Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Keira
“Deputy Marsh, do you have anything else to add that you haven’t told me already?” Owen said. “Anything at all about today’s events?”
“No, Sheriff. I don’t.”
The interview room was small and windowless, with beige walls that had gone dingy over the years and a table bolted to the floor. I’d been in this room countless times before, but only a couple of times on this side of the table. I wasn’t a fan.
Owen reached forward and pressed the button on the recording device. “Concluding interview with Deputy Keira Marsh at 20:47 hours.” The red light blinked off.
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face, looking as exhausted as I felt. “Dean’s waiting in my office. Meet me there. We need to talk.”
“We just spent the last hour talking.”
Owen gave me a sardonic look. “Yes, on camera. Now it’s time for you and Dean to explain what the hell is really going on.”
Without another word, I got up and left the room, heading down the hallway toward Owen’s office. The station was buzzing with activity, people moving with the kind of heightened energy that came after a major incident.
I kept my eyes forward, avoiding the curious glances of my coworkers as I passed. I felt sick. Tired to my bones.
Woodson was dead. The very thing I’d wanted. I’d wanted revenge.
But this feeling in my gut wasn’t triumph.
Dean and I had been having fun just a few hours ago, acting almost like a real couple. Now the dress Dean had bought me was evidence, sealed in a bag somewhere in this building. Covered in Phelan’s blood. There’d been no way to save him, though I’d tried.
I suppressed a shudder.
Reaching Owen’s office, I went inside and shut the door behind me. Dean stood up from the chair where he’d been sitting.
“Hey, sweetness. I missed you.” He came to me immediately and pulled me into his arms, kissing my temple and squeezing me against him almost too tight. But it was such a relief. The sheriff had separated us to take our interviews, doing everything by the book. But I’d needed Dean.
He’s not yours, I reminded myself. He doesn’t love you. But right now, I needed his comfort.
“You good?” His voice was low.
No. No, I’m not.
Tears rose in my throat, but I pushed them back down. I was still a deputy, kind of, and there was no way I was going to cry here at the station.
There was one small benefit to my title as Deputy Marsh, though. I’d left some toiletries in my locker here, and I’d been able to clean up and change back into my clothes from before our shopping trip. Dean had showered and changed in the men’s locker room, since his new shirt had been ruined.
Nodding against Dean’s chest, I pulled back slightly to talk. “I kept my interview as dry as possible. Didn’t tell Owen we already knew Nox Woodson’s identity before Phelan mentioned him.”
“Same here. I said Phelan contacted us today on Main Street out of the blue. We went to meet with him, and he said he needed help from the police but was afraid of his security company. Then he got shot.”
“You didn’t mention Ryan Garrett, right?”
Dean nodded. “Figured I shouldn’t. You knew that name, didn’t you?”
I nodded. Garrett was the Ryan I’d heard Woodson talking about, who’d been angry about some shipment. But I hadn’t made the connection to the last name Garrett.
It was a name I’d heard before.
Ryan Garrett had to be the second shooter. And I knew exactly why Garrett had gone after me.
“Who is he?” Dean asked.
I hesitated. There was something else I needed to know first. Owen could be back any second.
“I’ll tell you later. What happened after you chased Woodson?” In the chaos of the ambulance arriving and Dean returning dazed and covered in blood, we’d only had time for him to tell me the shooter was Woodson and that he was dead. But little else about exactly what happened.
Dean didn’t blink. “I killed him. He lost the gun. Went after me with a knife, and I took it from him. Made sure he could no longer use the knife against me. It was self-defense.”
“Of course it was.” I’d assumed that was what happened, but was Dean okay?
Physically, he seemed like it. A bandage covered the knuckles on his right hand, and there was a bruise blooming on his jaw.
I’d also seen a scrape on his side earlier through a slice in his shirt, and I assumed he was patched up.
“You’re all right though?” I asked, gripping his biceps.
“Yep,” he murmured. “Just fine.”
Wasn’t so sure I believed him. Then something else occurred to me. “You ran after a gunman while you were unarmed. That was so stupid, Dean. You could’ve been killed.”
He caressed my face. “But I wasn’t. It’s not always about the weapon, Keira. It’s about the person using it.”
The office door opened. Owen came in, closing it behind him and heading to his desk. He took off his hat and rubbed his fingers through his cropped, dirty-blond hair.
Dean and I both took our seats. “Hey, Tex,” Dean said. “You look tired.”
Owen sat heavily, his chair creaking under his weight as he glared at us both. “At least you don’t look like a hippie anymore. You had the sense to get your hair cut. As for what happened today, though? I’m not seeing the sense at all.”
“Sheriff, we already told you—” I started.
But Owen cut me off with a wave of his hand. “You’re both going to tell me what you left out of your official interviews.”
I kept my face neutral, even as my mind raced. Owen had no idea that Dean and I had gone to confront Phelan at his home weeks ago. Or about the masked assailant who’d tried to run us off the road afterward. Or about the rest of our investigation.
There was a lot Owen didn’t know.
“Let’s start with this one. Why on earth would Phelan suddenly contact you two after he hid behind his lawyers since the shooting?”
“He wanted help,” I said. “Exactly as I told you in my interview. He was afraid to make an official report against Nox Woodson and Crosshairs Security. He thought I would be discreet.”
Owen’s eyes narrowed. “Out of all the law enforcement he could contact, Phelan picked the same deputy he argued with at that roadhouse three months ago? The same deputy who was later shot by masked assailants, with Phelan as our top person of interest?”
“Maybe he came to Keira simply because he thought his bodyguards wouldn’t expect it,” Dean chimed in.
Owen ignored him. “And then there’s Nox Woodson. The guy was wearing a demon mask today. Like the shooters who came after you several months back. Did Phelan offer to trade information about Woodson, Keira?”
Neither of us responded.
But yeah, my boss was on the right track.
Owen sighed, shaking his head. “Today’s really the first time you heard Woodson’s name? Are you sure? Did Phelan tell you anything about what happened the night you were shot?”
Chills raced along my skin. Dean and I glanced at one another.
Owen cursed. “No answer, once again. What the hell are you up to? That was a rhetorical question, by the way. Since I can’t imagine you’ll tell me.
” He picked up a pen from his desk, fidgeting with it between his fingers.
“Here’s another interesting little detail.
Something else I need to keep out of my official report.
I found a tracker on Nox Woodson’s vehicle.
Exact same kind of GPS tracker we use at Last Refuge.
Do either of you know anything about that? ”
Shit. The tracker.
When Dean and I had been shopping on Main Street, Nox Woodson had been one of the last things on my mind. We hadn’t checked it during our meeting with Phelan either.
But it did make me wonder how Woodson had known Phelan’s location. Phelan had worried about his bodyguards tracking his Porsche. Maybe they’d bugged his phone, too. Woodson must’ve realized Phelan had tried to slip away. Then he followed. Spotted Phelan talking to us.
If Woodson hadn’t aimed that first shot at Phelan instead of us? If Dean hadn’t pulled me down with his lightning-quick reflexes, and I hadn’t returned fire with my concealed Glock?
All of us would probably be dead right now, not just Donny.
And Woodson… I hadn’t wanted to show him mercy. But I hadn’t wanted Dean to be responsible for his death, either.
“Not sure what you want us to say, Tex,” Dean said.
“Look, I’m ashamed of how little progress I’ve made on bringing your attackers to justice, Keira.
Based on the demon mask, I would bet Woodson was one of them.
But there’s a second one out there, and if Phelan wasn’t behind it, we have no clue why they went after you.
Unless you’ve learned anything to enlighten me? ”
I felt Dean’s eyes on me now. But I wasn’t about to tell Owen everything we’d learned about Ryan Garrett. And what I’d realized.
Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Owen sat back and tossed the pen onto the desktop. “I’m not trying to be a hardass here. We’re in my office, but I’m not speaking to either of you as the sheriff. I’m your friend. Just tell me, all right? Is all this part of a secret Protectors op that I don’t know about?”
“I’m not a Protector,” I said tightly. “Dean isn’t either.”
“But the moment Dean got back to town, he was demanding answers about my investigation into your attack. I thought you’d both backed off, but now I see I was wrong.
I know you’re still trying to find the attackers.
And the truth is, I can’t blame you. River’s involved, right? He provided the GPS tracker?”
I crossed my legs. “No comment at this time.”
Owen snorted. “Fine. Keep it to yourself for now. But for the love of all that’s holy, bring in the rest of the Protectors. Let Trace and the others help you. Especially if this involves Crosshairs Security or Harris Medina.”
Dean tensed. “What do you know about Medina?”
Owen gave him a look. “Enough that I’m extremely concerned to hear his company surface in relation to Keira’s attack. If you want to know about Crosshairs, go talk to Trace and the Protectors.”
Ugh, Owen was really getting on my nerves with that constant refrain.
“Better yet,” he added. “Go stay up at Last Refuge for a while until this blows over.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, intending the exact opposite. But Owen looked relieved.
“If anything happens to either of you, I won’t be able to forgive myself.”
Owen walked us out of his office, and we headed toward the exit.
Outside, the night air was cool and clean. I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head. My bag was slung over my shoulder, holding my belongings.
Before we got to my car, I reached for Dean’s hand. The parking lot of the station was brightly lit, and there was no one else here.
“Dean, I’m sorry,” I said softly.
He stepped in closer. “Why? Why should you be sorry?”
“I feel like I’m coming between you and your best friend. You’re lying to Owen because of me.”
“Tex and I will be fine.”
“And you killed a man today.” Bile rose in my throat.
“Which we knew would happen eventually,” he said, far too calmly. “I won’t shed a tear for Nox Woodson. Would you? He tried to kill you. He did kill Phelan.”
“I’m not sorry he’s dead. That’s not the issue.”
“In my mind, Woodson signed his death warrant the night he hurt you.”
My emotions tipped over, refusing to be held back. “But I didn’t want his death on your conscience on top of everything else!”
From the moment I’d agreed to work with Dean, I’d always meant to be the one to deal out vengeance. I hadn’t wanted any more blood on his hands. Only on mine. Maybe that was unrealistic.
Dean kept insisting he was a killer, but he’d tried to change. He’d given up violence. Yes, Dean had raced back to the States saying he wanted to destroy my attackers, but I was the one who’d insisted we work together and train together. I’d kept this thing going.
He shrugged. “It was self-defense. Loophole, right?”
I wasn’t in the mood to joke around or pretend this was nothing. The more I thought about everything that had happened, the worse it seemed.
One of the men who’d tried to kill me was dead. Why didn’t I feel some sense of satisfaction? Why did I have this hollow echo in the pit of my stomach?
Tears burned again in my eyes, so damn close to falling.
“Do you still think I’m worth all this?” I asked, tripping over the words.
“Are you kidding?” Dean said fiercely. He held my face in his hands. “For you, I would tear this whole world to pieces, including myself. That’s what you’re worth.”
But I don’t want you in pieces, I thought. I want all of you. Your heart. Your love.
The one thing Dean couldn’t give me.
“I would never want you to destroy yourself for me. Or to take stupid risks for me either. Like running after a shooter while unarmed.”
“Are we back to that again? Really?”
I pulled away from him and marched toward the car, digging my keys out of my bag. After beeping the lock, I threw open the door.
There was a business card sitting on the driver’s seat. It had not been there before. Reaching down, I picked it up.
Crosshairs Security, it read. Along with a crosshairs symbol.
I glanced around the parking lot, but it was quiet, and beyond the bright security lights, everything else was dark.
Dean came up behind me on my side of the car. “What is it?”
“Someone left this in the car.”
“Inside the car? While it was locked?”
“Yep.” I flipped over the card, showing Dean. The back had the name Harris Medina, CEO, printed on it. And there was a handwritten note.
Lunch tomorrow. Last Refuge Tavern, noon.
“Of all the fucking nerve,” Dean said. “This guy is summoning you?”
After the meeting with Phelan and how badly it had gone wrong, I wasn’t eager to meet with someone else. But assuming this was really from Harris Medina, the head of Crosshairs Security, it had to be important.
And the location was no accident. He’d chosen Last Refuge, a place with a serious security presence of its own. A place where I felt completely safe.
“I’m going to check over the car,” Dean said. “Make sure they didn’t mess with it.”
“That wouldn’t make sense. Medina wants to talk.
Maybe we’ll finally get some real answers, and we can do it on our turf.
” Even if Dean and I weren’t Protectors, I knew Trace and Aiden and the others would be on our side.
Always. If this was a trap, Crosshairs would encounter serious armed resistance. Medina had to know that too.
“And if Medina was behind your attack all along?” Dean asked.
“No. I don’t think it was him. There’s a lot we don’t know, but I’m pretty sure of that.”
“Keira—”
“I’ll explain everything. But I think we should take Owen’s suggestion and get a room at Last Refuge. At least for tonight. We won’t have to worry about anyone following us to your house.”
Dean seemed to think about it, and then his lips curved in a half-smile. “You’re the one driving. I’m just riding shotgun. I go where you go.”
I tried to smile back, but it felt like another lie.