are you doing?” Wren asked, her hands behind her, unable to do anything to free herself. He reached across the seat and unsnapped her belt.
“I’m going to discourage them from coming down here to find you,” he said, backing out of the Jeep.
“It will be easier and less dangerous to let them come to us,” she replied, scooting across the center console and climbing out.
“Only if you stay out of sight and let me handle it,” he replied.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, they’re after you. If you walk to them, they’re going to get exactly what they’re hoping for.”
“I’m not going to wait here while you fight my battles,” she argued.
“You have no idea whose battle this is. Neither do I. But right now? We’re both in danger. Since I’m currently the only one capable of fighting, I’ll do it for both of us. You can have your turn next time. Get back in the Jeep. I’ll return as soon as I can.”
She raised a dark brow, but did as he asked, sitting in the driver’s seat as he turned toward the road. He pulled his gun from the holster, keeping it ready as he began the steep ascent. He had quit law enforcement a few years after he had found out the truth about Meghan. It wasn’t something he had planned or, even, contemplated. Being a Boston cop had been his life goal. He had achieved it and had enjoyed moving up in ranks, becoming a homicide detective and following the path he had planned for himself.
But, when the opportunity to quit and change careers had presented itself, he hadn’t hesitated. He’d dived in headfirst and prayed it would work out. Four years after he’d returned to Hidden Cove and taken over his old carpentry teacher’s restoration business, he finally felt like he’d found his niche, but he hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be a police officer. He knew how to pursue suspects and apprehend perpetrators. He wasn’t going to allow the men who had run him off the road to escape. There was too much riding on their being apprehended. Justice. The safety of the community.
And, most importantly, Wren’s safety.
It may have been years since they’d last spoken, but he still cared about her, and he wasn’t going to step back and allow her to be hurt by an unknown enemy.
A door slammed, and he stopped, crouching behind thick undergrowth as he waited for the perps to make their move.
Nine years was a long time to not speak to the best of friends, the staunchest supporter, the most enthusiastic encourager.
Nine years should have changed everything, but the rhythm of her friendship with Titus? It was the same. The verbal sparring. The quick exchanges of ideas and plans. The compromising and the challenging. It all felt as natural as breathing.
That was the only excuse Wren could find for allowing him to walk toward the perpetrators while she sat in the Jeep and waited.
His plan had made sense.
He’d presented his argument, and she’d agreed because he’d been right. She wasn’t in the position to win a skirmish let alone the battle she thought might be coming.
But sitting idle?
It wasn’t something she did well.
She scooted closer to the door, legs out of the Jeep, feet on the muddy ground. Her tennis shoes were already soaked through, the cuffs of her jeans damp. If she’d had use of her hands, she’d have rolled them up, removed her shoes and climbed the steep hill that led to the road. She’d done it dozens of times as a teen, returning home with dirty feet and mud-caked clothes and listening to Abigail’s good-humored grumbling about her tomboyish ways.
Sirens screamed, the sound echoing through the forest and pulsing behind her eyes. She’d been exhausted before this, pulled in too many directions by too many people. Work. Friends. Abigail. She’d hoped that the two weeks she’d taken off to help her foster mother move her belongings into the retirement home she planned to move into when she was released from rehab would clear her mind and renew her flagging spirit. She hadn’t expected this kind of trouble. Not in a place like Hidden Cove.
But she should have been prepared for it.
A year ago, she would have been.
Life had been wearing her down. Fatigue had caused her to make a rookie mistake. Instead of carrying her service revolver, she’d left it in the gun safe at Abigail’s. Ryan might have paid for her mistake with his life.
Might have?
No matter how much she kept trying to deny it, she knew the truth.
She blinked back hot tears. Crying did no good. What she needed was razor-sharp focus because she planned to catch his killers, and she planned to throw them in jail and toss away the key.
An engine revved. A door slammed.
She expected a volley of shots to be fired.
Expected to have to duck for cover and worry that Titus was in the line of fire. He’d quit the Boston Police Department several years after she’d joined the FBI. She’d heard it through the law enforcement grapevine. She’d wanted to call and ask him why. He’d been a great cop and a fantastic homicide detective. He’d been on his way to a great and fulfilling career.
But by the time she’d heard he’d quit, the silence between them had seemed too deep, the distance too great to overcome.
She wondered what he’d been doing since he’d left the force. He still acted like a cop. Still moved like one. She could see him crouched behind brush halfway up the hill, gun in hand and at the ready.
She wanted to call out and tell him to be careful, but that would bring bullets flying in her direction.
Or maybe not.
The car sped away. Lights still off.
She stepped out of the Jeep.
“Stay where you are!” Titus shouted, and she realized she’d made another mistake. She’d assumed both perps had left the area. One might have stayed behind.
She froze, waiting for gunshots.
All she heard was the pulsing siren of the approaching emergency vehicle and the rapid beat of her heart.
“It’s clear, I think,” she finally responded, stepping out of the muddy creek bed.
“I’d rather we both know,” he muttered, jogging toward her.
Strobe lights flashed on the street above them.
Help had finally arrived.
She wanted to feel relieved and victorious, but all she felt was grief. Ryan was gone. They hadn’t ever been close, but they’d always had each other’s backs. She’d bailed him out of jail when he was a young punk kid with more attitude than brains. She’d helped him with college expenses, encouraged him to keep his nose clean and lectured him when he’d needed it.
He’d always called her on her birthday and on holidays. Always sent funny cards reminding her not to take life too seriously. Always called her “sis.”
“You okay?” Titus asked as he reached her side.
“Do I look it?” she responded.
His gaze dropped from her face to her blood-splattered T-shirt.
“No.” He shrugged out of his flannel shirt and dropped it around her shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to find the person who did this.”
“People,” she corrected. “Two men.”
“We’ll find the people who did this. But, first, I need to get you out of these