Page 12 of The Savior

Another breath in and out, and she reassured him, “Tired, I guess,” and picked up the closest set of papers—photocopies of handwritten statements. Then she moved to a concise form that summarized the event with a few checked boxes. But the dark CCTV shots didn’t make sense. “What’s the context?”

He didn’t speak but angled to watch her and the papers.

She refocused on the CCTV pictures then moved on to a highly redacted report. Most of the text had been blacked out, and as she flipped the page, she didn’t learn much.

His eyes burned into her as she read what little was there then turned the page again.

“There.” He tapped the paper. “This.”

The top paragraph had been completely blacked out, but the page had more text to read than the previous ones, and as she went over the lines, trying to quilt the context together, Liam shoved his hands into his suit pockets and stepped closer to read over her shoulder. “Fourth paragraph.”

Her eyes dropped, skimming.

“It says the bullets recovered don’t match the FN-P90 submachine gun found.”

She read what he said then did so again. “What the donut holes is going on,” she muttered and turned back to the first page. Any information indicating which agency or who wrote the report had been redacted. Chelsea turned back and reread the paragraph in question. “I don’t understand.”

Crossing his arms, he arched his eyebrows in a way that made the skin at the back of her neck tingle. But he didn’t explain.

“Liam… the news said—”

“I don’t know what they said. But I know what I was told and what this says here.”

She cleared her throat. “The news said there was a shooter.Oneshooter.”

“I was told the weapon that misfired shot Julia. It might’ve been chaos, but those shots didn’t come from our side.” Liam jerked his head toward the table, pinpointing another document. “Read.”

She put the report down and skimmed the statements from the officers.

“Now the CCTV pictures,” he ordered.

Again, Chelsea cleared her throat. “I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”

“You knowexactlywhat you’re looking for.”

Another shooter? Another gun?Yes, that was what she was looking for—an answer that explained why the public information didn’t mention anything of the sort.

“Dammit, tell me what you think, Chelsea.”

Pain coated his demand. She didn’t know how he’d spent the last year, but reliving the tragedy today of all days had to hurt. “Liam—”

“The first day I met Julia,” he abruptly changed the subject, “she told me that if I ever hurt her feelings, she had a best friend who would hunt me down.”

The unexpected story made her heart squeeze in a happy way. She’d had that wonderful feeling several times that day, and even if it took Liam all day to share a happy memory, she was glad he did. Chelsea let a grin grow. “Good thing you were a good guy.”

He let the tiniest flicker of a smile fight to the surface, but then he shook his head. “What do you think?”

I think today made Liam crazy.But she didn’t understand why he had this information. “I think you saved a lot of lives that day. Even if you couldn’t save everyone.”

He shook his head.

“You disarmed a shooter on mass transit,” she gently suggested, pointing out the obvious.

Tapping the redacted report, he said, “Different weapon.”

“Reports are wrong all the time.” Chelsea placed a hand on his bicep, hoping to ease the blow but pulled away when his muscle tensed.

“Sometimes.” He blew out a breath and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “God, I wish we knew where this envelope came from.”

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