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  As soon as she’d filled out her report on yesterday’s warehouse incident, she opened the nonconfidential part of the ABPD employee files and looked up Trevor Owens.

  And got a jolt. The guy had been with the department for nearly seven years. During that time he’d been in four officer-involved shootings besides yesterday’s. In all the others, the suspect had also apparently fired first, and Owens returned fire in self-defense. Each time but this one, the suspect had died.

  The Force Investigation Division had cleared Owens of any wrongdoing. That’s all that was listed there—no specifics regarding any event or its review. The more detailed reports remained confidential, and although Skye might have been able to access them, she wasn’t officially entitled to. Plus, if she opened them, it might raise a red flag. She couldn’t do that. Her survival here depended on her remaining low-key, under the radar.

  She soon left for the day with Bella and with more questions raised than answered.

  After Skye showered and changed into comfortable jeans and a blue denim shirt, she walked and fed Bella. Then, leaving Bella at home, Skye drove her own car to the Angeles Beach Medical Center.

  She asked at the information desk for the room number. After exiting the elevator on the correct floor and walking to his room, she paused. What the hell was she doing there?

  Accepting an invitation from a downed officer, she reminded herself. Plus…satisfying her curiosity, if only a little.

  Still, she hesitated at the door. Then she rapped and walked in.

  The room’s sole occupant was sitting up in bed. “Hello, Officer Owens,” she said. “I’m Skye Rydell. I was told you wanted to see me.”

  “Come in.” His voice was hoarse but wasn’t weak or pained the way someone who’d recently been so near death might be expected to sound. That didn’t surprise Skye.

  His bed was raised, supporting his back as he sat straight up. He wore the kind of faded green cotton hospital wrap that made most people look ill. But despite the slight pastiness to his face, he looked healthy and tan. His sleeves were pushed up to his wide shoulders, framing impressive biceps.

  As she looked at him, those brown eyes she recognized, deep and steady, met hers. A little embarrassed to be caught assessing him, she smiled uncomfortably. “You look like you’re recuperating okay,” she said. “How do you feel?”

  “Like shit.” His voice cleared as if he’d intentionally thrust away its former hoarseness. “But a whole lot better than when they brought me in. I’ve seen you around, you know, but I almost didn’t recognize you without your dog.”

  That evoked a genuine smile from her. “And I almost didn’t recognize you without your assault rifle.”

  His laugh, deep and sexy, filled the room. “Have a seat.” He motioned to a chair, and she complied.

  “So…why am I here?” She studied the way the guy’s prominent cheekbones underscored the eyes that so defined his face. The artificial light radiating from a bar above the bed’s headboard revealed a hint of auburn in his sable-brown hair. Beard stubble shadowed his taut cheeks and emphasized a cleft in his strong chin. Definitely one good-looking cop, especially this close up.

  “I was told you were there when I was wounded, weren’t you?”

  “Outside,” she replied. “We came into the warehouse—Bella and I—when you were already down.”

  “Yeah, after Danver was hit.” He sounded offended, as if the death was a personal affront. There was a bleakness in his eyes and the set of his mouth that stirred Skye.

  She couldn’t exactly tell him she’d communicated with his fellow SWAT officer, helped him peacefully to the other side. “It was really terrible,” she confirmed. “But at least you’ll be okay.”

  “But the bastard who did this got away.”

  That was obviously on a lot of cops’ minds.

  “He won’t get away with it,” she said with certainty.

  “Yeah.” Trevor’s grim expression suggested he would see to it himself.

  Was he going to get caught up in another officer-involved shooting? Was the goal she’d sensed in him as he lay dying to right this wrong by committing a wrong himself?

  She shuddered. Maybe she had made a mistake after all. Her intent, as always, was to help those who needed—and deserved—it. Was this police officer a loose cannon who would kill a suspect first and ask questions later? But he had been cleared of wrongdoing in those past shootings. There was no reason to think he would kill anyone, even Marinaro.

  Even so, she had a sudden urge to leave, to never see him again.

  Won’t happen, taunted a perverse voice inside her. They were both part of the ABPD. They’d see each other around.

  Well…okay. Good, in fact. No matter what, she was intrigued by him—wanted to understand his side of those shootings and why she had such a strong sense of connection when she saved him.

  “Did you say anything to me then?” he asked. “I mean, when you saw me on the floor. I can’t remember a whole lot that happened then, but I remember seeing you, and I thought I heard you say something.”

  “I don’t think so.” It wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t said anything…aloud. And only she heard her internal voices.

  At least no one she had ever saved in the past had mentioned them. But, then again, she’d hardly been able to ask any of them—any more than she could ask Officer Trevor Owens.

  There are other things you could learn from him, that same internal voice taunted. Like his apparent intense desire to get the bad guy?

  Or just desire.

  She felt herself flush from uneasiness…and sexual attraction. And as their eyes caught again, there was more that made her uncomfortably warm.

  No way could Trevor Owens know that she had restored him to life…or could he?

  Trevor knew for sure now that he was still alive.

  Her slim, coplike yet gracefully curvy form and her intoxicating scent made him ache. He wanted this woman.

  Yeah, as if your body could follow through right now.

  She was interested, too. He could tell from the look on her face. But Trevor knew Officer Skye Rydell was lying about something.

  What? And why?

  He studied her.

  He liked seeing her in civilian clothes and with loose hair. He wondered what women called that shade of blond—or those shades. It was streaked—some strands were almost white, though most were several shades darker. She usually wore it pulled back and fastened behind her neck as required by the department. With it loose, she looked even more female.

  Being so close to her let him get a good look at her gorgeous face—smooth, with a perfectly shaped if slightly long nose and lips that, even without lipstick, were pink and full and suggested slow, hot kisses at midnight on a deserted local beach.

  The pale denim blue of her shirt deepened the blue of her eyes. Those eyes…One of the few things he remembered from when he was lying on the floor was looking up into those intense eyes and feeling as if they were lifting him back to life.

  But it wasn’t only the way she’d looked at him that he remembered.

  When he was barely conscious, he had the odd sensation that he shared something with her. Something vital. Hallucinations by a guy close to death? Sure. What else could it be?

  “You’re sure you didn’t say anything?” he finally asked again.

  Something different—perhaps embarrassment?—passed across her face.

  She might be a liar, but she wasn’t a very good one.

  But why lie about something so trivial?

  “You didn’t look very well, so I might have murmured some good wishes or a prayer or something like that.”

  Something like that. But what?

  “Well, anyway, I asked Greg Blanding to call you for me. I figured I’d thank you.”

  For what? Hell, he didn’t know. If things had gone as he’d assumed at the time, he wouldn’t have seen this woman, or anyone else, ever again.

  “I can’t imagine wh
y, but you’re welcome.”

  “They say I won’t be out of here for a few days.”

  “I’m sure they want to make certain you’re all right,” she said. “Anyway, I don’t want to tire you out.” She rose.

  He wanted her to stay. “I’m fine. Honest. If you sit back down, I’ll tell you my life story.”

  She laughed. “If I sit back down, I’ll tell you my life story, and then you’ll be so bored you’ll sleep till they let you out of here.”

  “I’ll take that chance.”

  “No, really, I have to go. Bella’s waiting at home.”

  “Your dog? She’s great.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Will you come see me again?” Damn. He sounded like a begging wuss who’d never seen a pretty woman before. “I mean, I’d like your view of what happened. How that SOB got away with all of us there.”

  “I imagine you’ll get a better perspective from your fellow SWAT team members,” she said, appearing puzzled.

  “Yeah, but I figured a K-9 officer’s ideas would be interesting.”

  “Well…I’m sure I’ll see you around once you’re back on active duty.”

  She’d reached the door and was almost out. Almost gone. But he knew there was something more, something she could—should—tell him that was critical to what had happened to him.

  He’d thought he was dead. He survived. She wouldn’t be able to tell him more about it…would she?

  “I’ll see you before then,” he called after her. “You can count on it.”

  Chapter 4

  T hree days had passed since the incident.

  Skye was sitting in her cubicle with Bella before starting their assignments for the day and thinking about how frayed everyone’s nerves remained—especially since there had been no breakthrough in their hunt for the suspect, Marinaro.

  On top of that, the Force Investigation Division was not inclined to let much time elapse between the officer-involved shootings and their incisive debriefings that also played havoc with everyone’s psyches.

  Her interview was in five minutes.

  Relax, she ordered herself. It wouldn’t be too bad. The FID was speaking with all members of the ABPD who’d been deployed to the site that day. Since they wanted as complete a story as possible, the FID representatives had to talk to everyone, even those who couldn’t contribute much to the description of what had happened.

  They would assume that included her, so how detailed could they be? It wasn’t as if they had any inkling about her real role that day in the aftermath of the officer-involved shootings.

  “Come on, Bella,” she told her partner, who was alert, as always, to her every move. “I’ll let you hang out with the other dogs while I’m busy.”

  Tritt and Vesco were outside conducting an informal training session with their K-9 partners Storm and Bandit. They agreed to include Bella in their lesson, which gave Skye a little relief as she trudged back inside the station. She took the stairs to the top floor, the sixth, where the brass had their offices.

  One small conference room had been commandeered by the FID for their interviews. In the hallway, Skye straightened her uniform and touched the back of her head where her hair was pulled into its usual clip. Then she knocked on the wood frame of the door that surrounded panels of frosted glass.

  “Come in,” called a voice from inside.

  She opened the door and hesitated. Three people sat around the table: Captain Boyd Franks, Lieutenant Theresa Agnew—who, though only in her mid-forties, was the head of the FID—and civilian member John Correy. Skye had met them all before—and had hoped never to face them in an official inquiry.

  Captain Franks waved her to a hard wooden chair at the head of the polished table and introduced her to the others. “Thanks for joining us,” he finished.

  As if she had a choice.

  “As you know,” Lieutenant Agnew said in a crisp, formal tone, “it’s our responsibility to look into all officer-involved shootings and make certain they were handled appropriately.”

  Skye nodded and wondered if any of these people had participated in the hearings related to the previous shootings Trevor Owens had been involved in. But what did she care? She had no reason to assume the man was too quick on the trigger. This time he apparently hadn’t even gotten off a single shot before he was hit.

  Her mind focused briefly on her first glimpse of him on the floor. Bleeding. Dying…All but dead.

  She must have made a face, since John Correy said, “We know it was an unpleasant situation, and that you were not in the thick of it, so this meeting is only a formality. We’d like you to tell us where you were stationed when the shots were fired and what you did next.”

  “Of course.” Skye went through the explanation, mostly for Correy’s benefit, of her role as a K-9 cop whose partner was trained primarily to search for suspects at a crime scene. “My dog, Bella, and I were waiting outside in case we were needed. That’s when I heard the shots and went in, hoping to help apprehend the suspect should he have gotten away.”

  “Which he did,” Lieutenant Agnew said dryly. “Did you and your dog search for him?”

  “Yes. Bella got the scent from a shirt one of the officers took from the suspect’s car and tracked him to where another vehicle may have been parked. I concluded he drove away, perhaps in a stolen vehicle.”

  “And that was your only involvement,” Captain Franks prompted, not making it a question.

  “Yes, sir.” The lie came easily. Skye had been doing everything necessary to protect her secret. If she told the truth, no one would believe her anyway. She would lose her job. Maybe even land in some kind of touchy-feely, and utterly unnecessary, psychological counseling.

  “But why did you come inside in the first place, Officer Rydell?” John Correy asked coldly. “Were you given orders to enter?”

  “Not expressly, sir.” She felt on edge. How should she handle this? “I heard someone yell ‘Officer down’ and ran in to see if I could help. But the EMTs arrived soon, so that was that.”

  “You were on the floor beside both our injured officers,” Lieutenant Agnew said.

  No surprise that her presence had been noticed. She’d already thought through what to say, just as she had other times she’d used her abilities. Only, this situation was different from the rest. The people she helped were fellow cops. She would keep it short and simple. “Yes, ma’am,” she said softly. “I…I just felt so awful I acted on instinct. I wanted so badly to help, but of course I couldn’t.”

  “Of course,” Captain Franks said. “I think that’s all, Officer Rydell. Thank you.”

  Thank you, Captain. She didn’t wait to see if the others would contradict him. She rose, nodded respectfully and hurried from the room.

  Skye stood outside the door after shutting it behind her. She closed her eyes briefly, leaned against the wall to catch her breath, then opened them again.

  She thought it had gone okay, but how could she really know?

  Perhaps she had overstepped what appeared to be her boundaries as a K-9 cop. She had apparently acted unprofessionally by letting her feelings rule and approaching the downed officers. But surely the worst that would happen was a reprimand, rather than termination from the job…right?

  At least she had not given away her real reason for getting so close….

  Okay, time to get out of here. She squared her shoulders and headed toward the elevator. Her legs felt too wobbly to chance the stairs.

  Her mind focused again on her real reason for getting so close, at least to the second downed officer. How was Trevor Owens doing now? She pushed the elevator button and waited only a few seconds before the light went on to signal a car had arrived.

  The door opened…and Skye found herself looking right into the alert—and quizzical—eyes of Officer Trevor Owens.

  Trevor blinked, then allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up into a slow smile. “Hello, Skye.” Damn, it was good to see her again
, especially now that his body was closer to being healed and well enough to react to her sexiness.

  He got off the elevator and expected her to enter the car, but she didn’t. Instead, she stood there as the door closed behind him. “What are you doing here?” she asked. Her uniform was crisp and professional, but though her blond hair was pulled away from her face, she managed to appear attractively disheveled.

  Maybe it was the exhaustion and wariness in her brilliant blue eyes, or the way a few strands of her hair had managed to escape and frame her pink cheeks.

  “Unless there’s something you know that I don’t, I still work for the department.” He widened his grin.

  Her flush deepened. “I meant…Well, I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to be here, but—you’re not on active duty, are you?”

  His smile disappeared. “Not yet.”

  “Are you—”

  “I’m healing amazingly well. That’s what they told me at the hospital before releasing me this morning.”

  “I’m glad.” Skye’s gaze met his for a long moment before she looked away. The intensity of their gaze reminded him of when he’d been down. And something about that still bothered him.

  “Officer Owens,” boomed Captain Franks’s voice as the conference room door opened. “Come in. How are you feeling?” The captain glanced sideways at Skye, as if questioning her presence, and she reached beyond Trevor to push the elevator button several times, trying to act as if she’d just been standing there waiting impatiently for it to arrive.

  “I’ve felt better, sir,” Trevor told the commanding officer, knowing the question would be repeated over and over till he was completely healed. “But I’m doing okay.”

  The elevator dinged, and Trevor glanced toward Skye as she hustled into it. “See you around, Officer Rydell,” he called.

  She mumbled something, but he couldn’t quite hear it.

  Inside the conference room, Trevor hesitated briefly. Only two more FID people sat there—people who knew the score. In hearings related to other officer-involved shootings, he’d sometimes had to face as many as half a dozen examiners—but fortunately they’d always included Franks, Agnew and Correy.