Chapter 11
Scott’s shot had gone wide. He gritted his teeth to keep from swearing. He’d come running after the first shot and fired two more shots as he dove behind the tree with the woman. They missed their mark as well. “You okay?”
She nodded, fire glinting in her eyes.
The lady was one cool cucumber. She looked familiar in a distant sort of way, but he didn’t have time to figure out how he might know her. “Right now, we’re okay here, but if he changes position, we’ll be an easy target.”
“I know.”
Scott glanced around for another place to hide. It was the tree or the water.
“Let me have your gun.” She held out her hand.
Was she kidding?
“We can’t afford another miss,” she said, not moving her hand.
Before he could formulate an answer, the shooter revved the motor and the pickup shot forward, speeding away from them.
Scott dashed after the truck, trying to get the tag number as he dialed 911. When the operator answered, he identified himself and explained what had happened.
“Is the shooter still there?” the operator asked.
“No. He’s driving a late-model gray Dodge pickup.”
“Did you get the tag number?”
“Sorry, the truck was too far away.”
“Is anyone with you?”
Scott glanced back at the woman. “He wants to know your name.”
“Victoria Mitchell.”
Her name definitely had a familiar ring to it. He relayed the information, and the 911 operator told them to stay put until a deputy arrived. After disconnecting, Scott turned to Victoria. “Why was he shooting at you?”
“Good question.”
His face warmed as her gaze took him in, and he returned the favor, quickly snapping a mental picture of her beautiful features.
Scott would’ve checked her out anyway, committing her to memory out of habit.
Again, he felt he should know her, especially in his line of work where he always had to be on alert to running into people who might blow his cover.
Victoria was definitely easy on the eyes. About five-two, straight blond hair that framed a heart-shaped face. Petite and compact. Earlier he’d noticed well-defined biceps when she asked for his gun. The lady worked out.
But it was her cornflower blue eyes framed with thick lashes that made him forget to breathe. Scott shook himself mentally. The way she looked was the last thing he needed to be paying attention to.
“Nice tat on your arm.” She nodded toward his left arm.
It took a second for her words to penetrate his thoughts, and he glanced at the inked road that wound around a mountain on his left bicep. “Thanks.” He pointed to his right arm. “You don’t like my rose?”
“Yeah, but I like the mountain better.” She held out her hand. “Call me Tori instead of Victoria. And thank you, by the way. You probably saved my life . . . even if you missed the guy.”
He supposed a backhanded compliment was better than none. Scott hesitated, then used his left hand to shake her hand. “I have a bum shoulder and haven’t regained the strength in my right hand. I’m Scott Sinclair.”
Her eyes widened. “Scott? You’ve changed.”
“Do I know you?”
“You should. We went to church together a hundred years ago. Granted, it wasn’t for long, but still, I would’ve hoped you would remember me.”
Heat crawled up his neck. While not a hundred, it must have been at least ten years ago, and anyone who knew him then would not have a favorable recollection.
Scott rolled the name around in his brain.
The image of a skinny girl with curly blond hair and a smart mouth segued into a memory of that same girl gracing him with her beautiful smile when most of the other people at church had avoided him like the plague.
He cast a skeptical glance at the woman standing in front of him.
“You can’t be Tori, the girl with the curly hair? ”
“Have you never heard of a flat iron?” She stood straighter and lifted her chin. “I was almost eighteen, and old enough to have a huge crush on you.”
Tori’d had a crush on him? He stared at her as sirens sounded in the distance. And she was twenty-eight? He would’ve guessed nineteen, max. “Have you ever thought about doing undercover work in the high schools?”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind. Sorry if I’ve insulted you, but give it a few years and you’ll be happy if people think you’re ten years younger than you are.”
Tori didn’t respond for a second, then she burst out laughing. He joined her, then shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re standing here arguing about age when someone just tried to kill us.”
She sobered. “I know, but you wouldn’t believe how many people dismiss anything I do or say because they think I’m so young.”
The sirens grew closer. “You have no idea who shot at you or why?” he asked.
“Unfortunately, there’s a big pool to fish from.”
“What do you mean?”
Tori took a deep breath. “There are a couple of people who would like to see me dead . . . or at least out of action.”
That didn’t make sense. Tori Mitchell didn’t look like the type of person someone might want dead. “Why?”
Before she could answer, two cars with Logan County Sheriff’s Department logos on the doors pulled into the parking lot. One was the sheriff, Ben Logan, and the other was Wade Hatcher, his chief deputy.
Ben and Wade were some of the first people he’d met when he came to live in Logan Point, and over the years, Scott had kept in touch. The lanky sheriff hadn’t changed much, maybe gained a few gray strands in his dark hair. The same couldn’t be said for his chief deputy.
Wade had always been a big guy, mostly overweight, but evidently in the past few years he’d started working out, and now the fat was muscle—Wade’s biceps and shoulders would rival his.
Ben took the lead. “Scott, Tori, although I wasn’t sure when dispatch said it was a Victoria Mitchell.”
“That’s my professional name—guess I was in reporter mode.”
What did she mean by that? Scott cast a glance toward her, information tugging at his brain.
Ben took out a notebook. “What happened?”
Scott gave Tori a “you want to tell him?” glance, and she squared her shoulders.
“Erin summoned me home—she’s afraid you’re going to arrest Drew for Jenny Tremont’s murder.
I decided to stop by the lake before I drove to her house.
A gray Dodge pickup that I’d noticed earlier pulled into the parking lot and started firing.
Scott, here”—she nodded toward him—“fired back, and the truck took off.”
Ben turned his attention to Scott. “That about what happened?”
“Yeah.” Tori had succinctly summarized the incident, and he was surprised she hadn’t mentioned his bad aim.
She got points for that. But it was news to him that Ben might arrest Tori’s nephew for Jenny Tremont’s murder.
Town gossip indicated Drew had been seen near her house at the time.
Even so, he couldn’t see the boy killing Jenny.
“Did you recognize the shooter or the vehicle?” Wade asked.
“Afraid not,” Scott said. “I didn’t get a good look at him.”
“Did you?” Wade turned his gaze on Tori.
She shook her head. “The glass on his pickup was tinted so I didn’t see him at all until he lowered his window, and then he was sort of in the shadows. I think he might’ve had on a ball cap and aviator shades. I was mostly focused on the rifle pointed at me.”
Ben scribbled something in his notebook. “Any idea who it might be?”
Tori chewed her bottom lip. “Probably whoever set fire to my studio Tuesday night. Knoxville PD are investigating.”
Ben stopped writing and looked up, concern in his eyes. “What happened? Any suspects?”
She shrugged. “I have no proof, but I believe it was connected to the person I interviewed that night. She’s a survivor of domestic violence.
Escaped her abusive husband a couple of years ago and is still living in a safe house with other victims. I believe he followed her and set fire to my studio and apartment.
We were lucky to get out alive. Unfortunately, whoever it was got away. ”
Scott was relieved that the shooter didn’t seem to be someone from his past.
“Does this ex-husband have a name?” Wade asked.
“Calvin Russell. But I didn’t get a good look at the driver of the pickup, so I can’t swear that’s who shot at us.”
“Any particular reason this Russell would want to kill you?” Ben asked.
“I helped his wife get away from him.”
“Can you give me more details?” he asked. “You gave me the who, now give me the where, what, when, and how.”
“I interviewed her while I was a reporter for the local TV station in Knoxville. That was three years ago, and we became friends. From the start I tried to get her to leave him if he wouldn’t agree to get psychiatric help, but it was only after he put her in the hospital that she finally left him and went to a safe house. ”
“Why did he wait this long to come after you?” Scott asked.
“The divorce was final this week. I think that’s what set him off. You can probably get a photo of him from the Knoxville police.”
Ben instructed Wade to check out the information, and the deputy walked to his patrol car. The sheriff turned to her. “How long do you plan to be in Logan Point?”
“I hope no longer than two days.” Tori lifted her chin. “Are you going to arrest Drew?”