Texas Target Standoff

By Virginia Vaughan

A sniper lurks closer…

and only a navy SEAL can save her.

When psychologist Shelby Warren suddenly becomes a sniper’s target, navy SEAL Paul Avery springs into action to protect her. He needs her evaluation to get back to his team…and rescuing her might finally give him the redemption he’s been searching for. But when danger follows them to his family’s Texas ranch, keeping Shelby safe could be his most difficult assignment yet.

From Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense: Courage. Danger. Faith.

Cowboy Lawmen

Book 1: Texas Twin Abduction

Book 2: Texas Holiday Hideout

Book 3: Texas Target Standoff

• Language: English
• Publisher: Love Inspired
• Release date: Mar 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781488072253

Virginia Vaughan

Award winning author Virginia Vaughan was born and raised in Mississippi and has never strayed far from those borders. Blessed to come from a large, Southern family, her fondest memories include listening to stories recounted by family and friends around the large dinner table. She was a lover of books even from a young age, devouring gothic romance novels and stories of romance, danger, and love. She soon started writing them herself. Connect with Virginia at virginiavaughanonline.com.

Book preview

ONE

How are you sleeping?

Psychologist Dr. Shelby Warren turned to her patient Paul Avery to gauge his reaction to her question.

His left eye twitched as he responded, Like a baby.

That twitch was his tell that he was being less than truthful. She’d learned to recognize it over the past few days since her week-long evaluation of him began. That was the problem with self-reporting. Even when a patient was trying to be honest—which not all of them were—they still might tell you what they wanted to be the truth.

Paul Avery hadn’t convinced her he was ready to return to his duties as a navy SEAL.

You are staying at your family’s ranch while you recuperate, aren’t you?

Yep, I’m still there, but I’m ready to get back. He rubbed his left leg, probably remembering the break he’d suffered recently that had set his recovery back. She’d read about it in his file. He’d been hit by an SUV while trying to protect his brother’s wife against an attacker.

Typical adrenaline junkie. She saw them all the time. These men thought nothing of placing their lives in danger at the drop of a hat. No matter how she tried to wrap her brain around it, she couldn’t understand the instinct to continuously jump into danger. She glanced toward her desk at the newspaper article she’d printed out about a soldier who’d been killed in action. He, too, had been insistent on getting back into combat.

When Michael Finley had come through her office, she’d recommended further counseling for his PTSD symptoms instead of clearing him for duty. Yet her decision had been overridden by her partner, Dr. David Sloan, who had allowed Finley to return to duty. Shelby had been furious when she’d learned about his actions and their horrific consequences. She’d confronted him, but he’d insisted he’d had only Finley’s best interests at heart. She wasn’t sure whether or not she believed him, but it had gotten her wondering if that was the only time David had interfered with her patients. She was determined to make certain it didn’t happen again.

She looked back at Paul Avery. I received your file from the therapist you’ve been seeing. He was very thorough, but I have a different way of doing things. I don’t rely only on self-reporting of your condition, especially since we have such a limited time for this evaluation. I know you want to go back to your unit, and I know you’ll tell me anything that’ll make that happen.

He flashed her a curious glance. You think I’m lying to you?

Not lying. No, I wouldn’t say your intent is to deceive me. It’s more likely you’ve just convinced yourself that whatever it is that’s troubling you is not actually a big deal. But downplaying the problem isn’t the same as resolving it. That’s why I want to observe you in your home environment and see how you react to stress. She checked her calendar. We’ll finish up the psychological testing tomorrow, then I can be in your hometown—Courtland, isn’t it?—next week. Will that be acceptable to you?

He hesitated, obviously unhappy about this new development, but she wanted him to understand it was nonnegotiable. I realize this may seem like an unusual step, but it’s how I work. I won’t sign your evaluation without it.

He sighed, then reluctantly agreed. Sure, why not, Doc. Whatever it takes.

Whatever it takes. She’d heard that before. But she would make certain another soldier wasn’t failed by the process the way Finley had been, even if it meant she could no longer work with David.

How can you afford to take the time to go to people’s homes and watch them? Don’t you have other patients who need you here?

These evaluations are important to me, so I make the time.

If only her brother Steven’s therapist had taken the time, he might still be alive. Shelby remembered when her marine brother had returned stateside, injured and shaken. While his physical wounds had healed, damage had remained under the surface. She had still been in college, but even she could see the signs of PTSD. But he’d insisted he was fine and his doctors had believed him. He’d died six days later, after overreacting to a situation and plunging the rest of his squad into a gunfight.

She stood and turned away from Paul Avery as thoughts of her brother threatened to overwhelm her. Paul was a navy SEAL instead of a marine, but something about the way he carried himself reminded Shelby a lot of Steven. Ever since losing him, she’d devoted her life to ensuring every military patient she saw received the help they needed.

Are you okay? Paul asked. He stood behind her, close enough that if she turned, she would be face-to-face with the handsome SEAL.

It wasn’t like her to get so emotional in front of a patient, but that article on Michael Finley had her rattled. She felt like she’d failed him. She’d devoted her life to this mission of helping military personnel, but she wasn’t doing enough.

Paul cleared his throat and she felt her face warm. She was going to have a tough time convincing him that she could help him when she was clearly struggling to hold herself together. I apologize. I shouldn’t be getting emotional in front of you.

That’s okay. Everyone has their moments.

She took a deep breath, needing a moment to compose herself before she faced him again. She glanced through the large window toward the tree line across the street, and a shimmer of light in the trees caught her eye. What is that light?

She’d hardly gotten the words out when Paul shouted, Get down! He tackled her to the floor behind her desk. She didn’t have time to even protest before the window shattered. The air was filled with pops of gunfire.

---

Paul kept his head down and covered Dr. Warren until the gunfire ended. He felt her heartbeat racing and could sense the fear flowing off her. Are you okay? After she nodded, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and leaped to his feet, snapping photos of the tree line the shots had come from. His hand itched for his weapon, but he’d stowed it in his pickup before entering the building.

The ringing of gunfire gave way to frightened screams and bustling all around him as people in the adjacent offices began to emerge from wherever they had ducked for cover. He spotted movement in the trees, and although he doubted he could catch up with the sniper, he leaped through the shattered remains of the window. He might not be able to catch him, but he could make certain he was gone—maybe even see enough to help him identify the shooter to the police. He stopped at his truck to grab his gun.

Going toward the tree line, Paul spotted movement in the bushes and headed toward it, gun drawn. He found a clearing that had to have been the sniper’s nest. The sound of a door closing grabbed his attention and he hurried toward it, stumbling upon a man hopping into a black pickup truck. It sped off just as Paul entered the clearing. Still running on his battle-honed instincts, he started to charge after it—but then stopped. He wasn’t going to catch up to the guy, not with the way the leg he’d broken six months ago was already stinging him. Who was he kidding? Even when he’d been 100 percent, he hadn’t been able to outrun a truck. The sniper was long gone.

But he had something to give the police. He’d seen the truck and the man’s back. He could give a brief description of height, build, clothing. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

He turned and stared at the building he’d exited only minutes before. He knelt and held up his arms as if aiming a rifle at the building. This spot was the perfect place for an ambush. He stood and headed back, where a crowd had already gathered in Dr. Warren’s office. She was now sitting on the sofa. Two people stood over her, one who he recognized as the receptionist—he thought her name was Colette—and a man he didn’t know. Several others were standing at the doorway or by the window, watching. As he approached, he saw cuts on the doctor where the shards of glass had struck her. At least one had hit her forehead, and that wound was bleeding heavily, as head wounds often did. The towel she’d pressed against it was already turning red.

How is she? he asked the receptionist.

Colette turned to look at him. She has a gash on her forehead, but otherwise she seems to be okay. I called 9-1-1.

He nodded and looked around. The doctor was going to be fine, but someone had intended otherwise. He walked over to the back wall and saw several holes where the bullets had gone through to other offices. Is everyone else okay? Was anyone else struck?

The unknown man answered. No, everyone is accounted for. No one was hit. What happened here? Shelby is too shaken up to tell us.

A sniper shot through this window. I saw him in time to pull her out of the line of fire.

The man’s face paled and he took a step backward. You saw who did this?

I saw the flash from the rifle’s scope, Paul corrected. I got a bit more of a glimpse of the shooter when I ran after him, but he got into his truck before I could get a good look at him. It was surprising he’d even seen the truck driving away, since he’d had to stop and retrieve his gun first. A trained sniper should have been much quicker to escape. Why had it taken him so long? And, the more important question, why had he been there in the first place?

I’m glad you were here and that you have quick reflexes, the man said. He extended his hand. Dr. David Sloan.

Paul shook his hand. He’d seen the name on the office door when he’d first entered the building. I’m glad I could help. He trained his eyes on the woman on the couch. Are you sure you’re okay?

I’m fine, except for where the glass hit me. The hollow look in her eyes and the way her hands trembled belied her assurances, but he didn’t press the matter. She had reason to be shaken up by what had happened.

He was rattled too. He stepped outside and took a long, deep breath to calm the adrenaline racing through his system. The shots had frightened a lot of people, who were now standing around discussing the incident, but he didn’t see any signs of damage to any of the other buildings on the block. No bullet holes anywhere else. Those shots hadn’t been a random act of terror, meant to scare people and cause a panic.

Those bullets had been meant for Dr. Warren, or at least, for her building.

The police and paramedics arrived and Paul gave his statement. He’d seen the flash of light at the same time Dr. Warren had—but unlike her, he’d known instantly what it was. If he hadn’t been there, if he’d been only a second or two later in reacting, Shelby Warren would be dead.

He didn’t need a crime scene investigator to tell him what his eyes could see. She’d been standing at the window, and those bullets had come straight toward her.

She’d been the sniper’s target.

---

Shelby’s head was aching as she lay in the hospital bed. Her head wound had been stitched up, but her heart was still racing with fear. Who would do such a thing as shoot through her window? The patrol officers who’d arrived at the scene had asked her if she had any enemies, but she couldn’t think of one person who would want to harm her. She was nobody, just a simple woman, living a simple and quiet life. Surely it couldn’t have been a deliberate act targeting her. It must have been a stray bullet or random deed.

A knock on her door alerted her to a visitor and she sat up on the bed. Dr. Warren? the unfamiliar man said as he walked in. I’m Detective Murphy. I’ve been assigned to investigate your case. What can you tell me about the incident?

She took a deep breath and tried to focus her thoughts. She wanted to be as accurate and detailed as possible so they could hopefully capture whoever had taken that shot, but her memory of the events was scrambled. I was standing by the window looking out at the trees and I saw a flash of something. Paul—the patient who was with me at the time—tackled me just before the window shattered. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, the memories of the weight of his arms surrounding her and the strong beat of his heart were sharp and clear.

He’s the one who ran after the shooter? the detective asked, waiting for her nod of confirmation. Once she gave it, he continued. I’ve already gotten his statement. Good thing he was there. This could have ended very differently.

In other words, she could have been killed. That thought was not lost on her. She shuddered at his words and tried to rub chills from her arms. She was thankful Paul had been there and that he’d reacted swiftly and effectively. It seemed that it paid to have a well-trained navy SEAL in your office during an attack.

Do you have enemies that you know of or anyone who might want to harm you?

That answer was easy, and it hadn’t changed since she’d spoken to the patrolman earlier. No. She couldn’t imagine anyone she knew was violent enough to shoot at her.

Detective Murphy didn’t seem convinced. You’re a psychologist, right?

That’s right. I perform evaluations of military personnel who’ve been injured or incapacitated, to determine if they’re psychologically ready to return to active duty. I also do some counseling on occasion for military and first responders.

I imagine you’ve had patients who weren’t too happy with your recommendation.

Of course she had. All the men and women she evaluated wanted to get back to work. Everyone wanted to feel useful in their chosen careers. Sometimes she agreed that they were ready. But there were times when she didn’t. Some do get irritated when I won’t immediately approve them for active duty, but that’s no reason to try to kill me, is it?

He didn’t verbalize that he thought she was naive, but his expression registered it. Can you give me the names of some of those patients who were unhappiest with you? I can check them out.

A few names came to mind, but she wasn’t going to subject them to a police investigation after all they’d already suffered, at least not without more evidence that they were involved.

I’ll have to take a look at my files, she said noncommittally.

"Why don’t you let me take a look at those files, and we’ll sort it out for you."

She shot him a quizzical look. The contents of those files are confidential, and you know that, Detective. I’ll go through them myself and get back to you with any names. After the incident with Michael Finley, she’d already started going back through her files anyway. She’d even asked Colette to pull several for her to review. Only now she would have to make a separate stack for anyone who might be capable of hurting her.

I spoke with your partner, Dr. David Sloan. He says you evaluate a lot of Special Forces fellas. Men who’ve seen as much combat as they have can become very violent, Dr. Warren. Plus they’re well trained. If you’ve gotten on the wrong side of one of them, you might not want to underestimate just how dangerous they can be.

He didn’t have to tell her. She knew exactly what some of her patients were capable of, but that didn’t mean any one of them had chosen to target her. It also didn’t mean she was going to open her patient files to him. You know I can’t allow you to search through my files without a warrant, Detective.

He locked eyes with her but she wasn’t going to cave. Finally, he nodded and slipped his notebook into his pocket. I’ll await those names from you.

He turned to leave and she saw David standing in the doorway. He waited until the detective had departed before he entered, his face going pale as he saw her. Shelby, you look much better. What did the doctor say?

They say I’m fine. Just some cuts and a few stitches needed.

Good, good. I brought your purse. I thought you might need your keys, phone, whatnot.

Thank you. She was glad to have it. It had been thoughtful of him to bring it. They weren’t exactly close, but they’d always had a congenial working relationship. She’d joined David’s practice five