Mountain Witness. Lena Diaz

dead. Oh, my God. He’s dead.

      “Someone will take your official statement after you’ve been checked out at the hospital. But can you tell us anything right now about the man who attacked you? Did you know him?”

      “Know him?” A bubble of hysterical laughter burst between her lips. “I married him.”

       Chapter Five

      Chris exchanged a startled look with Donna as he knelt in front of the couch. His neighbor, Julie Webb, had just announced that the intruder Chris had killed was her husband. And, instead of being angry or crying or...something that made sense, she was rocking back and forth with her arms around her middle, eyes squeezed tightly shut. The rocking wasn’t the part that was odd. What had the hairs standing up on his neck were the words that she kept whispering over and over in response to him telling her that her husband was dead.

      “Thank you, Lord. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

      Her callous words didn’t seem to match the fragile, lost look in her deep blue eyes, as if she were caught in a nightmare and couldn’t find her way out. He instinctively wanted to reach for her, pull her into his arms, tell her that everything would be okay. But the words she kept chanting sent a chill up his spine and started alarm bells going off in his suspicious detective’s brain.

      If she’d been abused by her husband, which seemed likely given that he’d held a knife on her, Chris could understand her relief that her husband couldn’t hurt her anymore. And he’d seen the fear in her eyes earlier today, which lent more evidence to the abuse theory. But he’d also seen many domestic violence cases, and almost without fail, the abused party would defend her abuser. If a cop tried to arrest the husband, or hurt him while trying to protect the wife, nine times out of ten that wife would immediately leap to the husband’s defense. Julie’s actions were nothing like what he was used to seeing in those cases. The whole situation just seemed...off.

      “The chief’s motioning for you.” Donna kept her voice low. “Go on. I’ll sit with her until the ambulance arrives.”

      He hesitated, feeling guilty for wanting to jump at her offer. He’d created this mess. He should have to stay and deal with the fallout, including whatever was going on with Julie Webb.

      “It’s okay. I’ve got this,” she reassured him. “Go.” She put her hand on Julie’s back, lightly patting it like she would a child. Julie didn’t even seem to notice. She just kept rocking and repeating her obscene prayer.

      As if drawn by some invisible force, Chris’s gaze slid to the body of the man who was dead because of him. This wasn’t the first time he’d killed someone in the line of duty. Being on the only SWAT team within a hundred miles of Destiny meant he was often called out to help other small towns or unincorporated areas when violence landed on their doorstep. But every time he’d had to use lethal force, the what-ifs and second-guessing haunted him for a long time afterward. He didn’t expect this one would be any different.

      He wished he could put a sheet over the man, afford him some kind of dignity in death. But the uniformed officer standing near the body was his reminder that the scene had to be preserved until the Blount County coroner arrived. And since Destiny shared their coroner with a handful of other rural counties, that could be a while from now. Two more uniformed officers stood near a stack of boxes on the left side of the room, probably to keep Julie and others from contaminating the scene.

      “Downing.”

      Chief Thornton’s gruff voice had Chris finally standing and turning around. His boss stood just inside the front door, still wearing the khaki shorts and polo shirt that he’d worn to the cookout a few hours earlier.

      “Powwow, front lawn. Now.” The chief headed outside.

      Chris followed the chief down the porch steps to where three members of the SWAT team who’d also been at the cookout stood waiting. Max, Randy and Colby were dressed in full body armor just like Donna, back inside the house. It occurred to him that they must have raced like a mama sow protecting her piglets to have gotten here so fast. None of them lived close by, except for Dillon, and he was noticeably absent.

      “Is Ashley okay?” he asked no one in particular, assuming the worst. He couldn’t imagine his best friend not responding to a call for aid from Chris or any of their fellow officers unless something had happened to Ashley.

      “She’s at Blount Memorial in Maryville.” Max held up his hands to stop the anticipated flood of questions. “When your 911 call came in, Dillon and Ashley were halfway to the hospital because she’d started having contractions. I assured him we could handle—”

      “It’s too soon,” Chris interrupted, worry making his voice thick. “She’s only seven months along.”

      “I know that,” Max said. “Like I was saying, I told Dillon not to worry about you, that we had your back. And, before you ask, I spoke to him a few minutes ago. They were able to stop her labor, but they’ll keep her there for observation overnight, maybe even a few days. But she and the baby are both fine.”

      Chris nodded, blowing out a relieved breath.

      “You okay?” Max put his hand on Chris’s shoulder. “You look greener than Dillon did when you mentioned fried gizzards.”

      “I killed a man. No. I’m not okay.”

      Max winced and dropped his hand, immediately making Chris regret his curt reply.

      “Tell us what happened,” the chief said, impatience etched on his features. “Take it from the top and don’t leave anything out.”

      Chris began reciting the events that had led to the shooting, being as detailed as he could. Since everyone on the SWAT team performed dual roles as detectives in the fifteen-officer police force, they all listened intently, taking notes on their phones or the little pads of paper most of them kept handy.

      Dillon was normally lead detective, with Chris as backup. But obviously Chris couldn’t investigate a case where he was a primary participant. He wasn’t sure who would run with this one.

      After Chris finished his statement, the chief motioned to Max.

      Max pulled a brown paper evidence bag from his rear pocket and awkwardly cleared his throat as he held it open. “Sorry, man. Standard operating procedure. Gotta take your sidearm as evidence.”

      Chris knew the drill and had been vaguely surprised that no one had taken his gun the moment they’d arrived. But even after putting his pistol in the bag, the weight of his now-empty holster seemed heavier than before, a reminder of what he’d done, the life he’d taken.

      Max closed the bag and stepped back beside Randy. Since Max looked miserable about taking the gun, Chris gave him a reassuring nod to let him know that he understood.

      “You said they were arguing when you approached the house,” the chief said. “Did you hear what they were arguing about?”

      He replayed the moment when he was crouching by the window, trying to remember what he’d heard.

      “Seems like they both said something about ‘keys,’ or maybe it was ‘please.’ I definitely heard the man mention a gun. But he was holding a knife, so that doesn’t seem right.” He shrugged. “I was too far away to hear them clearly. I was more focused on what he was doing with the butcher knife and how to get it away from him.”

      The low wail of a siren filled the air as an ambulance turned down the road and headed toward them.

      “About time,” the chief said. “I was thinking we’d have to wake up Doc Brookes if it took any longer.”

      Chris couldn’t help smiling. Even though it was only a few hours past sundown, it was probably Doc Brookes’s bedtime. The town’s only doctor was getting up there in years. And he made sure everyone knew not to bother him after hours unless there