She didn’t look back as she slid behind the wheel and fired up the engine, but as she put the car into gear, her door jerked open. Rich’s wild eyes blazed down at her. Megan’s heart hammered in her throat, blocking a cry. Instead of pulling the door closed, she shoved it away, banging it into Rich’s lower half as she gunned the car. The scream of tires on pavement drowned out her panicked keening.
For a heartbeat Rich held on to the door as Megan pushed down on the accelerator and then he was gone. Panting from fright and exertion, she made a right-hand turn out of the parking lot, the momentum causing her door to slam shut.
Fortunately there was no traffic on the side road that led to Royals Shoes because Megan’s only concern was to put as much distance between her and Rich as possible. She glanced at the pistol resting on the passenger seat. Thank goodness she’d bought the gun and practiced shooting it. Still, she couldn’t believe she’d actually used it against Rich. And she’d hit him. Not badly, since he’d been able to chase her down and try to pull her out of her car. But she’d demonstrated her ability to take care of herself.
Megan couldn’t settle on an emotion. Part of her rejoiced that she’d gotten away from a madman unscathed. Yet another was shocked at her lack of remorse for having fired a gun at another human being. And deep down inside was the fear over what sort of monster Rich had turned her into.
As if on autopilot, her car negotiated the roads that led to the sheriff’s office. She’d spent far too much time around police lately, but couldn’t imagine heading home where she ran the risk of encountering Rich again before reporting that he’d tried to accost her.
“Call Will,” she commanded to her car. As ringing poured through the expensive speakers, she fought to swallow the lump in her throat.
“Hey, Megan, I was just thinking about you.” His deep voice penetrated the final thread holding her emotions under control and she started to shake.
“R-Rich...”
“Are you okay?” His concern came through loud and clear.
“He came after me.”
A sharp curse and then, “Are you hurt?”
“No.” She dragged in a ragged breath and shook her head. “I think I shot him.”
Silence followed her declaration before Will spoke again. “Where are you?” The question came briskly, filled with impatience.
Ahead of her were the familiar downtown stores and the Royal Diner. Except for the diner, the buildings were dark, enhancing Megan’s isolation.
“In my car.” Her jaw was so stiff she was having trouble speaking. “Heading to the police station.”
“I’ll meet you there.” A pause. When he next spoke, his tone was soft and heavy with worry. “You’re sure he didn’t hurt you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Okay.” Megan disconnected the call, shocked by how much better she felt. Will’s support during this difficult time had never wavered. He was the rock she clung to in the whitewater that had become her life and she found herself relying on him more and more.
To her relief, a visitor spot was available right in front of the door leading into the sheriff’s office. Megan came to an abrupt stop, the Porsche’s front tires bumping against the curb. For a second she stayed where she was, car running while she scanned the sidewalk to make sure Rich wasn’t moving to intercept her. Deciding he’d be a fool to track her to the station, Megan exited the car and hurried toward the building.
When she burst through the front door, tears burned her eyes. Damn. She hated giving in to the weakness. Her emotions were running away with her again and she must have looked a sight as she set her hands on the reception desk.
“Is Sheriff Battle here?” she asked the woman manning the front desk. “Richard Lowell just attacked me outside my office.”
The woman’s eyes widened but her voice remained calm and professional. “He’s not, but Special Agent Bird is in the conference room. I’ll get him for you.”
Megan took a seat on one of the cold, plastic chairs in the reception area and clasped her purse on her lap to keep her hands from shaking. At this hour the sheriff’s office was nearly deserted and a dull despair swept over her as adrenaline ebbed from her system. Chills racked her body. With each minute that ticked by, her muscles grew stiff until she doubted she could stand without falling over.
What was taking the FBI guy so long?
The front door opened and Will stepped into view. A strikingly handsome man whose height and powerful physique commanded attention, his features were set in granite as his vivid green eyes scanned the immediate vicinity with feverish intent. A small, incoherent noise vibrated in her throat an instant before his gaze swung in her direction.
“Megan.”
A single word. Just her name. But relief erupted like a fireworks display and suddenly everything was all right now that he was here with her.
Will’s entire world had narrowed to razor-sharp focus the instant he’d heard Megan’s shaky voice on the phone. When she’d called, he’d been working in his office at Spark Energy Solutions, combing through the financials for more missing money.
Now, as he stormed through the door of the police station and spied Megan sitting whole and unharmed in the reception area, the knot in his gut slowly began to unravel. But when she glanced his way and her expression shifted into delight, it was as if a series of explosions began in his chest.
“Are you really okay?” he demanded, moving to kneel before her. He reached out and trailed his fingers gently over her pale cheek.
She caught his hand and drew it away from her face. “I’m fine.” Her steady tone warned him not to coddle her. “Really. He never touched me.” A smile ghosted her lips. “If anyone was damaged, it was him.”
“Did you really shoot him?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t realize you owned a gun.”
As Will shifted onto the seat beside her, Megan opened her purse and gave him a peek at the contents. Sure enough, resting between her wallet and a polka-dot makeup pouch was a small pistol with a pink-pearl grip. He couldn’t help himself. Will grinned.
“It’s a 38-caliber Sig Sauer P238.” Seeing his amusement, her eyes glinted combatively. “Wayne at the gun range describes it as a ballistic bauble.”
It was hard to take the deadly weapon seriously when it was tricked out in such a way. No doubt Rich had underestimated the gun—and the woman who’d wielded it—and that had cost him.
“How does it handle?”
“Nice. There’s not much recoil and the pull is about five pounds. I’ve gotten to where I can put nine bullets in a three-inch target at twenty feet.”
“Impressive.”
“Mrs. Sanders,” Special Agent Bird said, coming toward them, his hand extended.
“Special Agent Bird,” Megan murmured, getting to her feet and taking his hand.
The FBI agent was a thin man with a thick mustache who looked more suited to pursuing cases involving money laundering and cyber crime than getting his hands dirty with terrorism or murder. After spending long hours with the agent in connection with the funds