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  Brad dragged his hand through his hair, a rare show of tension. “Dispatch gave me the latest. She said the mandatory evacuation orders have been expanded to the south end of Hangman Lake and up the east side, including the resort. The fire’s heading this way.”

  “Shit. That means your house too.” Brad and Emma had a log cabin home with an awesome view of the lake and a big-ass garage and workshop that had inspired Jack to add a similar structure to his own house plans. In addition to their house, the resort Emma had inherited from her grandfather was also threatened by the fire.

  Brad nodded to the still-complaining prisoner. “You’re taking princess in.”

  This brought a renewed protest. “I changed my mind. You can’t call me princess. I’m not telling you my name, but you can’t call me princess.” The announcement was followed by heavy breathing and grunts as he pulled against the handcuffs. “This is no fair. You got to let me have my hands in front. I don’t like sitting on the cuffs.”

  “Jesus, does this guy ever shut up? I get why Rod left him behind,” Brad spoke in his usual dry tone. “Beth identified princess here as Theodore John Honeycutt, serving a three-year sentence for stupidity.”

  “I was arrested for bank robbery. You can’t get arrested for stupidity.”

  “Dude, you tried to rob a bank with a cucumber in your pocket that you said was a gun. And when the teller asked for your ID, you gave her your driver’s license. Putting you in jail for stupidity saved you from yourself.”

  The prisoner responded with a fake coughing fit. “I’m choking from the smoke. You got to take me to the hospital. I have chest pains.”

  Jack turned to the rear door of the cruiser. “Princess? Shut up.” Slamming the door muffled the complaints from the back.

  “Take him in, Jack. I’m stopping at my house. Emma is still packing, and I need to get her out of there.” He shook his head. “We’ve got a clusterfuck heading our way. The fire is charging toward town, we’ve got people to evacuate, and an escaped convict is on the loose. I’ll send a unit to sit on the Morales house. We need to keep an eye on Dory and Adrian.”

  “They’re staying with me.”

  “Good.”

  Jack rounded the hood to the driver’s door, hesitating when Brad called out, “Hey, once you’ve booked princess, go on over to the middle school. The Red Cross has a medical tent and they’ll patch up that scrape on your head. And word from Rosa via the mayor is that you need a tetanus shot and might be trying to duck out of it. I’m pretty sure they use a small needle.” There may have been a smirk with that comment. “Get it done.”

  As a friend, Brad might have shown some sympathy over Jack’s loathing of needles. But as the police chief and therefore his boss, he didn’t give a shit. Jack would rather take a fist in the face, but he’d have to suck it up and let someone jab a piece of steel into his arm. Something else to add to the long list of aches and pains that were beginning to make themselves felt.

  Jack started the engine, tuning out the complaints from the back seat as he reversed the SUV and drove toward the highway. He scanned both sides of the road, looking for any sign of Rodrigo. As the adrenaline in his system waned, every bump and bruise was making itself felt, along with a headache that had lodged itself behind his eyes. That was in addition to the throbbing from where his shoulder had come into abrupt contact with the boulder.

  None of the physical discomfort negated the fact that he was royally pissed. Jack had let an escaped prisoner get away, a prisoner who had not only threatened Jack’s life but Dory’s, too. He’d fucked up, and his fuck-up endangered every single person in the town he’d sworn to protect. If one person was hurt by Rodrigo, blame would rest squarely on his shoulders.

  ***

  Jack shifted restlessly in a folding chair that was designed for someone at least a foot shorter than him. Rosa had given him Tylenol, which he thought was kind of like giving a hungry elephant a grain of rice: it wasn’t going to touch the pain brought on by fighting a couple of escaped convicts, much less the headache throbbing at his temples. People milled around the middle school gymnasium, where what looked like an acre of cots had been set up, each with a bundle of supplies marked with the Red Cross logo. Only about a dozen families had come into the shelter, but more were expected in the coming hours. He closed his eyes against the glare from the overhead lights.

  From Rosa he’d learned that Adrian was hanging out with Cameron from the Broken Arrow in a kids’ area of the shelter. He’d checked on the boy and found that a couple of teenage volunteers were leading the troops in games and activities to keep them occupied. Dory had texted that her car was packed, and she would be helping at the shelter. So she was here, somewhere. He hadn’t seen her, and until he’d sat down, couldn’t keep himself from scanning the crowds looking for her, sap that he was.

  He’d made sure the volunteers at the check-in desk knew there was an escaped convict in the area, and copies of Rodrigo’s photo were being plastered on every bulletin board and taped to every store window in town. But still, there was always the chance Rod could try to blend in and access the shelter. Jack would rest easier if he could see for himself that Dory was okay, and maybe he could caution her to be careful. Hell, she’d be careful without his warning. He knew that, so maybe he should admit to himself that he wanted her near him.

  A chair being slid in front of him had him opening his eyes. Bert Morales, mayor of Hangman’s Loss—but more importantly Dory’s father—dropped into the chair with a sigh, then folded his arms over the yellow suspenders he habitually wore. His dark gaze settled on Jack’s face and didn’t waver. Bert was a no-nonsense kind of guy, and he’d get around to saying what he wanted to say when he was ready.

  Rosa returned from wherever she’d gone, a clipboard in her hand. She tilted his head to get a better look at the injury on his forehead. “You look like you’ve been used as a punching bag, Jackson.”

  “Feels like it.”

  “I patched you up once already a couple of hours ago. You need to take better care of yourself.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Rosa bandaged his forehead, and then insisted he take off his shirt and bulletproof vest. He realized why when the shirt stuck to his upper arm and pulling off the vest revealed blood had seeped under the armor.

  He leaned forward, head in his hands, while Rosa used a damp pad that felt blessedly cool on his shoulder and back. And not for a second was he unaware of the scrutiny from Dory’s father.

  “I heard you let Rodrigo Calderon get away.”

  There it was, the first salvo. Bert Morales was nothing if not direct, a quality Jack normally appreciated. Not so much today.

  “Yeah.”

  “Seems like that would put my daughter and grandson in danger.”

  Jack jerked up his head, then swore under his breath at the stab of pain. He spoke through gritted teeth. “I would protect Dory and Adrian with my life. They’re staying at my place until Calderon is caught.”

  “Got a thing for my girl, do you?”

  “Leave the boy alone, Bert. Can’t you see he’s in pain?” Rosa paused in her ministrations and glared at her husband.

  “He’s telling me Dory and Adrian are going to stay at his house. Least he can do is state his intentions.”

  “Dory would skewer you if she could hear you talking so old-fashioned,” Rosa chided.

  Normally, Jack liked to fight his own battles. But if Rosa wanted to get Bert to back off, he wasn’t going to stop her.

  “Well, she’s not here,” Bert grumbled, “and I want to know that my family is safe.”

  Jack could hardly fault the old guy for that. He raised a hand when Rosa drew in a breath to speak. “He’s got a right to ask. All I can say is we’re working it out.”

  The walkie-talkie on Bert’s belt squawked, and he took a request for assistance at the check-in table. He leveled a glare at Jack. “You’ll keep me informed. I’ll get updates from Brad, but you hear anything abou
t Rodrigo’s whereabouts, I want to know.”

  “Yeah, I’ll keep you informed.”

  Bert strode away, and Rosa picked up Jack’s right hand where the knuckles looked like they’d been chewed bloody. Tsking quietly, she coated them with antibacterial ointment. He balked when she picked up gauze.

  “No bandage, it’ll get in my way.”

  She shook her head. “You can take it off later, but you need to protect your poor knuckles from getting banged around.” She wrapped white gauze around his hand, patted him on the shoulder, and the next thing he knew she had a syringe in her hand.

  “Hey, what are you doing with that?” Panic zinged though him and he didn’t care that he sounded like a big baby.

  “Oh look. There’s Dory.”

  His head whipped around, gaze latching on to Dory at the same time he felt the needle in his arm.

  “Damn it.”

  “There, all done. Now you won’t get tetanus. You were soooo brave.”

  Rosa brushed a kiss on his forehead and he felt ridiculously better.

  Dory stepped into the first aid area. “Do you want that lollipop?”

  “You got one?”

  “No, but I could raid the kids’ area and see what they have.” Despite her light tone, her eyes were troubled.

  “Your mom gave me a kiss. You could do that.”

  “Maybe later.”

  Rosa busied herself cleaning up the trash from the supplies she’d used, and then was called to help another evacuee who had come to the first aid station. Dory lightly touched his bruised and scraped shoulder, then raised her hand to lift the hair off his forehead. “What happened to you? You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Not that bad? Your shoulder is turning purple, you’ve got a head wound, and your hand is bandaged.” Her own hand fisted in his hair as she held tight to tilt back his head. “What the hell happened?”

  “Easy with the hair pulling. Did I mention you’re not gentle? You should be like your mom. She’s nice.”

  Dory loosened her fingers, but still kept them buried in his hair, which was fine with him.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  She froze, gaze locked on his. “Rodrigo.”

  “That domestic dispute call? The caller asked for me specifically. It wasn’t a domestic dispute.”

  “That was Rodrigo?” Her hand fisted again. “He set a trap for you.”

  “Easy with the hair, remember?”

  She let go of his hair, but her eyes welling with tears hurt more. “Tell me what happened.”

  “It’s not a big deal, Dory.”

  “Tell me.”

  He got to his feet, reaching for his shirt to pull it over his head. He told her, glossing over the part where he’d almost lost his head to the Pulaski and then been body slammed into the boulder. He even tried to get her to see the humor in the arrest of princess. Still, by the time he was done, tears were rolling.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  It killed him to see her distress. “Sweetheart, none of this is your fault.”

  “It feels like it is. What I don’t get is why Rodrigo would target you, specifically.”

  Something must have shown on his face, because she frowned. “What is it? You and Rodrigo were friends, right?”

  Jack’s cell phone buzzed. Glad for the reprieve, he answered it. A minute later he disconnected. “Look, I want to get you and Adrian settled at the house. I’ll pick up a clean shirt, but then I’ve got to get back to work. We’ve got a manhunt going on in the middle of mandatory fire evacuations. County sheriff is helping. All officers are being called to duty and I have to get out there.” He picked up his bulletproof vest and carried it with him as they exited the first aid area.

  “We can’t stay at your house.”

  Jack frowned, pushing back on the disappointment. “I thought you’d say that.”

  “I appreciate that you were willing to have us, but you’ll be on duty. I don’t want to be alone there with Adrian, worrying that every little sound could be Rodrigo, stalking us.

  “Right. Will you go to Bishop then, and stay with Maddy and Emma at Jenny’s house?”

  She was already shaking her head. “No, they’ll have their hands full. I’ll go to Trish Gallagher’s with my parents. Her house is far enough from the fire to be safe for now.”

  He’d really wanted them with him. Selfish of him, but the idea of her in his home, greeting him when he got back from his shift, had him yearning for something he’d dreamed about for a long, long time. That his dream didn’t even involve I’m-glad-you’re-home sex only confirmed for him what he already knew: his heart was hers. Her behavior lately had given him hope that maybe she felt something for him, too. He rubbed a hand over his chest at the dull ache forming there.

  “Let’s get Adrian.”

  Jack nodded. “Okay, but I’m still going with you to make sure things are okay at Trish’s house before I do anything else.” They crossed the floor to the area partitioned off for kids. “Have you told Adrian that Rodrigo escaped?”

  “Yes, but there wasn’t much of a conversation. I’m concerned about him. Most of the time he’s happy and acts like a normal kid, but then there’s other times where he’s worried about me, which tells me he’s not feeling secure. He doesn’t want to talk about his dad.”

  “I didn’t think how it would affect Adrian, but there are wanted posters with Rod’s face plastered all over town.”

  “I think he’ll be more scared than anything. It’s only been in the past couple of months that he’s been willing to share with me what he remembers about his father. But, even then, I didn’t know Rodrigo had hurt him until he told you. That’s got to create a whole slew of conflicting emotions.” Her sigh was heartbreaking.

  “Dory.” She turned those brown eyes on his and his control broke. Words tumbled from his mouth before he could think to hold them back. “Let me take care of you. We could get married. You, me, and Adrian would be a family. You two could move in with me. You’d be safe.” He grabbed her hand. “Marry me, please?”

  He’d blown it. He knew it even before she opened her mouth. Maybe it was because he hurt in about every bone in his body, or because he’d wanted her for so long he’d lost all perspective. But he didn’t need to see the guardedness in her expression to know he’d clumsily laid out his cards and royally fucked himself.

  She drew away from him. “No. No way, Jack. I can take care of myself and my son.”

  “It’s not only that. You know I have feelings for you.”

  “Mom.” Adrian’s voice carried as he trotted toward them.

  Jack bit back on an oath. “I’m sorry, Dory. This wasn’t the time or place.”

  “I’m sorry too, Jack. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to take that risk again. Marriage isn’t for me.”

  Adrian reached them and Dory gave her attention to her son, effectively closing Jack out of their tight circle.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sharp rapping sound made Jack wince. He’d gotten home around eight in the evening after an exhausting twenty-four hours since he’d left Dory at Trish Gallagher’s home. Rodrigo Calderon seemed to have disappeared into the smoke. With his brother living in Sacramento and his parents deceased, he didn’t have any family in the area, and Jack couldn’t think of any friends Rodrigo had who would take the risk of giving him a place to hide out. But the mountains around Hangman’s Loss were riddled with unoccupied vacation homes where he could lay low. With news spreading, plenty of calls had come in from folks made jumpy by the escaped convict, and that was on top of the already stretched nerves caused by the monster of a fire bearing down on the community.

  Every one of those calls had been checked out, and as if to prove that Jack was off his game, he’d taken a call out at the Brew Pub and ended up with an eye almost swollen shut and a near-broken nose for his
troubles.

  Despite the fire and eminent danger to the community, or maybe because of it, the Brew Pub had been hopping with business on an early Sunday evening. So he’d rolled on the call and found himself in the middle of a girl fight.

  He hated girl fights. Most often, they were all drama and hair pulling. Not this one, though, at least the hair pulling part. To make matters worse, a drunk Raquel—of the large breasts—had been one of the combatants. Who knew she could pack such a punch? According to her teary apology, she’d been aiming for bitch Denise Hewitt’s face (her words, not his) when she’d misjudged and clocked Jack. She’d offered to make it up to him by giving him a blowjob. Right there in the parking lot. He’d ended up arresting her when she wouldn’t keep her hands to herself, and then had to endure her crying claims of remorse for the entire ride to the police station.

  Brad had taken one look at him and told him to clock out and get himself to the doctor. A look in the mirror at the station bathroom had told him his face was a fucking mess. The bandage on his forehead had come unstuck, so he’d peeled it off the rest of the way, exposing the weeping wound, and he swore he could see the imprints of Raquel’s knuckles around his eye and along the bridge of his nose.

  Worn out, Jack had dodged the doctor order and gone home, then decided the gods were not on his side when he discovered the bottle of Advil in his cupboard contained one measly tablet. He’d washed it down with a shot of bourbon before crawling into bed. His nose wasn’t broken, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like a motherfucker, and the pain kept him from falling asleep. The rapping sounded again, and he glanced at the clock on his dresser. Ten thirty-seven.

  He knew who was on the other side of his front door. Dory wouldn’t pass by a butterfly with a bent wing, so she must have heard that he’d been beat up by a girl and would see it as her duty to check on him. In the last twenty-four hours he’d been in two fights, plus tangled with a bull. He’d been injured, and added to that, she’d think his feelings had been hurt by her rejection, so for Dory that meant his wounds, physical and emotional, needed tending. The physical pain was actually welcome because it diverted his attention from what a colossal idiot he’d made of himself.