“There wasn’t one,” Jaclyn said. “I did think to look.”

The implication was chilling. Shooting at her hadn’t been an impulse; the shooter had planned for this, had removed the car tag in case there were any witnesses. “What about the driver?”

Jaclyn shuddered, and her mother put her arm around her shoulder and hugged. After a minute Jaclyn took a deep breath, stood up straighter as if she’d braced herself. “I think he had something over his face, like a ski mask or a hood. I couldn’t see any features at all, just the gun pointing at me. Right-handed. Dark sleeve. Um … gloves, too.”

Diedra nodded. “I think so, too; when he went by me, I couldn’t see a white blob where the face would be, so he had to be wearing a hood. But—” She narrowed her eyes in thought. “Come to think of it, the driver wasn’t all that big. It could be a small man, but it might have been a woman. It’s hard to tell when someone is sitting in a car, but I didn’t get the sense it was a big person.”

Jaclyn thought about that. “You’re right,” she said. “Looking through the window, I think I might be a hair taller than the driver.”

Neither of them recognized any make of car, evidently, other than a Mustang and a Mini Cooper, but when it came to everything else, their sense of detail and proportion kicked in. At least that was something to go on.

“The shooter definitely fired right-handed?”

“Definitely. The car pulled away from the curb behind me, and I was watching it in my rearview mirror, letting it get past before I pulled out. It was weaving back and forth in the lanes, so I thought the driver might be drunk. Then he—or she—stopped beside me, right arm extended like this”—she demonstrated—“and fired twice.”

He left her for a while to check out her car. The driver’s side window was shot out, the interior covered with tiny cubes of safety glass. He also learned that no shell casings had been recovered, which didn’t necessarily mean that the weapon had been a revolver. It could have been an automatic, but the casings had ejected inside the shooter’s car. With luck, they’d find one or both slugs buried in the car’s upholstery.

Her car was drivable, but he had it impounded so it could be searched for evidence. Rather, the Atlanta P.D. impounded it, on his suggestion. None of this happened fast. Crime investigations were, by necessity, extremely painstaking. Time wore on, past one-thirty, then past two. It was rocking on toward three in the morning when things began winding down. Eric kept an eye on Jaclyn, because her face was getting more and more pale.

She wasn’t happy about losing her car, but she didn’t argue, either. Someone had shot at her; it was in her best interest to find out who. “I’ll arrange to rent a car until mine can be repaired,” she said, then gave a rueful little smile. “At least this will stop Jacky from asking if he can borrow it.”

“Who’s Jacky?” Eric asked before he could stop himself, annoyed with himself at the slight burn of jealousy. Jaclyn just looked at him as if she couldn’t figure out why he was asking such a dumb question.

Madelyn frowned at him. “Jaclyn’s father,” she said abruptly, the full stop in her tone telling him she wouldn’t appreciate any further questions in that direction.

Huh. Okay. That explained Jaclyn’s name, at least: it was a blend of Jack and Madelyn.

Madelyn turned back to her daughter, gently touched her arm. “I’ll see if it’s okay for you to leave now. You’re exhausted.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I’ll take her home,” Eric said firmly.

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary,” Jaclyn said coolly. She was handling this well enough, but the night was far from over and the adrenaline overload hadn’t quite hit her yet. When it did, the exhaustion would knock her on her ass.

“I want to ask you a few more questions,” he promptly lied. Well, it wasn’t a lie, because he did want to ask her some things, but it was more like the same questions he’d already asked, just phrased differently. Sometimes a little change in a sentence could trigger a memory. “I can do that on the way back to Hopewell, or I can follow you home and we can talk there.”

“Fine,” she said wearily. “I’d just as soon get this over with.” She planted a kiss on Madelyn’s cheek. “I’m glad you were here. I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll be late, because I have to arrange for a car, but I’ll be there.”

“You should take the day off,” Madelyn said, but Jaclyn immediately shook her head.

“No, I’m better off at work, where I’ll have things to distract me. Besides, tomorrow’s another hectic day. Remember my rehearsal tonight? You wouldn’t believe. I have to tell you all about it.”

Having been there, Eric completely, but silently, agreed with her.

Madelyn pressed her lips together. “You call me when you’re safely home.”

“I will.” She thanked the others for being there, thanked the Atlanta officers and detectives, thanked the witnesses, apologized for the disturbance to the people who lived in the neighborhood. Recognizing the signs of impending collapse, Eric finally put his hand on her elbow and led her to his car.

She was stumbling slightly, and he provided more and more support as they walked. She said, “I’m not sure what questions you think you have, but I don’t know anything I haven’t already told you. Not about Carrie, not about tonight.”

“Once you start talking, something of interest might occur to you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then we’ll talk about cars,” Eric said as he opened the passenger door for her and she slipped in. She fumbled with the seat belt and he bent down, fastened it for her. He rounded the car, got in beside her, and clipped his own belt. “I swear, when this is over I’m taking you to a car show.”

“When this is over, I’m never going to see you again,” she responded.

“Every woman should know the difference between a Ford and a Toyota and a Cadillac.”

“They have four tires and a steering wheel. Other than that, who cares?”

“If it makes you feel better, we can take Diedra, too. Not a Mini Cooper, my ass.”


Chapter Twenty-one

A HARD, WARM ARM SLIPPED AROUND HER, TUGGED HER sideways against a rock-solid shoulder. Half asleep, she sighed and nestled closer, because he was so warm and felt so secure, and she was almost boneless with fatigue. “You’re home,” he murmured, using his other hand to tilt her chin up. He slanted his mouth over hers in a leisurely kiss that slowly deepened until his tongue was in her mouth and sheer heat began to chase away her fatigue.

Yes, she was home, she thought vaguely. Jaclyn sighed again, slipping her hand around his neck and up into his hair. God, he smelled good, man smell mingled with heat and sweat and night air. Skin was skin; why did men smell so different from women? But they did, and his smell made something in her purr like a kitten.

His left hand slid over her breasts, rubbing and finding her nipples through her layers of clothing, catching them between his fingers and lightly pulling so that they tightened and stood out. Pleasure slowly grew, like a tide coming in, washing over her in incrementally higher waves and pushing the fatigue aside but still leaving her boneless. Her body knew his, knew the weight and heat of him, knew how he moved, knew the things that made him groan and the sounds he made when he climaxed. She shouldn’t be kissing him, shouldn’t let him touch her the way he was touching her, but she was tired and she’d almost been killed tonight and she wanted him even more than she had when they’d first met.

But this was exactly what she’d done wrong the first time, leaping before she looked, and that had turned out to be an emotional disaster. Throwing caution to the wind just wasn’t how she operated—at least, how she operated most of the time. Eric jarred her out of her comfort zone, goaded her into saying and doing things that she would normally never say or do. The thing about comfort zones was that they were, well, comfortable, and getting out of them wasn’t.

In the back of her mind, alarm bells began to ring. She had to stop, or the next thing she knew he’d have her skirt up and her underwear off, and there wouldn’t be any stopping. She didn’t want to go there again, didn’t want to set herself up for even more hurt.

Bracing her hand against his shoulder, she tore her mouth free of his and pushed back, turning her face away. “No. I’m sorry. I was half asleep and … no.”

He went very still, then slowly blew out a breath and eased away from her, straightening in the driver’s seat and draping his left arm over the steering wheel. “Okay.” If her refusal angered him, she couldn’t hear it in his voice, but he was good at keeping his emotions hidden.

She should get out of the car and go inside; she was exhausted, and she needed to get some sleep, even if it was just a few hours, before another very busy day began. Sitting here in the dark with him was just asking for trouble, but she’d dozed off on the drive home and he hadn’t asked those questions he’d been so determined to ask and she certainly didn’t want to go inside with him. The car was the best of two bad choices.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” she said, making her voice as brisk as she could, given that she felt like a limp rag. “What was it you were so determined to ask? I’ve told you everything I remember, so my answers aren’t going to change unless you want me to make up stuff.”

He was silent a moment, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. She waited, wondering what was so complicated that he couldn’t just spit it out so she could tell him she didn’t know, then go inside and get some sleep. “We got the test results back on your clothes,” he finally said. “No blood residue.”