Shadow Point Deputy Read online

  Sirens cried in the distance as Cole relayed details of the shooting to Dispatch. Apparently he’d been on the phone with West when the first shot rang out.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs, threatening to break them. Her stomach knotted, and her hands ached for something to hold. Nothing seemed real. The day had to be a dream. A movie she’d seen years before and nearly forgotten. Anything but reality. This could not be her actual life.

  “Rita?” Cole’s steady voice seeped into her clouded thoughts. “She’s nonresponsive.” He traced the line of her arm with careful fingers, then tenderly grazed her shoulder and neck. “I don’t see any injuries. She’s in shock, I think.”

  “I’m not,” Rita said, jerking her face in his direction.

  “Ask West to call me.” Cole returned the radio handset to his console, then shifted into Park. He parked the cruiser behind a small white church off the winding road. “Dispatch is taking over. And it’s okay to be in shock. It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling. You were shot at. Stalked by an active shooter.”

  “You saved me.”

  The corners of Cole’s mouth pulled down. “No. I’m the reason you were in danger. You shouldn’t have been there. Then you wouldn’t have needed saving.”

  The plea in his tone and determination in his eyes lit a flame in Rita’s core. Heat rose and spread from her middle. Cole Garrett was her hero.

  Rita unlatched her seatbelt and turned to face him. She raised a palm to the stubble on his cheeks and curled her fingertips against the strong line of his jaw.

  Shock flashed in his eyes before quickly becoming something else. “Rita?” His voice was low and gravelly with want.

  “Yes.”

  Cole reached for her then, winding a strong arm over her back and pulling her toward him until she was on her knees, stretching back across the infuriating console.

  Her lips met his in a perfect collision of passion and relief. It was the moment she’d been dreaming of since she’d first set eyes on him all those months ago, and it was everything she’d expected and more. Expert hands lifted her in the confined space of his front seat. Greedy and protective, they brought her gently to rest on his lap.

  Rita arranged her thighs over his before deepening the kiss. She towered over him, caressing his face in her hands and eagerly opening her mouth when his tongue swept across her bottom lip, asking for more.

  The radio crackled beside them as Dispatch announced the need for another car at Minsk’s home.

  Cole broke the kiss with a groan, leaving Rita breathless and perched awkwardly over him.

  She buried her face in the curve of his neck and tried not to think of how to get back into her seat like a lady. “I am so sorry.”

  His chest went still. “You attacked me.”

  Rita reared back. “No.”

  Cole’s mischievous smile washed the wave of humiliation away. “Adrenaline makes people do crazy things.”

  Rita climbed off his lap much less smoothly than she’d arrived. “I think it was your apology.”

  “Well, then, I am very, very sorry,” he said.

  She buckled her seatbelt with a grin, hating the rush of heat across her cheeks. “Shut up.”

  Chapter Nine

  Cole pulled back onto the curving country road, his grip tight on the steering wheel. What was he thinking? Kissing her like that. Letting the heat of the moment burn through his professionalism.

  Rita gazed out the window, likely regretting the way she’d kissed him or the fact she’d let him drag her onto his lap like they were people who made out in cars instead of what they were. Practically strangers, on the run from a killer.

  Correction. Rita was on the run. Cole was on the hunt, and at his first opportunity, Cole would bring this guy down.

  Cole’s cell phone rang, and he hit speaker. “Garrett.”

  “Hey,” West answered. “I’m at Minsk’s. Where are you?”

  “Headed to the marina. I think we need to get eyes on that boat before someone else gets to it. If they haven’t already.”

  West sighed heavily. Cole could practically hear him aging. “And Rita?”

  “She’s here. You’re on speaker.”

  A beat of awkward silence filled the car.

  “Hi,” Rita said shyly, wrinkling her brow and locking her gaze on Cole.

  Cole smiled at the silly look. “Any sign of the shooter?”

  “No,” West answered, “but we’ve got a vehicle with no plates around the curve past the house. We’re checking it out.”

  “Black sedan?” Cole asked.

  “No. Silver hatchback.”

  Rita deflated against the passenger seat, allowing her head to roll aside.

  “Keep me posted,” Cole said. “We’ll meet you at the station afterward.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Cole tossed the phone into a cupholder and hooked the next right toward the river. He examined Rita’s expressionless profile. “If the shooter’s anywhere near Minsk’s house, West will find him. West’s one of the best trackers I know, and the other deputies are diligent. If the shooter isn’t long gone by now, he’ll never make it.”

  Rita’s face went slack, as if a horrible thought had just occurred to her. “The maid,” she whispered.

  “I know.” Cole lifted a hand to comfort her, but returned it to the wheel. The maid’s death was his fault. He should’ve been with her. He was the one who’d invited her there. And damn if he didn’t feel like he’d been one step behind Minsk’s killer from the moment he’d laid eyes on his body being dragged from the river. Cole couldn’t keep doing this. He had to get ahead of the sonofabitch before Rita was next to pay the price.

  A pair of fat tears slid over her cheeks. “He killed her,” she said. “For what? Answering the door? What about her family? She could have a husband. Children.” The final word was barely a sound on her tongue.

  Cole’s heart ached for hers. “I’m sorry.” Rita had lost her mom senselessly, too. He couldn’t imagine what this day felt like to her.

  “She shouldn’t have been a part of this.”

  “You’re right.” And he hated himself for asking the poor woman to meet him at Minsk’s home. Cole had wanted her there to provide insight into the man he’d never met. He’d never imagined...

  “What happens now?” Rita asked in a small, heartbroken voice. “Who will tell her family?”

  “West.” Cole answered mindlessly. These were the things his big brother insisted on handling. My county. My people. My responsibility, he’d say. “He’ll deliver the news and answer whatever questions he can for them. Then, he’ll set his sights on the killer and won’t stop going for him until justice is done.”

  Though Cole planned to beat him to it this time.

  Eventually, they left the shaded mountain pass in favor of a sprawling two-lane highway that stretched for miles between sun-drenched cornfields. Several raggedy scarecrows and the occasional combine peppered the landscape before they reached the river. Cole flipped his signal and gave the new road a long look. A mile to the east, hidden beyond the curve of a rolling hillside, stood a number of abandoned factories, homeless cats and a recent murder site. Cole drove west, toward Memorial Park, wide waterfront homes and a beautifully landscaped marina.

  He pulled the receiver off his dashboard and held it to his lips. “I’m at the Cade County Marina. Checking in.” He released the handset and waited.

  “Roger that,” a grainy voice returned.

  Cole made a slow circle around the nearly empty lot before choosing a space and settling the engine. He released his seatbelt and turned his face to Rita, unsure what to say. If he asked her to join him, he might unintentionally lead her onto a boat with a gunman. Though the alternative seemed equally dangerous, he’d already resolved not to let her out of his sight again.
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  “Ready?” He tipped his head toward the windshield, indicating the row of boats bobbing outside.

  She didn’t need a second invitation. Rita hustled around the car’s hood to meet him. “What are we looking for?”

  “Minsk’s boat. Willa.” Cole pointed to a line of red block letters on the closest fishing vessel.

  “Got it.” Rita kept pace at his side, reading the name of each boat softly as they passed.

  A long whistle blew over Cole’s lips when he spotted her. Willa wasn’t a boat, she was a yacht. Coming from Minsk’s mansion on the mountain, Cole shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. The largest boat he’d been on outside the military was a historic schooner near Williamsburg. This vessel was something else entirely. Definitely not a fishing boat. Willa was seventy-five feet of luxury, from her shining metal rails to her spotless wide-planked deck. “Looks like we’ve arrived.”

  Cole kicked a set of freestanding wooden steps across the dock toward Willa before stretching one long leg out and pulling himself completely on board. “Your turn.” He reached for Rita, who easily accepted his hand. Color flooded her face, and his chest puffed at the response.

  He couldn’t ignore the way her smaller, softer palm fit perfectly into his larger one, or the way she willingly gripped him back. Maybe she didn’t regret their kiss as much as he’d feared. Maybe she liked how their hands, and earlier their mouths, had melded together as much as he did.

  What he refused to think about, for now, was how nicely she’d fit across his lap, and how much nicer that could’ve been without the car and several layers of clothes. A rush of electricity flowed over his skin as her body pressed briefly against his for balance.

  “Oops.” She released his hand in favor of bracing both palms on his chest to find her footing.

  Cole caught her at the curves of her waist. “Okay?”

  She dropped her arms to her sides and stepped away. “Yeah.”

  Cole closed his fingers into fists, hating the loss of her nearness. “Let’s see what Willa knows.”

  * * *

  RITA FOLLOWED COLE through the small cabin door, the feel of his hands still warming her waist. She wet her lips, relishing the tingle left behind from the gentle scrape of his stubble. It was only her imagination that insisted her lips were still flavored with the taste of his tongue.

  “You okay?” he asked, clearing her hazy thoughts.

  “Yes.” She moved into the boat’s broad gathering space and paused at Cole’s side, arms crossed over her middle in a useless attempt to settle her churning nerves and butterflies.

  Cole worked methodically through the piles of clutter on a desk in the corner, then moved to a pile of folders on a nearby credenza.

  Rita took in the impressive surroundings. The boat was bigger than some of the apartments her family had lived in while following her dad across the country. Military communities were tight, and there were no secrets, as much by necessity as choice. She’d begun to miss those simpler days since coming home to find her house ransacked. That wouldn’t have happened if all her neighbors were soldiers.

  She took a few cautious steps around a protruding bar, eager for a better look at the fancy dining area behind it. An oval-shaped table was positioned in the corner and wrapped by bench seating. White china and stemmed glasses were arranged on the table, waiting for a meal that would never come. Piles of lavish pillows covered in rich shades of blue and gold silk buried the narrow bank of seats.

  Rita trailed her fingertips over the delicate fabric before moving away. She peeked through small round windows at the distant horizon where dark waters met green mountains and a clear blue sky.

  “Bingo,” Cole announced.

  Rita headed back immediately. “What did you find?” Her pulse raced in anticipation. After the horror she’d seen today, anything seemed possible. Even the things that shouldn’t touch her small town. The man in the black sedan. The one who’d murdered two people in two days. He’d changed everything.

  Cole spread a blueprint over the messy desk and anchored it at either end with folders. “Look.” He took a photo with his phone, then layered another blueprint on top of the first and repeated the process.

  Rita leaned closer, one fist pressed to her chest in prayer. Please don’t let these be schematics for a bomb. A small measure of relief washed over her as she examined the image. “Is that the marina?”

  “No, but you’re close. This is a stretch of docks on the Mississippi River in New Orleans. I saw a similar blueprint in Minsk’s home office. That one looked like our docks. Interesting that he’d have both, don’t you think? The Ohio River runs right into the Mississippi River. Two blueprints for properties on the same body of water all these miles apart?”

  He peeled back the top paper and waved a hand at the one underneath. “This is a dock in Illinois.” He tapped a finger on a line of text along the paper’s border. “Confluence with the Ohio River.” Cole set his phone down and turned for a final blueprint he’d leaned against the desk’s side. He spread it out and took a picture. “And St. Louis.” He shook his head, pointing to a similar line of text on this blueprint’s edge. “Confluence with the Missouri River.”

  “I see.” Rita struggled to understand the implication. Cole seemed excited over a stack of basic blueprints. That was Minsk’s job, wasn’t it? “We knew Minsk was a land developer. Maybe he developed docks.”

  Cole rolled each blueprint carefully and fed them into one another until he had only one thick roll to carry. “Yes, but this information could be very useful in figuring what Minsk was up to before he died. For example, if there’s been any bids made on our docks, we can follow that up as a lead, or if the same company has purchased all the other properties, that’s worth hunting, too.”

  Well, put that way, the blueprints sounded like progress. “It’s a shame Minsk didn’t live long enough to see our docks sold,” Rita said. “I remember the explosion that killed four workers there. It was a hot topic the year I moved to town.”

  Cole turned slowly to face her. “I’d almost forgotten about that. My family attended the memorial service for the fallen workers.”

  “Me, too,” she said. It had been a case she’d followed closely. A major catastrophe only months after she’d moved to Rivertown for school, away from her family, alone in a tiny apartment with a view of the fires that had burned through the night, searing oil patches released into the river by the explosion. She’d carried bottled water and sandwiches to workers for days as they dragged the river in search of the four bodies. Seen the missing men’s loved ones sobbing on the riverbanks.

  “All four families filed lawsuits, and the company was eventually foreclosed on. The lawyers had proved it was a preventable explosion, and the company couldn’t afford the settlement. A ton of families lost their jobs when that place went out of business. It was a mess. The grieving families didn’t mean to hurt anyone else. They just wanted to be sure the company didn’t let anyone else die.”

  Cole fixed her with his sharp blue eyes. “I wonder who owns it now. If not the company who went bankrupt, then who?”

  Rita shrugged. “The state was supposed to buy it and make it into a memorial honoring those families, but it never happened.” She puffed air into thick side-swept bangs, wincing at the reminder of her swollen forehead. “That’s how it goes sometimes. Politicians make promises to pacify the people until the heat blows over, then the vows are forgotten.” The lost were forgotten. The families... She rubbed her eyes, erasing images of the makeshift memorial created by neighbors for her mother following the crash.

  Rita pulled in long breaths and plucked the material of her shirt away from her chest. The air inside the cabin was too stuffy. Claustrophobic. Grief was powerful enough without adding it to the day she was having. She swallowed long and hard to clear her thickening throat and refocused on the docks. “There was going
to be a boardwalk with benches that had the lost men’s names on little plaques, and locally owned businesses, like ice cream shops and fishing pole rentals. Instead, it’s just a big ugly reminder of an avoidable tragedy.” And haven to seventeen cats.

  Cole’s phone buzzed on the desk where it had been acting as a paperweight. “Garrett,” he answered, tucking the rolled blueprints under one arm. He flicked his gaze to Rita then back to the desk. “Yeah.” He pulled a stack of files toward him, shifting the pages and stacking them up. “Are you sure?” His body stiffened. “We’re on our way.” He stuffed the phone into his pocket and fixed Rita with sincere blue eyes. “West says they still haven’t found the shooter, but someone cleared out Minsk’s office while West and the team were tracking the killer through the woods. The coroner was in the foyer downstairs and never heard a thing.”

  Fear lifted Rita’s skin into gooseflesh. “Then this guy’s really good. That’s very bad.”

  “Yeah, and he’s bold as hell.” Cole stacked files ten tall into his hands and rested his chin on the top to steady them. “Grab what you can. We’ll come back with help. For now, we need to go.”

  Rita obeyed, pulling photos from the corkboard over the desk and stacking them on piles of folders as large as her short arms could manage.

  A small thud registered in the cabin. Something had fallen on the silent deck beyond the little door. It reminded Rita of the sound made when a package was delivered to her porch.

  Except they were on a boat.

  “What was that?” she finally asked, half afraid to know the answer.

  Cole set the files back on the desk, then unlatched the button securing his sidearm to its holster. “Stay here.” He crept silently up the stairs.

  Rita followed on his heels, unable to sit still again and wait to be abducted or killed.

  Cole swiveled at the waist. He gripped a fist in the air and grimaced. It was the military signal for stand down. Don’t move. Wait.