Chapter 7

There was a Grace Robinson in Bangor, Maine. Apparently, she had a little shoplifting problem.

“Got you,” Hugh muttered, clicking on the link to bring up the first of several mug shots. He leaned forward as the computer hesitated, humming as it uploaded the picture. When the photo appeared on the screen, however, he slumped back. This Ms. Robinson was at least forty-five years older than his Grace. Wait. His Grace?

He pushed the thought out of his head.

Instead, he ran another check, but there were no other Grace Robinsons in Bangor—at least, none that had any reason to be listed in the police database. He widened his search to include the whole county. Except for the sticky-fingered senior citizen, he had no other hits.

Lexi shifted next to him, resting her head right above his knee. He gave her a quick rub behind her ears and then tried a few different search combinations. When Hugh’s focus stayed on the computer screen, Lexi started to whine.

“I know, Lex.” He gave the dog a sympathetic glance, aware that she was as bored as he was with their enforced inactivity. “Maybe we can go give Otto a hand at one of his calls later. It’s possible that someone will run when they see us, and then you can catch them. That would be fun, right?”

Lexi sat up straight, already vibrating with anticipation from her pricked ears to her thumping tail.

“No.”

Hugh jerked in surprise at Otto’s voice, and then braced himself as a wave of agony bolted through his thigh at the sudden movement. “Hey, Otto.” Although he tried to sound casual, Hugh knew he was breathless from the pain. “What’s up? Lexi and I were just discussing you. About how you’re our favorite cop pretty much in the history of the universe.”

Instead of answering, Otto just walked over to look at the computer screen. Trying to act casual, Hugh exited out of his most recent search, hitting the escape key until he was back at the home page. Only then did he look up at Otto. Way up.

“How’d you sneak in here without me hearing you? You’re so tall, but you move so quietly. It’s like you’re a cross between Paul Bunyan and a ninja.” When Otto narrowed his eyes, looking more annoyed than he usually ever got, Hugh raised his hands and plastered on his most innocent expression. “A Bunja. Or a Ninyan?”

Otto’s stone-faced stare didn’t falter. “You can’t be here. If LT sees you…”

The idea made Hugh wince, but he forced a shrug. “Don’t worry. Lex and I are in stealth mode. Besides, it’s three in the morning. The lieutenant’s fast asleep. Unless there’s a monster of a call, he won’t be wandering in here until eight—actually, five after eight, since he’ll get coffee first.”

Closing his eyes for a second, Otto looked as if he was in pain, too. When he finally opened them, he fixed his glare on Hugh. “You will go home. You will stay there for the next sixteen days. You will not show up on any of my calls.”

With a noncommittal hum, Hugh decided that a subject change was in order. “Hypothetically, if I were to bring you a set of prints, would you send them to the state lab for processing for me?” At their next Tattered Hearts viewing, he’d snag Grace’s glass or popcorn bowl or something he could lift prints from.

Even as he thought that, a tickle of guilt made him itchy. Watching the soap with Grace had been fun. Sitting so close to her on the couch, laughing at the cheesy parts, gasping at the shocking parts had made his favorite show so much better. He couldn’t get involved with her, though. The woman was obviously trouble. He just had to ignore the urge he felt every time she looked at him with those gorgeous, scared eyes—the need to protect her, to comfort her, to take away that terrified look and make her laugh…or want to smack him. Any reaction was fine, as long as it distracted her from whatever made her so frightened.

Otto cleared his throat, bringing Hugh back to the reality of his partner’s deadly glare.

“From the angry eyes, I’m guessing the hypothetical answer to my hypothetical question would be no?” He’d have to hit up Theo instead.

To Hugh’s surprise, the scowl disappeared. Otto’s face smoothed into an expressionless mask as he crossed his thick arms over his chest. “Hypothetically,” Otto said in an even tone, “if I shoot you in the other leg, will you finally stay home?”

Okay, so the blank face and the calm voice were misleading. Otto was pissed.

“Fine,” Hugh grumbled, logging off the computer and shutting it down. “I’m going home. But if I die of utter boredom, then it’s on your conscience.”

Otto didn’t look too concerned about future guilt. Instead, he turned abruptly, crossed to the door, and opened it just enough to stick his head into the hall. Taking advantage of Otto’s distraction, Hugh used the opportunity to stand, knowing that he couldn’t hide how much it hurt to do so.

“Hallway’s clear,” Otto said in a low grumble, standing aside to let Hugh walk into the hallway.

A flash of gratitude took Hugh by surprise. He was lucky to have Otto and Theo and Lexi. His partners had risked their lives to carry him to safety after he’d been shot. If he was honest, Hugh knew that he’d be just as big of a nagging grandma if either Otto or Theo had been the ones injured. In fact, he had been just as bad to Theo after their fellow K9 officer, Don Baker, had committed suicide the previous summer. Although everyone in the department had mourned, Theo had been hit the hardest. He’d retreated into himself and turned off every emotion except for anger. Hugh would rather get shot in his other leg than watch Theo go through that again. He’d rather get shot anywhere than see his friends hurting at all.

As he passed, Hugh squeezed Otto’s massive shoulder. “Thanks, Otto.”

Except for a slight tip of his head in acknowledgment, Otto stayed silent. With Lexi at his side, Hugh strolled down the hall to the stairway. Only when the heavy fire door thumped closed behind him did he allow himself to limp heavily. The first step down almost brought him to his knees. As much as he hated to admit it, he’d been overusing his leg, and now he was paying for it. Using the railings, he balanced on his good leg and swung down four steps at a time until he reached the door to the parking lot. His key fob for the parking garage had been confiscated by the lieutenant, so he’d been forced to park in the public lot and go through the lobby. Luckily, the desk sergeant had let him pass after inquiring about his leg. Apparently, she hadn’t known about the station-wide Hugh ban…yet.

Hooking Lexi’s leash to the first ring on her harness—the one that meant they weren’t working or tracking—Hugh pressed the door’s release bar and stepped into the chilly mountain night. As they walked toward his truck, he tipped his head back. Despite the sodium lights illuminating the lot, the stars were bright. The moon was just a sliver, but it stood out sharply against the deep black of the sky. The color reminded him of Grace’s hair.

The sappiness of that image ripped him out of his thoughts, and he faced forward, focusing on his pickup. There were only a few other cars dotted around the lot. After six years on the force, plus a lifetime in Monroe, the station parking lot was a familiar, comfortable place. Tonight, however, it looked different…foreign.

The ever-present wind was sliding half of a Styrofoam takeout container across the asphalt, making a scratchy sound as the box skidded beneath a car. Despite the lights, the shadows were deep, giving plenty of cover to whoever needed it. Hugh’s skin prickled with that same feeling of being watched, and he held back a grunt of frustration. Why was he being so paranoid? No one was there.

He was almost sure of it.

It took a great effort to keep his steps measured—and an even greater one to keep them even. He didn’t want to hurry to the truck, though, any more than he wanted to limp and show weakness to whoever was lurking out there. Even Lexi seemed infected by his mood. Her ears swiveled like satellite dishes, trying to pick up the faintest sound.

As they drew close to the truck, he dug his keys out of his pocket—but when he pulled them out, his fingers fumbled, and he dropped them. They hit the pavement with a discordant jangle that sounded too loud in the sudden stillness. Even the wind seemed to be holding its breath.

With a huff of annoyance, Hugh bent to pick up the keys, extending his bad leg to the side in an awkward pose he was glad no one was there to witness. As he rose, keys in hand, Lexi started to bark.

It wasn’t her normal bark. There was a frantic, almost shrill edge to her yelps. Bunching her hindquarters under her, Lexi turned and bolted.

Within a second, she hit the end of the leash. Already off-balance, Hugh stumbled along behind her for several steps. When his startled brain began working again, he stopped, turning his head to look behind him, searching for whatever had spooked Lexi worse than he’d ever seen before.

All he saw were shadows before another jerk on the leash pulled him forward. He quit hesitating and started to run behind her. His confident—almost overconfident—K9 partner was so terrified that she was dragging him along at the end of her leash. If there was something so bad that it made Lexi bolt, then he should probably follow suit.

Before they reached the edge of the lot, there was a bright flash and a thump so loud that it echoed through his whole body. He went airborne as the night lit up around him. There were crashing sounds and a chorus of car alarms, but they were all muffled, as if his head was buried in a pillow.

Hugh hit the ground hard, his skull bouncing painfully off the pavement. His vision spun, the white light from earlier fading into darker oranges and reds. Confused, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, hardly even feeling the gravel that dug into his arms. He squinted, trying to focus his blurry, shifting vision. A pickup was on fire.

His pickup was on fire.

Fragmented thoughts filled his mind, and he tried to tie them together into some sort of coherent string. He needed to have Dispatch call Fire. What had just happened? He’d been looking into Grace’s background. Beautiful, scared Grace… Focus! Otto had sent him home. He’d been walking out to his truck with Lexi…

“Lexi!” he yelled, and his voice echoed strangely in his head. He twisted, trying to come to his hands and knees, but his balance was off, and his thigh refused to support him, sliding out to the side when he attempted to pull his knees under him. “Lexi!”

A cold nose touched the side of his neck, and he turned toward his K9 partner, sliding shaking hands into her ruff.

“You okay, sweetie?” he crooned, his voice rough with smoke inhalation and emotion. Sliding his hands over her, he checked for any injuries, but she didn’t seem to flinch from his touch. Instead, Lexi leaned into him, her weight throwing him off-balance. Unable to catch himself in time, he toppled onto his back.

The stars, hazy from smoke, seemed to squiggle in random patterns that made his head start to throb. He was suddenly so cold. Hugh felt a shaking Lexi pressed against his side, and he welcomed her warmth.

Suddenly, Otto’s face was there, blocking the stars. His mouth was moving, but Hugh couldn’t make sense of any of his words. Otto looked scared, though, more scared than Hugh’d ever seen him look before. Vaguely, he knew that he needed to tell Otto what was happening. What was happening? Oh right. Now he remembered.

“Some asshole blew up my truck,” Hugh slurred, and then there was blackness.

* * *

“Seriously?” Now that the light wasn’t stabbing knives into his eyeballs anymore, Hugh allowed them to open wider. “Didn’t I just get out of this place?”

“Yes.” Theo looked pissed—more pissed than Hugh had ever seen him, and that was saying something. His partner was an angry guy. “You did.”

Hugh shifted, wanting to sit up, but simultaneous jolts of pain from his leg and his head made him suck in a harsh breath and freeze. If moving hurt that much, then he would just stay very still.

A silent Otto stepped forward and pushed a button so the bed rose, tilting Hugh into a more upright position. Hugh thanked him, hating the rough sound of his voice. Without responding, Otto offered him a cup with a straw, and Hugh took a drink.

Shifting back, hiding a wince at the throbbing in his skull, the earlier events shuffled into place, and he sat bolt upright again. This time, he ignored the pain. “Lexi!”

“She’ll be fine,” Otto said, gently pressing him back with a hand to Hugh’s shoulder. “Dr. Hellman has her.”

Ignoring his partner’s attempts to calm him, Hugh barked, “If she’s fine, why’s she at the vet?”

“For observation.” Theo’s voice was almost a snap. His bedside manner was a little rougher than Otto’s. “She’s got some bruising and is nicked up, but only one cut was big enough for staples.” When Hugh started surging against Otto’s hand again, Theo clarified. “Three. Just three staples. So quit Hulk-ing out.”

Hugh gave him a hard stare, trying to determine whether Theo was softening the truth, but Theo just met him glare for glare. Subsiding against the bed, Hugh asked, “What the hell happened?”

“Someone put a bomb on your truck, blowing it—and almost you and Lexi—into fucking tiny pieces.” That was Theo, as blunt as possible. It was a relief, though, not to have to pry the details out of someone who thought Hugh was too weak or injured to handle them.

Then the meaning of Theo’s words actually hit Hugh. The explosion had been intentional. Someone had tried to kill him.

“Shit.”

Otto snorted. Apparently, he trusted that Hugh wasn’t going to try to run to Dr. Hellman’s to check on Lexi, because he dropped his hand and pulled a chair up to the bed, settling his bulk into it. There was a second chair, but both he and Hugh knew that Theo would never sit. In fact, just standing still was an achievement. Watching Theo practically vibrate with tension, Hugh figured his partner would start pacing at any second. Three…two…one…

Pivoting, Theo took three choppy strides toward the door before turning around and stomping back to the bed. Hugh had to hold back a smile before reality hit again, wiping his expression free of humor. He wondered if his inability to think in a straight line was a symptom of his concussion. He wondered if even wondering about that when his truck had just exploded proved the theory. When he shifted, an unexpected bolt of agony shot from his thigh, and he couldn’t hold back a grunt of pain.

Otto leaned forward again so he could point. “Push this button for pain meds.”

“Forget it.” Hugh didn’t even look where Otto was indicating. “I’ll be fine. Pain meds make me puke.”

“Just push it.”

“No.”

“Then I will.”

“Don’t—” He reached to knock Otto’s hand away, but it was too late. Hugh glared at Otto’s defiantly smug expression and fought back the urge to yell at him. The big lug was concerned about him, and Hugh would probably—okay, definitely—do the same in Otto’s place. Hugh gave his partner a final scowl and then refocused on the explosion that had put him in here.

“Who?” he asked, knowing that he’d skipped a few questions in between, but Otto and Theo would follow his train of thought. His parked truck wouldn’t have exploded on its own. Someone had to have helped it along.

“Who has a grudge against the MPD and plays with bombs?” Theo asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm. Hugh didn’t take it personally. Anger was pretty much Theo’s default emotion when he felt scared or sad or helpless. Hugh’s multiple trips to the hospital had to be messing with both Theo’s and Otto’s heads.

Once again, he forced himself to focus his straying thoughts. After all, it was important to figure out who had tried to blow him—and Lexi—into pieces. “Gordon Schwartz? You think he’s still around after skipping bail?”

“Probably holed up in his militia compound,” Otto said, stretching his feet in front of him. Although he looked relaxed, Hugh knew he was just as frantic about what had happened as Theo. The two men just displayed it differently.

Focus, Hugh ordered his brain, which sent a zigzagging spear of pain through his head in response. “Yeah. That would make sense. There’s probably a whole underground-bunker village beneath his property. Why me, though? No offense, Theo, but Gordon’s got to hate you more than he hates me. His girlfriend wanted to hurt you; I was just the expendable sidekick.”

“You’re not expendable,” Theo gritted out, and Hugh waved a hand to brush away his partner’s comment.

“To Sherry Baker I was, and that’s the current theory, right? That Gordon—our own local bomb fairy—wants to get revenge for Sherry blowing herself up?” A wave of nausea made Hugh tighten his jaw against the need to hurl, but he wasn’t sure if it was due to the meds or the concussion or the memory of the disturbed stranger that Don’s daughter had become.

“Norman Rounds might know something, but we haven’t been able to locate him since he got out of the hospital,” Theo grumbled.

“Can’t really blame him.” Hugh felt like he was sinking deeper into the bed even as his stomach protested. The drugs were working their way through his system. Hopefully, he’d pass out before the urge to vomit got too strong. Puking was going to hurt. “He tried to stop Sherry, after all. Gordon can’t be too happy with him.”

With a grunt that could’ve been agreement, Theo turned and paced the other direction.

“This is speculation,” Otto grumbled. “We should wait for LT.”

Exhaustion and the dose of pain meds were pulling Hugh down, and the thought of sleeping and escaping his painful reality for a while was tempting. If the lieutenant didn’t hurry, Hugh probably wasn’t going to be awake for his visit. “He’s investigating?”

“Last I heard, he’d ordered a perimeter put up and was waiting for the Denver bomb squad to arrive. He wanted to make sure the scene was safe before investigators started crawling all over it.”

“Right.” Hugh’s eyelids were sinking, despite his best efforts. “Makes…sense.”

Pacing back to the side of the bed, Theo crossed his arms over his chest. “Go to sleep. But you have to knock off this almost-getting-killed bullshit.”

All Hugh could manage was an upward quirk of his lips and a slurred “I’ll do my best.” Then the darkness took him again.