Chapter 9

There was no hesitation, no moment of shock. From the second their mouths met, Grace was kissing him back. All the anger, all the worry, all the aggravation she’d been feeling just seconds before were burned away by heat and need.

Hugh yanked her against him, and she went willingly, clutching at his shoulders. She’d never felt anything so intense, so incredible, as the feel of his mouth on hers. He kissed her hard, taking control. Sliding a hand behind his head, she nipped his lower lip and bossed him right back. They traded, giving and taking, back and forth, as if one of their arguments had transformed into a kiss—and it was wonderful.

She couldn’t stay still, wanting to feel all of him at once, her hands greedily roaming over his shoulders and up his neck to the back of his head and then down again. Her fingers clenched around handfuls of his shirt, bunching it in her fists so she could use her grip to drag him even more tightly against her. She felt as if she couldn’t get near enough, couldn’t kiss him hard enough, couldn’t hold him tightly enough.

With a grunt of pleasure, he pulled her even closer, his kiss deepening until she forgot to breathe. His hands roved over her as if he would die if he couldn’t touch her, sliding over her back and then down to grab her hips. His squeeze sent a shock of desire through her, so intense and unexpected that she lurched forward, knocking them both off-balance. Hugh took a step back to catch them, never letting go of her. She loved how easily he caught her and held both of them upright.

There was a sharp thwack, the sound so close that her eardrum buzzed. A spot on her cheek stung sharply, like she’d been poked by a needle. Hugh’s arms turned into hard bands of steel around her as his entire body stiffened.

Before she could manage to make a sound, she was on the ground with Hugh on top of her, no longer kissing. Her brain, still lost in the kiss, tried to catch up with what was happening. As her thoughts spun and her cheek throbbed, Hugh’s weight ground her shoulder blades painfully into the pavement.

“What?” she tried to ask, but shock and Hugh’s bulk pressed all the air out of her lungs. Before she could figure out how to breathe again, Hugh yanked her to her feet and gripped her arm, half pulling and half carrying her the short distance to her car.

“Get down,” he barked, yanking her into the narrow space between her Subaru and the dumpsters. He had his gun out, gripped in the hand that wasn’t holding on to her. As they crouched next to the car, he scanned the buildings around them.

Her shocked confusion was fading enough for her to fumble for her phone. “What’s happening?” she asked, keeping her voice low. Her fingers were shaking, making it hard to dial, but she managed to punch in 911. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that she’d been reduced to huddling by a dumpster again. This time, at least, Hugh was with her.

“Someone took a shot at us,” he said. He didn’t sound like Hugh, or even look like Hugh at that moment. It was as if someone had replaced the sarcastic cop with someone else—someone harder, sharper. It took a second for her to understand what he was talking about, and her gaze flew over to the wall where they’d just been standing, locked together in a kiss.

There was a large chunk of brick missing from a spot right where their heads had been. If she hadn’t lurched forward at his touch, making them lose their balance, one of them would be dead.

Martin Jovanovic had found her.

Even before terror washed over her, regret and guilt hit her hard. Hugh’s arm circled her, keeping her below the window line while, at the same time, keeping her close to him. Even though Grace knew she didn’t deserve it, that it was her fault this innocent man had almost been killed, she was grateful for the heavy, comforting weight of his arm and the warm shelter of his body. Even as her heart pounded, as every muscle tightened in anticipation of the next gunshot, she leaned into his warmth, soaking in the rare feeling of being protected.

Guilt seeped in, though, pushing her to tell the truth. She opened her mouth to apologize, to confess that she’d nearly gotten Hugh killed, but the dispatcher answered before she could.

“Nine-One-One Emergency.”

“Someone—oh God—someone shot at us!” Grace stammered out a mixed-up version of what was happening and where they were. Too much was tumbling through her head, though, and she kept losing her train of thought. She stared across the street, trying to figure out what Hugh was focused on—if it was the shooter—but all she saw was an empty building.

“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you still there?”

“Sorry!” Realizing that she’d missed one of the dispatcher’s questions, Grace put the phone on speaker.

“Was anyone hit? What is your status?” The dispatcher’s voice echoed from her phone speaker, sounding too loud in the tense silence.

When Hugh paused instead of answering, Grace glanced at him and found that he was staring at her cheek, scowling fiercely. She touched the spot, pulling her hand away so she could look at it. There was a small smear of blood on her fingers. She remembered the sting as the bullet hit the wall, but her cheek didn’t hurt anymore. She assumed her face had been scratched by a chip of dislodged brick or something. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Although his frown didn’t lessen, Hugh told the dispatcher, “No one was hit.”

“Is the shooter still in the area?”

“I don’t know.” Tensing, Hugh focused on the building across the street again. “There haven’t been any other shots fired since the first.”

As the dispatcher continued asking questions, Hugh clipped out the answers, still sounding like a cold, brusque stranger. Despite that, Grace tucked herself a little more tightly against him. Stranger or not, Hugh felt safe. His arm tightened, and she felt another surge of regret. If he knew that she was the reason they’d been shot at, that she’d let him blindly risk his life while she knew that someone as dangerous and far-reaching as Martin Jovanovic was trying to kill her, he wouldn’t be offering her comfort.

“I’m so sorry.”

“What?” Hugh asked, even as he kept scanning the area. “Why are you sorry?”

“For almost getting you killed.”

This time, he looked at her, just a quick flash of surprise before his attention turned back to searching out the threat. “What are you talking about? It wasn’t your fault.” His brow furrowed. “I’m the one someone is trying to shoot…or blow up.”

The reminder that his truck had exploded—and that he’d almost 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 was shooting at 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 actually patted her on the head. 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.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Theo almost snarled, taking a step closer to Hugh as his hands balled into fists. “Who’s doing these things? We need to catch this asshole.”

Grace glanced back and forth between the two cops. Theo looked like he was about to punch Hugh, and, although part of her could appreciate the sentiment, she wanted information before they went off on another tangent. “You didn’t find him?”

Theo glanced at Grace. “No.” Although he appeared snarly, Grace was pretty sure it was at the situation and not her. “Looks as if he took the shot from that center second-floor office, like you thought, but he was gone when we got there. Viggy tracked him out the back door and a half block east down the alley before he lost the trail.”

“Left in a car, probably,” Hugh guessed, and Theo jerked his head in agreement.

“The LT has people going door to door, checking to see if anyone saw an unfamiliar vehicle.” Theo let out a frustrated huff. “Not many people are left in town, so it’s a long shot.”

“Have to ask, though,” Hugh said. “We need to get this guy.”

“Who’d do this? First, your truck explodes, and now this?” Theo asked, glaring at Hugh. “Who’d you piss off so bad they want you dead?”

Grace’s shoulders sagged under the weight of her guilt. “Hugh didn’t piss off anyone. It was me.”