by Liz Bradford
A SHOT AT REDEMPTION
The Detectives of Hazel Hill
Book Four
Liz Bradford
After her abusive marriage fails and an affair rattles Gavin's and Jocelyn's faith, a baby changes everything.
Gavin Riley has been a detective with the Hazel Hill PD for two years, and while he and his partner, Becca Palmer, have by no means closed every case, too many unsolved cases in a row has left Gavin doubting his ability to do his job. Are his personal mistakes distracting him from doing his job well? He can't let them, especially when a sniper decides to terrorize the city of Hazel Hill. Gavin must tap into his training as a former Army sniper to help find the killer before he finds his way into the sniper's cross hairs.
Forensic photographer, Jocelyn North, knew she shouldn't have gotten as close to Gavin as she did, but he had always been such a good friend to her, so it was too late by the time she realized it had gone too far. Now she was pregnant with his baby. She needs to tell him, but she also needs to tell Patrick, her husband. How will either of them react? Will God punish her and Gavin for their mistakes or do they have a shot at redemption?
A Shot at Redemption is a unique romance that shows how we must face the consequences of our sin and how God can redeem even our most foolish mistakes.
Copyright © 2020 Liz Bradford
All rights reserved.
Stand on the Rock Publishing
[email protected]
Lizbradfordwrites.com
Print ISBN: 9798631382862
Cover Design by Alyssa at Alyssa Carlin Designs
http://www.alyssacarlindesign.com/
Comprehensive Edit by Teresa Crupmton at AuthorSpark, Inc.
authorspark.org
Copy Edit by Sharyn Kopf
https://sharynkopf.wordpress.com/
Formatting by Kari Holloway at KH Formatting.
Facebook.com/KHFormat
Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.
Scripture quotations are also taken from Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Connect with Liz Bradford
Author’s Note
Also by Liz Bradford
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To you, dear reader,
the one who needs this story.
I dedicate it to you
(even though I don’t know your name).
CHAPTER ONE
A dead body was waiting for him, but it would just have to wait longer. Gavin eased his foot off the gas and made a last-second turn into the coffee shop parking lot. Maybe some coffee would calm his agitation and give him an excuse for being late to the crime scene. He pulled up to the drive-thru speaker and ordered a tall black coffee. A cool May breeze whipped into his open window; its damp chill prickled his skin. Thankfully, it would be warm later today, but it wasn’t there yet.
The red taillights in front of him inched forward and illuminated the dark of the early morning. He rapped his thumbs against the steering wheel. Why was the coffee shop drive-thru so busy at five on a Monday morning? This probably wasn’t a good idea. He should be there already, but he didn’t want to be.
His phone rang. Without looking at who was calling, he answered. “Detective Riley.”
“Where the blazes are you?” The frustration in his partner Becca’s voice came across the phone, loud and grumpy.
“On my way, Palmer.”
“You have to stop leaving me standing here by myself.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“This isn’t like you. Why do you keep—”
He didn’t want to answer that question. “I’ll be there shortly.”
“Well, hurry up. You’re lucky the sergeant or captain didn’t swing by.”
“I know, I know.” His partner’s husband was their sergeant, so thankfully he rarely came to crime scenes that were at odd hours since they had two little girls at home. But the Captain showing up was a slight risk depending on the case. “See you in a minute.”
“Fine.” Becca’s cutting tone ended the call and acutely reminded him that she had always hated crime scenes, and her struggle had only increased since her brother-in-law, Tom, had been murdered a few months earlier.
It wasn’t fair of Gavin to leave her waiting for him. And she was figuring out that something deeper was going on.
He accepted the hot drink from the barista and handed her the cash. The young woman’s perfume wafted through the air. The sweet smell of jasmine flooded his mind with memories as he pulled away. She wore jasmine. The taste of her skin, her silky dark hair… Stop, Riley! He needed to not think about the woman who, not three months ago, had broken his heart. As he pulled out onto the quiet street, his chest was tight.
Palmer was right—every time he got called to a crime scene, he dragged his feet. It was the woman and her jasmine perfume’s fault. She was the whole reason he dreaded the crime scene. She would be there, and he needed to not see her. Catching even the simplest glimpse of her did crazy things to his heart.
He longed to hold her close, but he shouldn’t. He couldn’t. And the sting of rejection was more than he could bear, even if he had no right to feel that way. Jesus, help me. I know I have no right to ask anything of You, but will this ever stop torturing me?
He took a deep breath and turned into the victim’s suburban neighborhood. Gavin parked in front of a moderately sized house that had been cordoned off with police tape. The lights of multiple squad cars lit the early morning dark as the May sun wouldn’t show its face for at least another hour or two. He got out of the car, ducked under the bright-yellow tape, and walked across the freshly mowed lawn toward the front door, where a uniformed officer stood. Patrick North, her husband. Gavin groaned. Patrick had once been Gavin’s friend, but had hardly spoken to any of the detectives after being questioned as a suspect in a case last fall. Especially Gavin. And if Patrick knew Gavin’s secret, he would kill him.
He nodded to Patrick. “Hey.”
“Riley.” Patrick showed no emotion.
Gavin walked past him and into the house. He scanned the trashed room looking for Jocelyn. He needed to not see her just as much as he hoped he would.
“There you are!” Becca stepped over a fallen lamp and came to meet him at the door.
“Hey, sorry.”
Becca gripped his elbow. “What’s the deal? You never used to do this, but the last few months… good grief, Gavin. If you aren’t late, you’re itchin’ to get out of crime scenes. You wanna clue me in?”
He tossed his hands up in the air. He didn’t know what to say.
“You will tell me, but fine, not now. The body is upstairs.”
He followed Becca up the open staircase. “So, what do we have?”
“Looks like domestic violence.”
His heart sank. “I hate domestic cases.”
“Me, too. I’m hoping it will be open and shut, though.”
“That’d be nice for a change. Do we have the perp in custody?”
“Nope. He was long gone by the time anyone got here.”
Gavin paused at the top of the stairs. “Who called it in?”
“Neighbor heard the gunshot.”
Gavin stopped shy of the door and braced himself emotionally before he stuck his head into the room. She wasn’t there. A microscopic spec of relief replaced his anxiety. But as his eyes fell on the body of a middle-aged woman, he realized he’d only braced himself for seeing Jocelyn, not death. He nearly stumbled. How was it possible to feel disappointment, relief, and disgust all at the same time?
The blood splatter on the wall had ruined a painting of some majestic mountains. Becca called his attention to the woman’s body on the floor. “This is Marie Bender.” Becca turned to the scrawny medical examiner. “What can you tell us, Henry?”
The ME looked up from where he knelt by the body. “She took a nasty beating. Looks like COD is blunt-force trauma to the skull. No bullet wounds.”
Becca began twisting her hair, as she always did at crime scenes. “So, he lost his cool and hit her one too many times.”
Gavin picked up there. “And so hard that when he brought the weapon back it splattered blood across the room.”
“Would seem that way,” Henry said. “But that’s your job. I’ll tell you what the body tells me. If you’ve seen enough, I’m ready to take her.”
Becca nodded. “I think so. Jocelyn came through and got all the pictures then?”
At the sound of her name, Gavin’s heartrate quickened.
Henry said, “Yes.”
“Then we should be good. Thanks, Henry.” Becca turned to Gavin where he stood by the edge of the bed. “You okay, Riley? You don’t look so good.”
“Like I said, I hate domestic cases.”
“I get it, but why so vehemently?”
He didn’t dare tell her he was afraid for Jocelyn. That would bring up more questions he couldn’t answer. But the root of his fear for her was in his own past. “When I was a kid, my dad beat my mom. Regularly.” He looked down at his coffee cup. “Until he finally left.”
“Gavin, I had no idea.” She stepped closer to him.
“We survived, and that’s what matters.”
“Absolutely.” She squeezed his arm.
Silence fell between them, and they took in the rest of the room as the ME and techs removed the body.
Gavin took a swig of his coffee. “What was with the gun shot? If she died of blunt force trauma, why shoot a gun? And where’s the gun and whatever he hit her with?”
“The baseball bat was in the backyard.” Becca walked around the side of the bed. “There’s a bullet hole in the wall over here.”
He stepped to where the woman’s body had been laying. “It’s almost as if she shot it.”
“Maybe she did. I’ll make sure Henry swabs for GSR.” Becca left the room.
Gavin went over to the walk-in closet and stepped through the open the door. A large gun safe stood open inside. Gavin pulled a pen out of his pocket and poked at the empty boxes that littered the floor. 9mm. .308. Two different calibers, but no guns.
Becca cast a shadow into the closet.
“We’ve got an armed man on the loose.”
“Before you got here, I talked to the neighbor who heard the shot. He said Mr. Bender is an avid hunter and skilled marksman.”
“Great. What’s the husband’s name?”
Becca looked down at her notes. “Ross Bender.”
That name sounded familiar. Gavin searched his memory. “I think I pulled that guy over once.”
“You remember a single traffic stop?”
The incident came full into his mind. “He was doing fifty in a school zone.”
“Yikes. And now he’s armed.”
“We’ve got to find him immediately.”
“Duh. But let’s check out the rest of house first.”
Gavin nodded, and they left the master bedroom. Once they finished looking around upstairs, Becca turned to him. “I’m done up here if you are. If Jocelyn took photos as good as she always does, I’ll be fine looking at those.” She started down the stairs.
“I’m sure she did. I’m ready.” He followed.
“Hey, Gavin, speaking of Jocelyn, let me ask you something.”
His stomach turned over on itself, and he paused on the stairs.
“How is she doing?”
His insides seized. “I…”
“I’ve hardly seen her lately, and she doesn’t answer my calls or texts. I hope I didn’t do anything to offend her—”
“With that morning breath, you’d offend a dog.”
She swatted his arm. “I don’t think I did anything. I’m really worried about her, and I hate not knowing what’s going on.”
“I haven’t really talked to her in probably three months.” He crushed the coffee cup in his hand.
“I thought you two were pretty close.”
You have no idea how close. “We were.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sure you didn’t do anything.” Nope, that’s my fault; I’m sure. Gavin could kick himself. If what had happened between them had caused any problems for her… But she was back together with Patrick. That was the only reason he could think of for why she would have cut him off. But that made him more concerned about her safety. Was Patrick preventing her from going to church and small group? What was going on? “But you’re her small group leader.”
“She hasn’t come in quite a while.”
Guess that’s the proof I needed. She’s back with him. They resumed their path out of the house so they could canvas the neighborhood. He hadn’t run into Jocelyn, but the relief he had expected was nowhere to be found. Instead, he wanted to crawl into his truck and drive off never to be seen again or at least until tomorrow.
Patrick yanked the squad car door shut and turned over the engine. He loathed working crime scenes, especially if Riley was the detective. Only thing worse than running into Gavin Riley was running into his wife’s good-for-nothing cousin, Adam Jamison. Those guys had completely thrown him under the bus last fall, and he would never forgive them. And someday, one way or another, they’d pay.
However, seeing Jocelyn at the scene had been nice. She may be his wife, but they hadn’t seen much of each other in quite a while. Maybe it was time to move home. He’d thought about saying something to her, but she was so distracted by her work that she left the room every time he entered. On Wednesday, when he finally had a day off, he’d call her.
He pulled away from the curb and went back to patrolling, his preferred task. If he couldn’t be SWAT, he’d stick to patrols. He’d rather make traffic stops and respond to calls than be stuck in the building with those self-righteous detectives. He hadn’t told anyone that he hadn’t made SWAT. Then again, he hadn’t told anyone he’d put in for it either. How could they claim he wasn’t mentally stable enough? It was total bull! He smacked the steering wheel so hard his palm stung.
He turned out onto the main road. The streets were pretty quiet still as
the sun began to make the horizon glow a vile shade of pink.
A hundred yards in front of him, a silver sedan swerved across the middle line. It jerked back and bounced off the far-side curb.
Patrick let out a dry chuckle. Some people were idiots. He flipped on lights and siren.
The drunk didn’t see it. Patrick honked. The sedan careened into an empty Food Lion parking lot.
Patrick parked behind him, exited his cruiser, and approached the vehicle with his hand resting on his sidearm.
The driver rolled down the window. The smell of alcohol assaulted Patrick’s nose.
Patrick smacked the roof of the car with two loud thumps.
The driver jumped.
“License and proof of insurance, please.” The man reached for his glove box and a tattoo of a shark on the man’s wrist appeared. Patrick knew that tattoo. “Chet Garrison?”
Chet looked up at Patrick. “Hey.” Then his blood-shot eyes grew wide.
Yep, you know me, too.
“North. I’m sorry. I’m almost home.”
“You should have gone home before you got wasted. Give me your info.”
“Okay.” Chet pulled out his cards and handed them to Patrick.
“If I give you another DUI, you’ll lose your badge.” Patrick folded his arms and leaned on the window.
“I know. I’m really sorry, man. Is there anything—”
“It’ll cost ya.”
“Anything, North. Name your price.”
“I’ll let you know. But when the time comes, and I call in this favor, you’ll do whatever I ask. If you don’t? You’ll pay.”
Chet wiped his hands on his thighs. “Okay.”
Patrick resisted the urge to laugh out loud and pulled out the little black notepad he kept in his pocket. Not his work notebook. No, this one kept a very important list. He flicked through pages until he found a blank one. He clicked open a pen in Chet’s face and wrote Chet’s name, the date, and the offense. “Now as far as my dash cam and my report are concerned, I’m letting you off with a warning to get more sleep or call an Uber if you’re too tired to drive. Got it?”
“Yeah, yeah. I owe you one.”
Patrick slid the pen and notepad into his pocket. He rested his hands on the open window and leaned in. Another fool in his pocket. Patrick laughed.
