Page 29 of On the Chase
The reminder that his truck had exploded—and thathe’dalmost been inside it when it had—made Grace choke with remorse. That had to have been her fault, too. There was no way it was a coincidence. After all, Hugh was a good-natured cop—and an injured one, at that. Who would want to hurt him? Maybe Martin had seen them together. It could be a warning to Grace, or he’d wanted to hurt her by killing Hugh, or…who knew what. All Grace knew was that Martin Jovanovic wanted her dead. If bombs and guns were going off in this sleepy town, odds were that she was the target.
“No.” After working so hard to keep her mouth shut, to sell the story of Grace Robinson, most recently from Bangor, Maine, it was painfully difficult to tell him the truth. “I’m…”
Sirens interrupted her, reminding her that the dispatcher was still on speaker and that it was probably not the best time for a confession—especially since someone wasshootingat them. She would tell him as soon as they were safe. Her messy, dangerous life was threatening Hugh, and he deserved to know what was going on. He couldn’t protect himself if he didn’t know who was gunning for him…literally.
She followed Hugh’s gaze to the building across the street from the VFW. The sun reflected off the windows on the second floor, hiding whatever—or whoever—was inside. Someone could be watching them right now, or even aiming a gun at them, ready to take a second shot, one that wouldn’t miss this time. With a shudder, Grace crouched lower behind the dubious safety of her car, even as she imagined a bullet passing right through the Subaru and into her or Hugh’s vulnerable body.
The sirens got louder, and then went silent, replaced by the sounds of slamming doors and urgent commands.
“Officers are on scene.” The dispatcher’s voice made Grace jump and almost drop the phone. “I’ll let you know when they give the all clear.”
“Copy,” Hugh responded, still staring at the building across the street. “Tell them to check the offices above the laundromat. I’m pretty sure the shot came from the center window.”
“Copy.”
The phone went silent again. From Grace’s position, she couldn’t see what was happening, and her feet were falling asleep. When she tried to stand slightly to peek through the car windows, Hugh tightened his arm around her, keeping her in that low, crouched position. Not knowing what was happening was driving her crazy, so she decided to settle for secondhand information.
Twisting her head to look at Hugh, she asked, “What’s going on over there?”
“They’re searching the building.” Even though his voice sounded more relaxed than it had a few minutes earlier, he kept scanning the area around them, and he didn’t put away his gun. “Doubt they’re going to find the shooter, though. I’m guessing he ran right after he took the shot.”
“He’s gone? Then why can’t I look?”
“Just be patient. They’re almost done.” His hold relaxed as Hugh reached up and patted her on the head. Her mouth dropped open. He actuallypattedher on thehead. Like she was an obedient toddler or a puppy who’d learned to sit on command. After the all clear, she was so going to punch him. Hard. In his stupid, too-appealing face.
Then she remembered that this whole thing was her fault, and that he’d almost gotten a bullet in his stupid, too-appealing face, and all of her righteous indignation drained out of her. “Hugh…”
Something in her voice must have caught his attention, because he interrupted his scan of the street and actually looked at her.
“I know who he is. The shooter.”
“You saw him? Did you recognize him? Can you describe him?” The rapid-fire questions made Grace flinch, and Hugh visibly forced himself to calm. “Sorry about that. I just really want to get this guy.” His arm tightened around her shoulders, and he stared at her for a long moment before turning his attention back to the building. When he spoke again, it was in his normal, jokey tone. “I really loved that truck he blew up.”
Grace would’ve felt slighted if he didn’t have her snugged tight against him as if he were afraid to let her go. “It might not be him. I don’t think he does his own dirty work,” she said, aware that the words weren’t coming out in a logical, understandable way. Everything that had just happened—the kiss, the gunshot, Hugh’s side hug, her realization that she was the cause of them almost dying—was muddling her brain. She just wanted to go home, lock her bedroom door, and pull a pillow over her head. Either that, or burst into tears.
“It might not be who?” Hugh spared her a quick glance before scanning the lot again. “Are you thinking your ex is responsible? Because this doesn’t have an angry-boyfriend feel to it. That’s more direct confrontation and punching, not blowing up beloved trucks and taking aim from an upstairs window. I’m pretty sure this is work-related—on my side, not yours. Not that there aren’t unbalanced dog owners, but the likelihood—”
“Hugh!” Grace interrupted, pinching his side. To her annoyance—and grudging fascination—there was nothing to grab. He was as hard and unpinchable as a rock. “Would you shut up for five seconds and let me get this out?”
“Only if you quit pinching me.” Although he twisted away from her hand, he kept his arm locked protectively around her, so he wasn’t able to get far. “Don’t you think we’ve seen enough violence today?”
If he hadn’t been holding a gun, and if she hadn’t been reluctant to lose the comfort of his warm body, Grace would’ve shoved him, hard. “It’s like you’re physically incapable of being quiet for five seconds. Oh my freaking God, I’ve known kindergartners with untreated ADHD who are better listeners than you.”
“That’s a bit harsh—”
This time, it wasn’t Grace who interrupted him.
“Would you knock this shit off?” Theo demanded, stomping around to their side of the car with his K9 partner, Viggy, next to him.
A little abashed, Grace turned toward him. “Sorry. I forgot what was happening. It’s just that he would not stop talking.”
“What? No.” The grooves in Theo’s forehead deepened along with his frown as he glared at Hugh, who let her go as he straightened to his full height. “I wasn’t talking about that. You need to figure out who you’ve pissed off so we can go take them down. I’m sick of this near-death bullshit.”
The dispatcher cleared her throat over the phone. “All clear.” She sounded as if she was trying not to laugh. “I’m going to disconnect the call now.”
“Thank you,” Grace said absently, standing up. She couldn’t stop looking at the building across the street, feeling vulnerable without the car between her and the spot where the shooter had been. Her feet prickled painfully as blood rushed back into them, and she put her hand on the car to catch her balance. Hugh reached out as if to steady her, but then he hesitated and withdrew his hand. She missed his comforting touch, but, now that the immediate danger had passed, she knew she had to stand on her own two feet again.
Hugh holstered his gun, although he still was glancing warily around them, as if he hadn’t accepted that the threat was over. “Tell me about it. This is getting old. Grace was almost hit just now.” There was an un-Hugh-like growl in his last words, and she raised her eyebrows, surprised. He caught her gaze and then cleared his throat. His voice came out lighter. “And I really did like that truck.”
