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“Police!” I shout to identify ourselves. “Get inside and lock the door.” She’s shaking, but points to her shed. I nod, and she heads into the house. The sound of breaking glass makes us take cover, just in time to avoid a hail of bullets. Damian motions that he wants to go in. I shake my head. It’s not a smart move. I lead the way, doing the army crawl beneath the line of sight around the edge of the shed. The shed’s old, and lucky for us, the crevices between the wooden planks allow us a glimpse inside. Andy’s body is angled toward the door. He’s hoping for an opening to run. We have the element of surprise on our side, but the window is small, and we need to get a jump on him before he turns and pulls the trigger.
I give the signal. As I ram my foot against the rickety wood, I hear Damian shout, “Freeze, police.”
Andy swings around, his finger tightening on the trigger. Damian shoots, hitting Andy’s shoulder. He’s knocked backward and drops the gun. I jump through the hole I just made, making it bigger to subdue Andy, while Damian lunges for the gun.
Once I cuff him, I assess the damage to his shoulder. When he starts laughing hysterically, like the Joker in the Batman movie, I wonder if he’s high on something.
“What are you laughing at? You’re the one in cuffs,” I remind him.
Andy sneers, clenches his teeth, and says, “While you’re here, you’re not with that pretty piece of pussy you’ve been fucking. Nasty things can happen to pretty girls when their man is busy playing cops and robbers.”
I grab him by the collar and slam his head against the wooden floor. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I demand. I can feel Damian behind me, but he doesn’t stop me.
“He said you took everything away from him, so he’ll take her away from you.”
My veins turn ice cold. I drop him, grab my phone, and call Mason.
“What’s up?” he says abruptly.
“You got eyes on Gwen?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Stay on your guard. Don’t let her out of your sight. I’m on my way.” I hang up and turn to Damian. “You all right?”
“Yeah. Go. EMT is on the way.” The blaring sirens tell me they’re here. “I’ll meet you,” Damian says, giving me a push toward the door.
TWENTY
Take Her Home
GWENDOLYN
High school students can be a handful. I finally had to put a group of them in a room at the back of the library. At this age, they are naturally loud. They’re a great bunch of kids and very polite, but I don’t think they realize how their voices carry. When I call them out, it goes back to quiet whispers, and within minutes, it’s back to normal.
In the back, they won’t bother anyone, and since the room was empty anyway, no harm done. They’re working on a group project, and I believe discussion is a good thing when working together. I just wish they’d do it more quietly.
It has been a busy day, and I’m welcoming the lull, with only the group of students in the back. It gives me time to get these return books back on the shelf. Mason has moved from his spot. I look around, but the place seems empty.
It’s silly to say, but not seeing Mason in his spot is making me nervous. After Caleb laid out all the facts, I understand why he was so adamant that Mason is with me until the person who killed Karen is caught. Caleb swore to me that night that he was going to keep me safe no matter what.
Nancy is off this afternoon, and the evening person isn’t due to arrive for another half hour. I shrug off the feeling of uneasiness. Mason probably went outside to grab some fresh air. He’s been stuck with me for days in this building, when I’m sure from our chats that he prefers the open country to a stuffy library.
I grab my cart filled to the brim with books and push it along the first aisle. A shadow falls over the cart, and I whirl around, thinking it’s Mason letting me know he’s back, but it’s not. The man from the other day is standing there. His appearance is neat as a pin. His blond hair is slicked back, not a strand out of place. His blue eyes, although beautiful, are cold and distant.
“Hello, Gwendolyn. Remember me?”
“Can I help you with something?” I ask. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun, then reaches for my arm, grasping it tightly and hauling me around the cart and toward him. “What do you want? There’s no money in here,” I tell him.
“I’m not here for money. I’m here for you.”
“I don’t even know you.” I try to wrench out of his grasp, but his hold is too tight.
“No, but Detective Thorne does. He’s going to pay for what he did,” he growls.
“What are you talking about? What did Caleb do?” I ask as he leads me back down the aisle I came from and toward the front doors.
“I knew if I waited long enough, that guy he hired would eventually have to take a piss,” he says with a sneer.
