Page 12 of Lock ’N’ Load

“Hey.” Sgt. Connors briefly rested his hand on her shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, she believed him. Or, at least, she wanted to. She’d been alone for so long now, she hadn’t fully understood how nice it was to have a man care about her well-being. But this wasn’t him caring for her. This was simply a police officer exercising his duty to protect.

Detective Sorensen then proceeded to ask her a slew of other questions, which she answered to the best of her ability.

“If it wasn’t robbery or rape, then what was it?” she asked him.

“Don’t know. At this point, my guess is it was a random attack.” He waved his pen in the air. “We’ll review the Moose’s video cams, but last week they were offline. We found that out after a hit-and-run in the parking lot.” He made another note on his pad. “Since he wore gloves, dusting your car for prints is a waste of time.”

Detective Sorensen pulled a wallet from his back pocket and handed her his business card. “If you think of anything else I should be aware of, give me a call. If you see or hear anything suspicious, don’t hesitate to call 911. In the meantime, we’ll run every tag in the lot and both adjacent lots in case he left a car here. If anyone red-flags with a criminal history, we’ll pay him a visit.”

“Can you have a car run by her place for the next few nights?” Sgt. Connors asked.

“Sure thing, Matt.”

“Thanks, Jake.” Sgt. Connors extended his hand, which the detective shook.

After Detective Sorensen walked over to the few remaining officers still processing the scene, Sgt. Connors faced her. “Do you have someone to stay with you tonight?”

She shook her head, wishing there was someone. “I just w-want to go home. I have to feed my cat.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

“What? No! I have my c-car.” She began getting out of the truck.

“Stay here.” He pushed gently on her shoulder, forcing her back into the seat. “I’ll have one of the uniforms follow us in your car.”

She opened her mouth to object again, but he ignored her and carefully closed the passenger door in her face.

A minute later, he got in and handed over her purse. “Where do you live?”

“Uh, I uh—” Oh great, here we go again.

His brows rose in question, his gaze locking with hers. Bonnie was right. Even blurry, Sgt. Connors was h-o-t hot.

She gasped. “Wait, my g-glasses!”

“I put them in your purse.” He guided the truck through the lot toward the road. “I hope you have a spare set, ’cuz they don’t look so good.”

Digging into her purse, she found her glasses and tried shoving them on. Both lenses were still intact, but the frames were twisted and mangled beyond repair. She’d have to hunt deep in her bathroom closet for some contacts to tide her over until she could order new glasses.

“Th-thank you.” She rolled her eyes. I sound like such a dork.

“Where do you live?” he asked, checking his side mirror, probably to see if the deputy driving her car was behind them.

“Arlington. 442 Roseb-bud Lane.”

For the first few minutes of the drive, neither of them said a word. Trista couldn’t. Tonight, her social ineptness was at an embarrassingly all-time high, although not with the paramedics and not with Detective Sorensen. Only with Sgt. Connors.

“You shouldn’t be parking in lots that aren’t well-lit at night,” he said, gunning the truck onto the ramp for I-66.

“Thanks for the t-tip.”

“What are you doing out at this hour?”

“I was working late and needed f-food.”

“Great minds think alike.” He chuckled, and she liked the way his laugh came out all rumbly and rich. “I was waiting at the light to turn in and grab some grub myself. Best burgers in town.”