Protecting Jess

Chapter 1 - Next of Kin

"Lieutenant King?"

Shaun turned at the sound of his chief, paperwork in hand, exiting the tactical trailer at the crime site. Their long night of getting the mess in front of them sorted out showed both in the dark patches under his eyes, and his messy, finger-combed hair.

"We have the target. This was who we think the woman was after when she shot her way through the doors onto the packing floor."

Shaun surveyed the picture on the file the Chief held up to him. A DMV picture of the man they had found flat on his back, a surprised look on his face, a crater-sized hole in his chest. He was the only one shot point-blank. The errant boyfriend, cheating spouse, most likely, the way the woman had apparently been screaming some other woman's name. He scanned the rest of the information quickly, snapping the file closed.

"You want me to inform next of kin?" he asked, flipping his keys in his free hand. "It looks like she lives close by. I can be there and back within the hour."

"It's a little more complicated than that, son," the Chief replied wearily, obviously affected by the information Shaun had missed in his scan. "look again."

Shaun read the abstract on the file more thoroughly and his eyebrows shot up. Oh, crap. They might need to provide protection if this woman were to show up there before they could catch her. This development might also require a mediator for the family, to explain the details, to guide them through the inevitable media circus.

Damned vultures. They were about to be thrown into the deep end.

"Jesus, Vern. That's the same name as—"

"I want you to go and stay with them until we can figure out a rotating security detail. You know how to talk to folks like this. Understand what they need and help them through the process," Vern said, scratching his stubbled jaw. "We don't need to do this officially, but I'm worried for the family's safety. My guess is she hasn't lived with the victim for a long time. There might be some history. Better to have you there to assess security in case that woman eludes us."

Shaun nodded, thankful for the reprieve from the gore inside the building, and loosened the top button on his uniform shirt under his vest. Despite the short ten clicks to the victim's family farm, it was going to be the longest drive he'd made in awhile.

This part of the job always sucked.

-----

Wally slowed his pace a fraction of a second before Jess saw the other rider crest the hill on the far side of the slough. He nickered, his ears pricked, the muscle underneath her saddle shifted, and she grappled for the reins before he ground to a shuddering stop on top of the rise.

The other horse and rider skirted the slough. They made their way up the grass knoll towards her, the rider's tall frame casually rocking in the saddle, the tha-thump of hoof beats keeping rhythm. If not for the breeze rattling the Fall-dried timothy, it would be a quiet scene, like a silent spaghetti western movie reel spluttering on a drive-in screen. As he rode closer, she could hear the creak of the leathers on the saddle, the snorts from the horse as he labored up the hill.

It was Champ, the quiet old paint that had been Jess' childhood horse. He was normally used for slow rides around the property, not gallops in the grasslands at a gallop. It was no wonder he was winded.

The rider halted, giving Wally room, Champ shaking his head and pawing now that his rare treat to loosen his lungs was over. Wally, reassured that the horse was a friend, let out his belly of air, and cocked a hip.

"Jess Nichols?" the rider barked before she could say hello.

She nodded, swallowing, feeling uncertain, suddenly worried about her aunt and uncle. She noted the uniform that was not especially apparent from further away. What was a police officer doing out here at the back of her land, looking for her, on one of her horses? She'd been gone for just an hour, up for a ride before anyone else. The clear sky out her window had heralded colder weather, and she wanted one last truly good outing before the ground hardened and the snow covered the foothills.

"Is something wrong?" she replied once he did not respond to her head gesture.

"I'm Lieutenant Shaun King," he stated, in a reserved monotone that reminded her of the automatic answering service at the bank. She cocked her head, and he went on. "I've been looking for you. You need to come home."