Читать книгу Protective Duty - Jessica Patch R. - Страница 12

FOUR

Newton skittered across the floor and scratched at the back door. Eric wasn’t getting the location out of Bryn, not even if he took a crowbar and pried her lips open. Easing off that topic—and the topic of staying home alone—he had to focus on the present and discover who was behind this.

“He wants to go out. I’m shocked he hasn’t whizzed on the floor.” Bryn grabbed a leash from the hook by the kitchen door. “I could use some air. You?”

Eric could use some answers. “Sure. The food will keep.”

He followed Bryn out the front door, waited for her to lock it and they headed down the street. The sun had already started its descent, and Bryn shivered. “Should have brought a coat,” she said.

He shrugged off his leather jacket and took the leash while Bryn hesitated, then slipped into it. Looked good on her. Too big. But good.

She half smiled. “Thanks. It’s warm.”

“Yeah, that’s what anger will do to leather.”

“You’re mad at me?” They walked at an easy pace while Newton sniffed around mailboxes and grass.

Eric sighed. “Well, yeah. You’re keeping secrets, ignoring protocol and shutting me out. We’re partners for now, at the very least. And partners owe each other honesty.”

Bryn continued to walk and keep Newton from doing his business in the neighbors’ yards. Finally, about half a mile from the house she spoke. “We’re not partners. I’m aiding an investigation. If you want to turn me in, go ahead.”

Eric shook his head. “I don’t want to turn you in. I want...” Wanted things to be the way they used to be, but that was impossible. What was done was done. “I think it’s clear it’s the same attacker from the park. If it’s the same guy who killed our victims, though, is blurry. I have enemies, Bryn. So I’m sure you do, too. And while I don’t want to bring it up, I think I have to.”

Bryn’s cheek pulsed as she led them toward a neighborhood park in the heart of the older subdivision. “Bring what up?”

“Have you considered Rand knows you’re back in Memphis and could have set this up from inside prison?”

Bryn slowly turned her head toward Eric, utter shock on her face. “No. I don’t think my brother set this up. He has no idea that I’m in Memphis. I haven’t seen him since the trial.”

Eric winced. “I just want to cover all our bases. Any enemies who might know you’re here?”

Shaking her head, Bryn closed her eyes. “No. I’m with you, though, on the attacker being separate from the serial killer. It makes the most sense.”

“He’s treating you differently than the other victims. He didn’t strangle them. No marks at all. He never threatened them that we know of. If so, they didn’t confide in friends or family.” But then Bryn might not have confided any of this if she hadn’t been obligated because of her job. Maybe the killer had threatened them physically. No, the women were too smart to keep that hidden.

But Bryn was smart, too, and she hadn’t called the police. Eric was completely puzzled.

Newton pranced around the empty park. Not a care in his puppy world. Must be nice. Bryn picked up her pace and let his leash out farther. As her dog released his pent-up energy, she and Eric didn’t talk much.

“Okay, Newt, it’s time to go home.”

Bryn tightened the measure of leash, and they started toward the edge of the road. Headlights came into view.

“Not much traffic in this subdivision. First car I’ve seen since our walk.”

“Playground rarely has kids. I think they’ve all grown up and moved away.” Bryn and Newton made their way into the street to cross. “It’s an older neighborhood. I like the fact it’s quiet and not littered with children.” Her voice quivered on that last statement. At one time, Bryn had loved being surrounded by kids. This was new.

Headlights blinded him. Eric raised his arm over his brow. “What in the world?”

A truck’s engine roared.

Reality dawned.

The truck barreled straight for Bryn.

She turned toward it, frozen in the middle of the street.

God, help us!

“Bryn!” Eric’s body kicked into gear, and he sprinted toward her, the truck about five feet away. Diving, he threw his arms around her waist and hurled them onto the edge of the road, feeling the heat from burning headlights against his back. His heart in his throat, they rolled twice, three times into a ditch. Bryn landed on her back, Eric smack-dab on top, shielding her.

He raised his head as brake lights disappeared around the corner. No plate number. No description. Just the fact it was a big red truck.

Bryn’s breath came in warm spurts against his cheek, his nose but an inch from hers. Newton yipped, then licked her face. She hadn’t let go of that leash.

Eric smoothed the hair that clung to her chin but never made a move to lift himself from her. The feel of her breathing underneath him, the warmth of her body reminded him she was still alive. It comforted him and slowed his terrified heart rate. “You okay?” he rasped.

She stared into his eyes and nodded. “You?”

“If you are.” He pressed his forehead against hers and whispered a prayer of thanks. “Bryn, this guy isn’t playing games.” He lifted his weight from her, using his arms for fear he’d crush her, but he wasn’t ready to lose the connection—the closeness. “He knows where you live.”

“I know,” she murmured. The flash of panic morphed into soft gratitude. “Thank you. It happened so fast... If you hadn’t been...”

He brushed a thumb across her cheek. “But I was.” And he would continue to be. No matter what. As much as it pained him to break the connection emotionally and physically, they had to get out of here. The attacker could come back for round two. He stood and took her hands, helping her to her feet. “You sure you’re okay? I nailed you pretty good, I think.”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her lower back, and he noticed a few scuffs on his leather jacket. “You might have been equally as good at football. Ever thought of that?”

Smirking, he pulled his gun out just in case and took her hand with his other, warming to the fact she didn’t yank it away. “I have. And I don’t mind tackling so much.” Especially when it landed him next to her in a ditch. “But I’m not fond of being tackled.”

She laughed. “Me, either. But in this case, I’m thankful.”

“God saved us.”

“Mmm...”

Not excited about kids. Faith shaky at best. What happened? Had Abby’s murder killed Bryn’s faith, as well? Or had other things piled up? He wanted to ask, but if she wouldn’t even tell him why she’d been downtown, she wouldn’t open up about more personal feelings. Instead, he walked her home. Outside of Bryn’s house, a sleek black Lexus sat in her drive.

“Who in the world is that?”

“I don’t know.”

Eric inspected the car. No one was inside. He inched toward the front of the house; the glass door was cracked. “Someone’s in your house.”

Bryn’s lips pursed. “I don’t have my gun.”

“Then stay behind me.” Eric slowly inched the wooden door open and quietly turned the knob.

Unlocked.

“Wait,” Bryn whispered, but Eric had already stepped inside with his gun ready.

Holt McKnight stood in the living room with a piece of boneless BBQ rib in one hand and an eyebrow cocked. Eric frowned and holstered his weapon. “What are you doing?”

“I own this house. What are you doing? Put that gun down and pick up some common sense. You really think a criminal would park their ride in the driveway and enter through the front door...with keys?”

“No. But I wasn’t thinking straight since someone tried to make us roadkill just now.” Eric told him what happened, ignoring Bryn’s perpetual scowl. “And that’s my dinner you’re eating.”

Holt remained calm, skimmed Bryn from head to toe. “You hurt?” He licked BBQ sauce off his thumb as if he hadn’t been told his cousin almost died three times, but Eric didn’t miss the quiet storm brewing behind Holt’s eyes. That was Holt, though. A silent fury.

“No,” she barked. “And I don’t appreciate you talking about me as if I’m not in the room.” She bounced a glare off Eric and stormed to the kitchen.

“Fine. Just so you know, Bryn, I’m about to tell Holt that he needs to stay here with you if you won’t let me.” He turned to Holt. “If you aren’t going undercover, can you sleep over? I assume that Lexus is an undercover vehicle.”

“It is.”

Eric dared another glance at Bryn and ignored her seething expression. He’d risk his life for her, and if that meant going against her wishes, then tough.

* * *

Bryn didn’t mind Holt wolfing down her barbecued chicken or her baked beans. What she did mind was the way fear had frozen her feet to the pavement. She was FBI. Trained. Eric had prayed, but she’d also frozen at offering one up herself even though crying out to God had crossed her mind. She’d had enough rejection so she’d stayed paralyzed—her feet and heart.

This was the third time the assailant had come after her. Twice, Eric had rescued her—even if the first time was indirectly. Dr. Warner was going to assume she wasn’t capable enough to stay out in the field. At this point Bryn didn’t believe the attacker would leave her alone if she dropped the case. Why did he want her off it? That was strange. Miss High and Mighty.

Bryn was rattled. She had to keep a brave front, though. Already the men were going into protective mode, and while the woman in her warmed, the law enforcer had to stick to her guns to prove she was every bit as capable as they were. Her job was riding on this whether they realized it or not.

“I don’t need you sleeping over, Holt.” She shot a heated glance at Eric. “What happened to ‘Bryn is a big girl’?”

Eric wadded his napkin. “Bryn has been almost killed three times. Bryn needs backup.”

Holt slid his hands through his midnight-black hair and frowned. “Eric and Bryn need to stop referring to Bryn in third person.”

She went for the coffee canister by the pot, but it wasn’t there. Huh. She opened the pantry and dug around. What had she done with the coffee? Probably ought to settle for tea the way her nerves were frayed.

Eric cleared the trash from the table. “I’d sleep better if someone was here. Inside.”

She snorted. “Yeah, because this is about you and your solid eight hours of shut-eye.” Bryn rifled farther back in the pantry. Had she thrown away the canister? Too much crowding her mind. She slammed the cabinet and folded her arms over her chest.

“What are you looking for?” Eric asked and stepped out of her way. She opened the cabinet by the fridge.

“The coffee.”

“Where do you keep it?”

“By the coffeepot.” She hurried through several more cabinets, then opened the trash can. Maybe she had emptied and tossed it this morning.

Eric covered her hand. The earnestness of his touch silenced her hunt and sent a flush into her cheeks.

“Take a breath.” He placed his index finger on her temple, and a lazy grin slid across his face. “You’ve got too much rolling around in that head of yours.”

She inhaled. Exhaled. “I thought I put it on the counter before feeding Newton.”

“Where do you keep the dog food?”

“In the laundry room.”

Eric stalked from the kitchen into the laundry room near the back door. A minute later, he came out carrying the canister of coffee. “Now, let’s make sure you didn’t scoop the dog food from this canister and feed Newton coffee grounds, though I’d believe it. He runs on the hyper side.”