Shot Through the Heart Read online

  Accepting one, she sat beside him on the second step with Cooper next to her and tried not to think about ex-boyfriends. She needed to be normal, just a woman hanging out with her neighbor. She searched for something to talk about. “This must be quite a change from Afghanistan.”

  He gave a short laugh, sipped his beer. “You can’t even imagine. Over there, I would have sold a kidney for a cold brew at the end of the day.”

  “What did you do there? What kind of work?” She wasn’t just making conversation. She really wanted to know.

  He shrugged. “When I first started out, it was a lot of patrols. We’d flush out the Taliban, avoid IEDs. Avoid getting dead. This last tour, it was entirely training Afghan soldiers.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  He set down his bottle and leaned back, elbows supporting him on the top step. “Enjoy it? Most people ask if I hated it.”

  Rane studied him in the fading light. He seemed focused on the street.

  “Well, did you?”

  “I liked some things about the country. It’s beautiful. Wild. The people are amazingly resilient and hardworking. But I hated always feeling on edge, feeling like my world could blow up, literally, at any given moment.”

  Rane looked out into the evening.

  “What about you? You work at a hospital?”

  “Yeah. I’m an ER nurse at St. Augustine’s.” She thought about getting up and turning on the porch light, but decided it was nice in the deep twilight.

  “You must see a lot of horrible things.”

  “I do, but I know I’m doing something good.”

  “That’s important.”

  They sat quietly for a couple of minutes. She was enjoying sitting, talking to John, and felt a little hum of pleasure just being able to relax with him.

  “Is your family here in Seattle?”

  “Yeah.” She didn’t like talking about her family. People always asked about her mother.

  He gave a short laugh. “C’mon, Rane. This is how conversations work. I share a little, you share a little. And then maybe we get to know each other a bit.” He sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees, head cocked toward her.

  She shrugged before responding. “I don’t have much family to talk about. It’s just me and my dad.”

  “Your mom?”

  “My mom took off when I was a kid. Made a new life for herself somewhere that’s not here.”

  “Okay, so what does your dad do?”

  “Dad was a cop. He’s retired now.” She wondered if she imagined a heightened interest.

  “Was he a beat cop? A detective?”

  “Detective, but you can’t really want to know about my dad. What made you decide to join the military?”

  He sipped his beer and spoke easily. She wondered if she was just imagining there was something more than friendship behind the questions. “Nope. Still your turn. Tell me about your day at St. Augustine’s. I bet in some ways it resembles a typical day in Afghanistan.”

  His gaze drifted to her mouth. Rane tried to keep her train of thought. “It sounds like what’s similar is that there is no typical day.”

  He nodded. “So tell me.”

  She stretched her legs out in front of her, trying to relax again. “Well, today started off with an OD. Heroin. Parents are getting ready for work this morning, and their seventeen-year-old boy doesn’t wake up to catch the school bus.”

  “Did he make it?”

  She shot him a questioning look at the urgency in his voice.

  “Yeah. But surviving today is just the first step. The kid has a lot to go through before he’s okay.”

  He nodded, his tone neutral when he spoke. “I wonder how a seventeen-year-old hooks up with heroin.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “They don’t start with heroin. He probably pill-partied or found some Oxy in his parents’ medicine cabinet. Got hooked and took the step up to heroin. It’s cheaper and easier to obtain.” Rane stifled a yawn then drained the last of her beer. “It’s time to feed Cooper. Thanks for the beer and the conversation.”

  John rose to his feet and stretched out a hand. She hesitated before placing her hand in his, their gazes meeting as he pulled her to her feet. He held on a moment longer before releasing her. “You’re welcome, Rane.”

  In the glow of the streetlight, she gave him a silent nod and retreated into the house.

  Chapter Two

  Rane turned off her bedside lamp and burrowed under the covers. Kyle’s release yesterday had made her hyper-alert, and she’d spent the past thirty-six hours waiting for him to do something.

  A warm shower, a little TV, and thirty minutes reading should have calmed her mind, but she still felt as edgy as Marie Antoinette waiting for the blade to drop. If she was lucky, he’d forget about her and move on. The letters had stopped coming after his first year in prison. She’d never responded to any of them, so perhaps he’d accepted she didn’t want anything more to do with him. Or he could have figured out where the heroin under the backseat of his car had come from and was just biding his time. Would he come after her dad for revenge? Or her? Rane flopped onto her back, pushing the blanket off her. She’d have to quit obsessing, or she would never get to sleep.

  Think of something else. Like, why was it that she hadn’t gone out with a man in more than three months? It wasn’t from lack of being asked, either. And when she did go out, they’d get to the third or fourth date, and she’d start backing off. She would delay returning phone calls or texts, postpone plans, end the evening early. Sometimes she actually skipped the avoidance and told the guy to his face that she didn’t want to see him anymore. She didn’t need an analyst to tell her she dumped before getting dumped. It probably came from her mom abandoning her when she was little. She couldn’t trust someone to be there in the long run, so she’d leave a guy before he could leave her. That kept her from being vulnerable, she deduced. Great, maybe she did need therapy.

  She rubbed her forehead where a dull ache told her she needed to get up and take a couple of Tylenol, but moving around would only make her more alert and less likely to fall asleep.

  Her thoughts shifted to John. She was only thinking about relationships because he stirred something in her that refused to settle.

  She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Just past midnight. Thank God she didn’t have to work in the morning. She closed her eyes and ordered herself to sleep. As she started to drift, breath deepening, a noise, vague and indistinct, made her eyes fly open. A creaking sound then a thud. Outside, maybe by the kitchen. The doggy door was locked, but perhaps someone was trying to get in that way. In the dim glow from the flameless candles she used as nightlights, she could see Cooper, head raised, ears cocked. She sat up, mind racing. She wouldn’t panic; she had her “what if” plans. Calm and rational, she could protect herself. Rational meant it didn’t have to be Kyle. It could be a transient forcing the alley gate open to look for bottles in the recycling bin then wandering down her driveway. She’d even had a raccoon get stuck in her trash can once.

  Her only certainty was she couldn’t call the cops. If it was Kyle, the police finding him at her house would lead to unwanted questions. Questions that could point to her father.

  A low growl rumbled in Cooper’s throat.

  “Quiet, Cooper.”

  Rane slipped out of bed, heart beating overtime. She had to see who was out there. Knowing whether it was Kyle was better than worrying about it. Moving quietly to her closet, she opened the gun lock-box with the keyed-in code. Drawing in a steadying breath, she pulled out the Colt .45. No way was she facing Kyle DiNardo unarmed.

  With the memory of practice sessions with her father echoing in her head, she loaded the clip, pulled back the slide, and set the safety. A hand to Cooper’s head quieted the rumbling in his throat. The dog moved to stand at alert next to her. Moonlight filtered in from the skylight over the landing as Rane and the dog moved to the stairs. Maybe it was John, taking out his trash.
Then she could yell at him for scaring her.

  Creeping through the house, gun angled down, she paused at the bottom of the stairs. Through the side window, she saw a shadowy figure running up the driveway toward the garage. She dashed to the kitchen door, peering through the window into the night. The motion light at the corner of the house blazed on, as did the one on the far side of the garage where she kept her trash cans. A movement, a shape darker than the rest, caught her attention.

  She wasn’t the only one with a gun. And her tenant wasn’t taking out the trash. John moved with stealthy purpose. He kept to the shadows, attention focused on the side of the garage she couldn’t see. His truck parked in the driveway provided cover, and he edged closer, his gun glinting dully. Rane heard a muffled thud, and he raced toward the garage. He stopped, back against the wall, then peeked around the corner before disappearing into the dark.

  She waited several long moments, mind spinning with conflicting thoughts. John might question why she had a gun, but if it was Kyle, or some other criminal type, John could be heading into danger. He might need her help. He certainly moved like he could handle himself, though. Straining her ears, she could hear nothing but her own heart pounding.

  She wouldn’t confront the intruder, but she wasn’t going to leave John out there to bleed to death if he’d been attacked. Punching in the disarm code on the alarm pad, she opened the kitchen door. Hesitating only briefly, she slipped out with the gun pointed down, leaving a whining Cooper inside the house. The cold night air made her wish she’d pulled on a sweatshirt over the tank she’d gone to bed in. She hoped to God she wasn’t making a mistake by leaving the safety of the house.

  She crouched in the shadow of John’s truck. The night was alive with sound. Crickets chirped, and the cars on the avenue a couple of blocks over made a quiet, whooshing sound. In the distance, an ambulance siren wailed, likely on its way to St. Augie’s. She cautiously rounded the truck, checking her movement when the backyard gate swung violently open to crash against the fence. Cooper barked furiously. A blurred form streaked down the driveway, barreling into her, knocking her to her knees and sending the gun skittering across the concrete, before racing away.

  Seconds later, John sprinted through the gate, coming to a stop when he saw her. “Rane! You okay?”

  “I’m fine. I just got knocked down.”

  Up the street, a car engine turned over with a roar. John ran to the end of the driveway. Tires squealed, and the vehicle sped away.

  Rising to her feet, Rane brushed grit from her palms. The guy who had knocked her down, dressed in dark pants and a sweatshirt with the hood up, could have been anybody.

  Wincing at pain in her knee, Rane held onto the side of the truck as John trotted back up the driveway. He stooped to retrieve her .45, checked the safety. “You want me to hold onto this until we get you back in the house?”

  She nodded, and heard the faint clink of metal on metal as he tucked it into the waistband of his pants.

  “Didn’t expect you to be armed.”

  “I have a permit, and like I said before, a couple houses in the neighborhood have been robbed.” She hoped he’d accept her explanation without further question.

  His voice roughened. “Are you really okay?”

  “Just a little bruised. Could you tell what the guy looked like?” Rane wasn’t sure if it was from cold or reaction, but a shiver snaked down her spine.

  He shook his head. “Dark clothing, hood. Couldn’t see his face, so no. He tore off in a black Ford SUV. I couldn’t make out the plates.” He cast a frustrated glance toward the street.

  “You want to go chase after him or something?”

  “Too late for that. But I don’t like the idea you could be in danger. Anyone bothering you lately?” He offered a hand.

  She accepted it, strong fingers helping to steady her as she gingerly put weight on her knee. “No.”

  “Had any bad breakups? Anyone vowing everlasting love?”

  She glanced up at him, suddenly suspicious. “None.” There was no way he could know about Kyle. Trying a hobbling step, she sucked in a breath. “Wow, that hurts.”

  “Okay, up you go.”

  Rane let out a squeak when he bent and scooped her into his arms. “John! Put me down!”

  “Nope. You’re hurt. I’ll just patch you up. And get you inside before you freeze.”

  “I’m fine. It’s just my knee.”

  He ignored her, carrying her toward the house. Cooper let out a bark when John elbowed the door open. “Get the light.”

  She flipped the switch as they entered the kitchen, and he kicked the door shut before crossing the floor to set her carefully on the counter.

  With the kitchen light glowing warm against dark windows, he gently rolled up her flannel pant leg to where it was torn at the knee. Rane studied him as he bent over the task. There was something different about him. Something she couldn’t put her finger on. He pulled the fabric away where blood oozed from the scraped knee. “Where are your first aid supplies?”

  Before she could shove off the counter, John raised his gaze to lock on hers. “Tell me where they are, and I’ll get them.” The difference suddenly hit her. The laid-back image he’d projected was gone, replaced by a barely contained intensity. It was like watching layers of his personality being revealed. Very intriguing layers.

  He waited, brows raised.

  “You sure are bossy all of a sudden.”

  When he spoke, it was with controlled patience. “Rane. Tell me where the bandages are.”

  Barely keeping herself from rolling her eyes, she motioned to a door on the far side of the kitchen. “In the bathroom off the laundry room. Bottom drawer of the vanity.”

  He returned a minute later carrying several small packages. He washed his hands and then ripped open a bag of cotton pads.

  “I can do this.” When he just glared at her, Rane tried a smile. “Really. Being an ER nurse and all, I might be able to manage it.”

  “I know what to do,” he muttered. He carefully cleaned the wound and applied antiseptic. After pressing on a bandage, he stood back. She scooted off the counter, stifling a groan when her leg took the weight.

  “Can’t you go slowly?” He reached out a hand to steady her.

  “I’m fine. The soreness will be gone in a day or so.” She frowned at him when he scowled. “What I don’t get is why you’re mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  “Really? Then you give a pretty good imitation.”

  “Okay. Maybe I am. A little. I don’t like you getting hurt. I don’t like you going out there at night when some guy is lurking around your house, even if you do have a gun. You should have stayed inside and called 9-1-1.”

  He turned her hand over in his, brushing a thumb across the shallow scrapes where her palm had hit the driveway.

  Distracted, she frowned. “You didn’t stay inside and call 9-1-1.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Is it different because you have your own gun tucked in the back waistband of your jeans? Which, by the way, you didn’t disclose when you moved in.”

  He gave her a hard look. “Partly. And before you ask, my weapon is also permitted, and yes, I should have told you. Sorry.”

  “Hmm. Maybe you think a guy can handle himself and a woman can’t.”

  He gave a humorless laugh. “You’re not going to hang sexism on me. In Afghanistan, I served with some extremely capable women who could protect themselves in any kind of situation.” He scowled again, grip tightening. “I have no idea if you’ve been trained to defend yourself, so I’m going on the assumption you haven’t had more than the basics.” He paused. “Am I wrong?”

  “Well, I haven’t been trained to kill someone with my bare hands.”

  “Then you should have stayed inside and called the cops.”

  “I saw you running around the side of the garage. I thought the guy could attack you and leave you bleeding to death.
I was going out to check on you. If you’d been hurt, I would have called 9-1-1.”

  “Right. And this would be before the guy attacked you, too. Jesus, Rane.” He let go of her to begin gathering up the trash from the bandages. When Cooper whined, he stopped and looked at the dog. “And why didn’t you bring the dog out with you? He’d scare the crap out of any perp.”

  She shrugged, brows raised at his terminology. “I didn’t want him hurt.”

  He stared, expression incredulous. “You have this big-ass German shepherd who’d be a hell of a deterrent to anyone threatening you, and you didn’t let him out to do his job because you thought he’d get hurt?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Well, yeah. If the guy had a gun, he could have shot Cooper. It’s not worth it.”

  He turned away, running long fingers through his hair as if trying to ease his frustration before facing her again. “You’re something else, you know that? Next time, call 9-1-1 and let the dog out.”

  When she didn’t say anything, he narrowed his eyes. “Rane? I want you to promise you’ll call for help if anything like this happens again.”

  He refused to look away, and, finally, she shrugged. “Okay. Fine. I’ll call for help the next time I see someone lurking outside my house. Satisfied?”

  He gave her a dark look. “Not nearly.” He rolled his shoulders, seeming to make an effort to shake off his mood. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll have another look around; make sure the gates are locked. Cooper can come with me so he can see if anything’s up. You’re going to check the doors and windows around the house. I’ll come back with the all-clear then you can set the alarm. Okay?”