Page 87 of Justice for Samara

Then he heard a soft voice. “Michael?”

He looked down into her face and smiled. “Hey, baby. I’m right here.”

“Is he gone?”

“Yeah, honey. He’s gone and he won’t be bothering you again.”

“I need to sleep,” she whispered again.

He swept her hair away from her face and kissed her cheek. “Yes, angel. You do.”

* * *

The place was crawlingwith law enforcement. Carter was the first one to show up, with the ambulance right on his heels. Watson and Chadha took over the investigation of Stadler’s death. Even though he didn’t want to, Carter took Michael’s badge and service weapon, as well as the rifle he’d used. As a sheriff’s department, they’d be carrying out their own death investigation with the assistance of KDCI. The coroner’s office would be doing the same, and the body would go to the medical examiner. He also contacted the district attorney to inform him of the shooting. There was no question in Carter’s mind that Michael would be exonerated from any possible fault.

Once they’d loaded Samara up in the ambulance, Carter drove Michael to pick up his cruiser, and they both headed to the hospital. They were evaluating her in the emergency department when they both arrived, and Michael thought he’d have a stroke. He wanted, needed, to be with her, to reassure her and comfort her. She was injured and in pain, and he wanted to hold her hand and tell her it would be fine.

They’d been waiting for almost an hour when the doors slid open and a black couple in their early sixties walked in. “Do not lose your shit,” Carter whispered to Michael.

“What are you?”

“They’re her parents. I had to call them.” Carter rose to greet them, and Michael sat there, dread filling his core. In a minute, Carter led them toward Michael. “This is Chief Deputy Michael Edwards. He’s the deputy who shot the assailant and saved Samara. Chief Deputy Edwards, this is Bruce and Debra Futrell.”

They both shook his hand, but there was something in their eyes that bothered him. Finally, her father said, “Are you the officer she’s been seeing?”

“Yes, sir. I am.”

“Thank you for saving her. We appreciate it. But we’ll take it from here.”

“Sir, I understand your?”

“No, son. You don’t. We need to be here with our daughter. The two of you already let her walk right into danger and?”

Carter immediately interrupted him. “Sir, that’s very unfair. Samara applied for the job and, based on her credentials and work experience, she was hired to do a job that she loves. She’s been a good employee, and she’s been instrumental in solving ten cases that we now know are connected. If it hadn’t been for her, some?”

“If it hadn’t been for her, you wouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t be here. We’d be at home, and she’d be working at the home improvement warehouse or a grocery store or somewhere that’s safe.”

“Sir, as you should know by now from the shooting in Buffalo, NewYork, even a grocery store isn’t safe. And that’s not what Samara wanted to do. She studied criminal justice and she worked with two different departments to get where she is right now, and we’re damn proud to have her.”

“She shouldn’t have been mixed up in this!” her mother wailed.

“Ma’am, I can’t go into details. Some of that is part of the investigation, and some is personal to Samara, so I’m not free to divulge. But the fact is, she came to us already mixed up in this.” Her parents stared at him. “I’m sure she’ll fill in all the blanks as soon as she’s able, but for right now, she’s one of the best officers I’ve ever had, and if she wants to come back after she’s healed up, she’s very welcome. Matter of fact, I’ll be disappointed if she doesn’t.”

Bruce wheeled on Michael. “Just what role did you play in getting her shot?”

“I didn’t, sir. I’m the one who got her out of it. She got herself into it, but that’s part of her job, and she did it willingly.”

“You shouldn’t have?”

“Sir,” Michael began, “that’s not up to me. That’s up to her. It’s not up to anyone but her. She’s here because the KSP commander didn’t like women troopers and turned her and two other women into glorified secretaries. That’s not what Samara wants. It’ll never be what Samara wants.”

“She doesn’t know what’s best for her, but we do,” her mother interjected.

“Ma’am, with all due respect, she’s thirty-five years old. She can make her own decisions.”

“We see how that worked out,” her dad groused.

A voice cut through their conversation. “Futrell?”

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