Mine. She strode with the poise of a woman with confidence. Strands of her dark hair had come loose from her ponytail, and she had blood splattered across her legs, but he focused on her dark-blue eyes. She was never glamorous; she had girl-next-door looks that were enhanced by a sharp brain and dry sense of humor. The perfect woman for him.

She moved into his arms and clutched him tight, her face in his neck. He felt her chest expand and slowly deflate with a long, slow exhalation. The smell of sunshine on her hair and skin wafted across his nose, and he gripped her tighter. His eyes started to burn, and he rubbed a knuckle across one, blinking rapidly. “Dammit.”

Her torso vibrated with a low laugh.

“Not funny,” he said. “I didn’t know what was going on in there.”

She pulled back to meet his gaze, her dark eyes calm. “I know. It wasn’t easy to put what I knew you were thinking out of my head.”

“What happened?”

His toes curled in his boots as he listened to her story. “You could have left.”

She lifted a brow at him.

“Or not.”

He got it. He needed to let her do what was right. Didn’t mean he couldn’t worry.

“I have another debriefing. And I’m starving. What are you supposed to be doing?” she asked.

“They’re pulling together a task force to review statements, video, and every scrap of evidence to figure out why this happened. Ray and I have been assigned to it, but they’re still figuring out the best place to set it up. For now, I’m helping taking statements until they find a location. Ray’s already taking some in there.” He nodded at the coffee bar.

“That’s my destination.”

He took her hand and led her across the parking lot. It no longer mattered how late he worked today; she was safe.

Ava sat at a table in the mall’s coffee bar. The employees were gone except for two managers who’d asked to stay and brew free coffee. Plastic cups holding iced coffee and thick green straws sat on every table. The staging coordinator had designated the shop as a temporary interview station, and rattled shoppers waited in nervous groups to give statements.

At the next table, Mason interviewed the older man from her yoga class who’d been in the bathroom with the shooter. He was focused on the witness, listening closely as he made careful notes in his perfect printing. He glanced her way, and she understood his need to have her in his line of sight for a few hours.

She’d felt horrible when she spotted the missed texts and calls from Mason on her cell phone, fully aware of his terror and anger last spring when a serial killer had kidnapped her, believing Ava belonged to him. She still jerked awake out of nightmares to confirm she wasn’t sinking to the bottom of a river in the killer’s van.

Now Ava didn’t know when either she or Mason would get to leave the scene. Every time she turned around, one of the incident commanders had “just a few more questions.” Ava had downed a grande iced coffee and a scone and tried not to talk with her mouth full. She looked patiently at the Washington County sergeant across from her. His mustache triggered 1970s porn music in her head, but his voice made her want to watch a Western.

“I think we’re done,” Sergeant Shaver finally said. “This incident could have ended a lot worse.”

Ava nodded. Four people had died, one having just succumbed to injuries in the hospital. Will there be more? She tried not to think about the man she’d seen shot.

“My understanding is that people who carry out these types of shootings start them with the assumption they’ll end up dead,” she said. “I don’t know what the shooter’s story is, but something pushed him over the edge. Still no identification yet?”

Shaver shook his head. “Male in his early twenties. He’ll be identified soon enough.”

“This is the second mass shooting this summer in Oregon,” Ava added. “The other shooter in Eugene was about the same age.” In June a young man had opened fire at a small park and killed four people. He’d also taken his life in the restroom.

“Young men,” commented Shaver. “I was one once. There’s a hell of a lot of crap going on in our heads at that age.”

“No excuses,” stated Ava. “There’s no reason to take out anger on innocent victims.”

Shaver held up his hands. “Not making any. But I hope this is the last mass shooting. Next thing you know they’ll be installing metal detectors at shopping malls and baseball games. I’ve been avoiding the media all day. I can just imagine the spin they’re putting on both of these incidents.”

“You’d think they’d give us time to get the facts out.”

“Someone told me he’s heard three different stories from the media about who the shooter is,” said the sergeant. “We don’t even know who the shooter is. The important part is that he’s not going to hurt anyone else. Right now we’re still trying to manage the aftermath of the scene. We got the word out that the mall will be closed for a few days and the Cedar Edge police will be in charge of getting belongings to shoppers and releasing cars from the parking garage. Hopefully people will be patient.”

“How many people were wounded?” Ava asked.

“Fortunately not many. Two were wounded by gunfire, one of them your friend, and there were several skinned knees plus one broken arm from someone who tripped while trying to get away.”