Silent Night Suspect

Zander’s plan should’ve been simple. Slade would publicly arrest him so Quenten would believe his insider had been compromised. Then Zander would compile whatever evidence he’d assured Slade he had, ferret out the mole within the Nebraska State Patrol, turn state’s evidence and go into WITSEC. Zander had refused to share the details with Slade, wanting to protect him by not dragging him into the mire.

Except everything went horribly wrong, and within twenty-four hours of being arrested, processed and released on bail, Zander was murdered. Slade had no evidence of corruption, no proof of a mole, and he’d been marked a backstabbing cop for turning in his partner. He bore Asia’s blame and anger and was left in an impossible situation of keeping Zander’s secret even after his death.

“A good partner would’ve helped him instead of taking the first opportunity to prove your disloyalty for a lousy promotion.”

Slade didn’t refute her words, but if she only knew the truth... Zander always got everything he wanted, including Asia. Slade had respected her decision all those years ago, tucking his own feelings far away where they couldn’t hurt either of them. He inhaled and replied with stale facts. “He was a drug-addicted thief working with that guy.” He pointed at Quenten’s body. “Which brings me back to what you’re doing here with a gun and a dead man. The circumstances, such as they are, aren’t looking good for you.”

“I’m fully aware of how this looks. Contrary to yours and the entire state patrol’s beliefs, I’m not stupid.”

His radio squawked, halting their conversation.

“Go ahead,” he answered.

“Multivehicle injury accident with confirmed fatality on Highway 275. Backup is delayed. Will dispatch next closest ambulance,” the dispatcher rattled on.

Just another night in rural Nebraska. Never enough responders, and everything happened at once. “Ten-four,” he acknowledged. “Guess it’ll be a bit before they get here. So how about if we start over? First, your injury appears to be a through-and-through gunshot wound, from the little I can see. May I take a closer look?”

She glanced down and removed the cloth. “Fine.”

Slade examined her bleeding shoulder then pressed the fabric tighter against the injury. “Yep, looks like the bullet went clean through.” A blood-matted section on the back of her head caught his eye. “You’ve got a head injury too.”

“What?”

When he reached out to examine her, she flinched at his touch. He retracted his hand, the sting of her rejection piercing his heart. They used to be friends. “I won’t hurt you.” I’ve done enough damage already to last a lifetime. “I only want to check the injury.”

“Okay.”

He withdrew his flashlight, then separated her raven shoulder-length hair clotted with dried blood to reveal a goose egg.

“Ouch!” Asia dodged to the side.

He jerked back his hand and replaced the light in his gun belt. “Sorry. Any idea where you got that knot?”

“No.”

“Do you have any other injuries?”

She narrowed her eyes. “If I weren’t handcuffed, I might be able to answer your question.”

The department-issued restraints latched on her wrists tore at him. Never in his wildest imagination had he considered the possibility of arresting Asia. “It’s protocol.”

“Right—I forgot you never break the rules.” Her uncharacteristic sarcasm sliced through his heart.

When had she grown so cold toward him? The sweet girl he’d known all his life had morphed into an angry woman, but he saw fear in her dark eyes masked behind the facade of her bitter tone.

“I’ll remove the handcuffs, but don’t try anything stupid.”

“You’re joking, right?”

Joking was the furthest thing from his mind. This whole situation was beyond his comprehension. He knelt in front of her and removed the cuffs. Asia was the last person he’d thought capable of murder. Almost fifteen years in law enforcement had awakened him to a lot of unbelievable realities. Still, his gut said she wasn’t guilty. Or was it his heart?

Asia lifted her hand and rubbed her wrists, then gingerly fingered the head wound and winced. “That solves the mystery behind my headache and the internal bullhorn amplifying every word you speak.”

Slade stilled her with a raised palm. It was too quiet.

“I—”

“Shh.”

She glared at him but remained silent.

He stepped into the hallway and scanned the two bedrooms again. He entered the back bedroom, stepping around the king-size mattress and knee-high junk piles to the window. Slade peered out of the broken blinds into the darkness.

The trailer was located in the middle of an abandoned farm away from the road. A large dilapidated shed surrounded by mounds of jalopy cars sat two hundred feet from the mobile and close to the neglected cornfields. Slade lifted the window and scanned the area with his flashlight, illuminating the ominous shadows.

Nothing but the wind whipping over the land and trees greeted him. He slid the window closed and repeated his surveillance in the bedroom facing the front of the property. Trash bags and boxes stacked high obscured the window, forcing Slade to move around the mess. He shifted between the towering displays of clutter and glanced out the dirty glass. A glimmering light flickered in the distance.

A shiver writhed up his spine. The light faded. A passing car on the county road?

He returned to the small living room. The home had to be at least thirty years old. Deserted and in the middle of nowhere. Not a place he’d expect to find Asia. So why had she texted him to meet her here?

A sense of foreboding hung heavy in the air like the putrid atmosphere. Maybe he should just arrest her and get out of here. The isolated locale left them exposed and too far from help. Whatever her situation, they’d work out the details at the patrol office. He closed the space between them, determined. “I think we’d better—”

Headlights beamed through the window and the crunching of tires on the ice-covered snow drew Slade’s attention. A large black vehicle sped toward the house. Too fast. “Get down!” He tugged Asia to the floor.

Slade crouched and peered through the bottom corner of the blinds. A barrage of gunshots turned his patrol car into Swiss cheese.

“Shots fired! Shots fired! Newer-model black SUV. Need backup! Now!” His voice reverberated and increased an octave, hollow in his own ears. Anticipating a blast, he shielded Asia with his body.

Several seconds passed with no explosion. Pulse drumming and fury radiating up his neck, Slade shifted to get another glance outside. “Stay down.” His hands shook with adrenaline as he pushed the blinds aside.

The assailants circled on the snow-covered ground, filtering headlights inside again. They were coming back! He dived, covering Asia a second time.

Bullets blasted through the home, shattering the window and raining glass.

The dispatcher’s robotic response melded into the background of machine gun fire. Slade tucked Asia under him, protecting her from the debris pelting his neck and arms.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” He glanced up, catching sight of the hallway. Grateful he’d cleared the property earlier, he considered their only exit strategy. The bathroom and bedroom at the front of the home would shield them until they climbed out the rear-facing bedroom window.

Rhythmic pinging penetrated the fabricated home’s thin walls, and the TV took several hits before emitting sparks.

“Stay low and move to the back.”

“Okay,” she cried over the noise.

They army-crawled through the hallway and into the bedroom. Slade pushed the door shut, providing a barrier—albeit a flimsy one—against the firepower.

“Can you climb out the window?” He lifted the latch, pulled open the tall rectangular glass and shoved out the screen. “It’s only a few feet down. I’ll lower you.”

“I’ve got it.” Asia moved in front of him and scrambled through. She perched on the ledge before hopping down.

Slade followed behind and grasped her arm. “Hold on.”

The gunfire ceased, leaving an eerie calm hanging in the air.

Had the shooters gone?

The ground was covered in hard-packed snow and their footprints would be easily visible. Only two viable options of escape remained. Run through the cornfields and hope they reached help before the men found them or hide in the shed. If they ran to the front of the house and the men were waiting, they were dead. Scattered assorted metal junk pieces covered the backyard. They’d have to use the debris in a disorganized game of hopscotch to hide their location. Asia’s compromised state and blood loss combined with his undrivable unit meant hiding was the only logical choice. They’d have to take their chances.

“Follow me and step only on the junk. Do not let your feet hit the snow.” Slade gripped Asia’s hand and they made their way to the random assortment of hubcaps, cinder blocks and other unidentifiable scraps.

They neared the shed and Slade peered over his shoulder. Men’s voices echoed inside the house. They’d pursue as soon as they spied the open window.

He shoved aside the shed’s rusted metal door hanging by one rotted hinge.

“Is this safe?” Asia whispered, squeezing through the gap.

It was a good question. “Get behind the hood.” Slade gestured toward an old truck hood leaning against a dried and decaying bale of straw.

Asia maneuvered around the junk and squatted. Slade joined her and inspected the shadowy space. His flashlight would prove beneficial, but advertising their location would be unwise. Darkness hid things he’d rather not spot, anyway. Various vehicle parts including two more hoods pressed against the far wall, shielding them on all sides. A barricade of automotive leftovers. Please, Lord, let them protect us.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, silencing his radio.

Together they faced the door. A sliver of an opening provided a decent vantage point of the back of the home but trapped them with no other way out.

“They escaped.” A man’s voice carried from the house across the open land.

“They found the window,” Slade murmured, more to himself than Asia. “Stay behind me,” he warned, moving in front of her.

“Hey, I need—”

“Not now,” he hissed. Weapon poised, Slade peered around the oxidized hood and spoke into his shoulder mic. “Shooters still on the premises.” The speaker remained muted because it didn’t matter what the dispatcher said. They had to get out of here—and fast.

Where was his backup? Slade angled past the bales and crept toward the entrance. Asia started to follow, but he halted her with his hand. He peeked through the crack between the door and the frame. Figures moved inside the bedroom. How many were there?

“At least Nevil Quenten is dead.” The man’s booming voice made him easy to distinguish.

“Excellent,” the first replied. “Where’re the cop and woman?”

Slade stiffened. What had Asia gotten herself into?

“They got away. You need shooting lessons. All that damage and you still didn’t kill them.”

Asia shifted behind him and a hollow ting resounded in the small shed. Slade jerked as the offending noisemaker rolled to his feet. A hubcap.

“Quiet! I heard something,” the voice outside demanded.

Slade moved to where Asia stood near the hood and bales. He pinned her with a glare. She shrugged and mouthed “Sorry.” Tugging her down, he crouched with her behind the metal barrier. He strained to hear the men’s conversation.

“There’s nothing out there. I told you, they escaped,” the other argued.

“No. I see a shed. That’s where they are.”

Within seconds, the crunching of boots on snow drew closer.

Slade surveyed the confined space again, searching for a way out. They were trapped.

The steps paused outside the shed.

Please, God, get backup here. Fast!

“Knock, knock.” The man’s taunts were followed by two quick raps on the door.

Slade held his breath, gun at the ready and heart drumming in his ears. He might be able to outshoot them, but were there more intruders in the vehicle? If he missed, and Asia was hit... No, he’d have to be dead on target.

A rat skittered over Slade’s boot, and he flinched, nearly squeezing the trigger. The rodent scurried out of the opening, evoking a curse from the intruder.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Scared of the dark or the little mouse?” The second man roared with laughter. His voice echoed, confirming he was farther away.

“It’s not funny. Rats carry disease,” the first whined.

Footsteps drew closer. “Move, so I can look inside.”

“Forget it. I’ll take care of them from here.”

Slade interpreted the warning and shoved Asia to the cement floor, covering her with his body. Bullets pinged all around them in rapid succession. The hood and the bale suffered the brunt of the attack, spitting shards of straw like confetti at a parade.

At last, the rain of fire stopped. Asia’s staccato panting lingered, but to her credit, she never uttered a sound.

Slade lifted his head and pressed his fingers against his lips, reminding Asia to keep quiet. She nodded. Slade shifted into a crouch while considering the number of bullets in his magazine. Were there enough for him to blast their way free of the shed?

“Let’s see if you win the prize.” The door creaked, and the intruder’s hand grasped the metal.

Slade aimed, prepared to fire. He’d have to take his chances and pray he hit his target the first time.

And then he paused at the beautiful scream of sirens in the distance.

TWO

“One of those blue-and-red-flashing beasts better be an ambulance,” Slade murmured.

Sound carried over miles in the flatlands of Nebraska. Only a few minutes had passed since the men had fled at the wail of the approaching emergency vehicles. Each rendition acted like a tornado siren, warning time was running out to get Asia talking.

Slade knelt beside her. The uneven rotting boards of the pockmarked trailer’s porch steps dug into his knees, and the cold pierced through his long-sleeved uniform shirt. At least Asia hadn’t balked at wearing his patrol-issued coat. He’d draped it over her shoulders and kept his hand on her back to maintain pressure against the bullet’s exit wound. Concern flowed through him at the soaked material. She was losing blood at an excessive rate, and his internal frustration boiled over at her silence.

Asia leaned against the paint-chipped railing, applying another gauze compress to the front of her shoulder. She’d given his mumbled declaration a second-long glance but had remained mute.

He sat and made one final plea to her stubborn denial. “I want to help you.”

“I know.” She shifted and met his gaze with a softened expression. “The cavalry is almost here. You’d better put on the handcuffs.” Asia held out her wrists, wincing with the movement.

“Don’t worry about them. Focus on staying awake and keeping pressure on the wound.” Slade gently returned her hand over the injury, noting the smoothness of her skin. His attention shifted to the dark red stain mixed with streaks of grease and dirt marring her white blouse. The grime did nothing to distract from her beauty. Her shoulder-length hair hung in disheveled, shadowy rivers, framing her oval face and dark eyes.

“I’m fine,” she rasped.

“You’ve always been a terrible actor.”

The corners of Asia’s lips tugged upward, then fell away as her eyes fluttered closed.

“No sleeping for you,” he prodded. If she had a concussion, she had to stay awake.

“I’m fine,” Asia repeated, righting herself and backing from his touch. Her shoulders slumped and seemed to bear the weight of the world.

Slade concentrated on the flashing lights, fighting the desire to remove her burdens. She couldn’t be guilty. The internal policy and procedure manual played like background music in his brain, battling with concern for her well-being. “Do you remember anything else?”

Dumb question since he’d already asked her the same thing a hundred different ways, but he had to help her. He owed it to Zander—and to Asia. “Maybe you recall being attacked? Or waking in a trunk?”

The briefest hint of a smile broke through her downcast expression. “You watch too many television shows.” She shook her head, then glanced down. “You’re doing your job, and I need to follow the rules. I won’t fight.”

Rumbling engines barreled down the snow-packed gravel driveway. Slade recognized his sergeant’s patrol car—the twin of his own pre-bullet-ridden vehicle—leading the pack with Slade’s brother Trooper Trey Jackson’s white K9 pickup following closely behind. Two brown sedans with sheriff county logos and an ambulance joined the entourage.

“Are you able to walk?” Slade offered his hand. “Otherwise, I’ll carry you to the ambulance.”

Asia straightened as if he’d cattle prodded her. “You’re not carrying me anywhere.” She grasped hold of the railing and pulled herself up. Her obstinacy rivaled any mule.

Slade started to touch the small of her back, then thought better of it. “Just stay by my side and let me do the talking.” For once, she didn’t argue, and they walked toward Sergeant Oliver’s vehicle.

“Jackson! What’s going on?” Oliver yelled, clambering out of the attractive low-profile Charger. The twenty-pound gun belt, Kevlar vest and the man’s bulky stature made for a difficult exit from the car. “Are you all right?” His gaze bounced from Slade to Asia, registering her presence. “Mrs. Stratton?” Oliver’s confusion said he too was trying to make sense of the situation.

“Shooters bolted when they heard the sirens.” Slade stepped protectively closer to Asia’s side.

“What happened to your car?” Oliver asked, mouth agape.

The newer vehicle’s damage costs would make their way up the chain of command and right to the colonel’s desk. After Slade spent the next week filling out paperwork.

Two EMTs advanced, and Slade sent a silent prayer of thanks for the interruption. “Let me get Asia—Mrs. Stratton—taken care of.” He excused himself from Oliver and addressed the medics. They visually assessed her condition as Slade provided a robotic report. “Mrs. Stratton has a bullet wound to her shoulder—appears to be a through and through—and she has a contusion on the back of her head.”

The shorter of the two men nodded vehemently while charting on his iPad. White embroidery on his blue uniform shirt spelled Hereford. Easy to remember. Uncle Irwin had bred Hereford cows. The man’s youthful appearance had Slade questioning whether he was even old enough to drive the rig. Then he realized he sounded like his father, always complaining that everyone else was getting younger when the reality was he was the one aging.

“I’ll get the stretcher.” The taller EMT jogged to the ambulance before Slade caught sight of his name on his badge.

“I’m not riding on a stretcher.” Asia shook her head, one palm up in defense.

“Ma’am,” Hereford began.

“I’ll assist her to the rig,” Slade promised, not wanting her to become more agitated. What was wrong with her?

Hereford frowned and joined his partner.

Slade moved between Asia and the EMTs as a high school memory bounced to the forefront of his mind. “Still claustrophobic? Or are you boycotting ambulances?” he teased, hoping to lighten her anxiety.

She blinked, and understanding shone in her eyes. “You remember?”

“Um, yeah. You nearly capsized our canoe in the amusement park’s tunnel of love.” His neck warmed at the romantic recollection of their junior year in high school. He’d spent half his earnings from the grain elevator just to win Asia a giant teddy bear. That had been a wonderful time.

Slade shoved the painful reminder down. Those days were long gone, having been replaced by adult tragedies.

Asia’s dark eyes searched his, and he noted the hardness had returned. She took a step back. “I don’t feel well,” she admitted, then added, “I’m not sure I can handle riding in the enclosed van alone with a stranger.”

The small glimpse of her vulnerable side bolstered his protectiveness. “I happen to be down a vehicle. How about if I ride with you and keep you occupied? Distractions help the trip go faster.” He used his best conspiratorial tone and said, “Plus, it’ll delay the report I have to write about my car’s demise.”

Asia shrugged without comment, but relief softened the lines on her forehead. Slade took the token of acceptance and helped her to the ambulance. “I need to confer with my sergeant. Then I’ll accompany Mrs. Stratton to the hospital,” he told Hereford, who grunted his acknowledgment.

“One minute,” Slade assured Asia.

She waved him off, and he returned to where Oliver, Trey and the deputies stood inspecting his damaged patrol unit. Slade provided a brief recap of the events, starting with Nevil Quenten’s DOA status—temporarily omitting the significant detail of Asia’s gun possession—emphasizing her injuries and then concluding with the shoot-out in the shed.

Oliver pulled himself to his full six-foot-two-inch height and addressed the team. “Thank you for responding. Set up a perimeter.” He turned to Trey. “Have K9 Magnum search the property. Mark whatever you find with flags, but do not touch it. We’ll let the evidence techs handle collection.”

“Affirmative.” Trey strode to his pickup and released his police service dog, Magnum, from the cab. The Belgian Malinois barked his appreciation, and the duo navigated to the rear of the home, where they’d work a spiral search pattern of the exterior, starting outside the shed.

Oliver continued issuing the directives, but his voice faded into the background. Slade’s focus returned to Asia, sitting at the rear of the ambulance as the paramedic dressed her wound.

The two deputies sprinted past him, yanking Slade to the present as they sped off the property.

Now was his chance to buy Asia some time with his boss. Slade moved quickly to where Oliver stood alone, typing into his cell phone. “Sir?”

The sergeant finished his entry before looking up.

“I can’t believe Asia—er, Mrs. Stratton—would commit murder. It’s obvious she’s in danger and needs our help.”

Oliver slipped his phone into his belt clip. “You don’t have to pretend she’s a stranger. I’m aware of the friendship you and Zander once had, including the fact the three of you were childhood classmates.”

Slade and Asia had been more than classmates, but Oliver didn’t need to know any of those details.

“Right. I respectfully request time to gather more intel before making any hasty decisions.”

“You mean you don’t want to arrest her.”

“I don’t want to prematurely arrest her. The stigma of a cop’s wife committing murder...”

“The press and public would bake her. I understand and agree. However, I’m still confused as to how you ended up here in the first place.”

“That’s a little trickier to explain. I received a text from Asia’s number asking for help, with a map screenshot of this location.”

“She lured you here?” Oliver’s tone hardened.

Slade withdrew his cell phone and displayed the message. “She insists she never sent the text. It came from her number, but that doesn’t prove the sender.”

Oliver shook his head. “You said Quenten was already DOA?”

“Yes, sir.” Slade hesitated.

“Did she have defensive wounds?”

“She’s got injuries, possibly defensive, but she’s unsure how they occurred.”

“She’s claiming amnesia?”

Slade shifted from one foot to the other. “Partially. Asia said the last thing she recalls is being in her apartment on Thursday. She’s got no recollection of arriving here or the time in between.”

Oliver’s expression gave no indication as to whether he believed Slade. “Quenten’s got enough enemies. Start at her home. Perhaps returning to a familiar place will help trigger her memory. One more thing.” Oliver stepped closer and lowered his voice. “The clock is ticking. We’ll help Asia in every way possible, but we will not ignore the law. She’s our only suspect, and unless something drastic changes in the next seventy-two hours, she must be brought in for questioning.”