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  Shatterproof

  By Jo Chambliss

  Shatterproof

  By Jo Chambliss

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2020 Connie Holcombe

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For my mom

  In researching for this book, I learned a lot of things.

  The most important thing I learned was how much you taught me

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chris

  “God, I’ve missed you.” Slowly and reverently, I walk a circle around her, admiring every perfect inch. With a lover’s touch, my fingers trail over every one of her exquisite curves. She’s flawless and seductive, and she’s been waiting patiently for my return. I hate being separated from her for any length of time, and this last mission has kept me away from her far too long.

  As I throw my leg over Black Betty, Devil passes by and slaps me on the back. “Dude, when are you gonna get a real woman?”

  After giving him the finger, I crank up Betty’s powerful engine and let the musical V-twin answer him for me. My best friend throws his head back in laughter and walks to his customized Hellcat. He’s just as bad as I am.

  Betty’s got a sexy ombre paint job that fades from black to silver, starting at the top. I had considered having silver being the top color, but then it would’ve looked stupid to cover up the silver on the tank with a black bra.

  Since it’s been two weeks ago that I last rode her, I leave Betty warming up while I suit up with riding jacket, gloves, and helmet. Now that Betty is turned on and I’m ready to go, I pat her on the gas tank and set off toward home.

  Walking into my empty Virginia Beach house a short time later, I take a minute to look around the place to see if anything unpleasant happened while I was gone. It’s not a big place. Just two bedrooms and a decent backyard. It’s not really even home. Home is in the Blue Ridge Mountains, in my grandfather’s cabin. Well, my cabin now.

  My abbreviated inspection shows that everything is as I left it, except for the layer of dust on the horizontal surfaces. I’ll deal with that later. Not wanting to waste any more time, I move on to more important things. I spend about five more minutes changing and packing for a few days at my cabin in the foothills.

  On my way back out, I briefly consider taking my truck to the cabin because of the cold and because it’s nearly midnight. For a moment, I look back and forth between my riding clothes and my truck keys, but ultimately decide to take Betty. That means I have to change back into my armored jeans, but it’s no hardship.

  Outside again, I strap my bag to Betty’s rack and lower myself onto her saddle. Even though it’s just been a few minutes, I can’t pull out without patting her gas tank again. I’m not sure why, but the day I bought her and delivered her to the paint shop and every trip since, I’ve always patted her gas tank. That’s been my ritual, and I see no reason to stop now.

  It’s a quiet ride to Lydia, Virginia. Instead of taking US-33 all the way up the mountain, I decide to take the back roads to my cabin. Those curvy mountain roads are fun to drive, but not when you’re on a motorcycle dodging tourists. So, it’s for that reason that I’m taking my opportunity now.

  Not to mention, I’ll have the added benefit of ruffling Mike’s feathers. Especially if any visitors call the sheriff to complain about Betty’s engine. That’ll be my sweet little way of letting Mike know I’m back in town.

  The big, bad sheriff will promise to investigate, but he’ll know that it’s me. Just like he knows that I only do it to rile up the tourists. When he does get around to me, he won’t put up much of a fuss since it only happens once or twice a year. He won’t even respond to the calls tonight but will probably come out for a beer tomorrow.

  Mike is the sheriff of Greene County and has been a close friend of mine since we were five. We grew up together in this collection of towns a stone’s throw apart. Towns so small that they didn’t, and still don’t, have their own police departments. The county relies on the sheriff’s department for all its policing, which means Sheriff Mike Hudson’s a busy man.

  Mike has been sheriff about as long as I’ve been a SEAL. Yes, twenty-two was young to become Sheriff, but the county wanted him.

  His father had held the job for thirty years before him. He retired permanently when he had a heart attack at his desk. Mike had been a deputy for three years by that time and was a man that people trusted. So, he was appointed sheriff, and every election since has kept him in the job.

  Mike is a good man, a good friend, and a good sheriff. I may give the tourists a good Harley rumble every once in a while, but I’d never do anything to put him in a bad position.

  To that end, I think I’ve caused enough of a disturbance. Besides, there are no more rental cabins this far up. I ease up on Betty’s throttle and coast around the next turn.

  Just when I’ve cleared the curve, there’s a brief flash in my headlights of something that shouldn’t be there, and all my protective instincts kick in. “Oh, SHIT!” I react in an instant to keep from hitting the little girl or ghost and overcorrect, losing control of the motorcycle.

  The eight hundred, thirty-pound Road King lays down, and sparks fly as it skids on its crash bars at thirty miles an hour. Unable to make myself let go, I ride the skid until the side of the mountain stops us both.

  After the grinding stops and the last sparks fade, I lay there for a second trying to reconcile what my brain tells me it saw in the road. Another second is spent being thankful that the bike and I were stopped by the mountain instead of going through the wooden guardrail on the other side.

  Just about the time my heart has slowed to a manageable rhythm, and I start to pull my leg out from under the big machine, I feel something shove my shoulder. I remember the ghostly figure in the road, and I’m off the ground and ripping my helmet off in half a second. My god, it was a kid.

  The tiny girl grabs me around my waist, burying her head against my stomach, and sobs loudly.

  “What in god’s?… What’s wrong?”

  “Please help me. My mama needs help.”

  My heart starts thumping again, but for a whole new reason. I kneel in front of the girl to look her in the eye. “Where’s your mama?”

  “With the bad man.”

  There’s no way to explain the reaction in my head and heart when this kid says those words. The protector in me stands up and takes notice, armed and ready to fight whatever evil has threatened this tiny little thing.

  Not only that, whoever or whatever’s happened, she’s out here in an old-fashioned, white nightgown with no coat and no shoes in this temperature. No wonder she looked like a ghost. In this full moonlight, with her white-blond hair and that gown, she’s practically glowing.

  I take a breath and fo
rce myself to calm down. Come on, Fish, it’s a kid. She probably just had a nightmare or was sleepwalking or something.

  Being careful not to hurt her, I pry her arms from around me and push her back far enough to look at her face. My intention is to ask who her mother is, but I never get the chance.

  In the next instant, I hear the unmistakable report of a gunshot. A split-second later, a bullet slams into the slate wall, exploding the stone face into tiny pieces of shrapnel. Some of which find their way to my face.

  Muscle memory takes over, and I dive over the child. I have no idea where the shot came from or how long before another one is sent. We’ve got to get out of here.

  I shove the girl to the ground and position myself on the side of the almost-half-ton bike to walk it back to an upright position. Please, Betty, I’ve got to get this child to safety. It takes three tries, but the bike does crank. I throw on my helmet, not even bothering to secure the strap and reach for the girl. She glues herself to my chest, wrapping tiny arms and legs around me, and I shoot off into the night.

  When I’m confident we’re out of the shooter’s line of sight, I stop the bike long enough to do three things.

  First, I take off my coat and put it on the girl. I can’t do anything about her legs and feet, but the rest of her will be warm. Next, I grab for my phone, thankful it’s still in its mount on the handlebars. Calling up Google Maps, I take a screenshot of our coordinates. Lastly, I call Mike’s number and put the phone back in its mount. Before it even starts ringing, the bike screams off again.

  The Bluetooth system in my helmet activates, and I hear Mike answer after the third ring. “Dammit, Hill, do you have any idea what time it is? I was asleep. This had better be damned important.”

  “Mike, get your ass up and get Doc Miller. I’m on my way to her clinic.”

  “What the hell’s going on, Chris?”

  “I don’t have time to explain. Just do it. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Come on, Mike, don’t let me down.

  What a stupid thought; I know he’ll be there. He knows I’m not a bull shitter. If I say I need help, my world must be on fire.

  I say a quick prayer of thanks that this road doesn’t dead-end like so many of these mountain roads do. Thankfully, I can keep going in this direction and meet US-33 again in Lydia. There’s no way I’d go back the way I came and risk taking a bullet from the shooter again. That last one was too damn close.

  Heading for the main highway through the small mountain town, it takes all my concentration to focus on the road. I’m exhausted, I just had the shit scared out of me, and I have a tiny passenger glued to my front side.

  By the time I pull up to the sidewalk at Doc Miller’s clinic, Mike’s standing by the door waiting. Seeing the tiny little feet poking out from under my jacket, his gaze turns dark.

  I shove the helmet off my head, not even caring where it lands, and awkwardly dismount the bike. “What the hell happened, Chris?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Mike opens the door for me, and the doctor is turning on lights when I rush inside holding the child.

  “Chris, what happened?” She asks as she leads me into an exam room. Mike follows us in and closes the door.

  “I don’t know, Mel. I was coming around a curve on Mutton Hollow when I spotted her in the middle of the road. I crashed the bike, trying to keep from hitting her.” Mel peels back the coat to see that the little girl still has a death grip on my shirt. “I figured she’d just wandered out of her house and was asking her about it when we were shot at. I grabbed her and took off. Once we were clear, I stopped long enough to cover her up and call Mike.”

  She points to my face. “Did that happen in the crash?”

  I reach up and touch my face, my fingers coming away with blood on them. “No. it must have been shrapnel from the bullet hitting the mountain wall.”

  “Well, let’s look at her first, then I’ll check you out.”

  Mel removes the coat and asks the girl to let go. No dice.

  I try to peel her off my chest, but she won’t budge. “Hey, kid, I’ve brought you to a doctor’s office. She wants to make sure you’re ok. I’ve also brought a policeman to help me find your mom, but he can’t do that until we know you’re ok. Will you let the doctor check you out?”

  She just holds on tighter. I don’t want to hurt or scare her, but I’m a little out of my element here. A quick idea comes to mind, and I decide to give it a shot. “I promise to hold your hand the whole time.”

  After considering my offer for a moment, she nods into my chest and slowly releases her grip. I stand up then and sit her on the exam table where she immediately grabs for my hand. Mel rolls a stool over and sits directly in front of the girl.

  After checking her feet, she reports, “She’s got some scrapes that would be consistent with walking barefoot through the woods. She’s cold, but thankfully the temperature isn’t low enough to cause frostbite.”

  Engaging the girl directly, Mel says, “Hi. I’m Dr. Mel. What’s your name?”

  “Ariel.”

  “How old are you, Ariel?”

  “I’m four.”

  Good god. She’s just a baby.

  “Do you have any boo-boos that need a bandaid?”

  Ariel shakes her head.

  “Are you hurt anywhere on the inside like your tummy or your privates?”

  Realizing what Mel’s trying to ask, I get queasy and have to tamp down the building rage.

  “Uh uh.”

  “Good. Now, I’m going to listen to your heart, ok?”

  “Ok.”

  The doc checks her heart, lungs, and a few more things before delivering her prognosis. “Outwardly, she seems like a healthy kid. She’s a good size for her age. The health of her teeth and luster of her hair tell me she’s well cared for.”

  She reaches behind her and grabs on a pair of gloves. “Now, as for you, I need to get that rock out of your face.”

  When Mel stands up to get whatever supplies she’s planning to use, Ariel climbs up on her knees and puts a tiny hand on my cheek. Her impossibly blue eyes are filled with concern for me as she says, “Don’t worry; I’ll hold your hand.”

  In that instant, I feel something inside me crack. Everything that I’ve ever considered valuable suddenly means nothing compared to this little girl. I’m so lost in her blue eyes that I don’t even notice the needle going into my cheek or the tug of the stitches Mel puts in.

  “What’s your name?” the sweet voice asks.

  “My name’s Fish.”

  She scrunches up her nose. “That’s not a people name.”

  “You’re right, but it’s what my friends call me.”

  She seems to consider that for a second and asks, “Am I your friend?”

  “Do you want to be, Ari?” She nods but then starts to cry.

  “What is it, Ari?”

  “I want my mama.”

  “I know, Ari. As soon as Dr. Miller’s finished, we’re going to go to the police station so the sheriff can start looking for your mom.”

  “I’m done,” Mel announces. “Let me get a blanket for her before you go.”

  As she’s walking out, I turn to Mike. “Will you go move my bike out of the way?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  While he’s gone, Mel comes back with a blanket to wrap around Ariel, but she’s fallen asleep with her head on my shoulder. “Poor thing. I’d offer to take her, but I don’t think she’ll leave your side. And since she’s comfortable enough with you to fall asleep in your arms, I don’t recommend anyone try to force her to let go.”

  Mike walks into the room again, holding my helmet, keys, and phone. Looking to the doctor, he asks, “We good to go?”

  Mel nods, and I stand up, holding the sleeping child. As a group, we walk out to Mike’s truck, and the sheriff appears to be gathering his thoughts. “I put Betty around back. She should be good there until I can get back around to take her to the
station.” He pauses a second and adds, “I gotta say. It’s a damn good thing you wear bike clothes and have those crash bars. Betty looks rough.”

  “She bad?”

  “You didn’t look?” Mike stares at me with wide eyes before glancing down at the little girl asleep on my shoulder. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

  Reaching his Ford, he opens the front door, and I use my free hand to pull myself inside. Mel closes my door, and I lean my head back against the seat, not quite believing the events unfolding tonight. As I do, a little hand lifts to wrap around the side of my neck.

  That crack in me begins to widen, and this tiny girl wedges herself a little deeper inside.

  Arriving at the station a few minutes later, we’re greeted by every deputy on duty tonight. Ari’s still asleep, so Mike whispers, “Since we have no idea what we’re dealing with here, I called everyone in when I went out to move your bike.”

  Mike comes around and opens my door, and curious eyes track our progress as the deputies follow us inside the warm station. Most of the faces I know, but there are a couple of new, young guys that I have yet to meet.

  Once everyone is inside, I’m led to the station’s sole conference room where Blake, the longest-serving deputy, rushes to pull out one of the chairs for me. I slowly lower myself down to the aging, cushioned chair in front of the warn tabletop.

  Looking around at the gathered faces, I pick Thomas to run an errand for me. “Thomas, go find some milk and little kid crackers.” He takes off without protest, seemingly eager to contribute.

  Mike follows us in and sits down with a pad in front of him. All of the remaining seats get filled with the other deputies. “I’ve called Michele. I won’t be able to get someone from child services to come get the kid tonight, so she’ll take her to our house.”

  The thought of some stranger coming to take Ari away has my arms tightening around her. I realize what I’m doing and give myself a mental shake. That’s what you are, man, a stranger. What did you expect to happen?

  Not wanting to think about it, I force those thoughts away and focus on what needs to be done. This is a mission. One innocent was rescued, but there’s still another one out there that needs help. One that was apparently taken by a sick bastard that has no problem taking potshots at a baby out in the cold.