Lifeline

by Christy Barritt

  The waitress set their food on the table, giving them a reprieve from the heavy conversation. They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The crab soup tasted creamy and spicy and warm—the perfect meal for the cold day.

  Julianne glanced out the window a moment and watched a few people on the docks below. She straightened when she thought she saw a familiar face watching from the shadows. Oval face, light brown hair, buzz cut.

  No. It couldn’t be. Or was it?

  “Julianne?”

  She pointed outside. “I thought I saw...” She couldn’t complete the sentence. Was her mind playing tricks on her?

  “Saw what?”

  She drew a deep breath. “Darrell.”

  He stood, his gaze firm as it met hers. “Stay here. Understand?”

  She’d only begun to nod when Bradley raced out of the room. She sat at the table, her fingers nervously rubbing the napkin in her lap. She couldn’t sit still any longer. She began pacing, ignoring the strange looks from the wait staff and the other patrons.

  She paused and pressed her face against the glass. A figure darted from the shadows—from the same area where Julianne had thought she’d seen Darrell. A moment later, Bradley appeared with gun in hand.

  Where did Darrell go? Where had he disappeared to this time? The man was like a shadow that disappeared with the wind.

  Movement to the left caught her eye. Somehow, the man was behind Bradley now. Her heart leaped into her throat. What if he shot Bradley? What if he made good on his threat?

  She couldn’t wait any longer. She ran out the door and around the deck that stretched the length of the restaurant. She leaned over the railing, desperate to get Bradley’s attention. “Bradley, watch out!”

  Just as she shouted the words, a shot rang out. She ducked down toward the railing, a flimsy shield of protection but all she had at the moment. Slowly, she stood, keeping one eye open for a sign of what had just happened. She saw no one. Who had fired that gun?

  Someone gripped her from behind, his fingers like a metal clamp. The man jerked her back. “Don’t turn around. You’re coming with me.”

  She froze. The voice wasn’t Darrell’s. He didn’t smell like Darrell and the projection of his voice made her think he was at least four inches shorter.

  Something sharp pressed into her side.

  She shuddered, wondering if this would be her last breath. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

  “I know exactly who you are, señorita. Now move.”

  “I don’t know anything.” She had to stall for time. Things wouldn’t end this way. She wouldn’t let it.

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” The man had an accent. A Mexican accent? It was her best guess. “Move.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” She wouldn’t come back alive if she did—she was sure of it. In a desperate attempt to stay put, she dug her heels into the wooden planks of the deck. Its rough edges and frequent gaps offered natural resistance.

  “Julianne!” At the sound of Bradley’s voice, she threw herself to the ground. Something sharp sliced into her, sending pain ripping through her shoulder. Still, she clawed away from the man, fighting for her life.

  A gun fired, and the man behind her moaned. Then she heard footsteps. He was getting away, leaving a trail of blood. Could she stop him? She grasped her shoulder. No, she’d never get to him in time.

  Another gunshot pierced the air.

  Someone screamed in the distance. Another person shouted. More footsteps pounded.

  She didn’t dare stand. Not when she knew a bullet could still reach her. Her head swam, and panic seemed to charge through her bloodstream.

  Bradley. Was he okay? Had the shooter gotten to him?

  A moment later, two hands grasped her arms. “Julianne, you’re bleeding.”

  She looked up, blinking until Bradley came into focus. Bradley. He was okay. Thank goodness he was okay. “Did you get Darrell?”

  His face, all serious and tight with worry, was inches from hers as he inspected her. “No, he got away. So did the man who grabbed you. Any idea who he was?”

  She shook her head, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her shoulder. “I’ve never seen him before.”

  Bradley helped her to her feet, surprisingly gentle. “Come on. We’ve got to get out of here before someone else tries to get to you.”

  “But the police? Shouldn’t we call the police?”

  “I’ll call them en route. Right now, you’re an open target...and I don’t like it.”

  * * *

  The cut across Julianne’s shoulder burned. The knife had gone deep enough that she felt woozy. Bradley wanted to take her to the hospital, but she’d refused. What she really wanted was to go somewhere safe, and right now Bradley’s home felt safe to her.

  Bradley cut the engine as they pulled to a stop in front of his beach house. With one arm around her waist and his solid muscles holding her upright, he helped her up the stairs, one by one. The winter wind, frigid from the ocean, swept around them and added to her misery.

  Finally, they stepped inside his house. The cold from outside was warded away by the heavy steel door and top-grade windows. Never had a place seemed so welcoming.

  Bradley led her to his couch and lowered her there. “I need to see your shoulder.”

  The blood drained from her face. Her shoulder...her injured shoulder. He’d see the ugly, scarred skin. He’d be repulsed. She was repulsed.

  She started to shake her head no, but she had to get the wound examined. She didn’t want to risk infection. She couldn’t afford the doctor, and she wouldn’t take any more of Bradley’s charity.

  So what if he sees your scar? So what if he’s repulsed? It wasn’t like Julianne had hopes of a future with him.

  Bradley knelt in front of her. His gaze locked on hers. The expression on his face conveyed that he’d seen his fair share of battle scars before. Clearly, this was a man who’d been thrust into unimaginable circumstances and knew how to handle himself. His strength seemed to transfer to her through his touch. She needed that right now.

  “We need to get some antibiotic on it, Julianne.”

  She bit her lip, trying to ignore the tears that popped into her eyes as she gripped the edge of her sweatshirt. Thankfully, she wore a tank top underneath. Slowly, uncertainly, and through the stinging pain, she tugged the sweatshirt off.

  She held her breath as she waited to see his expression, waited to see his face when he saw the grotesque scar.

  His eyes widened. His fingers went to the pink flesh at her neck, and his thumb rubbed a mark there. His touch was so tender, his gaze so full of concern.

  “Julianne...”

  She didn’t dare look him in the eye.

  His hand slid down her arm until he gripped her fingers. She could feel his blistering gaze on her, begging her to look at him. She couldn’t. “What happened?”

  She shrugged. “Long story.”

  “I have time.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” She just wanted to get her wound treated, put her sweatshirt back on and retreat by herself. She couldn’t bear Bradley’s pity. Did he enjoy her humiliation? No, she knew he didn’t. He wasn’t that type of man. She’d felt so self-conscious about her scar for so long.

  Darrell’s plan had worked. He’d made her feel unattractive. He’d won, she realized, more tears welling in her eyes.

  “Let me get you bandaged up.” Gently, he cleaned her wound before putting some gauze and medical tape around it.

  They said nothing, but the tension stretched between them said enough. Julianne was aware of his every movement, his every touch, his every breath for that matter.

  “All done,” he finally said. He rubbed the last of the medical tape down, letting his fi
ngers trail her arm in the process.

  She cleared her throat and rushed to her feet, unsure of what to do with the mixed feelings waging a war inside her. Humiliation, shame, disappointment—in herself mostly—and a deep, undeniable attraction to Bradley Stone. She hadn’t even realized the attraction was there until this moment.

  She pushed a hair behind her ear. “Thank you. I should go.”

  Bradley stood also, and she was painfully cognizant of his every movement. “Julianne.”

  She paused. She shouldn’t have. She should have run. Instead, she made eye contact with Bradley. Before she realized what was happening, he stepped toward her.

  His fingers fanned out on her neck and into her hair. Then his lips were on hers. Tender, passionate, causing her to gravitate toward him, propelling her hand to grip his shirt. Her lips tingled. Her heart raced. And her mind was swirling with reasons why this shouldn’t be happening.

  Bradley’s lips released the claim he had on her. But he didn’t move. His forehead rested against hers. His arms encircled her waist. She could feel his heart pounding beneath his shirt and hear his ragged breaths.

  “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  His words slammed into her heart. No, he shouldn’t have. And she shouldn’t have let him. What had she been thinking? She stepped back, knowing she had to flee before he saw her tears. “I’ve gotta go.”

  “Julianne—”

  She hurried toward the door, not stopping to look back... or say anything. Escape. That’s what she had to do.

  Before he could call out to her again, she slammed the door, ran downstairs and locked herself in the small apartment.

  Not even her fears over being in danger could distract her from the deep pain of humiliation she felt. She pulled her knees to her chest and fought the despair that threatened to swallow her.

  EIGHT

  Bradley ran a hand over his face as he stood in his empty living room. When Julianne fled, she seemed to take all of the life and energy out of the room with her.

  What had just happened? What had he been thinking?

  One moment he’d been so intent on keeping Julianne at arm’s distance. The next moment, he’d seen the scar. He’d known that something terrible had happened to her, and his heart had twisted with compassion.

  More than compassion.

  His heart had welled with protectiveness. Fierce protectiveness. Had Darrell done that?

  He turned around, resisting the urge to punch something. He’d blown it big-time. All he’d intended to do was comfort her, but instead he’d sent Julianne running for cover. And his bold proclamation that he “shouldn’t have done that” hadn’t helped anything.

  But he shouldn’t have done that, no matter how sweet the moment had felt. He had no business kissing her. They had a professional relationship and nothing more.

  He knew that wasn’t exactly true, especially not at this very moment. He’d been trying to keep his emotions at bay since the woman had shown up at the Eyes headquarters. His feelings had taken over his senses for a moment—a very enjoyable moment.

  He paced the living room. He should go downstairs and try to talk to her. No. He shook his head. He needed to give her space. And the truth was, he needed space before he did something else he regretted.

  A relationship with Julianne was out of the question for more than one reason.

  He sat at the kitchen table, turning his focus instead on something he was good at—his job. He reviewed what had happened tonight.

  If those men had wanted to kill Julianne, they could have. So why didn’t they? What did they want from her? Someone had shot the thug who’d been trying to grab Julianne, and it hadn’t been Bradley. He’d been on the other side of a boathouse when it happened. Had Darrell—or the person imitating Darrell—fired that shot? Was he trying to kill Julianne or protect her?

  Of course, the big question was: Who were those men? Could one of them have been Darrell’s best friend, Tommy Sanders? The idea carried enough weight that Bradley decided he would track down Tommy and ask him a few questions tomorrow.

  And what about the caller who’d taken a little too much interest in Julianne? Was there any way to find him?

  But an even bigger question still nagged at him. Diane had disappeared before Julianne arrived. What if all of this had something to do with Bradley and not Julianne? Had she become some kind of pawn in a plan to hurt him?

  He rubbed his temples, the answers seeming too far out of reach for his comfort.

  * * *

  Julianne curled up on the couch and took a deep, calming breath.

  What had just happened? How could Julianne have allowed a kiss to take place? The last thing she wanted was to be romantically involved with anyone. The even scarier part was that she actually found herself enjoying the kiss for a moment.

  She couldn’t do that. No. There were too many similarities between Bradley and Darrell. She was dependent on both of them. Striking out on her own seemed impossible without money or a car. Just like with Darrell. But there were differences, also. Bradley would never hurt her...would he?

  She had to stop thinking that every man was like Darrell. But that was easier said than done. It was why she hadn’t dated anyone since Darrell’s funeral, right? She found trusting men to be next to impossible. That was why she’d vowed to remain single. Better single and independent than with the wrong man and miserable.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Julianne, it’s me, Bradley. Detective Spencer needs to speak with you.”

  The detective. Of course. How could she have forgotten what happened? “Just a second.” She dragged herself from the couch, threw on a clean sweatshirt and quickly ran a brush through her hair. Before turning the doorknob, she drew in a deep breath, a last-minute attempt to compose herself.

  She pulled the door open, careful not to make eye contact with Bradley as he slipped inside. She waved toward the table, and the detective sat there. She lowered herself across from him, all too aware of Bradley’s presence beside her.

  Detective Spencer opened his ever-present notebook. “I heard you had an unfortunate encounter down at the oceanfront.”

  She recounted what had happened. As the man’s voice and smell came back to her, she shivered. That had been close. Too close. And if Bradley hadn’t been there...she didn’t even want to think about what would have happened.

  “Julianne, do you know anything about the Amigos?”

  She shook her head. “The Amigos? I can’t say I do.”

  “They’re a Mexican drug cartel that’s infiltrated the U.S. at a rapid pace within the past five or so years. They’re not a group that you want to mess with. They’re dangerous and take no prisoners, so to speak.”

  What was the detective getting at? She rubbed the table with her finger, trying to get out an imaginary stain. “They don’t sound like a group I’d want anything to do with.”

  The detective shifted. “One of the waitresses saw what happened tonight. She said she saw a certain tattoo on the man who grabbed you. The tattoo is of three hands huddled on top of each other. The symbol is nearly always affiliated with the Amigos.”

  Of all the scenarios Julianne thought she might hear, a Mexican drug cartel never even entered her mind. She continued rubbing the invisible stain, the motion somehow helping her to process her thoughts. “So a member of the Mexican cartel tried to grab me tonight? Why in the world would they do that? I’ve never touched drugs. Not even cigarettes.”

  The detective leaned back, clicking his pen closed. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Do you deal with any of them in your line of work?”

  “I wouldn’t know. All the calls I take are anonymous.” She shook her head. “This just keeps getting weirder and weirder. I have no idea.”

  Detective Spencer
stood and gripped his notebook. “Thanks for your help. And be on the lookout. I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know that you seem to be the target.”

  Bradley walked him to the door and gently shut it as he left, clicking each of the locks in place. Now it was just the two of them.

  Why was her heart pounding erratically?

  Bradley paced until he was beside her. She could feel his presence. Each of her hairs seemed to stand on end. Her skin prickled. Her heart raced. It had been a long time since a man had that effect on her.

  “Julianne, about what happened upstairs...” He lowered his head, and his voice sounded soft and husky.

  She shook her head. “Let’s just forget about it.”

  “It shouldn’t have happened. I was out of line.” She could hear the sorrow in his voice. Sorrow over kissing her. Yes, she understood. Their emotions were amped. Stress could cause people to act in strange, oftentimes impulsive ways.

  She nodded, really wishing he’d leave so she could be alone. Except a part of her wanted him to stay. A part of her wanted to have someone there to comfort her. Why were her emotions such a tangled mess? “Don’t worry about it, Bradley. I’ve...I’ve forgotten it already.”

  He stayed quiet for a moment before turning away. “I’m turning the alarm system on, so don’t open the door or windows. I’ll be down to check on you in the morning. It’s Saturday, so I won’t be going into Eyes to work, though I probably will do some work here at home.”

  She nodded again.

  He paused by the door, as if he wanted to say something else. Finally, his chest rose as he took a deep breath. He nodded and stepped outside.

  And again, Julianne felt alone, as if there was no one within sixty miles of this place whom she could rely on.

  She curled up on the couch again and opened her Bible, just as she always did when her thoughts started to overwhelm her.

  She found Psalm 9:9. The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble.

  No, there was someone she could rely on, no matter where she was.

  God.