a shooting.”
Dylan’s heart stalled. Zara!
“BPD wants our help,” Max said before striding away.
A wave of dread washed over Dylan as he grabbed his mobile gear and hurried after his boss. Zara was like family. The Fieldings had taken Dylan in when he was sixteen after his parents’ senseless death in a boating incident. He was forever grateful to them for the care and love they’d bestowed on him, Zara in particular.
One year younger than him, she’d been the one to keep him supplied in tissues—without comment—when he’d cry himself to sleep at night. And she’d been the one to sit with him after his nightmares. She’d been so compassionate and thoughtful, never once pushing him to talk about what had happened or judging him for showing emotion that someone else would consider weakness.
When Zara had decided to follow in her father’s and brother’s footsteps and join the police academy, Dylan had been both afraid for her and proud of her. She was a tough cookie, determined and competent.
She’d done a good job. She and her all-purpose canine partner had made over a dozen narcotic arrests, recovered a missing child and apprehended a fugitive hiding in the Pictograph Caves outside of Billings.
Then one fateful call had nearly ended hers and Radar’s careers and their lives. A day that haunted Dylan.
Vouching for her had been a no-brainer when she’d shown an interest in working for the FBI. It hadn’t taken much for Dylan to convince his boss to give Zara a chance by letting her intern. As a police officer, she’d already been through a thorough background check, enough to help out on their highly classified team. She’d been doing a great job, had integrated well into the group. And now she could be hurt. Or worse.
Please, God, no. I can’t take another death.
Especially hers.
“Sir, you can’t cross the line.” A Billings police officer blocked Dylan’s path to the brightly lit alleyway in the middle of downtown.
Dylan grabbed the edges of his patience and held on. The panic tightening his lungs wouldn’t cooperate. He needed to know if Zara had been shot. With trembling hands, he flashed his FBI credentials. “Where is Zara, uh, Officer Fielding?”
Or rather FBI agent-in-training Fielding.
What had she been doing that landed her in a shootout? She’d left the training center hours ago. She and Radar should have been home, not in some dark back alley.
The officer squinted at the official documents cased in the black leather wallet before straightening and pointing behind him. “She’s talking to the police chief.”
Her dad. If she was talking, that meant she wasn’t dead. Dylan’s tension eased and relief rushed in, enough to take the edge off. But she could be injured. He had to see her for himself.
Dylan ducked beneath the yellow crime scene tape strung across the entrance to the alley behind the jewelry store. The plastic banner fluttered in the breeze. Red and blue lights flashed on the brick building’s outer wall, the strobe effect distracting and eerie. A man on a stretcher was being lifted into the back bay of an ambulance.
Dylan paused, torn between needing to assure himself Zara was okay and his duty to print and photograph the suspect. Though this was technically a police case, the fact that one of their agents—well, intern—was involved necessitated the team to work the case, as well.
Duty won out, but the battle was hard fought.
Before the ambulance drivers could shut the door, Dylan climbed in and used his MorphoRadID-2 biometric terminal to scan in the man’s fingerprints as well as snapped off a photograph of the unconscious man’s face.
He sent both the print and the image to his computer while the handheld device wirelessly searched the various government databases. Hopefully, he’d be able to identify the suspect quickly.
Done with that task, Dylan wove his way through the Billings police officers and their crime scene techs to where Special Agent in Charge Max West stood.
As Dylan approached, Max stepped aside to reveal Zara and her canine, Radar. Zara’s face was pale, her hazel-green eyes wide and the pupils large, indicating stress. But she seemed intact, no visible injuries. Radar sat at her side, his ears back, his gaze alert as if he expected more trouble.
Dylan’s heart squeezed tight. He resisted the urge to rush forward, to assess for himself that she was unharmed. This was the second time in less than a year that he’d had to face the reality of possibly losing her. The very thought struck terror in his soul. Because... He shied away from examining his feelings.
He wanted to spirit her away to a safe place where she wouldn’t face danger again. Something she wouldn’t appreciate. She’d always been tough and independent, traits he admired even if they made him uneasy. He reeled in his reaction and lifted a prayer of praise for her well-being.
She’d like that.
He had to get a grip. He and Zara were friends, and colleagues, now. Soon she would go to the FBI academy and become a full-fledged agent. Letting his emotions run amok wasn’t smart or productive. He had to compartmentalize her in his mind.
And his heart. The realization skipped through him like a rock over smooth water.
Billings police chief Robert Fielding stood beside his daughter. He had linebacker broad shoulders, with graying hair and an intense stare. He gripped Zara’s shoulder, clearly in dad mode more than police chief. “You should have called the robbery in and waited.”
Dylan met Zara’s gaze. “What happened?”
Zara pressed her lips together. Obviously she was having a hard time avoiding exasperated-daughter mode. “Radar noticed activity in the alley. I did call the robbery in and wait. Unfortunately, Radar and I were made.” She shook off her father’s hand. “I had no choice but to return fire.”
She’d come under attack. Dylan’s stomach churned.
Robert hooked his thumbs beneath the edges of his utility belt. “I know. I’m not faulting you for defending yourself. You did what you had to. The guy will live.”
Dylan was glad she’d done what was necessary to protect herself but he couldn’t deny his concern. “Are you okay?”
She lifted her chin. “We’re fine.” She turned to her father. “Are we done?”
“We’re not finished here,” Robert said. “Tell me about the driver.”
There’d been more than one burglar? Dylan’s hand flexed around the device in his hand.
“He wore a ski mask, so I didn’t get a look at his face,” she said. “I heard his voice, though. I’d remember him.” She visibly shivered.
Dylan narrowed his gaze, sensing there was something she wasn’t sharing. “What did he say?”
She slanted Dylan a glance and
