Ranger Courage

years.”
Weston nodded. “We met while you were doing the press conference.”
“I’ve been assigned to take over the investigation into the thefts on campus,” Mike said. “Shooting at fellow officers is something the sheriff's department takes very seriously.”
“Good. I’m glad to have you on the team.” Avery, like all of her subordinates, was a state officer. However, her jurisdiction ended at the campus border. Cooperating with local law enforcement was essential, and she’d been coordinating with the Union County Sheriff’s Department about the thefts on campus for weeks. “Let me run you through what happened.”
She explained the events in a clipped tone. Mike listened carefully, taking notes on a tablet and occasionally asking questions. When Avery was done, Mike turned to Weston. “Anything to add?”
He shook his head. “No, that covers it.”
“This is a pretty extreme escalation for the perpetrator to take. It’s not unheard of, but this isn’t a high-crime area and the guy only stole a laptop.” Mike frowned. “Is there any way this could be connected to the murder that happened on campus Friday night?”
“It’s possible.” Avery detailed the information they had on the murder. Mike’s expression hardened when she described the note, although he said nothing. She also explained her theory about being singled out because of her father. “I called you earlier today, but you didn’t answer. I was hoping to discuss the case with you.”
“Sorry about not returning your call. My phone fell into a puddle of water. It’s currently sitting in a bag of rice.”
“Sorry to hear that.” She grimaced. It didn’t sound like Mike’s cell phone would make it. “Does the case sound familiar to you at all?”
“No, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Your dad and I were partners for only a few years. We could be looking at something Kenneth did as a rookie or toward the end of his career. Unfortunately, most of the men your dad worked closely with are either dead or retired. I assume you’ve done a search on murders following the same MO.”
“We have. Nothing came up.” Weston shoved his hands in his pockets. “Hangings are typical for suicide, but not murder. My guess is the perpetrator has killed before using a different method. Maybe strangulation by another means, which is more common and difficult to narrow down.”
Mike nodded. “How long before we get ballistics back on the bullets recovered from tonight?”
“A couple of days. I’ve put a rush on them.”
“And what about an ID on the murder victim?”
“The coroner’s investigator is working on it,” Weston said. “So far, no one from the university—student or faculty—has been reported missing and the victim’s fingerprints didn’t yield a result when we searched our initial round of databases. Interestingly enough, Jane Doe had a pacemaker—”
“But you said she was young. In her twenties, right?”
“Yep.” Weston shrugged. “It’s not common, but it does happen. We’re tracing the serial number on the pacemaker. That should give us a name. I’m hoping it’ll come through sometime tomorrow.”
“If it does, let me know.” Mike clicked his tablet closed. “Meanwhile, I’ll keep some deputies on patrol outside your house, Avery, as well as the campus.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
“No problem. Nice to meet you, Weston.”
Mike gave Avery another gentle hug before joining a group of deputies standing near the edge of the crime scene tape. Beyond the boundary, neighbors and persistent reporters still lingered. Avery scanned each face. Was the perpetrator mixed in with the crowd? Or was he long gone?
Either way, someone had shot at her tonight.
And she had no idea why.

Seven
Monday afternoon brought a fresh break in the case. Through the serial number on her pacemaker, Jane Doe was finally identified. Her real name was Debra Channing and she worked at the university as a janitor.
Weston stepped into the Harrison University Police Department. Officers spent most of their time on patrol, so only a handful of the desks inside were occupied. He nodded hello to a few people as he weaved toward the rear of the building. Avery’s office was made of glass walls and the blinds were open.
Weston’s steps slowed as he caught sight of Avery. She was seated at her desk. Her hair was pulled back at the sides, and tucked into a roll at the nape of her neck. With her sharply pressed uniform and polished badge, Avery was the epitome of professionalism. The average person looking at her would never suspect she’d been shot at the night before. Except Weston knew.
His heart fluttered. That nagging spark of attraction he’d felt from their first meeting reared back up, but this time, it was accompanied by a fierce protectiveness. Weston gave himself a mental shake. He liked Avery, but anything more than friendship was impossible. Even if—and that was a big if—he could consider dating again, it wouldn’t be with a cop. Avery walked into danger, not away from it. It was her job, and a passion he shared, but his heart had suffered enough loss.
Weston knocked on the office door. Avery spotted him through the glass and waved him in but held up a finger, indicating he shouldn’t talk. He took a seat in one of the visitor’s chairs. A ringing came through the speaker from the phone on Avery’s desk. It was followed by a generic voice-mail greeting.
“Hi, Professor Jenkins. This is Chief Avery Madison with HUPD. I stopped by your office this morning to check on you, but a colleague said you’d called in sick. Could you please call me back as soon as possible? I’d like to speak with you. Thanks.”
“Is that Marianne Jenkins you were leaving a message for?” Weston asked.
She nodded. “Professor Jenkins was so upset on the night of the murder, she could only give me the basics. I was hoping to do a follow-up interview, maybe learn some new details that could aid our investigation.” Avery pushed away from her desk and stood. “Give me the rundown.”
“I don’t know much more than when we spoke this morning. The serial number on the pacemaker confirms