“Looking for this?” he asked and picked my phone up off the counter where I’d placed it. “There’s no one you can call. I’m a police officer. Remember?”
I eased out of the kitchen and into the front of the bakery. The best chance I had was to make it to the open front door.
“I wouldn’t go any farther.” His grin widened. “I locked the front door and turned your OPEN sign around.”
I glanced helplessly at the door and saw not only was it locked and the sign turned but the snow outside blew so hard that no one would be out and about to see me even with the front of the bakery lit brightly from my lights.
“Why’d you do it?” I had to ask as I kept slowly backing away from him. Maybe I could make it to the ladies’ room and lock myself in.
“Now, I told you I didn’t do anything. In fact, what happened was you discovered your brother actually did it. You were so distraught that you slit your wrists.”
I swallowed hard when his gaze moved predatorily to my wrists. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a hunting knife. He unfolded it.
“It seems my knife is sharper than yours.”
I calculated how far I had to dash to the bathroom. It was still far away. If I dashed too quickly he would be on me. I took another step back.
There was a pounding on the front door that scared me so I screamed. The distraction was enough for Officer Strickland to grab me. “Drop your knife,” he whispered in my ear as his knife point cut through my clothes and nicked my skin. I did as I was told.
“You can’t get away with this,” I said. Isn’t that what they said in every television show with a bad guy? It worked, didn’t it?
He chuckled in my ear. “I already have.”
The knock at the door grew louder and Officer Emry pressed his skinny face up against the front glass window of the bakery and waved his hands. “Hey, Strickland, open the door. Someone just ran into your squad car.”
“Open the door,” he said, his knife at my back, his free hand filled with my apron strings. “Keep your mouth shut or Emry will be the next to die.”
“You can’t kill everyone.”
“I didn’t kill Emry—you did.”
I glanced at him.
“I’m an officer of the law. I caught you murdering Emry in cold blood. Then I took you down—you put up a fight. I had to stop you.”
“Hey, Strickland.” Officer Emry banged harder on the door. “It’s cold out here. Let me in.”
“Let him in.”
I took a deep breath and unlocked the door. Officer Emry stood shivering. His police-issue coat covered in swirling snow. His cheeks were bright red and the tip of his skinny nose was blue. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he pushed his way inside. “It’s about time. It’s like twenty below.” He went straight to the still-warm coffeepot. “Storming like heck out there.” He poured himself coffee. “So glad I saw your light on.”
I didn’t move from my position near the front door. Officer Strickland’s knife poked me in the back. The sting of it reminded me to keep my mouth shut.
“What are you doing out this way?” Strickland asked. His voice was deep and chilling near my ear. He poked me to take a step forward.
I stubbornly kept my position near the door. He shoved the knife deeper. I gasped at the pain of it and instinctively stepped forward.
Emry sipped his coffee. “Oh, right. Someone’s hit your squad car,” Emry said. “I noticed it as I drove by. Looks like you were sideswiped.”
“What!” Strickland dug his fist into my apron strings as if squeezing me would fix things.
“I know, right?” Emry said. “There are skid marks and the driver’s-side door is crushed in. Go check it out.”
Strickland mustered something dark. “I haven’t been in here that long.”
“Must have happened right before I rounded the corner from Locust to Main. I didn’t catch the car or I would have stopped them.” He sipped more coffee and made a face. “This tastes burnt. You should make fresh.”
“I’ll get right on that.” I stepped toward the coffeepot, fully intent on running out the back. But Strickland’s fist in my apron held me back.
Officer Emry didn’t even notice the tussle going on in front of him. He poured creamer into his cup. “Blaylock’s going to be pissed. He doesn’t have the budget to get a new car.”
“I’ll tell him you saw it and failed to get the make and model.”
“Oh, oh, now, that’s not . . . that’s not right,” Emry stuttered. His Adam’s apple bobbed and his motions became jerky.
“Who do you think he’s going to believe? Me or you?”
“Ms. Holmes will back me up, won’t you?” His voice cracked and the question ended on a high pleading note.
“Sure. In fact, why don’t you call the chief right now?”
Strickland poked me hard. This time I could feel blood running down my back in a warm stream. I gasped.
“Even better, why don’t you go out and see if you can find the sideswiper,” Strickland said. “They can’t have gone that far.”
“The snow’s blowing too hard to follow any tracks.” As if on cue a large snowplow blew by, throwing snow against the windows. We all turned at the sound.
As much as I didn’t like Officer Emry, I really didn’t want to see him killed and I certainly didn’t want to be blamed for his murder. To be honest, there were people who might actually believe I did it. Not because I’m the murderous type, but because they all know how much Officer Emry’s bumbling ways get on my nerves.
“I bet the car left paint on the side of the squad car,” I said. “Why don’t you go out and see if you can at least figure out what color the car was.” I waved my hand toward the door.
“Good idea,” Officer Emry said. “How much do I owe you for the bad coffee?”
“It’s old so you don’t owe me anything,” I said as Strickland twisted his fist in my apron. How was it that Officer Emry didn’t notice that Strickland stayed behind me the entire time? Or the fact that I hadn’t moved more than two feet since I’d unlocked the door?
“Oh, now, I have to pay you something,” he said. “I’m on duty and I don’t want anyone to think I was taking bribes.” His gaze was on Strickland as if afraid he’d tell Blaylock I’d given Emry coffee.
I rolled my eyes. “Shouldn’t you go out and check out the paint color? I mean, the car that swiped the squad car might actually be close by.”
“Why, are you trying to get rid of me?” He snickered at his own joke.
“Yes,” I answered. Strickland pushed on the knife and I gasped. “I’m trying to get rid of everyone. It’s twenty minutes past closing time,” I said quickly. “You both should get going so I can lock up.” I widened my eyes and moved them back and forth looking from him to the door and back, but Emry wasn’t taking the hint.
“I’ve had enough of this,” Strickland growled near my ear. He turned the lock in the front door of the bakery, bolting us inside.
“What? Why did you do that?” Emry’s eyebrows veed.
“Run! Out the back, quick!” I shouted.
I should never have used the word quick. It made Emry freeze.
“What?”
Strickland brought the knife up to my neck, pulling me back against him. “Hands in the air or I will slice her throat.” The knife was sharp against my skin. For a brief moment I wondered if he had the strength to actually slit my throat.
Instinctively I reached up to pull his arm away from me. The man was strong. I wasn’t able to move his arm at all. Once I realized how stuck I was, I kept my gaze on Officer Emry. He reacted to the situation by dropping the coffee cup. It bounced against the floor tiles, spilling coffee everywhere and ending up rolling under a table.
Emry fumbled for his gun.
“I said hands up!” Strickla
nd said and pressed harder against my neck. The pain of it made my eyes water.
Emry stopped and slowly put his hands in the air. I knew then that I was the only one who could save me now. I’d done it before. I could do it again. What was that acronym? SING?
I took a quick inventory. My hands and feet were free. Even if he stabbed me, the chances of his hitting an artery were lower than the chances of him slitting my throat if I stayed here. So I let go of him, fisted my left hand, covered it with my right, bent my elbow, and shoved it as hard as I could into his gut. The knife sliced my skin as he grunted and bent.
I ran. I had already plotted my means of escape. I moved without thought, pushing past Officer Emry through the kitchen and out the back door. The cold wind tore at my bare skin and snow drilled into my eyes as I ran and ran. Terror fueled me as my black athletic shoes ate up the distance. I hit the end of the alley and went out into Central Street, tearing past Main.
I have no idea where I was headed. Suddenly the bright lights of a pickup truck blinded me as it turned in front of me. I paused long enough to shield my eyes. The pickup pulled close and rolled down the passenger-side window.
“Toni, get in!”
I grabbed the handle, conscious of how my cold hands had lost most of their grip. The door was opened from the inside and I leapt inside, slamming it shut. “Go, go!”
“Where am I going?” Sam’s voice penetrated my panic. “Holy Moses, Toni, you’re bleeding! What happened?” He unwound his scarf, folded it, and pressed it on my neck. “Hold it there and put pressure on it.”
He must have seen how terrified I was because his words were forceful enough to reach through my panic. He locked the doors and made a U-turn in the middle of snowy Central Avenue. He stopped at the red light long enough to reach over and pull my seat belt into place. Then he turned the heat up high, blasting it at me.
“Drive, go!” My voice was rough. I didn’t have to say it again; he slammed on the gas pedal and we fishtailed through the light and barreled down Central.
“I’m taking you to the emergency room.”
His words barely penetrated my fear as my teeth chattered and my muscles shook uncontrollably. I think he cursed. Next thing I knew he’d tucked his coat around me. How he did this and kept driving, I have no idea. Personally I had my right foot pressed into the floorboard as if I could press the gas pedal and push us faster down the road.
He slowed just enough to bump up and over the snowbank that blocked in the emergency room drive. The next thing I knew he’d slammed his driver’s-side door closed, opened my side, unbuckled my seat belt, and gathered me into his arms. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the heavy thud of his heart.
“I have you, you’re safe,” he said over and over, and I believed him.
“What’s this?” Shawna Daniels asked as Sam carried me to the back.
“She’s bleeding and frozen.” Sam put me on the patient bed. I grabbed his hand as he pulled back.
“Don’t let go.” Tears poured down my face.
“I’m right here.” He patted my hand. His coat was replaced by a warming blanket. The scarf was gently pulled off.
Shawna addressed me looking into my eyes. “Follow my finger.” She moved it side to side and up and down. “Good. We need to get your clothes off to see where else you’re hurt. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said through chattering teeth.
I watched as she shooed Sam out. I made a protesting sound and they both assured me he was just outside the curtain. The soft pink curtain with tiny rosebuds on it was pulled closed and the two women carefully but efficiently undressed me and tsked at the shallow stab wounds on my back.
“What happened?” Shawna asked. “You’ve got several wounds in your back. I’m going to clean them out and then put in a few stitches. They aren’t dangerously deep, but I imagine they are painful.”
I nodded and let the tears flow.
“Okay, it’s okay. You’re safe now.” They put in an IV and warm fluid slowly trickled into my veins. They had me hug my knees as they worked silently on my back. Then they carefully pressed me back. Lying on the cleaned wounds stung.
“I know,” Shawna said at my gasp. “But we need to get stitches in this cut on your neck. There is a painkiller in your IV. You should start to feel warm and sleepy. I’m going to numb your neck and then get you cleaned and stitched up. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said and closed my eyes. “It was Officer Strickland.”
“What?”
“Officer Strickland tried to kill me.” My voice wobbled and tears squeezed from my closed eyes. “I managed to get away, but Officer Emry—” I opened my eyes and pushed to sit up in a rush.
Both women pressed me back. “Shhh,” Shawna said. “It’s okay.”
I closed my eyes. “He’s in danger,” I said. “Officer Emry he was there. Strickland told me he would kill us both and pin the murders on me.”
“Shh,” Shawna said. “He can’t do that now. You got away.”
I turned my face away and she gently pressed me back straight.
“You have to hold still while I work. Okay?”
I have no idea what was in the IV, but I woke up and Sam was holding my hand. The nurses were nowhere to be seen. “Hi.”
“Well, hello there,” Sam said. “How are you feeling?”
“Thirsty,” I said, my voice hoarse.
“Shawna said you would be. Here, have some ice chips.” He fed me a spoon of crushed ice from a paper cup.
I closed my eyes as the cool ice soothed my throat.
“Chief Blaylock and Calvin Bright are here. They want to talk with you. Do you feel up to it?”
“Officer Emry?”
“He’s fine. Whatever you did gave him enough time to draw his gun.” Sam’s dark gaze warmed me. “He may seem bumbling, but in a pinch he comes through.”
“He got Strickland?”
“Yes, he did,” Sam said and patted my hand. “You’re safe.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” I closed my eyes.
“Hey,” he said and patted my hand. “They need your story. Okay?”
“Yes.”
“Then there’s a crowd outside waiting to see you,” Sam said. “Shawna gave me special permission to be with you.” He leaned down close to my face and whispered. “I told her we were dating.” Then he planted a kiss on my forehead. “I’m going to get Blaylock now. Okay?”
“Okay.”
The interview was short as they already had Officer Emry’s report. Strickland was currently in the county jail on charges of kidnapping and battery. He was not talking and had asked for a lawyer. This time it wasn’t Brad who had to run to the rescue.
My wounds were photographed and carefully cataloged by a female crime scene specialist. My story taken over and over until my head throbbed. Shawna chased everyone out of the curtained section of the emergency room.
“Your family’s here to take you home. Are you okay with going home? I can keep you overnight for observation if you need to rest.”
I smiled at her. “Thanks, but it would be good to be home.”
“The CSI took your clothes, so Brad had your cousin Mindy bring some clothes from home. Sam Greenbaum barely left your side.” She smiled as she checked my bandages and took out the IV. “You have a good man there.”
“I know,” I said.
Mindy came in and helped me dress. She kept saying, “Oh, honey.” Over and over. She had a better view of my wounds than I did. All I knew was that I was on some pretty strong painkillers and suspected that I would wake up in the morning feeling as if I’d been hit by a truck.
I was ushered into a wheelchair and taken out to the waiting area. My family and friends were there—Grandma Ruth, Bill, Tasha, Kip, Tim, Brad, Mindy, and Sam.
“The sisters and Rich wanted to be here
,” Tim said and took my hand. “But the storm closed the roads and airport.”
“It’s okay.” I shrugged. “It’s only a few stitches this time.”
“Twenty stitches in your neck,” Tasha told me. “They promise that you won’t be able to tell once it heals.”
I reached up to feel the bandages that were wrapped around my entire neck. “He wanted to cut my throat.”
“He did,” Tim said with anger in his tone. “The bastard barely missed your artery.”
“Let’s go home,” Grandma said. I noticed that she’d left her scooter at home and instead used a cane and Bill’s arm to walk out with me.
The sky was gray, but it was clearly daytime. The ER drive had been plowed.
“How long was I in there?” I asked Mindy as Tim brought the car around. It’d been pitch-black out when I’d rushed out of the bakery.
“Twelve hours,” Mindy said.
“Wait—the bakery . . .”
“Meghan said not to worry; she has everything covered,” Sam said and helped me from the wheelchair into Tim’s car. “Doctor’s orders are for you to rest for the next two days. Then it’s Christmas, so you need to forget about work for now. It will keep.”
I blew out a long breath as he tucked a blanket around me and buckled me into the seat. He planted a kiss on my lips and closed my door.
Tim drove. Mindy sat in the front passenger seat. Tasha sat in the back with me, Kip riding beside her. “You gave us quite a scare.”
“Are you okay, Auntie Toni?” Kip asked as he ran a Matchbox car along his thigh and over his knee.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I said.
“She needs to rest.” Tasha patted my hand. “But she’s smart, and remember, she and Mommy know how to defend ourselves.”
“Like in Tae Kwon Do,” Kip said. “You said I could learn self-defense when school starts again.”
“Yes, I did,” Tasha said. “And I meant it.” She patted Kip’s head and he pushed away from her.
“You’re free, Tim, right?” I asked. “After this they have to be able to prove Officer Strickland was the one framing you. He must have killed Harold.”
Flourless to Stop Him Page 26
