by Lisa Harris
“You took care of me for all those years. We’ll walk down this road together, every step of the way. I promise.”
Relief flooded Madison as she drove into the attached garage of her house and went inside, shutting the door behind her. The stress of the past week had worn her out. She hung up her keys and headed toward her bedroom. The black rose she’d found several days ago was still lying on her bed. She needed closure. A way to end all of this. To once and for all find the person behind this. But not tonight. Right now, she was going to take a long bubble bath and go to sleep for the next twenty-four hours.
Then after that she’d deal with reality and find out who’d left the rose.
She dropped her bag next to the bed, then peeled off her jacket. The last time she’d had a hot shower was thirty-six hours ago. The last time she’d had a decent meal was just as long.
Jonas had offered to take her out to dinner, but she’d told him to stop worrying about her. That she’d probably end up falling asleep before their meals came and would be horrible company.
Something creaked inside the house. A shiver slid through her as she pushed away any concern. The house was thirty years old and often made noises in the wind. It was nothing but fatigue that had her keyed up and her imagination working overtime.
Still . . .
She pulled her weapon out of her holster and cleared the house, room by room, making sure all the windows were shut and locked and the blinds closed. She checked the closets in both her room and the guest room. Nothing looked out of place from when she’d left. There were no signs that anyone had been here. Only an extra layer of dust and the milk in the fridge was spoiled.
Five years had passed, and there had never been any open threat. Just the black rose. Someone who wanted to try and scare her but didn’t have enough courage to face her. It was nothing.
She picked up a photo off the fireplace mantel, remembering the moment the camera had frozen this image in time. A younger version of herself and Luke grinned back at her. She set the photo down. Grief had no time limit. She knew that. No one could tell you how long it took to move on. Was it progress when she didn’t cry as much anymore? Or when more than an hour went by between the resurfacing memories? Or when the day came that she met someone else who made her pulse race unexpectedly and made her wonder what it would be like to fall in love again?
It’s time to move on, Madison. No one will ever replace Luke, but there’s someone out there who can love you just as much as he did.
Like Jonas Quinn.
The thought took her off guard, because falling in love again terrified her more than hunting down a fugitive. She shoved the unwanted thoughts to the back recesses of her mind. She wasn’t going to go there. She might fall in love again one day, but not with Jonas Quinn. He’d told her of his concerns, and he was right.
Besides, happiness didn’t dictate that she have someone in her life. She could be just as happy spending time with her family and friends. Being single didn’t mean she was alone, because in the end, if she couldn’t be happy by herself, another person couldn’t fix that. Not Jonas. Not anyone.
She set her weapon on the counter, then started pulling ingredients for a protein shake out of the freezer, hoping it would help her get her energy back and feel somewhat normal.
The sound of movement behind her pulled her out of her thoughts.
Madison spun around, reaching for her gun.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Madison hesitated in front of the unfamiliar woman. Her weapon was on the other side of the counter, at least six feet away, leaving her at a huge disadvantage. “Who are you?”
“You should know.”
The woman was thirty, maybe thirty-five, long brown hair pulled back, nondescript clothes—but there was nothing familiar about her.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but if you put the weapon down, I’m willing to listen to whatever you have to say.”
“So now you’re playing the part of the negotiator. I expected as much. It’s your job, after all, but I can honestly say that there isn’t anything you can say or do that will change the outcome of what’s about to happen.”
“What is going to happen?” Madison asked, trying to plan out her next move.
“We’ll talk a few more minutes, then I’m going to shoot you.”
A piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “Like you did to my husband?”
“Would you like me to say I did? It would make you feel better, wouldn’t it? Finally finding the person who shot him. The person who was there when he said his last words. And who watched him take his last breath. So many unanswered questions. It drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”
Madison pushed back the emotions. She needed to keep her talking. Needed to find a way to disarm the woman. She could rush her. Try to take the gun away from her. But she was still standing too far away.
Madison took a step forward. “Why did you kill him?”
“I wouldn’t take another step if I were you. As for your husband . . . it’s complicated.”
“Then why are you here? What do you want?”
“To know why you never found me. I’d like to think I was that good, but you’re a marshal. It’s what you do day after day and yet you couldn’t find me. You weren’t even up to the challenge.”
“So this is some kind of . . . game?”
“You could call it that. I thought the note I left on your sister’s porch might get your attention.”
Madison’s stomach clenched at the revelation. None of this made sense. “What do you want me to do?”
“It doesn’t actually matter anymore. I’m done playing.”
Madison frowned. Talking wasn’t working. She had to make a move.
She lunged forward to stop the woman, but instead felt the impact of the bullet followed by a numbing then burning sensation as she fell to the ground. Her head hit hard against the tile. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. Tried to move, but she couldn’t. A wet sensation bubbled around her midsection where she’d felt the bullet rip through her.
She’d just found her husband’s killer and now she was going to die.
Thirty-Five
Jonas walked up the sidewalk in front of Madison’s house with its row of pink and yellow begonias growing along the front, hoping she wouldn’t mind the unexpected visit. He knew he shouldn’t worry, but he’d tried calling several times to make sure she’d gotten home okay. But he’d only gotten her voice mail. Though after all she’d been through the past week, both with chasing down Barrick and the added drama with her family, he understood her need for downtime. Michaels had insisted they both take some time off. Jonas planned to spend the next couple days fishing on Lake Washington, but first he wanted to bring Madison dinner and make sure she was okay.
He stepped onto the porch with carryout from a local Chinese restaurant and was about to ring the doorbell when a gunshot yanked him out of his thoughts.
“Madison?”
He pulled his weapon out of his holster and, without hesitating, used a front kick to drive the heel of his boot into the door. Wood splintered as his target took the impact. His heart raced. He had no idea what had happened, but he knew he had to get inside.
“Madison!” He shouted for her, then automatically prepared himself for a second kick to the side of the keyhole, the weakest part of the door. Then a third time. His mind raced with a dozen explanations for what was happening inside. None of them were good. He aimed one more powerful kick and the door made a loud buckling noise as it broke open. Something was definitely wrong. If she was able to come to the door, she would have already been there.
He ran into the house, shouting her name. A feeling of dread swept over him. The living room was to his right. A hallway to his left. The kitchen straight ahead . . . Where was she?
He ran around the kitchen island, gun held steady as he worked to clear the area. She lay on the floor in a pool of blood, a scarlet stai
n on her abdomen spilled onto the cream-colored tiles. Her gun was on the counter, and the back door had been flung open. Seconds slowed as he ran across the tiled flooring. What had just happened? Someone had been here. Someone had shot her. Had she known the person? Let her guard down? Or had she been taken by surprise?
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, automatically dialing 911. He turned it on speaker as he set it on the floor next to him, crouching at her side.
“Madison, can you hear me? Talk to me. Please.”
He ripped off his hoodie and pressed it against her skin where a bullet had slammed through her side. He felt her wrist. No pulse.
“911. What’s the location of your emergency?”
Jonas worked to pull up her address from memory, then gave it to the woman.
“I need an ambulance. My partner’s been shot.”
“What is your name, sir?”
“Jonas Quinn.” He cupped her face. “Madison . . . Madison, I need you to wake up.”
“Jonas”—the 911 operator was talking to him—“is she breathing?”
“I don’t think so.” He leaned closer to her face, praying that he could feel her breath against his cheek. Nothing. “No. She’s not breathing.”
“I have police and ambulance on their way now. Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Can you find something to put pressure against the wound to stop the bleeding?”
“I’ve already done that.”
His mind raced. She couldn’t be dead. He’d just seen her a few hours ago. They’d survived a plane crash together. Managed to track down a convicted felon and survived the last week with barely more than a scratch. And now she was going to die on her kitchen floor? It didn’t make sense.
“Jonas, do you know CPR?”
“Yes, I’m a US Marshal.” He drew in a breath, forcing himself to keep a clear head. “I’m starting it now.”
Still no breathing; no pulse.
He started the compressions, his mind automatically reverting to his training. Thirty chest compressions. Open the airway. Two rescue breaths.
“Come on, Madison.” He resumed the compressions. “I need you to wake up and breathe.”
He kept up with the chest compressions, then once again pressed his lips against hers in order to breathe for her. He’d thought about kissing her. Wondered how she’d react if he told her he was interested in her. And now . . . if he lost her . . .
She gasped for a breath like a guppy out of water.
His heart raced as he reached for her wrist and found a pulse. Weak, but steady. “Madison . . . Madison, can you hear me?”
Her eyes fluttered open and she groaned.
“Madison, you’re going to be okay. I just need you to hang in there. You’ve been shot, but an ambulance is on the way.”
He pressed his sweatshirt firm against the gunshot wound. Where was the ambulance?
She tried to move, then winced in pain.
“Don’t move.”
“I need to go.”
“You need to stay right where you are and don’t move.” He focused now on putting pressure on the wound. He wasn’t going to let her bleed out on her kitchen floor.
Sirens whirred in the distance.
He let out a whoosh of air, but then an icy thought brought him back to the moment as something caught his eye. A black rose sat on the tile beside Madison. Someone else had been in this house, and that someone had shot her. But he couldn’t worry about who. Not now.
How was he supposed to do this?
What if I lose her?
The unanticipated question followed by a surge of unrestrained emotions surprised him.
All that mattered now was saving her.
Three hours later, Jonas paced the floor of the empty waiting room, anxious to hear from the doctors. Madison’s sister had arrived shortly after he had, but he had little information to share with her. All he really knew was how much blood Madison had lost and how unresponsive she’d been. And as far as he was concerned, it was going to take a miracle to save her. Seeing her lying motionless on the floor had shaken him and left him to untangle a string of emotions he wasn’t sure how to interpret. But the bottom line was that the thought of losing her had left him reeling.
Felicia’s face flashed in front of him, pushing the present away for a moment. He could still hear her voice. Telling him she didn’t want to see him again, no matter how hard he pleaded with her. For weeks he’d done everything to convince her he didn’t want to lose her. That it didn’t matter to him that she’d lost her leg. Nothing could change how he felt about her, but eventually, he’d had no choice but to accept defeat and simply walk away.
This situation, though, was different. Madison was just a friend. A colleague. One he had no problem trusting with his life, but he had no intentions of giving her his heart. Besides, he’d seen her face when she talked about her husband. No matter how many years had passed, she was still in love with him.
“Jonas?” His mom stood in the doorway of the waiting room. “I thought you might need someone to talk to.”
He crossed the room and gave her a hug. “Thank you. Though I didn’t expect you to come down here.”
“I was worried. About her, about you. What happened?”
“Presumably it was a home invasion. She was shot in the abdomen. She’s in surgery now. And I . . . I still don’t know if she’s going to make it.”
Saying it out loud made it seem even more real.
“Is it somehow connected to the case you were working?” his mom asked.
“I don’t know. I went to see her at her house . . . heard a gunshot . . . and when I got inside, she was bleeding out on the floor.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“So am I.” Jonas fought back the emotions he was used to keeping shut off. “I trained her a few years ago, and we just spent the past week together tracking down a fugitive.”
His hands were shaking in front of him, so he shoved them into his pockets, then sat down in one of the cushioned chairs.
His mom sat down next to him. “I know this has to dredge up a lot of old memories.”
He blew out a sharp breath. He’d almost lost Felicia and now . . . It was as if life was repeating itself. A nightmare he couldn’t wake up from, because he was already awake. Maybe that was why his reaction seemed so intense. Why he couldn’t shake the terror over finding her dying.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said.
His mom took his hands and squeezed them. “We pray.”
Ten minutes later, Madison’s sister stepped into the room. Prayer had given him a calmness he hadn’t felt before, but a layer of anxiety still lingered.
Jonas stood up. “Danielle. How is she?”
“The bullet hit the right upper abdomen, and the CT scan showed a liver laceration. No injury to her lungs. The next twenty-four hours are going to be crucial. She lost a lot of blood, but the surgery went well.”
“Wow. I’m so glad.” He let her words sink in. “So she’s going to be okay?”
“It will take some time, but the doctor believes at this point that she’ll make a full recovery.” Danielle clutched the strap of her purse. “I need to warn you, though, she’s having some memory issues. But she’s awake, surprisingly talkative, and asked to see you.”
Jonas hesitated. “What kind of memory issues?”
“Mainly, she doesn’t remember who shot her. But the doctor is confident that the memories will return. Just keep your visit short.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
“Of course. You saved her life. I’m grateful.”
He said goodbye to his mom, then walked into Madison’s room a moment later, pausing for a moment at the end of the bed. Her face was pale, and she looked tired, but she was alive.
“Hey . . . ,” he said.
She offered him a weak smile as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Hey.”
“How do you feel?”
“Groggy. And like I’ve been shot. Like my rib cage was crushed.”
He offered her a weak smile. “That would be me. You weren’t breathing when I found you, and you didn’t have a pulse.”
“The doctors said you saved my life—that you were there, at my house.”
“I knew the past week had been tough on you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay and decided to stop by.”
“It’s a good thing you did. Because if you hadn’t been there . . .”
“Let’s not even go there.”
“Agreed.”
He waited a moment before continuing, knowing she was tired, but also wanting to know what had happened in that house before he got there. “Danielle said you were having some memory issues.”
She blinked back tears. “I can’t remember who shot me. They were in my house and I can’t remember what happened.”
“Madison, it’s okay.” Her heart rate elevated on the monitor and he squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. We will find them. The police are there, trying to figure out what happened as we speak, and they will. What matters right now is that you get better.”
“All I remember is hearing a noise. And then . . . and then nothing. No matter how hard I try I can’t remember.”
“It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not. The doctor told me it’s amnesia caused by a severely stressful event.”
“Getting shot is pretty traumatic.”
“Yes, but I’m a US Marshal. I’ve faced dozens of traumatic and violent situations. This isn’t supposed to happen.”
He held on to her hand, worried that she was getting too upset. But he couldn’t blame her. “This was also personal. It’s best not to try to force yourself to remember. Just focus on getting better right now.”
He wanted to tell her about the rose, knowing she’d want him to tell her, but something made him hesitate. Her body was under enough stress and didn’t need any more piled on top of it. Besides, at this point, the authorities were handling things and there was really nothing they could do.
“You were there at the house. Did you see who shot me?”
He shook his head. “They were gone by the time I got there.”
