Killer Season

“You need to put your gun down,” Joey insisted, his eyes glued to the weapon at Nate’s side. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny neck.

Nate nodded. “Okay. I can do that. But you have to promise not to hurt this nice lady here.” When Joey didn’t respond, Nate offered a weak smile that the other man didn’t return. “You know I’m a cop. I can’t part with my gun unless I know you’re no longer a threat.”

The two officers who had crept into the store paused at this statement, glanced at each other, then nodded. He was out of the line of fire, at least for the moment.

“Put it down,” Joey ordered. He tightened his grip on Fiona, causing her to let out a distressed squeak.

Nate nodded again, remembering from his days in the academy that positive feedback was important in a hostage situation. Keep the hostage taker balanced, always say yes, don’t talk about death. The main idea was to avoid antagonizing the hostage taker, in the hope that lives would be saved.

“Okay. I’m going to set it down on the counter. How does that sound?” Nate slowly moved forward while he spoke, causing Joey to move incrementally backward. With every step, Nate was herding them right into the arms of the waiting officers, and the poor guy didn’t even know it.

Fortunately, the cops seemed to have caught on. They maintained their position, weapons pointed at Joey, while they silently waited. He prayed they had turned off their radios before entering the store—the last thing he needed was for a call to come through and alert Joey to the fact that they were no longer alone.

Nate placed the gun on the counter and reached out to Fiona. “Okay, Joey. I put down my gun like you asked. Now you give me the girl.”

The other man hesitated, so Nate applied a little more pressure. “It’s only fair,” he said, maintaining his forward motion. “I gave up my weapon. You have the money. Let her go and you can leave.”

His fingertips grazed Fiona’s arm. It was nothing more than a brush of skin against skin, but he wanted to roar with satisfaction. Close, so close.

Joey loosened his grip on Fiona. Hardly daring to breathe, Nate eased his hand around her arm and gently tugged.

“Just let her go,” he whispered. “You don’t want to take her with you.”

Joey gave a jerky nod, then released Fiona with a little shove. In one swift motion, Nate pulled her against him and pivoted to the side, throwing them to the floor between the shelves of the main aisle. He covered her with his body, his whole focus on protecting her while all hell broke loose above them.

* * *

She couldn’t breathe.

Hot Guy was a solid weight on top of her, pinning her to the floor and blocking her view. Not that she wanted to see, anyway. What she could hear was bad enough.

Male voices shouting, the “pop” of what could only be a gunshot, then a high, pain-filled scream that made the fillings in her teeth ache. Squeezing her eyes shut, Fiona pressed her head against Hot Guy’s shoulder, trying in vain to block out the horrible wails now coming from somewhere nearby.

It was all too much to process, especially when she had no idea what was going on. She was still adjusting to the fact that she no longer had a gun pressed to her temple. She wanted to reach up to touch the still-tingling spot, to rub away the chill of the metal that lingered on her skin, but her hands were trapped against her stomach.

“Are you all right?”

His voice was deep and soft, for her ears only. It rumbled from his chest and into hers, a strangely intimate sensation that only added to her discomfiture.

She nodded automatically, not trusting her voice, not knowing what to say. She’d just had a gun held to her head—she couldn’t think right now, much less determine if she was fine.

He pulled back to study her face, his green eyes taking in every detail. She fought the urge to squirm, unused to such scrutiny, especially at such close range.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” He reached up to trace a finger over her temple, right where the gun had pressed into her skin. Fiona caught her breath at the gentle stroke, goose bumps popping out along her arms in the wake of his contact.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice breaking at the end. She winced and cleared her throat, not wanting to sound too emotional. She wasn’t going to fall apart just because some thug had held her hostage for a few minutes. She didn’t have time—she had to proctor final exams for her adviser’s classes soon, and a nervous breakdown was not in her schedule.

But, oh, it felt so good to be pressed up against her rescuer. Hot Guy was everything she’d thought he would be and more—a potent combination of muscle and bone, wrapped up in a very nice package. And his smell—God, his smell! Warm skin, some kind of woodsy smell from his soap and a faint note of musk all mingled to create a heady combination, making her want to press her nose to his neck and inhale deeply.

But that would be too creepy.

He carefully extracted himself and pushed to his feet, then reached down to offer his hand. She took it and had a sudden thrill as he quickly pulled her up. She swayed a bit on her feet, and he placed his hand on her shoulder to steady her. Fiona closed her eyes, enjoying his warm touch.

“I know you.”

Fiona opened her eyes at the intrusion to see a uniformed police officer staring at Hot Guy, his eyes narrowed in thought.

Hot Guy stared back, his brows drawn together while he considered the other man. “Steve, right?” he said slowly.

The officer nodded. “And you’re—?” He let the question trail off, inviting Hot Guy to supply his name.

“Nate Gallagher. Homicide.”

The officer nodded, recognition dawning. “Gallagher. You were the MVP of the last police-fire softball game. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before!”

Nate smiled faintly. “I’m glad you recognized me. I knew I was taking a chance having my gun pointed in your direction.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not gonna lie—I didn’t appreciate that. You’re lucky we saw what was happening when we pulled in.”

Nate shrugged, then pulled Fiona closer to his side. “I couldn’t let him hurt her,” he said simply.

The officer transferred his gaze to Fiona, as if noticing her for the first time. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

She nodded. Why did they keep asking her that? It’s not like they could do anything to help her if she told the truth.

“We need to take your statement,” he said, holding up an arm to gesture her forward. She moved reluctantly, not wanting to leave the security of Nate’s side. Even though their contact was limited to his hand on her shoulder, she still felt comforted by his presence.

Now that Nate and the other officer were no longer talking, Fiona realized that the robber’s moans of pain had stopped, leaving the store silent except for the intermittent crackle of the police radio. As she cleared the aisle and glanced down, Fiona saw the man was unconscious, lying in a small pool of blood.

She swallowed hard at the sight, her instincts urging her to put as much distance between them as possible. He’d been so rough and strong, jerking her around the store, but now, lying on the dirty floor with his face slack, he seemed very small and powerless.

Rationally, she knew the man couldn’t hurt her, unconscious and handcuffed as he was. Still, her body refused to move any closer, and she stood frozen in place, panic climbing up her spine to wrap choking fingers around her throat.

Another officer was kneeling by the man, halfheartedly pressing a wad of gauze to his shoulder. The officer glanced up at her and offered an absent nod. She nodded back mechanically, and he frowned.

“Are you all right, miss? You look a little pale.”

“I, uh—”

She couldn’t get the words out, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I think I need to use the bathroom.”

Fiona turned to the right and practically ran for the bathroom, yanking open the door with such force that it bounced off the wall to slam shut. She flipped the lock and collapsed onto the toilet, leaning forward with her arms wrapped tight around her stomach.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. Her thoughts were a twisted jumble as she rocked back and forth, the events of the past half hour crashing over her anew. She hadn’t had time to think or even panic in the moment, but now that the danger had passed, she couldn’t seem to escape the flood of emotions that adrenaline had kept at bay.

Fiona pressed her fist to her mouth in an effort to muffle the quiet sobs. She had learned to stifle the sounds of her grief as she cared for her mother during her battle with cancer, but right now Fiona couldn’t stop the tears from falling. She ripped a ribbon of toilet paper off the roll and pressed it to her eyes, mopping up the tears before they could drip onto her shirt in a telltale sign of distress. She had to regain her composure so she could talk to the police, and then she could go home and cry in the privacy of her empty house.

She dropped the soggy toilet paper into the trash, then moved to the sink and splashed water on her face. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she toweled off and froze, her eyes fixed on the red mark that marred her temple. With shaking fingers, she reached up to touch the bumpy spot, feeling the definite imprint of the gun barrel.

So close. Her stomach twisted at the thought of her brains on the floor, and she quickly dropped to her knees in front of the toilet, making it just in time.

“Fiona?” Nate’s voice was quiet on the other side of the door, and Fiona wanted to sink into the floor tiles and disappear. How long had he been standing there? Had he heard her crying? Worse still, had he heard her throwing up?

“I’ll be right out,” she said, trying desperately to sound normal.

“Can I come in?”

God, no! The cloying sweetness of industrial air freshener had combined with the acrid stench of bile, making a new and entirely unappealing aroma that now permeated the small room. The last thing she needed was for Nate to come in and get blasted with the scent of her breakdown.

“Um, not right now,” she hedged, wiping her mouth with a wet paper towel and smoothing back her hair. “Just give me a second.”

He was silent, but something told her he hadn’t gone far. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, silently cursing herself for crying. Why couldn’t she be one of those women who was attractive when crying? Instead, she looked like some kind of allergic mess, with swollen eyes, puffy lips and blotchy red skin. That was bad enough, but the fact that she had to step out and face Detective Hottie, who hadn’t batted an eye at tonight’s events, made her feel even worse.

I can do this. Taking a deep breath, Fiona dabbed at the last lingering wetness on her cheeks and ran her palm down the front of her shirt to smooth out the wrinkles.

Her fragile defenses in place once more, she turned and opened the bathroom door.

Here I go.

Chapter 3

Dammit, she’d been crying.

Nate could tell the minute she opened the door. She walked out with her shoulders back and head held high, her chin thrust upward in defiance and determination. But her eyes gave her away. Red rimmed and slightly swollen, they bore silent witness to her earlier tears.

He turned to follow her, but not before catching a whiff of the bathroom. Oh, honey.

She certainly wasn’t the first person to lose her lunch after such a stressful situation, but he hated that she’d had to experience it.

Joey was still out cold on the floor near the register, so he quickly steered her in the opposite direction, guiding her to walk the outer perimeter of the store on her way to the door. Not only did he want to spare her from seeing her attacker again, it gave him a chance to swipe a bottle of ginger ale as they walked past the refrigerated cases.

“Here you go,” he said, pressing the bottle into her hand with a smile. “Thought you might want this.”

She blushed but met his eyes. “Thanks,” she said softly, her mouth turning up at the corner. “Guess I wasn’t as quiet in there as I’d hoped.”

“Don’t feel bad,” he assured her, reaching up to lay a hand on her shoulder. For some reason, he couldn’t stop touching her, a fact that should have bothered him but didn’t. “I’ve seen 350-pound men cry like a baby after having a gun shoved in their face, so a little vomit is no big deal.”

She stared at the bottle for a few seconds, then shrugged and twisted off the cap.

“Something wrong?”

She shook her head. “I was just thinking that we’re not allowed to eat or drink anything from the store.”

“I’m happy to pay for it,” he said, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. She laid a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, giving him a small smile. “After the night I’ve had, I think the store can donate a soda to make me feel better.”

“Sounds fair to me,” he said, placing his hand on the small of her back to urge her forward again. He wanted to get her out of the store and away from her attacker as soon as possible. He could just make out the faint wail of a siren, which meant the ambulance was on its way. Fiona didn’t need to be here when the paramedics loaded Joey onto the stretcher and carted him off to the hospital.

Besides, they needed to take her statement and the sooner the better. He glanced up while they walked, heartened to see surveillance cameras mounted in the ceiling and pointed at the register. Maybe they’d get lucky and there would be footage of the attack—he knew from experience not every security camera was functional.

“Do those work?” He nodded at one of the cameras as they neared the door.

Fiona glanced up, following his gaze. “I think so,” she said, frowning slightly. “I’ve never seen the tapes, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

They made it to the door before Fiona stopped, a stricken look on her face.

“I need to call Ben,” she said, sounding miserable.

Nate felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of another man’s name. Was Ben her husband? Her boyfriend? Why did she sound unhappy at the thought of talking to him? More important, why did it matter so much to him?

“Who’s Ben?” His voice was deceptively neutral, but he held his breath while he waited for her to respond.

“The store owner,” she replied, triggering a wave of relief that had his breath gusting out on a sigh. Fiona shot him a questioning look, which he ignored. He couldn’t explain his reaction to himself, much less to her.

“I can call him,” he offered. “Do you have his number?”

Fiona looked up at him, relief and gratitude shining in her big brown eyes. “You’d do that for me?”

If she kept looking at him like that, he’d do just about anything for her. “It’s probably better if I call him. Part of the job and all.”

She glanced down, and he sensed a shift in her mood. “Everything okay?”

Fiona nodded, refusing to meet his gaze. “It’s just...” She trailed off, swallowed hard, then spoke again. “You saved my life tonight,” she said, her voice wobbly. “You kept that man from hurting me.”

Nate shifted, her praise making him uncomfortable. “I was happy to do it. That’s my job. Besides, the fact that you stayed calm kept the situation from escalating out of control.”

She shook her head. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

He frowned, not following her thoughts. “Get what?”

She looked up at him then, her eyes suspiciously bright. “I will never forget you or what you did for me tonight. But I suspect it’s just the latest in a long line of amazing things you’ve done, and you’re so quick to dismiss it as your job. Not many people would have stepped forward like that, but you did. You’re a hero.”

Nate felt his face heat and knew he must be as red as the sirens flashing on the ambulance pulling into the parking lot. “I’m not a hero,” he said, reaching up to tug on his collar. When did it get so warm in here?

The corner of Fiona’s mouth quirked up while she studied him. “The fact that you’re denying it just makes you even more heroic.”

Now it was Nate’s turn to look away. He didn’t know how to explain to her that he’d simply reacted. She was in danger, and he’d stepped forward, wanting only to protect her. That wasn’t heroic—it was instinctive, pure and simple. Heroes recognized danger and stepped forward in spite of it. He hadn’t stopped to consider the danger, but had rushed right in, his only thought keeping Fiona safe. If anything, his lack of discipline could have easily resulted in a tragedy tonight, something he was sure his captain would point out after learning of the situation.

The EMTs entered the store, and he heard the officers tell them where Joey had been shot and how long he’d been out. Fiona heard them, too, her expression turning distant as she listened to the conversation.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?”

Considering the man had held a gun to Fiona’s head, Nate really couldn’t care less if he recovered. Knowing Fiona wouldn’t appreciate that response, he merely nodded. “Most likely,” he said. “He got hit in the shoulder, and there wasn’t enough blood for the bullet to have clipped an artery. He’ll be just fine once they get him patched up, and then he’ll get to enjoy all the comforts of the city’s fine facilities.”

She frowned, clearly not buying his casual reply. “He passed out,” she said, raising a brow as if daring him to deny that fact.

Nate shrugged. “It hurts like hell to get shot. Maybe the pain got to him.”

Her face softened when she looked up at him. “You’ve been shot before?”

He inwardly winced, cursing himself for letting that slip. She was looking at him with stars in her eyes again, and he couldn’t bear to mislead her.

“It was my fault,” he told her, needing her to understand. “I was a rookie, and I got caught up in the excitement of making a bust. I didn’t wait for backup, and I walked right into it.”

Her mouth formed a perfect O while she raised her eyebrows. “Where were you shot?”

“In a run-down crack house off Westheimer, over in the projects.”

She gave him a mock glare, her lips twitching as she fought off a smile. “I meant where were you physically injured.” She ran her gaze over his body, searching for a clue. His skin tingled in response, and he found he liked having her eyes on him.

“Grazed my leg,” he said, patting his left thigh. He’d been exceedingly lucky—the perp had been high, which had affected his aim.

“Wow,” she murmured. “Does it still bother you?”

He shook his head. “Not really. It aches a bit, now and then, but only when there’s bad weather coming.”

Fiona gave him a mischievous smile. “You sound like a grandpa.”

Nate narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in an exaggerated sneer. “Just stay off my lawn,” he said, raising his fist in a weak shake.

Fiona laughed at that, her features relaxing for a moment. Warmth spread through his chest at the sight, and he grinned back at her. She deserved a laugh after her night, and he was absurdly proud to have been the one to lighten her mood.

The clicking sound of gurney wheels locking into place told him the EMTs had loaded Joey and were getting ready to leave. Fiona heard it, too, the smile fading from her face while she listened to the men roll out the door.

“So what happens now?”

Steve chose that moment to join them, and he spoke before Nate could reply. “We need to take you down to the station and get your statement.” He held up his arm, indicating Fiona should precede him out the door. “If you’ll come with me, please.”

She frowned slightly. “What about the store owner? I need to call him and let him know what happened here.”

Steve pulled out his notepad and passed it to Fiona. “My partner is staying here to keep the scene secure. You can give him the owner’s number and he’ll call.”

She nodded while she scribbled down a number, but Nate could see the wrinkle between her brows and knew she still wasn’t fully comfortable.

“Why don’t I come along?” he offered. Fiona’s expression lightened, and her apparent relief at his continued company made him want to puff out his chest.

Trying to hide his satisfaction, Nate turned to Steve. “If your partner has things under control here, I could give my statement, as well.”

Steve nodded. “Sounds good. Want to follow us back to the station?”

“Sure.” Nate addressed his next remark to Fiona. “I can drop you back here when we’re done, so you can get your car.”

A faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I’d appreciate that.”

As Nate watched her walk away with Steve, he was forced to admit his motives weren’t entirely altruistic. She needed a ride back to her car, to be sure, but it was the perfect excuse to spend time with her.

And he intended to make the most of it.

* * *

Fiona wrapped her hands around the plastic coffee cup, trying to soak up the weak heat leaching through the sides. She couldn’t stop shivering, despite the warm mugginess of the room. Houston winters weren’t terribly cold, but the heater in this aging municipal building seemed to have only one setting—thermonuclear. It was enough to make the place feel like a muggy swamp. Under normal circumstances, she’d feel bad for the officers forced to work in this humidor. Now, though, she was grateful for the warmth and the coffee, even if it did taste like stale pencil shavings.

On a certain level, she’d always known that working the night shift at a convenience store was a dangerous job. Despite the fact that she spent most of her shift alone, studying at the counter, the clientele who did frequent the store weren’t exactly the most upstanding citizens. To be fair, she saw quite a few shift workers, honest people who stopped in on their way to or from work. Generally speaking, though, those who came around were dancing on the thin edge of trouble.

To her mother’s way of thinking, it had never been a question of if she’d ever get robbed, but when. Christine Sanders had been furious and terrified when Fiona had told her about the job. “I won’t let you work there,” she’d said, drawing herself up in the hospital bed with shaking, painfully thin arms. “I forbid it.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom,” Fiona replied, returning to the bedside with a damp washcloth. She gently laid the cloth across her mother’s forehead, and the lines of pain etched into Christine’s face softened a bit. “It won’t be that busy—hardly anyone needs gas at two in the morning. Besides, I need this job for my research. You don’t need to worry.”

“I do worry.” Her mother’s eyes were bright blue, burning with fever and fear. “Those places get robbed all the time, and they’re going to see you, a pretty young woman working alone. You make an easy target, Fi.”

“Gee, thanks,” she said, smoothing back the thin, wispy strands of hair that hadn’t succumbed to the chemo treatments. “Are you saying you don’t think I can be intimidating?” She narrowed her eyes in a fierce scowl, but her mother only smiled sadly.

“You should pick a different research topic. One that doesn’t have you working in the middle of the night.”

It was a familiar refrain, one her mother had said countless times before. As always, Fiona was at a loss for how to respond. She’d tried several times to explain her research project—studying the effects of shift work on employee mental health—but her mom wasn’t able to look past her job.

“Can’t you just interview people during the day? Or find what you need online?”

Fiona swallowed a sigh. “I am doing that, but this job gives me an opportunity to observe people without them knowing about it. They’re less likely to be on guard, or to tell me what they think I want to hear.”

Christine only frowned. “I’m not going to stop worrying about you. But I am glad you’ve found something that will keep you occupied after I’m gone.”