Her Christmas Protector. Geri Krotow

house. No one running away, either.

      A still figure lying on the ground came into view as he crested the top of the drive. Sirens grew closer but they weren’t here yet. He did a rapid check of the shrubs and trees around the house for an assailant.

      Once he was satisfied there wasn’t a shooter in the immediate vicinity, he went to help the chaplain. Backup would scour the woods around the farm later. She was conscious but looked confused as she struggled to sit up.

      “Hang on, are you hit?”

      A pale, feminine hand brushed her chest at heart level.

      “My vest...”

      “I’ve got it.” He lifted her school jacket up, revealing a tight-fitting T-shirt underneath. It was stretched over a bulletproof vest.

      Holy shit. No way was this woman only a minister.

      The glint of metal peeked from a hole in the shirt. The shooter had aimed for her heart.

      “You’re okay. You still have your Kevlar on. Good going.” He eased her back and was relieved she didn’t fight him. She had to be on the verge of being in shock and the EMTs couldn’t get here soon enough as far as he was concerned.

      As he laid her back, her red hair caught his eye, right at her temples. Where her wig was sliding off.

      Her wig.

      He removed it the rest of the way. Thick, lustrous red hair spilled into his hands.

      “Zora.” He breathed out her name before he could stop himself.

      “Bryce, I’m undercover.”

      “For who?”

      She closed her eyes, shielding him from the pale green irises he remembered too well.

      She stayed silent, but was still breathing.

      Did the shooter want “Colleen the chaplain” dead, or the girl—no, woman—he’d once dreamed of spending the rest of his life with?

      * * *

      “You don’t need to know what she was doing, Bryce. All you need to know is that she helped us draw out the Female Preacher Killer. Unfortunately, we didn’t catch him.” Superintendent Colt Todd spoke matter-of-factly, refusing to answer Bryce’s questions.

      “We’re still not certain if it’s a he or she, and I disagree, Superintendent Todd. This is my assignment and that was my patrol last night. I have a right to know who’s working with me.”

      “You know as well as I do that there are some cases we need a little extra help on, Bryce. And I appreciate that you kept your eye on the chaplain.”

      “On Zora Krasny, you mean.” He’d gotten something out of her after she’d been examined at least. Her curt answers to his questions hadn’t eased his mind over who she was working for, however. She’d admitted she was a licensed counselor, not a minister, and had lived in Silver Valley for almost two years.

      And had never contacted him or any of their high school acquaintances.

      Whatever.

      “Yes, Zora Krasny. Any reason why you’ve taken such an interest, other than for your operational needs, Bryce?”

      “Yes, sir. We went to Silver Valley High School together.”

      Superintendent Todd’s eyes narrowed and Bryce realized he’d never seen the superintendent taken aback by anything. He’d surprised him with that one, though.

      “Is that so?”

      “Yes.” He shrugged. “She went to the naval academy, I went to Penn State, and I never heard from her again.”

      “Sounds like a broken-heart issue. Not my problem, Bryce.”

      “No, sir. We still have a killer out there.” He said that as much to remind himself. Zora’s presence was distracting to say the least.

       Damn it.

      “Yes, and I fully trust you’re going to flush him out, Bryce. We came close last night.”

      “We did. Zora told me she caught a good glimpse of a male vendor at the game who she believes was suspicious.”

      “Any chance whoever shot her saw her wig come off?”

      “No, sir. I only noticed it because she was lying on the ground.”

      “I don’t like that she was ambushed at her house.”

      Bryce didn’t, either. Especially since he’d followed her home, and hadn’t noticed any other vehicles tailing and none in the surrounding area. That meant the shooter had been waiting at her house before they got there, and that the shooter most likely wasn’t the same person they’d tracked at the football game. But they couldn’t even be certain of that. Anyone who knew the local farm roads could have beaten the SVPD units to the scene.

      Whoever the shooter was, he knew where Zora lived. Whether he thought she was Colleen Hammermill the minister or not was irrelevant.

      Zora was in danger.

      * * *

      “What do you mean I can’t work out for a couple of weeks?” Zora hated how weak and squeaky her voice came out. She felt stronger than that, save for the pain that radiated through her rib cage. Whatever medication the doctors had prescribed last night hadn’t been strong enough. She’d barely slept during her mandatory overnight stay for observation at Silver Valley Regional Hospital.

      “You took a bullet to your chest, Zora. Your heart stopped momentarily from the blow—if you hadn’t had your vest on we wouldn’t be enjoying this conversation, and you wouldn’t have another workout to look forward to, ever.” Dr. Mark Lassiter eyed her over his reading glasses, his expression uncompromising. They’d met when she did her hospital rotation as part of her counseling degree and struck up a decent rapport—enough that he’d asked her out on a date. She’d politely refused. Luckily, he hadn’t harbored any ill feelings about it.

      She’d had top-notch care at the Harrisburg area’s new hospital, which sat on a sprawling medical campus known for its trauma expertise.

      “I’m grateful to be here.” She winced as she struggled to stand. “I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass.”

      Mark’s hand touched her shoulder and she sat back down.

      “Trust me, in a few weeks you’ll be back in your yoga classes or whatever you’re so fired up about missing. But for now you need to rest.”

      “Fine. And yoga’s not as easy as you think, by the way.” Since she’d left the navy she’d found a lot of joy in yoga, as it balanced her more than her running routine did.

      Mark smiled.

      “I’m in a power yoga class and I know what a good workout it is.” He held up his hand. “And guess what? You’ll be relieved to know I moved on—I’m engaged.”

      “Mark, that’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you. Really.” Pain twisted through her torso as she took too deep a breath in her exuberance.

      “Thank you.”

      “This is going to hurt when the drugs wear off, isn’t it? That’s what you’re not telling me. I won’t want to work out for a while, will I?”

      “It’ll be uncomfortable, yes. About the time your bruise turns yellow, you’ll be ready to ease back into your fitness routine.”

      Mark turned at a sharp knock right before Bryce walked through the hospital room door.

      “Detective. Just in time.”

      “In time for what?” Zora asked. “Wait—no. I don’t need any more help.” No way was Bryce going to help her home. He’d seen enough of her vulnerability in the past twenty-four hours.