Protector's Instinct

“I’m here, sweetie.” Jackie was pulling herself together now that she could talk to her daughter. Nicole calmed down more as her mother did. “Is David okay?”

“Can you hold this for me, hon?” Caroline handed little Nicole a green tag. Someone else would check her out more thoroughly, but for right now, the girl didn’t seem to need more medical attention. “Nicole seems fine, Jackie. I’m going to check on baby David now.”

Baby David hadn’t made a sound the whole time. Caroline’s heart caught in her chest as she ran around the car to his side.

The baby, not older than six months, lay silently in his rear-facing car seat as Caroline pried open the door. As she reached over to check the baby’s pulse, she could hear Jackie’s ragged, terrified breathing.

She couldn’t see any blood or noticeable injuries, but he didn’t move at all at her touch. Caroline sent up a silent prayer that the child was alive. With babies, everything was tricky, since they were unable to communicate.

She found his pulse at the exact moment little David opened his eyes. He studied Caroline intently before taking his thumb and jamming it in his mouth, sucking on it.

“He’s okay, Jackie. He’s sucking his thumb.” She reached over David and squeezed Jackie’s shoulder. “I can’t say for certain that he is injury free, but he’s alive and he’s alert.” Caroline laid a yellow tag on baby David. He probably could be green-tagged, but with a baby she’d rather be safe than sorry. Someone would still need to check him more thoroughly.

“Jackie, you saved your kids’ lives by having them properly restrained in their car seats. You did great. I have to check on others, so I need you to keep it together. Help will be back again soon.”

Caroline didn’t wait to hear any response. She rushed to the next victim. By the time other sirens approached a few minutes later, she had evaluated many victims.

Two were dead. At least two with severe injuries. A half dozen more with minor injuries that would require attention.

And a drunken jackass, still yelling, with a dislocated pinkie.

That first dead guy she’d come across had a couple of children’s dolls in the back seat of his car. Somebody’s dad was never coming home again. Yet a drunk driver who’d never even known he was driving the wrong way down a highway was going to be just fine.

Sometimes the world just wasn’t fair. Caroline knew that much better than most by what had happened to her nearly two years ago.

This just reaffirmed it.

It was going to be a long, hard day.

* * *

TWELVE HOURS LATER, shift finished, having showered and changed at the hospital, Caroline made it home.

Except, it wasn’t exactly home, was it?

It was the fourth place she’d lived in eighteen months, the place she’d moved into six weeks ago, but it wasn’t home.

How could you call a place home when every time someone knocked on your front door it sent you into a panic?

Caroline stood in her driveway, looking up at her town house’s entrance, duffel bag swung over her shoulder, unable to go any farther. It had been the longest, professionally worst day she’d had in a long time. Her body was exhausted from the physical exertion of moving patients, administering CPR and going to one call after another today because of the fog. Her emotions were exhausted as the death toll had risen each hour.

By all means, she should go inside her house, fall into bed and be asleep before her head hit the pillow. Despite the deaths that couldn’t be avoided, Caroline and the other paramedics had done good work. Had helped make sure the death count hadn’t risen any further than it had. She should rest now. She deserved it.

But she couldn’t seem to force her legs to move any closer to her empty house.

She knew she could call one of the officers over from the Corpus Christi Police Department to come walk through her town house for her. They would understand, and someone would come immediately.

Although not the person she really wanted—really needed—to be here. He wasn’t part of the police force any longer. Zane Wales had hung up his white hat—literally and figuratively—the day they’d found Caroline raped and nearly beaten to death in her own home. The last victim of a serial rapist.

Caroline looked at her town house again, still unable to force herself to walk any closer.

What would Dr. Parker say? Caroline had been uncomfortable talking to a psychiatrist here in Corpus Christi, so her friend Sherry had convinced her to speak—just once—to the Omega Sector psychiatrist over the phone. That “just once” had then turned into talking to Dr. Parker every couple of weeks.

If Caroline called Grace Parker right now—and she had no doubt Grace would take the call—would Grace tell Caroline there was nothing to fear? To just put one foot in front of the other?

No, she would tell Caroline that only Caroline could determine what would be the best thing to do. That pushing herself too far did more damage than it did good.

Her phone buzzed in her hand and she looked down to read the text.

How do you look in the mirror knowing your lies?

She rolled her eyes. Another one? This was getting out of hand. Caroline wasn’t big on smartphones in general, so she didn’t do a lot with hers. But she had to see if there was a way to block these texts.

The text was almost enough to distract her from her fear of entering the house. She took a step forward, then stopped, wiping her hand across her face.

She couldn’t go in right now.

The thought frustrated her, but she let it go. It was okay. She would go to the Silver Eagle, a bar in town, and relax for a little while. A lot of the law enforcement and EMT gang hung out there. She could have a drink or a bite to eat or just chat. Get someone to show her how to block the annoying texts. When she was done, maybe she’d be more ready to face the big scary front door.

Once the decision was made, she didn’t second-guess her choice, just jogged back to her truck, throwing her duffel in the passenger seat beside her. The ride to the bar didn’t take long and she knew she’d made the right decision when she pulled into the lot.

Kimmie’s little VW Beetle was parked here and almost every spot was full. Caroline would chat and unwind for an hour or two. She would face her town house when she was ready.

It had been a bad day. This would hopefully make it better.

She grabbed her purse, got out of the truck and made her way inside. The familiar smell of beer and fried food assailed her, as did the country music pouring at a perfect volume from the speakers. She smiled at Kimmie, who waved for Caroline to come join the people at her table.

Maybe being here wouldn’t make her fears back at the town house just disappear, but nothing could make this day worse.

She glanced over at the bar as she walked toward Kimmie and almost stumbled as she found her gaze trapped by the brown eyes of Zane Wales. Compelling her, drawing her in, as always. She forced herself to look away from him.

Her day definitely just got worse.

Chapter Two (#uf1013233-bc21-5782-ba30-641a26ae6dc7)

Zane Wales didn’t come into the Silver Eagle very often. A lot of law enforcement guys hung out there, and generally Zane didn’t need a reminder of what he no longer did for a living.

But today had been a long, weird day and Zane had found himself here an hour ago, rather than going straight back to his house on the outskirts of Corpus Christi. Just for a beer, a bite to eat. Hoping maybe none of the detective force would even be here.

They were all here.

If he could back out without any of them seeing him, he would’ve. But Captain Harris, along with Wade Ammons and Raymond Stone, both detectives Zane had worked with when he’d been on the force, waved him over to the bar where they sat as soon as they saw him.

Zane liked all three of the men—he really did. He chatted with them for a while before Wade and Raymond saw some ladies who interested them and said their goodbyes.

“How’s the private aircraft charter business treating you?” Captain Harris asked as he took a sip of his beer.

Zane chewed a bite of the burger he’d ordered. “Today was different than most. A little crazy.”