Page 26 of Shadow Burn

Over the next twenty minutes, the world resumed around her in procedures, reports, photographs, and evidence markers. Katherine sat on the couch in the middle of it, wrapped in Jasper’s steadiness, Priss between her ankles, as she answered the officers’ questions, then a detective’s.

It was all a horrible dream. A nightmare. Someone had come into this house to kill her.

She glanced at Jasper, a few feet away, talking to the detective. If not for him—and her cat—she might be dead.

But she wasn’t. She was still alive.

And mad as hell.

CHAPTER SIX

Jasper had never liked the color of police lights.

Red and blue strobed through the front windows and over the pale walls. An officer was taking notes near the door, and Detective Mallory was standing in the hall with his hands on his hips, studying the wreckage of the bedroom as if the room might confess if he stared hard enough.

The broken window let in a blade of cold September air that carried the smell of wet leaves and gunpowder through the house. Beneath it was something sharper, metallic and intimate—the scent of blood drying on skin.

Katherine sat on the couch with Priss tucked beside her, answering questions in a voice so precise it made Jasper’s stomach tighten. She told the detective who she was, why she was in Blackridge, and the sequence of the break-in without a hitch in her voice, even though she was still shaking. She described the man in the black ski mask, dark clothing, and gloves. “Height approximately six feet. Medium build. Brown eyes. One of his shoes made a scuffing noise on the kitchen tile.”

Even half in shock, Katherine Townsend cataloged what mattered.

The detective, a thickset man in his late forties, glanced up from his notepad. “You’re sure he used your name?”

“Yes,” Katherine said. Her hands were folded in her lap, one over the other, the cut across her palm mostly hidden. Blood had dried on her cheek where glass had kissed her skin. “He said I should have stayed in the archives.”

Detective Mallory knew Garrett and Jasper from previous encounters. His gaze shifted to Jasper. “And you think this was connected to her work?”

Jasper kept his voice even. “I believe a masked man broke into this house, forced his way into the bedroom, and fired a weapon at her. The connection to her work is going to be part of what we help you establish.”

Mallory’s mouth flattened at the edges. “You’re not law enforcement, Perault.”

“No,” Jasper said. “But I was on the phone with her when the attack happened, and I heard him use her name. He didn’t pick this house at random. She was his target.”

Katherine’s breathing changed at that, just enough for Jasper to hear it. Her shoulders remained straight, her chin level, her eyes dry, but the skin around her mouth was tight. He’d seen soldiers stay upright through shock and blood loss on nothing but discipline and denial. Katherine was doing the civilian version of the same thing, holding herself together because the alternative was falling apart in front of strangers.

Garrett stood near the hallway, speaking quietly with one of the responding officers. He’d already cleared the yard, checked the broken window from outside, and confirmed the intruder was gone.

The man had fled through the narrow strip between the rental and the neighboring fence, leaving broken glass in the dirt and a piece of dark fabric snagged on the window frame. Another officer had bagged it. The gun had been recovered from under the bed, a compact semiautomatic with the serial number filed down.

Now the room was full of procedure, and Jasper wanted Katherine out of the middle of it.

Mallory closed his notepad and told them both not to leave before he strode toward the bedroom.

Jasper crouched in front of her, putting himself between her and the front window without making a production of it. “Katherine.”

She blinked at him as if he had spoken from far away. “Yes?”

“You’re cold.”

“I’m fine.” Her voice sounded detached, far way.

“You’re shaking.”

“Just adrenaline.”

“It is. You’re also cold. We need to get you warmed up.”

She looked down at her hands, seeming surprised to find them trembling. Priss looked up at Jasper and issued a small, hoarse meow that sounded like an accusation. “We can’t leave,” Katherine said. “The detective isn’t finished.”