Chapter 2

"Shooter is at the abandoned warehouse," Jina said into her earpiece. "I've pinned him down but need a team to investigate."

"On it," Roscoe drawled in his Texas accent. He and Zeke took off running toward the abandoned warehouse she'd recently used as cover. Had the gunman been in there the whole time? If so, why not take her out when he'd had the chance?

No, it wasn't likely the guy had been inside the warehouse the entire time. He would have taken the opportunity to pick off a few more cops. Instead, he'd fired at the pastor. What was that about?

"Let me up," Isaiah said with a grunt.

"Stay down." What part of being used for target practice didn't he understand? "We're searching for the shooter."

"Raelyn! Are you both okay?" Joe and Grayson came running toward her, crouching on either side of them.

"We're fine." She raised her head enough to glance over their shoulders. "No other shooters in the area?"

"We just finished clearing the area," Joe said grimly. "Or so we thought."

"The shooter could have sneaked into the warehouse at any point," she said. "I'm sure if he'd been in there the whole time, he'd have fired at me when I ran past."

"Maybe, but I still don't like it," Joe muttered.

"Can I please get up now?" Isaiah Washington asked.

"Not yet." She didn't move off him. Roscoe and Zeke had disappeared inside the warehouse, and it was suddenly eerily quiet. Seconds ticked by with excruciating slowness.

Finally, she heard Jina's voice through her earpiece. "The guys have cleared it. Repeat, the warehouse is clear."

That was both a relief and incredibly frustrating. How had the shooter gotten away? She knew it hadn't taken that long for Roscoe and Zeke to head over. They should have been quick enough to catch the gunman.

"Let's get him back inside the church," Grayson said tersely, gesturing at Isaiah. "One cop dead on the scene is bad enough."

"Only one? I thought I saw three down." She levered herself up and off the pastor.

"Two critically injured and on their way to Trinity Medical Center," Joe confirmed.

She shook her head, knowing there were several dead teens too. What a mess. "Pastor Washington? You can get up now." She stepped back to give him room. "But stay close. We're heading back inside the church."

"Thank you." Isaiah didn't argue. When he managed to stand, she felt a little guilty when she saw her handcuffs were still around his wrists. Swallowing a sigh, she escorted him inside the church and over to the pew.

Then she reached for the key to release the cuffs.

"I'm not under arrest anymore?" He appeared surprised by her action.

Frankly, she was surprised by her decision too. "I should take you in, but we need to understand what just happened out there. Starting with who tried to kill you."

Isaiah glanced up at her, his expression dazed. "I have no idea."

"You seriously expect me to believe that?" She was getting mighty tired of his stubborn attitude. "Okay, let's go through this again. First a bunch of kids with guns gather outside your church. Then you protect an armed teenager who held you hostage and took a shot at me, and now you claim you have no idea who just tried to kill you."

He flushed and nodded. "I agree the situation doesn't look good. I understand your concern. And the boy was scared, that's all. I don't think he really tried to hit you."

"I'm not concerned," she said in a low voice. "I'm angry. People died here today. You and I were almost killed too. Quit playing games. What gives?"

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Joe and Grayson were watching them warily. She did her best to ignore them.

"Okay. You're right about one thing," Isaiah said with a grimace. "I am partly responsible."

Now they were getting somewhere. She softened her tone. "What happened?"

He stared down at his hands for a moment, then lifted his gaze to hers. "I noticed a group of kids outside the church buying and selling drugs. I called an anonymous tip to the third district police station to let them know. I did not give them my name, but I did mention I saw at least one weapon."

She was shocked by his candor. "You said you were in your office working when the shots were fired."

"I was." He closed his eyes for a moment as if he couldn't bear to remember. "I know what you're thinking. It wasn't me being a coward, because I walk with God and am not afraid to die." He lifted his hand to rub his upper chest in a seemingly unconscious gesture. "I was only hoping to keep my involvement anonymous mainly because I need this church to be a refuge for those who seek peace and safety." He paused, then added, "But I wasn't about to ignore a major drug deal going down either."

"So that kid who held you hostage was one of the drug dealers?"

"No, he wasn't the one involved with the drugs, not at first." Isaiah's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure when he arrived on the scene."

"I still need his name." She would bet money on the Glock matching the bullets found at the scene outside.

"I told you before, I don't know his name." There was something about the way he responded that indicated he knew more than he was letting on.

"Look, Preach, you better start cooperating, or I'll slap those cuffs back on and haul you downtown."

"My name is Isaiah." He sighed and rubbed his jaw. "I don't know his legal name. But I've heard his street name."

"I'll take whatever information you have." She tried not to show her annoyance with the way he was splitting hairs. He must have known the kid's street name earlier, too, but hadn't seen fit to tell her. Not even when she'd clapped handcuffs around his wrists.

Before he could tell her anything more, Joe crossed over. He drew her from Isaiah so they could speak freely. "We need to go outside and talk to the district three captain and two detectives who just showed up."

She hesitated, glancing back at Isaiah. "Not sure we should leave him here after the way someone tried to kill him. At least not until the scene has been cleared."

Joe frowned. "Yeah, okay. You stay close. Grayson and I will head outside."

"Wait." She didn't like being stuck on babysitting duty. "We can get one of the officers outside to sit on him."

"Not happening. Three of their own were shot, one dead and two injured. They're taking the lead on the investigation." Joe shrugged. "Rhy just wants us to offer assistance as needed until the area is completely cleared. He's not putting us on modified duty either." Joe pinned her with a gaze. "I know you hit one teen, and Roscoe did too. You'll have to give your gun to the detectives, but you'll be allowed to use a backup piece."

"Okay." She could tell there was no point in arguing. She was relieved Rhy wasn't taking them off the street, even though she knew that was the usual protocol. And she could understand the decision to allow district three officers to take the lead. If one of the casualties had been a member of their tactical team, there wouldn't be a cop on the planet who could keep them away. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do." Joe cut a glance toward Isaiah. "Go easy on him. He's trying to do a good thing here. This neighborhood needs a church."

She nodded without saying anything. She understood where Joe was coming from. He was a man of God too. A believer like Steele, Brock, and their boss, Captain Rhy Finnegan.

But not her.

After the guys left, she turned back to Isaiah. He wasn't in the pew where she'd left him. He was walking up the side of the church toward the altar.

"Isaiah? Hold on, we're not finished yet." She hurried after him, her gaze taking in the crucifix hanging above the simple table covered in a white cloth. He'd mentioned this was a Christian nondenominational church. She wondered what that meant. Then she told herself it didn't matter.

He led the way into his office. She hovered in the doorway, noticing the tall bookshelf behind him full of different books and a few Bibles. Why more than one? She had no clue.

"Officer Lewis," he said with a nod. "Please take a seat."

So formal, she thought as she dropped into the plain hard-backed chair. "I know you care about the law and justice," she said. "Or you wouldn't have made that call to the district three police station about the drug deal. So why are you harboring a cop killer?"

"You don't know that boy killed anyone," he protested.

"We have one dead cop and two critically injured," she said in a clipped tone. "And I have reason to believe that kid fired at one of them."

Isaiah frowned, then slowly nodded. "I see. Because of the way he said no one could help him now."

"Exactly." She held his gaze. "If you ask me, that was pretty much a confession. I understand you want the church to be a sanctuary, but that doesn't excuse harboring a cop killer."

"You don't know he killed an officer, and I'm not harboring him." Isaiah spread his hands wide. "He's not here in the church."

She ground her teeth together. "This is serious. I need to find this kid. Are you really going to refuse to help me?"

Isaiah dropped his gaze to the desk. It was all she could do not to leap across, grab him by the shoulders, and shake him. After what seemed like eons, he lifted his gaze. "He goes by his street name, Pinky."

"Pinky?" Was he for real? "Why Pinky?"

"Because he lost the pinky finger of his right hand when his father smashed it with a hammer," Isaiah said, his blue eyes dark with pain.

She could only stare at him in horrified shock, feeling his anguish. The explanation was awful. Even though she was no stranger to growing up poor and in an abusive household, the image of some man smashing his son's finger with a hammer made her sick to her stomach. "Was his father arrested?"

"No, because Pinky's mother told the police his finger was slammed in a car door. Even though they didn't have a car." He sighed. "Don't you see? These kids aren't born bad. They're products of their environment."

"That may be so." She was a product of her environment, too, wasn't she? But she'd taken a different path, escaping the lure of easy money in the streets. Besides, having compassion for the kid's situation didn't extend to ignoring the law. "I still need that weapon to see if it matches the slugs that will be taken out of these fallen officers. They deserve justice."

"I understand. But even if you find Pinky and the Glock, you don't know for sure he was the one to fire at those officers." Isaiah shrugged. "He may have picked up the gun from the ground."

What, he was a cop now? She frowned. "I thought you didn't see anything?"

"I didn't." He looked tired and sick over the violence that had erupted just yards from his church. She couldn't help a flash of sympathy. For someone who did believe, this situation couldn't be easy. "I'm just saying that the fact that Pinky had the gun in his hand doesn't mean he fired at one of your fellow officers."

Isaiah seemed determined to protect this kid at all costs. And she could understand, to a point. "It would be easier to believe that theory if he hadn't taken a shot at me before bolting out of here." When he opened his mouth to argue, she quickly added, "But I will keep that possibility in mind once I find him."

Isaiah's expression was grim. "I hope you do."

Why did she feel as if she were one of the bad guys? She and the rest of their tactical team put their lives on the line every day for their community. She didn't appreciate him trying to make her feel as if she was part of the problem. "Is there anything else you can tell me? Like additional street names for the other kids who ran through here?"

He frowned, then leaned forward to grab a pen. He jotted down a short list of four names. "These are the only ones I know, and that's only because they've attended church services." A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "The kids talk to each other freely as if I'm invisible."

She was surprised to hear they'd bothered to attend services but stayed focused on the list. "Congo, Dagger, Tiger, and Snoop?"

"Yes." He didn't elaborate.

It was like pulling teeth. "Do you know the stories behind all of their nicknames?" She pressed.

"Congo used to play the drums. Dagger is skinny and is known to carry a knife, and Tiger has a large orange Afro as he is also a mixed-race child. I'm not sure about Snoop."

She made those additional notes, then stood. "Thanks for this." Her main priority was to find Pinky and his Glock. Then she remembered how she hadn't wanted to leave him alone. "I'll see if we can arrange for more police protection."

"No need. I'll be fine." He didn't look concerned. "Pinky didn't want to kill me."

"Someone did." She considered calling Joe, but then she decided against it. The pastor should be safe enough in church. Getting these kids into custody had to be a priority. And now that she had names and even a description, she was anxious to get started. "Your choice to stay here or have an officer escort you home. I'll see you later, then."

As she turned away, Isaiah called out to her. "Officer Lewis?"

She paused to glance over her shoulder. "Yeah?"

"I pray you find the peace you're seeking." He smiled gently, and she was surprised at how handsome he looked. "God is always there, waiting for you. You and your teammates are welcome to our Sunday service any time."

Don't hold your breath.Somehow, she managed not to say the words that flashed in her mind. Instead, she simply nodded and left.

After seeing the death and destruction that had just transpired outside the church, she didn't understand how anyone, even Isaiah, could believe in God.

Isaiah toldhimself not to feel guilty for giving Raelyn the information about the kids' street names. The truth was, the situation that had unraveled outside couldn't happen again, and if that meant some of these kids doing time in a juvie center, then so be it.

Yet he wasn't sure Raelyn—Officer Lewis, he swiftly corrected himself—would agree with his assessment of where they should be held if found guilty of a crime.

It was no secret they were on opposite sides here. Not that he condoned violence in any way. No one should be fired upon, much less police officers. But he also knew what these kids dealt with every day. They didn't have easy lives.

But they did have choices. And many of them had made the wrong ones today.

The way he once had. He absently rubbed the scar on his chest through his black shirt. God had saved him for a reason. To be here today. To help these kids in any way possible. And logically, he knew that didn't include protecting criminals.

Yet he still didn't believe Pinky was responsible for killing a cop. Of the group of boys who'd attended services, Congo was the most hardened of the group. Isaiah offered a free meal after his Sunday service, which was the main reason Pinky and the other kids had come in the first place. Isaiah had known the kids had probably just wanted to escape their home situations for a while, but he had hoped maybe his message of God and faith was getting through.

Now this. He dropped his head into his hands. Even though he was a pastor and knew God had spared his life, and that Jesus had died for his sins, it wasn't easy to simply accept God's plan. Not when things like a massive shoot-out in broad daylight occurred.

Not when so many had been killed or injured.

He tried not to wallow in despair.

Please, Lord Jesus, protect Your children. Please keep them safe from harm. Amen.

Normally, he felt better after praying. But not tonight. He forced himself to work on his sermon for the upcoming Sunday. Rather than focusing on forgiveness, he needed to discuss God's Ten Commandments.

Thou shalt not kill.

No, that might be too preachy. He wrote and rewrote for what seemed like hours before giving up. Pushing the tablet of paper aside, he rose to his feet. Something would come to him. It always did.

Making his way through the church, he opened the front door. The voices outside had stopped a while ago, and he was surprised to see the street outside his church was deserted. He must have worked longer than he'd realized.

He was troubled to see the blood stains on the ground along with the remnants of crime scene tape strung across the area.

How many children had lost their lives today?

And how many more would be lost if they didn't get the violence in the city under control?

With a heavy sigh, he turned and locked the church door. He didn't like locking the church, but he didn't have a choice. Not after the drug deal and subsequent shooting. He then walked down the few steps to street level. Glancing around, he noticed the homes across the street had their curtains drawn tightly over the windows. Those who may have been involved in what happened today and had escaped—like Pinky—would likely hunker down and stay out of sight for the next few days.

A good thing, he thought, as the neighborhood and city in general needed time to recover from this. He should have asked Officer Lewis to get him the names of the children who'd lost their lives. He needed to visit with their families, offer to have funeral services at the church for them.

It wouldn't be enough, and it may not even welcomed, but he would try anyway. Because that was his role here. To help pick up the pieces after a terrible tragedy.

Despite how someone had taken a shot at him earlier, he decided to work a few hours providing rideshares to earn enough to cover the next after-service meal. Most people didn't realize he worked a part-time job in addition to his role as pastor, but that was okay. He hadn't taken the role as pastor for the money. A church in this neighborhood could never exist solely on donations.

He barely made enough in donations to pay the monthly electric, heat, and water bills. And that was with the mayor's unwavering support.

Lifting his face into the cool May breeze coming in off the lake, he turned toward home, walking the five blocks to the house the mayor rented to him for a ridiculously low rate. He'd often wondered if the mayor had done that because he and Beau, the mayor's son, had attended the same high school.

Ten years ago, after he'd gotten out of the hospital, and after his stint in jail, he'd discovered his mother had died after another round of pneumonia. Her health had never been very good; she'd always suffered more acutely from colds or the flu than others. The doctors had mentioned she had a weakened immune system. At first, he'd been angry at learning of her death, wondering why God had saved him over his mother.

Then he remembered the bright, welcoming light. The whispered words from his grandmother, urging him to go to the light. He believed his mother was in heaven with his grandmother, free of pain and suffering.

His turn was coming, he knew. It had nearly happened today if not for Raelyn—Officer Lewis's quick reaction. His future was in God's hands.

When he reached the house, he slid in behind the wheel of his car and logged into the app that would allow him to take fares as a rideshare driver. He dug the decals out of his pocket and stuck them to the windshield. Then he headed out toward the nicer part of town, where people could afford to pay for rideshares to get from one place to the other.

He drove steadily for the next four hours, doing relatively well considering the day he'd had. Most of the people he picked up and dropped off ignored him, other than making sure he had the address of where they wanted to go. And that was fine with him. He didn't care for small talk and would rather focus on driving. It was interesting, though, how many people discussed their personal lives, as if he couldn't hear every word.

Being both a pastor and a rideshare driver seemed to make him invisible.

His thoughts went back to the crack of gunfire that had Raelyn tackling him to the ground. He hadn't been lying when he said he had no idea who wanted to kill him. Unless he was wrong about Pinky. And the other kids?

No, he couldn't believe any of those kids were hard-core killers. Not yet anyway. In time, if things didn't change for them, they could easily turn into killers. Congo had hard eyes, so he wasn't sure whether Congo could be drawn back from the edge. But the others? They were young and scared, and he felt certain the cops hanging around outside would have ensured they stayed far away.

Besides, why would they kill him? He'd only offered support, food, and comfort.

He glanced at his watch. It was almost midnight. He usually stopped working at this time of night because there was generally a lull between midnight and bar time. And he didn't particularly care for driving intoxicated people around. Not only were they rude and bad tippers, but on two separate occasions, drunk passengers had thrown up in the back seat of his car.

Nope. Not doing that again.

He decided to pick up one last fare, then head home. The three girls he'd picked up to drive back to their dorm at Marquette University were nice enough. And he was glad to get them home safely. That was the part of the job he liked.

Returning to his neighborhood was like going from earth to the moon. It was depressing how these families lived in poverty. Broken-down homes and cars. Boarded-up windows on businesses that had failed. He pulled into the driveway of the rental house and threw the gearshift into park. Sliding out from behind the wheel, he hit the key fob to lock the door.

As he turned to head up the short sidewalk to his front door, he hesitated, realizing his porch light was out. A burned bulb? He'd never changed it during the time he'd stayed here, so it was entirely possible.

Yet living on these streets brought his guard up. Moving slowly, he approached his porch. Seeing nothing amiss, he relaxed. He was letting the events of the day wreak havoc on his imagination.

But he'd only taken one step up when a large Black man lunged from the side of the house, roughly knocking him to the ground.

Isaiah hit the earth hard. The darkness made it impossible to see the attacker's features clearly, other than the dark color of his skin and the whiteness of his eyes. He tried to strike back, but the large Black man's hands wrapped around his throat.

"You deserve this," a voice rasped near his ear.

He did? Isaiah struggled to peel the steely fingers away from his throat. Maybe he deserved to die, but what about his mission?

What about the kids he was supposed to save?

Isaiah expected to see the light again, but there was nothing but darkness. Had God given up on him?

"Stop! Police!" a familiar female voice shouted.

Instantly, the big Black man let him go and surged to his feet. As Isaiah gasped for air, his assailant kicked him once in the ribs, then took off running. A minute later, Raelyn shot past Isaiah lying on the ground in hot pursuit.

Forcing himself to his feet, he winced at his sore ribs and followed Raelyn. He didn't know if the large Black man was armed or not, but he was afraid for Raelyn's safety if he was carrying.

Was this guy the same one who'd tried to shoot him earlier? Isaiah stumbled, struggling to stay upright. His chest felt tight, and he sucked air into his lungs as he forced himself to keep going, even though he was already lagging behind.

Then finally, Raelyn slowed to a stop. She turned, and he could see that she was speaking into her radio. "This is unit ten requesting backup in pursuing a perp." She glanced at him and began walking toward him. "Assailant is an African American man roughly six feet three inches tall, three hundred pounds and was last seen heading north on Clover. He's wanted for the assault and attempted murder of Pastor Isaiah Washington."

Then she lowered her hand and raked her gaze over him. "Are you okay? Do you need an ambulance?"

"No ambulance. Sore throat and ribs, that's all." His voice was hoarse, and he feared the tissues might continue to swell due to the assailant's tight grip. Pain sliced through his side, but he wasn't going to complain.

"Let's get back to your place." She fell into step beside him.

It didn't take long for them to reach his house. He turned to face her. "Why did you come to my place tonight?"

"I was afraid something like this would happen." She paused, then added, "Who was that man?"

"I don't know."

She threw up her hands in a theatrical gesture. "Here we go again. You honestly have never seen that man before in your life. You don't know who that man was or why he attacked you?"

"I swear I don't." He tried to think back to those moments the large Black man had him pinned on the ground but couldn't place the brief glimpse he'd gotten of his face with anyone who'd attended his church services. "He said I deserved it."

"He said that?" she demanded. "Those were his exact words?"

"Yes." He continued up the steps to his front door, putting his key in the lock and heading inside for an ice pack.

Dazed at the realization that the threat against his life was real. Not just a fluke shot outside the church, but a desperate attempt to kill him.

And whoever wanted him dead would keep coming after him until the deed was done.