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But a moment later, Dave returned a steely glare to the robber, who’d finished grabbing up the bagged money and stuffing her purse with bills. The thug backed toward the door, making his getaway.
Knowing that some punk was able to come in here, shoot people and take what wasn’t his, then waltz out again, offended Lilly on a deep, cellular level. Rage flared in her core like a blacksmith’s furnace. She wanted to launch herself at the man and claw his eyes. Wanted to scream in his face the way he’d—
A man from the street entered the bank, walking blindly into the robbery. The thief spun around. Panicked. Fired toward the new customer. Lilly jolted, stunned.
The man from the street grabbed his side, then turned and ran out.
Screams filled the bank lobby as the robber fired again toward a desk where a secretary had crawled to hide. When the robber aimed his weapon at the front counter of the bank, Lilly rolled toward a stuffed chair in the waiting area outside the loan offices.
Two more shots rang out. Different weapon. Different pitch to the blasts.
Shaking, she peered out from behind the chair. The robber was hunched forward, his shooting arm limp. Spitting out a curse, his booty clutched in his left hand, the robber scuttled toward the exit. Another shot boomed from the new weapon, shattering a glass partition at the bank entrance. And then...silence. As if everyone in the bank was holding their breath, uncertain. Was it over?
Lilly sat up slowly, trembling, her mind reeling, her heart slamming against her ribs. A groan, a sudden movement near the fallen guard, drew her attention. Dave had surged to his feet, a gun in his hand, and he jogged, limping, toward the door where the robber had fled. The expression he wore was determined. Murderous.
* * *
He’d kill the sonofabitch, Dave swore, gritting his back teeth in pain as he rushed out of the bank. Given a clear shot, he would stop that bank-robbing cretin from maiming innocent bystanders, assaulting old ladies and killing security guards ever again. But his bum leg slowed him down. He didn’t make it to the parking lot before the robber had climbed into a rusty sedan and was racing onto the main road through town. Dave knew better than to fire at a moving vehicle on a city street. Too many drivers shared the road, too many people had poked their heads out of nearby businesses, likely having heard the gunfire.
Growling under his breath, he lowered the revolver he’d taken off Deputy Hanover, and raised a hand to rub his face. He stopped when the blood on his palm caught his eye. A sick feeling swelled in his gut. He’d tried to help the fallen guard, but the older man had died even as Dave tended him. He’d had his hand on the man’s chest and felt the slow drub of his heart stop.
“Dave!”
He faced Lilly as she stepped out of the bank, warily eyeing the parking lot and the gun still in his hand. He sighed heavily. “He got away.”
Even to his own ears, he sounded defeated. Could he have stopped the robbery? He’d known Deputy Hanover had a revolver on his belt, but for better or worse, he’d made aiding the wounded man his priority.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked Lilly.
She shook her head. “Just scared me.” She blew out a tremulous breath. “I’ve never had a gun pointed at my head before. So not fun.”
He twisted his mouth in wry agreement. “No.”
Her gaze dipped to the red staining his hands. “Is any of that blood yours?”
“No. It’s Deputy Hanover’s.” Dave furrowed his brow, felt a knot of emotion tighten his throat. “He didn’t make it.” The answer scraped from his throat, as rough as sandpaper.
“No, he didn’t,” she said. “I checked on him before I came out here. I’m sorry.”
Regret poured through him. He’d weighed his options, tried to balance the risk of agitating the robber and drawing more fire on innocents against the possibility of putting an end to the crime in progress. When the scumbag had shot at Gill Carver and his cell phone, he’d made his choice to act. But he’d had to work to get the weapon out from under the dead security guard’s hip without drawing attention.
Too little, too late.
That had become a theme with him. Forget roads. He was paving entire interstates to hell with all his useless good intentions.
The whine of a siren filtered through the rattling thoughts and recriminations in his brain.
“We should go back inside.” Lilly touched his arm. “You don’t want to be standing out here with that gun when the cops arrive.”
His cheek twitched in a weak grin. “True that.”
Dave followed Lilly back into the bank, his leg throbbing from the recent abuse of diving to the floor, crawling around and attempting to run with his full weight on it. Inside, the other customers and personnel of the bank were huddled in clusters. One group tended to Gill Carver, the man whose hand had been shot, and that was the direction Lilly went first. Another group surrounded the branch manager, who held a phone to his ear, and a few women were comforting the younger teller, who seemed to be hyperventilating. Someone had draped their coat over the fallen security guard, covering his wound and face.
Dave laid the revolver on the ground next to Hanover, nudging the weapon out of sight with his toe. He grabbed a bunch of facial tissues from a box on a secretary’s desk, along with a squirt of hand sanitizer, and cleaned as much blood from his hands as he could. Drying his palms on the seat of his jeans, he headed over to Rose Charmand, who sat in one of the lobby chairs with another woman crouched beside her.
She gave him a wobbly smile as he approached. “Well, that was a bit more excitement than I’d expected for today.”
Dave kneeled, grunting in pain, and took Rose’s hand. “Are you all right? I saw him hit you.”
“With a stack of money,” she added and gave a hooting laugh. “That’s one I can cross off my bucket list!” She held up a finger, gnarled with arthritis, and added, “No, wait. Not getting slapped with money. Rolling naked in money. That’s what’s on my bucket list.”
Dave flashed her a grin while trying fervently not to picture the septuagenarian doing anything naked. He squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Lilly approach and squat beside Rose’s chair, next to the other woman. Rose acknowledged Lilly with a smile. “Oh, good. You made it. I called this meeting today to discuss the future of the kingdom. Who will reign when I’m gone?”
Dave arched an eyebrow. “How hard did he hit your head?”
The woman next to her chuckled. “Can’t blame a concussion for that craziness. That’s typical Rose. Best evidence yet that she’s fine.”
“Are you fine? Both of you? Any injuries or shortness of breath?” Lilly asked, giving both of the women a close look.
Dave regarded Lilly, remembering vaguely that Helen had said her sister was an ER nurse in Denver.
Rose and the other woman both shook their heads.
“How is Gill’s hand?” Dave asked, nodding toward the injured man.
“Mostly just cut up as the phone busted in pieces. Someone wrapped it in a shirt. He’ll be fine until he gets to the ER for stitches.” She drew a deep breath and added, “The bullet is lodged in the floor, mere inches from where his head was.”
Dave bit his bottom lip to catch the curse word he refused to say in front of Rose.
“Hmph,” Rose said, her expression pinched with distaste. “Too bad the bullet didn’t get Gill in the ass, so he’d know what we feel whenever he’s around shootin’ off his mouth.”
The teller beside Rose covered a laugh, and Dave bit the inside of his cheek to contain his amusement. Gill might be a pain in the butt, but he didn’t want to appear insensitive in front of Lilly, who frowned at Rose’s harsh remark.
“I’m going to check on Shelly. Don’t give away my claim to the throne,” the other woman told Rose. With a wink, she stood and moved to the group comforting the sobbing younger teller.
Dave and Lilly locked gazes for a moment before Rose said, “You two do know each other through Helen, right? I saw you talking before that—that...jackass came in waving his gun.”
He wasn’t sure why, but hearing Rose curse after he’d censored his own reaction brought a brief grin to Dave’s face. Lilly’s countenance remained grim, however, and he sobered quickly, remembering Deputy Hanover...and the subject of his previous conversation with Lilly.
“Yes,” Lilly said, her tone subdued. “We know each other.” She held his gaze and said, “You’re limping.” A statement, not a question.
“Yeah. Broke my leg and had a rod put in back in December. Helen didn’t tell you?”
Her expression reflected a moment of realization, then sadness. “Oh, right. She did mention it. In all this confusion, I just...” She waved her hand vaguely and didn’t finish the thought.
The memory of Helen hovering at his side after he’d broken his leg made his heart squeeze, and he tore his gaze from Lilly’s before she read too much in his eyes.
A sound at the front door and new voices drew his attention as deputies from the sheriff’s department entered the building. Within minutes, the tense process of questioning and evidence-gathering began.
* * *
Lilly twisted her fingers in the hem of her shirt, trying her best to answer the deputy’s questions. The loan office and the branch manager’s office had been commandeered for interviews, and after two tedious hours of waiting, she’d been called in to give her statement.
She’d finished recounting the events, up to the point where the robber was making his getaway and Dave had returned fire.
“Where did Mr. Giblan get the gun?” the officer asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. I assume he used the security guard’s gun.”
“Did you see a weapon on Mr. Giblan when you spoke to him before the robbery?”
Lilly shook her head. “No. But I wasn’t looking for one.”
“How many shots did Mr. Giblan fire?” the deputy asked.
“I don’t—” Remembering the deputy’s previous request to think hard when she’d voiced her uncertainty, she closed her eyes and let the terrifying moments replay in her head, working to recall specifics of something she’d rather blank from her mind. One bang. Two. The robber jerking, then his arm going limp.
“Maybe two? I think at least one shot hit the guy. He hunched forward, and his gun arm seemed to go slack.” She reviewed the scene again, and a chill raced down her back. “I think he fired again as the robber ran out. The glass by the main door shattered.” What she knew for certain was that Dave had stopped the gunman from firing any more random shots at the bank customers. His actions had probably saved lives.
“Dave made the right call. He’s a hero,” she said, more voicing her thoughts than answering the deputy’s questions. “He stopped the guy from hurting anyone else.” She surprised herself, defending Dave’s actions even before anyone criticized.
The deputy frowned. “Officially speaking, our office cannot condone or encourage vigilantism.”
Vigilantism? The word conjured images in her brain of old Westerns with cowboys hunting down bad guys and taking revenge on all degree of criminals and cretins. She pictured Dave on his knee beside the older teller, his hand clutching hers as he comforted her and joked about her bucket list. The word vigilante didn’t mesh with the gentle man she’d witnessed in those moments.
“And then what happened?” the deputy asked.
She retold the robber’s escape, Dave’s pursuit, how she’d checked on the guard and found him dead, before following Dave outside.
“Did you see the suspect after you left the building?”
She shook her head. “He was gone by then. Dave said he’d driven off in a hurry in a—”
“I can’t use hearsay, ma’am. Only what you saw or heard, firsthand.”
She flipped up her palm. “Then that’s all I have. Dave and I went back inside and checked on Mrs. Charmand and the other patients’ conditions until—”
“Patients?” the deputy said, interrupting her again.
She blinked, thinking about what she’d said. “Oh, well, I guess that’s how I think of them. I’m a nurse, and my focus was treating injuries. Sort of triage. Checking everyone’s physical and mental condition. There was another customer there who also has medical training—as a veterinarian—who was helping out, as well. He was keeping an eye on the man with the injured hand while I surveyed the rest of the group.”
The deputy nodded and glanced down at his clipboard. He handed her a business card. “If you remember anything else that could be helpful, please contact us.”
Out of habit, she reached behind her for her purse. Stopped. Her shoulder gave a small twinge as she remembered the violent tug when the robber had ripped the bag from her. The thief had her wallet, her keys, her phone and a dozen other things she’d miss. Her favorite hairbrush. That perfect shade of plum lipstick she’d just bought. The Dior sunglasses, a splurge she’d bought on her last vacation with Helen. The butterfly key chain her mother had bought her when they’d gone to Dollywood when she was nine years old. Every lily needs a butterfly, and you are the prettiest flower of all. Her sentimental fondness for and collection of butterfly-themed items began that day. A hollow ache filled her heart for the lost memento.
Sighing, she stood and exited the small office. Now what? She had no car keys to get home. The thief had... Another realization slammed her like a gut punch. The bank robber had everything she’d just taken from Helen’s lockbox. The jewelry pieces that had been their mother’s, Helen’s passport and birth certificate and God knows what else that had been in those little boxes and envelopes she’d scooped into her purse to examine later. Irreplaceable things that Helen had treasured.
Anger, grief and residual fear flashed through her in an overwhelming flood. Her knees buckled as she walked into the lobby of the bank, and she sank—crumpled, really—into a chair near the front door. Tears filled her eyes, and she pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle the scream she wanted to let loose. Instead, she cried, shoulders shaking and her chest aching as she struggled for a breath between sobs. Other than the day she’d learned about Helen’s murder, she’d been strong, she’d held it together. But the loss of the things from Helen’s lockbox felt like losing her sister all over again.
“Lilly?”
She jerked her head up. Dave stood beside her, his eyes narrowed with concern. She dashed her hand under her eyes, swiping at the tears. “What do you want?”
He lowered himself awkwardly onto an adjacent chair, favoring his right leg, which he extended stiffly in front of him. He leaned toward her and pitched his voice low. “Are you all right?”
She dismissed him with a snort. “Peachy.”
“Can I do anything?” he asked, his voice a soft rumble. Compassionate. Soothing. The way it had been when he’d spoken with the older teller. To continue to rebuff him with sarcasm in light of his kindness would only make her look bitchy, so she modulated her expression and simply shook her head.
“Okay,” he said after a brief pause in which he studied her with an unnerving scrutiny. He pushed back to his feet with a soft grunt of pain as he put weight on his bad leg. “Goodbye, Lilly. I’ll be by the house later this week to get my things.”
The house...
“Dave, wait.” She dabbed at her runny nose and drew a cleansing breath. “Could you...drive me home? The robber took my purse...with my keys. You could get your things now, and I could get the spare keys for my car and come back up to retrieve it.” She hated asking anything of the man who’d failed her sister in so many ways, but her proposal was the most logical solution to two issues.
Dave scratched the back of his head as he considered her request for all of three seconds. “Um, sure.” He spread his hands. “Of course. You ready?”
She stood and smoothed the seat of her slacks. “Yes. More than ready.”
Lilly followed him out to his truck, and he held the passenger door for her while she climbed in the cab.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said after he slid behind the steering wheel. He tossed a few fast food wrappers and empty drink cans behind the seat. “I’d have cleaned up if I’d known you would be—”
“Don’t bother,” she said giving him a flat look. “My opinion of you and how you treated my sister is not going to change in the next twenty minutes while you get your things from her house.”
Dave firmed his mouth, and his eyebrows dipped in a low line over his dark brown eyes. Bedroom eyes, she could remember Helen calling them when she’d first started dating Dave and she’d gushed to Lilly about her handsome new boyfriend.
Okay, he was handsome. She’d give him that. But the mess in his car underlined the impression she’d formed in subsequent conversations about Dave. A man who was just too casual in his relationships, in his housekeeping, in most aspects of his life. No plan for the future. No commitments and few responsibilities.
She spotted a distinctive cone-shaped plastic sleeve on the floor and bent to pick it up. The grocery store sticker on the plastic wrap verified what the contents had been. Fresh floral arrangement, $8.99.
“Wooing a new girlfriend?” she asked, knowing her tone was brittle and not caring.
He started the engine and sent her a cool look. “No. Visiting the grave of the woman I miss every day.”
His reply shocked her. Shamed her. She hadn’t been to Helen’s grave since the funeral. She planned to go before she left town, but...it was too painful, and she hadn’t yet mustered the nerve to go.
“Oh.” She let the wrapper fall back to the floor. “Sorry. I...shouldn’t have assumed—”
“Like I said earlier,” he said, facing the road as he drove, “I was going to give her an engagement ring on New Year’s Eve.”
Lilly’s heart contracted. “She’d have said yes. She loved you, despite—”
He cut a sharp gaze toward her, his dark eyes full of pain, but said nothing.
Lilly cursed under her breath. “Dave, I guess it’s obvious I’m no fan of yours. You strung her along for five years, forgot important anniversaries—”
