LITMIR.BIZ

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know. This one’s skittish. She’s not like Mary was. Your Mary was a strong one—handled any crisis life threw at her. Except for that last one, of course.” His grin faded and he swiped his hand over the top of his deep forehead. “I’m sorry, Thomas. That didn’t come out right. I just meant that was the one fight she couldn’t win.”

      “It’s okay, Al. It’s been a long time. We can talk about Mary.”

      “Seems like yesterday that you and me, Mary and my first wife would all hang out.”

      “A lot has changed since those days.”

      “Your kids are all grown up. I’m looking for wife number four. Well, I’d better get back to, um...” He snapped his fingers, trying to come up with a name. “Renee. I’d better get back to Renee.” He patted Duff on the shoulder of his black Henley shirt and nodded to Thomas. “Don’t be such a stranger. Let’s meet up at the Shamrock some night and catch up.” He glanced over at the bench where Keir was helping Seamus stand and find his balance. “I’m going to say hi to your old man before I take off. Good luck catching this one, boys.”

      “Sounds like a plan.” Thomas waited for Al to head back down the sidewalk before turning to Duff. “What did you find? Did anybody in one of the other restaurants or bars see anything? I know this neighborhood is packed with traffic and pedestrians on a Friday night.”

      Duff adjusted the strap of his shoulder holster and tugged down the sleeves of the cotton knit shirt. The days might still be heating up with the dregs of summer, but fall was creeping into the September nights. “We’re damn lucky we didn’t have a hit-and-run. About the only thing anybody on the street out front can agree on is that the driver was going fast. But I’ve got reports of a white SUV, a navy-blue sedan and a red convertible with the top up. The driver was Latino, a man with a stocking mask or a woman with long black hair.”

      “It was a white van. At least a decade old and driven pretty hard, judging by the rust on the chrome trim and dent in the passenger door. The shooter was white, a man from the size of the hand on the steering wheel. The gun was a—”

      “Forty-five mil.” His middle son, Niall, walked up with an evidence bag in his hand. Although he was a medical examiner with the crime lab and he didn’t report to crime scenes unless there was a dead body, like all Thomas’s sons, he’d shown up shortly after the all-points broadcast that had mentioned his name. The only reason Olivia wasn’t here, too, was because she was attending a profile training seminar in Saint Louis. “The driver wasn’t interested in cleaning up his rounds.” Niall handed the bag with the bullet to Thomas, who inspected it through the clear plastic window before handing it off to Duff. “He was also a lousy shot, judging by the fact that he didn’t hit anybody but you and your truck.”

      They’d all noticed the same thing. A drive-by shooting with no dead bodies didn’t add up. This wasn’t a gang neighborhood, but even if it was, a gang member would be aiming for a particular target or targets. Duff handed the evidence bag back to Niall, to assure the chain of custody. “Richard Lloyd, the hired gun who shot up Liv’s wedding, didn’t hit anything but Grandpa, either. I don’t like coincidences like that.”

      “Neither do I. And you could be right about the mask,” Thomas speculated. “I didn’t see his face. Just the hand holding the gun through the open window. Do you think whoever hired Lloyd has got someone new on his payroll?”

      “If one of us figures that out, we share the intel, right?”

      “Right,” Niall agreed.

      “Right.” Thomas inhaled a deep breath. The graze and scrapes on his arm were stinging, and his head was starting to throb with too many clues and no sensible way to organize them. The only thing that seemed to give him any relief was to turn his attention to the woman with the honey-brown ponytail. Jane was on her feet now, holding a gauze pad beneath her elbow while the paramedic cleaned the grit and debris from her injury. Although Thomas had tried to take the brunt of their tumble, they’d skidded over enough pavement that she could be more banged up than she’d let on, or maybe even realized.

      He was marginally aware of Duff continuing the conversation. “You need anything else from me? I have to pick Melanie up from the campus library. She’s studying for her anatomy test.”

      Niall answered. “How’s her first semester in premed going? She’s not pushing too hard, is she?”

      Earlier that summer, Duff’s fiancée had nearly been killed when she’d been stabbed. Fortunately, Duff had gotten to her in time to save her life, and had the sense to propose in the hospital. Thomas liked the young woman who’d finally taught his oldest to trust a woman with his heart again. “Sorry, I forgot to ask. How is Mel doing?”

      “She’s eatin’ up college life. I’m glad she has the chance to finally go back to school.” Duff grinned. “I always wanted to date a coed.”

      Niall frowned. “You’re not distracting her from her studies, are you? If she has any questions about the material, tell her to call me.”

      “She knows that. She also knows that you’re getting married later this month and doesn’t want to bother you. Jane said she’d field any questions Melanie might have while you’re busy with your nuptials.” Duff nudged Niall with his elbow. “By the way. I had my tux fitting this afternoon. I might look handsomer than you do on the twenty-fifth.”

      Niall adjusted his glasses on his nose. “I am quite certain that Lucy will only be looking at me. You make her laugh. But she sleeps with me.”

      Duff laughed out loud. “Seriously, Poindexter? Did you just make a joke? Lucy has been so good for you.” When Thomas became aware of the laughter and teasing stopping, he turned to find both his sons staring at him with curious expressions. Neither had missed the woman he’d been watching across the parking lot. “Dad? Something going on with you and Battle-Ax Boyle?”

      “I wish you wouldn’t call her that, son. She’s professional and efficient, not mean-spirited.”

      “O-kay. You didn’t answer my question.”

      “I appreciate you boys coming out to check up on us. We’ve got plenty of officers on the scene. We also need to investigate the possibility that I wasn’t the target.”

      A tall, lanky man in a tan suit and brown tie walked up to the ambulance and said something to Jane. She startled at first, but then she chased the paramedic away and turned to exchange heated words with the suit.

      Niall wasn’t one to miss details, either. “Who is that guy talking to Jane?”

      “I don’t know. Yet.” When he saw her hug her middle, rubbing her hand up and down her uninjured arm, Thomas opened the back door of his truck and pulled out the black KCPD windbreaker he stored there. “You boys follow up with the lead detective and keep me in the loop. I’m going to pursue a different angle.”

      With the nerve damage in his bum leg sending out dozens of electric shocks through his thigh and calf, he couldn’t exactly stride across the parking lot. But his determined pace got him to the ambulance quickly enough to hear the tall blond man mutter an accusation at Jane. “What the hell am I supposed to think when you don’t call me?”

      Was this who’d been threatening her? Or at the very least, upsetting her with his barrage of messages on her phone?

      Thomas had no intention of making her jump the way the tan-suit guy had. “Jane?” he called, waiting for her to turn her head and identify him before he slipped the windbreaker over her shoulders. And yes, his hands lingered on her arms a split second longer than they needed to. “You looked like you were getting cold.”

      “I...” She glanced up at the blond guy and shivered. Then she was shoving her arms into the sleeves of Thomas’s jacket and going all Chatty Cathy on him. “A little. It might be a bit of shock wearing off. My scrub jacket was pretty much shredded. I had the EMT throw it away. You don’t need this, do you? Of course not. You wouldn’t have offered if you did. Thank you.”

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