Lawman Protection

She shook her head. “No.”

“What about Richard Prentice? What did he think of the profile you wrote about him?”

“He said he liked it—that I’d made him sympathetic. I mean, that’s not what I set out to do, but that’s how he took it.”

“You said you’ve been a crime reporter. Has your reporting been responsible for putting any violent criminals away—people who might have vowed revenge?”

“I’ve reported on all kinds of crimes, but no one’s ever threatened me, or even sent me angry letters.” She knotted the handkerchief in her hand. “I thought that kind of thing only happened on television.”

He squeezed her shoulder, and she fought the urge to lean into him and close her eyes. No, she had to be strong. “Tonight, when you’ve had time to think about it, I want you to make me a list of every story you’ve reported on that led—directly or indirectly—to the conviction of someone,” he said. “We can run a check to see if any of them are out of prison. I’ll work with the local police to determine if any of those people have been seen in the area.”

“Shouldn’t you leave this to the local police entirely? I thought your territory was the public lands.”

He frowned. “It is. But when someone shoots at me, I take a personal interest.”

“So maybe this isn’t even about me.” The idea flooded her with relief. “Maybe the shooter was after you.”

“That’s possible.”

“Maybe whoever shot Bobby decided to go after you.”

“That’s taking a big risk, considering we have no leads in that case.”

“Maybe the person responsible doesn’t know that.”

He nodded. “Maybe not.”

“Sir?” A uniformed police officer stepped into the alcove where they were sitting. “I’m Officer Evans, with the Montrose police.”

“Captain Graham Ellison, FBI. And this is Emma Wade.”

“I’ll need a statement from each of you about what happened,” Evans said.

“Of course.”

A female officer joined them and led Emma away to question her about what had happened. Emma kept her answers brief; everything had happened so quickly she had few details to share. “What were you and Captain Ellison doing before the attack?” the officer asked.

“We were having dinner.”

“You two are dating?”

The dinner had been like a first date. But not. “I’m a reporter and I was questioning him about a case he’s working on.”

“What case is that?”

“The Rangers found a downed plane in Curecanti Recreation Area today. The pilot had been shot.”

The cop’s eyes widened. “Murder?”

“It looks that way.”

The officer shook her head. “When I joined the force, we might have had one violent death a year. In the past eighteen months we’ve had half a dozen. This task force doesn’t seem to be doing much to slow things down.”

Emma opened her mouth to defend Graham but stopped. Hadn’t she had the same criticism of the task force? Knowing and liking Graham didn’t change that opinion, did it?

“Did you see the shooter, or get a glimpse of the car?” the officer asked.

“No. Captain Ellison pushed me down as soon as we heard the first shot.”

“And you have no idea who would want to shoot at you?”

“No. Maybe it’s just one of those random things,” she said. “Or a case of mistaken identity or something.”

“Maybe so.” The officer put away her pen and paper. “We’ll do our best to find the person responsible. In the meantime, be careful.”

The officer left and Graham rejoined her. “Let’s go back to your place,” he said.

She nodded. All she wanted was a hot bath and a cup of tea, and maybe a movie to distract her from all the horrors of today—first Bobby’s death, then someone trying to kill her. It was too much.

When they reached her Jeep, Graham held out his hand. “I’ll drive.”

She started to argue—to tell him he was bossy and point out it was her car. “What about your Cruiser?” she asked.

“I can get it later.”

Weariness won over stubbornness and she handed over the keys without another word.

Neither of them spoke on the drive to her house. She was still too numb for words, and he appeared lost in his own thoughts. But he swore as he pulled the Jeep to a stop in her driveway. She sat up straighter, heart pounding. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t leave your front door standing open when we left, did you?” he asked.

She stared at the entrance to her house, registering that the door was open. Then she was out of the car before she even realized what she was doing, running up the steps. “Janey!” she shouted. “Oh, Janey!”

* * *

JANEY THE CAT turned out to be fine, though she was clearly upset. They found her hiding under Emma’s bed—a king-size affair with a puffy floral comforter and at least a dozen pillows. It looked feminine and soft and sexy—and it annoyed Graham that he could think these things while in the midst of a serious investigation.

“Is anything missing?” he asked as he followed Emma through the house, which looked undisturbed.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I was so worried about Janey I didn’t even look.” She cradled the cat to her chest and he felt a stab of envy. Yeah, he had it bad for this woman. Focus, he reminded himself.

“Then let’s look together.”

They checked the spare bedroom, living room and dining room. Everything was neat and orderly, nothing out of place. When they got to the kitchen she stopped. “My papers,” she said.

“What papers?”

She pointed to the kitchen table, where a half-empty wineglass and a pen sat. “I was going over the notes I took today—at the press conference and at the crash site. They’re gone.”