“Could be. If so, they chose a crazy location. Officers and deputies are in and out of here all the time.”
Like all the time. Going to the morgue. Picking up or delivering forensics. Dev being one of them. Okay fine. He was a retired deputy and didn’t come here as often anymore, but he was still carrying and wasn’t going to walk away from an active shooter scenario.
“Regardless, I’ll have units there in a minute,” LT said. “Stay put and don’t try to be a hero. You stand down.”
No way.“You know I can’t do that. There could be someone injured back there. Bleeding out and needing my help.”
“It’s not like you can help them if you’re injured yourself. If we have a concealed shooter, that could happen.”
“I’ll just have to take the chance.” Dev rounded the corner. Took cover behind a soaring maple tree. Assessed the situation.
One car. A small white Honda Civic. The back door open. Glass shattered. No movement.
A bullet sliced through the cool October air and struck the front tire. Another one followed, blasting into the back door, the concussive force sounding like a sharp ping.
Dev turned his attention to the call with his former lieutenant. “There’s one car. Shooter is aiming at it and not just taking random shots.”
He itched to go after the shooter on the far side of the lot and stop him. No, as a former law enforcement officer, his duty was to protect innocent lives at all costs. That meant anyone in the car. Check to see if they needed his help.
“I’ll relay that to the responding officers,” LT said.
“You’ll find me at the car. Be sure the deputies know I’m not the shooter.” Dev ended his call and shoved his phone into his pocket.
He slipped behind the trees. Moving from one to another. His footfalls silent on the grass. Trying to travel with speed so he wasn’t spotted. He came parallel to the car. A body lay on the backseat, unmoving.
He opened his mouth to call out.Stop.Don’t alert the shooter to his presence. Better to be a surprise. He dropped to his knees. Crawled across the grass to the concrete, the change in ground sharp and irritating. He reached the door. A woman, at least according to the spiky heeled shoes and tight jeans fitting slender legs.
He reached in and tapped her leg. “Are you okay?”
She whipped over, gun in hand. “Get away from me or I will shoot. I mean—oh—Dev. Is that you? What are you doing here?”
He blinked at her. Blinked again. Couldn’t be. “Kinsley?”
She lowered her weapon. “Yeah. I’m trying to get my vest on, then I was going to call 911. There hasn’t been a shot in a while. Is he still out there?”
As if the shooter heard her question, another bullet pierced the front door of the vehicle. Kinsley cringed and rolled into a ball. Dev wasn’t going to stand by while a bullet pierced that door and killed her.
He dove into the car and pulled her out, curling her into his body and putting his back to the shooter. Any bullet would have to pass through him before finding her.
“What are you doing?” She looked up at him.
“Taking you out of the line of fire,” he said and checked their surroundings to make sure she wasn’t vulnerable. “Was there anyone with you or are you alone?”
“Alone.”
“Then we wait here for deputies to arrive. I called my old lieutenant. Should be here any time. I can already hear the sirens in the distance.”
He expected her to struggle, but she remained curled in his arms. Soft. Warm. Smelling of peaches as she had for years.
Stop. Someone is shooting at you, and you’re thinking about how wonderful it feels to hold her. Priorities, man!
Even if keeping her safe wasn’t at the top of his mind, nothing had changed in the many years he’d known her. She was still his little sister’s best friend. His vow still held true. He’d promised his sister, Jada, never to get romantically involved with Kinsley. Others might not understand why he kept such a promise, but their dad died unexpectedly when she was only six years old. Years passed after that when she refused to do much or make friends. Until Kinsley came along, and they somehow connected. He would never risk Jada losing the friend that helped her get over such a loss.
He searched for something to say to keep him on task. “Since when did you start wearing a Kevlar vest? I didn’t think it was standard operating procedure for a forensic engineer.”
“It’s not.” She focused those big, luminous eyes on him, a grayish blue that almost looked green at times. “But you remember a couple of years ago when there was a shooter on a construction site and they never found him?”
“Yeah, he wounded like five people, right?”
