“I can shoot! Andrew taught me!”
He, too, surged up to look out the back window, squinting at the suspect’s back bumper. “There are bystanders!”
“But... Damn it!” she growled and lowered her hands. Hands shaking, she set the pistol on the seat beside her.
He shared her frustration and gritted his teeth in disgust. “Write this down... BHD43. That’s as much of the plate as I got.”
Flicking away bits of the broken window, she dug in her purse and found a pen and an old receipt. Trembling, she jotted down the partial plate number.
Reid, too, was shaking, the aftermath of his spiked adrenaline, and he carefully shook the shards of broken window from his shirt and out of his hair. “Careful of all the glass.”
“Right. I—” She paused and swallowed hard. “What the hell was that about? A drive-by in this neighborhood?”
“I don’t think it was a drive-by in the sense that you mean.” He cut the engine, leaving his truck in the spot where they’d been attacked. By doing so, the police would be better able to trace the trajectory, find the bullets for a ballistics report and analyze the crime scene. He mentally replayed what had transpired and came up with a chilling conclusion.
They’d been targeted. The blue sedan had been parked down the block, waiting for them. But why?
He faced Pen and pushed her hair back from her face. Touching his finger to a small cut on her face, he wiped away the crimson bead there. “You’re bleeding. Mostly nicks, but you need first aid.”
She cast a side glance at him and gave a short, humorless laugh. “Have you looked in a mirror? I’m not the only one.”
He didn’t care about himself. He’d sustained far worse in the line of duty over the years. And a guy didn’t grow up with as many rowdy siblings and half siblings and all the inherent rivalry without scrapes and bruises on a daily basis.
The older man who’d been raking appeared at the passenger-side window. “Are y’all all right? Hell’s bells! I can’t believe what this world’s coming to!”
“We’re not hit, but you might check on the neighbors. A stray bullet could have pierced a door or window.” Reid turned to survey the houses, looking for obvious damage.
“I don’t feel so good.” Pen pressed a hand to her mouth.
She did look pale. Nausea in the wake of such a scare was common enough. Reid put a hand on the back of her head and pushed her forward. “Bend over. Head between your legs.”
The older neighbor pulled a chunky old flip phone from his pocket. “I’m calling 911. You should get her an ice pack for that bump on her head.”
Bump? Reid ducked his head and pulled Pen’s chin toward him so he could see the other side of her face. Sure enough, a goose egg was swelling at her temple. “Damn, Pen. Did I do that when I shoved you down?”
She covered the injury with her hand and shrugged. “No sweat. Better a bump on the head than a bullet in my brain.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You probably saved my life.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do,” her neighbor said, lifting his phone to his ear and pointing to the passenger headrest.
When he saw what the man was pointing to, ice streaked to Reid’s marrow. A bullet was lodged in the ripped foam, where Pen’s head had been seconds earlier.
Chapter 7
“Yeah, I need to report a shooting...” the older man said, turning his attention to his phone.
“Reid...” Penelope carefully shook the sharp bits of glass from her sweatshirt and the top of her tennis shoes. “If this wasn’t a random drive-by, then...are you saying you think it was planned?” She raised wide eyes of distress to his. “That someone wanted to kill us?”
As a cop, he’d known the risks he faced on the job. But having someone he cared about put in the line of fire shook him hard. If they had, in fact, been targeted—and he would operate under that assumption until proven wrong—he had to take measures to protect Penelope.
He reached for her cheek, careful to dust aside the slivers of broken window clinging to her shoulder and in her hair. “Maybe. We have to consider it a possibility.” He held her gaze. “But I promise I will not let anyone hurt you. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
A detective made his fair share of enemies in the line of duty. Reid didn’t know of anyone who wanted him dead, but that meant little. God only knew who he’d pissed off, who might have recently gotten parole and might be coming for revenge.
And just because Andrew had been gone for more than a year didn’t mean his enemies knew about his death. This attack could even be tied to the odd circumstances surrounding Andrew’s death. If Andrew didn’t put those stolen drugs in their squad car, who did? And most important, who had replaced Andrew’s insulin with potassium? Someone had been setting Andrew up, maybe even setting Reid up to take the fall for killing his partner. This attack, he knew, could very well be related to Andrew’s death. Reid simply didn’t believe in coincidences.
As he opened his truck door and eased out, the tinkle of glass shards littering the street scraped his nerves. Even if he replaced the windows, had the interior professionally vacuumed and repaired, he’d likely be finding bits of safety glass in odd places for the rest of the truck’s life. Not that he couldn’t afford a new one, even a whole fleet of trucks. It just ticked him off to need a new truck because of some punk shooter. Even angrier that the dirtwad had endangered Pen.
Come after me if you must, scumbag, but if you hurt my family or friends, I’ll end you.
“So...you really think—” Pen drew a shuddering breath as she climbed from the front seat and slid to the ground on wobbly legs. He put an arm under hers to steady her, and she clung to it with a white-knuckle grip. “But who? Why on earth...?”