Page 110 of Crosshairs

“Check with Jonathan. He should know,” she said. While Linc went downstairs, Ainsley transferred her mental to-do list for tomorrow to the Notes app on her phone, starting with an interview with the principal at the high school.

She massaged her neck, wincing as her fingers probed the tight knots. It was already tomorrow. Hopefully she could get to bed in the next hour. Ainsley looked up as Linc returned.

“Crime scene tech took it to the police department evidence room. I asked him to check McClain’s call log for Thursday night and ring us back.”

“Thanks. Did Jonathan say how much longer he’d be here?”

“He was finishing up when I left.”

“Good.” She started for the kitchen.

“Where’re you going?”

“To get cold water and something to get the blood up.”

“I’ll help you.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, giving him a tired smile. If he kept being this nice, she would have to change her opinion of him. Like she hadn’t already.

57

Linc dipped a brush in the bucket of water, baking soda, and vinegar that Ainsley had mixed up. He was amazed at how well the concoction worked to remove the blood. “Where’d you come up with this recipe?”

“Gran, of course.” Ainsley used a dry towel to blot moisture from the carpet.

“Of course. Would you write down the formula?” In the past, Linc had gotten blood on his clothes during a takedown, and it would be handy to have something that dissolved it so quickly. He scrubbed that thought. He wasn’t with the FBI any longer and doubted his duties at Melrose would call for something to remove blood.

At least this time he hadn’t frozen. He had to be getting better, right? Linc clenched his jaw and scrubbed at the carpet, even though no sign of blood lingered. No. He wasn’t getting better.

What if Ainsley had been shot, maybe killed, because he hadn’t had a gun? Linc would never forget the helplessness that slammed him when he reached for a gun that wasn’t there. He scrubbed the carpet harder.

“Hey! We got it,” Ainsley said, placing her hand on top of his.

He sat back on his heels.

“You okay?” she asked.

No, he wasn’t okay. He didn’t believe they’d caught her shooter, not with Maddox still at large. Ainsley’s life could depend on him, and without a gun, he was as useless as a tire jack without a handle.

Linc had never had a weakness he couldn’t overcome. Somehow, someway, he had to beat this. “Have you checked with your supervisor about Maddox?”

“I texted him earlier tonight. He hasn’t been apprehended.”

“I won’t be with you, so you’ll be careful tomorrow, won’t you?”

“Of course. I’m always careful.”

He couldn’t keep kidding himself that he was adding anything to this case. “I wouldn’t be any help if I was with you and Maddox showed up.”

“It worked out fine tonight,” she said.

“No thanks to me. What if you’d missed? I might as well have grabbed at a shadow when I reached for my gun.”

“I said it worked out fine. Don’t beat yourself up.” She tilted her head to the side. “But if it bothers you this much, you might think about talking with the psychologist again.”

“Six months of counseling didn’t work, what good would it do to go back?”

“How about a different counselor?”

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