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  Of course. Duh. She’d overreacted. She’d nearly given her secret away.

  This could have been a random drive-by shooting.

  Anyone in this crowded restaurant could have been the target.

  Tragic as any senseless violence might be, Freddie’s killer hadn’t found her. This incident wasn’t part of his sick game.

  She covered the slip of the tongue induced by panic by falling back on the thing she did best. Healing people. She spun around to open the truck door and pull out the first-aid kit from the glove compartment. She opened the contents on the seat and ripped open a couple of gauze pads, buying herself a few seconds to regain her composure. Her voice sounded surprisingly normal when she turned back to press the gauze against Thomas’s open wound. “I’ll need to debride that gash on your elbow before infection sets in. But I’m more concerned about the blood loss with this graze. Millie’s right. This could be related to the shooting at your daughter’s wedding. Or could it be related to one of the cases you’re working? I know you’ve been consulting—”

  “I’m a cop. Bad guys don’t like me.” Thomas spread his fingers over hers, stopping her work. He dipped his head to put his face in front of hers and demand she look him in the eye. “But why would someone want to hurt you?”

  Chapter Three

  Thomas had never met a woman who could lock down as fast or as tight as Jane Boyle. The fear that had darkened her eyes, the confusion and concern dimpling her forehead, had suddenly gone blank. She wasn’t about to tell him anything. Fine. He didn’t need her sure fingers dancing over his skin, distracting him from getting the answers she refused to give, so he’d sent her over to have her own injuries checked at the second ambulance to arrive on the scene while paramedics from the first bandaged his wounds and cleared him to report to the officers taking charge of the incident.

  Although he was the senior officer on the scene, he was also a witness to the drive-by shooting. He and the scene commander had agreed that a third party would be able to process his account more objectively than if he started listening to witness statements from the other patrons and restaurant staff who were still milling about the scene. So Thomas stood off to the side with the onlookers and flashing lights while other detectives conducted interviews, criminologists processed the parking lot and patio and uniformed officers directed traffic.

  It didn’t stop his favorites of Kansas City’s finest from reporting to him, though.

  His youngest son, Keir, was waiting to speak to him and hurried over as soon as the scene commander had left. “How’s the arm, Dad?” He nodded toward the white gauze bandages on his forearm and elbow. “Other than a panic attack leading to hyperventilation, you’re the only casualty.” Keir glanced over at the ambulance parked beyond the crime-scene tape to the hazel-eyed woman sitting on the back bumper, stoically turning her head away from the medic cutting off part of her sleeve to inspect the scrape on her elbow. “Well, you and Jane.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “Okay enough, I suppose. Superficial injuries. Main concern is infection.”

  “That’s what she told me.”

  “That’s what she told the medic, too.” Keir grinned. “I think she’s struggling to sit back and allow someone else to take care of her.”

  She’d made that abundantly clear to him. Thomas must have been staring too hard at the woman in question, because she suddenly turned her head. Their gazes met across the parking lot before Jane visibly straightened and shifted her attention back to the EMT. She couldn’t avoid him and his questions forever, not when whatever the answers were had stamped that look of terror on her face. Jane was his responsibility. She’d become one of his own the moment he’d realized how much his father needed her—and Thomas Watson protected his own. If there was anything more to this concern for her that made his belly ache, he chose to ignore it and focus on someone who was willing to talk to him. He and Keir stood by the hood of his truck while a pair of criminologists documented the bullet lodged in the left rear tire. “What about Dad and Millie? I haven’t had a chance to check in with them.”

  “They’re good. They’ve already given their statements and have been dismissed.” Keir must have just come off his shift before responding to the all-points call of shots fired. He’d unbuttoned his collar and loosened his tie, but still wore the tailored gray suit that would have allowed him to pass as an executive in the financial district if it hadn’t been for the badge and Glock holstered to his belt. “Grandpa’s still got blue running through his veins. He got a partial on the license plate and the scene commander will run it. I’ll give them a ride home. Millie’s keeping it together, but she’s scared. And Grandpa seems pretty tired.”

  Thomas appreciated being able to trust his father’s care to someone else. “It’s been a long day for him.”

  “You, too, I imagine.” With blue eyes like his mother’s, and that same driving intensity that had guided Mary Watson throughout their marriage until her death, Keir commanded authority, even though Thomas outranked him in both age and chevrons on his badge. “I was analyzing the shot pattern. Either that driver was nearsighted and couldn’t hit the side of a barn, or he was intentionally missing.”

  Didn’t that sound eerily familiar. He glanced over at Seamus, now chatting amicably with Millie and a young uniformed officer. Probably regaling him with some story about how they did police work back in his day. Out of all the people at Olivia’s wedding, with all that gunfire, only one person had been hit. There had to be a reason Seamus had been targeted specifically that day. Or maybe the shooter had been targeting him, and his dad seated beside him had been collateral damage. If whoever had hired the hit man that day wanted to hurt Thomas, he’d inflicted far more pain by attacking his family than by putting the bullet in him. Maybe that had been the plan all along. But who hated him enough to want to come after his family like that? Had that man made a second attempt to hurt the people he cared about tonight?

  “I noticed the same thing. The driver swerved at the last second when he could have hit us. And his shots were aimed down at my tires, not up into the crowd.” He lifted the sleeve the paramedic had cut up to the elbow. “In fact, I think the bullet that caught me was a ricochet. Janie could have been hit someplace a lot more vital if it hadn’t deflected off me first.”

  “Janie?” Keir’s eyes narrowed as he geared up to ask another question.

  But Thomas’s oldest son, Duff, walked up, stuffing his detective’s notebook into the pocket of his jeans. He grinned at his brother. “Hey, Pipsqueak.”

  “Muscle-head,” Keir deadpanned. The two had been teasing each other from the time Keir was old enough to toddle after his older siblings. And he’d never once let his bigger, brawnier brother intimidate him. The normalcy of the exchange elicited a smile Thomas hadn’t felt all evening. Keir answered with a grin of his own. “Call me as soon as you know anything, Dad. Kenna and I will stay at the house with Grandpa and Millie until you get home.”

  If Thomas didn’t know better, he’d think Seamus was a little sweet on Keir’s fiancée. Certainly, the high-powered attorney Keir had rescued from a stalker was sweet on Keir’s grandpa. “He’ll like that. Thanks, son.”

  Keir nodded to the older man walking beside Duff before turning away to escort Seamus and Millie to his car.

  Duff patted the shoulder of the old family friend Thomas recognized, and pulled him into the conversation. “Look who I ran into while I was canvassing.”

  “Al.” Thomas reached out to shake the man’s hand and was immediately pulled in for a backslapping hug.

  “Long time, no see, Tommy boy.”

  That had been Al Junkert’s nickname for him since the two had been young hotshots fresh out of the academy. He and Al had started in patrol together, made detective the same year and were well on their way to running their own precinct when the tragic
end of a high-speed chase had put Thomas in the hospital, fighting to keep his leg, and scared Al into leaving the investigations bureau of the department and going back to school to earn his business degree. He’d been a fixture in the KCPD administrative offices for years now, working in public relations. Al had been there when Mary died. He was Olivia’s godfather and a Dutch uncle to all his children. His graying hair looked white against the deeply tanned skin at his receding hairline, earned from too many hours out on the golf course.

  When Al pulled away, he was frowning. “Sorry to reconnect under these circumstances, though. I thought you were safe teaching seminars at the academy. The bad guys are still taking shots at you, huh?”

  Thomas propped his hands at his waist, shaking his head at the clear lack of a motive here. “I’ve made a few enemies over the years, but I can’t explain this one yet. Were you at the restaurant? I didn’t see you. Shirley with you?”

  “Yes and no. I was in the mood for Kansas City barbecue. But unfortunately, Shirley and I didn’t work out. I’m on date number two with a gal I met at one of those charity fund-raisers.” Al nodded toward the black-and-whites and flashing lights beyond the yellow crime-scene tape. “I may not make it to date number three. Hearing all the gunshots rattled her. When I told her my old partner was the target, she visibly scooted her chair away from mine, like she thought whatever happened to you was catching.”

  Thomas laughed along with Duff, but his gaze slid over to the ambulance again. The medic was bandaging Jane’s arm now. He couldn’t forget the frantic insistence in her voice when they’d argued about who was saving whom. He was after me. Maybe his injuries were the collateral damage instead of the other way around.

  That woman was afraid of something. He could feel it in his bones. And he intended to find out what or who could make a strong, independent woman like Jane shut down and pretend she hadn’t blurted out that fear.

  He reached out to shake Al’s hand and thank his buddy for checking on him, eager to get to work on finding out the truth about something tonight. “Sorry about the date. Show her that fancy office of yours and remind her that you and I don’t work together anymore. She should be safe from any fallout.”

  Al grinned. “I don’t know. This one’s skittish. She’s not like Mary was. Your Mary was a strong one—handled any crisis life threw at her. Except for that last one, of course.” His grin faded and he swiped his hand over the top of his deep forehead. “I’m sorry, Thomas. That didn’t come out right. I just meant that was the one fight she couldn’t win.”

  “It’s okay, Al. It’s been a long time. We can talk about Mary.”

  “Seems like yesterday that you and me, Mary and my first wife would all hang out.”

  “A lot has changed since those days.”

  “Your kids are all grown up. I’m looking for wife number four. Well, I’d better get back to, um...” He snapped his fingers, trying to come up with a name. “Renee. I’d better get back to Renee.” He patted Duff on the shoulder of his black Henley shirt and nodded to Thomas. “Don’t be such a stranger. Let’s meet up at the Shamrock some night and catch up.” He glanced over at the bench where Keir was helping Seamus stand and find his balance. “I’m going to say hi to your old man before I take off. Good luck catching this one, boys.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Thomas waited for Al to head back down the sidewalk before turning to Duff. “What did you find? Did anybody in one of the other restaurants or bars see anything? I know this neighborhood is packed with traffic and pedestrians on a Friday night.”

  Duff adjusted the strap of his shoulder holster and tugged down the sleeves of the cotton knit shirt. The days might still be heating up with the dregs of summer, but fall was creeping into the September nights. “We’re damn lucky we didn’t have a hit-and-run. About the only thing anybody on the street out front can agree on is that the driver was going fast. But I’ve got reports of a white SUV, a navy-blue sedan and a red convertible with the top up. The driver was Latino, a man with a stocking mask or a woman with long black hair.”

  “It was a white van. At least a decade old and driven pretty hard, judging by the rust on the chrome trim and dent in the passenger door. The shooter was white, a man from the size of the hand on the steering wheel. The gun was a—”

  “Forty-five mil.” His middle son, Niall, walked up with an evidence bag in his hand. Although he was a medical examiner with the crime lab and he didn’t report to crime scenes unless there was a dead body, like all Thomas’s sons, he’d shown up shortly after the all-points broadcast that had mentioned his name. The only reason Olivia wasn’t here, too, was because she was attending a profile training seminar in Saint Louis. “The driver wasn’t interested in cleaning up his rounds.” Niall handed the bag with the bullet to Thomas, who inspected it through the clear plastic window before handing it off to Duff. “He was also a lousy shot, judging by the fact that he didn’t hit anybody but you and your truck.”

  They’d all noticed the same thing. A drive-by shooting with no dead bodies didn’t add up. This wasn’t a gang neighborhood, but even if it was, a gang member would be aiming for a particular target or targets. Duff handed the evidence bag back to Niall, to assure the chain of custody. “Richard Lloyd, the hired gun who shot up Liv’s wedding, didn’t hit anything but Grandpa, either. I don’t like coincidences like that.”

  “Neither do I. And you could be right about the mask,” Thomas speculated. “I didn’t see his face. Just the hand holding the gun through the open window. Do you think whoever hired Lloyd has got someone new on his payroll?”

  “If one of us figures that out, we share the intel, right?”

  “Right,” Niall agreed.

  “Right.” Thomas inhaled a deep breath. The graze and scrapes on his arm were stinging, and his head was starting to throb with too many clues and no sensible way to organize them. The only thing that seemed to give him any relief was to turn his attention to the woman with the honey-brown ponytail. Jane was on her feet now, holding a gauze pad beneath her elbow while the paramedic cleaned the grit and debris from her injury. Although Thomas had tried to take the brunt of their tumble, they’d skidded over enough pavement that she could be more banged up than she’d let on, or maybe even realized.

  He was marginally aware of Duff continuing the conversation. “You need anything else from me? I have to pick Melanie up from the campus library. She’s studying for her anatomy test.”

  Niall answered. “How’s her first semester in premed going? She’s not pushing too hard, is she?”

  Earlier that summer, Duff’s fiancée had nearly been killed when she’d been stabbed. Fortunately, Duff had gotten to her in time to save her life, and had the sense to propose in the hospital. Thomas liked the young woman who’d finally taught his oldest to trust a woman with his heart again. “Sorry, I forgot to ask. How is Mel doing?”

  “She’s eatin’ up college life. I’m glad she has the chance to finally go back to school.” Duff grinned. “I always wanted to date a coed.”

  Niall frowned. “You’re not distracting her from her studies, are you? If she has any questions about the material, tell her to call me.”

  “She knows that. She also knows that you’re getting married later this month and doesn’t want to bother you. Jane said she’d field any questions Melanie might have while you’re busy with your nuptials.” Duff nudged Niall with his elbow. “By the way. I had my tux fitting this afternoon. I might look handsomer than you do on the twenty-fifth.”

  Niall adjusted his glasses on his nose. “I am quite certain that Lucy will only be looking at me. You make her laugh. But she sleeps with me.”

  Duff laughed out loud. “Seriously, Poindexter? Did you just make a joke? Lucy has been so good for you.” When Thomas became aware of the laughter and teasing stopping, he turned to find both his sons staring at him with curious expressions
. Neither had missed the woman he’d been watching across the parking lot. “Dad? Something going on with you and Battle-Ax Boyle?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call her that, son. She’s professional and efficient, not mean-spirited.”

  “O-kay. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I appreciate you boys coming out to check up on us. We’ve got plenty of officers on the scene. We also need to investigate the possibility that I wasn’t the target.”

  A tall, lanky man in a tan suit and brown tie walked up to the ambulance and said something to Jane. She startled at first, but then she chased the paramedic away and turned to exchange heated words with the suit.

  Niall wasn’t one to miss details, either. “Who is that guy talking to Jane?”

  “I don’t know. Yet.” When he saw her hug her middle, rubbing her hand up and down her uninjured arm, Thomas opened the back door of his truck and pulled out the black KCPD windbreaker he stored there. “You boys follow up with the lead detective and keep me in the loop. I’m going to pursue a different angle.”

  With the nerve damage in his bum leg sending out dozens of electric shocks through his thigh and calf, he couldn’t exactly stride across the parking lot. But his determined pace got him to the ambulance quickly enough to hear the tall blond man mutter an accusation at Jane. “What the hell am I supposed to think when you don’t call me?”

  Was this who’d been threatening her? Or at the very least, upsetting her with his barrage of messages on her phone?

  Thomas had no intention of making her jump the way the tan-suit guy had. “Jane?” he called, waiting for her to turn her head and identify him before he slipped the windbreaker over her shoulders. And yes, his hands lingered on her arms a split second longer than they needed to. “You looked like you were getting cold.”

  “I...” She glanced up at the blond guy and shivered. Then she was shoving her arms into the sleeves of Thomas’s jacket and going all Chatty Cathy on him. “A little. It might be a bit of shock wearing off. My scrub jacket was pretty much shredded. I had the EMT throw it away. You don’t need this, do you? Of course not. You wouldn’t have offered if you did. Thank you.”