by Jane Blythe
The feeling of being overwhelmed was still there—and no doubt the cause of the drained and exhausted feeling that swamped her—but she was making strides to overcome it. She had started looking for recommendations for a new therapist. She had called a home security firm to see about having an ungraded system installed at her house, and she was back at her store determined to finish the list of stolen stock.
It was a tedious task because she had to go through every single item of jewelry left in her store because she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure exactly what Jeff and Vincent had put into the safe. She had a printed list of inventory beside her and was working her way through the boxes where she had stacked the jewelry crossing each item off on the list when she confirmed it was still here. She was bored and tired and finding it difficult to concentrate, but she’d put it off long enough. And it wasn't like she had anything else to do, so she was going to sit here and work on it until it was done.
Her stomach grumbled loudly.
She was starving; she hadn’t eaten anything yet today. When Tom’s partner had called and asked her to come to their office, she’d left immediately, and when they were finished questioning her, she’d come straight here. She hadn’t eaten dinner last night either, and she was kind of iffy on whether or not she’d had lunch yesterday.
Maybe she should stop and grab some lunch now, come back to this later.
It was tempting.
But if she stopped this close to being done, she wouldn’t want to come back and finish it later. And she really had to finish. She needed to know exactly what was gone so she could file her insurance claim, and Tom and his partner wanted to know.
Hannah sighed.
No more procrastinating. It shouldn’t take her more than another hour or so to finish going through everything, then the task would be done, and she could go get something to eat, then maybe head home and grab a nap.
She was working through the box that contained some of her most expensive stock, stuff that was always kept in the safe overnight, when she froze.
Something was missing.
Something that shouldn’t be.
A heart-shaped five carat diamond ring worth around $65,000 wasn't there.
It should be there.
How could it have gone missing?
It would have been in the safe the night of the robbery.
There was no way that Jeff and Vincent wouldn’t have put it in there. They packed up most nights, and they’d always put it in the safe before.
It had been in the safe.
She was the only one who had the code.
She hadn’t given the robbers the code, so the robbers couldn’t have taken it.
So, where was it?
It had to be here somewhere.
Standing quickly, she hurried to the safe. It was probably still in there. Maybe it had somehow fallen and was lying unnoticed on the floor. That seemed unlikely; the safe was only five feet by five feet, and lined with shelves, which she kept perfectly organized. But where else could it be?
Punching in the code, Hannah threw open the door and dropped to her knees, running her hands along the floor, searching for the missing ring.
She found nothing.
Next, she worked her way up, shelf by shelf, both looking and feeling to see if the ring was there.
It wasn't.
It was gone.
It should be in the box. There was no way the robbers could have taken it. It was impossible. It was in the safe when they were here. Someone had taken it after the robbery. Which meant there were only two people who could have done it.
Jeff or Vincent.
She’d given them the code. She’d had to. There was no way she could risk another robbery, and her phobia of guns causing her to freeze up again, so she had given the code to both her employees, intending to change it once Vincent moved on. Never again would she be the only one who could access the safe.
Why would Jeff or Vincent have stolen one of her rings?
There was only one reason she could think of.
They had set up the robbery and stolen the ring to pay the men they’d hired, hoping she would just assume it had been stolen the night of the robbery.
Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. How could she not have seen that one of her employees was psychotic and out to get her? Probably the same way she hadn’t see that Garry was psychotic and out to get her.
Hannah had never felt so betrayed in her life.
It seemed like rather than working with a therapist on overcoming her phobia of guns, she needed to work on learning how to more accurately read people.
At least now she knew who it was. Jeff and Vincent were the only people with the code to her safe, and they had access to the store, so they were the only ones who could have snuck in here and taken the ring following the robbery.
She had to call Tom and tell him.
As she walked out of the safe, she sensed the man was there even before she saw him.
She opened her mouth to scream, but he was on her before she could make a sound.
He was big.
So big.
And wearing a balaclava.
That was good, right? If he didn't want her to see his face, there was a chance that he didn't want to kill her.
He held a knife in his hand and he grabbed hold of her arm, yanking her up against his chest, clamping his free hand over her mouth and holding his knife to her neck.
This had to be one of the men who’d held a gun on her the other night.
Now that she knew that they didn't just want her merchandise but her, as well, it was so much more terrifying.
What did he want from her?
Who had hired him?
Why had one of her employees hired him to rob her store and then come back to get her?
“You’re pretty,” his voice whispered in her ear. His breath through the thick black material that concealed his face was hot and stinky.
Hannah shivered; she was so scared. If this man raped her, she didn't think she could deal with it.
“So pretty,” he drawled. He moved the knife so the tip punctured the skin on her cheek and trailed it down, around her chin, along her neck and down onto her chest.
The cut was shallow but Hannah could feel a small trickle of blood seeping out. The knife was above her heart. Was he going to kill her? She didn't understand. What did Vincent or Jeff want from her? Robbing her store was one thing. That could easily be explained away by greed, but sending someone here to cut her, to possibly rape and kill her, made no sense.
Whatever the reason, she wasn't going down without a fight.
“I bet men throw themselves at you all the time.” The masked man pressed the knife deeper into her flesh, cutting through her rose and lilac striped cashmere sweater and into the skin of her left breast. “I bet you take advantage. Use them to get what you want and then dump them once you have it.” He pressed the knife deeper still, and she cried out beneath his hand. “Not so pretty now, huh?” he chuckled as he gouged a hole in her breast.
He was going to torture her before he raped and killed her.
She had obsessively taken self-defense classes since the home invasion, learning every single technique she could in case she was ever in a position where she needed to use them.
And now she was.
Lifting her right leg, she kicked backward and to the side, aiming for and connecting with the man’s knee.
He yelped in surprise and released her.
Hannah darted for the door. It was the middle of the day and only three days before Christmas. There would be lots of people at the mall. She just had to get their attention and help would come.
She hadn’t caused her attacker as much damage as she’d hoped, and he lunged at her, tackling her and sending them both sprawling to the floor. As soon as they were down, he flipped her onto her back and sat on her stomach, pinning her down. Hannah didn't give up. She reached up and gouged her finger into where she be
lieved his eye was. Her aim must have been spot on because he howled a string of profanities and backhanded her across the face so hard she saw stars.
By the time they cleared, he’d slapped a piece of duct tape over her mouth. “I didn't like that,” he growled, digging his finger into the wound on her breast.
She screamed, the sound muffled by the tape.
She was so scared she had almost moved beyond fear, to a distant empty place her mind had gone to before.
She was disconnecting.
With quick efficient movements, the man turned her over onto her stomach and pulled her arms behind her, securing her wrists together with layer after layer of tape. He did the same with her ankles. Her attacker put something over her eyes, and she felt him tie it behind her head.
Bound, gagged, and blindfolded, she was helpless against him.
Completely helpless.
As he picked her up, her mind descended into the peace and serenity of shock.
* * * * *
1:03 P.M.
As he walked toward Hannah’s jewelry store, Tom wondered what he should get her as a Christmas gift.
That they would spend Christmas together was already a given in his mind. They might not spend the whole day together. He might not share Christmas lunch with her, and they both might be busy with their respective families, but he had no doubt that they would see each other.
He wanted to give her something special, something meaningful, something that showed her how much he still loved her and how much he wanted them to find a way to work things out. He wasn't sure yet exactly what that would be, but he had no doubt he would think of something. He still had time.
He had an hour before he had to be back at work, and he hoped he and Hannah would have enough time to talk—both personally and professionally. He wanted to let Hannah know that this wasn't just a job and that he wanted more. Tom also wanted to let her know about the listening device they’d found in her office, and find out whether either Garry Smith or Bryce McCracken might have had access to her store to leave the bug.
In his hands, he carried two cups of soup from Hannah’s favorite store, a peace offering of sorts. He wanted to apologize for his repeated claims that everything that had happened the last few days was all just a job. It wasn't. And he couldn’t keep using that as an excuse to keep a barrier up between the two of them. If he and Hannah were going to find a way to put their relationship back together, there couldn’t be any more hiding from each other. He couldn’t complain that Hannah shut him out when he did the exact same thing.
The mall was busy with people everywhere, and Hannah’s quiet store seemed out of place. He wished that none of this had happened, that no one had set out to target her, that she had never been held at gunpoint, that her store hadn’t been robbed, that she wasn't missing out on business during the busiest shopping season of the year.
Although . . .
If none of that had happened, though, they wouldn’t have been thrown back together. He was selfish enough to be thankful for anything that brought them back together. He just wished Hannah hadn’t been hurt in the process.
He opened the door to her store and movement through the open workroom door caught his attention.
“Hannah? It’s Tom.”
No answer.
He was immediately on edge.
His gut said something was wrong, and he always trusted his gut.
Without hesitating, he dropped the cups of soup, pulled out his gun and ran through the store. As he entered the workroom, he saw blood on the floor, a man in a black balaclava, and no signs of Hannah.
“FBI, freeze!” he yelled at the man.
The man was close to the door to the office. If he got through it, he could escape out the back door.
That was not going to happen.
Tom had his gun trained on the man, and he would use it if he had to. The man hadn’t moved and appeared to be weighing up his options.
Apparently deciding it wasn't worth trying anything stupid, the man put his hands up.
“Down on the ground,” Tom ordered.
The man complied, getting down on his knees, then lying on his stomach, his arms out above his head. He knew the drill. This man had been arrested before.
Cautiously, he crossed the room, keeping his gun trained on the man as he pressed a knee into his back and reached with his free hand to snap a handcuff around his wrist, pulling the man’s arm back, then putting his gun away in order to reach for the man’s other arms to finish cuffing him.
With the man restrained, Tom yanked off the balaclava, “Where is she?”
A sullen, pock-marked face pouted back at him. His left eye was red and swollen. Hannah had fought back.
“Where is she?” he repeated, fighting the urge to pummel the man he knew had hurt Hannah.
“The safe,” the man muttered.
Calling in backup, Tom darted to the safe. “Do you have the code?”
“No.”
He had to figure it out. He had to think. What would Hannah choose? She was smart enough not to do her birthday. She had named her store with a nickname he had given her, because that reminded her of him and the happy times they’d shared. Would she choose a date related to the two of them?
Tom tried their wedding date.
It didn't work.
Next, he tried the date they’d met.
Again, it didn't work.
He tried the date that he’d proposed.
Another failure.
He was starting to panic. The red light on the keypad was flashing at him, mocking him. He wasn't familiar with the particular system Hannah used and was afraid that if he kept putting in wrong numbers, the system would just shut down altogether.
That couldn’t happen.
He had to get in there.
The blood on the floor told him Hannah was hurt. He just didn't know how badly. She could be bleeding out on the other side of the door. He had to keep it together.
Sunkissed Jewels.
Her store’s logo was printed on the door of the safe.
Sunkissed.
He had first called her that when they had spent their first vacation together. They’d been at the beach, chasing each other through the waves. He’d carried her on his shoulders out to the deep water, then tossed her in. She’d paid him back by staying under and not coming up for air for an impossibly long time. Afterward, they’d laid in the sand, the sun drying their wet bodies, tangled in each other’s arms. In the sunlight, the red in Hannah’s hair had shimmered and shone, and as her head on his chest had tilted up to look at him, the freckles across her nose and cheeks had looked like little kisses from the sun.
That day.
That was the code Hannah had chosen.
Tom knew it even as he punched in the numbers, and the keypad rewarded him by changing its light from red to green.
He was in.
He quickly spun the handle and swung open the door.
Hannah was lying on the floor of the safe. She was bound, gagged, and blindfolded.
She lay on her side and he could see that her sweater had been cut, and the edges were covered in blood. A line of blood ran from her cheek, down her chin, along her neck and disappeared under her sweater.
Her sweater had a hole right above her heart.
The man had cut her breast.
As she heard the door to the safe open, she tried to wiggle backward, away from him, he heard her whimper through the tape on her mouth.
“It’s okay, Hannah; it’s me,” he said as he dropped down at her side.
At the sound of his voice, she stilled, and he saw her sag back against the floor in relief.
Supporting her head in one hand, Tom pulled off the blindfold. Hannah’s eyes were watery, but she wasn't crying. As carefully as he could, he pulled off the tape covering her mouth. Hannah flinched as it took off a layer of skin with it.
“Are you all right?” he asked, taking her face in his hands and searchi
ng her eyes for answers.
“Mmhmm.” She gave a small nod. “Did you get him?”
“I did.” His heart was still hammering in his chest. That man could have killed her. And what had he had in mind for her if he hadn’t been interrupted? “Hannah,” he leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers.
“I—I’m okay,” she assured him. She was trembling, but she was holding it together. Just.
“I’ll go get something to cut the tape.” He gently laid her back down, and she winced as the movement jostled her wounds.
Leaving her was difficult, even for a moment, but he had to get her free. Her attacker still lay where he’d left him, and Tom glared at him as he ran past and into Hannah’s office to find a pair of scissors to cut away the tape that bound her. He hated that man. Hated him. But at least now he could get the answers he needed.
Back in the safe, he sawed through the tape at her ankles, then sat Hannah up, propping her against his body as he leaned behind her and freed her wrists. He rubbed at her hands to restore circulation, then turned his attention to the wound on her chest. “How bad is it?”
“I don’t think it’s too deep.”
Grabbing the strip of cloth the man had used to blindfold her, Tom supported Hannah against his bent knee and pressed the material to her chest, stemming the flow of blood from her wound. Sirens filled the air, and he relaxed a little. Hannah was okay, and now that they had the man who had attacked her, she was safe, as well. There was nothing left standing between the two of them reconciling.
“Tom?” Chloe called out a moment later.
“In the safe,” he called back.
“You got him,” his partner appeared behind him.
“Good timing,” he said.
“Is she okay?”
“She is,” Hannah replied, sitting herself up straighter and grimacing as it caused pain. “Tom, go and find out who he is.”
“Hannah …” He didn't want to leave her.
“Please,” she begged. “I need to know.”
“Fine.” He’d do it for her; he would do anything for her. He helped her move backward so she could rest against the wall, then lifted her hand and held it to her wound. “Keep pressure on this.”
She squeezed his hand before taking over keeping pressure on the cut. “Thank you,” she whispered. A single tear escaped and rolled slowly down her cheek.
