Reunited in Danger (9 page)

A light drizzle was falling, the rain once again having let up, and Jalissa from next
door danced on the sidewalk under a pink umbrella.

“Hi, Miss Keely,” she said, splashing in a puddle with bright pink rain boots.

“That looks like fun.” Keely smiled at the little girl, then waved to April, who stood
inside, watching from the front window. A good mom. A responsible neighbor. Keely
crossed the street and slid into the passenger seat of Logan’s SUV. She closed the
door, tightened her ponytail, and considered her options. The drizzle increased to
a steady downpour, as if reflecting the intensity of her thoughts.

Now or never
. She’d confront him before she lost her nerve.

He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

She wiped a strand of wet hair from her face. “Wait. Before we go to the jail and
see Padilla, can we talk first?”

He nodded. “What’s up?”

Unable to meet his gaze, she stared through the windshield at the raindrops hitting
the sidewalk and rubbed her hands on her knees to rid herself of some of her nervous
energy.

“Keels, it’s just you and me. What is it?” he asked.

She could do this
. Like ripping off a bandage, she had to face facts, once and for all. She twisted
to face him. “My dad told me.”

Logan flinched, but only slightly, and then blew out a breath. “Told you what?”

She tensed her muscles, guarding her body to prevent a blow to her emotions. “He told
me my mother…” The words stuck in her throat. “That my mother pushed you away from
me. Told you to join the Marines.”

His jaw tightened. The dark afternoon clouds masked his eyes. She breathed in the
musky, wet scent of him and fought the urge to move closer.

“Enlisting was the best thing that could have happened to me back then. Joining the
Marines gave me my future,” he said.

“Okay.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, waiting for him to say more.
Apparently if she wanted a deeper explanation, she’d have to drag it out of him. “Earlier
we didn’t finish our conversation. You already know how you hurt me when you left.”
A lump formed in her throat. She’d prepared for this conversation. What she hadn’t
been prepared for was the old wounds opening raw again and the hurt smacking her as
if she were feeling the pain for the first time.

“Keely.” He laid a hand on her thigh and the heat of his palm scorched through the
thin fabric. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. The thing is…I think Lillian was
right. You had big plans—college, career. Being with me would have kept you from that.”

She shook her head, blinking hard to keep her eyes dry. Better to let anger cover
her feelings. She could handle anger. “Don’t you think I should have been part of
that decision?”

“I was a mess as a kid. I’d just been arrested for fighting—”

“A justified fight, according to my dad. You were protecting some little kid.”

“No. That’s what you don’t get. I hurt that boy more than I had to. I had rage in
me just like the rage I always saw in my father. Once I started, I couldn’t stop.
I got off on a technicality. Your mother asked me to do the right thing for you, and
I did. I left. I would have done anything for you to have the future you deserved.
Even if that meant hurting you. And myself.” He stared out the car window, his gaze
focused on something in the distance.

He’d left to protect her? Not because he didn’t love her? “It’s too late to change
our past.” She took a calming breath in an effort to steady her emotions. What did
all of this mean? How was anything different now?

“You’re right. It is.”

“So after you came back from Afghanistan, and after I called you, why didn’t you—”

Logan held up a hand and leaned forward, his attention caught by something outside.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I don’t like the looks of that.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, straining to follow his line of vision.

“Two dudes in that car.” He pointed with his chin to a parked beige Mercedes. “Been
sitting there for a while.” He picked up his cell phone. “I need to call in the plates
and check it out.”

Before she had the chance to comment, Margaret walked out of Ben’s place. She picked
up her umbrella, patted Jalissa on the head, and turned to go to her house.

The door of the Mercedes opened and the interior light flashed, drawing Keely’s attention
away from the elderly lady.

Keely leaned forward to get a better view though the rain-soaked windshield.

One of the occupants got out of the car, a teenager wearing a ball cap, and pointed
something at Margaret.

A gun.

Fear ripped through Keely’s whole body.
Oh my God!

Logan tossed his phone aside, bolted from his seat, and crouched behind the open door,
gun in hand.

“Police! Drop your weapon! Mrs. Beyer, get down!” Logan bellowed. “Jalissa, go inside.
Drop your weapon
now
.” Logan pointed his gun at the man brandishing the weapon.

Keely’s pulse rocketed. She had to do something! She threw open the car door, slid
out, and pulled out her cell phone, using the door to hide behind.
This wasn’t happening, couldn’t be happening
. But it was. Pelts of rain stung her eyes. But she could see Margaret frozen in her
spot, and her eyes wide and terrified.

“Mrs. Beyer, get on the ground,” Logan repeated, his gun trained on the kid in the
hat.

Keely dialed 911 with shaking fingers. Her breath came in short gasps.

The operator answered, “911, what is your emergency?”

Two deafening explosions, like fireworks, pierced the air.

Margaret’s eyes and mouth opened wide, then she slammed back into the brick of her
house and crumbled to the ground.

Oh God, no
.

Chapter Eight

Keely fought back a wave of nausea. Margaret had been shot! Before Keely could answer
the 911 operator, the gunman whirled to face Logan. For a terrifying second, she thought
he would be next. A scream lodged in her throat when she noticed Jalissa still standing
in front of her stoop.

If Logan or the gunman fired his weapon, the girl could get caught in the crossfire.

“Someone’s been shot,” Keely shouted into the phone. She rattled off the address.

From her father’s row house, Peterson opened the front door, gun aimed at the kid
in the ball cap. “Police! Drop your weapon!”

The gunman turned, aimed at Peterson, and Peterson fired. The boy’s face contorted.
He dropped his gun, staggered, and fell backward onto the pavement. His body twitched,
and Keely’s stomach twisted.

“Driver, put your hands up. Hands up, now!” Logan trained his gun on the driver of
the Mercedes. Neighbors rushed to windows and eased out of front doors. Jalissa’s
moth
er whisked her inside the house
, leaving the girl’s pink umbrella to roll down the street.

The kid in the car ducked low, hit the gas, and peeled out of the parking spot. Logan
lowered his gun and the car sped past. Keely planted her feet, braced her right arm
with her left, and aimed her cell phone camera at the car, taking photos until the
car whipped around the corner and out of sight.

Logan raced across the street, gun trained on the bleeding kid who’d shot Mrs. Beyer,
and kicked the gun away.

“I had to shoot him,” Peterson said, gun still drawn and pointed at the kid.

“Self defense, Peterson. You did the right thing,” Logan said.

Keely shoved her phone in her pocket. She wrapped her arms around herself and held
on tight, unable to catch her breath. She’d witnessed violence before. She dealt with
violent offenders every day at her job. But she’d never in her life seen anyone shot
right in front of her. Bile rose in her throat at the gory scene.

Logan handcuffed the unconscious kid and rolled him to his stomach. Then he attended
to Margaret. “Stay back everyone,” he shouted. “Peterson, keep your gun on him.”

Blood pounded through her head and Keely staggered around the SUV toward Margaret,
who lay crumbled on the sidewalk, her gray church jacket bloodied by two gunshots.
Rain puddled around her. Keely crossed the street on legs that suddenly felt like
rubber. Her dad and Dave came out the front door, Dave holding her father’s upper
arm to support him.

Logan holstered his gun and yanked out his phone. “Signal 13! Signal 13! Officer needs
assistance.” He gave the address, then added, “And a bus. Stand back, everybody.”
He dove to his knees and pulled off his leather jacket, tossed it to the side. Then
he yanked off his T-shirt and pressed it against the wound on Margaret’s shoulder.

“Keely, are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” she said automatically, staring at the slumped woman. That was a lie.
She wasn’t okay. Margaret wasn’t moving. Keely crouched beside her and held her limp
hand.

The rain pounded on the trail of blood from Margaret’s body. In the distance, sirens
echoed off the city buildings.

“What can we do for her?” Keely asked.

Logan lifted the shirt from Margaret’s shoulder, checked it, then held it against
her again. At least she was bleeding. That meant her heart was pumping. Rain hit Keely’s
eyes, mixing with her tears as she glanced around at the scene. The gunman was handcuffed
and on his stomach, his blood mixing with the soaking rain to form a bright red river
down the sidewalk and into the gutter. Sirens wailed, getting closer.

When Logan didn’t move, Keely squinted up in the pouring rain to look at him. He shook
his head slowly. “Ambulance is on its way. Let’s not move her. We don’t know what
kind of injury she has.”

Her thoughts raced to her father. Ben was already traumatized, and now he’d have to
deal with this new trauma.

A squad car squealed to a stop in the middle of the street, followed by two more marked
cars. A uniformed officer held his gun on the handcuffed shooter as another one checked
for a pulse. Logan stood and moved behind Keely, squeezed her shoulders as the ambulance
double-parked in the street and two EMTs raced toward them.

“Come on, Keels. Let’s move so the medics can do their job.” He helped her to her
feet. Her entire body was shaking so hard she could barely walk. “Come on, baby,”
he whispered. “Be strong.” His words and hot breath gave her the strength she needed.

“I’m okay. I have to help my father.” Keely straightened her back and lifted her chin.
Logan held her arm for support. Even though he was shirtless in a chilly rain, heat
radiated from his body, warming her.

And yet chills still chased down her spine.

Her dad stood on the stoop. With glazed eyes, he stared at Margaret through the crowd
of medics who surrounded her.

“She’ll make it. She’s a tough lady,” Logan whispered in her ear.

Keely closed her eyes for a second, then made her way to Ben and wrapped her arm around
her father’s waist. Logan spoke with the EMTs as they loaded Margaret into the ambulance
and hooked her to machines. A few minutes later, the siren blared and she was whisked
off to the hospital.

Keely grasped her dad’s elbow with shaking hands. No doubt he wanted to go with Margaret
and be with her, but she knew in his condition he couldn’t.

“Let’s get inside.” She didn’t know if she was helping him inside or holding onto
him for dear life.

…

Inside her dad’s house an hour after the shootings, Keely’s hands still shook. How
could Margaret Beyer be sipping tea one minute and in critical condition the next?

Logan stepped into the foyer, his wet hair matted to his head, his mouth set in a
grim line.

Keely handed him a towel.

“Thanks.” He blotted water from his clothes, including one of her dad’s sweatshirts
Keely had given him, since he’d used his own shirt to stop Margaret’s bleeding. It,
too, was soaking. He’d stayed outside until the police officers called to the scene
had left.

Keely’s eyes stung with unshed tears. Her head pounded with frustration over Margaret’s
injuries and her father’s worry. Her dad had finally begun to find happiness with
another woman after losing his wife. And now that woman’s life was in the balance.
Revenge burned hot inside Keely’s gut.

“Where’s Ben?” Logan passed her the wet towel.

She motioned with her head to the living room. “In there with Dave and Charlie. Thanks
for sending your friend Beatrice. Makes me feel better to know he has a bodyguard
watching over him.”

Logan nodded and closed his eyes for a few seconds. As if steeling himself, he straightened
and strode into the living room to speak with her father.

Keely bit her bottom lip to keep it from shaking, and after regaining control, followed
Logan.

Her father sat in his favorite recliner with his feet propped up. His wide eyes made
her wonder if he was in shock. Beatrice, the off-duty policewoman Logan had hired
to protect him, sat erect on the sofa, as if ready to pounce at a second’s notice.
Charlie sat in a chair to one side of her dad, glancing around the room as if unsure
what to do to help, while Dave barked out orders that went unheeded.

Keely looked at Logan and thought about the one thing that would snap her dad out
of his worries. Helping others. “Dad, should I get some of your clothes for Logan?”

Sure enough, her father blinked and focused on Logan. “Oh, for crying out loud. You’re
soaked. Keely, go get him some sweatpants and a new shirt.”

“No, thank you, sir,” Logan said. “I need to get to headquarters to file a report
and answer some questions. I’ll change there.” He glanced at her. “Okay to postpone
our trip to the city jail?”

She blinked, then nodded. “Yeah.” She’d totally forgotten about that.

“What about the young man who was shot?” Ben asked, looking at Logan.

Only her dad—with his forgiving attitude and willingness to look at the good in a
person—would call the shooter a young man.

Logan’s jaw tightened. “Dead before the ambulance got to the hospital. He was one
of the kids Mrs. Beyer caught on her cell phone photo. Chayce Wilson.”

“And the other one? The one who took off in a car?” her father asked.

“Lenny Harper, presumably. We ran the tag. Stolen car. We’re looking for it now.”
He glanced at Keely. “Quick thinking back there to take pictures, by the way. I couldn’t
see the last two numbers from where I stood.”

Keely nodded, but remained silent.

“Dave, Charlie,” Logan continued, “Detective Dunnigan is outside. He’d like to talk
with both of you.” Logan sounded more like he was issuing an order than a request.

Both men looked surprised, but then stood and said good-bye to her dad before heading
to the foyer for their coats.

“I’ll be right out.” Logan closed the door behind the men and then turned to Keely
and Ben. “I’ll let you know when we catch the other kid. Dave seems to know a lot
of neighborhood kids, so maybe he’s heard of these two, which is what Dunnigan wants
to ask him.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Her father’s sad eyes and Logan’s compassion made Keely want to run
to her room and have a good cry. She would not break down in front of both of them.
She needed to stay strong for her father. She inhaled and held the breath, filled
her lungs with humid air.

“I appreciate your help.” Ben gestured with his chin toward Beatrice. “And thanks
for finding a bodyguard for me. You were right, we should have had someone here.”

“Beatrice has good instincts.”

The woman raised a brow in answer and glanced back out the window.

Logan moved beside Keely. “Walk me to the door?”

She rubbed her arms to ward off chills and followed him.

“You doing okay?” His gaze bored into her.

She nodded.

“The State Police are heading this case now, since it’s a cop-involved shooting.”
Logan kept his voice low, then placed his hands on his hips. “You know what sucks
the most about this job?” His brown-eyed gaze met hers.

She shook her head.

“Knowing the good guys don’t always win. But we’ll win this time, Keely.”

The tears she’d been trying to hold back ran freely down her cheeks. Margaret lived
unafraid, righteously. And she’d been shot while standing up for what she believed
in.

Logan frowned and reached out to cup her chin. His hand warmed her skin and her headache
disappeared. He leaned closer, his spearmint breath hot on her cheek.

Her hands itched to reach out, take comfort from his touch.

“I’m sorry our conversation was interrupted in the car.” His husky voice vibrated
through her body.

Her head reeled with emotion. She took several shallow breaths in an effort to calm
her beating heart. “Me, too.”

“We need to talk. But not right now. Tomorrow?”

For years, he’d let her believe he’d left without a good-bye. She’d blamed him for
something that wasn’t his fault. She could wait one more day. “Okay,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

Logan bent and touched his lips to her forehead. She knew he meant it as a gesture
to comfort her, but her heart pounded even faster. He rubbed both thumbs across her
cheeks, wiping away the tears. The boy she’d grown up with had become a man she could
count on. A man who’d stepped in when she needed him to help her through some of the
scariest moments of her life.

His jaw tightened and he moved his hands to her shoulders, held her away. Back to
cop mode. “I think you should spend the night here tonight instead of at your own
house. Wouldn’t hurt to have someone looking out for you, too. I know you want to
get to the jail to follow up on Melita, but right now you need to think about your
own safety first.”

“I’m not worried about me. I have my mace and I—”

“Keels,” Logan frowned. “We don’t know why your dad was attacked, or why Margaret
was shot. Until we know different, assume the same people who shot Margaret Beyer
are the ones who attacked your father.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“It means you could be next.”

…

Logan hurried down Ben’s front steps and headed to his SUV. The rain had stopped and
stars now dotted the clear October night sky. His wet clothes clung to him in a heavy,
sodden mess. Charlie stood with Dunnigan, who leaned on the hood of Logan’s SUV and
scribbled something in his notebook before snapping it closed.

“Thanks for your time,” Dunnigan said, giving a curt nod to Dave and Charlie.

Dave stood erect. “I’ll keep asking around to see if any of our kids have heard of
those guys…what were their names again?”

“Chayce Wilson and Lenny Harper,” Logan said, stepping up beside Dunnigan. “We appreciate
your help.”

After Dave and Charlie headed to their cars, Dunnigan swept his gaze over Logan. “You’re
soaked. I need a ride to the station. Let’s crank the heat in your SUV and I’ll fill
you in on my conversation on the way over,” he said.

Logan climbed in, turned the key, and switched the heat to the highest setting.

Dunnigan settled in the passenger seat. “How are Ben and Keely?”

“Shaken up, but okay.” Logan pictured Keely’s wide eyes. “I had to put the fear of
God into Keely to make sure she knew the threat could be real. The guys who shot Margaret
matched the description of the guys who attacked Ben.”

“Hmm,” Dunnigan said, rubbing his hands together close to the heating vent. “Circumstantial
evidence. Once we catch the other kid, we’ll know more.”

With the engine idling, Logan squeezed the steering wheel tight enough to whiten his
knuckles. He stared at his hands, emotions coursing through him. “I wanted to kill
that boy today. He shot an elderly woman and put a child and Keely at risk. Seeing
Keely standing by the SUV while gunfire erupted sent chills down my spine.”

“It would take an idiot not to see how much you care for her.”