need your help. I already thanked you for what you’ve done. Please come to the car with us and I’ll get my stuff and you can forget all about us.”
“Like that’s going to happen.” The words were muttered, but she heard them nonetheless.
“I’m serious, Jude. You don’t have to worry about us.”
“You can say it as much as you want, but so far tonight a man almost shot you. He did shoot two other people. And your house burned down.”
Tyler gripped her hand harder, and she circled him with her arms again. To make her feel better, or him?
Did it matter? Comfort was comfort, and they were a team.
Jude ran his hands through his hair. He let his hands drop to his sides. “You aren’t going to let me help you?”
“Why do you want to?”
“What?”
“Why do you want to take care of me?”
“Because—”
Across the street a man stood, glaring at them. The man from the Laundromat. Same lifeless eyes, same bulky jacket. Did he have the gun he’d used to kill Moose hidden in there?
Zoe gasped. “That’s him. That’s the—” Jude was already running across the street, chasing down the man. What did he want with her? Whatever it was, Tyler would be caught in the crossfire. “Come on.”
She didn’t need that duffel. Zoe would find the money to get by somewhere else. She had no idea where but that wasn’t the point. She couldn’t stay here right now.
Anywhere else would be safer than this.
Jude raced after the man. Anger coursed through him, a burst of energy to his fatigued muscles. The long day. The shooting. The fire. All of it he left behind with every step he took as he sprinted across the street like it was six in the morning on the trail and he was freshly rested from a full night of sleep. Thank You, Lord.
He’d seen the moment recognition sparked in the man’s eyes—the only sign of life he’d noticed since that poor attempt at humor in the Laundromat. This man wasn’t going to hurt anyone else. Not if Jude could do something about it.
One of the cops yelled, but Jude couldn’t explain. He just called after the man, “Secret Service. Stop!”
He didn’t. This guy clearly cared more about the freedom to do whatever he wanted than the law. And the fact that he’d placed himself firmly on the wrong side of it.
Seconds later, Jude got within touching distance. He grabbed the man’s arm and got a handful of jacket before his fingers lost grip. More speed. The corner at the end of the street was coming up. Jude could cut it slightly, and try to tackle the man. He kept pumping his arms and legs as best he could in the suit.
The man pivoted at the corner and before Jude could figure out the move, his elbow came up. Pain burst through Jude’s skull and light flashed behind his eyes, but he didn’t go down. He grasped on to the jacket again, but the man shrugged out of it and raced away, leaving Jude with his jacket and nothing else. Jude took off after him, but only got two steps before he weaved with dizziness and collided with a fence. Splinters raked his arm and he hissed.
The cops ran up. One said, “What—”
There wasn’t time to let him finish; the gunman was getting away. “Murder suspect.” Jude sucked in a breath and hung his head. It hurt. He’d probably have a headache for days. He reached up and gently felt his forehead. There was a knot already.
One cop took off after the suspect. The other stood with Jude. “You all right?”
He felt around the jacket. It smelled like gasoline. Had he set the fire, or simply been close enough to it that the scent of accelerant was on his clothes? There was nothing in the bottom pockets, but the inside pocket held something bulky. He found a wallet and opened it. Two hundred in cash was folded up along with a pharmacy receipt for Oxycodone and a driver’s license.
“Want me to take that?”
Jude took a photo of both sides of the license so he could look it up later, then handed it over to the cop, who could add it to evidence. “It’s probably a fake so he can get his meds.” He gave the officer the name of the detectives investigating the Laundromat shooting.
The officer nodded. “I’ll get this squared away for ya.”
Jude pushed off the wall and headed back to the now smoldering house. Only the smell of the fire remained. Even Zoe and Tyler were gone. He searched up and down the street for them. She’d done it again, ditched him even though her duffel was locked in his Suburban.
He knew she didn’t trust him. That went both ways. But why did it bother him so much? It wasn’t like they knew each other.
Part of him wanted to stick with her—to convince her that she should trust him with what was happening to her. Sure, if he got answers that helped him with his case at the same time, then great. Moose was dead, but Zoe might know something about the man’s business.
In return, he could help her be safe, even find whoever was targeting her. So long as he didn’t have to chase anybody else. The way he was feeling right now, they would probably get away, as the gunman had.
Jude blew out a breath. Why was he messing this up at every turn? He was supposed to be on the right path now, doing the right thing. Career first, and then personal life. Yet it still seemed as though he couldn’t get his life right. No wonder she didn’t trust him. She was probably right to simply rely on herself and not invite him to assist.
But whether she was willing to ask for his help or not, it was obvious that she needed it. The fact that Tyler was in the picture wasn’t a negative, but it had to be taken into account. They were both clearly in danger.
Zoe and her family had been targeted separately.
Jude sighed again, and started toward the park. Maybe they’d headed to the SUV as a safe haven and were waiting for him there. Twice tonight the same guy had shown up. Why did he want Zoe, but not seem to want her dead? The fire might have been a statement, but had the killer gone out of his way to do that so Zoe would find it? That seemed overly elaborate.
It made more sense that they were all in danger. With her son’s life being used to threaten Zoe.
Jude couldn’t ask her what the man wanted with her because she wasn’t around that he could see. He clicked the locks and opened the back door. The black duffel lay on the seat, and he pulled the zipper back. His eyes widened. Inside were rolls of twenties, secured by rubber bands. Tens of thousands of dollars by the look of it. He whistled.
“You need to give that to me.”
He spun around, half expecting her to be holding a weapon on him, given her threatening tone of voice. There was no gun in her hand, but the determination in her expression made it clear she wouldn’t be backing down.
“Maybe
