Active Defense

by Lynette Eason

  She nodded. “It’s not your fault.”

  “I should have—” He paused and shook his head. “No sense in going down that road.”

  “I can’t believe you’ve been watching me for two weeks and I never noticed.”

  A half smile curved his lips. “I’m in the security business, remember? Surveillance is part of that. I would have let you know I was there, but I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about that. To be honest, we were all a little perturbed you didn’t reach out to us and ask for help, but also realized that would be incredibly out of character for you.”

  She frowned. “Ouch.” Her friends knew her well.

  “What? I’m wrong?”

  “No, not completely anyway.” She paused. “Did you find the picture?”

  “What picture?”

  “The one on my refrigerator.” She’d almost snatched it but had left it for them to find.

  “There wasn’t any picture on your refrigerator.”

  “What?” Ice settled in her veins, colder than any downpour that came from the clouds. “But the picture was supposed to clarify my text that Sarah, Ava, and Brooke were all in danger.”

  He held up a hand. “Hold on. Back up. What makes you think anyone was in danger?”

  “There was a picture on my refrigerator of me with Brooke, Ava, Kat, and Sarah. Someone—the person in my house that night—drew red dots on all of their foreheads—like bull’s-eyes.”

  He blinked. “Whoa.”

  “Exactly. They’re all okay, right?”

  “Yeah, they’re fine.”

  She nodded. “I figure you’d have mentioned if they weren’t. Anyway, I took that to mean everyone was in danger because of me. I mean, why else come into my house and draw bull’s-eyes on my friends’ foreheads? So, I . . . left. I thought if I disappeared, the person would have no reason to go after the others.” She paused. “I kind of assumed you’d ignore my text and look for me. Leaving the picture was my way of hoping once you saw it, you’d understand why I had to disappear—and why you should let me.”

  “Of course we ignored your text. Especially after that stalker conversation at the party.” He rubbed his forehead. “Did you really think we wouldn’t move heaven and earth to find you?”

  Finally feeling warm, Heather shrugged out of Travis’s jacket and laid it over the back of the sofa. She then went to pace in front of the flames. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “Seriously?” He clasped his hands and leaned forward. “How long have you known us? How can you not see how much you’re loved?”

  “I . . .” She frowned. How could she explain without sounding pathetic? “No one’s ever bothered to come after me before.” No one had ever cared enough to worry about her.

  Travis moved to kneel in front of her and gripped her fingers. She swallowed the surge of surprise mixed with hope and a touch of fear. The intensity of his stare stole the breath right from her lungs.

  “You needed help. Whether you’re willing to admit it or not. We’d—I’d—never turn my back on that. On you.”

  Heat crawled from her neck into her cheeks and she searched for the words to express her gratitude even while her mind was screaming at her to step away and keep her distance. Don’t ask for help. Don’t let anyone see your weakness. No one helps you without expecting something in return.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She paused, then looked him in the eye. “I knew you’d come. Somewhere in my head—or maybe my heart—I knew you’d come.”

  “I’m very glad you knew that. Even if was only on a subconscious level.”

  The crackle of the flames and the steady roar of the rain outside filled the quiet space between them. Then she cleared her throat. “I have to say, I didn’t think you’d find me this fast, though.”

  “They didn’t give Caden that shield because he’s pretty.”

  Heather snickered, then sobered. “I’d been thinking what I would do if worse came to worst with this stalker, and when I realized he was probably still in my house that night, I might have panicked a bit. I didn’t know what to do. But I figured if he was still in my house, he wouldn’t be able to follow me, so I turned my phone off and started driving. Ditched my car at the hospital, made my way to the rental place, hit an ATM, and kept going. That night, I knew I needed to get away to plan further and figure out what to do next. When I stopped for gas and to purchase a pay-as-you-go cell phone, there was a map of North Carolina on the wall. Sunrise sounded like a pretty place, so,”—she lifted her hands, palms up—“here I’ve been for the past three weeks—which you already know about since you’ve been tailing me for two of them.”

  “Yeah, and during the two weeks I’ve been watching, I haven’t seen a stalker. No one’s paid you any extra attention or been overly watchful. Nothing. So, how did he find you tonight?”

  She shook her head. “There’s no sure explanation. Just like there’s no explanation how someone got in and out of my house without setting off my alarm.”

  He eyed her. “You’re sure someone was in there?”

  “Absolutely no doubt in my mind.”

  “Where did you make the call to your supervisor from?”

  She frowned. “My car. As soon as I started driving, I knew I wouldn’t be at work the next day. Why?”

  “Just wondering if someone could have traced that call.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered if they traced it. By the time anyone arrived at that location, I would have been long gone.”

  He tapped his chin, his frown deepening.

  “What is it?”

  “There’s something about that picture on the refrigerator story that bothers me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know. And the fact that I can’t put my finger on it bothers me too.”

  “I’ll tell you what bothers me. The fact that it wasn’t there when you searched my house.”

  A scuff on the porch propelled Travis to his feet. He lifted a finger to his lips, and she nodded just as the door opened and a figure stepped inside.

  Travis wanted to pounce but waited. After all, they were the intruders. The newcomer was a young guy in his late teens. Eighteen? Nineteen? It was hard to judge with the dark hoodie covering a lot of his features. Scraggly blond hair peeked out from beneath the hood. He wore jeans, a quilted vest over the hoodie, and heavy boots.

  Dark eyes flicked back and forth between Travis and Heather while rainwater dripped from his clothing. He held a hand against his left side. “I’m not going back, so you can just leave.”

  “Go back where?” Travis asked.

  The kid’s brow rose and he took a step back. “Who are you guys?”

  “No one that plans to do you any harm. You live here?” Travis countered.

  “Yeah. Sort of. This place belonged to my grandfather.” Keeping an eye on them, the teen walked over and dropped a bag onto the small kitchen table. He slipped out of the vest and draped it over one of the chairs, then pushed the hood back from his face. His face was pale, but his cheeks held an unnatural flush.

  Heather frowned. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” His eyes stayed on the two of them while one hand hovered near his right hip. And the knife he had strapped there.

  “Sorry to intrude,” Heather said. “We got caught in the rain and decided to try and stay dry while waiting for it to stop. I’m Heather. What’s your name?”

  “Ryker.”

  “Got a last name, Ryker?” Travis asked.

  “I do. Do you have a first name?”

  Okay, suspicious. Not that Travis blamed him. He’d be on guard, too, if he’d just walked in to find two strangers squatting in his home. “Travis Walker. Sorry to startle you like this, but do you have a phone we could use?”

  The young man hesitated, then reached into his pocket, pulled out a device, and tossed it to Travis, who caught it one-handed. “It’s an old flip phone,” Ryker said. “Belonged to my grandpa—just like the cabin. I can’t a
fford a smartphone just yet.”

  “As long as it’ll dial a number, that’s all that matters.”

  “No promises on that. The signal out here is spotty to nonexistent on a good day. Gets worse when the weather’s bad.”

  Awesome. Travis glanced at the screen. No bars. He dialed 911 anyway and waited.

  Nothing.

  He tried Gavin’s number. Again, nothing. He shut the phone and handed it back to Ryker. “Thanks. I’ll try again in a bit.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on the signal strength. When it gets to two bars, I can usually make a call.” He hesitated, glanced at the fire, then back at the kitchen. “So . . . you guys hungry?”

  “Sure,” Heather said. “Want some help?”

  “Uh, no. Thanks. I’ve got it.” He kept his hand against his side and drew in a ragged breath.

  Her gaze followed him, but she nodded and settled back with a wince while Ryker went to the refrigerator with one last narrow-eyed glance at the two of them. Travis frowned. Something was going on with the kid. Travis wasn’t imagining things. Heather’s gaze kept going back to him as well.

  “How are you doing?” Travis asked her, his voice low.

  “I’m all right. The soreness is settling in. I think you’re right. I need to take inventory. I’m going to visit the restroom and assess the damage.”

  “Damage?” Ryker asked from the kitchen.

  “Heather had a fight with a tree and the tree won.”

  “Car accident?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ryker stepped to the counter that faced into the den, concern creasing his brows. His overly bright eyes blinked at them. “Do you need a lift to the hospital?”

  Travis paused. “You have a car?”

  “No, a motorcycle. You’ll be soaked, but it’ll get you there.”

  Heather raised a brow. “I didn’t hear it over the rain, I guess.”

  “Same here.” Travis rubbed his chin and studied the teen. “What’d you mean when you said you weren’t going back?”

  Ryker shrugged. Swayed, then caught himself on the refrigerator door handle. “Nothing.”

  “You have a fever,” Heather said.

  “Probably, but don’t worry, I’m not contagious.” He opened the refrigerator, pulled out some chicken, and turned. He shook his head and blinked.

  “And you keep pressing against your side,” Heather said. “Are you hurt?”

  “What are you? A doctor?”

  She smiled. “As a matter of fact . . .”

  The kid huffed a short laugh. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, like my mama used to tell me, I just need to eat a good meal and everything’ll be . . .” He coughed. “. . . fine.” Ryker turned back to the stove, stumbled, and leaned heavily against the counter.

  Travis frowned. “Dude . . .” He hurried into the kitchen to catch the kid as he went down. “Heather?”

  “I’m right here.” She rushed to press a hand against the teen’s cheek. “You’re burning up.”

  “I’m okay,” Ryker said. “It’s just a flesh wound.” He stood with Travis’s help.

  “Flesh wound? I’ll be the judge of that.” Heather motioned them to the sofa, and Travis assisted him onto the cushions. “Lie down.” Ryker didn’t argue and Heather pulled up the kid’s shirt. “What happened?”

  “I got stabbed.”

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  Heather paused for only a second, letting the words soak in. “Well, that had to hurt,” she muttered.

  A short, low laugh devoid of humor escaped him. “A bit.”

  Heather pulled the shirt up to expose a blood-soaked bandage. She used a fingernail to lift the edge of the tape away to reveal a three-inch gash surrounded by puffy red skin. “That looks seriously painful.”

  “It’ll heal.”

  “Just like the other times?”

  “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Yes, you should have. Tell me what happened.”

  “No.” Ryker swallowed. “Doesn’t matter. It won’t happen again.”

  “Why not?” Travis asked.

  “Because, I’ll be eighteen in a few months.”

  At first the response confused her, then reality slapped her. “Your dad or someone in your family do this to you? Someone you feel like you have to protect?”

  Surprise—and fear—flashed before he covered it up. “No.”

  Heather glanced at Travis. “So, why not tell us?” he asked with a frown.

  Ryker looked away.

  “Okay, look,” Heather said, “I get it. I had a dad who only knew how to communicate if it involved his fists. Eventually, I became intimately familiar with the foster system, so . . . trust me, if it was a family member who did this, I know exactly where you’re coming from.”

  “It wasn’t him.”

  “I also lied a lot,” she said, her voice soft. “Lied about everything. Like I told my friends my dad was awesome and made up stories of how he helped me do my math homework or that he planned to take me on a cruise for my birthday.”

  “You did?”

  “Yep. I was good at it too. I could pretty much make anyone believe anything.” Even make a dying boy believe she’d save him. Tears surfaced and she blinked them away.

  Ryker’s gaze flicked between her and Travis. “You’re not going to call the cops?”

  “Will it change anything or make the situation better?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Then no.”

  “But you’re a doctor. A mandated reporter.”

  “Yeah, and if we were in the hospital, I’d be calling them. This situation is a bit different.” In so many ways.

  After a brief hesitation, he closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered. “It was my dad, but if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”

  “Not telling anyone.” Yet. Heather’s anger leaped into a full-blown rage. No one deserved this. No one. “You have any supplies around here?” The calm in her voice surprised her.

  “In the kitchen in the bag on the table.”

  “I’ll get them,” Travis said, already turning. He grabbed the bag from the table and was back, one hand digging inside it before Heather could blink.

  She finished pulling the dirty bandage from the wound to get a better look. “Go on.”

  “This is a first. I think this was an accident.”

  “How so?” Travis asked.

  “We were arguing, and he took the knife out just to threaten me.” He shifted and winced. “At least, I don’t think he really meant to use it, but I wasn’t sure, so I walked to the door to leave. Unfortunately, that just made him more angry, and he came at me, tripped over the rug, and . . . I felt the pain.”

  “When did this happen?” Heather asked.

  “A couple of days ago.”

  “I’ll need some kind of antiseptic,” she said. “Is there any alcohol?”

  “In the bag,” Ryker said, his teeth gritting hard against the pain that no doubt had flared with her probing.

  She took the alcohol from Travis. “I don’t have any painkillers, but this is infected, and you need some antibiotics. Tell me which drugstore to call them in to.”

  Travis’s eyes met hers and she flicked her gaze away. He couldn’t have been easier to read than if he’d written his thoughts on the wall behind her. He wanted to go to the cops. To report the incident and see the father thrown in prison. She understood. That’s the way it was supposed to work when someone abused a child—or a minor.

  Or stabbed another person.

  But Travis had grown up in a perfect family and wouldn’t understand that reporting it could make things infinitely worse for Ryker. And while it was true she was a mandated reporter, she’d also learned to use her common sense. And she was in a whole different world at the moment.

  At the hospital, she might not want to involve the cops in a similar situation, but she’d do it. Out here in the middle
of the woods and a rainstorm with no cell service? She could think a little longer.

  “All right,” she said. “I’m going to scrub my hands. When I come back, you can use that pillow and bite down on it. Then I’m going to clean the wound and sew you up.”

  He groaned. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “Quite sure. I’m impressed. You have all the right stuff here. Including a suture kit.” She met his gaze with a raised brow. “Nice.”

  He flushed. “I want to be a doctor.”

  “Then I’d say you’re on the right path.”

  He shot her a tight smile that morphed quickly into a grimace. “I graduated high school a year early. Now, I work part-time for the doc in town and take online classes to get my gen ed requirements out of the way. The doc teaches me about medicine and pays me to run whatever errands he needs. Mostly to the medical supply store that’s about twenty minutes from here.” He waved a hand at the bag of supplies. “I put that stuff on his tab. I’ll have to work it off later.”

  “I think he might be the understanding type,” Heather murmured. While he talked, she’d arranged the supplies in the order that she’d need them.

  “He is.”

  She met his gaze. “I’ll be right back.” Heather scrubbed her hands and had Travis pour alcohol over them. Then she pulled on a pair of the surgical gloves Ryker had gotten and sat down next to him. “Okay, this is going to hurt.”

  “I know. Just do it.”

  “Okay, then. Brace yourself.” She started to clean the wound with the alcohol, and he let out a harsh gasp, then clenched his jaw. Tears leaked down his temples, but no more sound escaped him. “I’m almost done, Ryker. Hang in there.”

  “He’s passed out,” Travis said.

  “That’s probably for the best.” She finished the cleaning, then pulled the edges of the wound together and stitched it. After covering it with a surgical bandage, she removed the gloves, smoothed the teen’s shirt down, and covered him with the blanket from the back of the couch. “Maybe he’ll sleep for a bit.”