Page 25 of Lone Star Rescue

Someone persuasive enough to enrage her and turn her into a lethal weapon hellbent on revenge.

“Gavin would have never taken his own life,” Patricia went on. “He loved me and our children.” She broke down into another sob.

Bree saw the blur of motion on the woman’s left. Just a blur. Before Rafe rammed into the woman, tackling her and dragging her to the ground. In the same motion, he clamped his hand on her right wrist. On her shooting hand.

It was too late though to stop her from firing.

The final shot blasted from her gun.

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Chapter Seven

Rafe hoped like hell that he’d had his last adrenaline surge of the day. Even in his dangerous line of work, it was rare for him to face death twice in the span of less than twelve hours.

No doubt even rarer, or never, for Bree.

He could still hear the sound of those shots Patricia had fired at her. Especially the last one. The shot Rafe hadn’t been able to stop before he’d tackled her. Patricia had managed to pull the trigger one last time, and that bullet had come damn close to Bree again.

Too close.

It had torn into the ground literally an inch from where she was. One inch over, and Bree would have had more than minor injuries and the memories from hell. She could have been dead.

Bree wasn’t the only one who’d have hellish memories about that though.

No.

Rafe was going to have to fight those images if he hoped to keep even a sliver of objectivity. About the investigation. And especially about her.

Like him, she was exhausted from the adrenaline crash and the event of this long, shitty day, but it hadn’t been her exhaustion that had allowed him to convince her to let him take her home. It’d been her uniform.

And the blood on it.

The stitches on her forehead had maybe played into the decision, too, to call it a day. Along with all her other bruises from the explosion, the pain from that particular injury had perhaps made her agree to put the pause button on the investigation with the plans to go home, eat, shower, and get some much-needed rest.

Rafe had accomplished the first two with them devouring some leftover lasagna from her fridge. The third—the shower—was in progress, and since he was sitting on the foot of her bed, he could hear the shower still running and knew she was taking her time in there. And probably being careful not to get her stitches wet. He was hoping that the hot water and the over-the-counter pain meds she’d already taken would help relax her enough so she could get some sleep. He’d need sleep, too, but he would also be keeping watch.

What he hadn’t been able to do was convince her to go to his place, which had much better security. Still, she did live in a safe neighborhood on the outskirts of town, and she had a burglar alarm they’d already set, so that would have to do.

For now.

But precautions needed to be taken.

He was even more convinced of that as he read the last report Jericho had just sent him. Rafe was in the process of rereading it when he heard the shower stop, and several minutes later, Bree came out of the ensuite wearing loose pajamas with…dancing frogs on them.

“A gag gift from my Secret Santa,” she muttered when she followed his confused gaze.

Her short hair was dry, which meant she’d definitely avoided getting those stitches wet, but the lower part of her face was still dotted with beads of water she’d obviously missed while drying off. She smelled like lavender soap.

And sex.

Okay, that last part was no doubt his overactive libido and the thoughts of his brainless dick. This night couldn’t involve sex. Only sleep and as much comfort as he could give her. Still, he couldn’t help noticing her long, bare legs and the way those ugly pajamas fit her curves.

“How’s the head?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Minor stuff. But I have a bruise on my right butt cheek that looks like a giant Easter egg.”

That made him smile, and there was indeed plenty to smile about. They were alive, and no one else at the scene of the shooting had been injured. With as many shots as Patricia had fired, that was somewhat of a miracle.

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