Chapter 5
HALLIE MAE
I stepped out of the shower in my apartment and wrapped myself in a towel. My skin was still cold underneath, even though I’d stood under the hot water until it turned lukewarm, hoping it would burn away the night. It hadn’t.
Nothing could.
The bruises weren’t on me, but I felt them anyway—in my bones, in my breath. And not just from what had happened. From him.
That kiss.
Lord, have mercy.
I sat on the edge of the tub, hair dripping down my back, phone in my lap. I’d dried off just enough to be decent, but I couldn’t bring myself to get dressed yet. Everything felt too heavy. Too loud.
The police had called again twenty minutes ago. They were “requesting” I come down to the station to make a formal statement. Deputy Mendez said it could wait till morning if I needed, but her voice had the kind of tone that meant they’d rather it didn’t .
So here I was, staring at the name in my contacts I hadn’t called since Easter Sunday.
Daddy.
I tapped it.
He answered on the second ring, his voice a low rumble of authority and warmth, just like always. “Hallie Mae? Everything all right?”
My throat went tight. “Not really.”
There was a pause. Long enough for him to sit up, probably push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, shift forward on that old plaid recliner in the parsonage living room.
“What happened?” he asked.
“There was ... there was an incident at Grace House tonight.”
“What kind of incident?”
“Someone broke in.”
Silence.
“With a gun,” I added. “He was looking for his wife. She and their little girl were staying at the shelter. I—I got everyone out into the courtyard. But he followed. Held us at gunpoint.”
“Sweet Jesus.”
“He’s dead now.”
Another silence.
“Police said it was a sniper. Took the shot from a rooftop.”
“Are you hurt?” he asked quickly. “Did he touch you?”
“No. No, Daddy. I’m all right. Really. Just shaken.”
I heard him blow out a long, controlled breath through his nose. “You’re sure?”
“I promise. ”
I paused, biting the inside of my cheek. “They want me to come give a statement at the station. Tonight.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“I figured you’d say that.”
He let out a low grunt that could’ve meant I love you or I told you so—with Daddy, sometimes they meant the same thing.
“I’ll get in the car right now,” he said. “Where do I need to go?”
“It’s the Mount Pleasant Police Department. On Ann Edwards Lane, just past Town Hall.”
“I know it.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Of course, I do,” he cut in. “You think I’m gonna let my baby girl go down there alone after something like this? I’ll be there in two hours, Lord willing and no highway patrol—though that’s pushin’ it, comin’ all the way from Estill.”
I smiled in spite of myself. “Tell Mama I said hi.”
“She’s already praying,” he said. “I didn’t even have to tell her. She just looked at me and went straight to her knees.”
That made my eyes sting. “Tell her thank you.”
He paused, then his voice softened. “We’ll get through this, Hallie Mae. You’re strong. Stronger than you know.”
“I don’t feel strong right now.”
“That’s all right. The Lord does.”
We hung up, and I sat there for another long minute, towel clutched tight, water dripping from the ends of my hair to the tile below.
I’d changed clothes when I arrived home, but now I felt the need to change again.
I pulled on jeans and a soft, long-sleeved blouse—something modest, something Mama would’ve approved of.
Then I sat down on the edge of my bed and picked up my phone again, scrolling without thought, without direction.
Deputy Mendez had said the sniper’s name.
Dane.
But was that his first name? His last?
All I knew was the sound of his voice. The weight of his hands. The fire he’d left in my mouth.
I touched my fingers to my lips, still sore from the kiss that hadn’t asked permission, hadn’t waited.
It should’ve made me furious. But it hadn’t. It had made me burn.
No one had ever touched me like that. Not in high school. Not in college. Especially not the good Christian boys who’d taken me to dinner and asked about my favorite Bible verse.
None of them had looked at me like that man had. Like I was already his.
And none of them would’ve known how to hold a rifle steady through a storm and pull a trigger with perfect aim while the whole world fell apart around them.
He scared me.
But not the way I’d expected.
Not like those other men—men with fists and threats and bruises behind closed doors.
No, this man scared me because he made me want things I’d worked so hard to bury.
Desire.
Curiosity.
A hunger I didn’t have a name for.
I shouldn’t have let him kiss me. I don’t let men kiss me.
I’ve gone twenty-seven years without crossing certain lines—not even a real date in over a year, not so much as a second glance at the wrong kind of man.
I was raised to save myself for marriage.
And I have. Every part of me. But then he looked at me like that …
said my courage was real … and I hadn’t known how to breathe.
Now he was behind bars.
Because of what he’d done.
Because he saved us.
I stood slowly, glanced once in the mirror. I didn’t recognize my own face. Still pale. Still damp. But something was different in my eyes.
Sharper.
Wilder.
Like something inside me had been struck by lightning.
And I couldn’t help wondering?—
If the man who’d pulled that trigger ...
If the man who’d kissed me like I was a fire he wanted to burn in ...
If he was staring at a cold jail cell right now thinking about me, too.
God help me.
I hoped he was.
Two hours later, I stood outside the Mount Pleasant Police Department with my arms crossed and my Bible pressed tight to my chest like a shield.
The shock blanket was long gone, traded for a denim jacket that still smelled like lavender dryer sheets.
I hadn’t even brushed my hair again, just pulled it back in a low knot, damp and messy.
It was just past midnight.
The parking lot was quiet, save for the low hum of fluorescents and the occasional shuffle of someone leaving the station. Inside, I could see the front desk through the glass doors, and beyond that, a hallway I didn’t want to walk down alone .
Then I saw headlights cut through the dark.
A familiar gray Ford pulled into the lot and rolled to a slow stop. My daddy—Jamie Calhoun—stepped out wearing his Sunday suit, even though it was Friday night and well past decent hours. He always wore a suit when he thought someone needed reminding he was a man of God.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just crossed the space between us in three long strides and wrapped me in a firm hug. His hand cupped the back of my head, holding me like I was still five years old and scared of the thunder.
“I’m okay,” I whispered into his chest, but it didn’t sound convincing.
He stepped back, his sharp blue eyes sweeping over me like he was checking for damage the EMTs might’ve missed. Eyes just like mine. “You ready to go in?”
I nodded. “They’re expecting me.”
He held the door for me, and we walked into the station together. A young officer behind the desk recognized me and stood. “Miss Calhoun. Right this way.”
Daddy stayed close as they led us through a corridor and into a small conference room. A deputy I didn’t know sat behind a laptop, and Deputy Mendez leaned against the wall with a manila folder in her hands.
“Miss Calhoun,” she said gently. “We appreciate you coming.”
I sat. Daddy stood behind me, arms crossed, jaw tight. I could feel his judgment, his fear, his protection—all of it pressing down like the weight of a sermon you weren’t ready to hear.
“Just tell us what happened, in your own words,” the other deputy prompted .
So, I did.
I told them about the commotion at the door. The way the man broke in. The screaming. The children. The women. The gun.
How he shoved me into the courtyard.
How he cornered us all.
How he would’ve killed someone—I was certain of it.
And then I told them about the shot. Not just what happened, but what I saw in that moment. The angry man’s rage. His unpredictability.
“He wasn’t going to stop,” I said. “Not unless someone stopped him first.”
The deputy typed something, but Mendez didn’t move. Just watched me closely.
I kept going, voice trembling at the edges but louder now. “You don’t understand. I saw the look in his eyes. He wasn’t bluffing. He was going to kill someone. His wife. Maybe their child. Maybe all of us.”
“And the shooter?” the deputy asked.
I hesitated. “I heard Deputy Mendez call him Dane. I don’t know if that’s his first name or last. But he saved us. I don’t care what his record says. I don’t care if he’s not police or military or anything in between. What I know is, if he hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”
Mendez’s gaze flicked toward the one-way glass on the side wall. “Are you saying you believe his actions were justified?”
“I’m saying he’s a hero,” I said, louder than I meant to. “Not a criminal.”
The room went quiet.
I felt my father shift behind me.
“Hallie Mae,” he said slowly, the way he did when he was trying to bring the conversation back to something safer. “We don’t always know what’s in a man’s heart, just ‘cause of one action. This was still a killing. That’s not something we ought to celebrate.”
I turned in my seat to look up at him. “I’m not celebrating it, Daddy. I’m saying I’m alive because of it.”
His jaw tightened.
“I know it’s hard to understand,” I said more softly now. “Believe me, I’ve wrestled with it, too. Still am. But I saw that angry man. I saw what he was going to do. And I saw the one who stopped it. Maybe he’s not who we expected. Maybe he doesn’t fit in a pew. But he did what needed to be done.”
From somewhere behind the glass, I thought I heard the soft scrape of a chair moving. Or maybe I just imagined it.
But I hoped he’d heard me.
Dane.
Whoever he was.
Whatever he was.
He wasn’t the villain in this story. He was the reason it didn’t end in a funeral. Or many.
Daddy didn’t speak again. He just placed a firm hand on my shoulder and squeezed once—tight, conflicted, but there. And I knew that meant he wouldn’t argue with me anymore. Not tonight.
I turned back toward the officers. “If you’re looking to charge him with something, I’ll testify. I’ll say exactly what I just told you. On the record. In front of a judge, if I have to.”
Deputy Mendez gave me a long, unreadable look. Then she nodded. “Understood.”
But the truth was already out. And part of me—maybe the reckless, burning part that still remembered the heat of his mouth and the weight of his stare—hoped he knew.
I wasn’t just grateful.
I was on his side.
Even if I didn’t understand why.
Even if I wasn’t sure where it would lead.
I just knew one thing—that man had saved my life. And heaven help me, I didn’t want him to disappear.