22.
Screams.
Barking.
Kyle vaulted us to the floor, covering my body with his and groping for his ankle. A second later he pushed himself up with one arm, a small black pistol in his other hand, and scanned my face with worried eyes. Rocking back onto his knees, he wiped my forehead with a gentle thumb and swore under his breath. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?” he asked.
I shook my head, words failing me as my eyes locked on the gun. Whoever was outside had one, too.
More explosions, followed by a roar.
“Stay. Here.” Kyle dropped a kiss on my head and turned, still crouching behind the sofa.
I couldn’t breathe. Darcy nosed at my hand and I pulled her to my chest, petting and shushing her as she struggled against my grip. Kyle moved to the end of the couch, then darted to the doorway. From the foyer, he peeked back around the corner, both hands around the butt of the snub-nose semi-automatic, his right index finger on the trigger.
Darcy growled. I squeezed her tighter, stroking her head. “Be still. I don’t want you to get hurt,” I whispered.
Kyle edged down the wall until I couldn’t even see his shoes anymore, moving methodically toward the gaping maw that used to be my favorite window.
His boots crackled across shattered glass, the sound all I could hear over the blood pounding in my ears. Darcy nipped at my hand, and I flinched and let her go. She scooted under the coffee table and shot me a glare.
“Kyle?” It came out as barely a whisper. I cleared my throat and tried again.
He appeared at the end of the couch. “I think whoever it was is long gone, but I’d like to look around outside, and I have to call the RPD.”
Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes, and I blinked, annoyed. Focusing on how scared I felt, I tried to channel some of that into anger. Kyle grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. Something warm and wet trickled over my cheek when I stood. I flicked at it with my hand, blinking at the red streak when I pulled it away from my face. Blood, not tears. Fabulous.
Kyle already had his phone to his ear, but he stepped toward me and smoothed my hair gently away from my forehead. “There are three or four places it hit you,” he said, thumbing thin trickles of blood off my forehead and cheek. “I don’t think any of them need stitches, but some Neosporin and Band-Aids would be nice.”
I nodded, turning for the bathroom. Kyle listed his credentials for the nine-one-one operator. “Shots fired, probable drive-by. Requesting assistance.” He reeled off my address as I stepped into my 1920s pink-tiled bathroom, flipping on the light and the water. I stared into the mirror. The longest cut was at the crest of my cheekbone, maybe three centimeters. But Kyle was right—they were all shallow, and my ginger fingers didn’t find any shards buried in my skin.
I leaned both hands on the countertop, increasingly furious violet eyes staring out of the mirror. My mom, my dog, Kyle—someone shot out the front window of my house. Someone who could have hurt any one of them. Who the hell did these people think they were?
I grabbed the first aid kit from the white cabinet over the toilet and turned back for the living room. Pausing outside the guest room door, I inched it open.
A sliver of light spilled across the floor. Mom’s cell phone lay on the nightstand, white noise blaring from it. The covers moved up and down in regular rhythm, the little orange dot in her ear peeking over the edge of the blankets.
“Sweet dreams, Mom,” I whispered, pulling the door shut. Just as well. She’d come here to get something off her chest, not give herself a stroke. If I could get her on the plane in the morning without her going into the living room, everyone would be happy.
Kyle stood just inside the front door, and I could already hear sirens on the next block over. He looked between me and the dark front yard for a second, then took the plastic box from my hands and opened an alcohol wipe, gesturing to the chaise. “Let’s get you patched up, Lois.” He tried for a grin.
“I don’t believe there will be any lightening of my mood tonight, but thanks.” I sat, tipping my face up to his. His long fingers were gentle as they worked, cleaning and dressing the cuts. I pulled in a sharp hiss of breath at the sting of the alcohol and he winced. “Sorry.”
“Eh.” I waved a hand. “Thanks for...being you.”
His lips tipped up. “After a moment of thought, I believe I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is.”
He pressed the last Band-Aid into place as the doorbell rang. I followed Kyle to the foyer and swung the door wide to reveal Chris Landers and Aaron White, along with a couple of uniformed officers.
I tried to raise my eyebrows, but stopped when the cut at the edge of my temple protested. “What are you two doing here?”
“We need to talk,” Landers said. Aaron nodded.
I opened my mouth and then snapped it shut again, stepping out of the way and waving them inside. Kyle stepped forward and introduced himself.
The way Aaron bit down on a smile as he shook Kyle’s hand made me groan to myself. I’d never hear the end of this.
I led them to the kitchen. Aaron rattled off a list of instructions for the patrol officers behind us and they moved into the living room.
I opened the fridge and offered all three stoic-faced cops a drink, then busied myself getting glasses and ice, my chest tightening again for some reason.
Kyle, Landers, and Aaron tossed around lots of big official-sounding words, almost like they’d forgotten I’d covered cops for eight years. Work mode—it was easier to keep my hands from shaking if I treated it like a story. That wasn’t about me.
I set the drinks on the table and took one of the chairs. Aaron sat across from me. Kyle and Landers paced.
“At the risk of redundancy,” I said, “what are you two doing here?”
“I heard the call,” Aaron said. “I know your address.”
“Um. Why?”
He rolled his eyes. “I know Charlie’s, too. And every other cops reporter in town. You people can get the wrong folks pissed off at you sometimes. Though no one does it quite like you do.”
“Everybody has to be good at something, right?” I tried to smile.
“Pick another thing,” Kyle growled, leaning against the edge of the yellow-tiled countertop.
Landers chuckled. “I assume the ATF doesn’t respond to drive-by calls these days, so you were here for social reasons, Special Agent Miller?”
Heat rose into my cheeks and Aaron reached across the table and patted my hand. “I’m not sure that’s pertinent, Chris.”
“I’m getting the lay of the land,” Landers said. “And in point, it could be. What if the shooter wasn’t aiming for Miss Clarke at all? You got a collar who made parole lately, Miller?”
I turned to Kyle. It hadn’t occurred to me whoever blasted out my front window might not be after me. From the look on Kyle’s face, it hadn’t occurred to him, either.
“I—” His hand moved to his face, his fingers sliding absently over the bristles around his mouth. “I don’t know.”
I turned back to Landers. “You didn’t answer my question, detective.”
“I was coming here to talk to you about my case,” he said. “Aaron found me on the sidewalk outside and filled me in.” He turned to Kyle. “You said it was a drive-by?”
“I think so.” Kyle shook his head as though trying to clear it. “I’ve never been on this end of one, and everything happened so fast.”
Aaron excused himself, returning a minute later to say he’d sent an officer outside to set up lights and comb the yard for casings. “If it was a drive-by, they’re in the car,” he said. “But we’re looking. How many shots?”
“Three?” I said just as Kyle said, “Five.” He sounded way surer than I did.
“Which?” Landers pulled out a notebook and pen.
“Five,” Kyle repeated, his tone certain.
“I’ll defer to Kyle on grounds of experience with firearms.”
“The window exploded with the first one,” Kyle said. “It was a large-caliber that hit just right, or a shotgun. At least two people in the car. One to drive and one to shoot.”
Watching them think it through was akin to having my own Law and Order episode in my kitchen.
“Why aren’t the neighbors outside?” Landers moved to the kitchen door and stepped out onto the little side porch.
I followed. “I don’t understand the question.”
“Your neighbors. It’s not like there’s gunfire in this part of town every night. Why aren’t they out here being nosy?”
“They work?” I asked.
He gestured to the house next door. “No one sleeps that soundly.”
“That one’s empty,” I said. “Creepy, really. I looked it up right after I moved here. The woman who owned it passed away and it’s tied up in probate court. Has been for ten years. It’s like a mini museum if you peek in the windows. Everything’s still right where she left it. The neighborhood kids think it’s haunted.” I didn’t add that I kind of did, too. I shrugged. “People probably assumed it was firecrackers. The Fourth is coming up.”
He shook his head, muttering about desensitization to violence and turning back for the house.
I looked around, suddenly chilled in the balmy June air, and jogged up the steps, locking the door behind me.
Aaron drained his glass and put it back on the table. “Okay, Nichelle. If we go on the assumption our shooter was after you, give me your best guess.”
I exchanged a look with Kyle and he nodded.
“A cop,” I said.
Landers jerked his head up. “Do I want to know?”
“I’m not sure I do,” Aaron said, lips disappearing into a grim line.
“Not a Richmond cop,” I said, offering the short version of my visit to the Fauquier sheriff’s office.
“Subtlety wasn’t this guy’s strong suit,” I finished. “He got my plate number before I left there. And that was just this afternoon.”
Aaron leaned back, raising the front two feet of the chair off the floor, and laced his fingers behind his head. “It’s certainly plausible,” he said. “And the timing fits.”
“What if it wasn’t the deputies themselves, but whoever they’re protecting?” Landers asked.
I turned to look at him. He raked a hand through his curls, everything about his lanky frame agitated as he paced a five-step pattern across my tiny kitchen. “What do you mean?”
“They got your plates, they looked you up, and they called whoever the head honcho is at the church and handed you over. Maybe even for a price. A reporter from Richmond nosing around an outfit like that—especially if they did have something to do with this murder...that’s worth something.”
Shit. I slumped in the chair. Could be. Not that we had any way to know for sure.
I raised my head and caught a look passing between all three of them.
“Time to wake up the neighbors?” Kyle asked.
Aaron pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll have a perimeter set up. Six blocks? Where’s the closest gas station?”
“Three blocks down and one to the north,” I said. Security video from the outdoor cameras and a bit of luck could turn up a plate number if they could get a description of the car.
Aaron stepped into the hall, his phone to his ear.
“We’re assuming they left when Agent Miller heard the engine rev,” Landers said. “But someone could come back to make sure they did the job right. We’ll keep an eye out. And interview everyone we can find. Maybe someone saw something.”
Kyle moved to stand behind my chair, laying a hand on my shoulder.
Aaron returned, nodding. “They’re on their way.” He turned to me and his face softened. “I’m sorry, Nichelle.”
I tried to smile. “My life is never boring, at least.”
“You should go somewhere else tonight.” He raised a questioning eyebrow at Kyle.
Kyle’s fingers sank into my shoulder. “My loft is safer,” he said, his voice uncertain.
“My mom is here,” I reminded him. “Once she’s on her plane in the morning, we’ll discuss it. But I’m not waking her up and telling her this. She’ll stay. Or drag me home by my ear.”
“There’s someone else in the house?” Aaron and Landers both stood up straight, though I couldn’t swear to which one spoke.
“She went to bed before everything broke loose. With earplugs. And it’s my mother. She’s not plotting to murder me.” I moved to the kitchen door. They weren’t waking her up, either. “I’m serious, guys. I just need to get her on her way home.”
“You never did tell me why she came up here,” Kyle said.
I shot him a shut-the-hell-up look. “We can talk about it later. Personal stuff, is all.” Every word true.
Aaron and Landers shared a sigh.
“I suppose the stubborn streak that can make you such a pain in my ass is working against me here, too,” Aaron said.
“You love me anyway.” I managed a flash of a grin.
“She didn’t see anything?” Landers asked.
I shook my head. “She didn’t hear anything, either, or she’d already have me on a plane back to Dallas. The miracle of Ambien and ear plugs.”
Aaron patted my arm. “I’m going to supervise outside.”
“Thanks, Aaron.”
“I’m going to see if they’ve found slugs. Or pellets.” Landers turned for the living room.
I sagged back against Kyle. His lips brushed the top of my head, and he led me to my bedroom, flipping on the light. “Go to bed. I’m going to help. And tomorrow, I’m getting myself assigned to your preacher. If this had anything to do with that guy, his days are numbered.”