Chapter Two

Jemma felt the icy slam of emotions go through her body, and it took a few seconds for her mind to register what she was seeing.

Trace and Clayton were on the floor.

They’d been shot in their heads.

Jemma bolted toward them, slipping in the water and the blood. She skidded across the floor and would have likely slid right into the deputies if Hayes hadn’t taken hold of her and pulled her back to her feet.

She took a moment, gathering her composure and her breath. Took another moment just because she had to force herself to stay put. Jemma wanted to rush to them, to check for a pulse. She wanted to help her fellow officers. But somewhere in her muddle of thoughts, she knew there’d be no heartbeats. No breaths.

No life.

“Oh, God,” she muttered on a rise of breath. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

What had happened here?

Part of her expected Clayton to jump up from the floor and start laughing, telling her that this was all a sick joke. But he didn’t move. Neither did Trace. They just lay there with their blank, lifeless eyes seeing nothing.

With her gun still drawn, Jemma whirled around, looking for their attacker. Looking for anything that would help her make sense of this.

Hayes didn’t seem to be frozen in place, though. “We need to get these sprinklers off. They’re destroying the crime scene.”

Crime scene .

Those two words managed to cut through the shock, and she realized that he was right. Clayton and Trace had been killed. Or this was possibly some kind of suicide-murder deal, but either way, the room and the rest of the building would need to be processed.

Jemma hurried to the utility box on the wall next to the bathroom. Thankfully, all the switches were labeled, and the moment she shut off the sprinklers, the spray of water went to a dripping trickle.

“I’ll check the rest of the place for fire,” Hayes said. Petey wasn’t struggling now. In fact, the man appeared to be in shock.

Jemma went with Hayes just in case there was still a killer in the building. Not exactly a comforting thought. And while they hurried to the interview rooms and jail cells, she tried to call the sheriff again.

Nothing.

That gave her another serious spike of adrenaline and did absolutely nothing to help her battle the panic.

They made it to the cells, and Jemma spotted another trash can that was billowing with smoke. No actual fire that she could see, so this and the other one must have been set with the purpose of triggering those sprinklers. If the intent had been to destroy the building, then the fire would have likely been set near furniture or some other source to feed the flames.

“Hello?” someone called out, and it gave Jemma another jolt of panic before she realized it was a voice she recognized.

Owen Striker, head of Strike Force and Hayes’ boss.

Since Owen was close friends with the sheriff and also an honorary Outlaw Ridge reserve deputy, he’d made many visits here to the sheriff’s office. But it occurred to her that his visits hadn’t normally been at midnight.

“Back here,” Hayes responded, and clamping onto Petey’s arm again, they headed toward the front door.

In the distance, Jemma could hear the welcome sound of the sirens from the fire engine. That was a start, but she also needed to do…so many damn things.

Think , she ordered herself.

Jemma had learned how to handle a crime scene when she’d been in training at the police academy, but textbook stuff and reenactments didn’t take into account that two men that she knew were now dead on the floor in the breakroom.

As Hayes and she made her way toward Owen, Jemma tried to call Sheriff Bonetti for the third time. And she got the same response as her other attempts. So, she scrolled through her contacts and located the number for Deputy Cicily “CiCi” Barker, the deputy who was scheduled to work the night shift with her. The number was still ringing when they reached the front door, and she saw Owen’s face.

This was not the expression of a man who was wondering what the hell was going on. But it was rather the face of someone who was about to deliver some horrible news.

Jemma had never seen Owen like this. The man was former military special ops and head of a multimillion-dollar company. He’d always looked kickass and totally in charge. But tonight, he was clearly shaken to the core.

Just as she was.

When the call to CiCi went to voicemail, Jemma hung up and was trying to decide who to call next when Owen spoke.

“Are you two hurt?” Owen asked, sliding glances at Hayes and her.

“No,” they responded in unison.

Jemma was ready to launch into an explanation of the nightmare that Hayes and she had found, but Owen continued before she could even start.

“About thirty minutes ago, someone tried to shoot me as I was coming home. A gunman in a black truck,” Owen added.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“Yeah, the same happened to us,” Hayes supplied. He shook his head. “I thought it was someone after Petey here.”

Owen looked at Petey then, and his mouth tightened. “He’s the SOB who assaulted his grandmother.”

Hayes nodded.

“I don’t think the shooter was after Petey.” Owen stopped, shook his head, swallowed hard. “I went in pursuit of the truck and the person who shot at me, but when I lost sight of it, I drove to Marty’s place to tell him,” he said, speaking of the sheriff. He paused again. “Marty’s dead in the living room of his house. I could see him through the window, and he has a gunshot wound to the head.”

Jemma staggered back a step, and if Hayes hadn’t caught her, she almost certainly would have fallen. She had no strength left in her legs. In any part of her body. And her breath was jammed in her throat.

“I tried to call the sheriff’s office,” Owen went on, “and when there was no answer, I came here.”

“The two deputies who were on duty are dead,” Jemma managed to say.

Hard to speak though with no breath and her throat muscles so tight. She motioned toward the breakroom and realized her hand was trembling. Heck, every part of her was trembling.

“Clayton and Trace are back there in the breakroom,” she added. “And I can’t get in touch with Deputy CiCi Barker.”

Owen nodded. “Yeah, I tried to call her, too, on the drive over, and I got no response.”

So, something had likely happened to CiCi as well. Then, the thought flashed through her head. A bad thought that put more ice in her veins, and she took out her keys.

“I have to go to the other deputies. They could be targets, and I have to try to protect them,” Jemma insisted.

Owen lay his hand on her arm. “Let my Strike Force guys take care of that. You’re needed here.” He shifted his attention to Hayes. “I contacted your brothers, and they’re going to all the deputies and other reserve deputies’ residences to check on them and to try to locate that black truck.”

Good. That was a spot of relief in this nightmare that was unfolding.

“They need to check on the dispatcher, too. Kevin Granger,” Jemma added. “He’s not responding either.”

Just hearing that aloud gave her another slam of that stew of emotions. Panic, fear. Grief. And all three hit her hard.

“My family,” she muttered. She thought of them not out of fear for their safety. No. It wasn’t that. Just the opposite. “My stepmother could have done this,” she added under her breath.

That gave her an emotional jolt of another kind. Her stepmother, Cordelia, was the reason Jemma had become a cop.

So that she could bring the woman to justice for killing Jemma’s mother.

There was no proof of it, and Cordelia had repeatedly denied it, but Jemma was always pressing to find that proof.

“You really think your stepmother could have killed three cops and tried to murder us?” Owen asked.

“Yes, I believe she could have,” Jemma said, but then she stopped and muttered some profanity.

Because while she could see Cordelia killing her competition. Killing to get Jemma’s mother out of the way so she could marry Jemma’s father, she couldn’t wrap her mind around Cordelia murdering the sheriff and two deputies.

“What about me?” Petey snarled. Obviously, some of his shock had worn off. “I don’t want to be here if someone is gunning for cops in this ass-end of nowhere town. And you can’t put me in that wet, smoky jail cell.”

That last part was true, and she handed her keys to Hayes. Along with the one for her Jeep, there was also one for the patrol car. “You can put him in the backseat of the cruiser.”

It was the best she could do for now. Petey wouldn’t be able to escape, and maybe Hayes could get someone from SAPD out here right away to collect him.

Hayes stepped away, leading Petey to the cruiser, while the responding firemen began barreling out of the engine.

“I’m not sure what to do,” Jemma admitted to Owen. She was still trembling, still battling the panic that was vising her lungs.

“Just be a cop,” Owen said, and it sounded as if he had way more confidence in her abilities than she did.

Jemma steeled herself up as best she could and went toward the firemen. Since Outlaw Ridge was a small town, she knew them all, of course. But she was also aware there was a lot of distrust for her because of her family.

People whispered that she was The Godfather’s daughter.

And she was.

Her father did indeed have plenty of connections to organized crime, and while Jemma had never been part of the “family business,” there was still guilt by mere association. But in her case, the apple did fall pretty damn far from the tree, and the responders were going to have to put that distrust aside as they stepped into this nightmare.

“Trace and Clayton are dead inside the breakroom,” Jemma managed to say as she met the three firemen in the parking lot.

“Dead,” one of them repeated. Hal Franklin. He went pale. The other two, Stella Mendoza and Lyle Perkins, didn’t fare well with the news either. Stella gasped, and Lyle cursed and staggered back a step.

“Did they die in the fire?” Hal asked.

Jemma shook her head but didn’t tell them about the causes of death. They’d see that soon enough for themselves. “As far as I can tell, there’s no actual fire at the moment. Just smoke. The overhead sprinklers were running when I arrived for my shift,” Jemma tacked onto that.

That seemed to be all the info the trio needed because, gathering up their gear, they rushed inside. She raced in after them, hoping to preserve anything she could of the crime scene.

Because that might be key to solving this.

So far, this looked like a well-organized attack, what with Trace, Clayton, and the sheriff all murdered and with the attacks on Owen and her. But the most careful killers could leave something of themselves behind. And that meant she had to get CSIs on scene. Some extra help, too. Even when the other deputies showed up, they would all be in shock.

Jemma took out her phone again and called the county sheriff’s office, and much to her relief, someone actually answered. “This is Deputy Jemma Salvetti from Outlaw Ridge PD,” she told the dispatcher. “I need the county CSI team.” She paused. Had to. “Sheriff Bonetti and two deputies are dead.”

“Dead?” the dispatcher repeated, but he thankfully didn’t ask her any questions. “All right, I’ll inform County Sheriff Jeb Harlan so he can get the CSI team to you. Do you also need additional manpower?”

“I need anything you can send me,” Jemma settled for saying.

After thanking him, she ended the call and continued to follow the fire responders as they made their way from room to room. She saw her own workspace, not in the bullpen but the small records office next to the sheriff’s. Like everything else in the building, the desk, computer, and all the paper files that she’d been digitizing were drenched.

She whirled around when she heard the footsteps behind her, and for a heart stopping moment or two, Jemma thought this was maybe the killer returning to finish her off.

But it was Hayes.

She felt the slam of relief. But it was short-lived though once she got a good look at his expression.

“What’s wrong?” she couldn’t ask fast enough.

Hayes took his time, gathering his breath before he spoke. “We, uh, just got updates from my three brothers.”

“The ones who were checking on the deputies,” she muttered. Jemma stopped herself from saying anything else, from asking if her co-workers were all right.

Because she knew.

Oh, God .

She knew they were far from all right. And even though Jemma didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want it to be true. Hayes still spelled it out for her.

“Except for Owen and you, all the other Outlaw Ridge deputies are dead.”