Beyond Risk

by Connie Mann

  Before she found any words, he eased her down on the bed, pulled the covers to her chin, placed a brotherly kiss on her forehead, and disappeared.

  His easy dismissal stung, but then she reminded herself she didn’t want him to want her. It would be so much easier being good friends if she didn’t feel this unrequited attraction. It sometimes made her feel awkward around him. When she wasn’t feeling awkward or itching to touch him, he made her feel comfortable, accepted. She sighed. He made her feel safe.

  She slept.

  * * *

  Hunter knew he’d never get back to sleep. Not with Charlee in the next room, temptation wrapped in the smell of vanilla, those big brown eyes like a punch to the gut.

  Instead, he opened his laptop and went over his notes, trying to figure out who had shot at them. He didn’t want to limit his focus too soon and overlook other possibilities, but between the newspaper clipping, the threat in her hospital room, her feeling that someone had tried to pull her farther under the water, plus the snake and the ball cap, everything seemed to connect what happened yesterday to last year’s drowning.

  Why? Revenge? Then Tommy Jennings topped the list. It was the anniversary of his child’s death, and that could make sane people do crazy things. He’d have to check if Byte had gotten a lead on Jennings’s whereabouts yesterday. He’d check on the ex-wife and daughter, too.

  What about the missing Oliver Dunn? He’d left several more messages, with no response.

  Then there was Travis and his crush on Charlee. Had he crossed the line into obsession? Maybe he shot at them and then showed up to play the hero? He’d arrived by kayak, but that could have been staged.

  What about the two teenagers? Troy and Luke? Had they been friends of JJ Jennings and wanted revenge? But they all seemed genuinely shaken and eager to help Brittany. He’d seen some scary, crazy teens in his work as a detective in New Orleans, but he didn’t get that lifeless vibe when he looked into either of their eyes. They seemed like good kids.

  Paul Harris, Brittany’s father? No question he’d been frantic, but that could have been faked. He’d been on shore, but he’d been with Brittany during the shooting. He couldn’t be in two places at the same time. Though the fact that he blamed Oliver seemed a little too neat and tidy to suit Hunter. And what about young Wyatt’s feeling that this was somehow his fault?

  He yawned and rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face. He had lots of questions but no clear answers. Yet.

  He glanced at the clock, closed his laptop, and started a pot of coffee.

  Before it finished brewing, his cell phone rang.

  Chapter 7

  Hunter checked the caller ID before he put the phone to his ear. “Lieutenant Boudreau.”

  “Lieutenant, this is Dr. Morgan at Ocala Regional. I think you need to get over here right away.”

  Hunter’s grip on the phone tightened, and dread pooled in his gut. “What’s wrong?”

  “Brittany Harris is dead.”

  He clenched his jaw and asked the question he was pretty sure he knew the answer to. “Were there complications from the surgery?”

  “None. She’d shown signs of regaining consciousness earlier, and all her vitals looked good.”

  “What happened?”

  “Looks like she was murdered. I wanted to call you right away, before the media gets wind of it. You’ll call the sheriff’s department?”

  “Yes.” Hunter rubbed the back of his neck. “Start at the beginning, Doc.”

  “We had a situation. The fire alarm went off about an hour ago. It turns out someone threw a lit cigarette into a trash can in one of the restrooms on the third floor. It was chaos, patients trying to get out, others yelling in panic, trapped in their beds. After the fire department put it out and we got everyone back to their rooms, I had the nurses on my floor go room by room to check on all the patients.”

  The doctor sighed. “One of the new nurses went into Brittany’s room, saw the duct tape over her mouth, ripped it off, and attempted CPR. But it was too late. She couldn’t save her. She’s pretty shaken up. Brittany’s father was still here at the hospital, so I let him know there were complications—but I didn’t get into details. He’s understandably upset. I secured the room and haven’t let him or anyone else in.”

  “Thanks, Doc. You did the right thing. Sequester that nurse somewhere until I get there. And keep Paul Harris out of the way. You didn’t tell him she was dead?”

  “Given the situation, I thought it should come from you.”

  “I agree. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Hunter hung up, bit back a curse, and turned to find Charlee leaning against the doorframe.

  “What happened?” Her voice was scratchy from sleep but pitched high with worry. She looked uncharacteristically fragile in her tank top and sleep shorts, arms wrapped around herself, dark circles under her wide eyes.

  He wanted to protect her from the truth, at least for a little while. “I’ll fill you in later. I need to get to the hospital. You should go back to bed.”

  She stiffened at that and gripped his arm as he tried to move past her, eyes blazing. “Don’t you treat me like a five-year-old. You’ll tell me now.” She searched his face, and some of the stiffness left her spine. “It’s Brittany, isn’t it?” Her voice was quiet, knowing.

  He nodded. “Yes, she didn’t make it.”

  She sagged against the doorframe. He reached for her, but she shrugged off his hold and stiffened her spine. “What happened? I thought she was going to be okay. You said the surgery went well.”

  Hunter glanced away, then met her eyes, gave her the truth, straight up. “Somebody killed her.”

  Charlee’s jaw clenched, and her eyes blazed. He could almost see her cop brain start to sort and process and formulate a list of questions. She straightened, and those beautiful brown eyes settled on him, determination burning from deep inside. “I’m coming with you.”

  “You know I can’t do that, cher.” Former FWC or not, he couldn’t take a civilian along.

  She eyed him and raised an eyebrow. “So now, after the whole I-won’t-leave-you-alone speech, you’re leaving me alone?”

  “You know procedure as well as I do. Besides, you can protect yourself.”

  She sent him a sardonic look, and he knew he’d trapped himself in his own words. “Grab your gun, lock the door behind me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  He checked his gun and gear belt before he hurried out the door. Then he waited until he heard the dead bolt slide home before he hopped in his FWC-marked F-150 and raced toward Ocala.

  * * *

  Charlee gave him four minutes’ head start, which was how long it took her to throw on jeans and a T-shirt. She took a couple of ibuprofen to ease the lingering pain in her head and carefully locked the dead bolt on the cottage’s front door before she climbed into her Jeep.

  The whole way into Ocala, she tried to figure out how she was going to get near Brittany’s body. In light of what she’d been thinking about earlier, a nagging question had popped into her brain and wouldn’t let go. But she had to know. Did Brittany have bruises on her neck like Nora’s? And if she did, what did it mean?

  Charlee had no idea. But if there were, it would be another “coincidence”—which she didn’t believe in—another supposedly unrelated fact that nagged at her like a sore tooth.

  Of course, whether Brittany had bruises or not, they still didn’t have motive. Why would someone kill a teenager? Because if it was obviously murder, and Hunter had said as much, there had to be motive.

  She pulled into the hospital parking lot and blew out a breath when she saw the local news trucks starting to arrive. It wouldn’t take long before the Orlando and Tampa stations showed up, too.

  She was glad she’d grabbed her hoodie on the way out. She pulled it on and tucked her hair into the hood, caref
ul of her bandaged head. She tucked her hands into the front pocket as she slipped inside. Hospitals were always freezing, though that wasn’t why her hands were like ice. She blinked back furious tears. Sure, Brittany had been mean to her brother and rude to her father—weren’t all teens?—but that hadn’t hidden the pain in her eyes. Charlee had so wanted to make a great memory for the girl. And now…this.

  She forced the anger and hurt aside so she could think like a cop. First, she had to get past Hunter into Brittany’s room. Charlee was ninety-nine percent sure this had something to do with her, because someone had threatened her and accused her of messing up his plans. Priority one was identifying him so she could stop whatever “plans” he had in mind. No one else could die.

  She walked down the hallway and past the nurses’ station like she knew where she was going. As she approached a small waiting room in a little alcove, she heard Hunter’s voice. She edged along the opposite side of the hallway and kept her head down, hoping he wouldn’t see her.

  When no one followed, she let out a relieved sigh and peeked around the corner. She watched Sanchez and Fish, two of her friends and former FWC squad mates, walking toward the security guard in front of one of the rooms. That had to be Brittany’s room.

  She pulled off her hood and hurried down the hall, timing it so that she’d reach them just as they showed their credentials to the security guard.

  “Hey, Fish, Sanchez. How’s it going, guys?” she said.

  Lisa Bass, a.k.a Fish, leaned over and gave her a hug. “Good to see you up and around, Tanner. What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

  Charlee nodded toward the guard, who was openly listening. “Let’s talk in there.” She indicated Brittany’s room.

  Sanchez looked from one to the other. “I don’t think—”

  Fish opened the door and motioned Charlee inside. She stepped in behind her and said quietly, “You have two minutes to tell me what you’re doing here.”

  Charlee sent her a grateful look and pulled out her cell phone. “Thank you. Two minutes is all I need.”

  * * *

  When Hunter entered the waiting room, he saw Paul Harris pacing the floor, pale-faced and anxious. You could smell the fear in the room. He looked like he hadn’t slept, shaved, or changed clothes since Brittany was brought in. Wyatt sat on one of the uncomfortable chairs that lined the wall, engrossed in a handheld video game. Or at least pretending to play. His fingers weren’t moving. He was mostly just staring at the screen.

  Paul noticed Hunter and turned on him, eyes wild. “What’s going on? They won’t let me into Brittany’s room. Something’s wrong, and I want answers. Now.” He shouted the last word.

  Hunter indicated the chair next to Wyatt. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll tell you both what I know.”

  Paul’s face paled even more as he sat beside his son. Wyatt edged just the slightest bit away so they weren’t touching. He glanced up, met Hunter’s eyes, and ducked his head.

  Hunter crouched in front of them and looked from father to son. “I am so sorry to have to tell you this, but…Brittany is dead.”

  For a moment, there was shocked silence. Then Paul leaped to his feet. “No! That’s a lie. She was fine last night. They said she’d be waking up soon. This can’t be true. Doctor Morgan didn’t say anything about complications. What happened to my baby?” His eyes darted around the room, and he swung his arms as he paced.

  After a minute or two, Hunter tried to ease him into the chair, but he wouldn’t sit. He kept his voice quiet, soothing. “Unfortunately, it appears she was murdered.”

  Wyatt reared back as though he’d been struck and huddled further into himself. “I’m so sorry, Wyatt,” Hunter murmured.

  It seemed to take Paul a few moments for the words to sink in. “Murdered?” he whispered. “Somebody murdered my baby?” He hissed out a breath. “How is that possible while she’s in the freaking hospital?”

  “We don’t have all the answers yet, Mr. Harris. But we’re going to get them. I’ll check in with the staff and let you know when you can see Brittany. But first I have to ask, when was the last time you saw her?”

  Paul looked off into the distance as if in a trance. “Must have been about midnight, I guess. I went to see if she’d woken up yet, because the doctor said it could be any time. I didn’t want her to wake up alone.”

  Wyatt let out a quiet snort of disbelief.

  Hunter turned to the boy. “What about you, Wyatt? Did you go in to see your sister at the same time?”

  “No. He went alone. He said that since Brittany didn’t really like me, she wouldn’t want my face to be the first thing she saw when she woke up.”

  Hunter kept his expression bland for Wyatt’s sake. Who said that to their child?

  “You misunderstood, Wyatt. That wasn’t what I meant. What I was trying to say—”

  “You just wanted to be alone with her so I wouldn’t hear whatever you said to her.”

  “Wyatt,” Paul warned.

  Hunter kept his tone casual. “What did you want to talk to your daughter about, Paul?”

  Paul rubbed a hand over his face. “Just father-daughter stuff. I wanted to tell her I loved her. And that I was sorry.”

  Wyatt snorted again, and Paul shot him another warning look.

  “Sorry for what?” Hunter pressed.

  “For the divorce, all the hard times lately. For making her come on this trip.”

  Wyatt shrank further and further into himself. Paul brushed a hand over his son’s leg, and he flinched.

  Hunter kept his voice low. “Wow, Wyatt. You got really bruised. Did that all happen on the trip, too?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “I guess.”

  “I want to see my daughter,” Paul demanded.

  “And you will. After your dad talked to Brittany, Wyatt, did you go in to see your sister?”

  “Yeah, just for a minute. She was sleeping, so I didn’t stay.”

  “What did you do next?” Hunter asked Paul.

  “We were hungry, but the cafeteria was closed, so we grabbed some snacks from the vending machine. Wyatt fell asleep curled up on the floor, and I dozed in the chair. Until the fire alarm went off. They forced us to leave. I wanted to stay with Brittany, but they said no.” Paul spun, tried to grab Hunter by the shirtfront. Hunter neatly sidestepped. “Who killed my baby?”

  Hunter put more distance between them. “I don’t know. Yet. But I will. Stay here until the nurse comes back for you.”

  He hurried down the hall and stopped short when he saw Pete, along with Sanchez and Fish, clustered outside Brittany’s room, with Charlee in their midst.

  * * *

  Charlee knew he’d spotted her when everyone went silent. Hunter marched down the hallway, and without slowing down, he leaned in and took her by the arm, steered her away from the others. “We need to talk.”

  She’d expected him to chew her out in front of everyone, so she appreciated the gesture. In his place, she wasn’t sure she’d have been as considerate.

  Just out of earshot, he let go and folded his arms over his chest. “I told you to stay home, Charlee. You can’t be part of an active investigation. You know the rules.”

  Charlee didn’t say anything, just mirrored his stance and waited until he ran out of steam. Her silence seemed to give him pause.

  “What did you come here to find out?”

  “I needed to see Brittany’s body.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  Caution made her shake her head. “I’m not sure yet.” She had suspicions, but until she had time to think, to compare these photos to the ones from last year, she didn’t want to say or do anything that might unwittingly create tunnel vision for Hunter and his team. They needed to look at all the evidence with an open mind. Rick had told her she was imagining things. May
be she was.

  She watched Hunter’s growing impatience and was debating what more she could say, when Pete stepped up behind him. “We need to get in there. The media is starting to circle.”

  Hunter turned to Charlee. “Stay here. I’ll be right out.”

  “I was just going to go talk to the nurse—”

  “You and I are not done. Stay put.”

  He didn’t wait for her agreement, just went into the room and closed the door in her face. Charlee bristled, but she understood.

  She leaned against the wall, hands in her pockets, tried to think. Then she pulled out her cell phone, studied the pictures. Were these bruises a match to the ones from Nora’s neck? A chill passed over her skin, and she straightened, looked up and down the empty hallway.

  She didn’t see anyone. But she knew this feeling, had learned not to ignore it.

  Someone was watching her.

  * * *

  Inside Brittany’s room, Hunter pushed aside his frustration as his team went to work. Fish took pictures while Marco Sanchez pulled on gloves and bagged the duct tape and other items that might have trace evidence. Hunter and Pete stood off to the side. Neither man spoke while they studied the scene.

  “Pretty ballsy, coming in and slapping tape over her mouth while she’s connected to all those machines,” Pete said.

  “Machines that would start beeping the minute she stopped breathing. So he created a diversion with that cigarette. Thrown in a third-floor trash can. While there’s chaos, he walks in here, suffocates her, and walks out without anybody noticing.”

  Hunter took one more look at the crime scene. “Make sure you get everything we need before I let her family in.” Sanchez nodded. Hunter glanced from Fish to Sanchez. “What was Charlee looking for in here?”

  The two officers glanced at each other, then Fish said, “She just wanted to see the body. She wore booties, didn’t touch anything. She knows the drill. She took a few pics with her cell phone and left.”

  “The whole body or one area?”

  “Ah, mostly the upper body.”