* * *
The sound of footsteps running toward Maren had her tensing. Still crouched, she pivoted on the balls of her feet with her sidearm gripped now in both hands. Was the shooter coming for her?
Her gaze snagged on the identifying windbreaker. A mix of relief and irritation swept through her as a chestnut-haired man with a close-cropped beard and mustache raced to her side with a gun at the ready. Close at his heels was a brown-and-white German shorthaired pointer. Haven’s ears twitched, the only sign she was aware of the other dog.
If not for the emblem of the drug enforcement agency on the breast pocket of his jacket, Maren would have defended herself. Why was the DEA here?
She had no great love for the federal agency that hadn’t been able to stop the influx of drugs coming into the state. If the DEA had done a better job, maybe Opal wouldn’t have been able to so easily get a hold of the various drugs that she used to numb herself.
Maren had half a mind to break cover and run to the clinic, but she knew her boss would want her to wait for backup. Plus, with Haven in the line of fire, she couldn’t risk her dog’s safety. Haven was her constant companion, the one who helped her get through the dark days of overwhelming grief after receiving the news of her twin sister’s death.
But now, did she dare hope? No. It would hurt too much if she were wrong. And it would hurt if she was right, because that would mean her sister had faked her death and deliberately allowed Maren to suffer.
Meeting the green eyes of the DEA agent grounded Maren’s thoughts to the moment.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” she demanded to know of the agent crouched beside her, who popped up to returned fire toward the building across the street. “Did dispatch send you?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said in a terse voice as he ducked back down to avoid another volley of bullets raging from the brick building. “What branch of law enforcement are you?”
Tucking her chin, Maren exclaimed, “How do you know—”
He arched an eyebrow, his gaze going to Haven and her police vest.
Grunting, she said, “Colorado Springs PD. On loan to the Colorado K-9 Unit task force and deputized as a federal agent.” She added that last bit to make it clear they were equals as the drug enforcement agency also fell under federal jurisdiction. “You are…?”
“Agent Colt Dawson,” he said and tapped his chest where the letters proclaimed which agency he was with.
“You didn’t answer my question.” She frowned. “Why are you here?”
“Neither did you,” he said. “Are you in league with Opal Anderson?”
Maren’s lungs squeezed tight at the mention of her sister’s name. Then outrage infused her brain. “In league with? What are you talking about?”
“If you’re helping her,” Colt said between gritted teeth, “I will make sure you go down.”
Maren curled her lip at the man. “I’m here on an assignment. Why are you looking for Opal?”
“Why are you?”
“I’m not,” Maren ground out. The agent had to be mistaken. That wasn’t Opal. It couldn’t be. It was some weird coincidence that the woman looked like her twin. After all, she’d only caught a quick glimpse of the woman before the clinic was shot up. And her grief over her sister had her seeing Opal everywhere. “I don’t know who that woman was who walked into the clinic. But I’m going to find out.”
She moved to stand, but a firm hand on her shoulder kept her in place.
“First, we have to find out who’s using the clinic as a shooting gallery,” he said. “And if you’re the intended target.”
Her stomach twisted. Why would someone want her dead? She had to find out if the woman was her sister or not. And was she in danger, too? Why was the DEA after her?
Another barrage of gunfire pinged off the car and had Maren ducking, while Colt popped up to shoot back at the brick building across the street. The shrill sound of sirens punctuated the air, announcing the arrival of backup.
TWO
The gunfire ceased as the Barren Valley County Sheriff’s Department descended on scene outside the clinic. Colt stood and held out his hand for the woman beside him.
She swatted away his offered limb and cautiously rose, keeping her gaze on the brick building across the street.
“There!” Maren pointed to a tall figure emerging from the side of the building where the shots had originated. The person was dressed all in black with a baseball cap pulled low over their head, shielding their face.
Jolted into action, he and Rusk gave chase, aware of Maren and her Doberman hot on their heels.
