brady suspected? Left her to fend for herself?
Brady couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let that happen despite his desire to put distance between them. This was no longer about a promise to Darcie to see Morgan home. About guilt for hesitating to pull the trigger. This was about a woman’s life. Plain and simple.
If he couldn’t convince Rossi to help Morgan, he’d have no choice. He’d force down these feelings that kept surfacing around her and step in. She could count on him to be by her side and keep her safe.
* * *
Waiting for Brady to return with the detective, Morgan shoved her phone into her pocket and sent the threat letters feeding into the printer. She’d called her mother and learned that the keys were right where her father had left them. She’d also managed to raise her mother’s suspicions, but Morgan had avoided telling her the truth. If her dad had answered, it might have been a different story.
Morgan listened to the hum of the copier and looked around the room she’d so carefully decorated. The space was neutral on purpose. No photos. No mementos from time spent with her family, which would only remind her of their disagreement about where she should live.
She’d planned this place as a sanctuary. A symbol of her new independence. Now each shadowed corner held fear. Her space had been violated. Along with it, so had she. Again. For the second time tonight.
Stress weighed heavily on her and nausea formed in the pit of her stomach. Stress. When she’d worked on the lawsuit, the stress had left her with daily nausea. So many people had depended on her back then. Her father. Preston. The mill workers who would lose their jobs if she lost the case. Despite feeling sick, she’d dug deep for the strength she needed to go on. She did her duty, then broke free of her father’s desire to keep her employed at the mill. She’d formed her own life, and her stomach had settled down. Even when her father basically disowned her.
She’d just started to enjoy life and now this? It was almost too much to bear.
“Why, God?” she whispered. Isn’t my father disowning me enough? Do You have to take my new start in life, too? My peace?
Okay, fine, she got that God didn’t actually take her peace. She let the fear take over and steal it. But after her night, how could she not?
She heard a noise in the bedroom and jumped. She knew it was the old building groaning with age as it often did, but still, the room suddenly seemed oppressive without Brady. She didn’t want to admit to needing anyone. Would never admit it aloud, but his presence had kept the panic at bay.
Despite what common sense told her, she hurried to the front door and slipped into her shoes before jerking it open. Brady stood, his feet planted wide, his shoulders back like a tower of strength. She was reluctant to lean on him, but she needed him to get through this.
Tonight only, she told herself as joined the men. Tonight only.
“Ms. Thorsby.” Rossi stepped forward and ran a wide thumb over the doorjamb.
“Please call me Morgan.”
He gave a clipped nod. “As Owens said, there’s no sign of forced entry.” Instead of looking at Brady, he eyed Morgan, his eyebrow raised, as if she’d done something wrong. She didn’t like his attitude, but didn’t know what to say so she said nothing.
“Show me the rose and picture,” he said, his voice almost accusatory.
He seemed to be blaming her for this. Or was he mad at having to stay out all night? Regardless, she wouldn’t let the surly bear of a guy intimidate her. She’d state her case and keep to the point so she didn’t waste his time.
“Follow me.” She led the way to the kitchen. Rossi stomped behind her and Brady’s lighter footsteps sounded farther behind. She dreaded entering the kitchen with slivers of glass so representative of the shards of unease she felt, but she had to be strong.
She stepped in, picking her way through the glass, and turned to face Rossi, who stared at the rose and picture. Brady moved to the far side of the room and rested against the counter. She couldn’t get a read on his mood, but then he’d be going home in a little bit, so it didn’t much matter.
She focused on Rossi. “I’ve already told Deputy Owens that I don’t have a boyfriend and haven’t dated in the last few months.”
“This picture looks like a real announcement,” he said.
She stifled a sigh at having to tell her story again and quickly brought Rossi up to speed.
“Other than property management, my parents are the only people with a key,” she added. “I just talked to my mother. She confirmed the keys are in my dad’s desk drawer right where they keep them. They obviously wouldn’t do this, so this person got into my apartment another way.”
Rossi looked her straight in the eyes. “Are you suggesting a secret admirer, then?”
“It’s the only explanation. Unless of course, a plaintiff from the trial is trying a different way to scare me.”
“Doesn’t feel like that to me,” Brady spoke for the first time.
“I’d have to agree. More like a jilted lover or a boyfriend wannabe.” Rossi frowned. “Still, I can’t fully rule out a connection to the lawsuit. Shaw’s behind bars, but until now we had no reason to check his whereabouts before the shooting. I’ll investigate, and once you provide the other threats you’ve received, I’ll review them to see if there’s a connection.”
“I made copies so you can take them with you.”
Rossi gestured at the floor. “The glass?”
“I dropped it when I saw the picture.”
Rossi pulled out a small notepad and pen. “Tell me more about this engagement. You said the guy’s name is Preston Hunter, right?”
She nodded, and he jotted it down.
“I honestly don’t think he did this,” she continued. “He’s moved on and is already engaged.” Plus he’s a white rose kind of person, she thought but didn’t add.
“You’d be surprised what guys might do,” Rossi said. “I’ve seen it all. Tell me more about Preston.”
Rossi was barking up the wrong tree, but she’d answer his questions so they could get to how he was going to find this stalker. “He comes from a well-respected family. They own Orion Transport. Our family businesses work hand in hand so we go way back. In fact, I’ve known him since we were children. It was natural for us to start dating and get engaged.”
“Why’d you break up?” Brady asked, surprising her for a moment. She hadn’t realized that he was still standing there.
“We weren’t compatible.” She crossed her arms and hoped he’d leave it at that.
“How so?” His gaze remained fixed on her, direct and searching.
So much for hoping he’d let it go. “I’m more laid-back. He’s controlling.” The desire to explain her actions had her opening her mouth to continue, but then she clamped it closed. Neither Brady nor Rossi had a reason to know about Preston’s incessant need to plan her life and activities.
Both Rossi and Brady’s eyebrows rose.
“No, wait,” she said. “If you’re thinking there’s something sinister there, you’re wasting your time. I still see Preston on occasion when I visit my parents, and we are completely cordial. And, like I said, he has a new fiancée. Someone far more suited to him than I was.”
“And her name is?”
“Natasha something. Sorry, I don’t remember her last name.”
Rossi scribbled something in his notepad then shifted on his feet. “And you really haven’t dated anyone else since then?”
“No.”
Rossi tapped his pen against the paper. “No one. Not a single guy. Really?”
“Really.” She tightened her arms and tried to hold on to her temper.
“You’re an attractive woman, Morgan, so that’s hard to believe.” Rossi turned to Brady. “Isn’t that hard to believe, Owens?”
“Yes,” Brady said, his gaze fixed on her. “But then, I’ve seen how strong willed she is and if she set her mind against dating, I suspect she would succeed.”
Searching for a response, she looked at Brady. “You don’t have a ring on your finger. How many women have you dated in the last few months?”
“Darcie fixed me up a couple of times. I tried to get out of them, but she’s kind of pushy.” He frowned. “If not for her, I wouldn’t have gone on a date, either.”
Morgan switched her focus to Rossi. “Brady’s single and attractive. Does it surprise you that he hasn’t been dating?”
“Don’t know about how attractive he is,” he scowled. “But we’re not talking about Owens, here. He isn’t claiming someone left a surprise in his apartment.”
“Claiming?” The word shot out, ending Morgan’s plan to keep to the point. “You don’t believe me, do you? You think I staged this for some reason.”
“Honestly?” Rossi arched a brow as the charged air hung between them. “Your story rings false. I’m more inclined to believe you had a fight with a boyfriend, and now you want him to get in trouble so you call us with a bogus story.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “I did no such thing, and I certainly hope you’re planning to investigate my complaint.”
“Frankly,” he said flipping his notebook closed, “I’m not. There’s no proof of a break-in and our resources are stretched thin already...”
“Hold up,” Brady stepped in. “You can at least canvass the neighbors and dust for prints. Maybe talk to the management company.”
Rossi scowled at Brady, but Morgan smiled her thanks at him.
“That I can do, but you should know, every minute I spend on this takes time away from looking into the other threats that have been made against you.”
“That’s obviously a priority,” Brady said.
Rossi held up a hand. “Don’t worry. I understand and I’ll do my part. Just know that I have a lot on my plate right now. So I’ll grab my fingerprint kit and get started.” He stepped out of the kitchen.
Morgan sighed out her frustration. She caught sight of the rose again. Red and threatening against the white countertop. Like blood. Vivid and terrifying. A sharp jolt of fear stabbed through her. She looked at Brady, found his focus fixed on her.
“Are you going to leave now?” Her voice caught as she asked.
“I’ll stay until Rossi finishes up,” he replied.
“Thank you,” she whispered in relief.
She hated that she sounded weak. Hated feeling weak, but she hated the thought of being alone even more. For the first time since she’d moved into her apartment, she wondered why she’d ever been so desperate to be alone.
FIVE (#ulink_18bc936a-d0d6-5574-aa45-04d33fb3a48d)
Morgan slung the straps for her briefcase and gym bag over her shoulders and stepped to the door. Fear that had plagued her all night made her hesitate and her hand lingered on the knob. “You’re being ridiculous. No one’s waiting to hurt you.”
She pulled her shoulders back and stepped outside. Wind howled down the tree-lined street, but the sun shone bright and the snow was melting. She huddled into her coat and carefully made her way down the slippery sidewalk. A nutty scent drifted up from the coffee shop on the lower level of her building. Her salary left little money to spend on coffee, and she rarely did, but after her lack of sleep and the unusually cold morning she couldn’t resist the aroma.
She took the steps down to the shop and ordered a large mocha with whipped cream. She’d have to work harder tonight at the gym to burn off the extra calories, but after her day yesterday she deserved a treat.
The barista was efficient and Morgan was soon pressing the remote for her car. She checked for oncoming cars on the busy street as she sipped her coffee, the chocolaty goodness sliding down her throat and leaving a warm trail. Traffic cleared for a moment and she quickly opened the door before another car could charge past and sideswipe her door. Her gaze landed on the driver’s seat. She jumped back in horror. The coffee cup dropped from her hand, exploding on the pavement, darkening the brilliant white snow and splashing up her leg. She yelped at the pain but even that couldn’t take her eyes from the seat.
Two long-stemmed red roses crossed like an X lay on the seat, an envelope beneath them. She was curious about what the envelope contained, but the roses captured her thoughts. Maybe the X meant something, maybe not. Didn’t matter. What mattered was that someone broke into her car without damaging it. No broken windows. No jimmied lock. The roses were fresh, as if they’d just come from a garden or a cooler, not been exposed to freezing temperatures for hours. They’d been left recently, which meant her stalker had to be close.
She fired a look down the street, searching for anyone watching her. Two people headed for their cars. No one looked at her. At least, no one standing out in the open.
Could her stalker be hiding in the bushes across the street—behind trees down the road—while she stood out here? Vulnerable. Her life in danger.
A car horn sounded behind her, and she spun around, clutching her briefcase like a shield. A man sat behind the wheel of his car. His gaze frustrated, he made shooing gestures with his hands.
Feeling as if she was coming out of a fog, she looked around. She’d backed into traffic, but she didn’t care. Could she ask this man for his help? Ask to sit with him while she called 911? Could she even trust this man? Was he the stalker?
You’re still vulnerable. Move, now. Go. Quickly.
She slammed her car door and ran for her apartment building. She frantically slid her fingers along the ring to locate the right key for the main entrance. Her hand trembled. The key refused to fit the lock. A noise from behind startled her. The keys flew from her hand as she shot a look over her shoulder. Spotted a woman walking her fluffy white dog down the street.
Not a threat, but one still existed. She had to get inside. She scrambled to find the right key. Got it into the lock and twisted.
Now what? The thought came unbidden. With the rose and photo left on the counter, you’re no safer inside.
You’re not safe anywhere.
* * *
Brady’s phone rang, dragging him out of a deep sleep. He groaned and glanced at the clock. Better be important for someone to get him out of bed at 6:00 a.m. when he’d stayed with Rossi until two o’clock. Fat lot of good it did them. They’d lifted a few fingerprints but located no other leads.
He grabbed his phone and when he saw the caller ID, he was instantly alert.
“Morgan,” he answered. “Is something wrong?”
“Roses,” she whispered. “Two of them. In my car with an envelope.”
A vision of her standing near her vehicle, a dangerous stalker nearby, had Brady lurching to his feet and grabbing a pair of jeans. “Where are you?”
“In the coffee shop of my building. I thought staying in a public place would be the most secure location right now so I hurried down here.”
“Stay there. I’m on my way.”
“Thank you, Brady.” He heard the relief in her voice, and he hated to admit it, but he liked that she’d called him to come to her rescue.
He pulled on a T-shirt and quickly brushed his teeth, then grabbing his jacket on the way out, he made a mad dash down the stairs to his ancient pickup truck. One set of footprints led across the asphalt to Jake’s car.
“Brady?” he called out.
“It’s Morgan. More roses,” he explained and jumped into his truck. He used the wipers to clear the snowy windshield and coaxed the ancient truck to start in the unusual cold. On the road, Brady called Rossi who was even grumpier than last night, but he agreed to meet Brady at Morgan’s car.
Rush hour had begun, but with the snow, most people would stay home until later, allowing Brady to pull up to the coffee shop in less than ten minutes. He grabbed latex gloves from his console and headed over to talk to Morgan, searching the area for potential threats on the way.
He didn’t like what he saw. Plenty of places for a stalker to hide on the street and watch Morgan’s movements. No way would he bring her out into the open like this. He’d insist Morgan remain in the shop while he checked her car.
She met him at the door. Dressed in another suit that appeared tailor-made, this one blue, she looked professional, but it was the fear darkening her eyes that struck him hard.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, sounding like he’d arrived at a social event instead of another invasion into her life.
Part of Brady was impressed that she could control her emotions, the other part was mad that she was hiding her real feelings. Still, her body language told the story. Arms clutched around her waist. Leaning forward as if she might drop any minute. Her face pale. Her hands trembling.
“Tell me exactly what you found,” he said, making sure he sounded comforting and reassuring.
She flicked a gaze outside then quickly back at him, the fear stronger now. “I stopped for coffee, then unlocked my car with the remote. When I opened the door, I found two roses lying in an X pattern and sitting on top of a white linen envelope.”
Likely another picture. “This X pattern mean anything to you?”
She shook her head.
“And the envelope?”
“I didn’t open it. I was too afraid.” She was shaking, and looked like she’d melt to the floor.
He took her elbow and moved her to a chair. She looked up at him, seeming small and defenseless.
He wanted to rail at the injustice heaped on her head, but he held it together by shoving his hands into his pockets. “Did you notice anything else?
She stared off into the distance. “The windows weren’t broken or the doors jimmied. I guess he could have used one of those bar things I see on TV shows, but since my key is on the same ring as my apartment key, he likely made a copy of that one, too.” She paused and chewed on her lip for a moment.
“Anyone else have your car key? Do you keep a spare set hidden somewhere?”
“Just at my parents. No other spare set.”
“Have you checked with them to see if anyone stole the keys overnight?”
“I called my mom right after you. They’re still in the drawer.” She looked like she wanted to add something but stared over his shoulder instead.
He followed her gaze through the street level window. “Which vehicle is yours?”
“I’ll show you.” She started to rise.
“No.” He stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You stay here. It’s safer.”
She jerked free and cast him a defiant look. She was suddenly all fire and passion, much like last night. He watched, enjoying the metamorphosis from timid victim to fierce warrior and waited for her to refuse his directive. He didn’t like the thought of her rushing out onto the street, but he respected her determination in the face of danger.
She kept eye contact with him for a long while until she finally sighed, her agitation disappearing with it. She dug her keys from a leather briefcase, then handed them to him. “It’s the blue BMW. Three cars behind your truck.” Panic returned to her eyes.
So she’d let her fear take over enough that she’d been watching for his arrival. A protective feeling surged to the surface and the urge to touch her was strong. She needed reassurance. Needed to know that he’d be there for her. Any hour of the day. The minute she called.
Not a good idea. She should call Rossi instead.
Brady shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled to ease her fear. “You hang tight. I’ll be right back.”
Outside, he fought through the biting wind as he passed his truck to get to the sleek BMW. Talk about contrasts. Battered and rusty from Minnesota winters, his pickup was on its last legs. Her Beemer, a metallic blue coupe that Brady recognized as the top-of-the-line, was polished and shiny. Of course.
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Susan Sleeman
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: CAUGHT IN THE CROSSHAIRSHeld hostage on a train, ex-lawyer Morgan Thorsby finds her powers of persuasion failing her for the first time. Former marine sniper Brady Owens is her only hope—but his split-second hesitation on the trigger leaves her wounded. Yet when an obsessed stalker threatens Morgan, Brady steps up. Protecting someone so tough and beautiful is hardly a chore, but Brady pulls back every time they get close. Morgan isn′t ready for the connection forming between them, either, but she knows she needs his help. Can Brady capture the culprit in time for Christmas?First Responders: Brave men and women alert and ready for danger and love.