Chapter 24 Shaw #2
“Her sister?” Emmett asked. “When did she come here? How did we not know this?”
“She told me today,” Dash said.
I waved it off. “It’s not important. Who would come after Presley with a gun?”
Dash and Leo shared a look, then Dash lowered his voice. “Jeremiah?”
“Her ex?” Luke asked.
“Fuck.” I rubbed my jaw. It was almost always someone close to the victim. “Makes sense.”
“Any sign of Warrior trouble?” Dash shot a look at Leo and Emmett.
“I haven’t heard anything,” Emmett said quietly.
Leo shook his head. “Me neither.”
Given the Presley-Scarlett-Jeremiah triangle, it could not be a coincidence that this was happening three days after Scarlett showed up in Clifton Forge.
Unless . . .
Could the he inside be their father? Could he have come looking for both his daughters and Scarlett had led him right to Presley’s door?
But my gut . . . “My gut says it’s the ex.
” It was almost always a current or former lover in these situations.
And in this case, Jeremiah counted double.
“Scarlett and Jeremiah were together once. Maybe he got wind that she was here. Maybe he brought a gun because the last time he visited Presley, she slammed the door in his face.”
“What?” Dash asked. “He was here? When?”
“This summer, before I left town. Pres didn’t let him talk much so I don’t know what he wanted. She made it clear not to come back and as far as I know, he hasn’t.”
“You didn’t tell us,” Emmett clipped.
“Because the guy showed up, Presley ripped him up one side and down the other, and then he was gone. It was a nonissue. Let’s discuss that later.” I aimed my stare at Luke. “What are you thinking?”
“We need to make contact,” Luke said. “Find out if it’s him and what he wants.”
“Your men don’t have tactical gear. You have no snipers. You can’t just waltz up to the door. That’s a good way to get yourself shot.”
“No shit,” he deadpanned.
“Chief?” One of his officers approached. He wasn’t wearing a stocking cap and the tips of his ears were red. Hostage situations could take hours to resolve and by that time, he’d have frostbite if he didn’t find a hat. “We’ve got the perimeter set up. Should we evacuate neighbors?”
“No, but one of you needs to go door to door and tell everyone to stay inside. Give me a second.” Luke held up his finger, then turned to us. “I need to get my team in place and secure the neighborhood, then we can talk through a plan. Stay away from that house or I’ll put you in cuffs.”
His parting comment was aimed my way.
As Luke turned to address his officer, I walked away from the cruiser, the guys following. I stopped in the center of my yard, where I could get a clear look at Presley’s house.
Every light was off. If it was Jeremiah inside, he’d shut them off and probably had Presley and Scarlett huddled together. There was faint movement by the living room window, like a breeze had picked up the curtain.
That motherfucker was inside, watching.
Luke waved two other officers over, huddling with them in the middle of the street, and pointed to houses around the block.
He was doing his job. He was following protocol. Luke had been in some tight situations before when he’d been a cop in Bozeman, and though I trusted his skills, his team was too green for this.
There was no way I was letting some rookie with a twitchy trigger finger walk inside that house and put Presley in danger.
“Like hell he’s keeping me out of that house.”
Three pairs of eyes turned my way.
“Us,” Dash corrected. “Like hell he’s keeping us out of that house.”
“No.” I huffed. “You’re mechanics.”
“Mechanics with more hours in shit situations than any officer here besides Luke. Mechanics who know how to fire a gun and take a life when it means protecting those we love.” There was no shaking in Dash’s voice. There was no question that he’d killed before. His eyes were hard and calculating.
If Presley’s life was on the line, he’d do what needed to be done, no hesitation.
Given the nervous energy pulsing off Luke’s team, I didn’t trust them to do the same.
“I don’t suppose one of you has a spare gun handy.”
Emmett lifted up the hem of his coat, pulled out a Glock 22—the same handgun I’d carried as a cop—and handed it to me.
I checked the magazine—loaded—then tucked it into the waistband of my jeans, the weight familiar and comforting. “Luke can call the shots. But if he does anything that I think will put Presley in danger, I’m going inside.”
Dash nodded. “We’ll be right behind you.”
I looked at the house again and my stomach pitched.
I’d seen this situation too many times. This was one we’d trained for often because domestic abuse was appallingly common. Every move, every decision, was a wild card. Most of the time, it ended well. Most of the time, the victim walked away unharmed and the assailant was taken into custody alive.
But I’d seen three hostage situations end badly.
Two of them had ended with the shooter killing his captives before taking his own life.
One, the victim had already been dead. Her husband had killed her an hour before the cops had shown up, but the bastard hadn’t been paying enough attention to realize she’d bled out from the stab wound in her abdomen.
It was hard to remember the good cases, the successful outcomes, when the woman on the other side of the locked door was mine.
I shoved the fear down deep and took a calming breath to slow my racing heart.
She was my life.
Like hell I wasn’t going in to save it.