Brave Love
Copyright © 2015 Allyson Simonian
All Rights Reserved
Editing and Formatting by
Pam Berehulke, Bulletproof Editing
Cover Design by
Tugboat Design
Amazon Edition
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Epilogue
Sneak Peek of Meeting Danger
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
He stood over the young woman who was blindfolded and tied to the bed, his blood singing with the odd combination of yearning and power that overwhelmed him with the capture of each victim.
Victim . . . such an ugly word. He didn’t see his subjects as victims, more as playthings ripe for the plucking. Toys for his amusement.
Her head turned a fraction of an inch as he stood there. Her breathing was shallow, her body rigid with fear, and he hadn’t even played with her yet. Reaching out, he stroked her hair and smiled with satisfaction when she flinched.
All of the young women he chose were beautiful, but there was something special about this one—he’d known it from the moment he first saw her. Unlike the others, who hadn’t lasted long, he wasn’t ready for her life to end. Not yet, anyway. He wanted the game to continue.
As he stared down at her, an idea formed. He thought it over, assessing its ramifications in his head, and a smile tugged at his lips when he made his decision. He loosened the tie on her right wrist before leaving the room. She’d have enough time to escape before he set the fire.
Chapter 1
Bennington, Oregon – Two years later
Trying to have a conversation with his new partner was harder than Officer Ethan Cole had anticipated. The saying about pulling teeth came to mind as he asked politely, “You live downtown?”
He and Mark Davis had finished their patrol and were on their way back to the Bennington police station. Ethan’s former partner, Jonathan, had retired, so for the past two days he’d been riding with Mark, who had recently transferred in. Mark was new to the force, but he wasn’t a new officer. Ethan had heard that he had over a decade of experience before he moved to Bennington. Because of a divorce, the rumor mill had said.
“No, I’m in Arden Hills,” Mark said abruptly. A few blocks and an uncomfortable silence passed by before he glanced at Ethan and asked, “Do you?”
Ethan nodded and squinted through the windshield. Dusk was falling, so he pulled off his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. “I do. I’m looking for a place to buy, though. I’m thinking about Arden Hills.”
While Bennington wasn’t as large as nearby Portland, it still had half a million residents. Arden Hills was an adjacent bedroom community with more of a suburban feel. Ethan had enjoyed his downtown apartment for a while, but was getting an itch to put down some roots.
The light they were sitting at turned green, and Ethan glanced at his new partner before he pressed on the gas pedal. Judging by the curt answers he had gotten during their shift, questions about Mark’s personal life weren’t welcome. And that was fine. Ethan was more than happy to stick to general questions. Of course, those too seemed to result in one-word answers.
Jonathan had been the opposite, very open and gregarious. Although he’d only been fifty-one when he retired, he had served on the force for nearly three decades. He’d been a sounding board not only for Ethan, but for many of the other younger cops. Jonathan had been respected and well liked, and Ethan already missed him.
An hour later, Ethan and Mark walked out of the station after finishing their end-of-day reports. When they reached the parking lot, Mark headed toward a Ford F-150 that looked exactly like Ethan’s, but parked in the next spot over.
Ethan chuckled. “I like your taste in trucks.”
“That one yours?” Mark asked.
Ethan nodded as he opened his door. “Have a good weekend.”
“You do the same.”
As he sat waiting for Mark to back out of his space, Ethan reflected on the last couple of days. Things had gone well enough. He and Mark seemed to see eye-to-eye on issues like ticketing, which made the job easier. And although Mark wasn’t very friendly, at least he wasn’t annoying.
Ethan’s thoughts turned to his rookie year. During his very first week, he’d pulled over a speeding teenager. Jonathan had stepped in, all but grabbing the ticket pad from Ethan’s hands. He’d said the teen had learned his lesson well enough just by being pulled over. Jonathan was a kind soul with a strong streak of empathy, a combination not always found in the long blue line. Most of those he pulled over, he let off with a warning.
Shaking his head and grinning at the memory, Ethan backed out of his space.
Chapter
2
Trying not to stare, Paige Jordan stood next to her coworker Anne on the elevator as they both left the office for the day. Anne had come into work with a fresh bruise on her face that morning, its colors evident despite her obvious attempt to cover it with makeup.
As they rode down to the lobby, Paige debated saying anything. Once the elevator jerked to a stop, she finally opened her mouth to whisper, “Are you okay?”
Anne turned to her. “What?”
As Paige’s gaze flickered over Anne’s face, Anne colored with embarrassment. She quickly put her hand up to her eye and angled her body away, saying, “I’m fine.”
Paige stayed silent, compassion winning out over her desire to help. More than anyone, she knew what it was like to want to slink away from attention. The elevator door slid open and Anne darted out, calling out an awkward good-bye over her shoulder as she made a beeline for the exit.
By the time Paige made it out of the elevator, Anne was already halfway to the glass doors. With a sigh, Paige started toward the exit herself.
When she got home, Paige opened the door of her duplex and stepped over the mail scattered on the floor before she set her briefcase down. She scooped up the envelopes and quickly sorted through. After she set the pile onto the foyer table, she leaned back against her door and took a look around.
It had been a surprising amount of fun decorating this place after she’d moved to Oregon from Pennsylvania a few months ago. This was her first home all to herself, and focusing on furnishing it had given her a much-needed distraction from the memories she’d tried to leave behind. At a store in downtown Bennington that sold trendy furniture, she’d found a tufted headboard and mirrored dresser, along with the couch and coffee table sitting in front of her.
She’d experimented with nearly ten cans of paint until she’d found just the right shade of gray for the walls. The one she’d chosen stood out against the crisp white trim. The space was comfortable and homey, and each time she looked around she felt proud of what she’d accomplished.
Paige walked into the bathroom and turned the tub’s faucet. As steamy water flowed, she took a glass bottle of bath salts down from a shelf and shook some in. The fragrance of lavender filled the air.
It wasn’t every night that she got to take a bath; sometimes it was even later when she got home. Her time in the bath offered not only a chance to relax, but an opportunity to gain perspective on work. It was here that she often came up with new ideas for her job in digital media.
Currently, she was producing a training series for a pharmaceutical company. The videos—nearly completed—were turning out well. But as she sank into the water, Paige wondered if they couldn’t be jazzed up a little and made more interesting for the viewer, since training was often boring. Closing her eyes, she thought over a few ideas.
Fifteen minutes later, when the bathwater had grown cold, she dried herself with a towel and then slipped on yoga pants and a tank top. Soon, she was settled on the sofa with a microwaved meal and the remote. As she flipped on the TV, a sitcom was ending and the news just beginning.
The broadcast started off tamely enough. The anchors chatted amiably as they spoke about a storm that had passed and the balmy weather that was expected that weekend. Then a picture of a child was shown. The newscaster’s voice turned somber as he reported that the little girl—only six years old—had died. She’d been buried in a landslide, and her body had been found that day.
Sucking in a breath, Paige stared at the photo, unable to stop herself from imagining what the child had gone through. Trapped in the darkness beneath all that dirt, unable to breathe.
Her own chest constricted as she scrambled for the remote and jabbed the Off button. She rested her elbows against her knees and cradled her head in her hands. Why had she even been watching the news with her history? What had she been thinking?
Instead of easing, the panic began to spiral, traveling upward into her chest. God, the poor child . . .
Her chest tightened further, to the point she was afraid she’d no longer be able to breathe. On a sob, she scrambled to her feet and ran into the bathroom. Her heart thundered as she batted her hand against the medicine cabinet, willing it to release. When the glass door finally popped open, she grabbed the lone pill bottle inside. With shaking fingers, she managed to shove a pill inside her mouth, then scooped up a handful of water from the faucet to chase it down.
Minutes later, hands still braced against the sink, Paige could finally feel the fast-acting anxiety reliever begin to take effect. She breathed in a small cleansing breath and then another. The relief was heavenly.
It’s over now. You’re okay.
Not bothering to go back to the living room, she made her way into her bedroom and lay down on the bed. The medication slowed her chaotic thoughts and loosened her muscles. Soon her breathing leveled out, allowing her to fall into a deep sleep.
• • •
Paige woke the next morning and went into the living room. She switched off the lights that were still blazing, chastising herself for not being collected enough to do it the night before. Moving across the country hadn’t changed anything. She was a mess, plain and simple. With a heavy heart, she walked into the kitchen.
An hour later, she was gathering up her briefcase and purse when her phone rang.
“How’s your week going?” her mother asked.
“Fine, Mom. And yours?”
Her mother told her all was well.
“How’s Dad doing?”
“Okay. Happy to be practicing again.”
Relieved that her father was doing better, Paige said, “That’s great.”
Two years ago, her father had been devastated when two of his cardiology patients had died after taking a new drug he’d prescribed. He’d taken a leave of absence from the hospital after scrutiny from the hospital board and media made his professional life difficult. Although he’d been exonerated in the ensuing investigation, by the time the findings were released and he’d returned to work, he’d already lost half of his patients. Rebuilding his practice was going to be a long haul, but Paige was hopeful that her father would rebound.
“What are your plans this weekend?” her mother asked.
Paige recognized the unspoken subtext of the question. Do you have a date? She suppressed a sigh, knowing her mother didn’t want to hear the truth—that she’d probably spend most of the weekend working.
Instead she said, “I might go out this weekend with my friend Melissa.”
There was a brief pause before she heard, “That’s nice, honey.” But the disappointment was plain in her mother’s voice.
Rather than discuss her love life—or lack thereof—she quickly said, “Listen, Mom, I should go. I was just on my way to work.”
After promising to call home soon, she ended the call and walked out to her SUV, her thoughts still on her father. What had happened to him had taken place only a few months before Paige had been kidnapped during her senior year in college. Her mother had felt helpless, not just about her father, but about everything Paige had gone through. It had been a tough time for their family.
But her father was back in practice now, and Paige loved her job. Although she still experienced panic attacks, like last night, things were much better here than they’d been back in Pennsylvania. Maybe moving to Oregon had been the right thing after all.
Feeling more upbeat, she was tucking her briefcase into her SUV when her neighbor Melissa pulled into the driveway opposite hers. Melissa was a nurse who often worked the graveyard shift. She owned their duplex, so she was not only Paige’s friend, but also her landlord.
Paige turned and rested her hand on her open car door. “How was work?”
Melissa stepped out of the car and rolled her neck. “It was a long night. Another twelve-hour shift, and I was on my feet for most of it.”
Paige asked, “Are you working Friday night?”
Shaking her head, Melissa smiled. “PJ’s?” she
asked, referring to their standing girls’ night the Fridays Melissa was off. They usually started with a cocktail and then moved on to a restaurant.
Paige nodded, said good-bye, then headed to work.
Chapter 3
Ethan pulled in front of the for-sale sign perched on the front lawn of a Craftsman-style home in Arden Hills. As he got out of his truck, his real estate agent waved from the front porch.
Ethan walked up to her, taking a good look at the house. It was large and in an obvious state of disrepair. Smoky-gray paint was worn thin to the point of peeling in several spots. The roof also looked like it had seen better days, and the lawn of the property was more dirt than grass.
As Ethan reached the agent, she turned and twisted the knob. “I’m really excited to show you this one.”
The smell of mildew hit Ethan as he followed her inside. Looking down at the dingy carpet, he wondered if that was the cause.
“Spacious, isn’t it?” the woman asked, her smile a little too bright.
He glanced around the living room. “It is.”
She led him into the dining room, chattering excitedly about the workmanship of the built-in cabinetry that took up one wall. When they walked inside the kitchen, Ethan stopped short. Half of the cabinets there were charred.
“Kitchen fire?” he asked.
“Yes,” the agent said as her smile dimmed somewhat, “and obviously, things never got repaired.”
“Who was living here?”
“A woman in her nineties. She spent the last few months of her life in a nursing home. Her son’s the one selling.”
Ethan nodded. A house this size would have been a lot to maintain for anyone, let alone someone so elderly.
The agent led him up a staircase. Three bedrooms and a bathroom made up the second floor. After she had shown him an unfinished basement, she ushered him outside for a look at the backyard.
“What do you think?” she asked hopefully after they’d returned to the living room.
Ethan raised a brow. “I think it needs a lot of work.”
The real estate agent laughed. “That it does. Are you handy?”
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