Protection Detail. Shirlee McCoy
And, maybe Cassie had seen him, could offer a description that would help bring him to justice.
Gavin needed whatever information she had.
First, though, he needed her out of the tree.
Cassie hadn’t climbed a tree in years. That hadn’t seemed to be a problem when she’d seen Gavin’s dog coming after her. She’d scrambled up the tree so quickly, she might have broken the sound-speed barrier.
The problem was, she’d never ever climbed down a tree.
The last time she’d tried, she’d been twelve. The effort had resulted in a broken arm and a trip to the ER.
She didn’t plan to repeat the mistake.
On the other hand, her progress was so slow, the sun might come up before she actually made it to the ground.
“Cassie?” Gavin called, a hint of impatience in his voice. She didn’t know what he’d been doing out in the woods, but she was glad he had been. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could have eluded the guy who’d been chasing her. She’d been fast, but he’d been savvy, slipping through the trees after her. Stealthy. Practiced. As if he’d hunted prey hundreds of times before.
She shuddered, her feet slipping off the bough she’d clambered onto.
“Careful,” Gavin called as if she needed to be reminded that she was up in a tree, the ground a good seven feet below her.
“I’m trying,” she muttered, inching down a little farther. Sirens were blaring, the sound coming from the direction of the house.
Virginia must have heard her scream and called the police.
Good. The kids would be protected.
That was all she cared about.
That and making sure the guy she’d seen on the back porch didn’t return.
She stepped onto another bough, pine needles digging into her raw feet. Her cheek throbbed, her jaw ached, but she was alive, help was at hand. God was good. Even in the bad times. She’d learned that young, and the knowledge had served her well. She’d hold on to it as she tried to figure out who had been on the back porch, what he’d wanted. Not just to steal something. If that had been the case, he’d have run when she’d opened the door.
Her sweater snagged on bark, her palms stinging as slivers of wood pierced flesh. She shifted her grip, tried to find another bough to place her feet on.
Gavin grabbed her ankle, tugged gently. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
“You’ve got my ankle. What good is that going to do?”
“Cassie, we don’t have all night. Just trust me and let go.”
Trust?
She wasn’t very good at that.
“Thanks, but I can—”
“A man was murdered tonight. His killer is on the loose. How about we skip all the ‘I’ve got to do it myself’ stuff and get you down, so I can get on with my investigation?”
His words sent cold fear shooting up her spine.
The guy on her back porch had looked like he could kill someone without batting an eye or feeling a bit of remorse. Had he been looking for another victim when he’d arrived at All Our Kids?
She let go.
Gavin managed to grab her waist as she fell, lowering her to the ground with so little effort, it was almost embarrassing that she’d doubted him. After all, the guy towered over her. Six-two to her five-three, and he had muscle to spare. Obviously, he worked out. A lot. He probably also ran, biked and swam. She spent most her time chasing kids around.
“Thanks,” she murmured, stepping away and nearly bumping into Gavin’s huge dog. It looked like a German shepherd but was nothing like Miss Alice’s old dog Angus. He’d been a shepherd, too, his muzzle already white with age by the time Cassie moved into her last foster placement. At fourteen, she’d thought she’d known just about everything, but she’d known nothing about love, commitment, respect. Miss Alice had taught her those things, and if she’d still been around, she’d have been happy to see Cassie putting them to good use.
“Sorry,” she said to the dog. Its ears perked up, its dark eyes watching her every move. At least it had stopped growling, snapping and foaming at the mouth. The last part might have been more her imagination than anything.
“She forgives you,” Gavin said dryly. “Now, how about you tell me what you’re doing out here?”
“Running for my life. And, not from your dog. There was someone at All Our Kids tonight.”
He stilled, his eyes blazing, his expression unreadable. “When?”
“Maybe ten minutes before I ran into you. He was out on the back porch.”
“Doing what?”
“I have no idea. I heard him, thought he was one of the kids. I opened the door and there he was.”
“Did you get a good look at his face?” He pressed a hand to her lower back, issued a command to Glory and started walking.
“Yes.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“No. He was a stranger.” They made it onto the path that led from All Our Kids to Harland Jeffries’s mansion. An easy walk for anyone who knew the way.
An easy route for someone who might have murder on his mind.
The thought left her cold.
She’d known Harland for years, had been hired by him fresh out of college. She respected him, liked him, and believed in the things he stood for.
“You said someone was murdered tonight,” she said before Gavin could ask another question.
“I’m afraid so.”
“It wasn’t Harland, was it?”
He hesitated, and she grabbed his arm, pulled him to a stop. “Gavin, was it Harland?”
“It was Michael. Harland was injured, too, but he survived.”
“Was it a knife attack?” she asked, her eyes hot with tears. Michael had been a great guy. He’d spent a lot of time at All Our Kids, teaching the children to play football and basketball, bringing them treats. He had a heart of gold, and the world was going to be a lesser place without him in it.
“That’s an odd question,” Gavin responded quietly, urging her forward again. Just ahead, the path opened up into All Our Kids’ yard. She could see the house, lights blazing from every window of the three-story building. A police car sat in the driveway, flashing blue-and-red light across the pavement. Virginia had called the police. It looked as though she’d woken all the kids, too. Either that or the arrival of the police had. “Not really,” she responded as they moved across the acre of green lawn. “The guy on my back porch had a knife.”
“Michael and Harland were both shot,” Gavin said bluntly. “Michael died before the ambulance arrived. Harland called for help and was transported to the hospital.”
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
“I didn’t hear a thing.” Not gunshots. Not ambulance sirens. Nothing. Then again, she’d been dead tired from nursing David through the flu, the windows were double-paned glass, the house well-constructed.
“You heard the guy on your back porch,” he pointed out.
“I have an internal alarm that goes off when one of the kids is wandering around at night. Apparently,