High-Caliber Holiday. Susan Sleeman
shot up. Her head spun. She closed her eyes and waited it out.
“Maybe you should’ve taken your time sitting up there,” he said, a Midwestern flavor to his tone.
She opened her eyes and glared up at him. Her gaze had to travel quite a distance to reach his eyes. Past a broad chest. Past some very nice shoulders, to a handsome face. With his blond hair worn in a messy style, he looked more like a laid-back surfer than a cop.
How in the world had she missed him when he’d come barreling into the car? Sure, all the deputies were fine-looking men, but something about this one made her want to linger on his flinty-black eyes that watched her intently as she studied him.
“Deputy Brady Owens at your service,” he said as his lips turned up in a dazzling smile that she assumed made women swoon, but she could see it was forced. His eyes were troubled. He wore the same uniform as the others, black tactical pants and a polo shirt with a Kevlar vest on top, but an expensive-looking rifle with a high-powered scope hung over his shoulder. He didn’t at all seem the type to carry a rifle.
Rifle? Wait.
“You’re the sniper,” she said, her mind processing the fact that this man standing here ended lives with a simple pull of the trigger.
He gave a clipped nod but said nothing else, leaving her feeling uneasy.
“How does someone get a job like that? I mean, do you wake up one morning and say I think I’ll learn how to shoot people?” She knew she was rambling and sounding rude, but she’d never met anyone with this job and didn’t know what to say to him.
“Marines needed me, ma’am, and I did my duty.” He stood taller and gone was the easygoing expression. It was now stony and unyielding. “Our armed forces are the reason you have the freedom to offer representation to a man who takes a woman hostage at gunpoint. And the reason that police officers can save lives in hostage situations like this one.”
“Wait,” she said quickly. “No... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by my comment. I was just wondering about it, that’s all. I meant no disrespect. I appreciate the men and women of the military and the police.”
He looked doubtful before his gaze lifted above her. She swiveled to see what he was looking at.
A woman wearing the same black uniform and a stethoscope hanging around her neck marched forward. The thirty-something woman looked familiar, but Morgan wasn’t sure from where. When she got closer, their eyes connected.
The woman smiled. “Hi, Morgan. It’s me, Darcie. Remember? From OSU.”
Morgan rose slowly, searching her memory for a Darcie and testing her strength before stepping toward the door. As she got closer, the picture of a young girl in her philosophy class as naive as Morgan had been swirled in Morgan’s mind. “Darcie Wiggins?”
She nodded. “Not Wiggins anymore, but Stevens, and yeah, it’s me.”
“Of course,” Morgan said. “I’m surprised you remember me.”
“I’d never forget the girl who set off to save the world one person at a time.”
“Oh, that girl. She’s long gone.” Morgan laughed and grabbed her old Oregon State University friend in a hug, but pulled back when the pain in her arm made her wince. “Crazy to run into you here. I thought you were working as an ER nurse. What happened? Did the ER get too tame for you and you had to move on to the front lines?”
“Changed jobs a few years back,” Darcie said, her impenetrable tone stopping Morgan from asking additional questions.
“Ms. Thorsby just about passed out,” Brady inserted. “She put her head between her knees for a bit and seems better. She either took a bullet or got in the way of flying glass, but the bleeding’s stopped.” He frowned as if the situation bothered him personally. This man, the one whose bullet cut like butter through the glass and whizzed by her, was concerned for her?
An uncontrollable tremble started at her head and rushed down her body. “It was a bullet. At least it felt like one.”
His frown deepened.
“Go ahead and sit down, Morgan, and I’ll take a look at it.” Darcie dropped onto the chair next to Morgan and started poking at the wound. “Superficial. Not from glass. Odd,” she said, and paused to look up at Brady. “The wound is thicker than I’d expect from the rounds Shaw was firing.”
“Meaning what?” Morgan asked as she swung her gaze between the two of them.
Darcie smiled at Morgan, but it was forced. “It should heal quickly, but it’s gonna hurt like crazy for some time.”
She didn’t have to tell Morgan that. As the adrenaline ebbed, the pain became more acute. Or maybe the flashes of her near death were making her more aware of everything around her.
Darcie moved on to Morgan’s vitals and strapped a blood pressure cuff on her arm. Brady continued to stand beside them, his arms raised, his hands clinging to an overhead bar. Tapping a finger on the metal, he stared down on Morgan, making her aware of his every movement. Aware of his muscles flexing as he moved, which he did. A lot.
“I heard the whole conversation with Craig.” Darcie removed the cuff. “Did I hear you right? You’re not representing Thorsby Mill anymore?”
The last thing Morgan wanted to talk about was the lawsuit, but she didn’t want to be rude and it would take her mind off the man hovering over her. Maybe keep thoughts of Craig at bay, too. “I changed jobs a few months ago.”
“Are you with a local firm?” Darcie dug bandages and antiseptic from her bag.
Morgan shook her head. “I’m not practicing law at all. I’m directing a local jobs program. Portland Employment Assistance—PEA for short. We help unemployed people seeking government assistance to find jobs.”
That brought a look of surprise to Brady’s face, and Morgan was starting to wonder why she was noticing every little thing he did.
Darcie’s hand stilled midair. “Wow, I never imagined you’d leave the law.”
Morgan shrugged. “We had this particularly contentious class action lawsuit that consumed my life for the last few years. Burned me out and I just couldn’t do it anymore.”
“Class action, huh? That’s what the shooter was talking about. But what happened? I mean a lawsuit against a paper mill seems odd.” Darcie went back to her bag.
“Surprising, right?” Morgan dug deep for the will to discuss something she never wanted to think about again.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Darcie said. “I understand.”
Morgan drew an uneasy breath. “A couple of years ago people downriver from the plant started getting cancer in record numbers. They claimed we dumped chemicals in the river, causing the cancer. Of course, that didn’t happen and water tests proved our story, but it still wasn’t easy to defend against.”
Darcie applied antiseptic to Morgan’s wound, the sharp sting taking all of her concentration. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out and seeming weak.
“People sue at the drop of a hat these days,” Darcie said.
“Honestly, I could hardly blame them,” Morgan rushed on, trying to ignore the pain. “A larger than normal distribution of a single type of cancer in their small population was unusual. They wanted to blame someone. And find money to cover medical bills.”
Darcie looked up. “You won, though, right? And that’s why this Craig guy was so angry?”
Morgan nodded but an uncontrolled sigh slipped out over the memory of the mental and physical cost that winning had taken on her life. She had to change the subject before Darcie pried any deeper. “And you... Stevens, now. You’re married.”
“Was.