masks and sunglasses some of them were wearing.” The chief motioned for Chris to pass his phone to Max.
Max flipped through the images on the screen, then shook his head and returned the phone to Chris.
“None of them look familiar. I don’t think they’re local.”
“He’s right,” Dillon said, not even glancing Blake’s way as Colby ushered him into their circle. “We all grew up here. I may not know everyone in town by name, but I know most of them by sight. I’ve never seen any of those men before.”
“Let me have a look.” Blake held out his hand.
Chris arched a brow.
Max shoved him. “Give him a break. What could it hurt?”
Chris shoved him back but handed his phone over.
Blake’s jaw tightened. One of these days the guy would probably explode like a spring that had been wound too tight. Max wasn’t sure he wanted to be there when that happened.
“Well?” the chief asked, impatience heavy in his tone as Blake carefully examined each picture.
He handed the phone to Chris. “The second one and the last one are gangbangers from my hometown. I don’t know their names. But they have the same tattoos on their forearms as other gangbangers I’ve arrested.”
“They’re gang members from Knoxville?” the chief asked.
Blake nodded. “Those two for sure. Can’t speak for the other three. I can call my old squad, send them the photos to help us get IDs. Maybe the other ones just don’t have their tats yet. They have to earn them. But we can assume they’re all in the same gang.”
“We don’t assume anything around here,” Dillon said. “We deal in facts.”
Blake’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t rise to the bait.
Colby asked, “Why would street thugs drive forty-five minutes to storm a small, rural grocery store with assault rifles? They could have made a much bigger haul in Knoxville.”
“They didn’t get a haul at all. Didn’t even try,” Max said. “As soon as they came in, they started firing wildly into the air—except the one who shot at me. They split up as if looking for something, leaving only two guys to control the customers up front. But they didn’t seem to have a clue what they were doing. I was able to signal the manager to hustle the employees and customers into the cooler while I drew the gunmen’s fire. If they were there for money, they’d have all stayed up front and forced the manager to open the safe.”
Dillon crossed his arms, looking thoughtful. “They came here looking for something.”
“Maybe they were looking for someone.” Max nodded toward the other end of the parking lot.
As one they all turned to see Bex, still sitting in the back of an ambulance.
The chief motioned to Chris. “Text those pictures to all of our phones. Max, show the pics to Miss Kane and ask her whether she recognizes any of them.”
Max straightened away from the cruiser. “Dillon’s the lead. He should question her.”
A look of surprise flashed across Dillon’s face, but he took a step toward Bex anyway.
The chief put his hand on Dillon’s shoulder to stop him. “No. Max is going to interview her. The rest of you can change out of your gear and get initial statements from the other witnesses. The EMTs should be done checking them out soon. One of our officers is putting them in the break room as their medical reviews are done, unless any of them need to be hospitalized. You know the routine. Get those statements.”
Colby clapped Max on the shoulder in a show of solidarity as he and the others headed to their vehicles to shed their gear. When only the chief remained, he faced Max with his hands on his hips.
“Go on, son. Spit it out. You look like you’re chewing on nails.”
“You, more than anyone, know my history. You hired me right out of high school, right after...everything. Dillon or one of the others should interview Miss Kane. Not me.”
“That it? That’s all you got to say?”
He wanted to say a whole lot more. But he respected his boss too much to let loose with a string of curses. “Yes, sir. That about sums it up.”
“Good. Glad we got that settled. Because you’re a professional and I’ve never had reason to say otherwise. Don’t give me a reason today. Miss Kane was clinging to you like a lifeline when you carried her out of the store and it took ten minutes of your sweet-talking to get her to let you go. You may not be comfortable, given your past. And I understand that, I really do. But this isn’t about you. This is about finding the truth, conducting an investigation. Right now, whether either of us likes it or not, you’re our best option for getting her to answer our questions. Now, I ain’t normally one to explain my decisions and don’t plan on doing this again anytime soon. So I suggest you get over there and do your job, Detective.”
Heat flushed up his neck. His face was probably beet red. Feeling like a high school kid who’d just been scolded by the principal for skipping class, Max gave his boss a curt nod and strode across the parking lot.
Before Max was even halfway there, he noticed an older gentleman in a dark gray suit working his way between the cars and fire trucks toward Bex’s ambulance. Max hesitated. The man was Augustus Leonard, one of only two lawyers in town. Why did a lawyer want to talk to Bex?
* * *
THE EMT, DON, steadied Bex’s left forearm on a raised metal board that he’d slid out from the wall of the ambulance. From the amount of bandages, antibiotic sprays and other first aid equipment lying around, Bex would have thought her arm had been severed. She was embarrassed at all the fuss he was making over such a small cut.
Pausing with a needle poised between what looked like tweezers, he said, “Ma’am, are you sure you won’t go to the hospital and have a doctor stitch you up? You may need X-rays. There might be other injuries you don’t even know about yet.”
She shook her head. “I don’t have anything more serious than this.”
“You’re one lucky woman. It could’ve been a lot worse.”
Bits of memories flashed through her mind—gunshots, crouching behind the T-shirt rack, her stomach clenching with dread as the gunman with the ski mask raised his arm, ready to shoot her. She shivered and considered the bandage on her arm. He was right. It could have been so much worse.
“You’re right. And I assure you I’m very grateful that I’m only getting stitches.”
“Stitches? What stitches?” a gravelly voice said from the open doors of the ambulance.
Bex looked over, smiling to see her lawyer looking all proper and perfect, his white hair neatly in place, his handlebar mustache sticking out on each side like skinny white toothpicks. She started to lean toward him to shake his hand, but Don frowned at her, holding her injured arm steady.
“Sorry, Don.” She waved at her lawyer. “Mr. Leonard,
