She rummaged around in her purse for a makeup mirror and a brush, but couldn’t find them. Not that they would help much. She probably looked like a drowned rat. Running her fingers through her hair, she gently tied it back into a low ponytail. She used a wet wipe to clean her face.
“Can you see any blood in my hair?” she asked.
Weston’s gaze drifted across her face to the left side of her head. The look was so intense, it felt as physical as a touch. Avery’s breath hitched. The scent of Weston’s cologne—something warm and musky—mingled with the scent of the rain. She kept talking to distract herself. “I’m not great with the media. I hate being on camera and having reporters shout questions at me. But it’s part of the job, you know?”
“I know. There’s no blood in your hair. The rain washed it all away.” He reached out and pulled something from the end of her ponytail. A pine needle. “There. Now you’re camera ready. Or as camera ready as someone who was nearly shot an hour ago could be.”
Her gaze drifted to the cut on his cheek. Guilt and responsibility tugged at her. She couldn’t let it go. “Weston, just for the record. I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I know being a cop can be dangerous, but…this wasn’t supposed to be your case. You’re doing a favor and you nearly got shot in the process—”
“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” His hand closed over her forearm, his touch warm and gentle. “None of this is your fault, and I’m thankful I was here to provide backup.”
Their eyes caught and Avery’s heart skipped a beat. She became immediately aware of the proximity of their bodies. One step forward and she would be pressed up against him. The memory of his arms cradling her as they fell to the ground, the way his hands protected her head, flashed in her mind.
It also sent off warning bells. Their fledgling friendship might’ve become cemented under a spray of bullets, but anything romantic was out of the question. Avery couldn’t. Her last relationship had been with someone she worked with. It’d ended in unmitigated disaster, and she’d nearly lost her career in the process. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Avery cleared her throat and took a step back, forcing Weston to drop his hand. “Okay, I’d better go do this.”
He gave her a thumbs-up. She turned and strolled toward the crime scene tape and the bright camera lights. With every step, Avery’s spine straightened. The reporters shouted questions at her with rapid-fire precision. She ignored them, raising a hand until everyone grew quiet.
“At approximately 9:00 p.m., dispatch sent out an alert that a student’s laptop had been stolen from the university library,” Avery said. She continued to give a brief overview of the events and provided a description of the perpetrator. “Anyone with knowledge of this crime is requested to contact the Harrison University Police Department immediately. Thank you and good night.”
She turned on her heel. The reporters’ questions followed her, but she ignored them. A man stepped into her path. Around fifty, he had a full beard and wore dark-framed glasses. He shoved a phone in her face. “Chief Madison, how did it feel to be shot at?”
“What are you doing behind the crime scene tape?”
The reporter ignored her question. “Could this shooting have anything to do with the murder on campus last Friday?”
Avery tamped down her temper. It wouldn’t be good for public relations if she lost it on a reporter. “Sir, you need to move back behind the yellow line. Now.”
“Is it true the woman found murdered on campus was hanging in one of the classrooms? Did you believe it was a suicide at first? What changed your mind?”
“Sir, if you don’t remove yourself from my crime scene, I’ll have you arrested.” She waved one of her men, Officer Samuels, over. “Escort this gentleman off the premises, please.”
“This is a public street,” the reporter huffed. “You can’t remove me.”
Avery stepped back. “Actually, sir, I can and I will.”
“I’m a member of the press. My name is Greg Kilbourne of the Texas Tribute.” Officer Samuels took his arm and Greg tried to pull away. “Let me go.”
Avery was done playing nice. “Arrest Greg Kilbourne of the Texas Tribute if he causes you trouble.”
The officer gave her a nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Avery spotted Weston moving in their direction. His expression was thunderous. By his side was Detective Mike Steel of the Union County Sheriff’s Department. Pushing fifty, Mike was dressed professionally in a business shirt and slacks, although the collar was undone at the top and he had no tie. His hair was turning gray at the temples.
Avery moved to intercept them. “Crisis averted, gentlemen. Stand down.”
“First you get shot at. Then you give the reporters a hard time.” Mike gave her a one-armed hug. Worry was in his eyes, but he plastered on a smile. “You sure are creating a ruckus tonight, kid.”
The old term of endearment brought a small smile to her face. Mike and Avery’s father had worked together at the sheriff’s department. They’d even been partners for a while. As a result, Mike had known Avery since she was fifteen years old.
“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” Mike asked.
She wriggled out of his grasp before he jumped into protective mode. “I’m fine, Mike. The perpetrator never came close to hitting me.”
Thanks to Weston. She passed a glance at him. The ranger was quietly watching their interaction and she had the feeling he was attempting to assess the relationship.
“Mike, have you met Texas Ranger Weston Donovan?” Avery took the opportunity to shift the conversation. “He was with me during the shooting and assisted. Weston, this is Detective Mike Steel. He’s a family friend. Mike and my dad worked together for many
