Chapter 9
NINE
Dawson’s stomach dropped, and he hit the gas just as a spray of bullets slammed into his SUV.
He instinctively ducked low. Glass shattered.
Frigid air rushed in, icing his fingers.
Time seemed to slow as his brain assessed everything in a fraction of a second.
Peyton, crouched low in the passenger seat.
A box-store truck lumbering in the slow lane in front of them, and a family-sized sedan half a mile ahead.
He imagined a mom and kids, just returning home from school or on their way to soccer practice.
Innocent civilians.
The van surged closer.
“Hold on!” Dawson jerked the wheel to the left, cutting across a lane.
A horn blared. The white van with the business logo on the side slowed slightly before swinging into their lane, filling the rearview mirror.
Two figures were visible inside. The barrel of an assault rifle emerged from the open passenger-side window.
Dawson weaved in the lane in a desperate attempt to make them harder to hit. “Stay down!”
Bullets thunked against the metal. Something whispered past his head a second before the windshield splintered, creating a spiderweb that made visibility difficult.
Dawson continued to swerve within his lane.
His attention was split between the van and the other vehicles on the road.
The last thing he wanted was to endanger more people by causing an accident, but he feared it might be impossible to prevent one.
God, I need Your help. The prayer was automatic and instinctive. Dawson was wise enough to know there was only so much within his control. Protect us and the others on the road with us.
The second the bullets stopped, Peyton popped out of her crouch, gun in hand. She twisted in her seat and returned fire.
The van backed off.
“Good work.” Dawson wasted no time grabbing his radio. He pressed the button and started firing off information only to belatedly realize the instrument had been damaged in the gunfire. He tossed the handset down. The van surged forward again. “Peyton, call dispatch.”
Dawson couldn’t drive at these reckless speeds while fishing his cell phone from his pocket.
Peyton swiveled in her seat again, fired off a couple of rounds, and then ducked low.
Seconds later, she was shouting to be heard over the wind tunnel created by the shattered windows.
Dawson cut into the next lane to avoid a slow-moving Lincoln.
He weaved and bobbed through traffic, trying desperately to keep a distance between them and the white van. But the assailants dogged them.
He had to lose them. Before someone ended up dead.
Slipping into the far-left lane, he made a desperate plan.
“Peyton, hold on.” Gritting his teeth, he surged forward, increasing his speed far beyond the limit.
Three lanes of traffic. His brain calculated the distance between vehicles in the other lane.
As the exit sign loomed large, at the last second, he jerked his wheel across multiple lanes of traffic and sailed down the ramp to the feeder.
The van raced past them, overshooting the exit.
Dawson breathed a small sigh of relief. Sirens wailed in the distance. Backup was on the way. He hoped they’d be able to intercept the van, but he wouldn’t take any chances. He barely tapped the brakes as he turned onto the road leading into town.
Peyton grabbed the dash. Her hair flew around her face. “Where are we going? They’re getting away.”
“My priority is protecting you.” Dawson gripped the steering wheel, unwilling to even consider how close he’d just come to losing her. “You hurt?”
“No.”
He sailed through a yellow light and spun into the parking lot of the Knoxville Police Department before circling to the rear of the squat, red-brick building.
Jax, gun in hand, waited at the door. Dawson slammed on the brakes, shoved the vehicle into Park, and bolted out of the driver’s seat.
By the time he’d crossed to Peyton’s side, his buddy already had her out of the vehicle and was hustling her toward the safety of the building.
Dawson followed, casting a last glance at his vehicle. It was destroyed. Busted windows, dented metal. The attack couldn’t have lasted over two minutes, but there was no doubt they’d barely escaped with their lives. “Thank you, God.”
He let the door slam shut behind him. The sounds of voices and phones ringing echoed down the hall from the bullpen.
News of the shooting would spread quickly.
Dawson hurried to the nearest conference room.
Peyton emerged just as he reached it, bumping straight into him, worry etched on her features.
“Call your parents to check on Grace. Make sure she’s okay. ”
“I’ve already sent an officer to the house,” Jax added. “But he hasn’t arrived yet.”
The baby! How could he have forgotten about her!
Dawson dialed his father’s cell. Raymond answered on the first ring and assured him Grace was fine, currently nestled in his arms. Dawson shared the information with Peyton, and she sagged against the closest chair.
Still on the phone with his father, he moved forward automatically and guided her into the seat.
“There’s been an incident. Peyton and I are okay, but I need you to stick close to Mom and Grace. An officer is en route to the house.”
“Understood.” Raymond didn’t bother with questions. “Don’t worry, son. I’ll keep them safe.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Love you, son.”
“Love you too.”
He hung up, relief washing over him. Jax clapped him on the back in a silent gesture of solidarity. “I’ll get some waters and a first aid kit. Be right back.”
Dawson nodded and then turned his attention to Peyton.
Her hair was a wild mess, glass glinting from within the strands.
She’d lowered her arms to the table and rested her forehead on them.
Her shoulders sagged. A cut drew a line across the skin of her wrist, and even from his standing position, her body was visibly shaking.
Worry cramped his insides. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Peyton…”
“It’s the adrenaline.” She sucked in a shaking breath. “I was in a car accident a couple of years ago.”
His chest tightened. Peyton wouldn’t be this shaken up if it’d been a minor fender bender. Images of car accidents he'd responded to over the years hit him all at once. “How bad?”
“Bad.”
The words came out in a whisper. Dawson’s heart clenched, and he didn’t think.
He tugged her into a standing position and then into his arms. She was stiff for half a second, and then she relaxed into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He lowered his cheek to her tangled hair.
Nothing in this world felt more right than when Peyton was in his arms.
Memories came without warning. Stolen kisses and moonlight strolls.
Running through the parking lot during a spring thunderstorm, Peyton laughing, her hair stuck to her face.
Her lopsided grin when he caught her shaking her Christmas presents.
The way she held his hand at his grandfather’s funeral.
Thousands of tiny, inconsequential moments that made up the fabric of his life.
It would be so much easier if he could stay angry with her. Keep her at arm’s length. Goodness knows, he had good reason to. But that was like asking him to stop breathing— impossible, involuntary, pointless to try. Peyton was a part of him, no matter how much, at times, he wished otherwise.
The plan had been so simple. Protect her and Grace, solve the case, clear the air, and say goodbye. But he could feel it crumbling like sand beneath him. He’d been a fool to think this would ever be simple. His heart remembered what his mind had forced him to forget.
For fifteen years, he’d loved her. Completely. Utterly.
When she raised her head from his chest, and their eyes met, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to cup her face.
Her skin was silky smooth under the pads of his fingers.
He traced the curve of her cheek, as he had so many times before.
Her breath caught. Those gorgeous lips parted, and her hazel eyes darkened with a familiar desire.
Every part of him ached to close that distance. To press his lips to hers and pretend the last five years hadn't happened. But they had. And a kiss in a conference room after a near-death experience wouldn’t fix what was broken between them.
And things were broken between them, no matter what his heart said.
They were shattered. Irreparable.
Dawson released her and stepped back. The chair behind him sailed across the room and slammed into the wall.
He winced at the noise. The scent of jasmine clung to him, and his hands ached to hold her again.
He needed to get out of this room. “I should update the chief on what happened. Check if they caught the van.”
Peyton blinked, as if coming out of a haze. Her cheeks heated and her gaze skittered away from him. “Right. Yeah.”
Dawson turned on his heel and crossed to the door. He resisted the urge to look back. He didn’t want to know if he’d see regret or heartache on her face. What good would it do? There was only one way this ended, and it wasn’t with them together.
He needed to keep his head in the game. Now more than ever. Solving this case wasn’t just about Lilia and Grace anymore. Peyton’s life was on the line too. Dawson would do whatever was necessary to protect her. And when it was all over, he would say goodbye.
He had to. There was no other choice.