Chapter 17 Jagg
JAGG
Ihung back until Colson’s and Darby’s voices faded down the hallway.
I didn’t know how much Darby had heard but I guessed most of it.
Just as well. Assuming Darby hadn’t slept through his human behavior class at the academy, the kid had probably already picked up on the fact that the Chief wasn’t too keen on me, as everyone in town had.
Not that I cared. I learned long ago to only give shits about what I could control, and a balding, brash sixty-something divorcee with one foot in retirement and the other in a box of jelly-filled donuts was something I couldn’t.
He wasn’t technically my boss, although he liked to think he was.
I answered to the state’s attorney general, who didn’t give a damn what I did as long as I got him results and kept him in the voter’s favors. Did I mention I hate politics?
I turned and braced myself on the small ledge below the two-way mirror, looking at Sunny Harper in an entirely new light. Suddenly, the scattered dots started to connect, painting a picture of a woman who’d been to hell and back.
Sunny Harper was a victim.
A survivor.
A fighter.
Colson was dead wrong when he’d labeled her response to the Slaying in the Park as “not normal.” If he truly knew anything about assault victims it was that their entire world became “not normal” after an attack as vicious as Sunny’s.
I’d seen it dozens of times over the course of my career, not only as a detective, but in war zones overseas.
Women thought they had it bad here? The things I’d seen done to women overseas would give you nightmares for years. It had me.
PTSD was a very real thing, and in my opinion, too big of an umbrella for conditions with so many symptoms and repercussions.
After an attack as brutal as the Dallas police report claimed Sunny’s to be, it’s not far-fetched to imagine her life taking on an entirely new normal. Shaping, adapting, changing. Constant fight or flight mode.
Yet somehow, after the attack, Sunny had picked herself up, gotten her conceal carry license, enrolled in Krav Maga, bought herself service dogs, and dedicated her life to training guard dogs for others in need. Sunny had found a way to adapt, weird behavior be damned.
But now, seven years later, another attack.
Coincidence?
Coincidence that it happened right after Seagrave was shot to death?
Was I crazy to think not?
As I stared at Sunny through the two-way mirror, I clicked off the things I knew to be true, willing the pieces of the puzzle to magically fall into place.
One, I had four ancient Wiccan scrolls, rumored to be cursed, that had suddenly risen from the dead days before the annual Moon Magic Festival.
Two, I had the “Black Bandit,” the name given to the thief rumored to be responsible for stealing said scrolls.
Three, I had Lieutenant Seagrave, responding to one of those heists where he was shot six times in the chest, moments before a blue sedan was caught on camera driving away.
Four, I had a creepy voodoo shrine resurrected yards from his funeral, and hours after that, I meet Sunny Harper, gun in hand, standing over the pastor’s son’s dead body.
Lastly, I had Sunny’s story of a third mystery person who supposedly shot the pastor’s son, then vanished without a trace.
If I’m being honest here, I was still trying to figure if that last part was true.
Colson didn’t think so, but he was right about one thing, nothing added up, although my gut was screaming at me that it was all connected.
That Seagrave’s murder and Sunny’s attack were linked, and that every piece of the puzzle added up.
I just had to figure out how—starting with finding the damn Black Bandit.
I watched Sunny’s head jerk up as the door to the conference room opened and Colson stepped inside. I clicked on the speaker and listened as he told her she could leave for the night, but not from Berry Springs until he gave her the okay.
Colson was already on his phone and halfway down the hall as I stepped into the conference room where Sunny was slowly pushing herself to a stance.
“Here,” I rushed forward—surprising her just as much as myself.
“Don’t.” She jerked away. “Please.”
I took a step back and had to restrain myself from helping her out of the chair. Sunny was in obvious pain and I wondered if she had more than just a bruised rib.
“Is there something you need?” She snapped, her cheeks flushing with both pain and embarrassment. She didn’t like me—anyone—seeing her struggle.
I tore my eyes away and pretended to busy myself with repositioning the phone to a perfect ninety degree angle.
“You have my card, Miss Harper.” I chanced a look at her once she’d fully straightened. “Call me if you think of anything else.”
She kicked the BSPD sweatshirt to the side of the room and stepped past me.
“Thanks.”
I followed her out.
A hush fell over the station and heads turned as she walked down the hallway, her shoulders back, head held high. It was remarkable to watch, really.
I shoved ahead of her and opened the door that led to the lobby, then the door to outside.
The early morning was as black as midnight. A cool breeze carried through the air, a brief reprieve until the blazing sun came up.
Sunny’s long curls whipped around her face as her pace quickened down the steps. The woman was practically running away from the station—or away from me. Either way, Sunny was beelining it somewhere.
“Do you have a ride to your car?” I asked from the steps.
“Yes,” she hollered back, her focus staying ahead.
I looked around the parking lot. Only a few cars, and none were running.
I glanced over my shoulder at no one coming outside, keys in hand.
It was then that I realized Colson had either not offered her a ride, or she’d declined.
Based on the way she shot out of the interview room, I assumed the latter.
“Is your driver on his way?”
She didn’t respond.
I jogged to catch up with her abnormally long strides, making me wonder exactly how long they were, and how they would feel wrapped around my waist. This led me to wonder what time it was and how long since I’d eaten or slept.
I was losing my mind. I was literally chasing after a woman, a first for me.
I wish I could say it was the last.
Sunny stepped onto the sidewalk that led to Main Street. The streets were bare, storefronts black. It was that unsettling time of night, or early morning I should say, when darkness seemed to envelop everything, including sound.
The street light short-circuited above her as I finally caught up.
“Take it easy, Flo-Jo. Where’s your ride?”
She ignored me, laser focused on her destination, wherever that was.
“Didn’t the doc tell you to take it easy until your body heals?”
“What are you doing?” She asked, narrowed.
“Trying to keep up with those stilts you call legs.”
“I mean, why are you following me?”
“You’ve never had a gentleman walk you to your car?”
“I told you I had a ride.”
A crack in the sidewalk caught her toe. She stumbled forward with a sharp gasp—a strangled sound that punched through the night like a wounded animal.
“That’s it.” I stepped in front of her, blocking the path. “I’m going to touch you, Miss Harper. Please don’t flip me onto the pavement.”
She didn’t argue. Didn’t even lift her chin. Which told me more than words—she was in worse shape than she let on.
I started slow. Fingers to forearm, then a steady arm around her back.
“This is what’s going to happen,” I said, lowering my voice. “I’m going to lift you. Slowly.”
“No.” Her voice cracked, barely audible.
“Yes,” I said, already counting down. “On three.”
“No.”
One…”
“No.”
“Two…”
“Detective—”
“Three.”
I expected a backhand as I swooped down, but instead, her body stilled. Slowly, I lifted her into my arms, my own back screaming at me.
She released another grunt as her body folded into my arms.
“Shhh,” I whispered. “You’re fine.”
I settled her into a cradled position against my chest, grit my teeth, and pushed away my own pain—something I’d gotten very good at over the last handful of years.
“Breathe.” I told her. And to myself.
An exhale against my chest.
“Another. Slow.”
Inhale, exhale.
“Good. I’m going to start walking now. Hang on or don’t, whatever’s most comfortable. I’ve got you.”
Her body remained as stiff as a board until we hit the halfway mark and her weight finally released against my hold. It felt like a small victory. Her head rested against my chest.
Good girl, I thought.
A breeze caught her hair, sending spirals of silky ebony against my cheek and wafts of that same coconut smell as when I’d tackled her at the park. The scent had me visualizing the sun resting on the ocean’s horizon and waves crashing against my toes. Her sitting next to me.
Us, together.
How long had it been since I’d taken a vacation, I wondered?
Hell, how long since I’d taken a single day off work?
… How long since the scent of a woman’s hair had me considering it?
We were halfway to the town’s square when the hum of an engine pulled my attention behind us.
Shifting Sunny’s weight so my left arm could grab my gun if needed, I refocused my senses to my peripheral.
The car slowed. I glanced over my shoulder just as Darby drove by, rubbernecking from the driver’s seat of his patrol car.
Dammit.
There I was, cradling Sunny Harper like a new bride.
Of all the freaking times for this kid to take an interest in the safety of Main Street. Our eyes met for a brief second before he disappeared downhill, and I had no doubt the entire station would know about Sunny’s “ride” by morning.
So be it.