She didn’t know if she wanted to slap him or kick his injured leg. Okay, so she didn’t want to really hurt him…or did she? Her heart felt empty, her entire being drained. She didn’t want to believe he’d betrayed her. But the evidence… She didn’t know how he could talk his way out of it. If he even cared enough to try.
Just ahead, she caught sight of his truck and an SUV parked behind it. She slowed a bit. The scene wasn’t what she’d expected. Mitch stood with Ricky Foster, the teen whose sister had disappeared. Ian tossed a football around with some other boys in the vacant lot. She hesitated, but she’d seen the green dot parked in front of the Denver PD. She knew it. She deserved an explanation. She scooted in behind the second vehicle and stared out of the window. Mitch’s narrowed gaze widened in recognition, then fury.
Before she’d even turned off the engine, he raced toward the SUV and yanked open the door, letting in a blast of cold. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Emily shoved him back and threw the portable GPS at him. “You lied to me. You went to the police. What are you, a spy? Undercover? Using me to prove I killed Eric?”
“I’m doing what I have to do.” Mitch grabbed her arms. “They found a body. A blond-haired girl who’d recently given birth.”
Emily gasped and shot a quick glance to Ricky, who caught a pass but then dropped the ball, clearly distracted.
“It wasn’t Kayla,” Mitch said. “It was her best friend. Seventeen years old.”
Her anger flowed away. Guilt took over. “I thought—”
“Well, you should’ve waited until I got home. It’s not safe—”
A shot rang out from the side of the street and pinged off the hood right next to Emily.
Mitch let out a shout at Ian and shoved Emily to the ground as the kids scattered. He draped his heavy body over her while she peered out from under him. Pounding footsteps slid to a stop next to them.
Ian crouched down.
“You see anyone?” Mitch asked.
“Shots coming from along the houses,” Ian said in a clipped voice. “No visual on the shooter.”
“What about the kids?” Emily panted as the rocks on the pavement bit into her back. She twisted just enough to see the once crowded lot now empty.
“Whoever it is, he’s shooting at you, but the boys know what to do,” Ian said grimly as he checked his .357. “A quick duck and disappear.”
“Do all of your friends carry weapons?” Emily muttered, her knee digging into the pavement under her.
“Lucky for you,” Ian said. “When you investigate dead bodies, you tend to question guys who carry knives and guns. A big gun keeps the lines of communication open.”
“See if you can get a better view from behind my truck,” Mitch ordered as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed for backup. After barking out the location, he pocketed his phone and shifted over Emily. She could barely breathe, and squirmed underneath him.
“Quit wiggling or you’re going to get more than you bargained for.”
She stared up at him as she felt his body harden. “How can you be thinking about—” her voice lowered to a whisper “—that when someone’s trying to kill us.”
“Stay behind the tire.” He sent her a harsh glare. “I mean it.”
Mitch rolled off of her, clearly keeping his body between her and the houses. Emily hunched over, trying to make herself as small a target as possible. Her lack of faith had put him in danger. This was all her fault. He peered around the front of the vehicle. Another shot rang out, and she heard the shattering of glass.
“Man, Noah is going to be livid,” Mitch muttered. “The guy’s a sucky shot unless he’s just trying to pin us down.”
“I can’t see anything to pick him off,” Ian called out.
Emily buried her head in her arms. She should’ve been more scared, but with Mitch here, she believed he’d get them out. She peeked up. Still placed between her and the shooter, he scanned the run-down houses across the street.
Another shot rang out, this time ricocheting off the front window.
“Ian,” he called. “Get over here.”
Within seconds, his friend was at his side. “He’s behind a tree between those two houses,” Mitch said. “I’m going in.”
“You can’t,” Emily hissed. “Your leg.”
He glared at her. “Do you want to get shot?”
“How about waiting for your SWAT buddies to get here?”
“I’m not waiting to be picked off like a carnival duck.”
“Mitch…let me go,” Ian said quietly.
“You haven’t been trained for this. I have.” Mitch gave a cocky grin. “Even with a gimpy leg, I’ve got one up on you, Ian. And you know it.”
His friend paused for a moment, and Emily could tell he wanted to argue, but he finally nodded. She’d run into just enough of Mitch’s stubborn streak to understand why.
“Protect her, Ian.”
“I’ve got your back.”
Emily shifted slightly, her heart pounding. Not for herself, but for Mitch. He serpentined from behind the truck. Two shots hit the ground behind him. She winced as his leg hitched about halfway across the yard, but he kept moving.
Four rapid shots fired. Then silence.
“Mitch! You there, bud? We clear?”
No sound. Emily’s nails bit into her palm. Nothing but a siren coming toward them from the north. “Oh, God. He’s hurt.”
She tried to get up, but Ian shoved her down. “Don’t. He wants you safe.”
The intensity in Ian’s gaze as he studied the houses made Emily shiver. He was afraid. “Mitch, you better shout out,” he said, the sharp words the only thing that showed Ian’s fear.
A sharp curse lit between the two houses. Mitch appeared in the yard.
Emily sagged against Ian’s back. “Thank God.”
“Perp took off,” Mitch bit out when he reached them, dusting off his jeans. “He left his weapon. As he ran off, I noticed he wore gloves, so probably no prints. Hard to know if that was smarts or simply luck.”
“Did you get a look?” Ian said.
“Dark hood, hidden face. Size and shape of Ghost, maybe, but it could’ve been anybody.” He rubbed his leg and gave Emily a solemn look. “I can’t let you put yourself at risk like this again. You need someone who can really protect you.”
She could see the intent clearly in his eyes. He was leaving her. He couldn’t. Emily jumped to her feet and clutched his arm. “You can’t do that. There’s no one else I trust.”
A black-and-white pulled up, followed by an SUV. Dane Tanner jumped out. He surveyed the scene. “Where’d the shots come from?”
“Long-barreled, scoped .22 semi-auto pistol over there.” Mitch nodded toward the alley and then turned to Ian. “Get Emily into the truck,” he said, pointing to the hulking, tinted-windowed vehicle. “I want as few people to see her as possible.”
As Ian took her arm, Emily glanced at Mitch and Tanner. The detective looked back at her repeatedly. “Do you think he believes me?” she asked Ian.
“Mitch put his life on the line for you. How can you ask that?” Ian said.
“Not Mitch. Detective Tanner.”
Ian opened the driver’s side of the truck, and Emily slid in and over to the passenger’s seat. “He’s a tough one to read.”
“Mitch hurt himself. I can tell by his gait,” Emily said softly. “Because of me.”
“You’re a physical therapist. Help him.”
“If he’ll let me.”
Ian let out a small laugh. “You already know Mitch well.” He shot her a serious look. “Just don’t let him down. He’s one of the good guys.” Ian closed the door and planted himself nearby, his stare alert.
Mitch shifted to his good leg. Maybe the best thing was for her to push him away, but how could she put Joshua’s fate in the hands of anyone else in the Denver PD? Mitch Bradford was the only man who believed her, the only man she trusted.
Detective Tanner followed Mitch to the car and opened the door. “Are you okay, Mrs. Wentworth?”
“I’m fine. Mitch stopped him.”
“I understand.” Tanner faced Mitch. “I don’t want to know where you’re taking her, just keep her hidden.” He turned his back. “Vance, keep those kids away from the crime scene,” he ordered one of the flatfoots who’d responded.
Mitch eased into the vehicle.
“I saw that move as you ran across the street,” Emily said. “Is your leg seizing up? I could—”
“Don’t,” Mitch said, turning toward her, his expression stone-faced. “You left the safe house. You followed me. You almost died. Again.”
Emily couldn’t deny the accusations. “If you’d only told me—”
“Don’t put this on me, Emily. You’re the one who left a fortress to wander around downtown Denver when you’re a target.” Mitch shoved the vehicle into gear and pulled away from the curb, studying the road behind him.
“You weren’t honest,” she muttered, knowing it was a lame excuse. She’d almost gotten them killed. She had gotten him hurt. Again.
The car jerked and his jaw clenched, but he said nothing. When he rounded two quick corners to confirm they weren’t being followed, he sucked in a small breath.
He didn’t know how long he could keep from rubbing his thigh, but he didn’t want to give Emily the satisfaction or acknowledge how much that short, twenty-yard run across an uneven surface had brought the truth crashing down on him. He wasn’t nearly where he needed to be to rejoin SWAT. He might never get there. And then where was he? A washed-up has-been, relegated to desk work.
“Why couldn’t you tell me where you were going?”
Mitch slid her a sidelong glance. Her disappointment skewered him, and unfortunately he knew at some point she would feel the sting of his betrayal. “You have so much hope for the kids,” he said. “Vanessa’s story ended tragically. Kayla’s probably will, as well. You didn’t need that.”
“I face a tragic reality every day, Mitch. Why would you still think I’m too weak to handle the truth?”
He shook his head. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. Don’t doubt that. I just don’t want to bring you any more hurt. Most of those kids will end up in places we don’t want them to be.”
“You still coach them. Following in your father’s footsteps.”
“Sometimes I don’t know why. Dad’s in a wheelchair because of that team. A punk my dad helped coach shot him while he was heading to practice. Severed his spinal cord. The boy got convicted but never admitted he did anything wrong. Never even said sorry.” He turned to Emily. “It’s why you have to be careful. You never know who’ll turn on you.”
“Were you coaching with him?”
“I was supposed to be there.” Mitch stopped at a stoplight. Just the movement from gas to brake brought a wince of pain he tried to hide. Not as much pain as the truth, though. Still, he had to make Emily understand she had to guard her heart. Even against him. “He went alone, even though he knew the gangs had resurged into the neighborhood. Some of his kids were at risk. He just couldn’t let it go.”
“And now you’re doing the same thing.”
“That was
his
neighborhood growing up. He made his way out of it. He wanted other kids to have the same chance. He was betrayed, but I’m cautious.” Mitch met Emily’s gaze. “You can never be too careful.”
Her blue eyes dripped with compassion. “He cared. So do you. That’s not a weakness.”
“You have to listen to me—”
“Yeah, not to care too much.” She put her hand on his thigh, rubbing the ache there. “You care a lot.” She eased her hand up his thigh just a bit. “I didn’t believe in you today. I caused you to hurt. Let me help you now.”
Mitch winced as sharp pains stabbed through him. She shifted her fingertips slightly, pressing hard against the knotting muscles. She released, kneaded again. One step at a time, one section after another she worked through the aching thigh muscle. The pain diminished into a dull ache as she pressed down in a particularly tender area just above his knee. Mitch let out a groan. That was the spot. “You have crazy-good hands.”
“It’s my job.”
She worked through the trembling muscle fibers again. Mitch’s hands eased on the steering wheel as the spasms and pain eased. She had magic fingers. Before the light turned green his leg felt almost normal.
“That’s it,” she whispered softly. “Ease up.” She continued the massage. “You may not know it, but you are healing. If you relieve the strain and don’t let it build, you’ll mend even faster.”
A car honked behind him.
Mitch pressed the gas. No pain.
“Better?”
“Thanks.” Mitch hated he had to rely on her to get him through what should’ve been an easy chase, but this was his new reality. “I’m taking you straight back to Noah’s. Then I’ll call the owners of the wine-storage facility to let us in today.”
“I tried already. No answer. It’s Sunday.”
“Try again,” Mitch said, his voice harsh. Now that he no longer had the cramping and pain to focus on, he couldn’t lose concentration on the slight vanilla of her lotion, the sexy sound of her husky voice or wishing those velvet hands would explore certain other parts of his body.
He adjusted in his seat to try to ease the pressure behind his zipper.
“Another cramp?” she asked as she pulled the slip of paper from her pocket.