Harlequin Romantic Suspense April 2021 Karen Whiddon (best fiction books to read TXT) 📖

you, we can’t talk specifics about the internal investigation. But suffice it to say that I was gaslighted by Randall Bowe on several occasions, with more than one case. As a rookie it’s important that I don’t mess up the most basic parts of any case, and yet Bowe gave me the wrong information and in one case lost all of the evidence I’d collected during a drug bust.”

“Didn’t you have a forensics team with you?”

Jillian shook her head, her bright eyes cloudy with anger. “No. It was a short-notice incident. I was on foot patrol on the East Side, on Main Street. If we need to go on side streets, we have to either be in a cruiser or call for backup. Anyway, I received a call about an OD. I rushed to the scene, in front of an old building, and was able to revive the addict with Narcan. She gave me several packets of heroin—I tested it with the kit the backup unit brought—and I was careful to bag it all as evidence. I’d hoped we’d get the dealer’s prints on it. But Bowe said the bags didn’t have prints, which I found odd as the victim wasn’t wearing gloves and at least her prints would have been on the bags.”

“Anything else?”

Jillian shrugged. “To be honest, it’s all a mess right now. There’s the cartel that you’re looking at, and we have a serial killer on the loose. We’ve had three women go missing from Grave Gulch over the past five years, as I’m sure you know. With Len Davison out there still, these disappearances could be linked to him. Our forensics lab is the backbone of many of our cases, and to have it swamped with a backlog, without a senior scientist and with our best assistant fired, is not helping matters.”

Dominique did know about the missing, but the opioid epidemic had “disappeared” many, many people nationwide.

“About how Bowe ‘gaslighted’ you—”

“Jillian, I need you with me now.” Troy stood at Jillian’s desk and he gave a cursory nod to Dominique. In that one gesture he also expressed that police business trumped journalism.

Jillian shot her an apologetic glance. “Sorry, Dominique.”

Disappointment roiled in her gut but she offered a smile. “I get it. Can I call you later?”

“Yes. I’m happy to finish this later.”

“Jillian.” Troy was already at the other side of the bullpen.

“Coming!”

Dominique tapped a reminder into her phone so that she’d remember to call Jillian later this evening, or early tomorrow morning. So many developments were snowballing into one complicated, layered story.

She found Stanton in the break room, an empty mug next to his open laptop. Engrossed in his work, he didn’t stir as she approached.

“I’m done for now. I would like to go to the Gazette offices before we head back to the lake house.”

He looked up and she thought she’d braced herself for eye contact, but there was no use pretending. It was impossible to prepare herself for the immediate flood of warmth that rocked her every dang time he looked at her.

“Sure thing. Did you get everything you wanted?” He must have seen the shadow of disappointment in her eyes.

“No, not by a long shot. Cop business takes precedence over my story, though.” She watched him pack up his computer, rinse out his mug and place it on the drying board next to the break room sink. He turned and faced her.

“You’ll have all night to work if you need to, in a safer spot than downtown Grave Gulch.” His bodyguard expression was back: lips pressed together in determination, eyes scanning the room as they left.

“I admit I’m looking forward to chilling out at your folks’ place again.”

“We’re going to do more than relax, babe.” His words, low and spoken next to her ear, sent tiny thrills of arousal across her skin. If she were sane she’d insist they go back to her apartment, or his, instead of the remote lake house.

Like it would make a difference.

“Mmm.” She signed out at the reception desk and pushed through the exit door, sensing his nearness as they walked out into the pale golden sunshine. This time of day was her favorite, as was the season. Nothing like a late spring afternoon—

The sound of gunfire erupted in her ears.

“Get down!” Stanton’s command was her only warning before she was thrown to the ground, her body squashed by a solid heavy weight. Stanton. They’d been shot at.

A scream echoed and she realized it was hers.

“It’s okay, Dom. I’ve got you. Stay down.” He shifted, a knee on either side of her. “Three uniforms are in pursuit.”

Footsteps running, more gunfire. An engine’s roar and wheels screeching filled the air.

“Stay here.” She did as he ordered, completely trusting him. It was difficult trying to catch her breath while face down on the graveled lot, but she was still here, alive. As was Stanton.

“Okay.” His hands were on her, helping her up. As soon as she was on her feet she turned to find comfort against his broad chest. Until she saw the bright red stain on his suit’s upper sleeve.

“Oh no, Stanton, you’ve been shot!”

“Have I?” His brows drew together and he looked where she stared, held his arm up. “It’s a graze. Never felt it, trust me.”

“How can you be so sure? Stanton, you’re bleeding! That is more than a graze.”

“She’s right, Stanton. You need to let her drive you to the ER, or one of our officers will take you.” Melissa stood next to them.

“Did you catch the shooter?” Dominique was at a disadvantage; she’d not seen the attacker or the police officers who’d come immediately to her defense and Stanton’s. She sent up a silent prayer that they’d be safe as they chased down the shooter.

“No, but we’ve got a unit in pursuit. We’ll get to the bottom of it soon enough, but I think we all know who’s in all probability responsible.” Melissa’s blue eyes sparked with anger. “We’re getting too close for Jimenez’s comfort.”

Dominique