Double grip, barrel up, I jogged across the grass, tunnel-visioned on the pistol shaking in old man Erickson’s grip.
“Gun down, Erickson.”
The man didn’t hear me. Jacked up on adrenaline, I assumed. His gaze was fixed on the two bodies at the edge of the woods. One standing, one motionless on the ground.
“I said put the gun down, Erickson.” I moved closer, my voice calm but loud. “This is Detective Max Jagger and Lieutenant Colson. We’ve got this, buddy. Put the gun down.”
My peripheral caught Colson just past the tree line, skirting the edge of the trail, coming up on the side of the scene. I edged closer, my eyes locked on that arthritic finger starting to squeeze the trigger.
Shit.
Like a flash of lightning, Colson lunged out of the woods, tackling the old man. The gun went flying along with an impressive amount of expletives considering the man was a regular at church. With that threat neutralized, I shifted my focus to the other players of this blessed event.
Erickson’s shouts and Colson’s grunts drowned out as I rushed threat number two, my gun pointed directly at the dark silhouette’s head.
“Get on your knees.” I yelled.
Just then, a siren sliced the air and blue and red lights bounced off the trees, brief flashes illuminating my target. My brows pulled together in what felt like stepping into a crazy dream after an evening of tequila shots. I blinked, my steps wavering. No way was I seeing clearly. Headlights moved along trees, stopping perfectly on the scene ahead of me, illuminating it as if it were on stage.
I froze, confusion—shock—momentarily clouding the focus I was known for. The sounds around me, the shouts, the flashing lights, everything faded as I looked at her.
Looking back, that was the moment.
The beginning of my fall.
A gust of wind blew a mane of long, curly, black hair across a pale, blood-spattered face. Her eyes, an emerald green reflecting in the headlights like a cat. Feral, based on the fury behind them. Wearing a pink tank top, grey leggings and jogging shoes, the woman stood tall and strong, motionless except for the heavy rise and fall of her chest. A line of red slashed across her top like morbid spray paint, up her neck, coloring the bottom of her chin. Blood speckled her milky-white arms. In her hand, a gun, pointed directly at the dead man at her feet.
Assess, assess, assess.
I refocused on my sights and repositioned the barrel of my gun, realizing that sometime during my hypnotic gaze, I’d dropped off the target. Something I never did.
Ever.
Like I said… the beginning…
“Ma’am,” I said. “I’m going to need you to toss your gun to the left. Now. Right now. Release the gun from your hands.”
She said nothing, but I knew this thing could go either way. I’d seen the look before. Wild, unbridled emotion. Crazy. Fitting, I know that now.
“Drop the gun, lady. I will not say it again.”
I crept closer, keeping my eyes locked on that damn pistol she wouldn’t let go of. I caught movement behind her and risked a glance at Officer Darby emerging from the trees at her back. His eyes were fixed on her, bulging with adrenaline. His knuckles white around the gun in his hands, pointed directly at that mane of wild hair. The kid stumbled on a tree root, but caught himself. A flicker of awareness flashed in the woman’s eyes, my first indication to suggest she was coherent, at least.
“Drop the gun.” Darby’s pitched voice sounded like a pre-teen at a Bieber concert. Typically, I’d laugh, but not then. That shaky, squeaky voice was a sign of lack of control. Not good.
And then it hit me. This was the kid’s first dead body.
So then, my focus was split between him, his gun, and the woman, and her gun.
It was the shitshow of all shitshows.
And my patience dissolved.
“Ma’am—”
Everything went into slow motion at that point. The pistol slowly slipping from her red fingertips, the burst of energy in her eyes, the shift of her hips, the spin of her heel.
Shit.
As she took off, I snapped to action.
“Don’t shoot, Darby!” I lunged forward, shoving my gun into the holster on my belt and sprinted after her. Three steps later, I leapt through the air and tackled her. I pinned her arms as we hit the dirt, pain exploding up my back. My grip wavered with the blow, this moment of weakness opening the door for another as her forehead connected with my chin. A flash of pain burst behind my eyes. The woman had just head-butted me. The chick was fighting me. This one-hundred pound spitfire lunatic was actually engaging in a physical fight with an armed man more than double her size. Bucking, twisting, writhing under my hold.
I can say, with one-hundred percent confidence, that in my two decades of military and law enforcement, not a single man or woman had ever fought me after I tackled them. It was instant surrender, every time.
Not with this one.
This woman.
Her curls whipped around my face as she fought like a rabid dog. Or cat, I should say, with those damn claws dragging down my back. The heat radiated off the woman in waves, our sweat sliding together as we wrestled on the dirt floor.
She smelled like coconuts. Sweet, vanilla coconuts.
Frantic shuffles beside me sent my awareness skyrocketing.
“Don’t shoot, Darby,” I ground out.
At this point, the wild beast and I had resorted to a school-girl like swatting match that I wasn’t particularly proud of. What the fuck was happening here? I caught her hand mid-air, twisted. Her body jerked, followed by a quick whimper, then, submission. Thank fuck. Every inch of my skin stung from her scratches as I straddled her, pinning her arms above her head.
“Jesus, woman,” I exhaled, getting my bearings.
Her hair, speckled with grass and twigs, fanned out around a face that I guessed was no older than mid-twenties. Her emerald eyes shimmered in waves of different colors against the blue and red lights flashing across her face. Magical, almost.
Unnerving.
We stared at each other for a moment, chests heaving, sucking in breath that had escaped us. That was the first time I got a real look at her. And that was the first time I felt… something.
Her skin was a flawless, snow-white, almost glowing under the moonlight. Not a freckle, not a single flaw on it. Her lips were full and deep red, with a little indent in the bottom one. A smattering of blood speckled the corner of her mouth and I found myself wanting to wipe it away. It didn’t belong on that skin, that face. Her forehead shimmered in sweat, her hair wet at the temples, little kinky curls framing her face. Despite the fact I had her pinned, her body tensed beneath me, as if waiting for an opportunity to strike. Those eyes daring me with a wild kind of defiance that told me she still hadn’t given up.
Fearless. That was the one word that materialized through the fog of my brain.
The woman was fearless.
“You got her?” Darby’s voice yanked me back to the present moment.
Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I addressed the rookie.
“I need you to check the man on the ground for a pulse. Call an ambulance. Then secure the scene and call in all available units. Have Tanya wake up whoever’s on call. This place will be crawling with joggers at the first crack of dawn. Check on Colson, get the medical examiner, and turn off your damn flashers. And for God’s sake, Darby, tie your goddamn shoe.”