Gated Prey (Eve Ronin #3)(8)

“You’re welcome, Grasshopper,” he said.

She disconnected the call, pocketed the phone, and noticed Deputy Tom Ross guarding one of the yellow-tape perimeters. He was an ex-marine and she was sure that anybody who looked at Tom, even if he were in a clown suit and makeup, would know he’d been in some branch of the military.

Eve walked toward him, he walked toward her, and they met each other halfway. She glanced at his arms and remembered how safe she’d felt a few weeks ago when, only a few hours after she’d been badly injured, he drove her from the hospital back to Calabasas and then carried her out of his car. It was a more intimate and naked moment for her in some ways than if they’d had sex, though they’d never been lovers nor had the possibility ever crossed her mind. She hardly knew him and yet trusted him implicitly.

“You’re hard on vehicles,” he said, tipping his head toward the Rolls-Royce.

“I wish it wasn’t necessary. I’ve got a question for you, Tom. Who was the deputy assigned this shift to watch our video feed?”

“Bud Collier.”

“I don’t know him. What’s he think of me?”

“Judging by today, I’d say he’s a big fan.”

“Does he have the tat?”

Many of the deputies at Lost Hills had Great White tattoos on their calves, including Tom, though it meant something different to him than it did to most of the others in the clique. For him, it was the same as the tattoos he had from the units he’d served with in the Marines. They reflected his devotion to his fellow marines but foremost they represented his allegiance to the flag. His first allegiance now was to the badge, and what it stood for, and not to the Great Whites.

“I haven’t noticed,” Tom said. “I keep my eyes to myself in the locker room.”

She nodded. “Can I get some gloves from you and borrow your notebook and pen?”

He took a pen and a small notebook from his breast pocket and handed them to her, then reached into his back pocket for a pair of disposable rubber gloves, which he gave to her. “Watch your back.”

“It’s a little late for that,” she said.

He shook his head. “Not as long as you’re still alive.”

Eve went back into the supermarket and found the security guard sitting on a folding chair by the florist’s stand. He looked pale, and was hunched over a bucket, the wrapped roses that were once in it piled neatly on the floor beside him. A uniformed deputy stood near him, holding the guard’s gun in an evidence baggie. The deputy didn’t seem much older than the guard, but their bearing and maturity were entirely different. She motioned the deputy over and noted the name on his chest tag: Donald Helm. Every time she saw a uniformed deputy now, she couldn’t help wondering: Friend or foe?

“What can you tell me about the guard?”

“His name is Grayson Mumford, age twenty-four. He’s worked for Big Valley Security for five years. I did a quick background check. He’s licensed to carry the weapon, his California guard card is valid, and he’s got no arrests.”

Friend, she decided.

She was familiar with Big Valley Security. It was founded by an ex-LAPD deputy chief and their officers were all over Calabasas, providing security patrols for the city’s private lake, the country club, most of the gated communities, and several of the shopping centers.

“Did you get his story?”

Deputy Helm nodded. “You want to hear it?”

She glanced at Grayson. He was shivering and she could smell the puke in his bucket from ten feet away.

“No, thank you, I’d rather get it from him first, but please send me a copy of your report,” she said. “Can you call a paramedic for him, just in case he’s going into shock?”

“Already have,” he said.

“Good, but keep them back until I’m finished talking with him.”

Eve walked over to Grayson and crouched in front of him. He’d just shot a man, and he was deeply shaken, but his gaze still dropped to her cleavage. She’d forgotten how she was dressed and wished she could cover up.

“I’m Detective Eve Ronin. How are you feeling, Grayson? Is there anything I can do for you?”

He shook his head. “I can’t believe this happened. I mean, we trained for a robbery or active shooter situation, but it wasn’t enough.”

“What did the training miss?”

“The horror,” he said.

She spotted an empty bucket, grabbed it, turned it over, and used it as a seat, sitting beside him so he wouldn’t be distracted by her cleavage. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“You were here. You know.”

She took out the notebook and pen that Tom gave her. “I need to see it from your perspective.”

“I was walking the back of the store, keeping my eye on things, when I heard a car skid to a stop outside and someone yell, ‘He’s got a gun.’ I looked down the aisle and saw the guy going for the spirits section. So I went the same way.”

“Why did you do that?”

He seemed perplexed for a moment. “I don’t know. I guess I thought it was my job. Run towards danger, not away from it.”

That was true for cops, soldiers, and firefighters, but Eve didn’t think that was part of his training. It was more likely the concept of “flee, deny, defend.” His first priority should have been to get people out of the store. Failing that, it would be to prevent the gunman from reaching people by getting them behind locked doors or other obstacles. And, as a last resort, attack the gunman. Grayson started with the final option.