The Defender's Duty

THREE

Jude knew he’d told Lacey to stay put. Twice. Yet there she was, creeping toward her front door, just begging to be shot by whoever was driving the black Honda sedan. “Get down.”

He whispered the command for the second time, but she kept on going. He had no choice but to change his course and follow. He’d spent enough years working as a beat cop in New York City to sense danger. Right now it was nipping at his heels just as it had been in the weeks preceding the accident that had almost taken his life.

Accident.

That’s what his supervisor insisted it was. That’s what the police report indicated. It’s not what Jude believed. Someone had tried to kill him two months ago, accelerating toward him as he helped a stranded motorist. There wasn’t a doubt in Jude’s mind that the act had been deliberate. Nor did he doubt that the person would try again.

But next time, Jude would be ready.

The car inched forward, moving as quietly as a car could. Nearly coasting. Lights off. License plate concealed. And instead of moving toward it, Jude was heading up the porch stairs, his need to keep Lacey safe outweighing his need to confront the driver of the car.

It was the same need to protect that had nearly gotten him killed. He’d been on vacation, heading out to a cabin in upstate New York when he’d spotted a woman and two kids standing on the side of the road, steam rising from the hood of their minivan.

He could have passed them like everyone else had, but denying someone help wasn’t something Jude had ever been able to do. He’d pulled up behind the car, gotten out of his vehicle and been run down by a black sedan.

One that looked a lot like the one idling at the end of his driveway.

“Get away from the door. You’re lit up like a Christmas tree.” He hissed the warning as he tugged her out of the light from the door and into the shadowy corner of the porch.

“What’s going on, Jude? Who’s in the car?”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I find out. Stay here.”

“But—”

“We’ll talk after I deal with my visitor.”

He limped down the porch steps and jogged toward the car, his gun in hand, knowing he and Lacey had already been seen. Maybe, if he were lucky, he’d get a glimpse of the driver anyway. And maybe he wouldn’t get a bullet through the heart while he did it.

The car U-turned, kicking up gravel as it sped away.

Gone.

A missed opportunity.

And Jude knew exactly who to blame.

He gritted his teeth and made his way back up the stairs, slamming his fist on Lacey’s door as he moved into the foyer.

“There’s no need to slam things around.” Lacey stepped inside and closed the door, her shoulders stiff. Jude wasn’t sure if she was scared or angry, and he wasn’t sure he cared.

“Sure there is. I’ve been waiting months to confront the person in that car. Thanks to you, it didn’t happen.”

“Thanks to me? I was trying to save your sorry hide.”

“I didn’t need saving. I needed to get a good look at the car’s driver.” He stalked away before he could say anything worse. Lacey didn’t know what was going on, and she couldn’t be blamed for not understanding.

“I’m sorry, Jude. I just wanted to help.” She touched his arm, her fingers warm through his shirt, searing his skin and cooling his temper.

“There are things going on that you don’t understand, Lacey. For now on, when I tell you to do something, do it.”

He limped back outside, his legs protesting every step, and watched as the retreating car braked at the top of the road. Two months ago, Jude would have sprinted around the side of the house, hopped into his car and sped after the retreating vehicle. Unfortunately, his sprinting days were over.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to find the car and its driver.

“I’m going for a drive. You go back in the house, eat your pretzels and then try to get some sleep,” he called over his shoulder as he started down the porch steps.

“There you go again. Trying to order me around.” Lacey shut the front door and hurried after him.

“I’m not trying. I’m doing it.”

“And wasting time while you’re at it. I don’t know who you think is in that car, but if you’re planning to catch up to him, the sooner we follow, the better.”

“We’re not following. I am.”

“My car is right in front of the house, and I’ve got the key.”

She didn’t add that it would make more sense to take her car since it was obviously closer than his. Probably because she knew she didn’t have to. Jude hadn’t made the grade as a homicide detective because he was ruled by his emotions. He’d made it because he was logical and meticulous.

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll take your car.”

“I knew you’d be reasonable.”

“I knew you’d be annoying.”

She laughed, the sound ringing through the night, nudging at Jude’s soul, telling him he needed to lighten up a little, stop taking things so seriously.

Unfortunately, that was hard to do with a killer stalking him.

He walked to Lacey’s car, his limping stride only adding to his frustration. Since the accident, his body no longer felt like his own. His legs were foreign and difficult to move. His back was stiff. Every day was filled with challenges, but what bugged Jude the most was that he couldn’t take off after the bad guys, chase the villains, bring them in and see justice served.

“You’re awfully quiet. You’re not feeling sorry for yourself, are you?” Lacey opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat, clearly not caring that Jude was seething with frustration.

“Isn’t that your job?” He shut her door and got in the passenger’s seat.

“To feel sorry for you? Why would I? You’ve got a nice home, a family that loves you. What’s there to be sorry about?”

“Two bum legs and a lost career.” He muttered the response, but knew she was right. He had plenty to be thankful for and not much to be sorry about. Even less once he figured out who was trying to kill him.

“I’ve met a lot of people who thrived with more hardship than that.” She put on her seat belt, adjusted the mirrors, glanced over her shoulder and fiddled with the dashboard buttons until Jude grabbed the key from her hand and shoved it into the ignition. “There. We’re ready.”

“Right.” She gripped the wheel with both hands and drove backward down the driveway and onto the road. The speedometer crept from five to fifteen miles an hour and hovered there until Jude wanted to wrench the steering wheel out from under Lacey’s hands and stomp down hard on the gas pedal.

“I suppose there’s a reason why you’re driving so slow?”

“Slow? The speed limit is posted. Fifteen miles an hour.”