Protective Duty. Jessica R. Patch

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СКАЧАТЬ He knelt. “What happened?” Her bottom lip quivered, and her eyes appeared glassy. “Bryn, talk to me.”

      “That...way. He went that way.” She pointed.

      He hesitated.

      “Go. Don’t worry about me.”

      How could he not with her face paler than snow and trembling hands? A mix of fear and utter rage pulsed through Eric’s veins. Someone had laid a hand on her. Hurt her. God had protected her, though. Two things Eric had never ceased doing: thinking about Bryn and praying for her. Looked like God had been listening.

      “Go...you’ll lose him.”

      Eric touched her cheek, then bolted in the direction of the shadow, radioing backup to help canvass the area and letting them know an officer needed medical attention. Weaving between trees, he followed the sound of footsteps that led up a hill and onto the highway.

      No one. Where had he disappeared to? He searched the area for a few more minutes. Pulse pounding in his ears, heart hammering, he raced back to Bryn and dropped to his knees at her side. “What happened? Other than you refused medical treatment.” First responders were leaving the area.

      “I didn’t refuse. I politely declined to go to the hospital.” She removed her hand from her forehead; a streak of blood trailed down her temple and cheek. “It’s a minor abrasion.”

      It didn’t look minor, but there was no point arguing. “The attacker? What happened?” Eric huffed.

      “One minute I was picking up a scarf and then out of nowhere...” With shaking hands, she stared at the blood on her fingertips. “I’m... I’m okay, though. I fought.” Bryn squeezed her eyes shut, and everything in Eric screamed to gather her close to him, assure her that she was safe. But he couldn’t. Instead, he laid a hand on her cheek.

      She stood up and winced. “Must have been the killer.”

      The thought of what could have gone down, and only a few feet away from his protection, was more than he could stomach. Better to make light than fall apart right here and now. “Or someone who really doesn’t like you,” he teased in a shaky voice.

      “Har. Har.” She crossed to the left, bent, then retrieved her gun and holstered it.

      “He got your gun?” A thump formed behind his right eye. A guy this crazy could have shot her. Killed her!

      She nodded. The expression on her face told him to tread lightly, and behind her narrowed eyes pumped raw fear.

      “Promise you at least let them check you out before sending them away?” He focused the beam on her injury. “You might have a concussion.”

      “Eric, I’m okay.” She paused, and friendliness coupled with sadness accompanied her half smile. “Thank you, though, for repeatedly asking.” She wobbled a bit, and he grabbed her upper arm to help balance her, the nearness overwhelming him. The scent of oranges was dizzying in an oh-so-good way.

      “So you think it was the killer? Out here watching?”

      “Who else would it be?”

      Now that Eric wasn’t scared out of his mind, that was a good question. The fact Bryn was back in Memphis where so many tragic things had transpired might mean she was running from something—or someone—in Ohio. “You tell me.”

      She paused again and peered up at him. Confusion clouded her eyes. “What do you mean?”

      “I don’t know.” He swallowed. “Why are you back? Why here of all places?”

      Squinting, she studied him until he wanted to shift his feet. “I know I’m the last person you want to see—”

      “I didn’t say that.” He had mixed emotions about seeing her.

      “You didn’t have to.” She rubbed her temple. “I don’t know who it was. I can only assume the killer. I don’t have any answers right now. I haven’t even had time to look at the case files.”

      Fine. “He say anything? You get a solid look at him?”

      Bryn shook her head. “Got me from behind and put me in an iron headlock. I tried every defense I knew—”

      “Even the whistle?” He couldn’t help but chuckle. In college, Bryn had carried a shiny silver one on her key ring. Once she’d blown it in his ear. He might have deserved it. She’d always been a hothead. He’d always liked that about her.

      She grimaced. “No, not the whistle. Not like I would’ve had the breath to let out more than a faint tweet.”

      “I thought you could go like twenty minutes without breathing.” Bryn had been a stellar swimmer back in the day.

      “Eight, and that’s after being pumped with oxygen for thirty minutes and hydrating well. Besides, you can’t blow a whistle without air.” She tossed him the “duh” look. “Maybe they need to check your head.”

      He hid his grin. Bryn hadn’t lost her feisty tongue. She might not have a concussion after all. “Back to the guy.”

      “He was tall,” she said. “Over six feet. Beard—scraped against my cheek. A fairly full one. Steel-toed boots, so he might be a blue-collar worker. And he had a tribal tattoo on his hand. I think I can draw it.”

      “Way to observe, Sherlock.”

      “Thought I was Marco.” Her lips twitched. “How about plain old Bryn?”

      There was nothing plain about Bryn. Never had been. She stormed up ahead of him, but he spied the tremor in her hand before she shoved it inside her coat pocket.

      Eric caught up with her at the crime scene. He put a few techs on the area surrounding Bryn’s encounter. Maybe he left a shoe impression. A cigarette butt. An address and phone number tacked to a tree with an arrow.

      Bryn picked leaves from her hair and put on a brave front. He’d known her long enough to know when she was hurt. Known her since he and her cousin Holt McKnight were in the Academy together. She was in high school. Too young for him. Until she turned nineteen, and he made his move. Two years together after that, heading straight for the altar and forever. If Rand hadn’t heinously intervened.

      “What do you have so far?” Bryn asked.

      All business. Trying to pretend she hadn’t almost been killed with dozens of officers nearby. This guy was either a complete idiot or entirely too confident in himself. Both were dangerous attributes. But he’d run down the trail with her. She might need a few minutes to collect herself. Focusing on the dead victim—not the living one staring straight at him with eyes that had always unraveled him—would help. God, thank You again for protecting her.

      “I only got here fifteen minutes before you.” He stared at the victim. “I’m not a fan of morning TV.”

      “Because you aren’t up.” Bryn snorted and shoved her other hand in her windbreaker pocket. “Wind’s gonna kill us. We better get while the gettin’s good or we could lose evidence.”

      “Yup.” Eric wasn’t СКАЧАТЬ