Jessica Patch - Protective Duty

“Have you considered Rand knows you’re back in Memphis and could have set this up from inside prison?”

Bryn slowly turned her head toward Eric, utter shock on her face. “No. I don’t think my brother set this up. He has no idea that I’m in Memphis. I haven’t seen him since the trial.”

Eric winced. “I just want to cover all our bases. Any enemies who might know you’re here?”

Shaking her head, Bryn closed her eyes. “No. I’m with you, though, on the attacker being separate from the serial killer. It makes the most sense.”

“He’s treating you differently than the other victims. He didn’t strangle them. No marks at all. He never threatened them that we know of. If so, they didn’t confide in friends or family.” But then Bryn might not have confided any of this if she hadn’t been obligated because of her job. Maybe the killer had threatened them physically. No, the women were too smart to keep that hidden.

But Bryn was smart, too, and she hadn’t called the police. Eric was completely puzzled.

Newton pranced around the empty park. Not a care in his puppy world. Must be nice. Bryn picked up her pace and let his leash out farther. As her dog released his pent-up energy, she and Eric didn’t talk much.

“Okay, Newt, it’s time to go home.”

Bryn tightened the measure of leash, and they started toward the edge of the road. Headlights came into view.

“Not much traffic in this subdivision. First car I’ve seen since our walk.”

“Playground rarely has kids. I think they’ve all grown up and moved away.” Bryn and Newton made their way into the street to cross. “It’s an older neighborhood. I like the fact it’s quiet and not littered with children.” Her voice quivered on that last statement. At one time, Bryn had loved being surrounded by kids. This was new.

Headlights blinded him. Eric raised his arm over his brow. “What in the world?”

A truck’s engine roared.

Reality dawned.

The truck barreled straight for Bryn.

She turned toward it, frozen in the middle of the street.

God, help us!

“Bryn!” Eric’s body kicked into gear, and he sprinted toward her, the truck about five feet away. Diving, he threw his arms around her waist and hurled them onto the edge of the road, feeling the heat from burning headlights against his back. His heart in his throat, they rolled twice, three times into a ditch. Bryn landed on her back, Eric smack-dab on top, shielding her.

He raised his head as brake lights disappeared around the corner. No plate number. No description. Just the fact it was a big red truck.

Bryn’s breath came in warm spurts against his cheek, his nose but an inch from hers. Newton yipped, then licked her face. She hadn’t let go of that leash.

Eric smoothed the hair that clung to her chin but never made a move to lift himself from her. The feel of her breathing underneath him, the warmth of her body reminded him she was still alive. It comforted him and slowed his terrified heart rate. “You okay?” he rasped.

She stared into his eyes and nodded. “You?”

“If you are.” He pressed his forehead against hers and whispered a prayer of thanks. “Bryn, this guy isn’t playing games.” He lifted his weight from her, using his arms for fear he’d crush her, but he wasn’t ready to lose the connection—the closeness. “He knows where you live.”

“I know,” she murmured. The flash of panic morphed into soft gratitude. “Thank you. It happened so fast... If you hadn’t been...”

He brushed a thumb across her cheek. “But I was.” And he would continue to be. No matter what. As much as it pained him to break the connection emotionally and physically, they had to get out of here. The attacker could come back for round two. He stood and took her hands, helping her to her feet. “You sure you’re okay? I nailed you pretty good, I think.”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her lower back, and he noticed a few scuffs on his leather jacket. “You might have been equally as good at football. Ever thought of that?”

Smirking, he pulled his gun out just in case and took her hand with his other, warming to the fact she didn’t yank it away. “I have. And I don’t mind tackling so much.” Especially when it landed him next to her in a ditch. “But I’m not fond of being tackled.”

She laughed. “Me, either. But in this case, I’m thankful.”

“God saved us.”

“Mmm...”

Not excited about kids. Faith shaky at best. What happened? Had Abby’s murder killed Bryn’s faith, as well? Or had other things piled up? He wanted to ask, but if she wouldn’t even tell him why she’d been downtown, she wouldn’t open up about more personal feelings. Instead, he walked her home. Outside of Bryn’s house, a sleek black Lexus sat in her drive.

“Who in the world is that?”

“I don’t know.”

Eric inspected the car. No one was inside. He inched toward the front of the house; the glass door was cracked. “Someone’s in your house.”

Bryn’s lips pursed. “I don’t have my gun.”

“Then stay behind me.” Eric slowly inched the wooden door open and quietly turned the knob.

Unlocked.

“Wait,” Bryn whispered, but Eric had already stepped inside with his gun ready.

Holt McKnight stood in the living room with a piece of boneless BBQ rib in one hand and an eyebrow cocked. Eric frowned and holstered his weapon. “What are you doing?”

“I own this house. What are you doing? Put that gun down and pick up some common sense. You really think a criminal would park their ride in the driveway and enter through the front door...with keys?”

“No. But I wasn’t thinking straight since someone tried to make us roadkill just now.” Eric told him what happened, ignoring Bryn’s perpetual scowl. “And that’s my dinner you’re eating.”

Holt remained calm, skimmed Bryn from head to toe. “You hurt?” He licked BBQ sauce off his thumb as if he hadn’t been told his cousin almost died three times, but Eric didn’t miss the quiet storm brewing behind Holt’s eyes. That was Holt, though. A silent fury.

“No,” she barked. “And I don’t appreciate you talking about me as if I’m not in the room.” She bounced a glare off Eric and stormed to the kitchen.

“Fine. Just so you know, Bryn, I’m about to tell Holt that he needs to stay here with you if you won’t let me.” He turned to Holt. “If you aren’t going undercover, can you sleep over? I assume that Lexus is an undercover vehicle.”

“It is.”

Eric dared another glance at Bryn and ignored her seething expression. He’d risk his life for her, and if that meant going against her wishes, then tough.

* * *

Bryn didn’t mind Holt wolfing down her barbecued chicken or her baked beans. What she did mind was the way fear had frozen her feet to the pavement. She was FBI. Trained. Eric had prayed, but she’d also frozen at offering one up herself even though crying out to God had crossed her mind. She’d had enough rejection so she’d stayed paralyzed—her feet and heart.

This was the third time the assailant had come after her. Twice, Eric had rescued her—even if the first time was indirectly. Dr. Warner was going to assume she wasn’t capable enough to stay out in the field. At this point Bryn didn’t believe the attacker would leave her alone if she dropped the case. Why did he want her off it? That was strange. Miss High and Mighty.

Bryn was rattled. She had to keep a brave front, though. Already the men were going into protective mode, and while the woman in her warmed, the law enforcer had to stick to her guns to prove she was every bit as capable as they were. Her job was riding on this whether they realized it or not.

“I don’t need you sleeping over, Holt.” She shot a heated glance at Eric. “What happened to ‘Bryn is a big girl’?”