Safe from Harm (Protect & Serve #2)(5)

“Yeah, I’m good,” Gabe assured him. “You see the other guy?”

Tom shook his head.

“How about Chris Andrews?” Gabe panted. “He come out yet?”

Tom frowned. “Chris? He’s here?”

Gabe’s stomach sank, and suddenly he remembered why the name Derrick Monroe had sounded so familiar. It was because Derrick was the son of Jeb Monroe, a local farmer whose antigovernment rants—which specifically included anticop tirades—had begun to gain an impressive following on social media. They’d received an alert on Derrick just a few days before based on some comments he’d made online, comments that had included a declaration that the only good cop was a dead cop.

He shoved his suspect into Tom’s hands and ran back into the diner. “Chris!”

“Deputy!” someone called out. “Over here!”

He rushed toward the sound of the voice. It was one of the other waitresses. She was on her knees next to Chris, where he lay on the ground among shattered glass and plates and other debris that littered the floor, pressing a bussing towel to his neck. Chris gurgled, gasping for air, choking on his own blood, his eyes silently pleading with Gabe.

“Ah, Jesus, Chris,” Gabe ground out, dropping down beside him and taking over for the waitress, glancing toward the door to see the paramedics hurrying inside. “Hold on, buddy. Help’s comin’. Just hold on…”

*

Gabe sat in the corner of Mulaney’s pub, his head in his hands. His broad shoulders, normally held erect and proud, were hunched, his dejection a palpable force in the room as Elle approached.

He reached out for his beer, but it evaded his grasp with a harsh scrape of glass on wood. “What the hell do you want?” he growled, slowly lifting his gaze to meet hers. It seemed to take him a moment to completely focus.

“I’m cutting you off,” she said, easing down into the chair next to him. “How many have you had anyway?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Lost track. Not enough, however many it is.” He pulled a hand down his face. “You know I can still hear the shots? I can still see Chris on the ground, bleeding out.”

She reached out and grasped his forearm, giving it a comforting squeeze, not sure what else to do to help him. “Gabe—”

“And I can still hear Jessica’s screams,” he interrupted, squeezing his eyes shut as if trying to block the sound in his head. “When the doctor told her Chris hadn’t made it, she lost it. I just… Yeah.” He shook his head, banishing the words that had been on his lips. “So, if it’s all the same to you, honey, I’ll keep going until that particular memory is washed clean.”

Then he gave her his trademark grin and gently took the bottle from her, lifting it briefly in salute before chugging it down.

Elle glanced around, noticing some of the other patrons were staring, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with the drunk in the corner. She sent an angry glare their way, and they abruptly averted their gazes. When she turned her attention back to Gabe, she leaned in a little and smoothed her hand along his arm. “Gabe, it’s time to go.”

“You don’t work here,” he grumbled.

“True, but I’m half owner,” she admitted. “And I’m not letting you drink yourself to death. Chris’s murder wasn’t your fault.”

“The hell it wasn’t,” he snapped. “I should’ve been in there with Chris. I had been in there just two minutes before. If I’d been there when that asshole went in—”

“You’d probably be dead, too,” she interrupted, the horror of that possibility making her stomach roll with dread. She had to give herself a mental shake before she could continue. “Derrick Monroe went in that diner to kill a cop. It didn’t matter which cop. Chris just happened to be the one he chose.”

Gabe ran his hand over his hair. “D’you know Jessica went into labor when she found out? Gave birth to their baby girl.”

Elle nodded.

“Yeah?” He lifted his brows at her, then laughed. “Hell, what am I saying? Of course you know. You know everything.”

She stared at him for a long moment, wondering where the hell that was coming from. But then she shook her head, willing to cut him a little slack under the circumstances. “We’ll explore that bullshit comment later,” she assured him. “But you might be interested to know Billy Monroe gave me enough to get a warrant for his cousin. And he’s agreed to testify against Derrick. I’m going to put that son of a bitch away for what he’s done, Gabe. I promise. I want you to know that.”

“Why?” he countered.

She frowned at him. “Sorry? Why, what?”

“Why are you suddenly being nice to me?” he asked. “Normally, you avoid me like the fucking plague.”

“I’m just trying to be a friend,” she told him truthfully, not willing to go into why she’d kept him at arms’ length all these years, why she’d refused to let him get past her defenses despite all his advances. Why bother? Nothing she could say would make a difference. He wouldn’t change. So why should she?

He grunted. “Yeah, well, my friends have a way of meeting untimely ends, so you might as well save yourself the trouble.”

She pushed back from the table and stood, extending her hand to him, her heart twisting with pity. “C’mon, Dawson. Let me take you home. You’re going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.”