Harlequin Intrigue April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Carol Ericson

  Still, the idea that she was leaving the house empty, making it easy for him to go back through it if he wanted, made her antsy. She’d finally agreed to come with Jax when he suggested that if she didn’t want to stay with him, she should bunk with one of her officers. The idea of staying with Jax was making her nervous, the attraction between them palpable in the air. But asking one of her officers to lend her their couch felt too close to admitting she wasn’t up for being their leader. And that was something she’d never do.

  “You know I’m armed,” she said once more as he opened the door and started to climb out. “Maybe you don’t know this—I’m a damn good shot.”

  He leaned down, met her gaze with his own less patient one. “Your husband carried a gun, too, right? And this could be the same asshole who killed him, only now he’s got seven more years of practice.”

  Jax held her gaze for a long moment, surely seeing the horror and grief rush across her face at the low blow. Then he stood and shut the door behind him, before opening up the back for Patches.

  His dog stared at Keara for a long moment, offered up a woof! then climbed out, too.

  Keara sat motionless in the SUV, imagining the beautiful sunny day she’d found Juan dead in their backyard. He’d been caught completely by surprise, even when the killer had slipped up right behind him to slit his throat.

  Swallowing back the surge of tears that threatened, Keara reached into the back to grab her overnight bag. Then she followed Jax silently into the hotel.

  * * *

  JAX OPENED HIS eyes to find Keara staring at him.

  She immediately redirected her gaze, sipping a cup of coffee he’d somehow slept through her brewing. She’d gotten dressed while he was sleeping, too, changing out of the joggers and long T-shirt she’d put on before climbing into the second bed. Now she was wearing her uniform, with the four-star emblem on her collar designating her role as chief of police.

  He tore his gaze away from her still-loose hair and makeup-free face to check on Patches. When his dog had realized Keara was staying last night, she’d run in circles for a minute, then leaped onto the bed with Keara and slept at her feet.

  His dog was still at the end of the bed, her front paws dangling off the edge. When she saw him looking at her, her tail thumped the bed.

  He grinned. He couldn’t believe someone had tossed her out. It was hard not to smile when you saw her. “Hi, Patches.”

  Throwing off his covers, Jax climbed out of bed and asked, “How did you sleep, Keara?”

  He’d zonked out. He wasn’t sure how, with the woman he was falling for only a few feet away from him, but it had been a long, stressful day. Apparently, it had caught up to him.

  But right now he felt refreshed, reenergized and determined. And the woman he was falling for was still only a few feet away.

  Her eyes widened as he stepped closer and she set her coffee down, her mouth moving like she was getting ready to speak.

  When he stepped closer still, into her personal space, she surprised him by looping her arms around his neck. “I slept fine. Not quite as well as I did on my couch, though.” He could feel her heart rate pick up as she stared at him, giving him a small, sassy grin.

  He flashed back to the feel of her spooned against him on her couch and couldn’t help but smile back. He wanted to stay in this moment, savor the feeling of being with Keara as if they were a long-established couple and not a pair of colleagues who’d barely known each other more than a week. But her lips were too close to him, her gaze broadcasting a mix of uncertainty and desire.

  As he slowly bent his head closer, one of her hands slid into his hair and the other stroked along the back of his neck, making all of the nerve endings there fire to life. He pressed his lips softly to hers as she sank into him. The gentle meeting of their lips sent sparks through him, but he kept his kiss slow, wanting to linger in the moment.

  She tasted like coffee with cream and sugar. She smelled faintly of the lavender soap in the hotel bathroom. She felt exactly right in his arms, like she belonged there.

  Too soon, she was pulling back, her gaze serious, despite the passion that still lingered. “Sorry I was hard to deal with yesterday.”

  He laughed, surprised at the admission. “Thanks for letting me win the argument.”

  A grin burst on her face, her own laugh soft and short, and somehow, in that moment, he knew. However many dangers she faced because of her job, he still wanted to be with her.

  Pulling free of his embrace, she told him, “I may not have known you long, Jax, but I’m figuring you out. And I didn’t want you and Patches trying to stand guard at my house.” She picked up her brush, started to pull her hair up into its customary work bun. “Much as I appreciate it,” she added.

  He watched her a minute longer, gave her an easy smile when she glanced questioningly at him. It wasn’t time to talk about anything serious. He knew she wasn’t ready. But maybe if they could resolve this case, that would change.

  Mentally shifting into work mode, he said, “If we assume the killer was planning to stick to pattern and leave after he set the bomb in Luna, that means most likely he spotted you at the scene at some point. Do you think he could have recognized you from Houston?”

  Keara froze, one hand holding up all of her long hair, the other holding her brush. Then she continued working it into a bun, her voice steady but underlaid with anger as she replied, “It seems unlikely, but I guess it’s possible. More likely he heard my name and recognized that. Then he might have started digging up details on me. There was a picture of me in the paper back in Houston from Juan’s funeral. I’m sure that would come up if you dug enough.”

  “So either he heard someone at the scene say your name or he talked to people, asked who you were,” Jax continued, thinking out loud.

  “Probably,” Keara agreed, jamming bobby pins into her hair and then slapping her hands on her hips. “What are you thinking, Jax?”

  At her insistent tone, Patches jumped off the bed, ran to her side and plopped down at her feet, staring up at him, too.

  Jax couldn’t help another laugh. “Okay, Patches. I’ll get to the point.” He redirected his attention to Keara. “I’m the one you’ve had the most contact with from the team in Luna. Maybe the killer followed me, maybe not. But we know he’s been paying attention to you. We can assume he knows who I am.”

  Keara’s eyes narrowed. “And...”

  “We also know he didn’t get any information about the status of the investigation when he broke into your house.”

  “Assuming this whole theory is right and it was the killer who broke in, then that’s true,” Keara agreed. “I don’t have any information about the bombings—or the killings or arson—at my home.”

  “So he’s still looking for information.”

  “And you have an idea,” Keara said.

  “He might have already seen the sketch of himself, so I’m sure he’s being careful. Maybe he’s tried to change his appearance. But if he’s still here, he’ll want to find out the status of the case. Who better to get it from than the guy who’s been giving you information?”

  “Okay,” Keara said slowly, her narrowed eyes telling him she didn’t like where this was headed.

  “What if I go back to the scene in Desparre? The FBI has finished processing it, but I’ve seen residents there every day, leaving signs and stuffed animals for Nate and Talise, looking for information. They all know Patches and I are here to help the victims and the community. We can stick around, let people know we’re there for anyone who’s struggling to process this, to share what we can about how the investigation is going.”

  “You hope he’ll hear about it and come talk to you,” Keara said, her expression telling him she liked this less and less with every word.

  “Yes.” He stared back at her, trying to project confidence, even tho
ugh it felt like a long shot. But a long shot was better than nothing.

  She started to shake her head and he cut her off. “It’s daytime, so there are going to be plenty of people around. He’s not going to set off a bomb in the same spot twice.”

  When she scowled even more at that, he insisted, “Hitting twice in the same state is already a departure for him. Yes, he’s been getting away with his crimes for a long time. But that’s because he’s smart and he’s patient. This is a pretty low-risk thing for me to do. It’s not really even that far from what I’d normally be doing right now. But maybe it will work. You and some of the agents can set up at a distance and watch. What do you think?”

  She sighed and gave him a reluctant-looking nod. “Let’s call Ben and get his opinion.”

  As Jax headed to the bathroom to get changed, he heard her on the phone with the FBI agent. She talked through his idea impartially and fully, even though he knew she would have preferred not to have him involved. But when he stepped out of the bathroom, ready for the day in his standard dark dress pants and a button-up shirt with an FBI jacket over it to let citizens know who he was, she nodded.

  “We’re on.”

  Twenty minutes later he was standing next to the temporary short fence that had been erected around the crime scene to keep anyone from hurting themselves before the damage could be repaired. As he looked around the empty scene, Jax wondered if his plan was a mistake.

  Three days after the bomb had gone off in Desparre’s downtown, people were starting to get back to normal. Instead of congregating near the stash of signs, candles and teddy bears that had been piled high with messages for the dead and wounded in both Desparre and Luna, residents were giving it a wide berth today. Their gazes darted his way briefly, pausing with grief and fear, before they resumed their business. Apparently, they’d hit the point where they hoped to move on, try to forget while they waited for good news on the victims and the suspect’s capture.

  Jax sighed and knelt next to Patches, who looked as dejected as he felt. She whined a little and he scratched behind her ears.

  “I know, Patches. You want to work.”

  Her tail thumped lightly at the word as she stared up at him, then glanced toward the part of Desparre with all of the shops, with all of the people. It was Sunday morning and in the distance, he could see people in dress clothes starting to stream toward the church down the street from the police station.

  His gaze shifted from the far end of town with the church, to a little bit closer, at the police station. From an attic Jax wouldn’t have guessed existed in the police building, Keara, Ben and Anderson were watching him through binoculars. So far there was nothing for them to see.

  “We’ll give it another half hour here, then go find people to talk to,” he promised Patches.

  Her tail wagged and he grinned at her.

  Then dirt sprayed up from the road in front of him, pebbles stinging his legs as a distant boom sounded.

  For a second he was confused, even as Patches started frantically barking, already standing.

  Then the sound registered. Someone had just taken a shot at him. But from where?

  Panic followed, tensing his whole body as he glanced around frantically, looking for the shooter, looking for a safe place to go.

  Then there was another boom like a firecracker going off and a metallic screech as the bullet hit the small fence behind him.

  “Run, Patches!” Jax yelled, angling his arm toward downtown. Toward the police station.

  She barked, staring up at him, waiting for him, and he took off, too.

  He ran as hard as he could, Patches keeping pace at his side, even as he wished for her to outrun him, to get to safety faster.

  He was pretty sure the person shooting at him was using a rifle. Which meant either they weren’t a great shot or they were playing with him, forcing him to run for his life even though they could end it at any time.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Wait!”

  Ben’s voice echoed behind her as Keara leaped down from the attic in the police station, skipping the entire ladder and landing hard on the floor below.

  Pain jolted up from her legs, making her teeth slam together, but she ignored it the same way she ignored Ben. She’d agreed to Jax’s plan to try and fool the man who’d killed her husband and now he and Patches were in danger.

  She couldn’t survive losing another man she loved.

  The unexpected thought made grief and dread clamp down hard, almost doubling her over. It was too soon. Way too soon.

  “Keara!” Ben yelled. “Get someone up here with a long rifle!”

  “Okay,” she gasped at him, but she didn’t even need to yell the order, because Tate Emory and Charlie Quinn were already rushing toward her, both holding rifles.

  They didn’t know where the shooter was, but they knew his target.

  Maybe she’d make a better one.

  There was no time to grab a bulletproof vest, so Keara just straightened and kicked into gear again, running for the front of the station. She blew past her officers, warning them, “Active shooter! Gear up before you come out!” Then she raced outside.

  Yanking her pistol from its holster, she ran into the center of the street. Near the church, residents were looking around in confusion and she yelled at them, “Get inside!” Then she spun the other way, toward the park.

  Jax and Patches were still running toward her, but there hadn’t been any more shots fired. If the killer was smart, he was already trying to disappear. Even with a rifle, there was only so long he could hold off police. They were too close.

  They could get him. She could get him.

  The thought fueled her, added fury to her fear and determination to her strides, lengthening them even as she kept her gun ready. She’d been one of the best shots in the Houston PD back in the day and she still kept up her practice. If she saw the shooter, he was finished.

  As Jax met her gaze, he waved his arm, made a motion at her that clearly meant “turn back.”

  “Move!” she barked at him as she got close and he started to slow, like he was planning to grab her arm and try to turn her.

  His gaze lingered on her, his head pivoting to watch even as he followed her orders and kept going, Patches keeping pace with him.

  Then he was behind her and her focus sharpened, her gaze sweeping the empty street in front of her. The killer couldn’t be far.

  She kept pushing, legs and arms burning as she ran hard toward the park. Her lungs ached, too, out of practice at this kind of running, especially with the chilly Alaskan air sending an icy blast down her throat with every breath. Where would a shooter have the best angle?

  As she drew alongside the park, she realized. Down the side street that bisected Main Street, ending just past the park. He’d be able to see Jax, but Jax would be unlikely to see him because the woods continued that way, offering plenty of places to hide.

  Boom!

  Keara instinctively cringed, even as she dodged left and then right. It wasn’t a rifle this time, but the sound of a pistol firing. As she rounded the corner onto the side street, nearly skidding off her feet, she saw him.

  About Jax’s height, wearing dark green—a good choice to blend into a forest—he was running hard, too. And there was a dark blue truck parked on the street ahead.

  She could yell out a warning, shoot him when he inevitably spun and fired at her. Or she could tackle him, bring him in. Force him to admit all the things he’d done, force him to serve time the way he deserved.

  Keara hunched inward, pushed her strides as long as she could, as he slid to a stop alongside his truck, stopping himself by grabbing the side mirror.

  Then he was spinning toward her, aiming his gun again.

  Keara dove for the ground, twisting as she flew through the air, trying to get her own gun u
p as another gunshot blasted. She slammed into the hard-packed earth with a grunt that stole all of her air and made her vision momentarily fuzzy.

  Then he was in the truck, the tires spitting dirt as she lined up her pistol and fired. She heard the ping of her bullet hitting the truck, but it wasn’t enough.

  The truck careened around the corner and out of sight.

  * * *

  JAX’S HEARTBEAT REFUSED to slow.

  He’d been back at the hotel for half an hour, but his body was still amped up, the adrenaline overload not subsiding. He wasn’t sure it would until Keara walked through that door and he could see for himself that she was okay.

  Kneeling on the floor, he wrapped his arms around Patches’s neck, hugging her.

  She whined a little, pushed her head up into the crook of his neck. She’d seen a lot of terrible things during her six months as a therapy dog—and she’d definitely had a rough start in life. But she’d never been in danger while she’d worked for the FBI.

  Fury and guilt mixed as he stroked the soft fur on her back, whispered, “We’re okay, Patches. Keara is okay, too.”

  She whined again at Keara’s name and he knew she had to be wishing for the same thing he was.

  As he’d reached the safety of the Desparre police station, a small group of officers had poured outside, wearing bulletproof vests over their uniforms and helmets on their heads. They’d looked serious and nervous, but moved confidently in pairs toward the threat.

  Not long afterward, Ben and Anderson had climbed down from the Desparre Police Department’s rarely used attic, frowning and shaking their heads. “He got away,” Ben had told him. Then he must have seen Jax’s panic, because he’d added, “Keara is okay. We’re putting out an APB on the truck. Dark blue, like you said.”

  Now, back in the hotel room where he’d been escorted by a pair of police officers and told to “stay put,” Jax wondered: If he’d done something differently when he’d seen that truck, would they have already caught the bomber?