Perfect Victim, The (12 page)

Uttering her name, she raised her hand to his. "Are you in charge?" she asked.

"I'm the primary." Grimacing, he looked toward the damaged bar. "You own this place?"

''What's left of it."

"You look like you could use a chair and something to drink."

She nodded and allowed him to guide her to a nearby bistro table. He pulled out a chair and she sank into it, aware that a bullet had taken a chunk of wood out of the backrest.

"What happened?" he asked.

Leaning forward, she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "Jesus, it doesn't seem real. It happened so fast."

"That's the way it goes sometimes. Takes a while for something like this to sink in."

Addison recounted the shooting in a low, raspy voice that didn't sound at all like her own. By the time she finished, her hands were shaking so badly she could barely grip the cup of water a un
i
formed policeman had brought her.

Van-Dyne leaned back in his chair and flipped through the pad where he'd jotted notes. ''The convenience store two streets over got hit last week," he said. ''Thug got about a hundred bucks and change."

"Was anyone hurt?" she asked.

"No, but he shot up the place." The
'
detective looked around her shop. "Similar M
.
O
.
"

"You think it's the same guy?"

"Probably." He toyed with the napkin holder on the table between them. "A witness reported seeing a chrome pistol
.
Suspect wore a black coat
.
Ski mask
.
"

''That's him."

"This guy's good at what he does. Doesn
'
t leave anything behind."

"You mean like finge
r
prints?"

"Or anything else
.
"

"Hell of a way to make a living
.
" Spotting the shattered Italian bowl at her feet
,
Addison leaned forward
,
picked up the biggest piece, and put it on the table between them.
"
You hear about crimes every day on TV, people being hurt, lives ruined, but it's different when it happens to you."

The detective looked at the broken piece
of ceramic "You're lucky, Miss Fox. This could have turned out much
worse."

"There was less than eight hundred dollars in that bank bag, Detective. I like to think my life is worth more than eight hundred dollars." She knew there had been more horrible crimes committed for less, but it frightened her to know how little value criminals placed on human life.

"If it's any consolation, he didn't get the money
,
" he said
.

Her gaze snapped to his. Something inside her stirred, a
foreboding that had her gripping the mug with white-knuckled hands. She distinctly remembered Randall tossing the bag over the counter. "Are you sure?"

"The money bag was on the floor in front of the bar." He shot an annoyed look over his shoulder where Randall sat at a bistro table talking to another detective. "Guess the lone ranger over there scared him off before he could take the bag."

Van-Dyne pulled his business card out of his wallet and put it on the table between them. "If you think .of anything else, give me a call. If I'm not at the station, you can leave a voice message."

After the detective left her, Addison sat alone at the table, watching the chaos, wishing she wasn't the one right in the center of it. A sick sense of dread twisted through her as she assessed the damage. Bullet holes peppered the front of the bar. A hole the size of a dime marred the facade of the antique cash register. Atop the counter, two glass canisters filled with some of the rarest coffees in the world had been shattered. Dark beans were spilled onto the floor like loose gravel.

Suddenly tired, she lowered her face into her hands and closed her eyes. Her refuge had been invaded. A place where she'd always felt safe. A place she'd built with her own two hands. A place that defined who she was, and where she fit into an increasingly complex world.

She struggled to put what was left of her control into play. The last thing she wanted to do was break down. She refused to play the role of helpless victim. It was her anger that saved her from it. A deep, burgeoning fury that kept her mind working when it wanted to shut down, her eyes dry when she wanted to cry.

"Christ, it looks like Bonnie and Clyde happened by."

She started at the sound of the newly familiar voice. Raising her head, she found Randall Talbot taking in the scene around him with the nonchalance of a cop. He looked right at home among the bedlam as if getting shot at was a routine
part of his day. A fact that irked her despite the reality that he'd saved her life.

"You okay?" he asked, taking the chair across from her
.

"No," she snarled. "Dammit, I
'
m not okay."

"
I guess I'm not the only one who takes it personally when people start shooting at me. At least you're not in shock. That's good."

"I didn't mean to snap at you," she said. "I just feel so . . . violated. This is my shop.
Mine."
She rapped her fist against her chest. "I deserve to feel safe here
.
He had no right to take that away from me
.
"

"No
,
he didn't
.
"

"The worst part about this is that he'll probably get away with it
.
"

"Maybe
,
but he won't soon forget. He just about got his ass shot off."

She tried to smile, failed miserably, and ended up staring at the tabletop between them. "You saved my life."

"I saved my own ass
.
You just happened to be there."

Her gaze flew to his. "No. I saw the way you put yourself between me and that gun. If you hadn
'
t been here, he would have—"

''Take my advice and don
'
t play the what
-
if game
.
It sucks, and you lose every time
.
"

"Maybe. But I just want you
to know. What you did
.
It matters to me." A breath shuddered out of her when she realized she meant it
.

He didn't look happy at the prospect of her gratitude and cut her a hard look. "I'm no hero, Ace
.
You'd be wise to
.
remember that."

Chapter 6

Randall stood at the bar and watched Denver’s finest walk through the shattered front door, leaving Addison to worry about securing what was left of her shop. Just like a cop, he thought sourly. They see too much, too often, and they become immune.

Just like you
, a bitter voice added.

He looked at the woman behind the bar and felt his chest tighten. She was clutching a yellow mug as if it were her last link to the world. Two hours had passed since the shooting, but her face was still the color of bleached flour. She looked shaky at best, close to shock if he wanted to be truthful about it. He figured the least he could do was patch the broken pane of glass in that front door before he left.

“
I've got some plywood and power tools in my truck," he said.

Her eyes traveled to the door. Cold air and the sound of traffic crept in where the glass had been blasted out by gunfire. Broken glass sparkled like diamonds on the floor. “I don't remember the glass breaking."

"Ricochet probably
.
"

She ran a trembling hand through hair that looked incredibly soft beneath the yellow light of the tulip lamp overhead. Annoyed that he'd noticed something so irrelevant, Randall strode to
t
he door and went outside. Standing curbside
,
next to his Jeep
,
he wrapped his carpenter's belt around his hips and pulled a single sheet of plywood from the bed. Good thing for Addison he was still carrying around the materials he'd bought for Jack's ramp. In the back of his mind he wondered how long his brother's patience would hold.

Something about the shooting nagged him as he contemplated how best to patch the large oval pane. There was a detail that unsettled him
,
but he wasn't sure if he should share it with her. He didn't want to upset her any more than she already had been tonight, but the implications of not telling her seemed much more disturbing
.
Holding that thought
,
he lugged the plywood to
t
he door
.

A few minutes later, Addison joined him.

He stopped working
.
"Any idea who might have been shooting at you?" he asked. "Ex-boyfriend
,
overzealous customer, anything like that going on?"

She looked appalled by the notion
.
"Van-Dyne seemed to thi
n
k it was an a
t
tempted robbery. What makes you th
i
nk it wasn
'
t?"

Her voice was shaking again, and he d
i
dn
'
t like the way she was trembling beneath that coat
.
But knowing her safety was at stake, he tamped down on the urge to back off
.
"Don't you find it odd tha
t
this so-called robber didn't take the bank bag?
"
he asked.

"You mean the one you just about hit him w
i
th? How ungrateful of him."

Randall stared at her, unable to shake the feeling that there was more going on than either of them had considered
.
"Why did you need a private detect
i
ve?"