Page 11 of Daybreak

Dr. Paige replaced the sheet and pushed the body back into the drawer. “You suspect foul play?”

Gunner sighed. “Less than twenty-four hours ago that man had the misfortune to witness the body dump of a material witness in a federal case. It was at night, in an empty warehouse with no power. All he saw were a few shadows, and then they were gone. But he went down the stairs and found the body, then called it in. I took his statement and dropped him off at a homeless shelter. He didn’t see anything, or hear anything except doors opening and doors closing, but certain people may not see it that way. They could have viewed him as more trouble.”

She frowned. “I don’t know what I’ll find, but I will keep that in mind. Best guess is that it’s going to be next to impossible to tell if it was an accident or purposeful, but I’ll make sure you get a copy of the findings.”

“I appreciate that,” Gunner said and walked out, but his heart was pounding. Every instinct he had told him this was because Yankee Dan had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Burgess Dixon was still tying up loose ends.

But there was another issue attached to this tragedy that was bugging Gunner. The media knew nothing about a witness to the body dump. Twenty-four hours had yet to elapse from the time the police had arrived on the scene, and yet that witness was now lying in the morgue, which led Gunner to believe that Burgess Dixon had a dirty cop on his payroll, and it was someone in this department.

He drove back to the precinct and went straight to Samuels’s office. The door was open. He knocked and then entered.

“The witness we brought in from the body dump is dead. Victim of a hit and run. No witnesses. No working security cameras. No leads. My Spidey senses tell me Burgess Dixon has a dirty cop on the payroll.”

Samuels frowned. “That’s a dangerous insinuation, detective.”

“I’m not insinuating. I’m saying it outright. Somebody is keeping Burgess Dixon abreast of anything ongoing related to him. I took Yankee Dan’s statement, and you witnessed it. I assume you sent a copy to the Feds. The officers on scene at the warehouse heard him identify himself as Yankee Dan. I told Cliff his given name, and everyone in this division knew who he was and why we brought him in. And now he’s dead, and I can’t help thinking that we’re the ones who put him in danger by bringing attention to his presence there. I’m pissed, and I’m sick to my stomach. I hate dirty cops, and I’m saying we have one…somewhere.”

“Where are you and Beale on the dude found hanging out a window?”

“No leads. Waiting on forensics,” Gunner said.

“Then go home. Get some food and rest, come back tomorrow ready to focus on that, and leave the rest of this to me. I’ll notify the FBI about a possible connection to Dixon, but the rest is up to them. This is not our case. Right now, in the eyes of the law, it’s an unfortunate hit and run. Not a murder.”

Gunner didn’t like it, but he didn’t argue. He just turned and walked out, stopping at his desk long enough to log off his computer.

“What’s going on?” Cliff asked.

“The old man we brought in from the warehouse is dead. Killed by a hit-and-run driver. They asked me to ID him.”

“Why you?” Cliff asked.

“Because they found my card on him. I gave it to him when I dropped him off at the shelter. I’m going home. See you tomorrow.”

Cliff frowned. “Damn, that’s tough.”

Gunner turned, looking Cliff straight in the face. “No, it’s suspicious as hell. That’s what it is,” and walked out.

Cliff nodded but didn’t respond. Ever since they’d worked the body dump case, he and Gunner had lost traction. He felt the distance between them but didn’t know how to get it back.

* * *

Gunner was in a mood, and going home to an empty house with no groceries wasn’t going to make it better. He’d been putting off a shopping trip for almost a week and decided that walking down aisles among strangers to the piped-in music from the eighties was better than thinking about stuff he couldn’t change, so he stopped at the nearest Whole Foods, grabbed a shopping cart, and headed down the first aisle.

This was Texas. It was common to see cowboys. But it wasn’t every day you saw one like Gunner Kingston. His badge and the shoulder holster with his weapon were obvious. It branded him as a cop. But there were perks. His hair was black as night, and he was tall enough to reach the top shelves without the need to stretch. Even the brim on his black, gambler-style Stetson couldn’t hide the handsome cut of his face, or the grim expression he was wearing. Women looked, then looked away, unwilling to be caught in the icy glare he was giving to a box of cereal.

Unaware of being watched, Gunner was focusing on finding a box of cereal that didn’t have marshmallows in it, and unaware of the shopper behind him until the sudden stop of motion in his peripheral vision made him turn and look.

The first thing he saw was a woman with a wild mane of auburn curls, and then he saw her face and realized she was calling his name.

“Gunner… Is it really you? It’s me, Holly. Holly Dillon.”

He blinked, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Damn, kid. You grew up, and did a fine job of it, at that.”

Holly beamed, then threw herself into his arms without a shred of hesitation. “I haven’t seen you since you graduated high school. Are you as badass as you look, or is this all just fashion and flash?”

He grinned. She’d never been one to hesitate about speaking her mind, and clearly, she had not changed.

“I haven’t seen you since you were what…ten years old?”