“I’m sorry that I interfered, back inside. I thought I was helping, but I realize now that I could have gotten you hurt—” she swallowed hard “—or killed.”
“You were very brave. You have nothing to apologize for. Everything worked out.”
She offered him a shaky smile. “You saved my life. I don’t know how to pay someone back for something like that.”
“Fix that clicker. That’s payback enough. Then I won’t have to worry about you fumbling with your keys.” He fished a business card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “If you think of anything else you want to tell me about what happened, anything that can help us sort through this mess and figure out why this guy picked Gibson and Gibson, give me a call.”
* * *
DILLONWATCHEDTHEsurprisingly brave, pretty little auditor drive away in her aging dark blue Chevy Lumina. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen one of those cars on the road. Obviously Ashley Parrish wasn’t making a fortune in her chosen occupation, which made any obvious financial motive for the shooter to target her seem unlikely.
“Did she tell you anything useful about the shooter?”
Dillon turned at the sound of Chris Downing’s voice behind him.
“No. But she’s pretty shaken. She might think of something later.” He glanced past his friend. His boss was standing with the rest of the SWAT team, his face animated—not in a good way—as he spoke to them. “Let me guess. Thornton sent you to get me.”
“Yep. He’s riled up like a preacher on Easter Sunday, all fire and brimstone raining down on our heads for going in against orders.”
Dillon let out a deep sigh and started toward his boss, with Chris at his side. He wasn’t in the mood to take a tongue-lashing right now, but he’d have to endure it to try to keep his job, and to keep his men from being blamed for what had essentially been a mutiny.
Regardless of the consequences, he had no regrets. The three wounded survivors they’d pulled out had lost a lot of blood and wouldn’t have lasted much longer if they’d waited. And he didn’t know what would have happened to Ashley Parrish. She wasn’t the only survivor they’d rescued, but she was the only one the shooter had essentially stalked through the building.
Maybe he’d stop by her house on the way home tonight, to make sure she was okay and see if she’d thought of anything else that might help with the investigation. Their initial inquiries hadn’t yielded any connections between the shooter and Gibson and Gibson. If the shooter had never worked there, and had never conducted any business with the company, why would he choose this particular office complex?
It was isolated, a few miles out of town, which might have made the shooter think he could shoot the place up and escape before the cops got there. But if he’d wanted to kill a lot of random people, there was a mall five minutes away that would have yielded plenty more potential victims. So why had he chosen Gibson and Gibson?
Dillon would lay odds it was something personal, and he’d bet his ten years as a detective that the personal part was somehow related to the woman who’d just driven off in a beat-up old Chevy with a key fob that didn’t work.
* * *
ASHLEYCLUTCHEDHERcell phone to her ear and peered out the front window. Lightning flashed, illuminating the acres of green grass and long gravel driveway that formed the front yard of her rental house. In the distance, the Smoky Mountains loomed dark and menacing.
She’d never wanted to live this far from the conveniences in town, but her options were limited, since most people insisted on a long lease. Still, she hadn’t minded living here temporarily. But with this morning’s shooting fresh in her memory, the isolation was making her feel uneasy, and vulnerable.
Thunder boomed overhead.
“What was that?” Lauren asked over the phone.
“Thunder. The weathermen have been predicting a big storm all week. Looks like it’s finally here. It’s pitch-black outside even though it’s only six o’clock. And the rain’s been coming down like a monsoon for the past couple of hours. After all the rain we had last week, we sure don’t need this. The river’s already near flood stage.”
“Should you get out of there?”
“I’ll be fine. The house is on high ground and the river’s several miles from here. Plus, I’ve stocked up on essentials in case the road gets washed out again.”
Lauren droned on about poor road maintenance and the crumbling infrastructure in the country while Ashley looked through the curtains again. She would have loved to leave Destiny far behind after the horrific shooting this morning, but she’d promised Detective Gray she’d stay through the end of the week. Even if she hadn’t made that promise, it would be a real pain to try to change her schedule at the last minute. She’d already planned the walk-through with her landlord so she could get her deposit back and turn in her keys.
When Lauren had called, Ashley confessed some of the general information about the shooting, but she’d kept most of the details to herself. Lauren was on a week-long cruise she’d planned for well over a year. Ashley didn’t want to upset her friend and ruin her fun. She also didn’t want Lauren to call Ashley’s family about the shooting and get them upset. There’d be plenty of time to tell them what happened after she got back home to Nashville.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lauren asked. “You’re even quieter than usual. Maybe I should cut my vacation short and go there to be with you.”
“Don’t you dare. You’ve had this trip planned forever and I doubt they’d refund your money. Besides, by the time you got off the ship, hopped a plane, then drove forever through the boonies to get way out here, I’ll be back home.” She forced a note of cheerfulness she didn’t feel into her voice. “Now tell me, which tropical island are you touring right now?”
Lauren hesitated, as if she was going to argue, but she finally let out a long breath. “All right, you win. I’ll quit bugging you, for now. Today the cruise ship took us to a little place right outside Jamaica.”
“Nice.”
Lightning flashed again, much closer this time. Ashley jumped and let out a little squeak.
“Oh, yeah, you sound fine to me,” Lauren accused. “Don’t you want to talk about what happened?”
“Sure. Let’s talk about the SWAT detective guy who rescued me. He was really hot.”
“Not-so-subtle way of avoiding the topic, but I’ll bite. How hot was he? Scale of one to ten.”
Ashley plopped down on the couch and tucked her legs beneath her. Lauren would probably drool over Detective Dillon Gray’s broad shoulders and trim waist. She’d love his dark, wavy hair that seemed a bit too long and untamed for a cop. And she’d probably squeal over what Ashley thought of as sexy stubble that formed a barely there goatee, mustache and dark shadow that ran up his jawline. He looked the way she imagined a man might look after lounging in bed with his lover for days without taking time to shave.
As enticing as all that was, Ashley knew her friend wouldn’t appreciate what Ashley thought of as Dillon’s best feature—his kind smile—and the gentle way he’d held her hand when she’d desperately needed the warmth and contact of another human being who wasn’t trying to kill her.
He’d given her the strength to hold herself together. Without the kindness and patience he’d showed to a stranger, she probably would have lost it and imploded into a mass of nerves. Somehow, with him there, focusing those thickly lashed blue-gray eyes on her, she’d managed to keep her composure.
“Ash, come on. Scale of one to ten. Rank him.”
She idly traced little circles on the arm of the couch with her fingertips