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How in the world had she missed him when he’d come barreling into the car? Sure, all the deputies were fine-looking men, but something about this one made her want to linger on his flinty-black eyes that watched her intently as she studied him.
“Deputy Brady Owens at your service,” he said as his lips turned up in a dazzling smile that she assumed made women swoon, but she could see it was forced. His eyes were troubled. He wore the same uniform as the others, black tactical pants and a polo shirt with a Kevlar vest on top, but an expensive-looking rifle with a high-powered scope hung over his shoulder. He didn’t at all seem the type to carry a rifle.
Rifle? Wait.
“You’re the sniper,” she said, her mind processing the fact that this man standing here ended lives with a simple pull of the trigger.
He gave a clipped nod but said nothing else, leaving her feeling uneasy.
“How does someone get a job like that? I mean, do you wake up one morning and say I think I’ll learn how to shoot people?” She knew she was rambling and sounding rude, but she’d never met anyone with this job and didn’t know what to say to him.
“Marines needed me, ma’am, and I did my duty.” He stood taller and gone was the easygoing expression. It was now stony and unyielding. “Our armed forces are the reason you have the freedom to offer representation to a man who takes a woman hostage at gunpoint. And the reason that police officers can save lives in hostage situations like this one.”
“Wait,” she said quickly. “No... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by my comment. I was just wondering about it, that’s all. I meant no disrespect. I appreciate the men and women of the military and the police.”
He looked doubtful before his gaze lifted above her. She swiveled to see what he was looking at.
A woman wearing the same black uniform and a stethoscope hanging around her neck marched forward. The thirty-something woman looked familiar, but Morgan wasn’t sure from where. When she got closer, their eyes connected.
The woman smiled. “Hi, Morgan. It’s me, Darcie. Remember? From OSU.”
Morgan rose slowly, searching her memory for a Darcie and testing her strength before stepping toward the door. As she got closer, the picture of a young girl in her philosophy class as naive as Morgan had been swirled in Morgan’s mind. “Darcie Wiggins?”
She nodded. “Not Wiggins anymore, but Stevens, and yeah, it’s me.”
“Of course,” Morgan said. “I’m surprised you remember me.”
“I’d never forget the girl who set off to save the world one person at a time.”
“Oh, that girl. She’s long gone.” Morgan laughed and grabbed her old Oregon State University friend in a hug, but pulled back when the pain in her arm made her wince. “Crazy to run into you here. I thought you were working as an ER nurse. What happened? Did the ER get too tame for you and you had to move on to the front lines?”
“Changed jobs a few years back,” Darcie said, her impenetrable tone stopping Morgan from asking additional questions.
“Ms. Thorsby just about passed out,” Brady inserted. “She put her head between her knees for a bit and seems better. She either took a bullet or got in the way of flying glass, but the bleeding’s stopped.” He frowned as if the situation bothered him personally. This man, the one whose bullet cut like butter through the glass and whizzed by her, was concerned for her?
An uncontrollable tremble started at her head and rushed down her body. “It was a bullet. At least it felt like one.”
His frown deepened.
“Go ahead and sit down, Morgan, and I’ll take a look at it.” Darcie dropped onto the chair next to Morgan and started poking at the wound. “Superficial. Not from glass. Odd,” she said, and paused to look up at Brady. “The wound is thicker than I’d expect from the rounds Shaw was firing.”
“Meaning what?” Morgan asked as she swung her gaze between the two of them.
Darcie smiled at Morgan, but it was forced. “It should heal quickly, but it’s gonna hurt like crazy for some time.”
She didn’t have to tell Morgan that. As the adrenaline ebbed, the pain became more acute. Or maybe the flashes of her near death were making her more aware of everything around her.
Darcie moved on to Morgan’s vitals and strapped a blood pressure cuff on her arm. Brady continued to stand beside them, his arms raised, his hands clinging to an overhead bar. Tapping a finger on the metal, he stared down on Morgan, making her aware of his every movement. Aware of his muscles flexing as he moved, which he did. A lot.
“I heard the whole conversation with Craig.” Darcie removed the cuff. “Did I hear you right? You’re not representing Thorsby Mill anymore?”
The last thing Morgan wanted to talk about was the lawsuit, but she didn’t want to be rude and it would take her mind off the man hovering over her. Maybe keep thoughts of Craig at bay, too. “I changed jobs a few months ago.”
“Are you with a local firm?” Darcie dug bandages and antiseptic from her bag.
Morgan shook her head. “I’m not practicing law at all. I’m directing a local jobs program. Portland Employment Assistance—PEA for short. We help unemployed people seeking government assistance to find jobs.”
That brought a look of surprise to Brady’s face, and Morgan was starting to wonder why she was noticing every little thing he did.
Darcie’s hand stilled midair. “Wow, I never imagined you’d leave the law.”
Morgan shrugged. “We had this particularly contentious class action lawsuit that consumed my life for the last few years. Burned me out and I just couldn’t do it anymore.”
“Class action, huh? That’s what the shooter was talking about. But what happened? I mean a lawsuit against a paper mill seems odd.” Darcie went back to her bag.
“Surprising, right?” Morgan dug deep for the will to discuss something she never wanted to think about again.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Darcie said. “I understand.”
Morgan drew an uneasy breath. “A couple of years ago people downriver from the plant started getting cancer in record numbers. They claimed we dumped chemicals in the river, causing the cancer. Of course, that didn’t happen and water tests proved our story, but it still wasn’t easy to defend against.”
Darcie applied antiseptic to Morgan’s wound, the sharp sting taking all of her concentration. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out and seeming weak.
“People sue at the drop of a hat these days,” Darcie said.
“Honestly, I could hardly blame them,” Morgan rushed on, trying to ignore the pain. “A larger than normal distribution of a single type of cancer in their small population was unusual. They wanted to blame someone. And find money to cover medical bills.”
Darcie looked up. “You won, though, right? And that’s why this Craig guy was so angry?”
Morgan nodded but an uncontrolled sigh slipped out over the memory of the mental and physical cost that winning had taken on her life. She had to change the subject before Darcie pried any deeper. “And you... Stevens, now. You’re married.”
“Was. Not anymore.” Darcie applied the bandage.
“You two gonna gab all night or can we get moving?” Brady’s voice broke in.
Darcie offered him a thankful smile. She seemed glad he’d jumped in. Was she not willing to share about her past? It made Morgan even more curious about her old friend.
“We should get together for lunch and catch up.” Morgan looked up at Brady. “When we don’t have an armed deputy standing over us.”
“Who, Brady?” Darcie chuckled as she secured the gauze bandage. “He’s so laid-back, I sometimes forget that he’s this intense sniper guy.”
“Come on, Darcie.” He mocked a knife to the chest and grinned. “Don’t hurt my cred like this.”
He fixed a genuine, easygoing smile on Morgan, softening the hard, angular lines of his face. Making him even more handsome and difficult to look away from. She shouldn’t be noticing. Should be looking anywhere except at him, but he was like a puzzle waiting to be solved.
One minute he was easygoing, the next intense and fierce. Both attractive. Both needed to be avoided. If she was going to get her life back on firm footing after her recent move and job change, she had no time for romance.
“So,” she said to Darcie. “Am I cleared to go?”
Darcie sat back and started packing up her case. “My official response is that you should have your arm checked out at the hospital.”
“And unofficially?”
“Put some antibiotic cream on the wound. Keep it bandaged and change it once a day. If it doesn’t heal or becomes red, puffy or painful see a doctor.”
“I’ll take the unofficial advice so I can get out of here.”
“Sorry, friend.” Darcie squeezed Morgan’s knee. “You’ll have to stay to give your statement and answer questions. Brady will escort you back to the command post.”
“She’s right,” he said coming to full attention. “The detectives will want to talk to you.”
Right. She’d have to relive the experience, play by play, all over again.
She supposed it would be better to do so here with people surrounding her than at home alone. That would come later, she knew. Much later. When she had nothing to distract her.
No handsome guy. No old friend. No pretense of a smile. Not even the shock, which would have worn off by then.
She’d be alone in her new apartment. In the dark. Recounting each terrifying second of the ordeal and trying hard to remember why she’d so desperately wanted to stand on her own two feet.
THREE (#ulink_17e560e7-ba64-59e5-beca-b05bb5a73401)
Wind whistled through the FRS truck, but at least the snow had let up. Brady wanted to head home, sit in front of a roaring fire and have time alone to process the night. He’d pull out the small chunks of wood he’d cut to carve into ornaments for the FRS team and whittle long strips into the flames. But first, he had to help the team button down the specialty truck. Then they would meet to debrief and wind down in the communal living space of a remodeled historic firehouse where they all lived in private condos on the upper floors.
Brady was required to attend the debrief, but then he’d go straight to his condo. After a shooting, even one that hadn’t ended in the loss of a life, he liked to decompress on his own. The sooner the better. And that meant getting the truck loaded so they could all get home.
He stowed his rifle case in a bench seat midway in the truck and turned to find Darcie watching him. He suspected she wanted to ask about the graze on Morgan’s arm. Darcie couldn’t prove the injury had come from Brady’s rifle, no one could, but the thickness of the wound was a good indicator that he’d been the one to shoot Morgan.
“What?” he asked, when he couldn’t stand her eyes on him any longer.
She continued to watch him as a mother might watch a wayward child. “I have a favor to ask.”
He wasn’t in any frame of mind to do her favor, but he would hear her out. “Okay.”
“Can you hang around and escort Morgan home? She lives a few blocks away, and I don’t want her walking home alone after this.”
He let out a breath and almost offered a quick yes. After all, Morgan was a real beauty. And tough. But there was also something vulnerable about her. He’d seen it when he’d left her with the detectives. Like she needed him. Not just now, but long term.
Too bad. He wasn’t in a position to be needed by any woman. And especially not a woman who was all wrong for him. She was a lawyer, for Pete’s sake. Dressed in an expensive coat and suit. Shoes and purse that screamed designer. A last name that everyone in town knew from her father’s involvement in the business world.
No, a guy from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t need the heartache that would come with such a relationship.
He closed the bench and looked at Darcie. “I’m sure the detectives will give her a ride.”
“You’re right. They will, especially if there might be someone else out to get her.” Darcie shivered.
“The detectives can protect her.”
“I know that, too, but I’m concerned for more than her physical safety. She and I go way back, and I want to make sure she’s okay. You know...really okay. That she’s not going to freak out when she steps inside her apartment, closes the door and thoughts of the gun-wielding creep take over—which we both know could happen. You’re good at reading people. You’ll be able to tell if she shouldn’t be left alone.”
“So are you. Why not go with her yourself?”
“A, I may carry a weapon because I’d never hear the end of it from you guys if I didn’t, but I’m not skilled at protecting someone. And B, I’m on duty in an hour. You’re not.” She watched him carefully, her motherly concern still evident on her face. She’d lost her only child four years ago, but instead of the loss leaving her cold it had caused her to transfer her motherly devotion to the people around her—especially her team members. “You’re usually one of the first guys to step up and help someone. What’s different with Morgan?”
He wasn’t about to admit that Morgan’s vulnerability made him wary of getting too close to her. She needed someone. He got that. It just couldn’t be him. Not now, when he was struggling to do his job. And not with a woman like Morgan. He’d learned his lesson in high school about mixing with a girl out of his league and wouldn’t repeat that mistake.
“Okay, then. Maybe Archer can do it.” Darcie started to walk away.
She only had to take two steps before he felt like a real heel. “Wait, Darcie. I’ll do it.”
She smiled her thanks and it wasn’t hard to see she’d known he’d cave. All the guys on the team believed in defending the downtrodden, so her assumption wasn’t a stretch, but it still irked him. “I’ll go tell Jake.”
“No need. I already told him.” She smiled.
“You were that certain I’d do it, huh?”
“I’m certain that you’re a good man, Brady Owens, and you’d never let a woman who’d been through a terrifying standoff walk home alone.”
He wrapped Darcie under his arm and knuckled her head. “And you, my friend, are a master manipulator.”
“Guilty.” She grinned up at him as she freed herself. “I’ll go say goodbye to Morgan and tell her you’ll escort her home. Call me if she needs anything.”
Brady took his time packing up his vest and helping the other team members, but soon there was nothing left to do so he climbed down from the truck. He watched the team drive off, then went to the command post.
Morgan sat in a metal folding chair, her hands clasped in her lap, her body shivering in the biting wind. Detective Rossi, a thick and pudgy man with a wild head of black hair and a dark complexion that went perfectly with the Italian name, stood over her.
He looked up when Brady approached. “Help you, deputy?”
“I’ll be escorting Ms. Thorsby home.”
Morgan’s focus swiveled to him and she opened her mouth as if to argue, but then clamped down on her lips.
Rossi nodded. “An escort is a wise idea. She just told me she’s received additional threatening letters from plaintiffs.”
Brady glanced at her to see how she was doing with these ongoing threats. She was biting down on her lip even harder.
He turned back to the detective. “Are you planning to look into these threats?”
“You can be assured I’ll be following up on each letter.” He fixed a firm gaze on Morgan. “As I said, I’m glad Owens is escorting you home, but he won’t be around to watch your back after that. You’ll need to be careful until I can make sure there aren’t any other crazies out there who want to attack you.”
Morgan shivered again. From the cold? Maybe. Or from Rossi’s dire tone? More likely.
Brady would had liked to offer Morgan encouragement here, but if what she said about the letters was true, he didn’t think Rossi was overreacting. Not one bit. Brady couldn’t help with her fear, but he could solve her problem with the cold. He shrugged out of his coat and settled it over her shoulders.
Her eyes flashed wide in surprise. “Thank you, but I can’t take your jacket.”
“You’ve had a much harder night than I have and you deserve to be warm.”
“But I—”
