by Kait Nolan
Norah clapped her hands together. “I love it. Done. I’d do that even if you weren’t helping with the dance. But no takesiesbacksies.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Will you be coming to the dance?”
“That depends.” Ethan shifted his gaze to Miranda, and she wondered if anybody else noticed that wicked gleam. “You wanna give me a reason to wear my dress boots?”
Her lips twitched. “You have dress boots?”
Feigning a wounded expression, he laid a hand over his heart. “Darlin’, I’m from West Texas.” He broadened the Texas twang, until he sounded like something out of one of the spaghetti westerns she loved.
She couldn’t help it. She went full on dimples. “Well, you have already proved you can dance, so I’d say you’ve got a date, Cowboy.”
He grinned, even as the radio at his shoulder began to squawk. “Sorry, y’all.” Dialing up the volume so he could hear better, he replied, “This is Greer, come back.”
“Chief, Raines was sent to respond to a call at the Forbes place about twenty minutes ago. A neighbor just called in a report of shots fired, and I can’t raise Raines on the radio.”
The bottom fell out of Miranda’s stomach. Rene? Johnny?
Ethan shoved back from the table. “Get medical on stand-by, radio all available units for assistance. I’m en route.”
“Corbett Raines, that new, young officer?” Aunt Anita asked.
Ethan’s only reply was a curt, “Yes, ma’am,” as he strode from the room.
Miranda scrambled up after him. “I’m coming with you.”
He rounded on her, the humor in his eyes replaced by implacable steel. This was the soldier. The Marshal. The man ready and willing to put his life on the line. “The hell you are.”
In another context she’d find the commanding snap of his voice incredibly sexy, but right now she met steel with steel. “It’s either my patient or your officer who could be shot. You want medical on standby. I’m medical, and I guarandamntee you that I’ve got more experience with gunshot wounds than any of the paramedics or EMTs in the county. Do I need to tell you how fast someone can bleed out? How rapidly someone can sink into sepsis if it’s a gut shot? Whatever it is, I can stabilize them long enough to get to the actual hospital. Let me help.”
For just a few moments he looked like he wished he could throttle her. Or maybe handcuff her to a chair so he’d know she was safe and out of harm’s way. But he knew as well as she did that there was no time to argue.
“You wear a vest and you stay in the floorboard of the car and don’t move until I say move. Got it?”
She nodded once. “My bag’s in my car.”
Ethan hated everything about this situation. He hated that his rookie was in there alone and over his head. He hated the lack of backup—though Darius was hauling ass from a call on the other side of town. That he was about to be entering the unknown in another piece-of-shit trailer, exactly like the one where he’d taken the bullet that nearly killed him. Most of all, he hated that Miranda was here because he knew exactly how fast this shit could go FUBAR, and he needed her safe and out of harm’s way.
“The vest is too big to fit you properly, but it’s better than nothing at all.” He’d strapped his spare one on her himself, adjusting as much as possible. It wasn’t enough. He saw too many places a bullet could slip through.
Miranda reached up to cup his cheek. “Stop imagining how this could go wrong. I’m not looking to do something stupid here. I’m staying down and out of sight until you say otherwise. Focus on the job, not me.”
His hands closed over her shoulders for just a second. He didn’t have the time to find the words he wanted to say, not when someone’s life was on the line. “We need to have a conversation later.”
“Then we will. You can yell at me as much as you want, after everybody’s safe.”
Yelling wasn’t what he had in mind. But he shut it down because he couldn’t have her in his head and do his job. Behind her, Darius’s cruiser whipped onto the street. Thank God. Ethan hadn’t wanted to go in without backup, but another minute or two and he would’ve. Corbett’s life might be counting on it.
In the distance, the wail of an ambulance siren could be heard. Reaching for the radio, he tapped the county dispatcher. “Get on the horn and have the ambulance cut the siren. I want them to stop, just out of sight, and stay put to wait for my order.”
A few moments later, the siren went silent.
Darius parked the car at an angle next to Ethan’s, effectively blocking the drive. He climbed out. “How you wanna play this, Chief?”
“As far as we know, Raines is still in there, and he’s non-responsive. There’s a door in front and another in back. You circle around and wait. I’ll approach from the front, enter first. If Forbes is gonna bolt, it’ll probably be out the back once I breach. If he tries to run, take his ass down. Otherwise, come straight in the back.”
Darius nodded and headed into the trees.
Ethan turned back to Miranda. “Into the car. Wait for me.”
Her eyes searched his, full of something he didn’t dare analyze just now. “Be careful.”
“Always.”
Once she was safely secured and hunkered down as ordered, Ethan made his way up the weedy walk. Instead of climbing the concrete steps and setting himself up as a target in front of the flimsy ass door, he hunkered close to the trailer’s base from the ground and listened. Everything was too quiet. Dread crawled up his spine as he reached over to bang on the lower half of the door.
“Police! Open up.”
Nothing moved, but he thought he heard a murmur that might’ve been voices.
“We had a report of shots fired. Is everyone okay in there?”
He fully expected Harley to offer up a “Fuck off!” or something similar. But there was nothing. Was he still in there? Or had Ethan gotten this wrong? Was it possible he’d been the victim instead of the shooter? The neighbor had reported two or three shots. Had he drawn on Raines? Had they shot each other?
Too many questions with no answers. Too much time had passed since he got the call. Raines could be dead or dying. He was done waiting.
“I’m coming in on five. Five. Four.” Ethan listened for the back door to bang open and hoped Darius was ready. “Three. Two.” On one, he reached for the knob and yanked the door open. It flew back to crash against the outer wall of the trailer. Ethan pressed himself back against the opposite wall, but nobody came out shooting.
Leading with his gun, he peered into the trailer. A half wall divided the entry space from the rest of the living area, and he couldn’t see past it. He knew how these things were built. Like matchsticks. That half wall wouldn’t make for any kind of cover.
He could smell the blood.
For just a fleeting moment, he hesitated, feeling the phantom flash of searing pain from the bullet that had nearly taken his life.
Not. Happening.
He went up the concrete steps moving fast and low. No one was in the kitchen to the right. Ethan swung left, toward the living room, and felt his heart stop as he saw Corbett Raines stretched out on the floor in a pool of blood. Rene Forbes crouched over him, some wad of fabric pressed to the wound. She looked at Ethan out of blackened eyes, tears flowing down her cheeks. “He didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”
Cold rage flooded Ethan’s limbs that she’d try to protect Harley, even in this. “Rene, is he alive?”
“For now. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
Then there was still a chance.
“I couldn’t get to the phone to call 911 and Johnny…” She looked toward a corner of the room Ethan couldn’t quite see.
Ethan moved further inside and saw her son leaning against the wall, tears streaking his face, a shaking gun clutched in one hand.
Oh fuck. It wasn’t Harley Rene was protecting. It was Johnny.
“Johnny, what happened?”
“He hurt her. He’s alwa
ys hurting her. I just wanted him to stop. But he got in the way.”
Too many “he”s in that scenario, but Ethan understood well enough. Johnny Forbes had tried to kill his stepfather and the rookie had intervened.
“Where’s Harley?”
“Gone. After I…he ran.”
“Okay. We’ll figure this out. I need you to put the gun down, son.” He lowered his own weapon, edging toward the boy.
“I just want him to go away.”
The back door flew open as Darius swept in. Johnny’s gun snapped straight again, and Ethan lunged forward neatly disarming the kid before he could put a bullet in another officer.
Darius took one look at Corbett and swore.
“He says Harley’s gone. Clear the rest of the trailer.”
On a nod, Darius moved down the hall.
Ethan clamped a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “I’m gonna need you to come over here and sit down.” When he steered the boy to a chair, Johnny didn’t resist.
Moving quickly, Ethan dropped into a crouch beside his fallen officer and pressed two fingers against Corbett’s wrist. “Raines. Come on now. Stay with me.”
The rookie didn’t move, but there was a pulse. Weak but there. The hand mic mounted to his shoulder was destroyed. Looked like the bullet had glanced off it and into his neck. The towel Rene had pressed to the wound had already soaked through with blood. Her hands were shaking. “Rene, don’t move. I’m getting help.”
She offered a trembling nod.
“We’re clear,” Darius announced.
“Bag the gun. I’m getting medical.” Ethan raced for his squad car, thrilled to see the ambulance waiting just past the tree line. He waved it on into the yard and yanked open the door to his cruiser.
Miranda was folded into the floorboard, as ordered. He reached in to help her out.
“How bad?” she demanded. “Who?”
“Corbett Raines. I don’t know how bad. He’s lost a lot of blood. The bullet hit above the neckline of the vest.”
As soon as both feet hit the ground, she was racing for the door, her medical bag in hand. EMTs were right behind. Ethan watched her dive in, taking over pressure from Rene, snapping out orders to the EMTs. With great care, she peeled back the soaked towel to reveal the entrance wound, just above his clavicle.
Oh, Jesus Christ.
Miranda’s hands were rock steady. “Let’s get an occlusive dressing on here, stat. Help me roll him to the side.”
They moved fast, in perfect sync, as if they’d done this before. Everybody else stayed silent, but for Rene, who sobbed quietly. Ethan realized that, as Miranda worked to stabilize Corbett and prep him for transport, she was feeding information to one of the EMTs, who was radioing back to the hospital to have an operating room prepped for surgery on arrival. There was a lot of medical jargon he didn’t understand, but the words “carotid artery” and “nicked” stood out. He knew men who’d bled out from that sort of wound on the battlefield and was grateful he hadn’t argued when Miranda insisted on coming.
Bare minutes after they’d come in, the three of them shifted Corbett to the gurney and headed for the door. He trailed them out, watching the EMTs lift his officer into the back of the ambulance. Miranda didn’t climb in after them.
“You aren’t going to the hospital?”
“He’s as stable as we can make him. Dr. Phillips is waiting. He was one of the best trauma surgeons in Atlanta before he came here. It’s bad but he’s not doomed. The bullet went mostly through the muscle. Chad will take good care of him.”
They both watched as the ambulance hit the sirens and peeled out of the gravel drive. Ethan stared after the ambulance long after it was gone, wondering if Raines would even make it out of surgery.
Miranda laid a hand on his arm. “He’s going to make it.”
Ethan sure as shit hoped so. “I have to haul the kid in.”
“I know.” Her eyes were sympathetic. “Will the judge take into account he was trying to protect his mother?”
“I don’t know. He’s in deep shit either way. I’ve got to get a clearer picture of what happened.” Had he made a mistake in talking the judge down to community service?
“Is there any reason I can’t be with Rene through all of this? She’s pretty shaken up.”
“Come on.”
They went back inside.
Johnny was still a little shocky himself. He hadn’t moved from the chair. Ethan crouched down in front of the boy as Miranda ushered his mother into the kitchen to wash up.
“You’re gonna arrest me, aren’t you?”
“I need you to tell me what happened first. Then we’ll sort out what to do.”
“If I go to jail, who’s gonna protect my mom?” The desperate, miserable fear that shone out of his eyes sliced Ethan deep.
“Jail! No! You can’t arrest him.” Rene rushed into the room. “I told you. It was an accident.”
Ethan shifted his attention to her, feeling exhaustion press down on him. He knew how this was going to go. “Accident or no, he shot somebody.”
“He was protecting me! That has to count for something.”
Ethan wanted it to count. Wanted it to matter. Because no way did he want to see this kid put away for trying to stop an abuser. So he’d play hardball.
“Not if there’s no means of verifying it. You’ve consistently refused to press charges against Harley for battery and assault. There is nothing officially on record to back up the claims, though we all know exactly what’s been going on. So if you want a chance to save your son, give me something to work with, Rene.”
Chapter 13
It was coming on three in the morning and Miranda’s neighborhood held that perfect silence of deep night. After the chaos of the last several hours, she needed it.
“I can’t believe she finally agreed to press charges.” Ethan shut the driver’s side door and followed her toward the front of her house.
“Sometimes women will end up taking action for their children when they won’t for themselves. If Harley had ever actually raised a hand to Johnny, maybe she would’ve acted sooner.”
“Maybe,” he conceded.
It hardly mattered now. The important thing was that Rene had acted. They’d taken her statement, filed the charges, and helped her move all her things—which wasn’t much—out to Monarch House. There, Miranda and Ethan had stuck around, while Rene had gone over it all again with Tucker McGee, her new attorney. He was filing for an order of protection first thing. And as soon as the police managed to track him down, they would, at last, be arresting Harley Forbes on charges he couldn’t skitter out of like the cockroach he was.
Miranda tugged out her keys. “Do you think it will be enough to keep Johnny out of jail past the next few days?” Ethan had already told them he’d be a guest of Wishful PD until his arraignment.
“I don’t know. I sure as hell hope so. If Corbett is able to corroborate, that will help.”
She unlocked the door and turned back to him. He looked so tired and worn. She wanted to smooth that furrow in his brow. Despite the bloody beginning, tonight had been a win.
He worked up the semblance of a smile for her. “Thanks for pushing to come with me. I don’t know that Corbett would have survived if you hadn’t.” They’d gotten word about an hour before that he’d come through surgery and was expected to make a full recovery.
Miranda slid her arms around him, offering the comfort she knew he needed. “He survived. Period. There’s no sense in thinking about what ifs. Not that I’m doing so great with that myself. I keep thinking about how things could’ve gone so very wrong if Harley had been there. If he’d been the shooter.” Even as she’d worked on Corbett, she’d imagined what it would be like if it had been Ethan lying there, bleeding out beneath her hands.
He stroked a hand along the length of her spine. Miranda absorbed the heat of him, the feel of him, and felt the knots begin to unravel.
“That a problem for you? The dang
erous aspect of my job?”
“Do I wish you did something that didn’t carry those risks? Sure. I don’t want to see you hurt. But my need for you to be safe doesn’t trump your need to risk yourself for the safety of others. I wouldn’t expect you to change that. It’s part of who you are, and I like the man you are.”
For a long stretch, he said nothing, just continued those long strokes of her back, but she could feel a tension in him ease.
“You know, I’ve spent half my life going into situations that could get me killed. Afghanistan. Iraq. The Marshal Service. This. There’s fear—you’re stupid if you’re not a little scared. But you learn to channel it, to do what needs to be done. And tonight, for just a second, I wasn’t sure if I could do it. I was afraid.”
“Because it was similar to the situation where you got shot?” She’d certainly thought of that as she’d been crouched in the floorboard of his police cruiser, not knowing what was going on.
“No.” He pulled back and lifted a hand to cup her jaw, stroking his thumb across the arch of her cheek. “Because for the first time in a long time, I have something to lose.”
Her breath caught and her heart gave a painful squeeze because—oh—she understood. She felt the same about him, and she wanted—needed—to show him.
“Ethan.” She rose to her toes, brushing her mouth to his, then holding there at the edge of temptation. “Stay. Don’t go home tonight.”
Miranda waited for him to gently set her away, make his excuses. It was beyond late, and they’d both been through a lot tonight. Instead, he reached for the knob himself and led her inside.
Anticipation washed away the bone-numbing exhaustion, as Ethan shut the door. A single lamp was on in the living room beyond the foyer. It cast his face in shadow, but still she could see the hunger as he looked at her.
