Police Protector

She stared at the list of names under “Possible Suspects,” and the knot that had taken up residence in her rib cage eased for the first time since she’d walked out to Roy’s parking lot. The only name that worried her was Crazy Ed, the man who’d been at the center of her nightmares over the past year. He may have been dead, but someone like that was bound to have attracted like-minded friends. Were there any left?

More important, were there any left who were willing to risk their own freedom for revenge? Because they couldn’t have missed the massive cleanup Cole and his team had done after the station shooting. They’d have to expect any attempt to go after someone connected to that case would result in the same intense scrutiny.

Shaye let out a breath. “I don’t think this had anything to do with me.”

Cole and Luke looked from the board to her and back again, and then Luke was nodding. “I agree. We’re just being thorough.”

When Cole was silent too long, Shaye asked, “Cole? What do you think?”

“Chances were always slim that this was a targeted attack,” he replied, but there was an edge to his voice that told her he was holding something back.

“But...” she prompted.

“But nothing. Luke’s right.”

She frowned, but before she could argue, the door to her lab burst open, smacking the wall and almost hitting Luke on the way.

He scowled at the petite woman with the pixie cut and wrinkled pantsuit who stood on the other side, and she fidgeted. “Sorry. Shaye, I’m glad you’re here.”

“What’s up?” Shaye asked, hoping no one had noticed the way she’d jumped in her seat at the unexpected noise.

The woman in the doorway, Jenna Dresden, was one of the lab’s best firearms experts, and one of Shaye’s closest friends here. Or at least she had been, until Shaye had left last year. Since she’d returned, things had been a little strained. Maybe because Shaye hadn’t stayed in touch over the past year.

“I looked at the bullets we recovered at the scene yesterday.”

Cole and Luke gave Jenna their full attention. “What did you find?” Cole asked.

“Well, I can tell you the bullet was a nine millimeter. And I can tell you that it doesn’t match up to anything shot from another gun we have on file.”

Cole didn’t have to say a word for Shaye to know exactly what that meant. Someone connected to Crazy Ed being involved just sank down to unlikely. Working other cases had taught her that gang members sold one another weapons, so they often ended up with guns that had been used in previous crimes.

“The gun’s a virgin,” Luke said. “So we won’t know anything until we match the bullet to the gun it came from.”

At that point, Jenna could compare the striations from the bullets they’d retrieved from the scene with those in the weapon’s chamber and see if they lined up. If they did, they had their weapon. And whoever it belonged to was probably their shooter.

“Afraid not,” Jenna agreed. “I wish I had better news. And now I’m going home, because I’ve been here since last night.”

“Thanks,” Shaye called as the brunette headed back the way she’d come. She looked questioningly at Cole.

“Back to square one.”

* * *

“SO, SOMEONE CONNECTED to Crazy Ed is out,” Luke said.

Cole frowned. “I guess so.”

After Jenna had given them the news about the bullet, that was practically a foregone conclusion anyway, but Cole wasn’t leaving anything to chance. So he’d bribed a couple of his fellow officers coming off duty with a pair of basketball tickets to go home with Shaye and watch her until he and Cole were finished.

After hours in the stifling heat of the station—the air conditioner was on the fritz—they’d tracked down anyone even remotely connected to Crazy Ed, which wasn’t a lot. It made Cole sad for the little boy Crazy Ed had once been: parents both killed in a drive-by when he was ten. He’d gone to live with an aunt, who’d overdosed a few years later, and then he’d ended up in the system.

Unlike Cole, who’d managed to form a brotherly bond with Andre and Marcos inside what felt like his fifteenth foster home in eight years, Crazy Ed had found gangs. The rest of his gang was now dead or in prison, and if he had any family left, Luke and Cole couldn’t find it. So no one left to avenge his death.

“He shot up a police station,” Luke reminded him, clearly able to read the direction of Cole’s thoughts. “He chose his path. Nothing we can do about it now.”

“Yeah.” Cole shook off his thoughts about whether Crazy Ed had ever really had a chance before he started dwelling on all the other kids he’d seen in homes over the years, kids he hadn’t kept track of. Kids he hadn’t taken on two jobs to provide them with a real home and ease their transition out of the system, like he had for Andre and Marcos. Because it sure hadn’t been easy for him, suddenly totally on his own, not even a roof over his head when he hit eighteen.