Snowfall

by Sharon Sala

  Caitlin’s body went limp, but her mind was in a panic. They didn’t understand. She couldn’t relax. She couldn’t be unconscious. It was too dangerous to sleep. Someone wanted her dead. She tried again to open her eyes, but the pain was too great. In the midst of her fears, the sound of sirens began to fade. Mercifully, she slipped into unconsciousness. When she woke, she was being transferred from the stretcher to a gurney.

  “Miss, can you hear me?”

  Caitlin moaned. “Yes.”

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Bennett. Caitlin Bennett.”

  She heard a gasp, then a woman’s voice saying, “Oh my God. It’s C. D. Bennett. You know, the mystery writer.”

  Before she could respond, they began cutting off her clothes as someone else put a hand on her forehead.

  “Caitlin, I’m Dr. Forest, and you’re in the emergency room at New York General. Don’t fight the nurses. We need to check your injuries. We’re only trying to help.”

  She moaned. The last thing she remembered was being put into the ambulance. Someone slid a stethoscope onto the middle of her chest. She gasped when the cold metal touched her flesh.

  “Sorry, was that cold?” the doctor asked.

  She nodded.

  “Can you tell me where you hurt?”

  “My head…shoulder.”

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  “Someone pushed me. They wanted me to die.”

  There was a brief moment of silence, as if everyone was absorbing the implications of what she’d just said, then the same doctor spoke again.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Caitlin said, then reached toward her eyes, wanting to feel her face, trying to figure out why her eyes wouldn’t open.

  “Don’t move,” the doctor said. “I’ll clean your eyes in just a moment. Someone call the cops,” he said. “And get a portable X-ray machine in here.”

  Caitlin sighed with relief. She didn’t have to worry anymore. The doctor was in charge.

  “Caitlin, Nurse Carson is going to clean the blood from your face and then flush your eyes, so relax, okay?”

  Immediately afterward, something cold touched her forehead, and she flinched.

  “Miss Bennett, you need to hold still. You fell face first into the snow. The streets had been salted, and I suspect some of that is in your eyes. That’s why they hurt, and that’s why you don’t want to open them.”

  Caitlin’s panic receded. Answers. That was what she needed, answers.

  “Caitlin, is there someone you’d like us to call? Maybe a member of your family, or a friend?”

  Caitlin answered without hesitation.

  “Aaron Workman.”

  “Is he family?”

  “I have no family. He’s my editor.”

  She thought she heard someone mutter “poor little rich girl,” and then everything went black. When she woke up again, they were transferring her from a gurney to a hospital bed. Pain shot through her body from her head to her toes. She held her breath, willing herself not to scream until the feeling had passed. When she dared to move, she saw the nurses leaving and Aaron standing in the doorway, his face a study in disbelief.

  “Caitie! Darling!” He kissed her forehead and patted both cheeks, as if he needed assurance that she was truly all right. “How did this happen? They told me you got hit by a truck as you crossed the street.”

  Caitlin frowned. “No. No. I was standing at the curb. Someone pushed me.”

  Aaron stilled, an odd expression on his face.

  “You mean…you were jostled in the crowd, right?”

  Caitlin grabbed his hand and started to cry.

  “No. I was pushed.”

  “How do you know? I mean…isn’t it possible that someone inadvertently bumped you and caused you to fall?”

  “No, it isn’t. I know because I felt a hand in the middle of my back, and then I felt a distinct push.” Her chin began to quiver. “Please…Aaron, if you don’t believe me, then how—”

  Aaron’s eyes glittered as he yanked a cell phone out of his pocket. “I’m calling the police. This could be linked to the letters.”

  “What letters?”

  The sound of the man’s voice was startling. They looked toward the door. A tall man and a short, stocky woman were just entering the room.

  The man pulled out a badge as he spoke. “I’m Detective Neil, and this is my partner, Detective Kowalksi. Are you Caitlin Bennett?”

  “Yes.”

  “We got a call that someone tried to murder you. Is this true? And what letters are you talking about, and how are they connected?”

  “Someone pushed me in front of a truck.”

  Neil frowned slightly as he began to make notes. Then he looked up at Aaron, taking note of the fact that he and the woman were holding hands.

  “You, sir. What’s your relationship to Miss Bennett?”

  “I’m her editor, and a very good friend.”

  “Mr. Workman, if you don’t mind, we’d like to speak to Miss Bennett alone,” Kowalski said.

  “No!” Caitlin cried, clutching Aaron’s hand before he could move. “He stays.” Panic was thick in her voice as she turned to Aaron and pleaded, “Don’t leave me.”

  “As if,” he said, then took off his overcoat and laid it on a nearby chair before sitting on the foot of her bed. The look he gave the detectives said he wasn’t budging.

  Neil shrugged and came closer, his partner following.

  Aaron glared at the man, reading his body language and not liking what he saw. The detective was too handsome for his own good, and from the way he moved, he knew it.

  Caitlin suddenly moaned. “I’m going to be sick.”

  Kowalksi grabbed the wastebasket, thrusting it under Caitlin’s chin as she leaned over the side of the bed.

  “Get a nurse,” Kowalski ordered.

  Neil bolted out the door, while Aaron ran to get a washcloth. Moments later, Caitlin’s nausea had passed and Aaron was gently wiping her mouth. J.R. came back into the room, followed by a nurse, who took quick stock of the situation and ordered everyone out.

  “Miss Bennett has suffered a concussion, and she needs her rest. You people need to leave.”

  “No,” Caitlin begged. “Please. Not until I talk to the police.”

  Neil and Kowalksi identified themselves to the nurse, and she reluctantly relented.

  “Tell it quick, or tell it to them tomorrow,” she said, and pointed at the trio around Caitlin’s bed. “After that, please leave.”

  Neil eyed the burgeoning bruises and the scrapes on her forehead and chin.

  “Miss Bennett, are you sure you’re up to this? We can come back.”

  She took a slow breath and then exhaled softly. “No. Please stay.”

  He smiled at her before turning his attention to Aaron. “Are you and Miss Bennett a couple?

  Aaron’s fingers gently curled around Caitlin’s ankle beneath the covers, and then he patted her leg.

  “No, but I like to believe I’m her best friend. Since her father’s death, she doesn’t have any living relatives.”

  Neil glanced at Caitlin. “You have no one? Is this true?”

  She nodded, and as she did, she moaned again and grabbed her head.

  Immediately Aaron was at her side.

  “Honey, are you feeling sick again?”

  “No. It just hurts.”

  “We’ll be brief,” Neil said. “Mr. Workman, where were you when this incident occurred?”

  “We’d just had lunch together. I took a cab back to the office, and Caitie was going down the block to do some shopping.”

  “I see,” Neil said, taking notes. Then he looked back at Caitlin. “Is there anyone you can think of who has a grudge against you?”

  Caitlin groaned. “I don’t—”

  “Let’s get this over with quick,” Aaron said. “And I’m going to start the ball rolling by telling you that our company has
already filed a complaint with the police. They’ve been receiving hate mail for publishing her and, most recently, a bomb threat. Caitlin told me today that she’s been receiving similar letters for almost six months. Now this,” he said, waving his arms in the air. “Something has to be done.”

  Trudy Kowalksi moved to the foot of Caitlin’s bed. “Miss Bennett, can you tell me exactly what happened today that led you to believe this wasn’t an accident?”

  “Yes. I was standing at the curb, waiting for the light to change, when a large delivery truck came around the corner. It was going very fast, and I knew as it passed I was going to get splashed with slush. At that moment, I felt a hand in the middle of my back and then a distinct push. After that, I have only vague memories of falling and of seeing my own reflection in the bumper of the truck.”

  Aaron shuddered in disbelief, unable to take his gaze off her bruised face.

  “It wasn’t an accident,” Caitlin said. “It was on purpose.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would have a reason for doing that to you?”

  “No, of course not. I’ve never hired or fired anyone in my life. I just write my books and mind my own business.”

  Trudy continued. “About your books. I have to admit I haven’t read them, but is there anything in them that would incite this kind of anger in a reader?”

  Caitlin sighed. “I wouldn’t think so, but who knows?”

  Neil had been silent the entire time his partner had been talking, just watching Caitlin’s face and listening to the panic in her voice. Suddenly he found himself caught in her wide-eyed gaze. The contact was brief, but startling. Almost immediately, he turned away, focusing his attention on Aaron.

  “We’ll need to see the letters Miss Bennett has been receiving, as well as the ones your company had gotten.”

  “I’ll get Caitlin’s tomorrow,” Aaron said. “And check with your bomb unit. Someone there already has Hudson House’s copies.”

  “Right. We’ll check,” Neil said, then took a card from the inside pocket of his overcoat and handed it to Caitlin.

  “Miss Bennett, if you think of anything…anything at all that might help us in this investigation, then give me a call.” His voice dropped. “Anytime. Day or night.”

  He watched Caitlin read his name and number and then look up, studying him in a most uncomfortable way. He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, then nodded and left, leaving his partner to follow.

  Caitlin heard them speaking briefly together in the hall, and suddenly she just didn’t care what they thought. She sighed and laid her forearm across her eyes.

  “Aaron, be a dear and turn out the lights, will you? They’re making my headache worse.”

  He did as she asked, but when he returned to her bedside, she seemed to have fallen asleep. He stood for a moment, absorbing the scope of her injuries. The darkening bruise on her left temple was horrific, as were the stitches they’d put above her eye. He kept thinking how close he’d come to losing her today and gently leaned over the bed rail and kissed the side of her cheek.

  “You rest, Caitie. I won’t be far.”

  He strode into the hallway, his cell phone in his hand.

  Connor McKee stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. It was the first full day of his vacation—the vacation he’d been promising himself for the better part of six years.

  Wrapping the towel around his waist, he strode out of the bathroom and across the warm, carpeted floor of his bedroom to the windows overlooking the ski slope below. Colorado was a beautiful state, but in the winter it could be stunning. He’d owned this chalet in Vail for three years, bought with the first large profit his private security system had turned, but this was the first time he’d used it. Last night he’d christened it with a bottle of Cabernet and a cute little redhead he’d met at the lodge the day before. Now the redhead was gone, the bottle was empty and all he wanted was to fly down that powder until his feet were numb and his mind was free.

  With a satisfied sigh, he undid the towel, drying himself off as he moved away from the windows. He had to admit, he felt pretty damned good. It had been a long, uphill struggle—going from a burned-out Atlanta cop to owning his own business and being responsible for the welfare of six employees. The first two years after he’d gone into business, he’d often wondered if he’d made a mistake. Then, a little over three years ago, everything had turned the corner. One of his security systems had been directly responsible for preventing the kidnapping of a child, who happened to be a member of one of Atlanta’s most prominent families.

  After the media attention and the father’s public accolades for McKee Securities, Mac had known he was going to make it. Occasionally he still felt guilty that his success had come at the cost of a traumatized child, but he knew what would have happened had the system not been in place.

  Tossing the wet towel onto the floor, he moved to his closet. It was time to get dressed, get some breakfast and then hit the slopes while the powder was still fresh.

  Just as he was pulling a sweater over his head, the phone began to ring. Still thinking of the little redhead, he grinned as he picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Mac, it’s me.”

  Mac smiled. His stepbrother Aaron had been the first to call him Mac, and the nickname had stuck.

  “Aaron, how are you?” Then he laughed. “How the hell did you track me down? I told my secretary not to tell anyone where I was.”

  “I told her it was a matter of life and death,” Aaron said.

  Mac laughed again, remembering the drama with which Aaron went through life. He’d been the first person to know Aaron was gay and had accepted it without a second thought.

  “Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic, even for you?”

  But Aaron wasn’t laughing. “This isn’t a joke. We’re in trouble, and I don’t know where else to turn.”

  Mac frowned. “Who’s we, and what kind of trouble are you talking about?”

  “Caitlin Bennett. Someone is trying to kill her.”

  At that moment, a thousand things went through Mac’s mind, including the urge to hang up. Ever since their first meeting three years ago, he had alternated between the desire to shake Caitlin silly and the equally strong urge to strip her naked and take her to bed. More often than not, the latter thought usually won out, which in turn made him mad. He didn’t want to be attracted to any woman beyond a one-night stand, but the sudden thought of her dead made him ill.

  “What the hell do you mean?”

  “I’ll explain it all when you get here,” Aaron said.

  Mac exhaled sharply. “Damn it, Aaron, this is the first day of a vacation I’ve been promising myself for six years.”

  “She’s in the hospital.”

  The floor tilted beneath Mac’s feet. “What happened?”

  “Someone pushed her in front of a truck.”

  Shit. “It couldn’t have been an accident?”

  “We received a bomb threat, promising to blow the place up if we didn’t stop publishing her, and she’s been getting threatening letters for over six months.”

  Mac was still locked into the image of her lying beneath the wheels of a truck. It took him a few moments to realize Aaron was no longer speaking.

  “How bad is she?” he asked, then realized Aaron was crying. “Damn it, Aaron, talk to me.”

  “Bad bruises, some cuts and a concussion. She was lucky. This time.”

  “I don’t believe in luck,” Mac growled. “Give me a few hours to get packed and catch a flight. I’ll be there by tonight.”

  Aaron sighed. “Thank you, Mac.”

  “You knew I would come,” Mac muttered. “But you’re gonna owe me big time on this one, little brother. Caitlin Bennett and I don’t exactly get along.”

  “I didn’t ask you to like her,” Aaron said. “I just want you to save her life.”

  Mac stepped off the elevator carrying his suitcase and the s
trap of his carryall slung over his shoulder. His stride was long and swift, his gaze steady as he counted off the room numbers he was passing. Caitlin Bennett’s image had been in his mind ever since he’d gotten Aaron’s call. His gut was in knots. Please God, just let her be all right. When he reached Room 420, he paused, then took a deep breath and walked in.

  Almost immediately, he saw Aaron on the other side of the bed. When their gazes met, Aaron stood abruptly, his finger to his lips to signify quiet. Mac stepped inside and set his bags by the door, then glanced at the bed. The knot in his belly tightened. The woman who usually ripped a strip off his ego was lying far too still. Dark purple bruises shaded the left side of her face, giving her the appearance of being masked. A couple of stitches above her eyebrow were oozing, and her lower lip was swollen.

  God almighty, Caitie girl, what have you gotten yourself into?

  Then Aaron was throwing his arms around him and patting him on the back.

  “You’re here. Thank God you’re here,” Aaron whispered.

  “How is she?” Mac asked.

  “She’s fine.” When Mac frowned, Aaron added, “Really, she’s fine…or at least she’s going to be. Nothing’s broken. Her concussion is mild. She’s bruised, on her face and her shoulder, and her wrists are sprained from the fall, but she’s going to be okay.”

  “Have the cops got any leads?” Mac asked.

  Aaron shook his head.

  “Why isn’t there a guard on her door?”

  Aaron rolled his eyes and then pulled his brother out into the hallway, so they could talk without fear of waking her up.

  “Because they don’t see the imminent danger, that’s why,” Aaron said. “I called them a few hours ago, and they said that even though we have the letters and the bomb threat, they don’t consider what happened as anything more than an accident. They think she was jostled at the curb and, because of everything else, imagined she was pushed.”

  “She’s been getting letters, too?” Mac asked, and then cursed when Aaron nodded.

  Aaron grinned. “That’s one of the things I always admired about you. You have such a succinct way of stating the obvious.”

  Mac managed a smile, then glanced back into the room where Caitlin lay sleeping.