Her father had rushed in and told her she was an idiot for baiting a killer. Though Sebastian might have argued the same side and understood it came from fear, he’d told the man he could be nice to his heroic daughter who’d rid the area of a predator that had haunted them for decades or he could get the fuck out. Mr. Willis had not expected that. Maggie had tried to start rebuilding her relationship with the man.
The FBI was still combing all the data—bank accounts and letters Sabbie had kept and more—but the relationship had become clear. The bank statements showed she hadn’t even charged Geller rent most months. The letters dripped with the gooey sentimentality of lovers and an old one with a pregnancy scare solidified that idea.
Though they hadn’t spoken of it more than once, it appeared that Sabbie had finally found out who her lover really was … and he had killed her. That was what had Maggie grieving. And maybe justified killing Geller enough to not let it bother her.
Sebastian admired the crap out of her.
Now, she stood up and headed toward the front door, where she grabbed her purse and her phone.
Today was the first day she'd worn her new suit. She'd meticulously purchased a new favorite, this one the same pale blue as the one she’d lost. He’d been surprised by her choice, thinking the color might forever remind her of being kidnapped. Maybe it did. But maybe Maggie remembered it as the day she had triumphed.
She looked at her phone and frowned at him. “It’s not time yet.”
“Yeah it is,” he told her, a grin on his face.
She raised one eyebrow at him as he reached out and took her left hand—the one that didn't have stitches in it. The one he had been holding for a week and a half now.
She was going to be fine. The bruises on her neck were mostly faded, the stitches were coming out today, and her feet had been fine for almost a week now.
He’d waited for this. “Follow me.”
Sebastian watched while she set her purse back on the small table by the front door, then pulled her down the hallway. He tugged her past the boarding rooms, past room number five—now completely cleared out—and out the back door onto the back porch.
Two freshly painted Adirondack chairs sat to the left and Sebastian gestured to them. “What do you think?”
She gasped. “They're beautiful. What a great color. Are they mine?”
He smiled. He’d had to sneak them back here yesterday when she was out running errands.
Her surprise was thanks enough, but her joyful words and her arms around his neck were even better.
But that gift wasn't everything. So he pulled her past the chairs and sat her down on the back step, which still creaked every time someone made a move on it. He would have to replace it, maybe even the whole back porch. If she would let him. If she wanted this.
Taking her hand in his, he laced their fingers together, and put his other hand over hers. “Sanders is long gone,” he started. “Decker called me today and said everything is cleared out from his house. No one's seen him, including the FBI who has run a massive series of stakeouts to find him.”
Maggie nodded. “He made it very clear he didn't want me. He's some kind of freaking sociopath. But I don't think he was lying, and all his victims have been blonde.”
Sebastian nodded. This was the most bizarre conversation he'd ever had—to acknowledge that a serial killer was out there, that his girlfriend had come face to face with the man, and that they still managed to feel that she was relatively safe from him.
“It's time to decide if you want me to stay here or not.”
If she said not, he would put all kinds of security measures in place, still drive by the house in the middle of the night when he could. He wouldn’t leave her unprotected, but it was time to make some decisions.
Maggie looked at him with one of those expressions that said, You tell me what you want first. She asked, “Do you want to stay?”
He’d thought about this. So he answered as he’d prepared himself. “I want to be with you.” He squeezed her hand in his. “I've never met anyone like you. And … um …” the words choked in his throat.
But he finally found one that worked. “I’m amazed that you want to be with me.”
Though Maggie opened her mouth to speak, he stopped her. “I want to stay with you. I see us as—” He paused again. He thought he'd had this all planned out, but it was harder to say than he’d expected. But once again he forced himself to say the words. “I see us as a long term thing.”
He was rewarded with a heart-stopping smile. So he kept going. All cards on the table, right? “I want to do whatever makes that happen.”
“Well then,” she said, “You need to pack up and get out.”
Her sweet grin didn't match the harsh words, but he still felt himself freeze. Sebastian reminded himself that if leaving now meant they would be together later, he could deal with it. He would do anything to make that happen. Even this.
“But,” she said, leaning in, her words whispering along his jaw as she moved her mouth in small nibbles. “You come back tomorrow. Tonight, Seline is coming over and we're having Girls Night. We're watching Love Actually, because she's never seen it! And maybe Austenland. And you're not invited.”
She told him all this with sweetly whispered kisses. “But tomorrow, when you come back, I think maybe you should move in.”
Hope bloomed in his chest. Sebastian reached up to hold her to him, taking her mouth with his, he reveled in the knowledge that Maggie Willis was his.
Forever.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Selene Marchand waited impatiently for the elevator to ding and the doors to open. She was already running late and the only ding she heard was her phone pinging.
With a sigh, she checked to see if it was her department head.
Luckily, not. But it was a text from her new friend Maggie.
— I’m still on for our sleepover tonight, but I wanted to warn you. Just got word that the Blue River Killer struck again.
What?
Maggie had said that guy was in the wind. The FBI said they were safe.
Another ding grabbed Seline’s attention. Again, it was her phone and not the damn elevator arriving. She should have taken the stairs.
—Clearly, FBI was wrong. Seline, this victim was blond haired and blue eyed! Like you. Please, be careful.
That didn’t sound good. But Seline was in Lincoln for the day, not Redemption. And she was going to be dead if she missed the first meeting she was supposed to attend this term. She was up for tenure if this year went well. It had too; she was mortgaged to the hilt.
When the doors finally slid open, she ducked inside before they'd even reach their full width. Completely ignoring the man already in the unit, she quickly turned and jabbed at the ‘door close’ button, but nothing happened.
She did not have time for this.
Though she pushed and held the button, nothing happened.
It was easier to believe something was wrong with the elevator itself but, truly, it was just her own impatience.
The third time, the doors finally closed.
She looked up at digital floor number and watched like a hawk, but the number didn’t change and she wasn’t moving very fast. As she took a deep sigh, the floor dropped out from under her.
It had to be less than a split second—though it felt forever—before the brakes engaged and a horrifying squeal filled the small space. But the small box ground to a stop.
“Ca suce des boules de singe!” she cursed to herself. She could only hope the man next to her did not speak French.
At the same time, he muttered, “You have got to be shitting me,” in English.
They were good and stuck now. According to the display they were now between floors and not moving at all. It was only then that she realized she hadn’t even looked at the person she was now stuck in the elevator with.
He was large—both tall and broad shouldered—dark skinned and very good looki
ng. On any other day, she would have appreciated the smile that came far too easily for the statement he’d just uttered. The smile was clearly trying to reassure her. It didn’t work.
She felt her lips press flat. She tried to be a happy and cheerful person. But for all her forced positive thoughts, she was still stuck in an elevator with a stranger. And she was already running late to the most important meeting of the year!
She looked at the man again, suddenly wondering why he was already in the elevator when she was getting on at the top floor … Then her stomach dropped as she saw the radio clipped to his waist … and suspenders hanging down from thick pants.
She was stuck with a firefighter. Not that the elevator had caught on fire, but he was clearly here for a reason and the way her day was going it just might …
He pulled the radio out and spoke into it as he pressed a button. “Guys. Come back. You're not going to believe this.”
That was good, she thought. At least he had some communication. She’d gotten that ominous message from Maggie and then her cell had gone signal-dead when she entered the elevator shaft.
She heard another voice crackle back.
“Can they pry the doors open?” she tried the sweetest tone she could muster. If she was stuck, she might as well ask.
He put the radio back and only said, “They're coming.”
“More firefighters?” she asked, hating that she sounded as irritated as she was. She needed an elevator repair person. Not a firefighter.
His head tilted at her accent. She'd been trying to minimize it since she’d first come to America as a teenager. It hadn't gone completely away. In times of stress, it leached even further into her words. It was almost too thick for her to be understood now.
“French?” he asked.
“Oui,” she replied, then asked again, “Who is coming?”
“Oh!” he said, as though he'd forgotten the original three-word question. “Lincoln FD and Redemption FD.”
She felt herself blink at the admission. She was from Redemption … what were her local firefighters doing here? And what was so wrong with this building that it required two teams of firefighters?
“We pulled someone out of one of the elevators about two hours ago,” he volunteered on a heavy sigh. “We just completed our inspection.”
Though she still faced the front of the elevators, she flicked her eyes sideways at him. “It did not work.”
Thankfully, he laughed.
But right then, the elevator dropped out beneath them again. They hurled downward, and Seline grabbed on for dear life.
Can Kalan become more than Seline's guard when the Blue River Killer decides to make her a target? He may have fallen hard for the smart blonde, but neither of them have any idea what they are up against...
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Chapter 1
Seline Marchand was punching her finger at her phone, irritated and running late, when the floor dropped out from below her.
Her mouth opened to scream, but the screeching sound wasn’t her own voice, but the squeal of brakes on metal, grinding the falling box to a stop.
Her ankle turned as her heels didn’t take the sudden drop and jolt very well, and she dropped her phone as her heartrate cranked up high enough to make her think it would burst out of her chest. Her breathing was heavy from being startled and her hand had instinctually grasped at the handrail, even though it was basically useless.
“Are you okay?” The tall, dark-skinned man beside her was reaching out, but she waved him away.
With two steadying breaths, she assured herself the elevator had come to a stop. She reached down to scoop up her phone, grateful the face hadn’t cracked and that it appeared intact.
She tapped at the screen.
No service.
Seline wanted to laugh—the hysterical kind of laughter, not the happy kind.
She’d been pissed at the way her day was going before she stepped into the elevator. Having it drop suddenly, then screech to a grinding halt had been the icing on top.
She was huffing out a breath when she felt her heart lurch again. She noticed her body jerk in response before she even realized the floor was missing and she was falling again.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her fists clenched, one around the handrail and another on the phone this time as the floor slammed back up at her, the horrifying squeal signaling that the brakes had once again done their job.
But damn if she wasn’t going to pass out from being startled to death.
This could not be happening. Not now!
Once again, the man made a gesture toward her. He was wearing firefighting flame-retardant pants, his red suspenders hanging loose, his broad capable hands at the ready to help her. He was probably used to people needing his help. But she didn’t.
With a deep breath that surely came out more as an irritated sigh, Seline tried to relax her hands, to not make fists and howl at the unfairness. She checked the phone again, hoping to catch a signal and call her department chair and let the woman know that she would likely be late to the first meeting of the semester—for the first meeting Seline was supposed to attend as a tenure-track professor. Pouah!
She was mad enough to spit nails and trying not to let the hunky firefighter next to her know it. The signal was still dead. Though she couldn’t call out, she could still clearly read the warnings her friend Maggie had texted right before the elevator doors closed.
—I’m still on for our sleepover tonight, but I wanted to warn you. Just got word that the Blue River Killer struck again.
— Clearly, FBI was wrong. Seline, this victim was blond haired and blue eyed! Like you. Please, be careful.
At least she was safe from the killer in here. As long as the hunky firefighter wasn’t the killer. She’d only been in Nebraska for five years, but that was long enough to know that, despite being blond-haired and blue-eyed, she didn’t really fit the Blue River Killer’s profile. He took people from clubs and bars and parties, not universities or chem labs … and certainly not elevators.
“Are you okay?” The strapping firefighter was reaching out a hand as though to steady her again, but she waved him off as politely as she could. Once the hideously old contraption had ground to a halt, she’d been fine.
She felt her jaw clench, and she wanted to pop off, “No, I’m Seline.” But instead, she replied, “Yes, I’m fine. I was just startled. What are the chances—”
His radio crackled to life and it figured she’d finally try to be nice and she’d get interrupted. Maybe she’d hear something useful, though.
None of her irritation was from the elevator itself, just the being late part. Elevators she understood. Angry department heads would be harder to fix.
“I’m stuck in shaft number four, East tower, between twelve and thirteen. I have a citizen with me.” He said into the black, handheld device. At least he had communication.
“Are they afraid of the elevator falling?” whoever he was talking to answered back.
Seline got even more irritated, though she knew she shouldn’t. But why did this have to happen today?
Her tone bore the heavy French accent that seeped back in when she was sad, drinking, or irritated. “Elevators are designed with brake pads made out of materials with high coefficients of dynamic friction. This means that, as the elevator drops faster, the coefficient of friction increases. So, the faster the elevator goes the stickier the brake pads get.” She watched as his eyebrows climbed higher and higher, but she was irritated enough to not know when to shut up. “It is virtually impossible for any elevator constructed after 1950 to fall wildly out of control.”
He was holding the radio out so the person on the other end of the line could hear her. And he was smiling. “Very good.”
“I’m a physical chemist.” She shrugged. Even as she said it, she could hear clapping on the other end of his radio. It was more than one person listening in. She should have been embarrassed
by her little outburst, but at least they were clapping.
Holding the radio back to his own mouth, he said, “No, she’s not afraid of the elevator falling …”
“I am upset,” she added, “because my citizenship is contingent on this professorship. The first meeting of the term with the entire staff of the Chemistry department starts at the Uni in…” She looked at her phone again. Damn. “Ten minutes ago.”
He had the grace to not point out that she’d been running late well before the elevator ground to a halt.
He winced as though he understood her dilemma but tucked the radio back onto his waistband and said, “Well, I'm glad I'm not stuck in an elevator with someone who's irrationally afraid that they're falling to their death.”
She laughed finally, grateful that he'd managed to make her smile. This poor firefighter had managed to get stuck with her when she was at her worst. She decided she could do better.
So she stuck out her hand. “I'm Seline Marchand.”
“Kalan Smith. Redemption FD.” His hand was larger than hers, his grip warm and reassuring. If she hadn't been such a bitch to him already, she could have liked this guy.
Well, she thought, her job was the most important thing right now. Though she'd been at the university for several years. She'd been struggling and finally being offered a tenure track position was a coup, but it didn’t guarantee she would make tenure. Missing the first meeting only made her look bad.
She slumped back against the wall and didn’t speak, though this Kalan Smith firefighter seemed like he would understand.
They were silent for ten more minutes before she asked, “How long do you think we’ll be in here?”
“There's no telling. They could get it fixed and get us moving in the next few minutes or we could be stuck for several hours. We should maybe sit down.”
Crash and Burn (Wildfire Hearts Book 1) Page 24
