Chapter 2 #3
“Those rounds could have come from your gun,” the man holding his wallet said.
“Check my gun. It hasn’t been fired.” Teller straightened and faced the officers.
He couldn’t protect this woman if they hauled him into their station to sort things out.
“Check the kitchen. You’ll find two bullets lodged into the wall.
Small caliber rounds, not nine-millimeter.
And I didn’t shoot myself in the arm.” He turned just enough to point at the wound on his left shoulder, which had gone unnoticed when the officer had frisked him.
“Speaking of which,” the man holding him at gunpoint said, “Does he have a license to carry?”
His partner dug through Teller’s wallet and pulled out a card. “Apparently, he is licensed to carry.” He turned to the woman behind him. “Do you know this man?”
Standing barefooted, dressed in nothing but an oversized T-shirt, the woman had wrapped her arms around her middle. She shivered, though it wasn’t that cold in the home. “No, I don’t know him,” she said, her voice trembling along with her body.
The officer pointing his gun at Teller sent him a narrow-eyed glare. “Officer Jacobs, cuff him.”
Jacobs unclipped his cuffs from his service belt and approached Teller.
Teller’s fighting instincts roared to the surface.
It took every ounce of control inside to beat it back.
The situation was bad enough with a stalker on the loose.
Being led away to the police station made things even worse.
Yet, punching a cop would only land him in jail.
Then, who would protect the blonde who looked more like a homeless kid than a young woman?
Alone, Sachie Moore would be exposed and vulnerable to the next attack.
He had to work through this obstacle legally and get back to the job he’d been sent to do.
“I don’t know him,” Ms. Moore repeated, her voice more controlled this time, “but he took a bullet that was probably meant for me.” She squinted at the nametag on the officer’s shirt. “Officer...Layne, Mr. Osgood got me out of the backyard and into the house safely. This man saved my life.”
Officer Layne’s gaze never left Teller. He didn’t say anything for several seconds and finally said, “Well, until we figure this out, he’s coming with us to the station.”
“What about Ms. Moore?” Teller demanded. “I was sent here to protect her.”
“Tell your story to the chief,” Layne said. “Ms. Moore is welcome to come with us or follow us to the station and make her statement.”
Jacobs snapped the cuffs on Teller’s wrist, pulled his arms behind him and cuffed the other wrist. He hooked a hand around Teller’s arm and led him toward the front door, passing the woman.
“Ms. Moore, you need to come with us,” Teller said. “You can’t stay here alone.”
Her eyes were wide. She looked more like a child in the well-worn T-shirt, her bare knees green with grass stains.
The two officers who’d gone in search of the assailant appeared in the doorway.
The first man through the door said, “We didn’t find anyone, but we did find a couple of casings.” He held up a plastic bag with two brass bullet casings.
As Teller had suspected—they were a smaller caliber than his Sig Sauer’s nine-millimeter rounds.
“And we just heard from the chief,” the officer continued and turned to Teller. “Are you Teller Osgood?”
Officer Jacobs held up Teller’s wallet. “He is.”
Teller nodded.
A frown passed over the officer’s face. “The chief got a call from his buddy, John Parkman of Parkman Ranch.”
Officer Layne frowned and adjusted his hold on his weapon. “Yeah, so?”
“You know Parkman has a security agency operating on his ranch called the Brotherhood Protectors.” The officer tipped his chin toward Teller. “Parkman said they sent one of the Brotherhood here to provide protection for Sachie Moore.” He turned to the blond woman. “Is that you?”
Ms. Moore nodded. “My friend, Kalea, John Parkman’s daughter, is married to the man in charge of the Brotherhood Protectors here in Hawaii.
I called her when I first realized someone was outside my house and that he’d smashed the windshield of my car.
She said they were sending someone over to protect me. ” Her gaze shifted to Teller.
“That would be me,” Teller said, his lips twisting. “I didn’t have a chance to formally introduce myself.”
Ms. Moore bit her bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I thought you were the stalker.”
The man with the bullet casings nodded toward Officer Jacobs. “You can release him. He’s legit.”
“At least escort him out of the house before you do,” Officer Layne said. “Then Ms. Moore can decide whether or not she wants him to stay.”
Officer Jacobs grimaced apologetically and led Teller out of the house into the yard, where strobing lights blinded him.
“Ms. Moore, I can’t protect you if I’m not with you,” Teller said as Jacobs unlocked the cuffs and freed his wrists.
Officer Layne stood with the woman on the porch, looking down at Teller. “Ms. Moore, it’s your call. Do you want him to stay or leave?”
“Look, Ms. Moore,” Teller said, “I could leave, go back to my apartment and sleep. You were attacked, not me. How well will you sleep without protection?”
She met and held Teller’s gaze for a long moment. Finally, she nodded. “I want you to stay.”