by Karen Kirst
Olivia.
She wasn’t moving.
Could she be—
Derek had been like that, too, his face locked in forever sleep.
Brady forced his leaden feet into motion. At her side, he fell to his knees and felt for a pulse. The breath whooshed from his lungs. Not dead.
Thank you, Lord.
“Olivia, can you hear me?” He searched for the blood source and discovered a deep gash behind her right ear.
She reacted to his probing fingers with an agonized moan. She flinched away from him, her pupils dilated in fear.
“It’s me, Brady. I’m here to help.”
Her forehead pinched. When she attempted to sit up, she hissed and cradled her arm against her chest.
Brady reached out but didn’t touch her. “What happened?”
Glancing at the floor above, she grimaced. “Someone pushed me.”
Moving to shield her from further threat, he gauged the distance of her fall. Anger bubbled beneath his skin. “Did you see who did it?”
“No.”
Questions piled up, but he tabled them. She’d suffered a terrible fall and likely had a concussion. The prospect of internal injuries worried him. “Where else do you hurt?”
“I’m sore all over, but my arm aches when I move it.”
“I’m going to call for an ambulance. In the meantime, we should wait somewhere more secure. Do you think you can walk?”
“No ambulance.” She attempted to get up and faltered.
Brady gingerly placed his arm around her waist and helped her stand. She weaved on her feet and sank against him, her breaths coming in uneven bursts. His worry ratcheted up a notch.
“You’re going to the hospital.”
With her cheek pressed against his chest, she murmured, “Police and EMTs will end the kids’ night on a sour note.”
“There’s no getting around that, Olivia,” he said, his voice gruffer than usual. Her concern for the kids in this moment meant a lot.
“I’ll answer the questions and fill out a report, just not here.”
That she was continuing to lean on him was testament of her distress. Perceiving his unspoken wishes in the initial weeks of their acquaintance, she’d been careful to keep her distance. He hadn’t noticed the differences in their heights before—the top of her head came even with his chin—or the sweet scent clinging to her skin. Or was it her shampoo?
Brady’s hold on her tightened.
“I’ll take you in my truck.”
She straightened and edged out of his sheltering embrace, her eyes looking everywhere but at him. “The kids—”
“Norman and Dana will contact their parents to let them know what’s happening. The field trip will be cut short, but they’ll be safe in their homes. Maybe we can try this again at a later date.”
* * *
He texted instructions to Norman to bring his pack and Olivia’s phone, which she’d left on her cot. Brady guided her to a wooden bench and sat down beside her. Was her attacker hanging around to discover the outcome of his actions? The unknowns frustrated him. In real-life military missions, his objectives were clearly laid out and his adversary established. He had no idea if this person was aiming to scare Olivia or end her.
Despite the comfortable temperature inside the aquarium, a chill washed over him, raising the hair on his arms.
He extracted a clean cotton T-shirt from his pack and held it up. “This will stem the bleeding.”
Not waiting for her response, he gently swept her hair behind her shoulder and placed the folded material against her wound. Her lips pressed together. “I know it hurts,” he murmured regretfully. “I can’t tell how deep the gash is, though.”
She lifted her uninjured arm and held the material in place. “I hope this wasn’t one of your favorite shirts.”
“I’m not particular about what I wear.” Growing up, he hadn’t had the luxury of caring what he wore. His grandmother had purchased his scant wardrobe from the local thrift shop because that’s all she could afford. Thanks to his career, he was either in flight suits, military-issue PT gear or dress blues. “Mind if I use your phone to call the guard?”
She told him where to find the contact information and listened as he relayed the problem. By the time Norman located Brady’s pickup truck in the parking lot and drove it to the entrance, the guard was already there. This wasn’t the same one who’d tried to evict him. Olivia introduced him as the head of security, Don Welch. With a broad face and heavy jowls, he reminded Brady of an English bulldog, the Marine Corps mascot. His eyes snapped, and lips pulled back over his crooked teeth.
Before they left, Norman reassured him that he would call all the parents and ensure the kids got home safely. Brady thanked him and assisted Olivia into the crisp night. Once she was settled in the passenger seat, he leaned in and fastened her seat belt, careful not to touch her injured arm. The forearm area looked pink and swollen. A quick glance at her face revealed her struggle to manage the discomfort.
Compassion, an emotion his parents’ abandonment and military training had almost managed to mute, lodged in his chest. She didn’t deserve this.
“I’ll try to avoid the potholes and speed bumps.”
He hurried to the driver’s side and turned on the heater full blast. Despite his vow, he couldn’t avoid every rough road surface. Relief flooded him when the hospital sign pointed them to the entrance. As it was after midnight, he was able to find a convenient parking spot.
He studied her profile draped in shadows. “Should I get a wheelchair?”
“I can walk.”
“I’ll be right beside you,” he promised.
She turned to look at him, her brows forming a single line of surprise. Her lips parted, but no words escaped.
Brady could guess what was on her mind. Why hadn’t he insisted they call an ambulance? He could’ve left her in the care of medical professionals and returned to his group. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he hadn’t even entertained that option.
Helping her out of the truck, he stuck close as they made their way to the brightly lit emergency room entrance. The slam of a car door shot through the night, and Olivia jumped.
“It’s okay,” he said, sliding his arm around her as he performed a quick scan of their surroundings.
Her throat convulsed. “I can feel his breath on my neck. His hand on my back, shoving me over the edge.”
“The police will find this guy, Olivia.”
Her expression said she wasn’t convinced; her big, liquid eyes asked the question neither wanted to consider. What if they don’t?
* * *
“You’re a fortunate young woman.” The ER doctor finished consulting his handheld tablet and gazed at her with bloodshot eyes. “You didn’t suffer head trauma or internal injuries. As soon as your discharge papers are ready, you can go home.”
The prospect of her soft, cozy bed should’ve sounded ideal. Home wasn’t the same anymore, though. Not without Derek’s larger-than-life presence.
A new thought, subtle and insidious, occurred to her. Her attacker knew where she worked. Did he know where she lived, too?
Brady left the plastic chair to stand at her bedside. “What about her arm?”
“The swelling needs to go down before the fracture can be addressed.” To Olivia, he said, “Your nurse will make an appointment to get your cast put on. The orthopedic clinic is closed during the weekend, so it will be Monday. We’ll give you a sling to keep your arm stable until then.”
The doctor left, and Olivia was alone with Brady again. His austere expression hadn’t altered in the hours since their arrival, his laser-sharp gaze missing nothing. He’d remained by her side every minute, except for during the MRI, of course. The medical staff had barred him from entering the room. He hadn’t been happy about tha
t. Despite their non-relationship, she was glad he’d stuck around. Brady kept her grounded whenever the memories pressed in and panic threatened.
“Can I get you anything?”
His blue-gray eyes assessed her with polite courtesy. This was his professional persona, crafted to hide his thoughts and emotions. She’d seen him drop the protective shield around only one person, and he was gone.
When she didn’t respond, Brady shifted, his hip nudging the bed as he stretched out his hand. He came short of touching her, however. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Everything.
“You’re pale.”
“I have a headache.” Unable to stand his shrewd inspection any longer, she shoved the blanket off and swung her legs over the side, forcing him to move back. Her bruised ankle protested. “Would you mind handing me my clothes? I’m leaving the moment she delivers the paperwork.”
He did as she asked. “There’s a detective waiting to take your statement. If you’re not feeling up to it, I can send him away.”
“How long has he been out there?”
“He approached me during your MRI. I told him he’d have to wait.”
She sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”
A half hour later, the interview had drained the last of her stamina. She was sore from the crown of her head down to her toes, and the lingering pain in her arm made her nauseated.
“That’s enough for now, Detective Shaw.” Brady opened the door to the hallway and delivered a pointed stare. “Olivia is overdue for some peace and quiet.”
For once, she was grateful for the captain’s observation skills. The silver-haired detective nodded in understanding and gave her a business card. “Call me if you remember anything else.”
“Will you let me know what you find on the security feeds?”
“Absolutely. We’ll also dust for prints on your original air cylinders. That may take longer.”
Brady waited in the hall while she changed back into her uniform. The pants were ripped at the knee and streaked with dirt. The fabric smelled dirty, almost metallic. The sick feeling grew. It took the last of her energy to block the day’s events. She wasn’t about to break down in front of Brady.
He didn’t bombard her with questions during the ride to the Marine Corps Air Station, a small base situated on the New River a few miles from the larger base, Camp Lejeune. The air station was home to the School of Infantry and the helicopter and tilt-rotor Osprey squadrons. There were also family living quarters, a commissary and exchange, bowling alley, library and movie theater. It had been her home for eighteen months. Seven of those she’d shared with Derek. Sometimes it didn’t seem possible that he’d been gone nearly a year.
They approached the main gate manned with three marines, and Brady entered the lane closest to the guard hut. As he flashed his military ID and offered a greeting, Olivia studied his face. The exhaustion he must be feeling didn’t show. There wasn’t a hint of stubble on his chiseled jaw. No shadows beneath his eyes. His blond hair, admittedly low-maintenance as short as it was, bore no evidence of his shark tank swim.
She’d met him two years ago this month. Two years, and they hadn’t shared much more than shallow conversation. Now he was her self-appointed companion, an up close witness to her fear, pain and vulnerability.
The darkness hid her grimace. Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow she’d feel stronger and better prepared to deal with the fact someone wanted her dead.
The streets were damp from a recent rain and the sidewalks empty. In her cul-de-sac, Brady pulled the truck in to her driveway, killed the engine and stared out the windshield. Unlike the other two-story duplexes around them, hers didn’t pay homage to the autumn season with wreaths or pumpkins. The only personal touch was the Marine Corps sign above the garage door. He and Derek had nailed it up there together.
Brady didn’t move. He didn’t appear to be breathing.
She reached for the handle with her free hand. Her left arm was tucked safely into a sturdy black sling. “Thanks for the ride home. I’ll call someone to pick me up on their way to work in the morning.”
He shook his head as if to shake off a stupor. “I’m not leaving.”
Before she could ask exactly how long he planned to stay, he’d exited the vehicle and ushered her to the porch. Taking her key, he unlocked the door and entered first, flipping on lights and performing a sweep of her home.
“Even if this guy has my address, he can’t get to me here.”
He peeked into the half bath tucked beneath the stairs and dodged a collection of cardboard boxes packed with books. “Not necessarily. He could be military or have contacts that would grant him base access. Civilians staff the commissary and other businesses. They have access, too.”
Why hadn’t she thought of that? Feeling light-headed, Olivia managed to reach the couch dominating the opposite wall and sink onto a broad cushion. She closed her eyes and waited for the dizziness to pass.
A blanket whispered over her. She lifted her head and was surprised to see Brady so close, tucking the corners around her shoulders. His blue-gray eyes, which she associated with bleak winter skies, reflected concern. Shocking.
Crouching before her, he proceeded to untie her tennis shoes and gently work them off her feet. Her mouth dried.
“Stay put.” He straightened and strode to the kitchen.
Ordinarily, Olivia would’ve bristled at his authoritative tone. She certainly wouldn’t have remained on the couch while he rustled around in her domain. But this wasn’t an ordinary situation.
Warmth from the fuzzy blanket seeped into her aching, limp body, and her eyelids grew heavy. She curled into the sofa and was dozing off when he returned with a bowl of steaming soup. The aroma of chicken broth made her stomach growl.
“I heated up chicken noodle soup,” he said, setting a green soda can on the coffee table and handing her the bowl. “I couldn’t find crackers.”
“I didn’t bother restocking the pantry since I’m moving soon.”
“I noticed.” His careful gaze slid over the bare walls studded with protruding nails before returning to her. “Do you need help eating?”
“I can manage,” she croaked out. Brady spoon-feeding her? Not happening. “What about you? Wasn’t there enough for two?”
He lowered his lean, athletic frame into the recliner and splayed his hands over the curved arms. He had nice hands, she noted. No rings.
“I’m not hungry.”
She balanced the bowl on her knees and took several bites. “You seem comfortable taking care of the sick and injured.”
His eyes became hooded. “My grandmother was frail when I first got there. By the time I was fifteen, she was barely mobile.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility for a kid,” she said cautiously.
“I owed her.”
A lump formed in her throat. Had his grandmother resented having to raise her young grandson? Had she made him feel like a burden?
Instead of voicing those questions, she kept the tone light. “What did you do for meals?”
“She taught me the basics.”
“There weren’t friends or neighbors to help out?”
His fingers gripped the leather until his knuckles went white. “My grandmother and I were basically on our own.”
She could picture him as a gangly young teen, hiding his hurting heart with defiant pride. Or maybe he’d been like he was now...polite to a fault, efficient and closed off. A loner determined not to give anyone the power to hurt him again.
Olivia now wished that she’d asked Derek how he’d managed to make friends with Brady. Knowing Derek, she thought fondly, he’d made a nuisance of himself until Brady had given in.
“You had to do the grocery shopping and house cleaning?”
“And pay the bills, when there was en
ough money to cover them, as well as the yard work and anything else that needed doing.” He leaned forward. “That’s enough about me. Let’s talk about you, Olivia. Who would want to kill you and why?”
FIVE
He immediately regretted his bluntness.
Olivia set her bowl down without finishing the contents. Her hand shook as she gripped the soda can but didn’t lift it to her lips.
“I can’t answer that.”
Brady’s gaze catalogued the unhappy set of her mouth and the utter exhaustion clutching her features. This wasn’t an ideal time to discuss theories. Being inside this place again had knocked him off-kilter. His mind kept returning to the pivotal conversation that had played out in this very room. The revelations Derek had shared—that he’d staged his own death to escape his mafia family and was using a fake identity—had threatened the foundations of their friendship. Derek had convinced him Olivia would be safer not knowing the truth. He could never tell her what he’d learned that long-ago day. What would be the point? Besides, he’d made a solemn promise to Derek that she’d never learn the truth from his lips. Unlike his parents, he honored his promises.
This is just for a short while, his mom had said, not meeting his gaze. We’ll come back for you as soon as we find a place to settle.
“We can talk about it in the morning,” he said, “after you’ve gotten a good night’s sleep. Why don’t you finish your soup and go on up to bed? I’ll take the couch.”
Shock pulled her lips apart. “You’re not staying. There’s no need—”
“You’ve suffered a concussion and other injuries.”
“Minor injuries,” she corrected. “The concussion is a mild one.”
Brady left his chair and came around to her side of the coffee table. He removed his jacket and toed off his tennis shoes.
She lifted her face, her ink-colored hair spilling over her shoulders. “I’m safe here, Brady,” she said, but her tone lacked conviction.
Sinking onto the couch, he shifted toward her and rested his arm across the back. “Until today, you thought you were safe at the aquarium.”
