Cold Shot

by Dani Pettrey

Finley studied the two blond women flanking Parker—Kate, as she’d been introduced by Parker, and Avery. Both tall and slender but athletic in build—runners, she guessed, and both tough. They eyed each other warily, as if sizing one another up.

  Parker’s nose was swollen, both eyes blackening.

  “What happened?” Griffin asked Finley, clearly wanting the rest of the story. But she feared saying anything that might reignite the fire smoldering barely beneath the surface between him and Parker. Who was Jenna?

  “Perera wanted to talk,” she said.

  Kate cocked her head, her shoulder-length blond hair slipping over her right shoulder. “Talk?”

  “What did he say?” Griffin asked, his voice tight.

  “He said someone else killed Marley Trent and set him up.”

  “Well, that’s awfully convenient,” Parker said.

  “He admitted he considered killing Marley, but someone beat him to it.”

  Kate’s eyes narrowed. “You sound like you actually believe him.”

  “Well, I’m not just going to take his word for it, but it’s curious.”

  “What is?” Parker asked.

  “If he’s lying, why bother coming to me and trying to convince me of his innocence?”

  Griffin swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “He may have had other motives.”

  “Like trying to get us to waste our time looking elsewhere,” Parker said.

  “To what purpose?” she asked. “If he’s guilty, the evidence will track back to him.”

  “If?” Parker said. “Come on, Finley. Don’t tell me you actually believe the man?”

  “He admitted his intent to kill Marley.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s big of him.”

  “He claims someone beat him to it.”

  “So does this ‘someone,’” Parker said with air quotes, “have a name?”

  “He said that’s where we come in.”

  “He expects us to overlook the evidence pointing to him and go in search of another suspect?”

  Finley looked at Griffin. “I’m not saying I believe him, but what if he’s telling the truth?”

  Parker shook his head. “How can you even entertain the idea? Declan’s in surgery now because of Perera’s man.”

  “So the man works for Perera?”

  “Admitted as much,” Griffin said. “Referred to him as the devil.”

  Parker leaned against the doorframe. “Charming.”

  “Where is he now? The man? Please tell me he’s in custody?” Finley asked.

  “Griffin got him. He’s in surgery too.” Parker looked to Griffin. “Good job, by the way.”

  Griffin nodded.

  Kate turned to Finley and asked, “And Perera?”

  “We spotted squad car lights and then everything went black. Next thing I know Parker is waking me up and Perera is nowhere to be seen. We got here only minutes before you arrived.”

  Three hours later the surgeon emerged. The entire waiting room, consisting of nearly their entire hometown of Chesapeake Harbor, stood.

  The surgeon removed his cap with a sigh and Griffin’s breath hitched.

  “He’s going to be okay. Not overnight. He’s going to require recovery time, but he’ll pull through.”

  “When can we see him?” Declan’s mom asked, her tearstained cheeks still pale, her eyes and nose red.

  “Immediate family can see him now, for a minute. He’s in ICU. Tomorrow, hopefully, he’ll be moved to the recovery ward, and you can all see him.”

  Relief surged through Griffin.

  “Oh, and the other man you came in with . . .” The surgeon lifted his chin at Griffin.

  Part of him wanted the man dead for shooting Declan—the other part wanted him alive to stretch over the racks. “Yes?”

  “He wasn’t so lucky,” the surgeon said. “Died an hour ago.”

  Griffin nodded. “Thanks for letting us know. Can we take a look at his personal belongings?”

  “You’ll have to talk to the hospital administrator. There’s a protocol to follow when we hand items over to the authorities. They’ll be given to the officer in charge of the investigation.”

  “Declan is in charge of the investigation.”

  “I’m afraid not anymore.”

  The man had gotten what he wanted. Declan out of commission. Marley Trent’s case swept away. Well, not if he had anything to say about it.

  Kate rested a hand on his shoulder. “You should get Finley home. She’s had a long day. Declan’s out of harm’s way, and we can’t see him until morning.”

  “Kate’s right.” He rested his hand on Finley’s back. “Let me get you home.” But his home. His turf. Perera had declared war.

  29

  They retrieved Winston from Finley’s and headed back to Griffin’s place in Thurmont.

  Finley battled the fear threatening to swallow her whole. Men had been spying on her in her home. Perera had been waiting in her car. She felt nothing of hers was safe, and it was a terrible realization.

  Griffin carried the overnight bag she’d packed into the house. “Would you like something to eat before bed?”

  She wasn’t hungry, but she had no desire to sleep. To be alone in a room, in the dark. It was pitiful, but she couldn’t stop shaking.

  “Maybe a cup of decaf or tea, if you have it.”

  “Pretty sure I have both. My dad likes decaf and my mom tea, so I keep them on hand.”

  Finley rubbed her forehead. “I’ll take tea, then.”

  “Why don’t you get settled in the family room? I’ll make your tea and start a fire.”

  “Thanks.” That sounded wonderful. Griffin. Warmth. Protection.

  Thank you, Lord, for keeping me safe tonight. Things could have gone in a far different direction. Please bring healing to Declan and to whatever is causing such pain between Griffin and Parker.

  She kicked off her shoes and sat on the brown leather sofa, curling her legs beneath her.

  Griffin returned with two steaming mugs in hand. “Tea for you. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I went with something called Swiss Apple.”

  “Oh, I love that tea. From Tea Forte?”

  He shrugged. “No idea. Just what my mom brought up last time she came. I don’t think she’s a big fan of the generic black tea I buy.”

  Finley didn’t blame her, especially when awesome teas like Tea Forte existed. “Thanks.” She cupped the mug, inhaling the crisp scent of apples with a hint of cinnamon. “This is great.”

  He set his coffee mug on the table, started a fire, and joined her on the couch. “Crazy day.”

  “We’ve had quite a few.” The shooting range, the listening devices in her home, and then tonight.

  He reached out and cupped her hand. “But we’ve made it through together.”

  She smiled up at him, at his gesture of affection, and her heart swelled. There was so much she wanted to know about this man. Her heart was already there, but her mind needed time to catch up. At least that’s what the sensible part of her screamed. “Can I ask you something?”

  He reclined on an exhale, clearly knowing what was coming. “Yeah. You want to know about Jenna?”

  She nodded.

  He pulled out his wallet and handed her a picture of a teenage girl with long brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a fabulous smile. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah, she was.” Griffin swallowed.

  “Was?”

  His bottom lip pulled into his mouth slightly and he looked past her with a shaky exhale, then fixed his stalwart gaze back on her. “My sister, Jenna, was murdered her senior year of high school.”

  “Oh, Griffin.” She clutched his hand tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It was years ago, but sometimes, most times, it’s still raw.”

  “I can’t imagine the toll that kind of loss takes.”

  He took the picture back and slipped it in his shirt pocket. “Collaterally.”

  �
��What?”

  “That kind of loss. The way it happened. It was like shrapnel spewing in a hundred wounding directions all at once.”

  “We don’t have to talk about this.” She shouldn’t have pushed. She’d give anything to erase the pain on his face. She should have let it be.

  “No. I’d like you to know about Jenna.”

  She lifted her mug to her lips, pausing before taking a sip. “I’d love to know about her.”

  “She was bright, outgoing, and had the best sense of humor.”

  Finley settled in deeper to the comfy couch cushions. “Tell me more.”

  “She was an O’s fanatic. Never missed a home game. Was addicted to Gobstoppers—always had boxes everywhere—and she loved people.” He inhaled sharply. “She had the most giving heart.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”

  As much as she was longing to understand how Parker tied into it all, they’d both endured enough trauma for one night, so she changed the subject at Griffin’s silence.

  “I had a strange encounter on campus today.”

  His brows arched. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I went in to grab a few things I needed and I bumped into a woman. She stumbled when I asked her name and didn’t seem to know what she was talking about.”

  “You think she was lying to you about who she was?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  His thumb traced circles along her palm, sending the good kind of goose bumps fluttering along her skin.

  “You cold?”

  A soft smile curled on her lips as her toes followed suit. “No. I’m good.”

  He returned the smile, his eyes holding fast to hers. “When I thought . . .”

  “I know.” She nodded. Her first thoughts had been of him, fearing she might never get to see him, to tell him . . .

  Cupping her face, he swooped in. Her lips parted, and he pressed his to hers—tender at first, then growing passionate in intensity.

  After a moment he pulled back, but only so far as to rest his forehead against hers.

  “I should get you to bed.”

  She jolted.

  He laughed. “Sorry. That came out way wrong. I meant it’s getting late, you’ve had a long, hard day . . . You should get to bed—in my guest room.”

  Of course that’s what he meant, because he was a stand-up guy, and she treasured him for it. “Thanks, but I’d like to stay with you awhile longer, if that’s okay.”

  He smiled. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  She leaned into his hold, snuggling against him on the couch, her heart soaring, despite the fright she’d endured.

  “This woman you ran into . . . any idea who she might have been? Any chance it was Rachel Lester?” he asked.

  She frowned. “Who?”

  “Marley’s intern I was telling you about on the ride home.”

  “Oh, right. I have no idea. What does Rachel look like?”

  “Five foot four, roughly one hundred and twenty pounds, long dark hair.”

  “It could have been.”

  “I’ve got her picture in the file box in Declan’s car. . . . Shoot.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The state trooper said he’d contacted local police to send a rookie over to drive Declan’s car back to the field office, but Marley’s stuff is still in the vehicle.”

  “You think someone would break into his car in front of the field office?”

  “Based on the last couple days, I wouldn’t put anything past whoever is running this show.”

  Perera.

  “Let me make a call.”

  He returned a few minutes later.

  “You get ahold of someone?”

  “Yeah. Kate. She’s going to collect the stuff.”

  “Why Kate? Why not one of Declan’s co-workers?”

  “At this point I don’t know who we can trust.”

  30

  Parker locked the door and set the alarm behind them once he and Avery were safely in his loft. He was impressed and shocked she’d agreed to stay again, but after the night’s events he wasn’t giving her a choice.

  His nose hurt like crazy, but as he said, he’d deserved it. He never should have left Finley alone, but he had no idea . . .

  He shook out his hand. It didn’t matter. He shouldn’t have left her alone, and he certainly wouldn’t be leaving Avery alone until this case was solved—whether she liked it or not.

  He’d come to care a great deal for her. He respected her. Enjoyed her company. And was intrigued by the weight of some unknown she carried around—some shame he couldn’t fathom the origin of, but he wasn’t one to talk. He was drowning in shame and guilt. It was, in part, what propelled him to do all he could to help solve the cases before him, bring justice to the victims, closure to their families, and maybe, just maybe, earn some measure of forgiveness—if there was any to be earned.

  “Think it’s too late to order a pizza?” Avery asked.

  He chuckled despite himself. Where did she put all that food? “Considering it’s nearly two in the morning, yeah, I’d say you’re out of luck. How about I make you an omelet?”

  “Sure.” She climbed onto a barstool. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

  He pulled the eggs and some fresh veggies from the fridge. “I love to cook. Remember?”

  She pulled her hair over her shoulder and braided it, slipping the hairband off her wrist and onto the base of the braid. “Mind if I change while you cook?”

  “I told you, mi casa es su casa.”

  “For tonight, at least.”

  Until this case was solved.

  He cracked the eggs, Griffin’s call replaying through his head. The utter helplessness and panic of that moment ripping back through him—fearing he was about to lose another friend. It was astonishing how a single sentence could raise demons he’d been battling for years right back to the surface.

  Father, forgive me. For Jenna and for nearly getting Finley killed tonight. Help me to be more like Griffin. To be someone people can depend on. I’m so sorry, Father.

  Suffocating, crushing agony washed over him.

  Avery moved back to the kitchen, Parker not even noticing her approach. So unlike him. She had to ask.

  “Who’s Jenna?” She had to ask.

  He hitched, spatula in hand, shoulders tense.

  Whoever she was, he cared a great deal for her. As did Griffin.

  He slid her omelet onto the plate he’d set in front of her. “Someone I’d rather not discuss tonight.”

  “Okay.” He hadn’t pressed her with his questions. She’d return the courtesy.

  He set the frying pan back on the stove, turned off the burner, and started out of the kitchen.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  “Actually, I think I’m going to head to bed. I’m suddenly rather tired.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  “Night, Tate.”

  “Night, Parker.”

  Griffin sat in the recliner, the chair angled toward the front door and his gun handy as he settled in for what little remained of the night.

  Finley lay asleep on his couch.

  He ached to curl up with her, to shelter her in his arms, but he’d be the gentleman she deserved him to be.

  Resting his head against the cushioned back, he pulled the navy throw over his lap, doubting he’d find any rest.

  He glanced to the front window. The blinds were drawn but he still felt exposed. His gut said someone was out there. Watching. If it wasn’t Perera, as the man claimed, then who?

  31

  Griffin sat on the edge of the couch, petting Winston as Finley’s footfalls echoed down the wooden stairwell of his home. She’d used the guest bathroom to shower and change for the day.

  Winston’s head lifted, and his tail swished back and forth.

>   Griff shook his head. Apparently his dog had fallen for the lady as hard as he had. “Go on.”

  Winston bolted from the room.

  “Good morning, Winston.” Finley laughed, rounding the corner with the wolfhound on her heels.

  Griffin stood. Wearing a casual pair of faded jeans and burgundy sweater, she was simply breathtaking. “How you holding up?”

  “I’m good.”

  “I made some coffee.”

  “I smelled it. Thanks.”

  “Were you able to sleep any?” He’d watched her fall asleep, but she’d already been up when he woke at six.

  “Yeah. I only woke a few minutes before you. Knowing you were right here . . .” She let her words trail off, slipping her auburn hair behind her ear. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “About?” His gut clenched. Was she regretting their kiss? It’d been presumptuous and impetuous of him, but the instant he thought he’d lost her, he realized how deeply he cared and how very much he wanted her in his life.

  But . . . she knew the truth about him. Maybe that truth of his weakness had finally sunk in and she’d realized he wasn’t the man for her. She’d said it wasn’t his fault, but he knew in his heart it was. He was the reason Judith Connelly was dead.

  Finley stepped in front of him, drawing his attention.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I was lost in thought.”

  She gazed up at him with big, beautiful eyes. “I was just wondering when.”

  His brows furrowed. “When what?”

  “When you started having feelings for me.”

  He smiled. He should have known she wouldn’t make this easy on him. “Well, I definitely experienced strong feelings the first time we met.”

  She exhaled a chuckle. “That much was clear, but not exactly the feelings I’m talking about.”

  “I know.” He took her hand and lowered her to the couch with him. “Our first meeting wasn’t exactly . . . civil.”

  She arched her brows.

  “Okay. I was . . .”

  “Grouchy? Grumpy?” she supplied.

  “Okay, let’s stop naming dwarves, shall we?”

  She laughed. “But there are so many that come to mind.”

  “You really aren’t going to make this easy on me, are you?”