Page 42 of Desperate Justice
“Do you always carry?” she asked.
Rafe nodded. “Especially on the road.”
“The others do the same? Concealed?” She gestured with the sandwich at Sam, scrolling through his phone, and Keith and Debbie, playing with Comet.
“Always.”
Her gaze went to Sam’s bike and the shotgun holster attached to it. The chrome holster gleamed in the sunlight.
Noticing her stare, Rafe pointed. “Sam’s a deputy US Marshal. That’s a legal Remington TAC-14. Department uses short barrel shotguns for witness protection and moving witnesses.”
“Didn’t know Sam was moving a witness on this trip.”
“He’s entitled to carry protection. Open roads can be dangerous. Cops know this more than anyone else, Allison.”
A shudder raced through her. “Short barrel shotguns are easy to conceal. Guess that’s why Sam likes his, but you can see he means business by carrying it on his bike.”
“His weapon is part of him. Like mine.” Rafe patted the hidden holster on his belt.
“I don’t like guns.”
“Probably because you’ve treated too many GSWs.”
Surprised at his insight, she nodded. “Gunshot wounds are the worst, especially a high-powered gun like an AR-15. The damage is... ”
Falling silent, she drank more sports drink, her appetite vanishing. Like all those other times in the emergency room after treating victims of gun violence, trying desperately to save them and failing.
“Devastating,” he finished softly. “Vital organs shredded. Yeah, I’ve seen a few too many crime scenes. And no matter what weapons we carry, the bad guys always seem to be better armed.”
He tilted his head. “You’re an enigma, Allison Lexington. You’re a trauma nurse. You don’t like guns because you’ve seen the result of gunshot wounds, yet you ride a motorcycle.”
“That’s different. I love to ride, love the thrills and the freedom I have with being on the open road. I control the journey as best as I can and I never take risks on the road. Sometimes after my contract ends, or is terminated at a particular hospital—I work as a travel nurse—I’ll take off for a few days to see the rest of the state.”
“That can be risky for a single woman.”
He sounded almost protective.
Allison shrugged again. “I always watch my back and I carry this.”
His eyes widened as she removed the switchblade from her pocket and depressed the button. Sunlight dappling the trees winked on the six inches of steel.
Rafe laughed. “You would bring a knife to a gunfight. You think a knife is effective protection?”
“When you know what organs to hit to cause damage and then give you a chance to run, yeah.” She folded back the blade. “I wanted to get a ballistic knife, but those are illegal.”
Rafe’s expression tightened. “They can pierce a cop’s body armor. Drug dealers like them as much as guns because the blade is expelled with force up to sixteen feet away.”
“I know.” Allison swallowed hard, thinking of the case she’d treated. “Guy I had in the ER back in New York was a cop shot with one of those. A few inches lower and it would have hit his heart.”
They both fell silent for a moment, as if digesting the wrath of violence they’d both witnessed in their respective jobs. Rafe gestured to her sister.
“Does your sister know anything about what you do?”
“Diana?” She couldn’t help her slight laugh. “She’s a model. Her world is about glam and social media and being an influencer and growing her fan base.”
Rafe watched Diana, the sensuous way she flung her long hair, the sway of her hips as she walked. Her sister always commanded attention.
All those times in high school when she’d shown interest in a boy and then dared to bring him home, either to study or watch movies. Diana, her baby sister with the beautiful face and winsome ways, made the boys fall at her feet.
