From Your Saving Grace, available now in download or in print

(unpublished excerpt: may vary from final published version)

They were on their third beers when Jude noticed four women sitting at the bar. They looked like they’d come from one of the office parks nearby, all dressed in tailored jackets and skirts with careful makeup and hairdos. They definitely weren’t female cops or the blue-collar shop girls who occasionally dropped by.

Sam Reston, one of the guys sitting with him, noticed Jude’s look. “Groupies.” Sammy was in his mid-thirties and single. If you believed him, he was getting laid just about every night of the week. “They’re always hanging around since 9/11.”

Jude eyed the women. “Groupies?”

Sandy Johansen, the third at their table, nodded. He was married but often conveniently forgot about his wife. “They’re always hanging out. Anyplace there’re firemen or police.” He took a swig of beer, belching softly. “You know, they’re into the whole hero thing.” Jude wasn’t sure if it was disgust or slyness he saw in Sandy’s eyes. “A cop can always get laid nowadays.”

It used to be that cops were the scum of the earth. Now it looked like the tide had turned. One of the women, a long-legged brunette with short tousled hair, caught his eye and smiled. Jude smiled in return. What was it Hannah Paxton had said? “We indulged in promiscuity and convinced ourselves it was love” or something like that. Jude swallowed more beer as he eyed the brunette. Nah, with that one he wouldn’t even pretend it was love. That was a chick out for a roll in the hay.

He swung his gaze to the TV set over the bar where an inane game show was on. Why not? He had some condoms and she was over the age of consent. What was the problem? Jude swigged more beer. “Pity there isn’t a man who’d like to share my bed.” Isn’t that what Paxton said? Why did he remember everything she said? He saw the brunette eyeing him. When was the last time he picked up somebody in a bar? Hell, when was the last time he got laid? Jude set his beer down, standing up. “Talk to you guys later.”

“Why leave?” Sandy’s eyes slithered to the women at the bar. “I’ll bet we could have some fun.”

Jude looked at his assessing gaze then at Sam, who had a similar predatory look. “Have fun without me, guys.” He put a twenty on the table as he picked up his coat.

As he walked by the women, the brunette turned to watch him. “Leaving so soon?”

He paused, hating himself for the uncertainty he was feeling. Mindless sex—nothing wrong with that. Mindless sex—who needs it? Up close he could see that she was closer to forty than thirty. Jude remembered Hannah Paxton, sitting on the couch in hazy sunlight. Her translucent skin looked as fragile as porcelain china. He remembered the fine lines around her eyes and how her hair shone in the sunlight. “Yeah.”

“Aw, come on.” The brunette swung one long leg on the barstool. The dim light of the overheads made her nylons shine hypnotically. “Join me for a beer?”

His cell phone rang. Jude almost laughed, relieved to have temptation removed from him so easily. He opened the phone, pressing it hard against his ear to hear above the sound of the jukebox. “Brenner.”

“I think someone is following me home.”

He recognized her voice. “Miss Paxton? Hannah?” He moved away to the door, trying to find a quiet spot in the now crowded bar.

“I went to town. Someone followed me. Not very many people use this road except for locals. I saw the headlights behind me then they disappeared. Now they’re back.”

She didn’t sound scared, just breathless. “Where are you?”

“Turning onto my drive. I’m using my cell phone. Should I call 911?”

“Hannah, don’t go home, you—”

The phone went dead in his hand. “Son of a bitch.” He dialed the number on the caller ID screen as he raced out to his Jeep.

“We’re sorry. That number is not in service at this time.”

Jude speed-dialed Fort’s cell number and explained what happened.

“I’ll call it in,” Fort said. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Yeah, but it might be something. I’m going out there.”

“Call me when you get there. Keep me updated. I’ll call Marsha.”

Jude hung up without replying. He needed both hands on the wheel to steer on the snow-slicked pavement. Luckily it was almost eight at night so rush hour was long past. But it still took him almost thirty minutes to negotiate city roads, get on the interstate south, then manage the county highway and back country roads that led to Hannah Paxton’s house.

Flashing lights cycled through the darkness at the top of the hill as he turned onto Willow Lane. Jude drove as fast as he dared up the steep incline then slammed on the brakes, sliding to a stop when he turned into her drive. A small red Jeep, exactly like his except for color, was in the middle of the drive, the driver’s door open. The headlights were still on. Beyond it Jude could see a squad car, panic lights flashing on top. One of the patrol officers trudged through the snow as Jude parked his vehicle behind the other Jeep and got out, reaching behind him on the backseat for the big flashlight he kept there.

“Sir, I’m sorry this—”

Jude had his badge case open as he walked by the officer. “Where is she?”

The officer shone his flashlight on Jude’s badge. “We’re not sure. We got a call that there might be trouble.”

“She was on the phone with me when the line went dead. She thought she was being followed.” Jude strode through snow to the house, examining the yard. It looked the same as it had earlier. Her drive was lightly plowed, the path to the side door was snow-packed and the front yard looked untouched. No footprints marred the pristine white surface that led unbroken out to Willow Lane.

Jude started around the side of the house to the deck where he’d entered that afternoon. As he did, the officer next to him shone his flashlight in a bobbing pattern around the darkened fields behind the house. Jude hadn’t examined the surroundings when he’d come out earlier. He’d been aware of the detached garage, a large metal outbuilding of some kind and cornfields in the distance, still stubbled with last year’s stalks.

Now he looked more closely at the fields, shining his own flashlight into the darkness. The kitchen overlooked these fields to the south while the living room looked out over the road to the north. A dense stand of trees was at the far end of the property, on the west, forming a windbreak. Typical farm setup.

He started to step up onto the small porch that led into the kitchen when his flashlight landed on footprints in the backyard. Like the front, it was mostly untouched, except for two lines of tracks that slashed diagonally through the whiteness, angling across the yard toward the far end of the house, opposite of where he was standing. One set was deeper, made by a shorter person who had to fight to get through a winter’s accumulation of snow. They’d had almost two feet so far that winter and while some had melted, much had settled in the protected space of the backyard. The other set of tracks paralleled the first ones.

They looked like boot prints. Jude tried the house’s doorknob, but it was locked. As he stepped off the deck he sank into the snow but struggled on, putting his foot down to mimic the pattern and get a sense of the height of the person who’d made it. He was just tall enough to clear most of the snow and didn’t have to kick through it the way a shorter woman would. A man had been out here. Someone slightly taller than him.

“Here,” he called softly to the officer.

The officer—a big, husky kid with bright red cheeks—looked at the prints. “Somebody chasing her?”

“Might be.” Jude reached under his coat, pulling out his Glock from the kidney holster and stowing it in his coat pocket. The kid swallowed hard. Jude saw his hand go toward the service revolver in the leather holster. “I’ll go ahead. Don’t do anything unless I tell you, right?” He paused to stare intently at the young giant.

The kid nodded once, glancing back at his partner, another husky giant with equally pink cheeks. “Get an ambulance out here,” Jude said to him. “We might need it.”

He didn’t wait to see if anyone was following instructions. He pushed forward, following the tracks that wavered in his flashlight beam. He tried to ignore the stiffness that soon flared into pain. His boots were keeping his feet dry but the snow was knee deep on him. Jude felt cold seeping into his bones. It hadn’t been above zero at night for three weeks and it felt like the temperature was fast dropping from the afternoon high of ten above.

Jude tugged off the finger-covering of his right glove-mitten combo, wrapping his hand around the gun in his pocket. His breath steamed out in clouds in front of him. He realized they were getting some help from a light that shone its bright beam into the yard from its position on the back of the house. It probably came on automatically at dusk and shut off in the morning.

He approached the dense shrubbery at the back southwest corner of the yard. The tracks led into what looked like a copse of lilacs or something else with tall, whip-like branches. Jude hesitated then he saw the branches move, shaking snow loose as someone or something cried out. He raised his gun and pushed forward. The patrol officer followed behind, breathing noisily.

Hannah was tangled in the shrub, bloodied by the branches. Her flannel shirt had been ripped open and her jeans had been pulled down roughly. Snow was piled all around her, over her breasts, her stomach and her bare thighs. She was lying limply in the snow, blood trickling slowly from a cut on her forehead. Jude saw her eyes flutter as he knelt next to her.

“Hannah.” Jude fumbled his coat off, tucking the gun back into his holster. He put his jacket around her, pulling her up into his arms. He winced when he felt the cold skin of her back against his relatively warm hands. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide with shock.

Rage choked him. Jude sat down in the snow and pulled her onto his lap, cradling her as she sobbed brokenly against his chest.