Page 17 of Not Our Daughter

Burns cursed. “So he’s still on the run?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about his wife and daughter?” Davis asked.

“I don’t know. I believe they were here when I left to follow Shipley. But police officers said no one was at the house when they arrived.However, all the lights were left on inside and a water faucet was still running upstairs. They must have barely missed them.”

Burns put two and two together. “He probably lured you away from here to give his wife a clean getaway. I presume there is no car in the garage?”

“Correct. But they couldn’t have gotten too far.”

Burns glanced across the street, where a collection of neighbors had gathered to take in the scene. “You talked with any of them?”

“Not yet. But I was planning on it.”

“This is a nightmare,” Burns grunted, shaking his head. “What’s the last known location for Shipley?”

“The concert venue.”

“So he could still be hiding in that crowd?”

“Yes, sir. Police are trying to break it up. But it’s a zoo.”

Burns turned to Davis. “Get over to town ASAP with the rest of the team. See what you can find. Tell Simmons and Myers to stay here with me. We’ll begin working forensics.”

“Yes, sir. Come with me, Haskins.”

Davis rushed off to rally the others.

Burns rubbed his face in his hands, still not believing that Cole Shipley had shot and killed a police officer. It certainly didn’t fit the profile he’d created. He wondered how it had even gone down. Did Cole have a gun on him? Did the officer not immediately disarm him? Or had Cole somehow taken the officer’s own weapon away and then used it against him? That was a difficult maneuver even for a skilled military man—which Cole was not. Something didn’t feel right about it. He needed more information.

A white truck with huge mud tires sped down the street toward the house and skidded to a stop directly in front of Burns. He watched as a heavyset, gray-bearded man wearing a cowboy hat, a black Fraser Winter Park Police jacket, blue jeans, and brown boots got out. The older man stomped right over to him, looking none too pleased.

“You Burns?” he barked.

“Special Agent Mark Burns.”

“Lee Jackson, chief of police.”

Burns offered a hand, but Jackson ignored it. The man’s face was flashing red, and the veins in his forehead bulged.

“You have no idea how badly I want to take a swing at you right now, Burns,” he said through clenched teeth, his fists noticeably balled.

“I don’t understand, Chief.”

“How the hell could you not tell me a dangerous fugitive was living in my town?”

“Well, we didn’t know until earlier this afternoon.”

“And yet you still waited several hours to inform me. You didn’t trust us until it was too late. And because of that, one of my officers is dead. Shot down in cold blood by your fugitive. And that really pisses me off.”

“I just heard that news. It’s tragic.”

“It’s more than tragic. Tommy wasn’t just one of my officers—he was also my damn nephew. Kid used to ride around with me in my police truck all the time when he was young. All Tommy ever wanted was to be like his uncle.” Jackson swallowed, fighting back his emotions. “Hell, he has a young wife and twin boys at home.”

Burns grimaced. That personal note punched him hard in the gut and brought on a fresh wave of guilt. He’d made the call to wait to apprehend Cole Shipley. And now two boys would go a lifetime without their father. “Look, I’m sorry, Chief. My sincere condolences. We obviously never intended to put any of your officers in danger. We didn’t anticipate this kind of response from the man and woman we’re pursuing.”

“You anticipated wrong.”

---