Florence Case - Mistletoe And Murder

Mallory turned to Shamus. His black eyes communicated he wasn’t buying one word of it. Her? She wasn’t sure what to think.

They could hear sirens in the distance, and Tripp’s eyes widened as he looked at Mallory. “Are you going to revoke my probation? Who will take care of my daughter?”

“I’m not certain about the revocation yet.” She was inclined to believe Tripp, but she’d have to see what happened with the police first. “The detectives and the FBI will need to question you, so you’ll have to go downtown.”

Tripp’s lips tightened together and his eyes squinted. “My cell phone is in my car on the seat,” he said suddenly. “Please get it, Ms. Larsen. I don’t know if the kidnapper will let Tara go for sure, but if she gets free, she’ll try to call me, not the police. If I’m in jail I can’t help her, but you can.”

“Why wouldn’t she call the police?” Shamus asked.

“She just won’t,” Tripp said. “I know her.”

“I’ll help her. I promised.” Mallory turned and headed to Tripp’s car, purposely not looking at Shamus because he’d say the phone was evidence. Do not touch. But it was also the only number Tara Tripp knew to call, her lifeline to her father, and she needed it more than the police.

She found the phone and stashed it in her deep jacket pocket. Seconds later she headed back toward the two men and was about five feet away, when she heard a loud noise crack through the air.

She whipped around, saw nothing. Wondered if it was a car backfiring. Turned back, saw Tripp folded over in the snow, blood soaking through his jacket in the back.

Her mouth opened, and she breathed shallow, short breaths, unable to move. She didn’t understand why. She was in danger of being shot next. Tripp was in danger of being shot again. She should help him get to safety.

But the kidnapper was here….

Shamus grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward his vehicle.

“We’ve got to help Tripp,” she breathed out.

“Do you want to get shot, too?” he growled, pulling hard on her arm. “C’mon!”

Still Mallory hesitated, trying to get to Tripp. Then another shot split the air, so close she could feel it. Gathering her wits, she ran with Shamus for cover. Snow crunched under their feet, and she almost slipped, but Shamus’s strong arm went around her waist and caught her. They ducked in front of his sedan just as the police siren got louder. They’d warn the gunman off. No, wait—she’d heard the sirens before he’d shot Tripp.

The bomber wasn’t afraid of being caught.

As Shamus pulled his Glock and his cell phone out, she sucked in the cold air right down to the bottom of her lungs, praying for God to stop her fear. In four days, she could have died twice. The first time by being in denial that something terrible like a bombing could happen in the peaceful world she’d created for herself, and the second time by letting fear overcome her. She had to get a grip.

The trouble was, she didn’t want to have to. She wanted her serene life back.

She could hear Shamus talking to someone, reporting the shot fired and asking for an ambulance, and then he was off his cell phone and picking up his gun from the ground right by them.

“The police should be here any second. You watch behind us. I’ll watch in front.” He waited until she had changed position and added, “Are you all right?”

She glanced at him. “Of course I’m all right,” she said softly. “There were only two shots fired, and we know where they went. What makes you think I’m not all right?”

“You stopped talking. I figured you must be near death.”

She blinked. He wasn’t grinning, and no twinkle lit his eyes. “You made a joke.”

“I did not.”

“Yes, you did. It must be the shock from the explosion finally setting in.”

“Couldn’t be. I’m too busy saving your life to go into shock.”

“You did,” she said, finding it once again hard to breathe, staring into his eyes. She’d just stood there watching Tripp bleed, and Shamus had pulled her to safety. If he hadn’t, she could have been the next victim. “You saved my life again. Now I really owe you.”

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