Emily pulled on jeans and a shirt, then topped it with a hoodie before knocking on Noah’s door. A bleary-eyed stranger with tousled brown hair and a scruff of beard answered. “Morning already?”

  “Sorry, no,” Emily told him. “I need your roommate. We have to go.” She leaned past the sleepy man to call, “Hey, Noah, rise and shine. We’re leaving. I’ll give you five minutes.”

  From the dimness came a muttered, “Okay.”

  “And don’t wear your good clothes. We’re traveling as civilians.”

  “I’m always a civilian,” he called back. Emily thought he was done speaking until he added, “Right now, I’d rather be an armed one.”

  “Paradise is on our way. We can swing by and pick up a gun for you.”

  His sleep-tousled head appeared over his roommate’s shoulder. “Seriously?”

  “Yes. Seriously. Chief Rowlings wants to be sure we’re not vulnerable while we’re on the road.”

  “Five minutes,” Noah said, ducking out of sight as the other man closed the door.

  It did occur to her to wonder if Noah’s mindset would allow him to use force in self-defense, not that it mattered. She was the one sworn to protect and serve the public, of which he was part. The job of keeping them both safe was hers. She took that vow seriously. All the cops she knew did. Their problem then became when to act and when to hold their fire. Thankfully, pulling the trigger was a choice she’d never been called upon to make.

  In her heart she knew it would be a split-second decision if it happened. Her choice could mean the difference between life and death for herself and anyone else in imminent danger, and yet it was still going to be difficult to pull that trigger.

  Remembering prior attacks, how Noah had been injured at her house and Officer Anderson at the hospital, she steeled herself for the possibility of having to harm one fellow human being to save another. Could she? Would she?

  Picturing her late fiancé and the lethal situation in which he’d lost his life, Emily realized for the first time that she was also blaming him. He’d been shot by a known criminal, yes, but forensics had shown he’d never returned fire. He’d had time to draw his service weapon as he’d taken cover behind a nearby vehicle. He’d been in position to shoot. But he had not. A lethal bullet had passed through the car’s door and ended his life. His career. And erased all her dreams for a happy future.

  Unshed tears misted her vision. Growing angrier by the second, she shook off feelings of loss and frustration, replacing them with a vow to never be weak, never back down.

  Taking a deep breath to embrace her resolve, Emily felt the bruises on her ribs and clamped her jaw. Mistakes might be tolerated in other professions, but they could prove deadly in hers. They already had, far too often.

  With her holdout gun strapped to her ankle and service weapon tucked under the copious sweatshirt she was wearing, she threw the switch to raise the garage door and hurried to check the cruiser. The trunk held a veritable arsenal as well as flares for traffic accidents, first aid equipment, rescue breathing masks and the protective vests she’d hoped for.

  Seeing Noah bolting from the house and running toward her, she thrust a vest at him. “Put this on.”

  “Bulletproof?” he asked.

  “This is the best defense we have,” Emily informed him. “Wear it under your clothes so you won’t be conspicuous.” He proceeded to take off his hoodie and start to don the vest over his T-shirt while she showed him the tabs on each side. “Do you have one on already?” he asked, eyeing her.

  “They’re all too big for me.”

  Freezing in midmotion, he stared. “Then I’m not wearing one, either.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Ridiculous is making me wear one when you don’t.”

  “Okay, okay.” She pulled the final Velcro tab out of his grip and slapped it against his side. “I’ll put one on over my clothes to take up the slack until I can get one that fits.”

  Emily tightened the tabs on her vest before moving toward the driver’s door. “Get that shirt back on and get in. We need to hurry.”

  “Why? You never said where we’re going.”

  “To Memphis,” Emily said, shouting at him over the roar of the engine inside the garage. “Their police were too slow getting to Vangie Mead.”

  She dropped the transmission into Reverse and backed out with a squeal of rubber on the concrete floor.

  “Dead?” Noah asked, sounding breathless.

  Emily fisted the wheel and shook her head as she shifted. “No. I assume she’s been sedated. Rowlings wants us there when she wakes up. He’s hoping she recognizes you and that jolts her memory.”

  “Not all that likely,” Noah replied. Forward momentum pressed him hard against the back of the seat.

  “Anything is possible,” Emily countered. “Even the good guys getting a break now and then.”

  THIRTEEN

  Noah saw nothing wrong with answering truthfully when she glanced across the cruiser to ask, “Are you sleeping?”

  He smiled back at her. “Praying. I figured, the way you’re driving, it was a good idea.”

  “Very funny.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be,” he said, tightening his grip on the handhold by the door. “Is the Mead woman going to be okay?”

  “I assume so,” Emily replied. Noah saw her punching buttons on her steering wheel before she spoke aloud again. “Dispatch, this is Zwalt. En route to Memphis. Chief’s orders. Can you give me an update on the condition of the hospitalized victim?”

  “Stand by.”

  In seconds, the dispatcher reported, “The Memphis victim is heavily sedated. I’m patching you through to the chief.”

  Emily’s eyebrows arched, and Noah noticed a tightening of her fingers on the steering wheel.

  Rowlings’s voice was gruff. “Location?”

  “Coming up to the cutoff to Paradise. I was going to stop for my vest and an extra gun if you think there’s time.”

  “The situation here has changed since we spoke. Report to the station.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Plenty. We have another victim.”

  Staring at her, Noah saw Emily’s eyes widen and her hands tremble slightly. “Known or unknown?”

  “We have an ID,” the chief said, “but she’s not blonde. We’ll fill you in when you get here.”

  “Don’t you want me to go straight to the scene?”

  “No.”

  Relief washed over Noah when Rowlings ordered her to come to the station. After all, she had yet to be cleared by a doctor to go back to work, and although she was driving as if primed for anything, he had his reservations about her readiness. It wasn’t enough to be game and brave to a fault, which she was. She also needed to be in top form, for her sake as well as that of others.

  Others like me, Noah thought, feeling as if he should be protecting her instead of the reverse. Actually, he was looking out for her, he amended. Sticking together was part of fulfilling his role, as was watching all those videos and racking his brain for connections beyond himself.

  And now there was another victim in Paradise. Closing his eyes and turning back to silent prayer, he couldn’t help hoping that this latest victim was a stranger to him.

  * * *

  Emily slowed once she left the highway. The streets of Paradise were mostly deserted at this predawn hour. There was activity around the police station, though, and lights blazed at the twenty-four-hour gas station.

  Something about the scene bothered her, as if her subconscious had picked up a warning that her conscious mind was having trouble processing. She didn’t like that feeling one bit and said so.

  “Does everything look normal to you?” she asked Noah.

  “As normal as ever, I guess. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Intuition?”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” he said. “Talk to me. Maybe something will come to you.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Emily argued. “Haven’t you ever gotten the willies for no apparent reason?”

  “Only when taking the bar exam,” he said, smiling over at her. “Do you get these feelings often?”

  She shook her head. “No. That’s the problem. I must have seen something that set off alarm bells.”

  “I’m sorry,” Noah said, “I wasn’t really paying attention. Want to circle around and take a second look?”

  “No. I don’t want to keep the chief waiting.”

  Remaining tense, Emily wheeled into the lot behind the station and parked. Nothing looked out of order, and overhead lights blazed.

  She got out and stretched.

  The singing whine of a rifle bullet sliced through the darkness. Instinct kicked in. She dropped into a crouch between the chassis and car door, drew her weapon, and took up a defensive posture. Before she had time to shout to Noah to get down, the rifle fired again. This time, glass shattered.

  There was a sharp cry. Men with shotguns and pistols ready poured out the rear door of the station and deployed the way a military patrol would if they came under fire.

  Her radio squawked. “Zwalt?”

  Emily cautiously rose up enough to reach across the driver’s seat for her mic. “I’m parked behind the main station. Taking fire.”

  “You’re not hit?”

  Outside her vehicle, men were shouting to each other so she raised her voice to be heard. “No, I’m fine.”

  Next to her, still belted into the passenger seat, Noah made a strange noise. Emily’s grip on the mic tightened so much she was broadcasting when she shouted at him. “Noah!”

  A quick assessment showed her the trajectory of the second bullet. It had shattered the rear window, pierced the top of the back seat, passed through the upright section of the passenger seat, and hit Noah in the back. His head was bowed, his eyes closed, and she couldn’t be sure he was breathing.

  Grabbing his wrist she felt for a pulse, and found a strong, racing beat. That was enough for instantaneous thankfulness, followed by the urge to throw her arms around him in celebration.

  Instead, she undid his seat belt, pushed open the door on the far side of the car and nudged him until he looked at her. “Get out. Stay down.”

  Clambering over the seat after him she tried to shield him, “Are you hurt?”

  “Yeah,” he said, sounding breathless. “Feels like a road grader ran over me.”

  “Lean forward. Let me see.”

  Another gentle push gave her access to his back. There was clearly a hole punched in the hoodie. Heart pounding, she lifted it. No blood. No blood! Emily’s voice faltered. “You’re not bleeding. The vest saved your life.”

  Wide-eyed, he gaped at her. “I’m not shot? Are you sure?”

  “Positive. You felt the impact, but it didn’t break the skin.”

  “How about bones? I think some ribs cracked.”

  In spite of his pain she was grinning at him. “Probably not. You will be sore for a while, but it beats being dead.”

  “No argument there.”

  The car radio broadcast, “All clear. No sign of the shooter.”

  Emily rose slowly, then reached for Noah, intending to help him stand. To her surprise, he did the same, and they rose together. Moving as one, they hurried into the station while others continued to patrol outside.

  He was obviously still out of breath, probably from the pain, but gamely pulled the hoodie off over his head. Velcro tabs on the protective vest made ripping sounds as Emily pulled her side loose and Noah did the other.

  One more layer of clothing and she could relax, she told herself. “Turn around.”

  Noah bent forward resting his hands on a desk, and she gently raised his T-shirt. A bruise was starting to form, radiating out from a red center where the bullet had nearly taken his life.

  For a few seconds she stared, speechless. If she hadn’t talked him into donning the vest when she did, they could very easily be following an ambulance carrying his body to ER, or worse.

  One of the other officers handed Emily a sterile alcohol wipe, and she bathed the reddening area in case there had been microscopic penetration.

  Noah jumped. “Cold!”

  “You should be thankful you can feel anything,” Emily said. “Do you have any idea how close you came to...” She faltered.

  “Buying the farm, as they say around here?” Noah replied. “Yes. I’m getting the idea.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks for insisting I wear armor.”

  “You’re welcome. You’ll still need a comprehensive medical assessment, but in my opinion, you’ll be fine.”

  “Until the next time,” he said soberly. “You were out of the car and visible. This shooter couldn’t have mistaken me for you.”

  A deep breath preceded her nod. “I’m afraid you may be right.”

  * * *

  The arrival of an ambulance ended their conversation as medics shouldered through the group hovering around Noah. He caught Emily’s eye. “If you aren’t coming with me, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll check in with the chief and be along as soon as he’s briefed me on the latest female victim.”

  “We’re going to need a long list to keep everybody straight,” Noah quipped cynically.

  “Two lists, the way I see it,” Emily said. “One for the blonde women and another one for you.”

  Rather than disagree, he chose to change the subject while one of the medics took his blood pressure. “Well, there is one good thing about what just happened.”

  She made a sour face. “I can hardly wait for you to tell me.”

  Noah gave a soft chuckle, realized it hurt and stopped. “My back has completely taken my mind off my arm. I don’t even feel the stitches anymore.”

  With an exaggerated roll of her eyes and a loud “Aargh!” she turned and left him to the ministrations of the paramedics.

  One of them appeared at his elbow with a clipboard. “If you won’t let us transport, you’ll need to sign this release.”

  “What would they do if I went to the hospital? Same things you just did, right?”

  The medic grinned. “Yup. Maybe an X-ray, too. And ice packs. You’re gonna be plenty sore.”

  Noah grabbed the pen and signed. “Thanks guys. Appreciate it.”

  The medic stripped off a blue surgical glove and offered his hand to Noah. “Hang in there, man.”

  Shaking hands, Noah read his name on his shirt and noticed that his gaze had followed Emily across the room so he asked, “You know her, too..., Mark?”

  “As much as she’ll let me,” Mark said.

  A jolt of jealousy that hit him out of nowhere. He cleared his throat. “Emily and I go way back.”

  “Maybe that’s your secret. I don’t know.”

  “Maybe she already has a man in her life.”

  “Hah! She seems friendly enough until you try to get close to her.”

  Lowering his voice to speak aside, Noah said, “I heard she lost her fiancé.”

  “She did. I was one of the medics who worked on him. But that was years ago.”

  “Years?” It surprised Noah to hear that so much time had passed. “How many?”

  Mark shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe five.” He sighed. “It’s been a while.”

  “I see. Not that there’s a time limit on grief.”

  Agreeing, the medic nodded. “I think she’d have done better if she hadn’t tried to do CPR on him before we got there. She was a basket case when we pronounced him.”

  Adding to her misplaced sense of responsibility, Noah thought. That figured. So did her transference of blame. Whether she realized it or not, she was probably angry at God, too. There were stages of grief, he knew, and it was possible to get stuck and struggle to move on. Everybody was different.

  Could he help her come to grips with the loss that had apparently shaped her life for the past five years? Was he the right person to do that, considering his own lack of close human connections? If he hadn’t formed a strong emotional bond with Max, he’d be a lot like Emily, wouldn’t he? A loner. A person who avoided emotional involvement because he’d been burned, disappointed, had felt unworthy and unloved in the past.

  Noah mentally shook off the introspection. He’d fought his way from being a neglected kid to becoming the junior partner of a respected attorney. Max had imparted more than a strong work ethic. He’d shared his faith until Noah had seen his own need for surrender and had also accepted Jesus Christ. There was little more he lacked at this point in his life. He was supremely grateful for everything.

  However, he also realized that with blessings came a calling to follow where God led him. To do the right things. That was what had caused him to choose his career and what had brought him back to Paradise when he was needed.

  So where did that leave him, spiritually speaking? He could see Emily across the room, deep in conversation. It wasn’t that hard to imagine that he’d been sent to Paradise for her sake as well as Max’s. Why not? The Maker of the Universe wasn’t limited to singular reasons for things happening. Only humans had that narrow way of thinking. As he saw it, his part in this unfolding drama was to trust the Lord and do his best, just as he’d told Emily when they’d been discussing her disappointments. Beyond that, it was out of his hands. Intellect could only take a person so far.

  Noah flexed his shoulders, his spine, and winced. Speaking of intellect, how were he and Emily going to find the answers to their mystery? Between them they probably had enough clues to figure it out if they just looked at the situation from a different angle or added one or two more missing facts. Deciding which events pertained to which person or persons was going to be the key.

  Because criminals had habits that formed their methods, Noah was certain the string of murders had to be connected. That left the apparently random attacks on him or Emily or the police in general. When he sorted it out that way, it looked as if he was less of a target and more of a bystander who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was comforting to think of himself that way. It could also be dangerous to become overly complacent.