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place.”
    There had to be another option. “Those bullets were closer to you than me. Maybe the shooter was after you.”
    “Leigh, be reasonable. Someone killed your brother, trashed your house . . .” He spoke slowly, as though he thought she might be having trouble understanding him. “He wasn’t after me.”
    “You don’t know that for sure.”
    He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t have time to argue with you right now. But consider what could’ve happened if your son had been with you.”
    She opened her mouth and closed it. As much as she hated to admit it, there was no denying that until this person was caught, she and TJ needed Ben’s protection.
    But who would protect her from Ben if he discovered TJ was his son?

    Ben stared at Leigh. She was the most stubborn, strong-willed woman he’d ever met. But what if she was right that the shooter had been aiming at him? His radio crackled to life with Wade’s voice.
    “I have the cyclist in sight. I’m doing eighty-five, and the crazy fool is pulling away.”
    Ben stood and spoke into his mic. “What’s your location?”
    “Highway 310. Coming up on Dead Man’s Curve.”
    “Back off but try to keep him in view.”
    The radio jumped to life again. “Ben, he didn’t make the curve. I’m calling for an ambulance.”
    “Approach the situation with caution, Wade. I’m on my way.” He turned to Leigh. “Stay here, and do not go after your son.”
    Her brows shot together in protest.
    “Just once, do what I ask. We don’t know that this guy is the shooter. And give me your cell number so I can keep in touch.”
    She spit out the numbers, and he tapped them into his phone, then hurried out of the house, taking Andre with him. His deputy caught up with him at his truck.
    “The doc has a lot of backbone,” Andre said.
    “Too much.” He climbed into his truck and followed Andre’s squad car as he peeled out of the driveway. Once on the highway, Ben checked in with his chief deputy. “Wade, what’s the situation?”
    “No pulse. Ambulance ETA, five minutes. I’m administering CPR.”
    “Who is it?”
    “Billy Wayne Gresham.”
    His stomach soured. “You sure?”
    “Yeah. I don’t think he’ll make it.”
    Ben fingered the small Boy Scout medallion in his pocket. Tommy Ray Gresham’s little brother. He’d pulled him over a week ago for speeding on his motorcycle and let him go. Just hadn’t been able to write the ticket, not to the brother of the boy Ben had let drown. “Once the paramedics arrive, secure the scene.”
    He did the math. Dead Man’s Curve was seven miles from Leigh’s house. If Billy Wayne was their shooter, he’d been laying down some rubber. It was a wonder he hadn’t crashed earlier.
    When Ben reached the scene, Wade was directing traffic. A green Kawasaki that Ben recognized as the one he’d pulled over lay twisted around a huge oak that had claimed more lives than Ben cared to remember. Paramedics huddled over a body twenty feet from the tree.
    “How is he?” Ben asked. Even this early in the day, the July sun beat down with a vengeance, and within seconds, his shirt was plastered to his back.
    “Not good.” Sweat ran down the side of Wade’s face.
    Ben jogged over to where the paramedics were working on Billy Wayne. One of them looked up and shook his head. A few minutes later, the medic rocked back on his heels. “He’s gone.”
    Ben pulled the Boy Scout medallion from his pocket and stared at it. Three years ago, he’d planned to give the medallion to Billy Wayne’s brother on the last day of camp. He didn’t look forward to telling Mrs. Gresham another one of her boys had died.
    “Hey, Ben, come get a look at this,” Wade yelled from where he stood by the broken Kawasaki. He carefully lifted a small satchel from the saddle bag. A black barrel protruded from it. “I think you have your shooter.”
    “Let’s see it.”
    Wade pulled on latex gloves and carefully lifted out a folded carbine. He