“That would hurt.”
“That’s the point.” She vacated her vehicle and met him at the front of the car. “Am I expected to follow you?”
“Well, that would be preferred since I don’t think you have another flashlight in the car and you don’t know where we’re going.”
“I could just wait here for you.”
He flicked the beam on her sandaled feet. “Actually, you might want to do that. The ticks will make a feast out of you.”
“Ticks? Already?”
He smiled at her. “Welcome to rural Iowa, m’lady.” Moving out to make a path through the tall grass, Shane swept the beam ahead of him.
“Shane.”
“Yeah?”
A heartbeat later, “Be careful.”
He took in the sight of her, standing in front of the headlights, the glow accenting her curves. For one second, he considered abandoning this idea and going back to her to complete what they’d started on the dance floor. Another second flashed past, and he realized how stupid that would be. His heart was not free to give. Nor was she free for the taking.
“I always am.” Setting out, he headed for the trees.
Closing in on the much darker tree line, he drew his weapon, holding it at ready. After a double pass with the flashlight, he breached the leafy overhang and entered another world. The heavy scent of hickory and cedar mingled with mustiness and decayed leaves. Shane took care to tread with a light foot as he eased through the sparse stand of trees. From where he walked, he made out the faint light from the old factory.
Back and forth, in a slow sweep, he passed the flashlight over the ground, looking for signs of disturbance in the padded timber floor. A hurried person could get careless, leaving a trace of their path behind. It was also possible that he was out of his mind and the shooter had not come this way. Hesitating, he rotated and passed the light over the path behind him. Yeah, he could see a faint impression of his footprints. He checked his watch. Too much time had lapsed since the shooting. If the shooter had indeed come this way, any trace of their escape was long gone.
Screw it. He had to check, if nothing more than to ease his mind. He pressed forward, taking the time to examine the area as best he could with the flashlight. The closer he came to the end of the stand of trees, the brighter the lights were from the factory. He would need to turn around and head back soon, before someone spotted his light and sounded an unnecessary alarm.
About to give up on this futile search, Shane moved the Maglite to the left; the beam glinted off something metallic. Adjusting the light, he could make out something cylindrical. What do we have here? He approached the object and crouched down. With the tip of his weapon, he eased the tuft of grass aside. Shit. A discarded Busch Lite can. Panning the light over the area, he found more discarded beer cans and a few empty liquor bottles. It was party central out here. The prime place to hide from the authorities and hold an underage drinking party.
“Damn it,” he spit.
Rising, he kicked at the can. This had been a stupid idea. Turning to leave, he froze.
“You shouldn’t have come,” the hooded figure said before the gun went off.
Chapter Nineteen
Liza broke out into an all out sprint. More shots echoed through the night, kicking her heart and legs into overdrive.
Don’t trip. Don’t break anything! Don’t get lost!
Easier thought than done. She was going in blind, trying to gauge her path by where she thought she had heard the last gunshot. Weaving around the trees, she used the flashlight app on her phone to avoid a collision with the trunks. Wonderful, she remembered her damn phone, but not her gun. She could hear Montrose saying, This is how an agent gets dead, Agent Bartholomew.
Bite me!
She was Shane’s last line of defense. But she’d be no good to him if she couldn’t find him. No way in hell was she calling out and drawing enemy fire. Slowing, Liza took stock of her surroundings. Through the pitch blackness, she made out a faint light straight ahead of her. Closing the flashlight app on her phone, she opened a line for 911 and picked a path through the overgrowth and tangle of tree roots, her gaze darting around. At this point, if the shooter appeared out of nowhere, Liza didn’t know who’d be more surprised, but she wasn’t about to let them get the upper hand. She might be weaponless, but she wasn’t without resources.
The faint light brightened with every inch, and Liza could make out voices. Squinting through the gloom, she could see the outline of something large and looming in the distance, backdropped by more light. Was that Riker’s Club?
At the rustle of leaves, Liza spun and reached for a gun that wasn’t there. She crouched down. There was no further sound. Liza remained in her spot, her gaze scanning each dark form to make out if it was object or foe. But there wasn’t enough foliage here. She was a sitting duck. She awkwardly waddled away from her spot.
Beyond the trees the voices gained volume, and bobbing lights joined the crescendo of noise. The police were coming to investigate the fired shots.
“Liza,” a pain-riddled voice hissed.
She swiveled on the balls of her feet, gasping. “Shane.” She scrambled over to his position, propped against a twig of a tree. Placing her hands on his upper body, she stiffened at the sticky wetness that met her right hand.
He sucked in a breath at her touch.
“What happened?”
“Someone wasn’t happy with me checking back here.”
Liza pulled her hand away, her stomach roiling at the heavy metallic odor. “You’re shot.”
“It’s a scratch.”
“Bullshit.” Liza wiped her hand on his jeans. “Where’s my flashlight?” She peered around the tree to spot the single dot of light that must be her Maglite. In the distance the bobbing lights were gaining. Help was closer. She tried to crawl over Shane’s legs, but he gripped her arm.
“Don’t. I don’t think the shooter has left yet.”
Cold dread turned her stomach into a lump of coal. Liza rocked back on her heels. “The police are coming from the club.”
“Let them.” Shane groaned, then set to panting.
“Where are you hit?”
“I can’t tell.”
Opening the flashlight app on her phone once more, she held it up.
“Liza, no.”
She swatted away his good hand as he tried to reach for her phone. “Stop it. If that shooter was still here, they’d have finished you off by now.”
Her boldness plummeted when the light from her phone fell on Shane’s torso. His jacket was flung back, exposing the bloodstained shirt. Liza’s throat tightened as bile threatened her bulwarks. With a shaking hand, she tugged the shirt hem upward and released her pent-up breath. Just above his waistline a good-sized hole gushed blood.
“It’s not that bad.”
Her gaze snapped to his pain-filled face. “Are you whacked? You’re bleeding buckets.”
“It didn’t hit anything vital.”
“I think a doctor should determine that, not some cowboy sheriff.” She rolled the hem back over the wound. “How did you not get shot in the gut?”
“Cat-like reflexes.” His chuckle was cut short by a groan. “Ow, guess I shouldn’t be funny.”
“Police!”
Liza hopped up and waved her arms as she was blasted by flashlight beams. Using her arm as a shield from the blinding light, she squinted at the group. “It’s the sheriff, he’s been shot.”
She was spared the further assault on her eyes as all the lights dropped, but the spots were still there.
“Damn it, Shane!” came Con’s voice.
“Ah, shit,” Shane hissed.
• • •
“He’ll be okay.”
Liza gnawed on her thumbnail, eavesdropping on Dr. Drummond’s discussion with Con and Nic.
“I had to stich up his side. The bullet passed through, missing the organs. He’s lucky.”
“He’s a damn lucky idi
ot,” Nic growled. She had arrived not long after the EMS unit unloaded Shane. Apparently Con’s mother was watching their kids.
Nic’s piercing hazel gaze swung to her husband. “And you let him.”
“Woman, I sent him home on the threat if he didn’t, you’d come and get him. How was I supposed to know he’d sneak around my back and do his job?”
Apparently, Drummond found something on the ceiling to study. Liza’s gaze followed his, and then she snapped hers back down. What was she doing? Drummond was trying to let the couple have their moment. Heck, they probably argued like this in front of everyone.
“What was he doing there in the first place?”
Liza stiffened like the deer in the headlights of a speeding car when three pairs of eyes swung to her.
“Care to explain, Agent Bartholomew?” Con asked.
She scowled at him. The sneaky Irishman knew damn well why she and Shane had been at the club but not why they were behind it. She swallowed the Rock of Gibraltar. “It was his idea, not mine.”
Nic blinked, her features puckering. She scratched her forehead. “So, you let him talk you into stumbling through the dark after a shooter? Alone?”
“I didn’t say it was the most sensible idea ever. We weren’t expecting anyone to be back there.”
“She’s not wrong there,” Con said.
Nic swatted his arm. “Are you insane? If one of his deputies had done something that stupid, Hamilton would rip them a new one. Hell, he did it to me.”
“Guess the rules change when it’s the boss,” Liza said.
Nic’s ire turned on her. “Why are you even here, Agent? Aren’t you way out of your expertise?”
“Enough, Nic.”
The barked command snapped the former marine sniper to attention. Liza wanted those mad skills.
Shane tottered out of his exam room and paused in the doorway. A blue doctor’s scrub top replaced his blood-soaked shirt. His gaze slid to Liza and back to the dark-haired woman and his best friend. “Leave Liza alone. Anyone’s at fault here it’s me.”
The use of her first name wasn’t lost on the trio if the expressions of bewilderment were an indication. Liza’s face heated.
“Doc, I’d like your opinion. Am I free to go home, or are you going to confine me to a hospital bed?”
Drummond frowned. “My ‘expert’ opinion would be you should stay and rest. But we all know that won’t happen. My advice is that you go to bed and rest. Take the day off and let others handle your duties.”
“Good to know.” Shane gave Drummond a salute then hobbled over to Liza. “Would you mind giving me a ride home? I promise I won’t bleed on your car.”
When he worded it like that, how could a girl resist? “Uh, sure.” She glanced at Nic.
Thoughtfulness filled the woman’s eyes.
Shane turned to Drummond. “Doc, got my release papers?”
“Give me a moment.” Drummond vacated the little powwow.
Con sidled up beside his friend and lowered his head to whisper something to Shane. Liza picked up the radar signal and scooted off to give them privacy.
It was probably about her.
However, her singleness left her open for Nic’s counteroffensive. Cornered near the nurse’s station, Liza’s hackles rose.
“Don’t get your panties in a wad.” And this was Nic being mild. Boyce had always snarked about Nic’s mouth giving a dumpster a run for its money.
“What?” Liza bit back.
“When you get Shane home, make him go to bed.” Nic’s gaze roved down and up. “To sleep.”
Oh, no, she didn’t. “What are you insinuating, Mrs. O’Hanlon?”
A slick smile appeared. “I don’t insinuate, Agent.” With that, she walked away, joining her husband as he left the ER.
Liza gaped at their backsides. What the hell? Did Nic honestly think she would attempt to jump Shane’s bones after he’d been wounded? Warmth spread through her at the thought of sex with Shane. Sure, maybe she wanted to kiss him, nearly did that while they were dancing, but sex was . . . huge. The next question begged, as the O’Hanlons left the hospital, what did Nic see to even give her the idea that something, anything, could be going on? Hell, Liza couldn’t figure out what was going on between her and Shane.
A finger poked her shoulder. Turning her head in increments, she peered up at Shane. God, even hurt, you’re sexy. Wait, hold it, back up the car. These kind of thoughts and actions were what got another person killed and Shane seriously hurt tonight. People were counting on her to come through with results.
“Let’s get out of here before someone changes their mind,” he said.
Nodding, she started for the exit.
Shane cleared his throat, putting a halt to her feet. “Um, could I get some help?” He grimaced. “These stiches hurt . . . like a bitch.”
Now this was a first for her, a big, strong man like Shane Hamilton asking for assistance. “That can be arranged.”
“Much obliged, ma’am.”
“Don’t go all ‘shucks, ma’am’ on me, cowboy.”
The twinkle in his eyes was matched only by the big smile. God, it was good to see his humor hadn’t bled out in the tree grove. He hooked his arm around her shoulder, and Liza tucked herself snugly to his uninjured side, grunting under his added weight. For someone as rail thin as Shane, he sure weighed a ton.
“Don’t let those two see you doing this,” he whispered.
She winked. “We’ll make like spies and disappear.”
Their path to her car was slow. Once she had him in the seat, she aided him in reclining it back.
“Better?”
He sighed. “Much. Who knew standing and sitting would hurt like hell?”
“Anyone who’s taken a bullet to the midsection. Didn’t Dr. Drummond give you any pain meds?”
He lifted his hips awkwardly to reach into his jean pocket and pull out a prescription bottle. “My dealer supplied me.”
“Smart ass.”
“I’m here all day.”
Rolling her eyes, Liza shut the door with a clap. A drugged Shane Hamilton could prove interesting. A sly thought slipped through her mind.
And maybe a drugged Shane was a loose-lipped Shane, too.
Chapter Twenty
After a drawn-out argument—Liza knew better than to dispute with the doped-up sheriff, but the stubborn ass wouldn’t let it go—she relented and picked up her things at Cassy’s. Now she was toweling off water from her shower, but only after she made damn sure Shane wasn’t trying to make her breakfast.
With slow, practiced strokes, she wrung the water from her springy hair. The waves were tightening into their natural coiled state. It sucked that she had none of her hair products with her. And none of the stores in Eider carried her preferred brands. There was one hair stylist in town—according to Jolie Murdoch—but it was a white woman who had never worked with African American hair. No way in Hades was Liza letting inexperienced hands touch her head. Looked like braids and ponytails were the norm.
Satisfied with a loose braid draped over her shoulder, she slipped into her clothing. It was too bad about the ruined pants and blouse she’d bought yesterday. Between the grass stains, dirt, and Shane’s blood, there was no salvaging the outfit. A crying shame. Wadding up the mess, she shoved it into a plastic bag, and then carried everything out of the bathroom. She padded barefoot into the kitchen—good, Shane hadn’t disobeyed orders—and dumped the ruined clothing into the trash.
Liza peeked around the corner, noticing the door to the left of the hall was partially closed. Curiosity killed this kitty-cat. Setting her stuff down, she tiptoed to the door and gave it a soft push. The door glided away from her, revealing the bed.
Shane was asleep on top of his covers in only a pair of athletic shorts. The bandages were stark white against his tawny skin. How had he stayed so tanned through the winter? His chest rose and fell in an even rhythm, but it was the twinkling object draped over his
right pectoral that drew her attention. She crept closer to the bed.
The mystery of the silver chain was solved. The diamond in the ring wasn’t something to shout from the mountaintops, but it was beautiful just the same. And it screamed that he’d been in love with someone enough to be engaged.
So what happened to change that?
Did it have something to do with the picture of him in army gear she’d found on his kitchen counter?
Easing her body onto the bedside, she stiffened when her weight shifted the mattress, causing Shane to stir. Two seconds later, he resettled. Breathing once more, Liza reached out and gently plucked the ring from his chest, her fingertips grazing his warm skin and sending jitters tracking through her nerves. If only she could touch more of him.
Don’t go there, Liza.
She twirled the ring to examine the band. Eureka! There was an inscription. Squinting, she leaned closer to read: Cheyenne . . .
Shane’s hand wrapped around her wrist and clenched. Liza’s mouth went as dry as the Sahara.
“What are you doing?” he rumbled.
The ring flipped from her fingers and thunked against his chest. Their gazes clashed, his filled with pain and simmering anger.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” she whispered.
Rapid blinking was his response. Releasing his hold on her, he moved to roll away. Liza pressed her hand into his shoulder, stopping him.
“Kurt is my foster brother. Quinn is his autistic son.” God, had she just blurted that out? “They’re as close to family as I’ll ever get.”
Wariness crept into Shane’s haggard features. “What are you trying to do?”
“Get you to talk to me. Open up.”
“About things that are highly private?”
“That’s what Kurt and Quinn were. Now what?”
• • •
He wanted to be furious with Liza, but he couldn’t muster up the strength to let her have it. Must be the drugs dulling his senses.
Or the weight of carrying his secret for such a long time had finally become too much to bear.
Some portion of his non-drugged mind felt relief that Kurt wasn’t a husband or boyfriend and Shane hadn’t crossed any ethical lines by trying to kiss her.
Liar, Liar Page 16
