“No.” The word came out softer than she intended. “I haven't... there hasn't been anyone. Not since.”
He released a breath, and Peyton nearly swore she saw relief crease his features, but then he deliberately straightened his shoulders, as if physically reinforcing whatever internal walls were threatening to crumble. The quiet that followed felt loaded, like they were treading too close to forbidden territory. There was so much Peyton wanted to say, so much she wanted to explain, but Dawson’s rigid posture stopped her. He’d asked her to table the discussion until the case was over. She needed to respect that request.
Peyton turned toward the windshield and put the conversation back in neutral territory. “Where to now?”
“The police station. Chief Garcia is putting together a task force, and he invited us to join them. We can update everyone on what we learned from Sandra.”
“Sounds good.” Peyton glanced at the sideview mirror. She stiffened. “Dawson…we may have a problem. White van, three cars back. He’s driving like a maniac.”
As if he was trying to catch up to them. Even as she turned around to look out the back window, the van swerved past a sedan and sped up. The driver’s side window rolled down, and instantly, she knew what was about to happen.
“Gun!”
NINE
Dawson’s stomach dropped, and he hit the gas just as a spray of bullets slammed into his SUV. He instinctively ducked low. Glass shattered. Frigid air rushed in, icing his fingers. Time seemed to slow as his brain assessed everything in a fraction of a second. Peyton, crouched low in the passenger seat. A box-store truck lumbering in the slow lane in front of them, and a family-sized sedan half a mile ahead. He imagined a mom and kids, just returning home from school or on their way to soccer practice.
Innocent civilians.
The van surged closer.
“Hold on!” Dawson jerked the wheel to the left, cutting across a lane. A horn blared. The white van with the business logo on the side slowed slightly before swinging into their lane, filling the rearview mirror. Two figures were visible inside. The barrel of an assault rifle emerged from the open passenger-side window. Dawson weaved in the lane in a desperate attempt to make them harder to hit. “Stay down!”
Bullets thunked against the metal. Something whispered past his head a second before the windshield splintered, creating a spiderweb that made visibility difficult. Dawson continued toswerve within his lane. His attention was split between the van and the other vehicles on the road. The last thing he wanted was to endanger more people by causing an accident, but he feared it might be impossible to prevent one.
God, I need Your help.The prayer was automatic and instinctive. Dawson was wise enough to know there was only so much within his control.Protect us and the others on the road with us.
The second the bullets stopped, Peyton popped out of her crouch, gun in hand. She twisted in her seat and returned fire.
The van backed off.
“Good work.” Dawson wasted no time grabbing his radio. He pressed the button and started firing off information only to belatedly realize the instrument had been damaged in the gunfire. He tossed the handset down. The van surged forward again. “Peyton, call dispatch.”
Dawson couldn’t drive at these reckless speeds while fishing his cell phone from his pocket. Peyton swiveled in her seat again, fired off a couple of rounds, and then ducked low. Seconds later, she was shouting to be heard over the wind tunnel created by the shattered windows. Dawson cut into the next lane to avoid a slow-moving Lincoln. He weaved and bobbed through traffic, trying desperately to keep a distance between them and the white van. But the assailants dogged them.
He had to lose them. Before someone ended up dead.
Slipping into the far-left lane, he made a desperate plan. “Peyton, hold on.” Gritting his teeth, he surged forward, increasing his speed far beyond the limit. Three lanes of traffic. His brain calculated the distance between vehicles in the other lane. As the exit sign loomed large, at the last second, he jerked his wheel across multiple lanes of traffic and sailed down the ramp to the feeder.
The van raced past them, overshooting the exit.
Dawson breathed a small sigh of relief. Sirens wailed in the distance. Backup was on the way. He hoped they’d be able to intercept the van, but he wouldn’t take any chances. He barely tapped the brakes as he turned onto the road leading into town.
Peyton grabbed the dash. Her hair flew around her face. “Where are we going? They’re getting away.”
“My priority is protecting you.” Dawson gripped the steering wheel, unwilling to even consider how close he’d just come to losing her. “You hurt?”
“No.”
He sailed through a yellow light and spun into the parking lot of the Knoxville Police Department before circling to the rear of the squat, red-brick building. Jax, gun in hand, waited at the door. Dawson slammed on the brakes, shoved the vehicle into Park, and bolted out of the driver’s seat. By the time he’d crossed to Peyton’s side, his buddy already had her out of the vehicle and was hustling her toward the safety of the building.
Dawson followed, casting a last glance at his vehicle. It was destroyed. Busted windows, dented metal. The attack couldn’t have lasted over two minutes, but there was no doubt they’d barely escaped with their lives. “Thank you, God.”
He let the door slam shut behind him. The sounds of voices and phones ringing echoed down the hall from the bullpen. News of the shooting would spread quickly. Dawson hurried to the nearest conference room. Peyton emerged just as he reached it, bumping straight into him, worry etched on her features. “Call your parents to check on Grace. Make sure she’s okay.”
“I’ve already sent an officer to the house,” Jax added. “But he hasn’t arrived yet.”
The baby! How could he have forgotten about her! Dawson dialed his father’s cell. Raymond answered on the first ring and assured him Grace was fine, currently nestled in his arms. Dawson shared the information with Peyton, and she saggedagainst the closest chair. Still on the phone with his father, he moved forward automatically and guided her into the seat. “There’s been an incident. Peyton and I are okay, but I need you to stick close to Mom and Grace. An officer is en route to the house.”
