Hunting Colton's Witness
Author
Anna J. Stewart
Reads
17.2K
Chapters
20
It's his duty to protect her… But falling in love isn't part of the job. Vivian Maylor is Detective Nate Colton's key witness — and the most enticing woman he's ever met. His determination to keep their relationship purely professional falls apart after an attempt on her life almost succeeds. With help from his newfound Colton family, Nate should be able to keep Vivian safe. But when he finds out Vivian might have a connection to a bigger case, the attempts on her life become more frequent. Will Nate get the chance to protect Vivian so they can explore more than their instant attraction?
Chapter 1
“Can I get you another drink, Nate?”
Detective Nate Colton stifled a disheartened sigh and glanced at his club soda with lime. “No, thanks, Seb.” He flashed a tight smile at the bartender/co-owner of Madariaga’s before casting an even quicker glance into the mirror. Leave it to scam artist Dean Wexler to turn his free Friday night into one of alcohol-free surveillance duty. “I’m still nursing this one.”
“Working, huh?” Seb’s sympathetic expression did nothing to ease Nate’s irritation.
“Afraid so.” Nate paused, considered. He glanced around, trying to take some pleasure in the plethora of Christmas lights strung around, through and over the crisscrossing beams covering the ceiling. “Question, Seb.”
“Shoot.” The middle-aged man whipped a hand towel over the shoulder of his festive red vest. “Sorry.” He grinned and had Nate chuckling. “Not a lot of cops come in here. Don’t get many opportunities to use my well-honed humor. What’s up?”
“This guy.” Nate inclined his head toward the table at his left. The thirtysomething man wore simple jeans and a dark T-shirt beneath a black leather jacket. His hands flexed and relaxed in a kind of rhythm that had him alternating between grasping his half-filled beer glass and slicking back his straw-blond hair. “You see him in here before?”
“Don’t think so.” The gray in Seb’s hair and full beard shimmered beneath the dim recessed lighting when he shook his head. “Why?”
Telling Seb the man in question was a convicted scammer and con artist probably wasn’t the way to go. Instead, Nate shrugged. “He looks jittery.”
“My guess? First date. Probably a blind one.” Seb reached for a glass on the drying rack and set it aside. “Ever since we implemented our safe dating protocol, we get a lot of them.”
“Safe...?” Nate shook his head.
“We put up a notice in the ladies’ room,” Seb told him. “They order a certain drink, we know they need help.” Seb inclined his chin down the hall on the other side of the room that led to an emergency exit. “We call for a car, and they get picked up at the back of the building. Date’s none the wiser, and the lady gets home safe and sound.”
“Nice.” Nate grabbed a pair of olives and tossed them in his mouth. “More restaurants need that kind of policy.”
“It’s definitely upped our business,” Seb said. “Speaking of business, haven’t seen you in here in a while.”
“Been busy. Work and, you know...” Nate paused, ate another olive, this one stuffed with an almond. “Family.”
He was still adjusting to the fallout of recent Colton family events and revelations. While he and his sister had always known of their too-close-for-comfort connection to the Colton line branching out of Owl Creek, that part of the family hadn’t known either he or Sarah existed at all. Until recently, that is. The emotional fallout on both sides was still being assessed. It was one thing to know he had other siblings living not too far away. It was another to have to deal with them. And the role his mother played in the situation.
That needle-sharp prick of disdain caught as it always did and lodged like a bullet in his chest. Leave it to his mother to set off a familial bomb that resulted in near cataclysmic repercussions. Jessie Colton’s calculated actions, as usual, bordered on cruel. But what bothered Nate most was that she never, ever did something like this without a bigger agenda in mind.
His mother was up to something. Something big enough to warrant blowing up a near thirty-year-old family secret.
Part of him didn’t want to think about what was coming next. But he needed to do just that, if for no other reason than to protect his sister. He swallowed hard. Plus all ten of the half-brothers and sisters he now openly counted as family.
“Let me know when you’re ready for another.” Seb offered a sympathetic smile before he moved off to serve a pair of newcomers waiting at the bar for their table.
Pinning his gaze on the mirror to keep track of his target, Nate’s stomach rumbled around the teasing promise of food. He’d made a mistake skipping lunch, but he’d been neck deep in planning how to deal with Dean Wexler, the aforementioned table dweller who seemed to grow increasingly fidgety as time passed. Well, Nate thought, he’d followed worse leads and trusted sketchier sources.
He took a deep breath and filled his senses with the familiar and intoxicating aroma of garlic, smoky paprika and saffron, which carried the sweetest hint of honey. The combination increased his crankiness and his hunger.
No one cooked a rib eye like the chefs at Madariaga’s, but he couldn’t count on Wexler sticking around long enough for him to finish eating. He’d have to make do with the selection of spiced olives and... He raised off his stool enough to grab a dish of mixed nuts farther down the counter. Judging by the way Wexler kept checking his phone for what Nate assumed was the time—or a message from his soon-to-arrive date—it was either going to be a quick wrap-up or a long, long evening. Either way, Nate was in it to the end.
Wexler was the closest thing he had to a lead when it came to his extortion and racketeering case against Marty DeBaccian. Since his release from prison two years ago, DeBaccian had been making his way up the criminal-element food chain here in Boise. Nate, along with a number of his fellow detectives, were determined to stop him before he got anywhere close to the top. Which was where Wexler—a smaller, less careful fish—came in. Nate had been working this case for going on six months. He was getting as antsy as Wexler appeared to be. He wanted this case closed. Now.
“Totally explains how you’re spending your Friday night,” Nate muttered to himself.
Friday nights on the Basque Block, an area of downtown Boise dedicated to the mix of French and Spanish culture, were notoriously crowded and energetic. The brisk December cold blowing through the city triggered temptations of warm, comforting food and drinks within the welcoming confines of the community. The streets were lined with countless lights and lanterns, windows displayed various images of the seasons, holiday sale signs were abundant and welcoming.
Add in extended Happy Hour at Madariaga’s, a restaurant known for their clams Portuguese and in-house brews, and there were numerous festivities in which to partake. The snow had been somewhat gentle on his way in, but he could smell a storm coming.
As he lived a short distance away, Nate often found himself sitting right in this very spot, listening to various musicians performing on the small circular stage in the center of the dining room. Tonight, the usual weekend percussive sounds of drums, tambourines and flutes had been replaced by a solitary guitarist, who, if Nate was honest with himself, conjured a deep-seated envy as she plucked out familiar Christmas music with a finger-flying Spanish-inspired flair.
His lips twitched in unexpected humor. Growing up, he’d loved the idea of becoming a musician, but it soon became obvious the only talent he possessed where a guitar was concerned was stashing it in the back of his closet.
As entertaining as the place was, Nate bit back a self-pitying sigh as he rotated his glass. He’d really been looking forward to a night in, slugging down more than a few bottles of beer and binge-watching the latest in a series of ridiculous, over-the-top, high-speed vehicular action movies.
Seated on a corner stool at the bar, Nate ran through Wexler’s rap sheet in his head to keep himself occupied and, more importantly, focused. There wasn’t much Wexler hadn’t been accused of in his thirty-three years. His first adult arrest had come two days after he’d turned eighteen.
Wexler’s juvie record was sealed, but Nate would bet a year’s salary the guy spent a significant amount of time locked down from a very early age. Now the guy had a tendency to mix things up and expand into whatever worked best for him. These days, burglaries seemed to be his preferred method of income. After going over numerous victim statements and reports, Nate strongly suspected Wexler was behind the rash of thefts that had relieved nearly a dozen single women of a significant amount of cash and property.
A streak like that had to have caught DeBaccian’s attention, which gave Nate some solid leverage. Wexler’s spine was as solid as straw. He’d bend over and kiss whatever backside he needed to keep himself out of prison. Or off DeBaccian’s hit list. Nate planned on being the person who could make both those things happen. For a price.
Exhaustion crept up his spine. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since he’d gotten back from Owl Creek. Whatever switch that turned his brain off had been overridden by stress, circumstance and what probably amounted to an unhealthy amount of professional obsession.
“Heads up.” Seb crouched to retrieve a trayful of clean glasses. When he popped back up, he jutted his chin toward the front door. “Your boy just went on full alert.”
Nate’s gaze shifted not so subtly to Wexler, who had indeed straightened up and was looking toward the door, which clicked shut.
Wexler’s nerves didn’t abate, Nate noticed. Instead, they intensified to the point of vibration. Like a cheetah poised to pounce on unsuspecting prey. Wexler stood, lifted an arm, and only then did Nate see the gleam of relief—or was it calculation?—on the man’s face. Whatever it was, Wexler definitely had Nate’s full attention.
Or at least he did until Nate looked to the door and saw her.
Her back was to him at first as she hung her coat on a hook. She wore a knee-skimming black dress and matching short-sleeved sweater. Her long, dark brown hair draped beautifully down her back. The knee-high boots spoke of practicality where an Idaho winter was concerned. She had curves where he preferred them and not an angle in sight. She was, Nate thought as she turned around and displayed a face worthy of a classical sculptor, the kind of woman who conjured carnal thoughts of endless nights spent in front of a fire while a winter storm raged outside their door.
“Beautiful,” he murmured in a way that had him glancing around to confirm he hadn’t been overheard. Impulse had his hands curled into fists before reality knocked him back down. He wasn’t here for her.
But he wanted to be.
The woman paused, ran her hands down the front of her dress in a motion that spoke to her own bout of nerves. A thin gold chain around her neck displayed a solitary charm that, from a distance, Nate couldn’t decipher. Rather than makeup, it was the cold that tinted her cheeks. Her full lips pressed together until they disappeared. Nate could all but hear the pep talk she was giving herself before she stepped shakily over to the hostess desk.
It seemed a cruel trick, or maybe it was a stroke of luck, when she was escorted to Dean Wexler’s table.
Nate inclined his head, unable to pull his attention away. She stood beside her chair and offered her hand to Wexler, who immediately grasped it. He could see her mouth move, but couldn’t, with the music and conversation bouncing around the restaurant, hear what she said. Her smile seemed strained when she pulled her chair back to sit. Polite. Reserved.
Nate gave Wexler’s chances of a second date a whole one out of ten when the idiot neglected to play the chivalry card and pull out her chair for her. Typical, Nate thought with a silent snort. Why would Wexler act on something he probably couldn’t spell?
Nate was so caught up in that observation he didn’t realize she was looking directly at him.
Their gazes locked, and he couldn’t, for what seemed like a full minute, find his breath. His smile came without thought, and he felt a chill of accomplishment when she offered him one in return. Maybe he was fooling himself, but this smile, unlike the one she’d offered Wexler, appeared genuine. A flash of uncertainty illuminated her candlelit hazel eyes before she turned her attention to Wexler and the menu he handed her. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a pair of round glasses.
Nate glanced away, cursing himself for being tempted to forget about the case and keep her in his sights. Darn if those glasses didn’t add to her appeal. He’d never been into the librarian look. Oh, how wrong he’d been.
Focus, Nate told himself. If Wexler’s pattern held, this woman could very well be his next burglary victim. Nate’s hand tightened around his glass at the thought of anyone—Wexler in particular—taking advantage of her. Of eroding the trust and shadowy optimism he saw in those amazing eyes of hers.
“Seb!” As if taken over by someone else, Nate signaled for another drink. He couldn’t risk surrendering to temptation and instead fixed his gaze on the mirror image of her.
Guilt had him shifting uncomfortably on his stool. He hoped he didn’t look as pathetic as he felt. He needed to think about someone, anyone else, another woman he’d dated, met, talked with who had intrigued him more than this woman did. But it was a no-go. It was as if this woman, simply by walking into view, had erased every other woman from his memory.
“So?” Seb said. “What do you think?”
Nate took a too large sip of his club soda. “About what?” he choked out.
“Them.” Seb tilted his head. “You think they’ll make it to a second date?”
“No.” Nate lifted his glass, toasted Seb with it. “I do not.”
If only because Nate planned on having Wexler behind bars in the next few hours.
Vivian Maylor’s head was spinning, and not in a good way. Why, oh why, had she let Lizzy talk her into online dating? Because Lizzy was her best friend and had rarely steered her wrong. Clearly there was a first time for everything.
Vivian’s vision blurred as she tried to focus on the open menu in her trembling hands. Anxiety had grabbed hold, not when she climbed into her car or even when she’d parked a few blocks away. Oh, no, her old heart-stuttering friend had locked its twisty, suffocating bands around her back when she’d first clicked Accept on the online dating profile.
“Just jump in and rip the Band-Aid off,” Lizzy Colton had told her a few weeks ago when Vivian made the mistake of lamenting feeling lonely out loud. “Just go out on one date and see what happens!” This from the woman who less than a month ago had been trapped in a blizzard only to be rescued by a man who may as well have stepped right out of one of Vivian’s romance novels.
Of course, Lizzy’s headline-making kidnapping around the same time had no doubt left her searching for an outlet for the residual trauma. As happy as Vivian was to serve as a support for her friend, she hadn’t anticipated having to agree to a date in order to make Lizzy smile again. But she had. And Lizzy seemed relieved. About that at least.
“Leaving you to rip off the Band-Aid,” Vivian muttered then suddenly realized she’d spoken out loud. She peeked over the top edge of her menu and smiled at her date. “Sorry.” She forced a smile before reaching for the ice water their server had delivered. “I live alone, so I talk to myself.” She took a big swallow. “A lot.”
“Who doesn’t?” her date teased. But the glint in his brown eyes didn’t lessen her unease. She had the feeling he was trying too hard. “Have you been here before, Vivian?”
“Ah, kind of?” She set the menu down and did her best to ignore the tingling racing down her spine. There was this—she didn’t know how else to describe it—this force, pulsing out at her from the bar. Not the bar, she corrected quickly and glanced to her left and saw him looking at her again. But the man sitting there. She pushed her glasses higher up her nose, a nervous habit she had when uncertainty descended. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. “I live a little ways away, but I’ve ordered from their delivery menu.” She needed to focus on her date. He was, after all, why she’d made the white-knuckle drive into town. “So. Sam.” She needed to give this an authentic chance. “Is that short for Samuel?”
“Nope.” His eyes flashed. “Just Sam. Sam Gabriel.”
“Right.” She shook her head. “Sam Gabriel.” Truth be told, she’d only retained a modicum of the information that had been listed on his profile. While she was at the top of her game in the PR department, socializing outside of work wasn’t her thing. She wasn’t...outgoing. Or adventurous. But loneliness was a surefire trigger to pushing someone outside their comfort zone.
She supposed it was a good idea to leave the house for something other than getting her mail. Since her cat Toby died last month, she’d spent an inordinate amount of time feeding the strays in her neighborhood, an activity that was quickly earning her loony cat-lady status. All that was missing was the bumper sticker on her car declaring herself a cat mom. Best to get out in the world before that became a reality.
She’d have thought all the cheery holiday decor lining the downtown Boise streets would have elevated her mood, but instead, it only reminded her of how alone she truly was. “You’re a teacher, aren’t you, Sam? What was it? Third grade?”
“Second.” He leaned his arms on the table and grinned so wide she could see the fillings in his molars. He was good-looking enough, she supposed, but that smile. She couldn’t help but suspect there was something else lurking behind it. “I just love kids, don’t you?”
“I haven’t spent enough time around them to say, honestly.” She looked back at the dinner offerings, telling herself not to be paranoid. His questions were normal for a first date. Her instincts were out of practice and headed into overdrive. It was a simple dinner date. Nothing more. She was the fish out of water here, not Sam. “I think I’m just going to get the panzanella.” Her stomach rumbled at the very idea. She’d been so nervous all day she hadn’t had much to eat. The idea of a bread salad hit all the right notes. “How about you?”
“Haven’t decided yet.” He reached over and pulled her menu down with one crooked finger. “You don’t have to be nervous, Vivian.”
“It’s my natural state.” Her smile felt stiff this time, and that voice in the back of her head was definitely crying out more loudly to be listened to. She shouldn’t have done this. Taking chances, doing the unexpected—that was Lizzy’s way of doing things, not hers. Vivian shoved her hands under her legs and scrunched her fingers, felt the wood against her nails. “So, um.” She glanced around, did her best not to let her gaze drift anywhere near the man at the bar. Even as her mind raced to place him. Thankfully, their server arrived and took their orders. The few minutes gave her enough time to get at least some questions lined up in her overactive brain.
The guitarist had taken a break, and to be honest, Vivian welcomed the silence. Or at least as much silence as the crowded restaurant allowed. A solitary votive candle flickered in a deep vessel, sprigs of rosemary pressed up against the glass, casting wintery shadows on the red tablecloth. “So, how long have you been using the dating app?” she asked when they were alone again.
“Not long.” He was back to leaning on the table, a semi-smirking expression on his face now. “I like how it gets all the tedious stuff out of the way. I saw on your profile you’re in PR. You own your own business, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “PR Perfection. I represent a number of clients from various industries. I focus a lot on authors and entertainment figures.”
“Sounds interesting.”
It must, given the sudden spark in his eyes. “Social media is a big part of what I do,” she said. “I guess a dating app didn’t seem out of the norm by comparison.” If only she was as good at talking about herself as she was discussing her clients. So far, the only word that came to mind regarding this date was excruciating. “It can be pretty long hours, unexpected work hours sometimes.” A few of her clients had run into some rather scandalous situations as of late. How she’d handled them had earned her a few more clients in return. “But I like the challenge of staying on top of things for my clients and helping them expand their reach.”
“I bet that pays pretty well.”
The man at the bar coughed and shifted on his stool. Vivian couldn’t help it. She glanced over and found him looking at her again. This time, the pretty blue eyes carried a bit of a warning. Vivian straightened in her chair. Was he... Was he listening to them? Her stomach knotted to the point of pain.
“I do okay,” she said. “What made you go into teaching?”
Sam’s smile widened. “I liked the idea of helping shape the minds of the future.”
Vivian frowned. That sounded so rehearsed she could almost see a script sticking out of his pocket. “Second grade is, what, ten years old?”
“Thereabouts.” Sam leaned back as his second beer was delivered. “So, this place is a favorite of yours, then?” He looked around. “It has a nice vibe.”
“It has good food.” It was one thing she indulged in. Some people had a weakness for aged whiskey or bookstores. Vivian held an affinity for cuisine. It was a safe way to be adventurous, especially these days with so many restaurants offering delivery service. “How long have you been teaching?”
“A few years.” He picked up his beer. “Do you travel much?”
“No. Do you?”
“When I can. Gets a bit costly on a teacher’s salary.”
Vivian nodded, making note of the fact that that was the second time he’d mentioned money. Was it her imagination or was this guy digging for something? It didn’t feel like a normal date. Not that she knew what that felt like. She couldn’t recall the last actual date she’d gone on. She had to be overthinking this. She looked to the man at the bar, who offered an encouraging smile before he looked away again.
She silently sighed and tried to return her focus to Sam. He was currently talking up a storm, about what she couldn’t really say, but the man at the bar? He hadn’t said a word, yet she had this unsettling desire to sit beside him and strike up a conversation.
Vivian slid her gaze to the mirror behind the bar, found him watching her again. But instead of making her feel uncomfortable or targeted, that whoomph of a force field seemed to pulse in tempting rhythm.
Those eyes of his were so bright against the light brown of his hair. She’d never been one to like messy hair before, but on him it worked. She couldn’t see much more than his face, hunched over his drink the way he was. He had wide shoulders, though. Strong shoulders, she imagined, and a broad chest to match. Beneath the long sleeves of his navy shirt, muscles bunched and tightened in a way that left her feeling a bit foggy-headed. She liked his smile. A lot.
“Vivian?” Sam caught her hand in his and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “You still with me?”
“Um, yes, of course.” She waited for a spark, for some kind of confirmation that there was something between her and Sam. Instead, she had the sudden urge to retreat and pull back into her town house of a shell. Whatever she might have said next was scrapped when their dinner was delivered.
Relieved, she picked up her fork and quickly filled her mouth in order to avoid any other comment. Or any temptation to look back at the stranger who made her feel things she honestly hadn’t thought possible.
Despite her intention to speed things up, dinner passed at an excruciatingly slow rate. She had to give Sam points for trying. Her date was nothing if not persistent with the questions and attempts to discover common ground. But there wasn’t any. And there certainly wasn’t heat between them, not even a spark.
They both reached for the check at the same time.
“I insist,” Sam said with a bit of an edge in his voice.
So did she. “We’ll split it.” Vivian kept her voice light. “I think we can both admit this isn’t going anywhere.”
“Maybe we just haven’t hit the right moment yet.” His smile was tight as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He flagged down their server and waved off her determined offer to add cash to cover her meal. “Tell you what,” Sam said. “There’s a great little dessert café a couple blocks away. Let’s take a walk, get some fresh air and you can treat. They have a great chocolate peanut-butter lava cake.”
Proof he’d read her profile. She’d mentioned a weakness for anything chocolate. She did the calculations in her head. Twenty or thirty minutes more in exchange for lava cake? She shrugged, her sweet tooth activated. Seemed an appropriate price to pay for dessert. “All right.”
She clutched her hands in her lap, her knees bouncing as she watched him fill out the tip amount on the credit card receipt. He clicked the pen shut and stood up.
“I’m just going to visit the ladies’ room before we head out.” She pointed toward the back of the restaurant. “I’ll meet you out front?”
“You aren’t going to go scampering out the back door, are you?” Sam teased.
She’d be lying if she said the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. “I’ll meet you out front.” When he moved off, she dug into her purse, pulled out a couple of twenty-dollar bills and slid them into the bill folder just as their server reappeared to retrieve it. “Thank you for lovely service,” she told him. “Sorry about his tip.”
“I’m sorry about your date,” the young man said with an understanding smile.
“Thanks.” When she stood, she couldn’t help but give in to temptation one last time.
The corner barstool was empty.
The man with the blue eyes was gone.
“Of course he is.” On a scale of one to ten, she was hovering at about a minus two at this point where tonight was concerned.
Since the ladies’ room was just an excuse to make up for the anemic tip Sam left—clearly her date had never worked in the service industry—it wasn’t long before Vivian retrieved her jacket from the hook by the door and shrugged into it.
Regret over having agreed to dessert surged as she joined Sam outside. She really just wanted to go home and forget tonight had ever happened.
Sam was standing by the valet parking stand, looking at his cell, when she emerged. He straightened when he saw her, shoved it into his pocket in a motion that had her earlier suspicions resurfacing. She did a quick scan of the street in both directions and noticed a number of people around. The windows of other restaurants displayed plenty of customers amidst the holiday decor of garlands, lights and glistening, colorful ornaments.
Sam’s smile was back in place, but his eyes were a bit jumpy, looking over his shoulder before he stepped closer. “All set?”
“Sure.” Worst case, she’d head back to Madariaga’s and use the escape hatch she’d seen posted in the bathroom. “How far is it?” She pointed behind her as he led her down the street at a rather hurried pace. “I’m parked in the other direction.”
“Two, maybe three blocks?” He didn’t sound nearly as sure of himself as he had inside the restaurant. He dropped a hand to her back to hurry her along. “I promise this cake is totally worth it.”
“Mmm.” It would have to be a pretty fantastic dessert to get her to put tonight behind her. Snow drifted gently to the ground. Her lined boots kept her suddenly scrunching toes warm, and she grabbed the lapels of her brown down jacket. She’d forgotten to wear gloves, but the coffee she planned to order should take the chill off her fingers. Her boots clicked against the sidewalk as they walked. “I hope your next date goes better than this one,” she said as a peace offering.
“This one isn’t over yet.” Sam, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jacket, gave her an encouraging smile. “But if you’re looking for sparks, yeah.” He sighed. “Looks like we’re out of luck in that department.”
Sparks like what she’d felt when she’d looked at the man at the bar? “I’m afraid so. Is that the place?” She pointed ahead to the lighted café sign two blocks on the left. At nearly nine on a Friday night, traffic was still humming alongside them. The rumble of engines cut through that winter silence she’d been longing for. If she never answered another question in her life, it would be too soon.
“Look, Vivian.”
Sam stopped and reached out, caught her arm and brought her to a halt. The display cases in the jewelry store beside them showed off a modicum of offerings that glinted under spotlight bulbs. Sprays of holly and tinsel decorated the windows, along with spray-on snow creating a framed effect.
In the street, a beige car occupied by two men drove by at a crawl. The passenger in front slid down, almost in slow motion as she glanced over her shoulder.
“Maybe we should give this another try?” Sam suggested. “This could have just been first-date jitters, and, well—” His eyes went wide as a pop sounded in the air. She jumped, looked toward the car. Something gold glinted in the back seat. The sound of breaking glass tinkled in the air followed by another pop. And another.
Sam caught her around the waist and knocked her to the ground, driving the air out of her lungs. She hit shoulder first. Her head bounced against the cement. Her glasses snapped, the jagged edge cutting into her face. Whatever scream she might have offered was caught by the whoosh of Sam’s body landing heavily on top of her. Now that she could, she couldn’t form the thought to cry out.
The weight of Sam’s body pushed down on her to the point she could feel the ground pressing against her side.
More glass tinkled, another pop echoed. An alarm went off, blaring into the night as people cried out and tires screeched. Footsteps raced past and around her. Unintelligible conversation picked up speed to the point it became white noise.
Vivian lay there, frozen, the cold of the ground soaking through her jacket and making her shiver. A sob caught in her throat as she tried to move and got one hand up to her shoulder in order to shove Sam away. She kicked her legs in an attempt to extricate herself. “Sam, get up. Get off.” She shoved again, only he didn’t move. She felt an odd warmth trickle down her neck and spread beneath her jacket. “Sam?” She pushed harder.
The growing crowd didn’t seem to know what to do any more than she did. “Help, please,” she cried, her voice muffled by Sam’s shoulder. “Someone...help!”
“Back! Everyone stand back!” The male voice that exploded through the crowd brought her an unexpected moment of relief before Sam was rolled off her.
Suddenly feeling as if she could breathe again, Vivian tried to sit up. When she did, she saw the man from the bar, crouched behind her, that handsome face of his marred with controlled fear and concern. She lifted a hand to where her glasses had been, where her face hurt. “You.” It was the only word that came to mind. The only thing she could think to say. Her ears were ringing, and her head throbbed. She lifted her fingers to her temple. “What are you—?”
“Are you all right?” The man shifted slightly, reached into his pocket for his cell. “Don’t move too much.”
“I’m—fine.” Her mind raced, trying to catch up with whatever had just happened. She looked around. The parked car didn’t have windows anymore. Shattered glass littered the sidewalk. She clutched her hands to her chest, took comfort in the hand resting on her shoulder.
“That’s not your blood?” The man asked in such an urgent way he left her blinking.
“Blood?” She looked down, saw the glistening red liquid coating her jacket and her neck. She touched a hand to her skin, drew away sticky red fingers. “N-no. It’s not mine.” Realization shot through her, and she felt her face grow cold. “Sam.” She scrambled onto her knees, but the man from the bar shifted to keep her where she was. “Is he hurt? Why isn’t he—?”
“Yeah, this is Detective Nate Colton, Boise Police.” The man spoke into his phone. He clicked the speaker feature on, placed the phone on the ground beside him. “Stay right there,” he ordered Vivian, who could only nod and stare. He turned his back on her, but the second she could move, she was on her knees beside him.
“You’re a policeman?” she asked the detective as he pulled open Sam’s jacket, pressed two fingers against the side of Sam’s blood-spattered neck.
“Dispatch,” Nate continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Requesting backup and patrol. And an ambulance to...” He glanced around and recited the address. “I’ve got a gunshot victim, at least two to the chest. Rapid pulse, but he’s alive. I need to keep him that way. Over.”
“Request received, Detective Colton. Assistance is on the way. Over.”
“Great.” He reached out a bloodied hand and clicked off the speaker. A number of people raced out of a nearby restaurant. “You!” Nate yelled over the heads of the crowd creeping closer. “I need towels or tablecloths or napkins, something to help stanch the bleeding.”
“I can—” Vivian started to stand, but her knees folded immediately.
“You stay right there,” Detective Colton ordered. “And you all, turn those stupid phones off,” he snapped at the crowd, who all but ignored his order. “This isn’t anything that needs to be shared.”
Vivian shivered and tried to breathe regularly. Her head spun. Her stomach churned. For a moment, she feared she might throw up. She pressed a hand against her mouth and tasted bile in the back of her throat.
“Hey.” Detective Colton nudged her knee with his foot. “You’re okay, right? You still with me?”
“Yes.” She nodded, feeling both useless and helpless, which only irritated her. “I don’t know what happened. One thing we’re walking down the street, and the next thing I know he knocked me down.”
The detective gave her a blank look, but if he was going to ask her anything, he was prevented by the restaurant employees returning with a stack of towels and napkins.
“Great, thanks.” Detective Colton inclined his head. “Grab some of those will you?” he told Vivian. “And keep one for yourself.” He nodded to her face. “You’re cut. From your glasses probably.”
Her glasses. She looked around but couldn’t focus enough to see where they might have ended up. She’d have to get her spare pair from home. Her hands shook as she accepted the offerings and quickly handed the detective one so he could slip it between his blood-soaked hands and Sam’s open wounds. “Don’t you die on me, Wexler.”
“His name is Sam,” Vivian corrected. “Sam Gabriel.”
The detective leaned forward, pressed down so hard with his hands Vivian winced. “I need you to stay quiet right now,” he told her, looking as if he didn’t want to be saying what he had. “Just...trust me, okay? I’ll explain everything I can soon, but not now.”
It was a request Vivian often had trouble with. Trust was a big reason why she lived alone. Why she worked alone. But with this man... She couldn’t explain it. “Okay.” She said it in a whisper and reached for another towel. “Yeah.” She swallowed hard. “I trust you.”