by C. J. Miller
Susan had met Justin’s father several times and she’d gotten the impression he wasn’t happy with her as his son’s choice for a girlfriend. She’d assumed it was a hang-up about her past, maybe her humble upbringing or her mother’s problems with the law. Perhaps he hadn’t liked that he couldn’t control Justin’s decisions in regards to her. “Justin didn’t strike me as a rule-breaker.” If Brady was right, she had been in the dark about that part of Justin’s life. It wasn’t an “if” Brady was telling the truth. Trumans didn’t lie, even when the truth hurt. Susan couldn’t help but wonder what else she was in the dark about when it came to Justin. Something that would make him enemies? Something that would get him killed?
“I must sound like a fool for not knowing these things about Justin.”
“Not a fool, just a woman who sees the best in people. Don’t waste energy worrying about it. We’ll figure this out together.”
Susan closed her eyes. When he said together, she saw them as a team. With Brady, no such concept of team or partner existed. He ran the show and brought people along for the ride. In most circumstances, she didn’t mind. Life with Brady was exciting and ever-changing. In this case, Susan wanted control. She wanted to do everything possible to clear her name. “If the police don’t know about Justin’s checkered past in the air force, maybe I should tell them. Maybe it will help them connect Justin to someone bad he was involved with in the present.”
Brady shook his head. “Bringing a theory like that to the police without evidence won’t help. Justin’s father is involved in the case and calling the shots, at least from behind the scenes. He won’t allow Justin’s name to be dragged through the mud by allowing the past to enter the equation.”
What about her good name? Everything she could think to do wasn’t working. “When I’ve had some sleep, I’ll feel better,” Susan said. She’d been telling herself things like that for the past week. Every time she thought them, they were a lie. Nothing made her feel better or eased the guilt she carried.
“I’ll throw clean sheets on my bed for you. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
She couldn’t expect him to do that. He’d done enough and she didn’t want to feel indebted to him. “I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Half the time I sleep on the couch anyway. Don’t give it another thought.”
He put fresh sheets on the bed and tidied his room, tossing laundry in the hamper. He put a pair of clothes for her on the end of the bed. “These might be too big, but they’re clean. I’ll put out a towel for you in the bathroom.”
Formal. Like they were strangers. She’d spent the night with Brady many times before and this felt bizarre.
Brady went to his safe next to his dresser and opened it, pulling out his gun. He checked it for bullets. “Holler if you need anything,” he said over his shoulder.
He closed the safe and left the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
She’d never seen him remove his gun from the safe before tonight. He was taking the threat to her life seriously.
Susan pushed aside her worries about staying at Brady’s and her anxiety about Brady needing to use the gun. It was late and she was tired. The day had been long and difficult. A quick shower to scrub the smoke and fire stink off her and then sleep would feel great. She wouldn’t think about what waited for her tomorrow. She would take one day at a time. Same as she had when her father had been murdered.
Exhaustion tugged at her and she hurried through a shower. If she weren’t covered in smoke and grime, she might have skipped it altogether. She dressed in Brady’s clothes and crawled into bed, closing her eyes, knowing Brady would find his way, unwanted, into her dreams.
* * *
Brady shifted on the couch and reached under it to check his gun. He wanted it in arm’s reach. Not since his work as a pararescueman had he needed to sleep with a gun beside him. Then, he’d had his team around providing backup.
Alone with Susan, he was her sole protector. Was he up to the task? His skills were out of practice and he wasn’t nimble on his feet. When he’d been with the pararescuemen, he’d worked with in-depth intel, extensive resources and top-of-the-line equipment. In protecting Susan, he had none of that. He didn’t even know whom he was protecting her from.
Doubts ran through him, but the events of the last week didn’t leave him much choice. He needed to look out for Susan. Brady wasn’t naïve enough to believe whoever was stalking Susan would give up.
Someone believed Susan knew something about Justin’s murder and they didn’t want it revealed. If they believed it, then Harris might be right and Susan held the key to solving Justin’s murder. Had she been drugged? Or was she blocking the trauma of the memory?
Brady’s knee ached and he reached to massage it. He’d pressed his body hard going into the fire to help Susan. Now that his adrenaline was slowing, he was paying for it. Unable to get comfortable on the couch, he sat up and grabbed the file Harris has given him on Justin’s murder.
Brady had read it a dozen times and thought it over twice that often. He’d made his own notes in the margins, most of which consisted of questions without answers.
His attention swerved to a noise at the front door. Was someone testing the front lock, trying to open the door? Harris stopping by again uninvited? Brady’s landlord made an appearance only when it was a matter of life and death. Connor was also former Special Forces and more of a recluse than Brady was. He hated trespassers.
Brady wasn’t taking chances. He retrieved his gun from under the couch and checked again that it was loaded. He wouldn’t open fire until he saw who was foolish enough to break into his home.
Scratching at the door. A screwdriver trying to pry it open? He didn’t have a window facing the front and the door didn’t have a peephole. He could swing the door open and surprise whoever was there, but he’d prefer to know who was on the other side. What if more than one person was looking for Susan? How quickly could Brady take them out and prevent them from getting to her?
Doubts flooded his mind. His Special Forces training had taught him that success in an operation was ninety percent mental. Brady had failed in a big way once, letting down his team and himself when the stakes were life and death. Brady pictured himself freezing, gun in hand, letting an enemy get the advantage. He shook off the memory. Could he succeed now when the stakes were as high?
Wood breaking sounded loud against the silence of the room. The door gave way under the weight of a man dressed in black. The man swung a gun around the room, sweeping for occupants.
Brady ducked behind the couch and strained to listen. Was anyone else attempting to get inside the house? His landlord, a paranoid SOB, had built one doorway entry into the house, but the cabin had several windows in the other rooms. Brady listened for the sound of breaking glass.
The floor creaked as the intruder moved around the room. Brady waited, following his movements. The intruder tracked closer to the bedroom, much too close to Susan for Brady’s comfort. He needed to get between Susan and the attacker.
“Drop your weapon and I won’t kill you,” Brady said. His knee might be damaged, but his aim was impeccable.
“I could say the same to you,” the man said, pivoting in Brady’s direction.
Brady prayed Susan stayed asleep or at least remained in his bedroom, where she was safer. “Last chance,” Brady said.
“Don’t get involved in this. I don’t want you. I want her.”
The sound of breaking glass echoed through the room, followed by Susan’s scream. Someone was in Susan’s room!
Brady moved his position and aimed. What if Susan came out of her room and he hit her? What if the bullet ricocheted? Anxiety tightened his throat and Brady pressed down on his shoulders and steadied his hands.
A red beam traced across the room
from the attacker’s gun, a bullet sure to follow in its path. The attacker squeezed off a shot. Brady heard it whiz by his ear. If he’d been a second later in shifting, he’d have been hit. Brady fired his weapon. His aim was true; the attacker dropped to the ground, injured or dead.
“Susan!” Brady screamed, barging into her room.
Susan, her back to the large dresser across from the bed, was staring in horror at Brady’s landlord. Connor was pressed against the wall to the left of the door, gun in hand. Another masked man was dead on the floor. Connor made an appalling sight, his hair long, a full beard covering his face, his clothes wrinkled and worn. The first time Brady had met him, if he hadn’t known who Connor was, he would have been nervous around him. Connor carried an agitated energy, as if he was ready to spring at any moment.
“Are you okay?” Brady asked Susan.
“What is going on? Who is this? What’s happening?” Her voice shook and her hands trembled.
“This is my landlord, Connor. Someone else broke into the cabin. I took care of it.” Brady swung his attention to Connor. “Anyone else outside?” he asked.
Connor shook his head. “Heard them approach. Loud engine. Should have announced their presence with fireworks. Would have been quieter. Followed this guy inside. Just sorry I didn’t get him before he got through the window.”
Brady hadn’t heard anyone, but that was part of what made Connor spooky. He had an eerie ability to sense trouble. Or had Brady screwed up again? Should he have heard the attackers’ approach before they’d reached the front door? That would have been his first mistake. His second was letting the man get a shot off before stopping him.
Brady had lost his touch. His reactions were slow. Was it more than his physical response failing him? Was he destined to forever make critical mistakes in protecting the people he’d sworn to keep safe?
“Susan’s ex was involved in something and now Susan’s attracted attention from the wrong people,” Brady said.
“They’re trained. Sloppy and loud, but trained,” Connor said, echoing Brady’s thoughts about the attackers.
“Thanks for coming out to help,” Brady said. Connor hated to leave his place. At least, that’s what Brady assumed. He’d never seen the man leave the property. When it came to Connor, Brady didn’t ask questions and respected his desire for privacy.
“Told you when you moved in, I had your back,” Connor said. He nodded toward the broken glass. “I’ll get something to cover that and get it fixed tomorrow. I’ll do a perimeter check tonight. Stupid fools to come on this property.” With that, he strode out the bedroom door.
“We need to call the police,” Brady said.
“No! Not again,” Susan said. “Do you know how this will look? The police think I belong in jail. What will they think when I’m involved in a fire and a killing in the same night? They’ll think I killed him. Them.”
Panic and anxiety twisted her voice to a higher octave. Brady reasoned with her. “First, the gunshot residue will be on my hands, not yours. Someone entered my home. I defended us. We’ve done nothing wrong.” That his shot had hit its mark would be telling to anyone with common sense. An untrained woman with a gun would have had shots that went wild.
“What about the man who Connor killed?” Susan asked.
“Connor will talk to the police about that,” Brady said.
Susan nodded slowly, her eyes skating to the broken window and the man on the floor. “They just burst through the window.”
“We’re lucky Connor was around.”
Susan folded her arms over her chest appearing calmer. “I know we were. I didn’t know at first what was going on. He’s intense.”
“Connor is an interesting man with an interesting story,” Brady said. He wouldn’t share what little he knew with her or anyone. Connor was a private and territorial man who patrolled his grounds like a gray wolf. Brady had been grateful to be allowed to stay at this cabin.
“I don’t want anything more interesting to happen. I want dull. I want boredom and sleep.” Susan’s voice sounded close to breaking into tears.
She was scared and hurting and Brady wanted to stop it. Until he got to the bottom of Justin’s murder, Susan would suffer. It was a consequence he couldn’t live with.
Chapter 3
Two men had wanted to kill her. Susan wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling as if she was coming apart. Brady and his landlord had each killed someone to protect her.
A small sliver of hope had existed that the fire at her home had been an accident. But an attempted attack in Brady’s cabin underscored that someone wanted her dead.
Would this incident persuade the police they had the wrong suspect in Justin’s murder? Would they look at the men who had been killed and move them to the suspect list? Were they friends of Justin’s? People she knew?
Brady turned on the lights. Connor was outside checking the perimeter for more assailants. What if this wasn’t over? How much more could she take? Worry and sickness swamped her and she collapsed on the bed, afraid her legs wouldn’t hold her.
Brady knelt over the body and glanced at her. “I’m going to take off his mask.” He spoke slowly, offering a warning.
She nodded, but didn’t move from her place on the bed. She didn’t trust her legs to support her and she didn’t want to look at the man dead on the floor.
Brady peeled away the attacker’s mask. “I don’t recognize him.”
Would she? Was he the man who had killed Justin and framed her for the murder? If she saw his face, would it trigger her memories from that night?
“Susan, if you can, look at this guy. You might know him.”
“I can’t,” she said, her empty stomach roiling. If she had anything in it, she’d have been sick.
“I’ll help you.” Brady’s voice was tender and he crossed the room to her. “Take my arm. Don’t lean against me. I have blood on my clothes and I don’t want to get any on you.”
A dead man’s blood on her would give the police another piece of evidence to use against her. At least, for this murder, she had been alert. She could report what had happened and she had two witnesses to support her story. She grasped Brady’s arm and crossed to where the body lay.
She stared at the man’s face. Surprise rippled through her. She didn’t recognize him. A stranger had attempted to kill her. This man might have killed Justin. What reason did he have to do so? “I don’t know him.”
“Look again. Be sure, Susan. This wasn’t a random attack.”
The pressure at her temples was nearly unbearable. The edges of her vision danced. She concentrated on the attacker’s face, imagining what he might look like with a smile or when speaking.
“I don’t know him.” Could someone have hired this man to kill her and Justin? It didn’t make sense. If she didn’t know him, did that mean she hadn’t played a role in Justin’s death? She wanted to believe it was true.
“I don’t know who he was,” Susan said. She grappled for answers. “Maybe he’s on drugs.” Weren’t people on drugs irrationally violent when they needed a fix?
Brady didn’t answer and she looked at him. He was watching her with indecision in his eyes.
“Brady?”
“I don’t want to frighten you any more than you are.”
Fear spread to every inch of her body. “You need to tell me what you think. I can’t be more scared than I am.” Terror was making her quake and turning her insides into slush.
Brady looked at the body and then at her. He let out his breath in a whoosh.
“Brady. Tell me.”
Brady took her arm and they moved a few steps from the body. “His gun isn’t what I’d expect from a street thug. His movements were trained and precise. I think he’s military, former military maybe, possibly Special Forc
es based on his equipment. He was sloppy getting inside the cabin, but this could have been a last-minute operation after they bungled the fire at your house.”
Susan was glad Brady’s bed was behind her. Her legs gave out and she collapsed onto it. She was in grave danger and she had no one to turn to for help. What chance did she stand against Special Forces operatives? She couldn’t expect Brady to keep her safe indefinitely.
Could she count on the police? She didn’t think so. They hadn’t assigned her protection or been worried about where she’d stay after the fire. They were bent on holding her as the prime suspect in Justin’s murder.
“I don’t make enemies, especially not powerful ones who’d want to send military operatives after me. The last person I had an ordeal with was you. And you aren’t behind this.” Her messy history with Brady had been painful, but it hadn’t ended in a way that made her fear him. At least, not fear that he would do bodily harm to her. Her heart? Her heart was another matter.
What reason did someone have to hurt her? “Besides you, I don’t know any Special Forces operatives.” The pained look on his face made her wish she could retract the words. Brady was former Special Forces, a sore point for him.
Brady unmasked the second man in the living room. Susan didn’t recognize him either.
“I need to call the police,” Brady said.
“Okay,” she agreed, knowing he was right. She was aware he was speaking into the phone, but she was unable to focus on his words. She was rooted to the chair. What could she do? Run away? If the men who had killed Justin and tried to kill her were dead, was she safe? Or were more men coming? Where could she hide? She’d been tracked to Brady’s almost immediately. What had Justin been mixed up in?
Brady ended his call and watched her, worry clear on his face.
“What do we do now? If these men killed Justin, could it be over?” she asked.
Brady sat on the floor next to the easy chair, his gun in hand. Why was he holding his gun? “We don’t know if these men killed Justin or why they were after you or even if they were working alone. Until we know the whole story, I don’t know if you’re safe.”
