If he went over her head and spoke to her chief, she’d be furious with him. If he didn’t, and there was a second killer, he might not live to continue their argument. Of course there was always the FBI, he reasoned, figuring he’d be hard-pressed to get any of those agents to listen to his concerns. They were focused on one thing—the series of similar killings. Lesser incidents that might or might not be connected would be sorted out later. The only problem with that, in Noah’s mind, was the immediacy of the personal threat, assuming he was right about being targeted at least twice.

  He flexed his shoulder blades and felt twinges of lingering pain. In his opinion, the shot into the police car had been too accurate to be random. Someone had been aiming. The only real question at this point was whether or not the shooter had known he was the man in the passenger seat.

  His first stop the following day was his office. As soon as he’d caught up a little there and visited an incarcerated felon, he headed for the PPD. Chief Rowlings shook his hand and invited him into the privacy of his office.

  Noah got right down to business. “I have a problem.”

  “I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with your college dating days,” Rowlings joked, grinning.

  Noah remained stoic. “No. It’s something else.”

  “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  “Charity Roskov. I’m assuming you’ve been briefed on the possibility she was murdered by someone other than the serial killer in custody.”

  “It was mentioned.”

  “What about the indictment? Do you expect to include her case?”

  “The FBI thinks we should.”

  “Fingerprints? DNA? Is there anything to refute that conclusion?”

  “I can’t disclose those details. You know that.”

  Noah sighed. “Suppose I was Rosalind Carpenter Banfield’s attorney of record.”

  “That’s a conflict of interest.”

  “Not until a judge rules it is.” He withdrew a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and showed it to the chief. “She signed a contract in her cell this morning.”

  Shaking his head, Rowlings began to pace. “How can you be serious about offering an unbiased defense? Nobody is that forgiving.”

  “I didn’t say I forgave her, although I think I have. She’s ill. That’s going to be my argument if I’m still representing her when this goes to trial.”

  “And you really don’t think she tried to shoot you? After what happened in that kitchen?”

  “That was a reflex. I’d anticipated it.” He approached the older man to speak more quietly. “I don’t think my client, or her associate, Nat Porter, would have purposely targeted me, that’s all. She should be tried for the crimes she committed, not for everything on your books.” He’d been tempted to add, Just because it’s easy, but refrained. Accusations weren’t wise, nor were they necessarily accurate in this case, although it did seem as if Emily Zwalt was more than willing to place all the blame on one person.

  “All right,” the chief said. “The FBI crime lab did manage to isolate a couple samples of male DNA from the body in the park. One matches yours.”

  “And the other?” Noah was holding his breath.

  “We have nobody to pair it with.”

  “What about Fielding, the ex she wanted the restraining order against?”

  “His is not on file.”

  “Have you tried to get a court order for a sample?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, we did that early on. He seems to have disappeared.”

  Noah’s brain was spinning. “So, you haven’t eliminated him.”

  “Not completely. As her former boyfriend, it’s possible he left traces before the night of the actual crime, you know.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Heading for the door, Noah pocketed the signed agreement. “You may want to inform Officer Zwalt. She seems pretty sure he wasn’t involved.”

  “That she does. Can you tell me why?”

  Nodding, Noah was positive he got the true picture. It was disturbing, yet understandable. “Yes,” he said. “She may not realize or admit it, even to herself, but she’s delighted to blame my new client for any and everything. I’m not going to enjoy proving her wrong, but it has to be done.”

  “To make a point?”

  “Not about my client, no,” Noah said. “About the dangers of believing we’re always right just because we represent the law. Sometimes the best of our abilities fall frighteningly short. Failing to admit mistakes and exercise forgiveness hurts everybody, no matter how pure our motives may be.”

  * * *

  Reliving the scene of Noah disarming the killer and recalling the echo of the shots inside the small house played in Emily’s mind like an endless loop of video. She had far too little work to do thanks to having to wait for an official adjudication on the necessity for discharging her firearm, and that gave her plenty of thinking time.

  Following procedures wasn’t excuse enough. She had to justify her actions via the only witness present other than the criminal. Therefore, Noah Holden had been summoned to the station to testify before an investigating committee. It was personally disappointing to see how standoffish he was acting when he arrived.

  “I’d like to speak with Officer Zwalt, if I may,” she heard Noah say. Naturally the request was going to be denied, probably even after he’d been deposed. As the only witness, it was going to be up to him to exonerate her. Or not. Although she couldn’t imagine a scenario in which he blamed her.

  She caught his attention from across the office and didn’t smile. This infraction could be serious enough to cost her to lose her career if it wasn’t properly handled. This was the first time she’d been officially involved in a situation where deadly force was called for, and she had been second-guessing her decision to shoot ever since.

  Was that the way Jake had felt back then? Was that why he’d held his fire when he could have fought back? The supposition was so plausible it hurt to consider. She got it now. All of it, from the choice to hold fire all the way up to the decision to pull the trigger. Less than a heartbeat of time might stand between seeing a need and acting upon it or choosing to stand down instead. This was not something that could be rationally considered ahead of time. To try to do so was self-defeating because the wrong choice at the wrong time could get a cop killed. In the case of her former fiancé, it had.

  Emily was still at her desk half an hour later when she heard Noah’s voice again. He was bidding the investigators goodbye. Was she in the clear now? One look at his expression assured her she was, and she rose to meet him. “Thanks.”

  “I just told the truth.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  “Good, because I have something else we need to discuss.”

  Her heart leaped, and her pulse sped. Was he finally going to admit what the killer had sensed all along? Was he going to confess tender feelings for her? She smiled. “Sure. Shall we go someplace private?”

  To her surprise and disappointment, he said, “No. Here is fine.”

  “Okay...”

  “I want to question Buddy Corrigan, and I want you to come with me.”

  “Why? They let him go because they couldn’t prove he was following us.”

  “I plan to ask him about that second man in the park. The one who hit you over the head.”

  “What makes you think Buddy was involved at all? The killer could have been the Banfield woman and her accomplice, that Porter guy.”

  “Then why did Buddy phone me?”

  “Last I heard, you doubted it was him at all.”

  “Suppose I was wrong?”

  “Hah! You? Wrong? Never.” Personal disappointment had crept in and was wreaking havoc with her responses. She’d been ready to tell Noah how she was growing to accept his career and confess how much she’d started to care for him, maybe even love him, yet all he wanted to do was rehash a solved crime.

  As Emily analyzed his expression, it struck her that she might have pushed him a little too far. Being decisive was one thing. Acting disrespectful was another.

  “Okay, I’m sorry,” she said. “I take it you know where to find Buddy.”

  “If he’s true to form, he’ll be having breakfast in the Paradise Café. That’s where I planned to start.”

  She glanced toward the chief’s office, then made up her mind. “Since I’m still officially on desk duty, there’s no reason why I can’t take a few minutes to go with you.”

  It would have pleased Emily more to be in full uniform with her duty belt and gun, but since the serial killer and her henchman were safely locked away, it wasn’t a big concern. After all, this was Paradise. Nothing much ever happened here, right?

  She fell into step with Noah. “I wish they’d released my duty weapon. I feel vulnerable without it.”

  “Not to worry. I’m carrying.”

  “Could have fooled me.” Emily preceded him through the door while he held it for her.

  “That’s why they call it concealed,” Noah quipped.

  The change of roles bothered her enough to say so. “I’d still feel better if I was carrying all my gear.”

  Noah chuckled quietly as they crossed the street bordering the town square and approached the café. “After the trick shooting I saw you do yesterday, I almost agree.”

  * * *

  Intent on his mission, Noah entered the café first. Buddy was in the same booth at the rear, as he’d predicted. What he hadn’t counted on was there being a second man with him. Viewed from the back, the enormous stranger in a grungy denim jacket and frayed baseball cap was unidentifiable.

  Noah paused next to the table. “Good morning.”

  Corrigan jumped as if he’d just been shocked by a Taser. His companion froze, then slowly slid out of the booth and stood, towering over Noah’s ample six-foot height. Menace was clear in the man’s dark eyes, and his fists were clenched.

  “Sam Fielding. Well, well.” Noah gave Emily a subtle nudge to tuck her behind him, then offered to shake hands. The offer was ignored.

  “That’s right,” Sam said, leering. “You probably saw pictures of me, didn’t you? Charity Roskov was my woman.”

  “My condolences, Mr. Fielding,” Noah said. “I didn’t know you and Buddy were friends.”

  “Half brothers,” the man explained. “Same mama.” He chuckled. “My daddy was a mite bigger than his.”

  “That explains why I didn’t put it all together,” Noah said, wondering what was going to happen next.

  Fielding tucked a meaty hand in his jacket pocket and gestured. “Let’s go.”

  “I have no quarrel with you,” Noah said, maintaining a calm facade. “I came to talk to Buddy. I can catch him later.”

  “You can talk to both of us now,” Fielding said. His voice was low, yet the confrontation was catching the attention of diners nearby. Some had already slipped out of their seats and headed for the door, urging others to follow by pointing and whispering. Noah was happy to see people clearing out. He just wished he and Emily were among them.

  Hands slowly rising to waist level, Noah spread his palms wide. Suddenly, there was a tiny brush against his back, a centered pressure that eased, a barely perceptible lightness, and he knew exactly what was happening. “No.”

  The other man obviously assumed Noah was talking to him and answered accordingly. “I say, yes.”

  “No, that’s crazy.”

  “Who you callin’ names, Mr. Lawyer? Huh?” Fielding gestured with the hand that was still in his pocket. “Go on. Through the kitchen and out the back where we won’t be disturbed.”

  Noah didn’t move. He didn’t dare because he wasn’t sure what Emily had done with the handgun she’d slipped out of his hidden holster. The .357 wasn’t enormous as guns went, but it wasn’t small, either. There was no way she could safely hide it on her person, and if Fielding or his half brother caught sight of it, game over.

  Actually, the more Noah considered the mess they were in, the less chance he saw of escaping unharmed. Allowing himself to be marched out the back door into the alley where he could be disposed of in private didn’t sound like a good idea. Neither did standing there trying to hide Emily’s actions. Their choices were bad and worse.

  “I need to say something first,” Noah ventured. Instead of waiting for permission, he forged ahead. “The last few weeks have been the worst of my entire life.” He cleared his throat and turned his head slightly. “They’ve also been some of the best...because of you.”

  With his arms still held slightly away from his body, Noah turned partway, then continued further when Fielding didn’t stop him. Facing Emily, he shook his head and sighed. “I’m sorry we never had a chance to talk about what was happening between us. I think we might have made a go of it.”

  She nodded, misty-eyed. “I know.”

  “I had to tell you how I feel. Before...” His own vision began to blur as the seriousness of their situation settled in his heart. “None of this is your fault. I didn’t take the time to look into the background of my client’s stalker when I should have, and now here we are.”

  “I should have taken your good advice more seriously,” Emily countered. “It’s as much my fault as yours.”

  “Actually, it’s Fielding’s fault if you get right down to it.” Noah glanced over his shoulder when he heard the snick of a knife opening. Buddy was cringing in the booth while his big brother held a lethal-looking weapon at the ready, its blade glistening in the overhead lighting.

  Emily now had the superior weapon, Noah knew, but how was he going to tell her without setting off this killer? Any quick movements were bound to cause Fielding to attack, and a sharp blade in the hands of an expert could do plenty of damage before the off-duty cop could get off a safe shot, particularly with an unfamiliar weapon.

  Right now, Buddy was directly in the line of fire, and even if she only meant to wound and disarm the man with the knife, her bullet could easily pass through him and hit his brother. Therefore, she was unlikely to fire.

  The task Noah set for himself was to maneuver everyone around without letting the other men figure it out, then hope and pray that Emily would size up the situation in time to stop Fielding from lunging and ending one or both of their lives.

  With one arm around her shoulders he urged her closer. Emily resisted. She pushed back against his chest, flicked off the gun’s safety with her thumb and ducked around him, coming up in a shooter’s stance, hands together in front of her.

  Buddy screamed like a girl.

  Noah shouted.

  Emily held her fire long enough to say, “Drop it.”

  When Fielding raised the knife in his fist and started to bring it down in an arc, right at Noah, she did the only thing she could. She shot him in the hand.

  Three lingering bystanders lunged at Fielding, took him to the floor and held him down while uniformed police swarmed in through the front door and rushed out of the kitchen to take over.

  Noah was through waiting, through biding his time, done being cautious. He relieved Emily of the gun, handed it to one of the cops, swept her up in his arms and kissed her until they were both breathless.

  She was smiling when he let go long enough to look into her eyes and say, “Not sorry.”

  “Me neither,” she replied. “I wouldn’t want to go through any of this again, but since it’s over, I guess it’s okay to be thankful it brought out the best in you.”

  “In both of us,” Noah said, having trouble waiting to hear her agree.

  “Yes,” Emily said, looking up at him lovingly. “Both of us.”

  That was all Noah needed to hear. “Do you think you could ever get used to being the wife of an attorney?”

  She smiled. “I don’t know. How do you feel about being the husband of a cop?”

  “Honestly, it terrifies me, but we can make it work. I know we can,” Noah said. “I’d never ask you to quit your job.”

  Sighing, Emily slipped her arms around him and nestled in his embrace. “You won’t have to. I plan to use the time Internal Affairs takes investigating me to rethink my career. I really don’t enjoy shooting people.”

  He pulled her closer and kissed her hair. “Whatever you decide to do, please say you’ll do it with me in your life.”

  Emily laughed lightly. “Absolutely. I’ve been thinking of becoming a jungle safari guide and taking boatloads of tourists down the Amazon. How does that sound?”

  “Like something you might actually try,” he countered. “Don’t worry, I’ll negotiate your contracts to film it all, and we can sell it as a TV documentary.”

  “Let’s start with planning something simpler, something local, like maybe getting married,” Emily suggested with a sweet smile.

  “Honey,” Noah drawled, “I’m pretty sure that being married to you is going to be anything but simple. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Christmas Hostage by Sharon Dunn.

  Dear Reader,

  The jobs of enforcing the law and seeking justice can be extremely difficult, especially in a small town or close-knit neighborhood where so many people know each other. The same goes for paramedics and firefighters, doctors and nurses, emergency responders and more. These dedicated people have chosen to sacrifice their time, talents and sometimes even their lives to help others, and often it’s so hard to do that it drops them to their knees.

  Whether they realize it or not, they are following in the steps of Jesus by loving their neighbors as they love themselves. Are they perfect? Are any of us? Not a chance, but they, like most of us, are doing the best they can with the training they’ve had and the gifts they’ve been given. Until we’re in the same position, we can’t know how hard it is to do the right thing and accept the outcome regardless, but they know all too well.