Secret Stalker

After a quick look to the far end of their row, Max checked the rifle’s loading, then yanked out his pistol and shoved it toward her.

“Remember how to use one of these?” he whispered.

She swallowed. “Sure. But I haven’t fired one in years.”

Something dark passed in his eyes, and she knew he was remembering one of the many times long ago when he’d taken her to target practice. When other boys waffled between wanting to be a pilot or a fireman or maybe a professional football player, Max had never wavered in his desire to be a detective and SWAT officer like cool Chief Thornton, who’d visited Destiny High every year on career day.

Max had loved the idea of piecing clues together and solving crimes as his main gig. And then, when the situation called for it, putting on full SWAT gear and storming some criminal’s compound to rescue hostages. It had been his dream. And seeing him now, so calm and focused, she knew that if anyone could save her and the other customers, it was Max. But only if she followed his instructions and let him do his job.

She took the pistol, careful to point it away from him and keep her finger on the frame, not the trigger, as he’d drilled into her so many times.

He gave her a nod of approval and pivoted toward the back of the store again, then the front, as if scoping out their situation. Then he dropped to his knees and peered in between the bottom shelf and the one above it on both sides of the aisle they were on. He hesitated, as if thinking something through. Then he was pushing boxes of noodles and pasta behind the jars of spaghetti sauce. When he’d cleared a spot a couple of feet wide, he grabbed her arms and shoved her toward the opening.

She wanted to protest that she wasn’t nearly as small as he apparently thought she was. But the sound of footsteps, and Max’s head jerking toward the front of the store, had her squeezing into the impossibly small hole and pulling her legs in after her as tightly as she could. The sharp scrape of the metal shelf against her arm had her clenching her teeth. But she didn’t make a sound.

He leaned down, held a finger to his lips motioning for her to be quiet, and then he was gone.

She clutched the pistol in both hands, her pulse pounding so hard she felt light-headed. A tiny tapping sound started above her head. She twisted to see what was causing it and realized she was shaking so hard her shoulders were making the shelving above her rattle against its brackets. She drew several deep, slow breaths and concentrated on trying to calm down. The tapping stopped. Then she heard it, another sound—footsteps.

Coming toward her.

Her finger shook as she moved it to the trigger. Wait. It could be Max. She moved her finger back to the gun’s frame.

Oh, God. Please let it be Max coming back for her.

The tapping started again. She clamped her jaw and forced herself to hold still. The footsteps stopped. Was it one of the gunmen? Had he heard her?

Ever so carefully, she peeked through the gap above the boxes of pasta to her left but couldn’t see more than a few feet. Looking the other way yielded more of the same—boxes and jars blocking her view.

A squeak. Someone’s shoe against the floor?

Her hand started shaking violently, the pistol bobbing in her grip. A trickle of sweat rolled down the side of her face.

Another sound. Oh, God. Someone was behind her. She was surrounded. The person in her aisle shuffled forward, his shoes squeaking again.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Gunfire sounded from the front of the store. She sucked in a breath.

Bang!

Another shot rang out.

A new sound—scuffling feet not far from her hiding place. A muffled curse. A dull crack. More footsteps, hurrying toward her now.

This was it. He was coming for her.

She steadied the pistol, blew her breath out, tried to remember everything Max had taught her all those years ago. Exhale slowly, move your finger to the trigger, squeeze—

“Bex, it’s me. Don’t shoot.”

She blinked. Max? Wait, he wasn’t whispering.

She moved her finger away from the trigger just as he crouched down in front of her and peered into her hiding place.

“Max?” All of her questions and fears were in that one hoarsely uttered word.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s over.”

He gently took the pistol from her violently shaking hands, shoved it into his holster. And then he was scooping his arms beneath her, pulling her out of the maze of pasta and sauces and lifting her up against his chest.

The sight of a dark heap on the floor had her throwing her arms around Max’s neck and squeezing her eyes tightly shut.

“Is he...is he—”

“He’s alive. Don’t worry about him. I’ve got you, Bex. Everything’s going to be all right.”

She should have told him to put her down, that she was perfectly capable of walking on her own. But she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Her whole body seemed to have turned into a mass of shaking nerves. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and selfishly buried her face against Max’s chest while he carried her to the front of the store.

She sensed others around them now, heard someone ask Max something but didn’t catch his murmured reply. More sounds—voices, boots scuffling across the floor. Her traumatized mind grasped what was happening, that help had finally arrived, that the SWAT team must be clearing the store and securing the scene. But she couldn’t seem to force her eyes open or loosen her grip around Max’s neck as he carried her outside.

Chapter Four

Max leaned against a Destiny PD patrol car in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot, in a circle with the five other officers who made up the SWAT team, all in full tactical gear except him. Since the danger was over, they were talking in detective mode, trying to figure out what had just happened.

There’d been no fatalities. The only people to get shot were two of the gunmen, courtesy of Max, and they were on their way to the hospital. The three other bad guys were on their way to the county lockup. But the grocery store and surrounding area were still bustling with firefighters and police officers and would be for quite a while as they sorted through the mess.

Chief Thornton, who’d been talking to the fire chief, shoved his way between team lead Dillon Gray and his best friend, second in command Chris Downing. The others—Donna Waters, Colby Vale and Randy Carter—widened the circle to make room.

Thornton looked at each of them, a ferocious frown on his brow. “Where’s the new guy?”

Max’s lips twitched at the shrugs and carefully blank looks on Dillon’s and Chris’s faces. The chief was having a heck of a time trying to force everyone to accept a new member onto their SWAT team and detective squad. Blake Sullivan was still learning the ropes of Destiny PD and no one was exactly rolling out a welcome mat for him.

The guy was former military and had been a detective in Knoxville before relocating here. He’d made it clear on his first day that he expected to step right into the action. It had been a bitter pill for him to realize he had to spend several months as a uniformed beat cop first—as they all had—to learn the station’s routine and his way around the county before becoming an active member of the team.

Thornton turned around, looking for his beleaguered new hire, then put his hands on his hips. He’d obviously spotted Blake, fifty yards away, looking bored as he leaned against the ambulance where Bex was being examined by an EMT.

“Why isn’t he wearing tactical gear like the rest of you?” Thornton demanded, directing his question at Dillon.

“When Max’s call came in, we had to hustle,” Dillon said. “Didn’t have time to coddle a newbie and bring him in on the assault.”

The chief narrowed his eyes. “This would have been a perfect opportunity to show him the ropes. Next time the team is activated, you had better include him. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir. I hear you.”

Max grinned. He wouldn’t bet a plug nickel that Blake would be included on their next callout. At this point, it was a matter of principle. Blake would have to show some humility before Dillon would back down. And judging by how distant and arrogant the new guy seemed most of the time, that moment of acceptance wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

“Colby, go get Blake.” The chief jerked his head toward the ambulance.

Colby sighed and jogged across the parking lot.

“And you, Max, stop grinning like the village idiot and tell me if you recognize any of the gunmen. Chris snapped their pictures as they were brought out, minus the ski masks and sunglasses some of them were wearing.” The chief motioned for Chris to pass his phone to Max.

Max flipped through the images on the screen, then shook his head and returned the phone to Chris.

“None of them look familiar. I don’t think they’re local.”

“He’s right,” Dillon said, not even glancing Blake’s way as Colby ushered him into their circle. “We all grew up here. I may not know everyone in town by name, but I know most of them by sight. I’ve never seen any of those men before.”

“Let me have a look.” Blake held out his hand.

Chris arched a brow.

Max shoved him. “Give him a break. What could it hurt?”

Chris shoved him back but handed his phone over.

Blake’s jaw tightened. One of these days the guy would probably explode like a spring that had been wound too tight. Max wasn’t sure he wanted to be there when that happened.

“Well?” the chief asked, impatience heavy in his tone as Blake carefully examined each picture.

He handed the phone to Chris. “The second one and the last one are gangbangers from my hometown. I don’t know their names. But they have the same tattoos on their forearms as other gangbangers I’ve arrested.”

“They’re gang members from Knoxville?” the chief asked.

Blake nodded. “Those two for sure. Can’t speak for the other three. I can call my old squad, send them the photos to help us get IDs. Maybe the other ones just don’t have their tats yet. They have to earn them. But we can assume they’re all in the same gang.”

“We don’t assume anything around here,” Dillon said. “We deal in facts.”

Blake’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t rise to the bait.

Colby asked, “Why would street thugs drive forty-five minutes to storm a small, rural grocery store with assault rifles? They could have made a much bigger haul in Knoxville.”

“They didn’t get a haul at all. Didn’t even try,” Max said. “As soon as they came in, they started firing wildly into the air—except the one who shot at me. They split up as if looking for something, leaving only two guys to control the customers up front. But they didn’t seem to have a clue what they were doing. I was able to signal the manager to hustle the employees and customers into the cooler while I drew the gunmen’s fire. If they were there for money, they’d have all stayed up front and forced the manager to open the safe.”

Dillon crossed his arms, looking thoughtful. “They came here looking for something.”

“Maybe they were looking for someone.” Max nodded toward the other end of the parking lot.

As one they all turned to see Bex, still sitting in the back of an ambulance.

The chief motioned to Chris. “Text those pictures to all of our phones. Max, show the pics to Miss Kane and ask her whether she recognizes any of them.”

Max straightened away from the cruiser. “Dillon’s the lead. He should question her.”

A look of surprise flashed across Dillon’s face, but he took a step toward Bex anyway.

The chief put his hand on Dillon’s shoulder to stop him. “No. Max is going to interview her. The rest of you can change out of your gear and get initial statements from the other witnesses. The EMTs should be done checking them out soon. One of our officers is putting them in the break room as their medical reviews are done, unless any of them need to be hospitalized. You know the routine. Get those statements.”

Colby clapped Max on the shoulder in a show of solidarity as he and the others headed to their vehicles to shed their gear. When only the chief remained, he faced Max with his hands on his hips.

“Go on, son. Spit it out. You look like you’re chewing on nails.”

“You, more than anyone, know my history. You hired me right out of high school, right after...everything. Dillon or one of the others should interview Miss Kane. Not me.”

“That it? That’s all you got to say?”

He wanted to say a whole lot more. But he respected his boss too much to let loose with a string of curses. “Yes, sir. That about sums it up.”

“Good. Glad we got that settled. Because you’re a professional and I’ve never had reason to say otherwise. Don’t give me a reason today. Miss Kane was clinging to you like a lifeline when you carried her out of the store and it took ten minutes of your sweet-talking to get her to let you go. You may not be comfortable, given your past. And I understand that, I really do. But this isn’t about you. This is about finding the truth, conducting an investigation. Right now, whether either of us likes it or not, you’re our best option for getting her to answer our questions. Now, I ain’t normally one to explain my decisions and don’t plan on doing this again anytime soon. So I suggest you get over there and do your job, Detective.”

Heat flushed up his neck. His face was probably beet red. Feeling like a high school kid who’d just been scolded by the principal for skipping class, Max gave his boss a curt nod and strode across the parking lot.

Before Max was even halfway there, he noticed an older gentleman in a dark gray suit working his way between the cars and fire trucks toward Bex’s ambulance. Max hesitated. The man was Augustus Leonard, one of only two lawyers in town. Why did a lawyer want to talk to Bex?

* * *

THE EMT, DON, steadied Bex’s left forearm on a raised metal board that he’d slid out from the wall of the ambulance. From the amount of bandages, antibiotic sprays and other first aid equipment lying around, Bex would have thought her arm had been severed. She was embarrassed at all the fuss he was making over such a small cut.

Pausing with a needle poised between what looked like tweezers, he said, “Ma’am, are you sure you won’t go to the hospital and have a doctor stitch you up? You may need X-rays. There might be other injuries you don’t even know about yet.”

She shook her head. “I don’t have anything more serious than this.”

“You’re one lucky woman. It could’ve been a lot worse.”

Bits of memories flashed through her mind—gunshots, crouching behind the T-shirt rack, her stomach clenching with dread as the gunman with the ski mask raised his arm, ready to shoot her. She shivered and considered the bandage on her arm. He was right. It could have been so much worse.

“You’re right. And I assure you I’m very grateful that I’m only getting stitches.”

“Stitches? What stitches?” a gravelly voice said from the open doors of the ambulance.

Bex looked over, smiling to see her lawyer looking all proper and perfect, his white hair neatly in place, his handlebar mustache sticking out on each side like skinny white toothpicks. She started to lean toward him to shake his hand, but Don frowned at her, holding her injured arm steady.

“Sorry, Don.” She waved at her lawyer. “Mr. Leonard, nice to see you. What are you doing here?”

He arched a bushy brow. “I might ask you the same thing, Miss Kane. Imagine my concern when I look out my office window and see a SWAT team racing into the grocery store. Even worse, a few minutes later, you’re carried out by Detective Remington and placed in this ambulance. And now I hear something about stitches. Do tell, please, what’s going on? How badly are you hurt?”

She nodded toward her left arm. “Not bad at all. Just about to get a couple of stitches, that’s all.”

“More than a couple,” the EMT murmured as he pricked her skin with the needle.

The shot he’d given her to numb her arm did its job, but she couldn’t help wincing and looking away.

“How did you get cut?” her lawyer asked.

“It happened when I crawled in between some shelves. Some gunmen held up the store and I had to hide. I really am okay. Thanks to Max—ah, Detective Remington.”

“Who else was hurt?” he asked. “I saw two men brought out on stretchers.”

“I have no idea. I haven’t heard about anyone else in the store, or the details about what happened. I hope those men will be okay.”

“They were the bad guys,” Don said without glancing up from his work. “Heard it over the radio. Two of the gunmen were shot and taken to Maryville. I don’t think any of the shoppers were injured.”

Bex turned her head again as he poked the needle into her skin.

“Hurts?” Augustus asked.

“No, I just...don’t like needles.”

“It’s a shame your mother refused to let you come see her in Destiny all these years and then your first time back you end up in the middle of a robbery.” He shook his head. “Dorothy shouldn’t have kept you from your own home all this time. It wasn’t right. For what it’s worth, I did try to talk some sense into her. But she was too worried about you, was determined to keep you away.”

“I just wish she would have agreed to move in with me. But she insisted on staying here,” Bex said.

“Destiny was her home. She had a lot of friends here, her volunteer work at the church. I doubt she’d have moved for anyone.”

“Well, I guess it all worked out. Mama enjoyed the trips to see me. She got a little thrill every time I had a limo pick her up.”

“You spoiled her.”

“She deserved it. I only wish I could have done more for her while she was alive. No matter how well my business did, she refused to let me buy her anything expensive. Half the gifts I mailed her were returned. I sent her a houseful of furniture once and she wouldn’t sign for it, wouldn’t even let the guys unload anything from the truck.”

He smiled. “That’s Dorothy for you.” He leaned forward and patted her good hand. “My condolences again. I know you loved her very much. Her heart attack was such a shock to us all.”

She blinked against the burn of unshed tears. “Thank you. No sense in dwelling on the past anymore, though. I need to wrap things up here and get back to my own home as soon as I can, make sure Allison isn’t ready to quit after being left in charge of the antique shop so long.”

“Allison?”

“My assistant. And friend. Once I pack up everything, when do you think I’ll be able to put the house up for sale?”

She risked a quick look at her injured arm. Four stitches in, probably a few more to go. She looked away before Don dipped the needle in again.

“Another few weeks at best, a month at the worst. Your mother’s will is fairly straightforward. But there are some tangles to unravel with the various properties she had around the county and ensuring there are no liens before I can get them transferred to you as the owner.”

“You’re referring to the farmland my daddy used to have? Aren’t those plots leased out to local farmers? The same ones who’ve been on that land since Daddy died years ago?”

“Yes, but it won’t take long to clear them out. Shouldn’t be a problem. It’s a standard eviction process.”

“I don’t want them cleared out. Just transfer the deeds to them.”

He blinked like an owl. “Pardon?”

“I don’t need the land, Mr. Leonard. And I’m doing well with my antique store. I’m not rich by any stretch. But I’ve got what I need. No reason to be greedy. Those men have worked that land for years. They’ve earned this. It’s the right thing to do. Mom and Dad would approve, I’m sure.”

He looked like he wanted to argue but he gave her a crisp nod. “Very well. It’s your land, your money. I’ll draw up some papers to make the transfer. It will take more time than originally planned, of course.”

“Thank you. I understand.”

Don jostled her arm as he leaned past her to put away the needle. But when she started to pull back, he stopped her.

“I need to bandage that before we’re done,” he said.

She sighed and relaxed her arm.

Don cleaned up the tabletop to prepare for bandaging her cut.

“If the paperwork takes much longer, can we plan on doing it through the mail? Including the sale of my mom’s house?”

He frowned. “Why would you want to do that? You’re here now. If a few more weeks is too long, I can try to put a rush on things.”

“I don’t want you to have to hurry on my account. But after, well, after today, I’m more inclined to finish packing up the house and just go. Can’t I sign some kind of power of attorney over to you?”

His brows raised again, making her think of snow-white caterpillars.

“You can, certainly. But most people prefer to give power of attorney to someone they know and trust rather than to their lawyer.”

“My mama trusted you. That’s good enough for me.”

He puffed out his chest, his face turning a light shade of red. And suddenly Bex wondered whether he’d felt more toward her mother than simple friendship. And whether those feelings were returned. If so, her mother had never said anything. But then again, her mother might have worried that Bex would feel funny about her finally dating someone after all these years. And, truth be told, she would have felt...odd about it.

A car crash had taken Bex’s father from them when Bex was in middle school. The loss had been devastating for her and her mother. Imagining her mom with anyone other than her daddy made her feel sad. But happy, too. Her mother deserved some male companionship in her life. And if she’d found it with the honorable Mr. Augustus Leonard, then that was a very good thing.

Mr. Leonard cleared his throat. “Thank you for your faith in me, Miss Kane. I have a form at the office you can fill out for the power of attorney. When you’re finished here, I can walk you over. Martha’s a notary. She can witness our signatures and notarize the document.”

“Can you raise your arm a few inches?” Don asked.

Bex lifted her arm so he could wrap some gauze over the stitches.

“Sounds like a plan,” she said to her lawyer. “The sooner I can get out of Destiny the better. There’s nothing left for me here except bad memories.”

Movement near the ambulance doors had her looking up, and right into Max’s eyes. Again. And just like in the grocery store, his jaw tightened and his eyes darkened.

“Max. Um, hi. How long have you been standing there?” she asked.

“Long enough.” The bitterness in his voice surprised her. Had he heard what she’d said to Mr. Leonard? Why would it matter? He certainly didn’t have any feelings for her anymore, as evidenced by how he’d treated her at the deli.

Or did he?

He motioned toward the bandage. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

She blinked and looked down, having forgotten all about her injured arm. “It’s just a little cut.”

“More like a gash,” Don said. “Eight stitches.”

“How did that happen?” Max elbowed his way past the lawyer and hopped into the ambulance. He grabbed Bex’s left hand to inspect the EMT’s work as if he would demand a redo if it didn’t meet his standards.

Bex frowned and tugged her arm out of his grasp. “I assume it happened when you...when I hid between the shelves. It’s not a big deal. I’m fine. Really.”

He studied her a moment, then promptly ignored her, speaking instead to the EMT.

“Why didn’t you take her to the hospital?”

“She said she didn’t—”

“I refused to go to the hospital,” she said.

“Well?” he asked the EMT, as if she hadn’t spoken.

Don’s brows rose to his hairline. “I, ah, Miss Kane didn’t want to go to the hospital. She asked me if I could take care of her arm here.”

“What about the risk of infection? Those grocery store shelves aren’t exactly sterile.”

The bewildered look on Don’s face hardened. “I know how to clean a wound, sir. And I asked Miss Kane about getting a tetanus shot, but she insisted that she didn’t need one.”