“No.”
“Two…”
“Detective—”
“Three.”
I expected a backhand as I swooped down, but instead, her body stilled. Slowly, I lifted her into my arms, my own back screaming at me.
She released another grunt as her body folded into my arms.
“Shhh,”I whispered. “You’re fine.”
I settled her into a cradled position against my chest, grit my teeth, and pushed away my own pain—something I’d gotten very good at over the last handful of years.
“Breathe.” I told her. And to myself.
An exhale against my chest.
“Another. Slow.”
Inhale, exhale.
“Good. I’m going to start walking now. Hang on or don’t, whatever’s most comfortable. I’ve got you.”
Her body remained as stiff as a board until we hit thehalfway mark and her weight finally released against my hold. It felt like a small victory. Her head rested against my chest.
Good girl,I thought.
A breeze caught her hair, sending spirals of silky ebony against my cheek and wafts of that same coconut smell as when I’d tackled her at the park. The scent had me visualizing the sun resting on the ocean’s horizon and waves crashing against my toes. Her sitting next to me.
Us, together.
How long had it been since I’d taken a vacation, I wondered?
Hell, how long since I’d taken a single day off work?
… How long since the scent of a woman’s hair had me considering it?
We were halfway to the town’s square when the hum of an engine pulled my attention behind us. Shifting Sunny’s weight so my left arm could grab my gun if needed, I refocused my senses to my peripheral. The car slowed. I glanced over my shoulder just as Darby drove by, rubbernecking from the driver’s seat of his patrol car.
Dammit.
There I was, cradling Sunny Harper like a new bride.
Of all the freaking times for this kid to take an interest in the safety of Main Street. Our eyes met for a brief second before he disappeared downhill, and I had no doubt the entire station would know about Sunny’s “ride” by morning.
So be it.
The night was just beginning to lighten by the time we reached the park. I wasn’t sure if Sunny had fallen asleep, so I gave my best guess on where she’d parked. I knew it wasn’t where Colson and I had entered, and I remembered her saying she was about a mile into her jog before the attack, somy best bet was the north entrance. I pivoted and stepped onto a shortcut through the woods where I picked up the jogging trail a few yards in. I didn’t like that my gun hand wasn’t free. Keeping my head on a swivel, I scanned the woods as we passed through. The lampposts did a terrible job of illuminating more than a few feet, and, Sunny was right, there were pitch-black spots in-between. Dark enough to shade anyone’s face. There was also enough underbrush to hide an elephant. I recalled the debate years earlier between the cowboys and local conservationist about clearing the shrubbery in City Park. The hippies didn’t want “man” to touch the nature. The cowboys wanted it cleaned up. In the end, the hippies won after a three-day protest.
I replayed Sunny’s description of the attack in my head. There was no question someone could hide along the trail, so that part added up. But why was the pastor’s kid hanging out at the park at midnight? Why attack a lone jogger? Why Sunny? Or, had he followed her? Did the pastor’s son have something against Sunny? And who was this third person? It couldn’t have been an accomplice of Julian Griggs, because why would his accomplice shoot him in the face?
… Assuming Sunny’s story was true, of course.
The crime scene photos from her attack in Dallas flashed through my head. Holes in the walls. Bruises on her face. Clumps of her hair along the blood-speckled sink.
My grip tightened around her. She pressed deeper against the squeeze, and that same protectiveness that I felt when seeing the photos for the first time came over me again. Intense. Raw. Visceral. What I imagine a father feeling over his daughter.
