by Julie Miller
Even after years of running, Jane’s lungs burned with the uphill sprint. “Did you see him?” she gasped, bracing her hands against her knees beside them and sucking in several deep breaths. Gnawing on the latest treasure she’d found somewhere along her romp of freedom, Ruby stretched out on the grass beside Thomas. Jane glanced across the road. “Did Mr. Rude head for the parking lot?”
Thomas shook his head as he pushed to his feet and shoved her behind him. “I didn’t meet anybody crossing the street.” The tight grip on her arm eased when he recognized Conor racing up the hill. Thomas nodded toward the curve in the asphalt path that led back toward the trees. “He must have circled around that way before I got here.”
Conor paused long enough to ask her a silent You okay? before trading Jane a thumbs-up and dashing off in the direction of the trees. “I’ll see if I can catch him.” He tapped the link to his microphone before disappearing into the fog. “Hey, Hunt. You want to put on your running shoes and help me track this guy?”
“I’m not giving away our presence here in KC until we have something concrete to follow,” Levi answered. “I don’t want Badge Man to know how close we are to catching him.”
“Oh, so now you don’t just want my help—you want me to do your job for you.”
“Wildman, you wouldn’t know—”
Thomas tugged at the collar of the black KCPD jacket she was wearing and reached inside to turn off the radio. “Why do I get the feeling I’m working with a couple of rookies?”
The chatter in her ear ended, and Jane tipped her nose to the sky and inhaled deeply as her breathing started to regulate. “That guy was wearing earbuds and listening to music, so maybe he didn’t hear me call after him.”
Thomas’s green eyes narrowed as he met her gaze. “And maybe I don’t like the idea of some random guy accosting you and wreaking havoc when we’re in the middle of a sting operation. The whole idea of a setup is to have control of everything except the target.” He swiped his palm over his square jaw to muffle a curse. “I don’t feel we have control of anything.” He softened the frustration in his tone by straightening the collar of the jacket and holding it together at her neck. “Are you okay?”
Jane wrapped her fingers around his wrists, holding on to the tenuous connection to him. “I’m fine. I’m just glad Ruby didn’t follow that guy into the road. Traffic might not have seen her until it was too late.” When he nodded, she pulled away and glanced down at the dog. No longer interested in running, the Lab mix held something long and skinny and muddy between her teeth. “What is she chewing on?”
Thomas knelt in front of the dog. “Hey, girl. What do you have there, Rubes?”
Ruby raised her head and the object dangled from the side of her muzzle.
Jane’s breath locked up in her chest.
Ruby’s souvenir was a length of blue nylon cord. Tied into a noose. Like the noose that had been cinched around Freddie’s neck. Like... Jane’s fingers flew to her throat as her blood ran cold.
She dropped her other hand to Thomas’s shoulder. “Take that away from her.” Jane was vaguely aware of the slam of a car door in the distance, and an engine gunning like the snarl of a waking tiger. But her head was filling with the remembered images of a nightmare. The man bumping into her and that rope were no coincidence. The man in the gray shorts had wanted Ruby to get away from her. He wanted the dog to have that creepy reminder of her husband’s death, of the attempt on her own life. He wanted her to see it. Jane struggled to stay in the present. “Don’t touch that. I mean, get it away from Ruby, but...it’s evidence.”
Thomas’s muscles hardened beneath her touch. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t argue.
“Drop it,” he ordered. Ruby did, in exchange for a scratch around the ears and her master’s praise. “Good girl.”
Pulling a bandanna from the back pocket of his jeans, Thomas wrapped the blue rope inside and tied it off in a makeshift pouch before standing and facing Jane. He slid his warm fingers against the side of her neck and cupped her jaw.
“I’d feel better if you had a little color in your face.” He held the pouch up between them. “Tell me what this means.”
Death. It means death.
Before she could form the words, she heard Conor’s voice buzzing from Thomas’s earbud. “Hey, Boyle. How fast was that guy running? I don’t see him anywhere.”
She didn’t get the chance to answer either question. The noise of the waking tiger roared in her ears and she spun around. Suddenly, the square shape of a familiar white van filled up her vision like a wall closing in on her.
“Jane!” Thomas’s arms snapped around her and they were airborne. Jane felt a wave of heat and wind as the speeding vehicle swerved toward them and took out the crosswalk sign. She saw a black-gloved hand come out the driver’s-side window, heard the pop, pop, pop of gunshots. She and Thomas hit the ground hard and they were rolling, sliding, tumbling down the hill toward the creek. Ruby yelped and tumbled with them. Every impact jarred through Jane and she was dizzy, disoriented, terrified. When they slammed into the cold water, her body chilled and her senses sharpened.
Thomas twisted off her, raised his head, straightened his arm and returned fire. For several endless seconds, her world was nothing but loud noises, the smoky stench of gunpowder and the weight of Thomas’s arm pinning her in the shallow water as he positioned himself between her and the bullets pinging off metal and thumping into the mud beside them.
She heard someone swearing beneath the screech of tires. Conor ran into her line of sight, diving for the ground and firing from the edge of the running path above them. The gunfire stopped with the spit of flying gravel as the tires spun for traction on the shoulder of the road. Thomas rolled over on top of her, hugging his arms around her until the stony rain ceased. The tires finally found solid asphalt, and the van lurched forward and sped away.
For a split second the world was eerily quiet. A moment later, Thomas exhaled a wheezing groan and Ruby whimpered beside them. A few choice words peppered the air as Conor ran to the edge of the road. He had his cell phone to his ear, giving someone a succinct description of the van. Jane still had Thomas’s weight bearing down on her, making it difficult to breathe.
“Thomas?” she gasped, seeking out his familiar green eyes. So many bullets. And other than the terrain itself, he’d had no cover to protect him. Soaked to the skin and spattered with mud, Jane ignored her shivers and the aches in her bruised joints, and pushed at his shoulders. “Thomas!” Why wasn’t he moving? She squiggled her hips from beneath his and tried to free herself. A fear as heart-wrenching as coming home to find Freddie’s mutilated body fueled her actions. “Are you hurt?”
Instead of answering, he braced his arms on either side of her and pushed himself up, rolling off into the slick grass with a grunt. His fist was still clenched around his gun, and the skin beside his mouth was tight and pale as he sat up on the incline leading down to the creek. “Everybody okay?”
His question included Conor, who was sliding down the hill to check on them. She could hear now that he was talking to Oscar Broz. The younger man gave Thomas a thumbs-up as he reported the incident to his supervisor.
“Jane?” Thomas prompted.
“I’m fine.” But he wasn’t. She sized up the clarity of Thomas’s green eyes and quickly ran her hands over his head, arms and torso. Thank God there were no bullet holes. But when she reached his rebuilt leg and unwound the dog’s leash that had tangled around his ankle, he visibly flinched.
Conor disconnected the call. “I found footprints leaving the trail. Led back to the road about a quarter mile north of here. I would have followed, but I heard the gunfire. That van was waiting to pick him up, wasn’t he?”
Thomas nodded. “Waiting to pick him up and then take us out. Or maybe just scare us again.”
Conor spec
ulated along with him. “Maybe they were buying time so we couldn’t pursue them.”
Jane handed the leash to Conor. “Take Ruby. Thomas is hurt.”
“I’m fine.” Thomas pushed her hands away as she probed his ankle and knee, but Jane pushed right back. She felt his narrowed eyes assessing her responses as deliberately as her fingers were evaluating the muscles spasming in his calf and thigh. “That runner was Badge Man.” He was looking for answers she didn’t want to admit to. But relentless was his middle name. Thomas leaned over to snatch up the bandanna he’d dropped on their muddy tumble and prodded her for the truth. “This was a message from him, wasn’t it?”
Jane nodded, wishing her hands would stop shaking, wishing she had an ice pack for his swollen knee, wishing he’d sit still and let her do the one helpful thing she could besides bait a trap that had nearly gotten them all killed. “He used a rope like that to kill Freddie. Used it on me, too. The color of the rope wasn’t released to the press or—”
Another speeding car lurched to a stop near the crosswalk and broken sign at the top of the hill. With a shrill warning, Jane tried to push Thomas to the ground to protect him, but he pulled her into his chest instead, twisting toward the road and raising his gun to do battle once more.
She recognized Levi Hunt’s black SUV and exhaled her relief before realizing that both Conor and Thomas had positioned themselves between her and the big black vehicle. They lowered their weapons as Levi opened the passenger-side window. “Was that a getaway van? Did you lose him?”
“We never had him.” Thomas waved the federal agents away. “White van. Headed south. I think I clipped the driver—”
“Go!” Levi instructed his partner to drive after the van. The SUV made a tight U-turn and raced off in pursuit.
Conor jumped up, swearing after the useless agent. “I thought he was supposed to be here to back us up. Do you think he’ll catch the shooter?”
“Forget Hunt,” Thomas commanded between tightly clenched teeth. “He’s not going to catch that guy, and he doesn’t want anyone helping him because he wants the collar.” He must have realized how tightly he still held her plastered to his side because he eased his grip and let her slide down to the grass beside him. “You’re sure neither one of you is hurt?”
“I’m fine.” Jane resumed the task of determining the extent of his injury, wondering if he ever admitted to anyone how much pain he was in. Until she could get him home to his prescription meds and a hot shower or heating pad, she’d try to relieve some of the cramping by massaging the damaged muscles.
Conor holstered his weapon beneath his jacket. “I’m good.”
Thomas stowed his gun, as well. “Let Hunt play the hero if he wants to. Priority one is to get Jane someplace safe.”
“Your place?” Conor asked.
“My place.”
Conor nodded. “Hand me your keys. I’ll get the truck and drive it over here so you don’t have to walk as far.”
“I’m not an invalid,” Thomas groused. But aching or not, the man was practical. He pulled his keys from his pocket and tossed them to Conor. “Take the dog, too. She’s probably anxious to get inside someplace.”
While the younger man jogged across the street with Ruby, Thomas covered her hands with his, stilling them against his thigh. “You’re shivering.”
“I’m soaked to the skin.” She turned her hand to lace her fingers through his. “And I almost got you killed.”
He squeezed her hand before releasing her and rolling over onto his good leg to stand. “Just a little beat up. I’ve walked off worse than this. Now help me up.”
Jane was by his side in an instant, pulling his arm across her shoulders and sliding her arm around his waist to grab his belt and steady him as they climbed the hill. Although he moved without complaint, his limp was exaggerated, and when she looked up, a muscle ticked along the edge of his jaw from clenching it so tightly. Bracing her own legs, she took a little more of his weight until they reached the flat surface of the running path again. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Like I’m a step behind this guy and two steps behind keeping you safe.”
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant.” He hugged her close to his side and kissed the crown of her head. “I’m fine, honey. But you were right out there in the open. He could have run you down or shot...” He tugged on the hand that held his at her shoulder and gently twisted her arm to inspect the blood seeping through the sleeve of the jacket she wore. It wasn’t immediately noticeable through the black nylon, but Thomas Watson rarely missed a detail. “You’re bleeding.”
“I knocked the scab off my elbow when we fell. Sorry I messed up your jacket. I owe you a new one. But I’ll live.”
“So will I.” His hand was resting on the butt of his gun as they stopped beside the shattered signpost and churned-up gravel and mud where the white van had skidded onto the shoulder. He was in professional mode now, studying the ground for identifying marks or tire tracks, noting the number of shell casings scattered across the scene. “I’d better call in a crime scene team.”
Jane watched him put in a call to Dispatch and verify that a uniformed officer was en route to secure the scene. She felt the lurch in his body as he stiffly went down on one knee to inspect a trail of red dots on the asphalt. Blood. Something she’d seen far too much of in her life. Blood that could have been Thomas’s or her own if he hadn’t reacted so quickly. She knelt with him, waiting for him to snap some photos with his cell phone before helping him stand again. She heard his gasp of pain, felt the jerky effort to maintain his balance.
She was a professional, too, a professional at knowing what all right looked like, and this wasn’t it. With the siren of a KCPD squad car approaching in the distance, Jane tilted her gaze to Thomas’s, demanding he look at her. “Look, you shoot guns and give orders. I take care of people. And I always count on you for a straight answer. How badly are you hurt?”
Thomas knew she wasn’t going to back down on this. “I came down on my bad hip pretty hard. Jarred my knee, too. Every nerve ending in between is screaming at me.”
Compassion, admiration and the deeper feelings this man stirred in her squeezed around her heart. Without questioning the impulse or pausing to debate whether she had the right, Jane cupped his jaw, angling his face to hers and lifting her mouth to kiss him. She pressed her lips against his, felt the firm line of his mouth soften beneath the caress. She caught his bottom lip between hers and gently pulled his lips apart before rising onto her toes to push her mouth against his, deepening the kiss, demanding his gentle response, eagerly surrendering to the answering claim of his lips on hers.
Jane’s world righted itself in those few moments. Her heart beat strongly. Her body surged with life. She didn’t feel quite so cold or afraid.
Dropping back on her heels, Jane ended the kiss. But the link between her hand on his jaw, and the heat of his handsome green gaze burning into hers, remained. The strength and the reassurance she felt did, too.
“I needed that,” she admitted, before pulling away to slide her arm behind his waist again. “Come on. Let’s get someplace safe where I can take a better look at that leg.”
Hurting or not, Thomas knew how to plant his feet and stand his ground. Before she could take a step, his arm tightened around her. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and bent his head to cover her mouth in a hard, quick kiss. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered in a deep, guttural tone that frightened her with its intensity as much as it exhilarated her. “I need you to know that.”
Myriad possible responses bounced around inside her brain, but she didn’t have the time she needed to choose what she wanted to say. Instead, she had to turn her eyes away from the bright lights of the black-and-white squad car that pulled up. Thomas eased some space between the
m, although he kept hold of her hand while he gave the uniformed officers some quick directions for securing the scene. There were yes, sirs and hurrying to do his bidding before Conor pulled up in Thomas’s red truck.
They stepped around the drops of blood before opening the back door of the extended cab. “You think you winged the driver?”
“Yeah, but the blood pattern doesn’t fit someone speeding away in a van. Those are something else.”
As in, someone else had gotten hurt because of her? Instead of climbing in, Jane opened the front passenger door so she could help Thomas get in. She saw the grim look on Conor’s face. “What about you, tough guy? You’re not lying about being hurt, are you?”
“No.” Conor nodded toward the back seat. “But we need to make a detour to the vet’s office.”
“Ruby?” Jane scurried around the open door. “Oh, no.”
She was surprised to feel Thomas’s hands at her waist, half lifting her into the truck as she climbed into the seat where Ruby lay. The dog had twisted herself into a circle so that she could lick at her back leg. “How is she?” Thomas’s voice mirrored her own concern.
Jane let Ruby sniff her closed hand so she wouldn’t startle the dog when she pushed her head away from the injury. “I’m not a vet.” She palpated Ruby’s right leg. The dog’s muddy, dark brown coat had masked the blood initially, but it wasn’t hard to find the small hole. Jane’s heart sank when she felt a hard mass in the meat of the dog’s hip. When she pressed on it, the dog whimpered and tried to curl around to lick at it again. “She’s been shot.”
Thomas closed the door behind her and pulled himself up into the front seat. “Drive,” he ordered before closing the door and buckling up. Conor shifted the truck into gear and took off while Thomas looked back at her. “How bad?”
Jane kept one comforting hand on the dog and reached over the seat. “Get me the first-aid kit. I restocked it after that night at the restaurant.”
