Read Online Breaking Protocol (Firehouse Fourteen Book 3) by Lisa B. Kamps - Free Book Online
Authors: Lisa B. Kamps
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in middle of his chest, pushing him back into the house with such force he stumbled.
"What the—"
"Get back, now." She pushed again, still not looking at him. Her attention was riveted at a spot near the exterior porch door, her own alertness seeping into him. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he tried to peer over her shoulder, wondering what in the hell had caused the sudden change in her.
She took a step back and collided against his chest. Dave's arms came up instinctively to grab her shoulders but she shrugged them off and turned toward him. A frown creased her forehead as she looked up at him, her clear eyes cold and remote.
"Is there something you maybe want to tell me, Big Guy?
Icy dread blew through Dave's stomach but he wasn't sure why. He started to shake his head, stopped, then leaned past CC to see what had caused her sudden change.
A fist knotted his gut, twisting with razor-sharp dread.
Wedged against the door, propped against his shoes, was a small poster board-size sheet of paper, splattered in what looked like blood. And scrawled across the page, in bold letters, were the words he had become too familiar with over the last eight months.
I know what you did.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Stillness had descended over the colorful room, muting the bright colors with an air of tension, of expectation. Of anxiety and accusation. Dave sat on the edge of the overstuffed chair, absurdly feeling like he was being sucked into it.
Like he had been sucked into this nightmare so many months ago.
He looked down at the clasped hands hanging between his legs, the knuckles pale and tight. He took a deep breath and held it, then released it slowly as he tried to relax his hands.
"Here. It looks like you could use this."
CC held out a glass tumbler filled with dark amber liquid. He reached up to take it from her, somewhat surprised to see the slight shaking of his hand. If she saw it, she didn't say anything, just gave him the glass and took a seat in the matching chair next to his.
Dave lifted the glass to his mouth and took a long swallow, grimacing as the heat of the strong brandy seared his throat and hit his stomach with a fiery punch. He wasn't usually a brandy drinker but he wasn't about to turn down a shot of anything strong.
The police had left about thirty minutes ago, after doing a cursory search around the place and asking him questions. They took notes, asked more questions, looked around some more. One of the officers—there had been five of them, which had surprised him at first—had called Dave's friend to verify that he had reported similar incidents in the past.
Yes, he had reported them.
No, not all of them.
The last incident? Dave couldn't help the short laugh that had escaped him when he answered. Yesterday morning.
Through it all, CC had remained quiet, leaning against the wall, her arms folded in front of her as she watched him. She had changed into jeans and a t-shirt.
And a huge fucking .45 Glock strapped to her hip that looked like it would knock her on her ass if she fired it. But not before it put a hole the size of a cannon into whatever fool made the mistake of crossing her.
Because she was a cop. Something Dave had forgotten. Yes, she was a Flight Medic. But she was, first and foremost, a cop.
He took another swallow of the brandy then swirled the glass in his hands, staring down into the dark liquid, watching as it briefly clung to the sides of the glass before drifting down.
He knew he needed to leave, needed to go home and do—well, he wasn't entirely certain what he needed to do, but he knew there was something.
Go buy a new phone.
And a pair of new shoes while he was it, since his other ones had been taken as evidence. Evidence of what, he didn't know, since the officers had told him they didn't think they'd find out who was behind this.
But they'd try, and get back to him.
And they would try. Because CC was one of them, and this had happened here, at her
"What the—"
"Get back, now." She pushed again, still not looking at him. Her attention was riveted at a spot near the exterior porch door, her own alertness seeping into him. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he tried to peer over her shoulder, wondering what in the hell had caused the sudden change in her.
She took a step back and collided against his chest. Dave's arms came up instinctively to grab her shoulders but she shrugged them off and turned toward him. A frown creased her forehead as she looked up at him, her clear eyes cold and remote.
"Is there something you maybe want to tell me, Big Guy?
Icy dread blew through Dave's stomach but he wasn't sure why. He started to shake his head, stopped, then leaned past CC to see what had caused her sudden change.
A fist knotted his gut, twisting with razor-sharp dread.
Wedged against the door, propped against his shoes, was a small poster board-size sheet of paper, splattered in what looked like blood. And scrawled across the page, in bold letters, were the words he had become too familiar with over the last eight months.
I know what you did.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Stillness had descended over the colorful room, muting the bright colors with an air of tension, of expectation. Of anxiety and accusation. Dave sat on the edge of the overstuffed chair, absurdly feeling like he was being sucked into it.
Like he had been sucked into this nightmare so many months ago.
He looked down at the clasped hands hanging between his legs, the knuckles pale and tight. He took a deep breath and held it, then released it slowly as he tried to relax his hands.
"Here. It looks like you could use this."
CC held out a glass tumbler filled with dark amber liquid. He reached up to take it from her, somewhat surprised to see the slight shaking of his hand. If she saw it, she didn't say anything, just gave him the glass and took a seat in the matching chair next to his.
Dave lifted the glass to his mouth and took a long swallow, grimacing as the heat of the strong brandy seared his throat and hit his stomach with a fiery punch. He wasn't usually a brandy drinker but he wasn't about to turn down a shot of anything strong.
The police had left about thirty minutes ago, after doing a cursory search around the place and asking him questions. They took notes, asked more questions, looked around some more. One of the officers—there had been five of them, which had surprised him at first—had called Dave's friend to verify that he had reported similar incidents in the past.
Yes, he had reported them.
No, not all of them.
The last incident? Dave couldn't help the short laugh that had escaped him when he answered. Yesterday morning.
Through it all, CC had remained quiet, leaning against the wall, her arms folded in front of her as she watched him. She had changed into jeans and a t-shirt.
And a huge fucking .45 Glock strapped to her hip that looked like it would knock her on her ass if she fired it. But not before it put a hole the size of a cannon into whatever fool made the mistake of crossing her.
Because she was a cop. Something Dave had forgotten. Yes, she was a Flight Medic. But she was, first and foremost, a cop.
He took another swallow of the brandy then swirled the glass in his hands, staring down into the dark liquid, watching as it briefly clung to the sides of the glass before drifting down.
He knew he needed to leave, needed to go home and do—well, he wasn't entirely certain what he needed to do, but he knew there was something.
Go buy a new phone.
And a pair of new shoes while he was it, since his other ones had been taken as evidence. Evidence of what, he didn't know, since the officers had told him they didn't think they'd find out who was behind this.
But they'd try, and get back to him.
And they would try. Because CC was one of them, and this had happened here, at her
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