Code of Valor

by Lynette Eason

“What?”

  “A flashlight.”

  “I need that for a second.” She sat in the nearest chair and pulled her shoe off. Blood spilled to the floor.

  “Whoa!” Brady hurried to kneel before her, pulled the sock off, and shined the light on it. “That looks painful. I can’t believe you walked this far on that.”

  “Well, I didn’t really have a choice, did I? I think there’s glass or something in it.” She waved a hand. “Check for a phone.”

  “Just let me look.”

  “Brady, go. Find a phone.”

  He hesitated a fraction of a moment as he took another look at her foot, handed her the flashlight, then bolted into the den. Shortly after, she heard his footsteps on the stairs heading to the second floor. She probed the wound with a shaky finger and felt something hard just on the inside. Her nail scraped the edge of it and she grimaced. “See if there’s a first aid kit, please,” she called.

  Brady returned shortly, a small box in his hand. “No phone.” He shook his head. “Of course I pick the one house on this lake that’s not used as a rental.” He knelt in front of her again. “I found a first aid kit, though. If I leave it with you, can you handle it? I’d help, but we still need a phone and it may take me some time to reach the next house.”

  “I can take care of it. It won’t be the first time I’ve doctored myself.” She’d been taking care of herself for a long time. Pulling a piece of whatever out of her foot would be a minor thing. The thought of staying here by herself didn’t appeal, though, but she’d keep that to herself. He had to go.

  “Okay, stay low. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can get help on the way. Keep the light to a minimum. We’re at the back of the house, so it’s probably okay to use the flashlight to doctor your foot.”

  She nodded and he slipped out the door, leaving her sitting in the kitchen. The sudden quiet engulfed her. But the pain in her foot demanded her attention.

  Inside the first aid kit she found tweezers, alcohol wipes, Band-Aids, and antibiotic cream. By the light of the small beam propped on the chair next to her, she cleaned the area as best she could, then used the tweezers to find the piece of glass. Breath whooshed between her teeth when she probed, but finally, she got a grasp on it, pulled it out, and held it in front of the light.

  “Whoa.” At least an inch long and half that in width, the piece must have come from one of the lower windows in the living area.

  Using the alcohol wipes, she cleaned the area one more time, then used the antibiotic cream and bandages. She left the bloody sock off, but used paper towels to clean the shoe, then pulled it back on. She flipped the flashlight off. For a moment, she simply sat, trying to catch her breath and process what had just happened and why.

  Although it didn’t take much processing to know that someone had tried to kill her. Twice. She’d told Brady she thought the attack on her had something to do with what she was investigating. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Actually, it was the only thing that made sense.

  A large shadow passed by the big bay window to her left, moving fast toward the kitchen door.

  It couldn’t be Brady, he hadn’t been gone long enough. Had he? How much time had elapsed since he’d left? She’d been working on her foot for at least twenty minutes.

  Heart thudding, she slipped out of the chair to the floor and waited, watching the window. The figure stepped up to the door and tried the knob. The broken glass pane was a dead giveaway that she and Brady had taken refuge here. With a gloved hand, he reached through the broken glass pane and flipped the dead bolt off. Then pressed his masked face to the window as though making sure he should enter.

  Emily sucked in a breath and tried to slow her runaway pulse. Only a sliver of moonlight illuminated the outdoors, and while she could see his outline, she didn’t think there was any way he could see her.

  With the table and chairs between her and the door, she army crawled her way out of the room, trying to figure out how she was going to defend herself if it came down to it. Beneath the panic, doubts niggled at her. How would he know to come to this house?

  Because it was the closest one? Had he seen the beam of the flashlight before she’d turned it off?

  Or had he seen the floodlights come on before Brady snuffed them? Or . . .

  . . . was Brady working with them?

  A shudder swept through her. No. He’d saved her. Twice. What was the point in rescuing her only to turn her over to the people after her?

  In the den, making sure she was out of the line of sight from the kitchen door and windows, she stood and limped to the fireplace. No tools. The owners probably never used the place when it was cold enough to need a fire. “Rats,” she whispered. “Now what? Think, Em, think.”

  A knife from the kitchen?

  The back door creaked open and shut.

  No way was she going back in there.

  Her only option was to stay hidden until Brady returned. If he returned. “Please come back, Brady,” she whispered.

  Emily’s pulse pounded. She darted up the stairs, down the hallway, and ducked into the farthest bedroom. She started to shut the door, then stopped and left it open. Shutting it might clue him in.

  Emily hobbled to the window, unlocked it, and tried to shove it up. Only to find it was stuck.

  Footsteps in the hallway sent her pounding pulse skyrocketing.

  A king-sized bed dominated the room, and she slid under it. So cliché. He was going to find her and—

  The footsteps stopped at the entrance to the room.

  Then continued inside.

  The light flipped on.

  Feet encased in black army boots moved closer and stopped at the edge of the bed. Emily shoved her palm into her mouth to keep the scream from escaping.

  The broker crumpled the picture in his fist and let out a yell that rattled the rafters of his home office.

  Within seconds, the door opened and the cleaning woman stared at him with wide brown eyes. “Are you all right?” she asked in a soft southern accent.

  He glared at her and she backed up, pressing a hand to her chest.

  Get it together.

  He shut his eyes for a good five seconds before he opened them to find her still there, frozen. Afraid to move, afraid to stay. “I just got some really bad news, Gretchen, and it’s going to affect me in ways I’d rather not talk about.”

  Her eyes instantly softened. “It must have been awful news.”

  “It was.”

  “Then I’m so sorry. I will pray for you.” She backed out of the office, and within seconds, the vacuum roared to life. He liked Gretchen. She was innocent and soft. And a hard worker who kept her nose out of his business. And she never, ever entered his office, following his explicit orders to stay out. He knew this because he checked the camera each time she was in his home. And even if she did pray too much, she’d never once disappointed him.

  He wished he could say the same thing about Jeremy Hightower. It was time for the man to die.

  The door opened and his friend stepped in. “Gretchen seems to think you need someone to talk to.”

  “He sank it.”

  “What?”

  He shoved the picture at his friend. “He sank the Lady Marie.”

  The man studied the picture and his eyes narrowed. “I’ll take care of this.”

  “He needs to die.”

  “You should have paid him.”

  The broker turned his chilliest stare on the one person he trusted most in the world. Second only to himself. “And then he would just keep coming back for more.”

  The room was silent while his friend considered the inevitable. “I hate to admit you might be right. And maybe this isn’t such a tragedy after all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we both know he didn’t get into the safe, so that means the pictures are at the bottom of a lake somewhere. No one’s going to get their hands on them. At least not easily.”


  The broker fell silent. “That’s true. I can’t believe you can’t get the combination.”

  “Unfortunately, he changes it regularly, but I’m working on him.”

  The broker raised a brow and noted his blood pressure already leveling out, thanks to his friend’s calm demeanor. “Well, work harder.”

  His friend sighed. “If only that were possible.”

  “Fine. We’ll let the boat sit on the lake floor for a while. Let things cool off. Kill the man who caused all these problems. Then find it and retrieve the flash drive and all will be fine.”

  “All right. Sounds like a reasonable plan.”

  “Of course it is. Let me know when you have Hightower at the place. I want to do the honors.”

  5

  Brady moved at an awkward half run, half jog, ignoring his knee’s full-blown protest at the weight he was insisting it endure.

  But he’d found a house closer than he expected and had called for help. For him and Emily and for the officer he was certain had been shot. Now, he had to get back to Emily.

  At the driveway to the home where he’d left her, he paused. The light in the bedroom on the second floor sent his internal alarms firing. Had she not listened?

  Or did that mean she was in trouble?

  Brady picked up the pace, bypassing the driveway and hooking around to the back of the house where he’d left Emily. The kitchen was dark. Nothing moved. Nothing said anything was wrong.

  And yet he felt it.

  Brady slipped up to the back door and noticed it was cracked open. Okay, there could be an explanation for that other than something bad. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of anything. Heart pounding, he nudged the door open and winced at the slight creak.

  The dark kitchen was silent with no sign of Emily. Stepping inside, he slid his gun from the back of his waistband and shut the door behind him.

  Weapon held ready, he stepped around the broken glass and into the kitchen. The chair where he’d last seen Emily was still pulled out. The bloody sock still on the floor. He continued his careful trek past the table and into the den.

  Nothing.

  A heavy thud followed by a short scream from above sent him racing for the stairs. He took them two at a time, still doing his best to be as quiet as possible. He didn’t want to tip off whoever might be in the room, but a desperate need to find Emily unharmed pushed him.

  At the top of the stairs, he paused. Checked right.

  Heard a grunt to his left.

  He followed the carpet runner to the end of the hallway and paused just outside the open door.

  A muffled scream came from under the bed and a hand flew out to grasp at the rug.

  “Let me go!”

  Emily’s voice.

  Brady stepped into the room. “Stop! Police!”

  A figure rose from the opposite side of the bed and, keeping his back toward Brady, took four steps and threw himself out of the window. Glass rained down behind him.

  Brady raced to the window and saw the man clinging to the gutter. The groans coming from the metal said it wasn’t going to hold much longer.

  “You okay?” Brady threw over his shoulder at Emily, who’d emerged from under the bed, face red, eyes flashing.

  “Yes! Don’t let him get away!”

  Brady bolted down the steps and out the front door, hitting the porch steps hard enough that his knee violently protested. And on the last step, buckled under him. Brady rolled to his feet and limped-ran around the side of the house in time to see the man disappear into the woods.

  Giving chase wasn’t an option. He’d never catch up with his knee throbbing and begging for an ice pack. With a growl of frustration, Brady turned back to see Emily standing on the front porch, brandishing a cast-iron skillet like a baseball bat.

  He hobbled over to her. “That’s a little cliché, but I suppose it would get the job done.”

  “That’s all I cared about,” she said.

  “Well, you can put it back. He got away thanks to my bum knee.” He forced the last three words past his clenched teeth, then tilted his head as the sirens reached him. “Sounds like help’s almost here.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen, then returned to go into the den. He followed her, using the railing to keep some weight off the knee. He dropped into the recliner with a grunt and lifted the footrest.

  “What happened?” she asked and took a seat on the sofa. She sat opposite him and ran a shaky hand through her hair.

  “It’s an old football injury. I haven’t had any trouble with it for years, but I landed wrong jumping out of the attic. It’ll be all right with some ice and rest. And probably a brace.”

  “Ouch.”

  “A little bit.”

  “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  He sat forward. “Wait, stay away from the windows.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  He heard her rummaging in the pantry, then the freezer.

  When she returned, she handed him a plastic bag full of ice. “Try this.”

  He settled it over his knee and let out a low breath. “Thanks.”

  For a moment, they simply sat in silence until a police cruiser turned into the drive. Then another, and finally, a third. “The cavalry is here.”

  He stood and hobbled to the door, opening it with the sleeve of his shirt. Brady’s jaw dropped when his brother Derek stepped inside, followed by Linc and three uniformed officers. He snapped his mouth closed and raised a brow. “How did you guys get here so fast? No. More importantly, how did you even know to come here?”

  “We were already in the area,” Linc said. “Heard the call come over the scanner.”

  “In the area?” He frowned. “Never mind,” he said before they had a chance to explain. “First things first.” He showed his badge to the officers.

  The nearest one, who looked to be in his midfifties, raised a hand. “Your brothers filled us in on who you are.”

  “They did, huh?”

  A faint smile curved the man’s lips. His dark skin glowed onyx in the kitchen light. “I’m Officer Beau Schaffer. These are Officers Mia Hansen and Terrance Montague.” He pointed to the broken glass. “What happened here?”

  “I broke in looking for a phone because we had a killer after us. And he found us. The guy came in this door, so you’ll want to dust it, but I’m guessing he had on gloves.”

  “He did,” Emily said.

  Brady introduced her, then said, “The bedroom up the stairs and down the hall to the left is a crime scene. Tell the crime scene unit to be sure to check under the bed. It was where she was hiding.”

  “And fighting,” she muttered.

  “Yeah. Might find a stray hair or something.”

  “We’ll take care of it. This is a small town. There’s no CSU. They’d have to come from Columbia.” Officer Schaffer offered another crooked smile. “But I’m well-trained in collecting and bagging evidence and I have the tools in my cruiser. Why don’t you all hang out in the den and we’ll let you know if we need anything.”

  “Works for me,” Brady said. He limped into the den.

  “What’d you do to your knee?” Derek asked him.

  “He hurt it when we jumped out of the attic,” Emily said.

  Derek blinked. Linc simply sighed.

  “Of course he did,” Linc said. “Now that’s a story I’m ready to hear.”

  Once Brady was settled on the couch, Emily handed him the ice pack and he placed it back on his left knee with a wince. She sat in the chair next to the mantel.

  “Is that the one you hurt in high school?” Derek asked him.

  “That’s the one.”

  Emily gasped and Brady raised a brow. “What is it?”

  “I pulled his ski mask off. It’s under the bed.” She popped to her feet. “I need to tell Officer Schaffer.”

  “They’ll find it.” He frowned. “So, did you get a look at his face?”

  “No, I was under the bed and too b
usy trying to get away from him to get a good look.”

  “Okay, but he might not know that. We’ll have to be even more careful.”

  “Of course.”

  Brady turned to his brothers. “Back to my original question. What are you guys doing here?”

  “We were kind of on the way up here to join you,” Linc said.

  Brady narrowed his eyes and cleared his throat. “Emily, in case you haven’t figured it out, these two lunatics are my brothers, Linc and Derek.”

  “Yes, I figured as much. Hi,” she said.

  “Hello,” Derek said. “What kind of trouble did our brother drag you into?”

  She huffed a low laugh. “Actually, it’s more what I dragged him into, I believe—I have to give him credit for dragging me out of the lake and saving my life. Several times over actually.” Her eyes flickered with remembered fear and Brady found his protective instincts surging once more.

  “Saved your life several times? How?” Derek asked.

  “He pulled me out of the lake so I didn’t drown because I was too shocked to swim. And then when someone bombed the cabin, he dropped me out of the attic vent so I wouldn’t burn alive. Then he jumped out so we could run into the woods and hide from the guys who were still hanging around to make sure we were dead. And I was almost dead, thanks to the man who came after me, but Brady got back in time to save me from him too.” She finally took a breath. “I think that covers it.”

  Linc and Derek stared at her, then turned as one to look at Brady.

  He gave a grim chuckle, followed by a shrug. “Well, that’s a pretty accurate summary, I guess.”

  Emily found herself comforted by the presence of the brothers. Granted, fear from her narrow brushes with death still had a tight grip on her nerves, but the obvious camaraderie the three of them shared distracted—and fascinated—her.

  Derek quirked a brow at Brady. Then her. “You want to fill us in with the details? Summaries have their place, but details are better in this case.”

  Emily deferred to Brady, and the telling of it didn’t take too long, as there wasn’t a whole lot to add to what she’d already said.

  “That’s what I call a really bad night,” Derek said.