Silent Night Suspect. Sharee Stover

last a lifetime. “I only want to check the injury.”

      “Okay.”

      He withdrew his flashlight, then separated her raven shoulder-length hair clotted with dried blood to reveal a goose egg.

      “Ouch!” Asia dodged to the side.

      He jerked back his hand and replaced the light in his gun belt. “Sorry. Any idea where you got that knot?”

      “No.”

      “Do you have any other injuries?”

      She narrowed her eyes. “If I weren’t handcuffed, I might be able to answer your question.”

      The department-issued restraints latched on her wrists tore at him. Never in his wildest imagination had he considered the possibility of arresting Asia. “It’s protocol.”

      “Right—I forgot you never break the rules.” Her uncharacteristic sarcasm sliced through his heart.

      When had she grown so cold toward him? The sweet girl he’d known all his life had morphed into an angry woman, but he saw fear in her dark eyes masked behind the facade of her bitter tone.

      “I’ll remove the handcuffs, but don’t try anything stupid.”

      “You’re joking, right?”

      Joking was the furthest thing from his mind. This whole situation was beyond his comprehension. He knelt in front of her and removed the cuffs. Asia was the last person he’d thought capable of murder. Almost fifteen years in law enforcement had awakened him to a lot of unbelievable realities. Still, his gut said she wasn’t guilty. Or was it his heart?

      Asia lifted her hand and rubbed her wrists, then gingerly fingered the head wound and winced. “That solves the mystery behind my headache and the internal bullhorn amplifying every word you speak.”

      Slade stilled her with a raised palm. It was too quiet.

      “I—”

      “Shh.”

      She glared at him but remained silent.

      He stepped into the hallway and scanned the two bedrooms again. He entered the back bedroom, stepping around the king-size mattress and knee-high junk piles to the window. Slade peered out of the broken blinds into the darkness.

      The trailer was located in the middle of an abandoned farm away from the road. A large dilapidated shed surrounded by mounds of jalopy cars sat two hundred feet from the mobile and close to the neglected cornfields. Slade lifted the window and scanned the area with his flashlight, illuminating the ominous shadows.

      Nothing but the wind whipping over the land and trees greeted him. He slid the window closed and repeated his surveillance in the bedroom facing the front of the property. Trash bags and boxes stacked high obscured the window, forcing Slade to move around the mess. He shifted between the towering displays of clutter and glanced out the dirty glass. A glimmering light flickered in the distance.

      A shiver writhed up his spine. The light faded. A passing car on the county road?

      He returned to the small living room. The home had to be at least thirty years old. Deserted and in the middle of nowhere. Not a place he’d expect to find Asia. So why had she texted him to meet her here?

      A sense of foreboding hung heavy in the air like the putrid atmosphere. Maybe he should just arrest her and get out of here. The isolated locale left them exposed and too far from help. Whatever her situation, they’d work out the details at the patrol office. He closed the space between them, determined. “I think we’d better—”

      Headlights beamed through the window and the crunching of tires on the ice-covered snow drew Slade’s attention. A large black vehicle sped toward the house. Too fast. “Get down!” He tugged Asia to the floor.

      Slade crouched and peered through the bottom corner of the blinds. A barrage of gunshots turned his patrol car into Swiss cheese.

      “Shots fired! Shots fired! Newer-model black SUV. Need backup! Now!” His voice reverberated and increased an octave, hollow in his own ears. Anticipating a blast, he shielded Asia with his body.

      Several seconds passed with no explosion. Pulse drumming and fury radiating up his neck, Slade shifted to get another glance outside. “Stay down.” His hands shook with adrenaline as he pushed the blinds aside.

      The assailants circled on the snow-covered ground, filtering headlights inside again. They were coming back! He dived, covering Asia a second time.

      Bullets blasted through the home, shattering the window and raining glass.

      The dispatcher’s robotic response melded into the background of machine gun fire. Slade tucked Asia under him, protecting her from the debris pelting his neck and arms.

      “We’ve got to get out of here.” He glanced up, catching sight of the hallway. Grateful he’d cleared the property earlier, he considered their only exit strategy. The bathroom and bedroom at the front of the home would shield them until they climbed out the rear-facing bedroom window.

      Rhythmic pinging penetrated the fabricated home’s thin walls, and the TV took several hits before emitting sparks.

      “Stay low and move to the back.”

      “Okay,” she cried over the noise.

      They army-crawled through the hallway and into the bedroom. Slade pushed the door shut, providing a barrier—albeit a flimsy one—against the firepower.

      “Can you climb out the window?” He lifted the latch, pulled open the tall rectangular glass and shoved out the screen. “It’s only a few feet down. I’ll lower you.”

      “I’ve got it.” Asia moved in front of him and scrambled through. She perched on the ledge before hopping down.

      Slade followed behind and grasped her arm. “Hold on.”

      The gunfire ceased, leaving an eerie calm hanging in the air.

      Had the shooters gone?

      The ground was covered in hard-packed snow and their footprints would be easily visible. Only two viable options of escape remained. Run through the cornfields and hope they reached help before the men found them or hide in the shed. If they ran to the front of the house and the men were waiting, they were dead. Scattered assorted metal junk pieces covered the backyard. They’d have to use the debris in a disorganized game of hopscotch to hide their location. Asia’s compromised state and blood loss combined with his undrivable unit meant hiding was the only logical choice. They’d have to take their chances.

      “Follow me and step only on the junk. Do not let your feet hit the snow.” Slade gripped Asia’s hand and they made their way to the random assortment of hubcaps, cinder blocks and other unidentifiable scraps.

      They neared the shed and Slade peered over his shoulder. Men’s voices echoed inside the house. They’d pursue as soon as they spied the open window.

      He shoved aside the shed’s rusted metal door hanging by one rotted hinge.

      “Is this safe?” Asia whispered, squeezing through the gap.

      It was a good question. “Get behind the hood.” Slade gestured toward an old truck hood leaning against a dried and decaying bale of straw.

      Asia maneuvered around the junk and squatted. Slade joined her and inspected the shadowy space. His flashlight would prove beneficial, but advertising their location would be unwise. Darkness hid things he’d rather not spot, anyway. Various vehicle parts including two more hoods pressed against the far wall, shielding them on all sides. A barricade of automotive leftovers. Please, Lord, let them protect us.

      “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, silencing his radio.

      Together they faced the door. A sliver of an opening provided a decent vantage point of the back of the home but trapped them with no other way out.

      “They