by Bonnie Vanak
With a last look around the kitchen, he left.
Quinn sipped her tea. Hard to watch movies when she didn’t remember what she enjoyed.
Taking a nap might help.
She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Dreams danced in her head, a cruel-faced, dark-haired man turning as he bent over Tia.
“You’re next,” he whispered.
She awoke in a start. Sweat dampened the mattress beneath her. Quinn released the fistful of sheet she’d grabbed in her sleep.
Her nostrils twitched as she smelled peppermint, sharp and sweet, as if someone munched on strong breath mints. Odd.
And then she heard it.
A slight, but audible cough, coming from inside her closet. Bone-chilling fear curdled in her stomach. Quinn gripped the sheets tighter.
Someone was in her closet. Hiding. Watching her through the slats as she slept...
Waiting to pounce on her.
Don’t be a sissy. There’s nothing there. Remember West’s security cameras? No one can break inside, not without the security cameras recording it.
Still, she wondered if she had imagined that cough. Was her mind that muzzy still?
Only one way to find out. Quinn opened the door.
Nothing.
With a shaky laugh, she pushed the curls out of her face. Now she was imagining monsters hiding in her closet. What was next, checking under the bed?
She padded into the kitchen for another cup of tea. Hunger grumbled in her stomach, reminding her she’d skipped lunch at the barbecue.
After heating and eating leftover pasta, she felt restless again. Caged. The killer was out there, and no one had an idea who it was. But her brother and West agreed on one thing. The man would be gone by now, knowing police were searching for him.
It had been a long day. Suddenly she felt an urgent need to get out, get free, explore. There was a cozy, cute-looking bar she’d noticed earlier. It looked safe and friendly, a neighborhood bar where one could grab a sandwich and a beer. Nothing pretentious.
Surely West couldn’t force her to stay here all day and night while he worked. She wasn’t a child.
Walking over to the window, she looked down at Main Street. A throng of pedestrians hurried along the sidewalk. So normal. Ordinary.
Safe.
Now that flashes of her memory had returned, she needed to be around other people, hear the laughter of good times, the animated chatter of interesting conversation. Find out what happened to this town.
Find out what happened to her sister, Demi.
And in doing so, find out where she stood in the midst of it. Answers wouldn’t come knocking at her door.
Quinn looked through the closet, found a cute coral-pink sweater with glass beads and slid it on.
After grabbing her keys and a purse with some money, Quinn checked her appearance in the hallway mirror. Eyes too big for her face, a few cuts and big purple bruises on her cheek and neck.
I look like I’ve been in a bar fight.
She found makeup in the bathroom, touched up the bruises, lessening their impact. West liked her without cosmetics. He wasn’t here.
Well, it was dark. Maybe no one would notice. Then again, the entire town seemed to know what had happened to her, so what did it matter? She donned a lightweight jacket and took her keys and then locked the apartment.
West ordered her not to leave, but a walk in the fresh air would clear her head, maybe lift this horrid fog. It was barely dark, the streetlamps blazed and no one would dare stalk her in the busy downtown area.
After locking the downstairs shop door behind her, she emerged out onto the sidewalk. The night was cool, crisp air blowing from the west. Quinn jammed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, enjoying the feel of the breeze against her heated cheeks. Streetlights illuminated the sidewalk, circular pools of protection from the dark.
Red Ridge was a cozy small town where everyone knew each other. The cards and letters penned in crayon offering her good wishes and a speedy recovery had led her to believe the townspeople cared about what happened to her.
Maybe she didn’t know her own history in Red Ridge, but the support she’d received while hospitalized showed her that she had a history. A good one.
Her short heels clicking on the sidewalk, she passed several storefronts, all dark now that night had fallen. Quinn hurried along. The streets were deserted, as if everyone had abandoned downtown when the lights came on. Only a group of people two blocks away were mingling in front of the bar she’d seen earlier.
As she started to walk faster, wishing her legs were longer and could eat up space like West’s stride did, Quinn felt a prick of unease. Shadows dappled the sidewalks, and not even a car passed by on the street.
The bar seemed closer. She walked faster, but her body was still healing and felt sore, too sore to move quickly.
Footsteps echoed behind her. Quinn’s heart galloped.
Probably nothing. Another pedestrian trying to get home, or out to dinner...
The steps came quicker. Harder. More forceful. Glancing over her shoulder, not stopping, she made a mental note of the person following.
A man, sticking to the shadows close to the shops, wearing a heavy coat and hat. Hard to make out his face. She drew in a lungful of air and stumbled.
The smells assaulted her memory. Cigar smoke wreathing a man’s head as he smoked, his gaze hard in the dimly lit room...the office stank of it.
The smoker was Tia’s killer.
And he was right behind her.
Panic iced her veins, but Quinn forced herself to keep walking briskly. It could be an innocent man. But he followed her too closely.
An alleyway lurked to her right, shadowed and long. A perfect place to pull someone in for an attack.
I may be short, but I can pack a punch.
The memory burst back like a firecracker. She knew self-defense, knew how to free herself from danger.
Defending herself had caught West’s attention. He’d always dismissed her as a frail, fragile female in need of protection.
The first time she’d thrown him to the ground had caught him off guard, sputtering in anger and surprise. Then he’d laughed.
And since, he’d taught her a few more moves certain to aid her in danger.
Krav Maga self-defense. It was all about energy, realizing how your attacker came at you. Just as she’d been taught to turn into a curve when her car swerved to one side, Quinn remembered to use her own energy against this assailant.
Just as she increased her pace, she felt him move.
He grabbed her mouth, and wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. The man began dragging her toward the alley.
“Don’t scream,” he muttered. “I’ll kill you.”
The hell with that. She had her left arm free and he couldn’t use both arms to restrain her. Use the attacker’s energy. Step with him.
Quinn curled her thumb tight to her right fist, knowing her left, weak wrist was almost useless. Stab at the face as a distraction. Turn your body in the direction he’s pulling you instead of fighting the force.
She brought her right fist up, using her thumb like a knife, and jabbed at her assailant’s face. A howl of pain ensued and the arm left her mouth.
Quinn pulled free and ran, screaming and screaming. Not “Help,” as her instincts urged, but “Fire!”
People were more likely to respond to a scream of fire than a cry for help.
The group chattering and laughing far down the street stopped, turned. Quinn ran toward them, zigging and zagging, screaming and screaming.
Winded, her side aching, her wrist throbbing from where she’d jerked it away from her attacker, she wheezed and bent over, too worn to go on. And then people were coming toward her, shouts of alarm and concern, and lights shining,
blessed, strong lights cutting through the dark that covered men who grabbed women in the night and dragged them away to harm them.
Quinn sank to her knees, wrapping her arms around her stomach. “Call...9-1-1. I—I’ve been attacked.”
A woman crouched down, rubbed her back. Questions asked. Was she hurt? Did she need an ambulance? But all Quinn could do was tremble and gulp down air, blessed air. That arm around her throat, the hand cutting off her scream, her flow of oxygen...
Someone helped her to stand and led her over to a park bench in front of a storefront. She collapsed onto the wood seat, moaning and rocking back and forth.
Was any place safe from her attacker? Who wanted her dead?
Someone must have seen, or heard, that she’d remembered elements of the person who’d blown up Tia. Someone clearly wanted to remain anonymous and saw Quinn as a threat.
A liability to be eliminated.
Wailing sirens cut through the air, lights flashing, making her close her eyes and wish she were still back in her apartment, away from men who wanted to hurt her. The EMTs arrived, checked her over and took her pulse. Quinn waved them away. “I’m okay.”
And then West was there, strong, capable West. He knelt down and looked at her, his expression taut with worry. Rex trotted up to her, licked her face.
Quinn fisted her hands to hide their shaking.
No matter what he thought of her role with her sister, West cared about her.
But he was FBI and he needed information, needed to know about her attacker. Quinn gripped his arm. “He was taller than me, about six inches.”
West gestured to the detective hovering nearby, who started writing in his notebook.
“What else, Quinn? Did you see his face?” West asked.
“No, he grabbed me from behind. He wore boots, I think. The heels clicked on the pavement, but they were heavy, thudding like cowboy boots. Wool coat or something scratchy, I felt it against my neck and cheek. Cigar smoke. It smelled like burned coffee. Disgusting. I smelled it before he grabbed me. He choked me, dragged me off. I was so scared, but I remembered the moves you taught me...”
Babbling now, she talked too fast.
Gently, he cupped her face. “Quinn, honey, slow down. It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
Shaking, she fell into his arms. He held her tight, stroking her hair. “You’re safe now,” he repeated, and a hard note entered his voice. “That bastard is not getting to you again. I promise. No matter what it takes, you’ll be safe.”
She clung to him in sheer desperation. West promised to keep her safe from her attacker. But every day she felt herself slipping further away from the life she’d known and loved.
Every day, she walked closer to danger, toward a killer who would leave no witnesses behind this time.
Her life was eroding away before her eyes, and she didn’t know how to stop it.
Chapter 13
Enough of this.
One attempt on Quinn’s life was too many. And now with the attack, West felt certain Tia’s killer would try again soon as she was alone.
Outside Finn Colton’s office the following morning, West paced with restless energy. Right now her business partner was Quinn-sitting until West got home. He refused to take chances and leave her alone.
Taking Quinn away meant she’d be safe. He planned to stick to her constantly and take her to visit Pine Paradise. With Tia’s death, the cabins were empty and the property in dispute with Tia’s heirs.
If he took Quinn there, perhaps it would jar her into remembering.
The door opened and Finn Colton gestured. “Come in, Brand.”
Once inside, Colton pointed to one of two chairs set before the desk. “Sit.”
I’m not my dog. But he sat, hands folded on his lap, waiting. Watching.
What the hell did Colton know? Did Quinn and Demi’s cousin, the police chief of Red Ridge, hide knowledge of Demi’s whereabouts?
His boss, Mike, thought as much. The Coltons in town were thick, she’d told him. But after living in Red Ridge for more than a month, he knew better. Rusty Colton barely spoke to his offspring and Rusty was considered the lowlife in town. Finn Colton might be related to Demi, but the man had honor.
He studied the desktop. Clean, neat, photos in frames. Not too many. Files piled to one side, pencil cup holding several pens and pencils. An American flag standing beside the credenza behind the desk.
Colton’s office was functional, no real hint of the steely personality.
Colton might be his temporary boss, but when it came to Quinn’s personal welfare, West had decided he was in charge. And he would not tolerate interference.
“I need three days off. I’m taking Quinn out of town.” West tightened his jaw. “She’s not safe here and unless she’s with me 24/7, she’s in danger. Whoever attacked her will try again, and this time, he won’t stop until he finishes the job.”
“Let me talk some sense into you.” Colton began to walk around. Brand knew the maneuver, had done it several times himself.
Circled the subject, tossed him off guard, made him sweat, wonder what your next move was.
Moved so he couldn’t read your expression. Power play.
Colton stopped. “Let’s say you do take Quinn away to protect her. In the meantime, you’re not doing your job. You’re a top-notch field investigator, Brand. You came highly recommended by your district supervisor. That means for every day you have away from the crime scene, away from the office, protecting my cousin, it’s another day the killer has to slip further away.”
He’d already prepared for that question.
“Jogging her memory so Quinn remembers everything is pertinent. She’s our only witness. Last night’s attack caused her to remember the unsub smoked cigars that smelled like burned coffee and spice. Details like that are critical.”
Finn said nothing, only kept pacing. Finally he stopped, turned.
“I need to know exactly where you’re headed. Name, contact information.”
Fair enough. “A friend owns a cabin in the canyon, near Pine Paradise Cabins. Secluded, ingress and egress limited from the main road. And there’s an electric fence around the property.” West did not smile. “Problems with poachers on the land.”
Colton’s mouth thinned. “This isn’t a field trip merely to hide Quinn. You’re going to take a second look at Pine Paradise while you’re there. We already checked out the property. You think it’s worth a second look?”
“Yes. A much more thorough look.” He watched his boss, saw Colton mentally size up the idea.
“You don’t have a search warrant. I could get you a bench warrant, but there’s no need.” Colton considered. “I’ll talk to the attorney handling the estate, who gave us the keys to the cabins, have it on the QT that you’re headed there and get you the keys.”
The rigid tension gripping him eased a little. “Do any of her relatives know why the sale to the Larson brothers went south?”
“They didn’t even know Tia was selling the property. Tia had two brothers, both Realtors in Colorado. They’d planned to stay there for a week in September and do some fishing.” Finn considered. “The property’s been in the family for generations. They were shocked she even considered selling. Her grandfather left it to her in his will because she spent all her summers there growing up.”
And yet Tia was willing to sell it for a fast buck. Tia kept secrets of her own, it seemed. “How well did the Larsons and Tia get along? Other than romantically?”
Finn walked over to the desk, leaned against it. “Not well. They were competitors in a sense. Maybe why Noel Larson started dating her, figured he’d marry the competition. But Tia was too smart for that. I didn’t know her well, only her reputation. She was a shark.”
A shark in a pool infested with bigger sharks.
/> The phone on the desk rang. Finn picked it up. “Send him in.”
West raised his brows.
“I asked Shane Colton to join us.” Finn folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve asked him to check deeper into Tia’s history and talk with her clients and contacts. That angle you mentioned the other day about Pine Paradise is all we have to go on for motive right now.”
Shane came in, sat in the chair near West. “I got more dirt on Tia Linwicki.”
They waited.
“She wasn’t selling Pine Paradise for two million,” Shane told him. “She wanted to sell it for two million. The Larsons told her they’d give her three.”
Stunned, West reeled back in his chair. “They offered more money than the asking price?”
“Too much. The land is valuable, but not that valuable. Cabins need updating, renovating.” Shane drummed his fingers on the armrest.
West’s mind clicked over the new facts. Too much money for a real estate transaction meant one thing. “The Larsons needed to dump cash and quick. Money laundering.”
Shane and Finn exchanged glances. “Yeah,” Shane said. “Except we can’t prove it. They may have even wanted the place for cooking heroin. Cabins are off the beaten path, no one would investigate. They could renovate, say they were remodeling and close the place down for a long time.”
“Or instead of cooking heroin, they could want to make bombs for another attack. It’s secluded and remote, and no one would know. No nosy neighbors to make inquiries.” West leaned back in his chair.
The tentacles of the investigation got longer. West thought in patterns, because human behavior could be quite predictable. An unsub’s motivations, methodology tied to the victim of the crime not in straight lines. More like building blocks intersecting. And at the foundation was a crime organization run by twin brothers no one had managed to pin anything on.
Yet.
Finn frowned. “If something shady is going on at Pine Paradise, you shouldn’t investigate on your own, Brand. I’ll send backup with you.”
“No. Too many people will jar Quinn.” He gave his boss a level look. “I’m taking her to Pine Paradise to see if she can remember anything. Being in Red Ridge hasn’t worked. Going back to a place she loved to stay may work.”
