by Cindi Myers
Then everything sped up. Someone screamed, Brodie shouted, then Alex shoved her away, so hard that she fell, slamming her knees into the concrete of the walkway. Brodie’s boots thundered past her, then a woman knelt beside her, trying to help her to her feet.
But Emily didn’t get up until Brodie returned. He bent over her, chest heaving, the gun out of sight now. For a long moment, neither of them said a thing, their eyes locked, his expression reflecting all the terror she felt. “Are you...all right?” he managed to gasp at last.
She nodded, though she still couldn’t seem to speak. By now a crowd had gathered, everyone wanting to know what had happened, and if they could help. Brodie grasped Emily’s hand and pulled her to her feet. She caught her breath at the sudden sharp pain in her side, and clamped her hand over the spot. “He had a knife,” she said.
Brodie pushed her hand away, then yanked down the zipper of her coat and shoved it aside. She stared at the quarter-sized blossom of red against the white of her sweater. “We need to get you to the clinic,” he said, then, without waiting for a reply, scooped her into his arms and started across the street.
“Brodie, put me down. Please!” She beat her fists against his chest, but his expression never changed. People called after them, a car braked to a halt as he stepped in front of it and horns honked, but Brodie appeared to hear none of it. He burst into the Eagle Mountain medical clinic and everyone in the small waiting room stared at them.
“She’s hurt,” he said. “She needs to see the doctor now.”
She wanted to demand once more that he put her down, but doubted he would even hear her. When the door leading to the examination rooms opened, he carried her through it and into the closest empty room. A woman with a stethoscope followed them inside. “What is the meaning—”
But she got no further. Brodie took out his badge and shoved it at her, then pulled back Emily’s coat to show the spot of blood. “She’s been stabbed.”
The woman’s eyes widened, but she recovered quickly and took charge. She pushed Brodie out of the way, then eased the coat off Emily and pulled up the sweater.
In the end, Emily needed four stitches, a tetanus shot and some antibiotics to ward off infection. Brodie sat in a chair, scowling and silent, while the nurse practitioner on duty stitched up Emily. No one talked about what had happened, and Emily didn’t know if she was relieved about that or not.
The nurse had just finished administering the tetanus vaccine when someone knocked on the door. “It’s the sheriff,” Travis said. “May I come in?”
“You might as well,” the nurse practitioner said, and shifted so that Travis could squeeze in behind her.
“I’m fine,” Emily said, sliding off the exam table, wincing a little at the pain in her side. “It was just a little cut.”
Travis’s answer was to pull her close and squeeze her so tight she couldn’t breathe. Her brother wasn’t much for words, but the concern in that hug made her tear up, and she had to force herself to smile and push him away. “I’m okay,” she said. “Really.”
Brodie stood and Travis turned to him. “I’ve got everyone available out looking for this guy, but I’m afraid he’s done another disappearing act.”
“Let’s talk about this outside,” Brodie said. He picked up Emily’s coat and helped her back into it. Then, one hand on her back, he followed her into the waiting room, where, once again, everyone stared at them.
“Someone brought these for you,” the receptionist said, and handed over Emily’s purse, the package of office supplies and the paper-wrapped parcel of prosciutto. Emily stared at the ham, teary again. It felt like hours since she had set out to run a simple errand for Bette, yet the prosciutto was still cold.
“Let’s go to my office,” Travis said, and escorted them out of the clinic. The three of them piled into his cruiser, Brodie in the back seat with her. She lay her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes and tried not to think about what had happened, although she knew she would have to give a statement to Travis. All she wanted was a few more minutes to pretend she hadn’t just come within seconds of death.
At the station, Adelaide clucked over her and brought her a cup of tea. “Drink that,” she ordered. “And don’t let these two bully you into anything.” She scowled at Brodie and Travis as if she blamed them for the attack, then left, closing the door to Travis’s office behind her with a solid Click!
“I’m not going to bully you,” Travis said. “But we need to know what happened. We got a description of the man who attacked you from a few people, but about all they said was that it was an old guy with a patchy beard, and none of them remembered seeing him before.”
She took a long sip of the sweet, hot tea, then set the cup on the edge of the desk and took a deep breath. She could do this. She was alive and safe and what she had to say might help Travis and Brodie stop this man. “It was Alex,” she said. “I didn’t recognize him because he was wearing a disguise. A good one. But I’m sure it was him.”
“Start with a description,” Travis said. “We’ll go from there.”
She described the old man who had approached her—his glasses and long hair and saggy jowls. “He looked confused and harmless,” she said. “Stooped over and a little shaky. I felt sorry for him. He wanted me to feel sorry for him, to not see him as a threat. I’m sure that’s what he did with the other women, too.”
“He didn’t run like an old man,” Brodie said. “He took off like a track star. He ducked down an alley and I lost him within seconds.”
“He said he was having car trouble and asked me for a ride to the auto parts store,” Emily said. “When I told him I was with someone, and started toward the café, he grabbed my wrist and stuck the knife in my side. His whole demeanor changed. That’s when I knew it was Alex.” She swallowed hard, remembered terror making her light-headed.
“I came out of the café with Dwight and saw Emily cozied up with this old guy,” Brodie said. “Even though her back was to me, something about the situation didn’t look right. When I called to them, the guy swung her around toward me. He looked angry—enraged—and I could see that Emily was terrified. I drew my weapon and ordered him to stop. At first I thought he would resist, or try to use Emily as a shield. Instead, he released her and took off running.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I should have insisted you stay with me. And I never should have gone into the café with Dwight.”
“I was in a public place with other people all around,” Emily said. “What was Alex thinking?”
“He thinks he’s invincible,” Travis said. “That law enforcement is stupid and we’ll never catch him. But we will.”
A knock on the door interrupted them. “Come in,” Travis called.
Dwight entered, a bundle of cloth in his hand. “We found these in the trash bins behind Mo’s Pub,” he said, and laid the bundle on the desk.
Emily stared at the drab shirt, thick glasses with scratched lenses, and thin gray beard and long hair. “That was his disguise,” she said.
“I figure he ditched the clothes and either put on another disguise or walked away as himself,” Dwight said.
“He’s good at blending in,” Emily said. “He can be noticed when he wants to be, but when he doesn’t, he fades into the crowd.”
“I interviewed some of his professors over the phone,” Travis said. “Most of them didn’t even remember him.”
“He’s decided to go after you now,” Brodie said.
“But why? Because I knew him at school?”
“Maybe,” Brodie said. “Or because you’re Travis’s sister. He wants to prove he’s better than any cop.”
She welcomed the anger that surged through her at the thought. It made her feel stronger. She stood. “I’m not going to sit quietly and play victim for his sick fantasies.”
“No, you’re not,” Brodie agreed. “And he’s
not going to get close enough to hurt you again.” He stood also, and took her hand in his. “Because from now on, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
* * *
THAT EVENING, BRODIE sat in the Walkers’ living room as Emily descended the stairs to the strains of Pachelbel’s Canon. Something tugged hard at his chest as she paused at the bottom of the stairs and met his gaze, then she ducked her head and turned away to take her place in front of the fire, where the officiant, a plump woman with auburn hair, waited for the run-through of the wedding ceremony.
The other bridesmaids followed—Gage’s wife, Maya, Paige Riddell and Brenda Prentice. The music switched to the traditional bridal entrance tune and Lacy, in a blue lace dress, carrying an imaginary bouquet, appeared at the top of the stairs. Even though this was only a rehearsal, Brodie and the other observers rose as Lacy descended the stairs.
Rather than watch the bride, Brodie kept his eyes on Travis, who stood with Gage, Ryder Stewart, Nate Harris and Cody Rankin in the archway between the living and dining room. The sheriff’s stance was casual: hip cocked, face impassive. But as Lacy neared, Travis straightened, then reached out his hand to her. In that moment, Brodie was sure Travis wasn’t thinking about a killer or the women who had died, or about anything but this woman and their future together.
Love had the power to do that—to push aside every worry and distraction, to focus attention on what mattered most, on life and hope, even in the midst of tragedy.
Brodie shifted his gaze to Emily. She was watching her brother and Lacy, eyes shiny with unshed tears, joy radiating from her smile. Brodie’s heart hammered and he had trouble catching his breath, the knowledge of how much he loved her a sucker punch to the gut.
If only she would look at him, and let him see that she felt the same—that she loved him. But her eyes remained fixed on the bride and groom as the officiant explained what would happen next.
“You may practice kissing the bride if you like,” the officiant said. Everyone laughed as Travis moved in to kiss Lacy and the spell was broken.
“Now that that’s over, we can eat,” Gage said, ignoring the scolding look from Maya.
Brodie stood and went to Emily. Though he was not a member of the wedding party, and had not even received an invitation to the wedding, Travis had embraced the idea of Brodie as Emily’s bodyguard. He had also apparently persuaded his mother and father that Brodie was not the scoundrel they had assumed and now they, too, seemed happy to have him protecting their daughter.
As for Emily, he wasn’t certain what she felt about him becoming, by default, her “plus-one” for the wedding. She smiled as he held her chair for her, next to his at the table, then quickly turned her attention to the other guests. Most of the wedding party was made up of other law enforcement officers and their spouses or significant others.
Travis and the bride-to-be sat side by side in the middle of the long table, Lacy smiling and beautiful, Travis stoic and tense, his smiles doled out sparingly for his beloved. He was putting on a good show, but Brodie knew his mind was back on Alex. Like Brodie, he was probably wondering if, while they ate and drank and toasted the happy couple, the Ice Cold Killer was claiming another victim.
The officiant, Reverend Winger, sat across the table. As Bette and the ranch cook, Rainey, set salads in front of the guests, she leaned across and asked, “Are you in law enforcement, too?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m a detective with the Colorado Bureau of Investigation.”
“This must be the safest place to be in the whole county right now,” Reverend Winger said.
“Reverend Winger, I understand you vacationed in Italy last year.” Lacy leaned across to address the pastor. “What was your favorite thing about that trip?”
As the reverend launched into a description of her visit to Tuscany, Brodie silently applauded Lacy. Before the rehearsal began, she had laid down the law—absolutely no discussion of the case tonight. We’re going to focus on the wedding and be happy, she had insisted.
“The prosciutto doesn’t look any worse for wear,” Emily leaned over and whispered to Brodie as a plate of prosciutto-wrapped asparagus and petite sirloin steaks was set before each of them.
“No one will ever know,” he said, and popped a bite of the asparagus into his mouth. No one would know what Emily had been through earlier that day, either. If he detected a little more tension around her eyes, that was only because he was so focused on her.
“You know, it’s hard to eat when you’re staring at me like that,” she said.
“Sorry.” He was tempted to say something about her being so beautiful he couldn’t keep his eyes off her, but he was sure such a cheesy line would only make her groan. He focused on his own food. “This is delicious,” he said. “Bette did a great job.”
“She really did,” Emily agreed. “Though in addition to the stress of my prosciutto problem, she had to deal with a no-show by the florist.” She gestured toward the center of the table, where an arrangement of greens and pine cones, tied with silver ribbon, filled a silver vase. “This was a last-minute substitution.”
“What did the florist have to say about the failed delivery?” he asked.
“By the time Bette had a chance to call, they were already closed. But she left a stern message—and she’s going to double-check with them in the morning to make sure the wedding flowers get here in time.”
“I’ll be sure and tell her everything looks—and tastes—great.”
“Speech! Speech!” Nate Harris, at one end of the table, tapped his spoon against his water glass.
Travis’s father shoved back his chair and stood as the guests fell quiet. “Thank you, everyone, for coming here this evening,” he said. “I especially want to thank Bette and Rainey for putting on such a lovely dinner.”
Cries of “hear, hear” and light applause followed this remark.
Mr. Walker turned to Travis and Lacy. “Your mother and I have looked forward to tomorrow for a long time,” he said. “We’re so happy to welcome Lacy into the family and we wish you only the best.” He raised his glass in a toast and everyone followed suit.
“Is this where everyone else in the wedding party feels compelled to also give a toast?” Emily whispered to Brodie. “If it is, I’m going to need more wine.”
But instead of toasts, Bette arrived with dessert—a baked Alaska that Brodie, at least, would have awarded first place in any bake-off.
Half an hour later, stuffed and happy, the guests who weren’t staying on the ranch made their way to the door. Brodie stood with Emily, saying goodbye. When everyone was gone, Brodie led Emily aside, where they could talk without being overheard. “About the arrangements for tonight,” he said. “I meant what I said before about not letting you out of my sight.”
“So you’re saying we have to sleep together?” He couldn’t decide if the look in her eye was teasing or not.
“I’m saying I’m going to spend the night in the same room as you—sex is optional.”
“Alex isn’t going to come into this house and up to my bedroom,” she said. “He wouldn’t dare!”
“I wouldn’t put anything past him at this point.” After all, Alex had tried to crash the barbecue Wednesday night. Brodie took her arm and pulled her closer. “I’m not going to give him any opportunity to get to you again.” The memory of her crumpled on the sidewalk, bleeding from Alex’s knife, still made it hard to breathe.
“All right.” Her smile made the tight band around his chest ease. “I was planning on sneaking out to your cabin later, anyway.” She snuggled against him.
“Oh, you were?” He lowered his head to kiss her, but an uproar at the front door made them pull apart and turn toward the clamor. Lacy’s parents, who had been among the first to leave, stood with Travis and Lacy—Mrs. Milligan in tears, her husband white-faced. “That poor woman,” Mrs. Milligan moaned.
>
Brodie moved toward them, Emily close behind, as Dwight shoved through the crowd. “The florist van is blocking the end of the driveway,” he said. “The delivery driver is inside, dead.”
Chapter Fifteen
Emily urged Brodie to go with Travis and the others to investigate the crime scene, but he insisted on staying by her side as she helped her mother and Lacy soothe the Milligans. She volunteered to let Lacy’s parents stay in her room that evening. Her own parents didn’t ask where she planned to spend the night, though she was aware of her mother watching her and Brodie more closely as the evening progressed.
Several hours passed before the other guests could leave. While they waited for the crime scene investigators and coroner to finish their work, for the ambulance to remove the body and for the wrecker to arrive to tow the van to the sheriff’s garage, Emily poured coffee and served snacks that no one ate, and tried to make small talk about anything but the murders.
It was after midnight before she was able to retrieve her clothes and toiletries, along with a change of clothes for the next day, from her room and go with Brodie to his cabin. She should have been exhausted by the strain of the day, but instead felt hyperalert and on edge. Halfway down the path to the cabins, she put her arm out to stop Brodie. “Stop just a minute,” she said. “This feels like the first time things have been quiet all day and I want to take it in.”
She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply of the cold, clear air, then tilted her head back and stared up at the night sky, thousands of stars glittering against the velvet blackness.
“It’s beautiful,” Brodie said, standing behind her and wrapping his arms around her.
“It’s surreal to think of violence in the midst of such peace,” she said. “Especially while we were celebrating such a happy occasion.”
He kissed the top of her head—such a sweet, gentle gesture. “Come on,” he said. “You’re shivering. It’s warm in the cabin.”
