Jax sighed and knelt next to Patches, who looked as dejected as he felt. She whined a little and he scratched behind her ears.
“I know, Patches. You want to work.”
Her tail thumped lightly at the word as she stared up at him, then glanced toward the part of Desparre with all of the shops, with all of the people. It was Sunday morning and in the distance, he could see people in dress clothes starting to stream toward the church down the street from the police station.
His gaze shifted from the far end of town with the church, to a little bit closer, at the police station. From an attic Jax wouldn’t have guessed existed in the police building, Keara, Ben and Anderson were watching him through binoculars. So far there was nothing for them to see.
“We’ll give it another half hour here, then go find people to talk to,” he promised Patches.
Her tail wagged and he grinned at her.
Then dirt sprayed up from the road in front of him, pebbles stinging his legs as a distant boom sounded.
For a second he was confused, even as Patches started frantically barking, already standing.
Then the sound registered. Someone had just taken a shot at him. But from where?
Panic followed, tensing his whole body as he glanced around frantically, looking for the shooter, looking for a safe place to go.
Then there was another boom like a firecracker going off and a metallic screech as the bullet hit the small fence behind him.
“Run, Patches!” Jax yelled, angling his arm toward downtown. Toward the police station.
She barked, staring up at him, waiting for him, and he took off, too.
He ran as hard as he could, Patches keeping pace at his side, even as he wished for her to outrun him, to get to safety faster.
He was pretty sure the person shooting at him was using a rifle. Which meant either they weren’t a great shot or they were playing with him, forcing him to run for his life even though they could end it at any time.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Wait!”
Ben’s voice echoed behind her as Keara leaped down from the attic in the police station, skipping the entire ladder and landing hard on the floor below.
Pain jolted up from her legs, making her teeth slam together, but she ignored it the same way she ignored Ben. She’d agreed to Jax’s plan to try and fool the man who’d killed her husband and now he and Patches were in danger.
She couldn’t survive losing another man she loved.
The unexpected thought made grief and dread clamp down hard, almost doubling her over. It was too soon. Way too soon.
“Keara!” Ben yelled. “Get someone up here with a long rifle!”
“Okay,” she gasped at him, but she didn’t even need to yell the order, because Tate Emory and Charlie Quinn were already rushing toward her, both holding rifles.
They didn’t know where the shooter was, but they knew his target.
Maybe she’d make a better one.
There was no time to grab a bulletproof vest, so Keara just straightened and kicked into gear again, running for the front of the station. She blew past her officers, warning them, “Active shooter! Gear up before you come out!” Then she raced outside.
Yanking her pistol from its holster, she ran into the center of the street. Near the church, residents were looking around in confusion and she yelled at them, “Get inside!” Then she spun the other way, toward the park.
Jax and Patches were still running toward her, but there hadn’t been any more shots fired. If the killer was smart, he was already trying to disappear. Even with a rifle, there was only so long he could hold off police. They were too close.
They could get him. She could get him.
The thought fueled her, added fury to her fear and determination to her strides, lengthening them even as she kept her gun ready. She’d been one of the best shots in the Houston PD back in the day and she still kept up her practice. If she saw the shooter, he was finished.
As Jax met her gaze, he waved his arm, made a motion at her that clearly meant “turn back.”
“Move!” she barked at him as she got close and he started to slow, like he was planning to grab her arm and try to turn her.
His gaze lingered on her, his head pivoting to watch even as he followed her orders and kept going, Patches keeping pace with him.
Then he was behind her and her focus sharpened, her gaze sweeping the empty street in front of her. The killer couldn’t be far.
She kept pushing, legs and arms burning as she ran hard toward the park. Her lungs ached, too, out of practice at this kind of running, especially with the chilly Alaskan air sending an icy blast down her throat with every breath. Where would a shooter have the best angle?
As she drew alongside the park, she realized. Down the side street that bisected Main Street, ending just past the park. He’d be able to see Jax, but Jax would be unlikely to see him because the woods continued that way, offering plenty of places to hide.
Boom!
Keara instinctively cringed, even as she dodged left and then right. It wasn’t a rifle this time, but the sound of a pistol firing. As she rounded the corner onto the side street, nearly skidding off her feet, she saw him.
About Jax’s height, wearing dark green—a good choice to blend
