Presumed Dead (Love Inspired Suspense)

by Angela Ruth Strong

  “Holly,” he whispered as he rose. He motioned for her to follow him.

  The game room stood empty now, which could be good or it could be bad. Good because he didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. Bad because being in a public place might have kept them from getting hurt.

  He scanned the area for a bomb. But a bomb wouldn’t warrant cutting phone lines. If there was really someone trying to kill Holly, the goal would be to get to Holly before she could get help.

  She joined him. “What—”

  He held a finger to her lips.

  She frowned at him, then scanned the empty room. “What are we doing?” she whispered this time.

  He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t see the fear his words would cause. He’d be better off keeping his eyes open for the enemy. “The phone lines are down. We’re going to get you back to your room, where you can call the police.” As long as her room line still worked.

  Holly’s hands reached for his arm as she trailed after him. Fingernails dug through the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “You think someone still wants to kill me?”

  That was what he’d been trying to tell her. Maybe now she would listen. He pressed her back into the wall beside the front door. He’d check their surroundings first, before they charged into the open.

  She froze in place as he gripped the doorknob. Her fingers refused to let him go. That was fine. He wasn’t going far.

  He cracked the door open, squinting as the sinking sun momentarily blinded him. It was a gorgeous and peaceful day. Maybe he was being paranoid.

  Pop.

  Wood splintered next to his face from a slug.

  He slammed the door closed. Twisted the flimsy little lock.

  “What happened? What are you doing?”

  Thankfully, the thick, log walls would keep out any more bullets. But the windows wouldn’t. They couldn’t keep people out, either.

  Preston pried Holly’s fingers off his arm. “Down. Crawl. Back to the computer room.”

  “Why? I don’t under—”

  Glass shattered from the window frame and tinkled to the tile floor.

  Holly crouched and took off over the shards, toward the other side of the building. Preston followed.

  The enemy wasn’t holding back. An enemy that wanted Holly dead so badly they were willing to take out Preston in the process. Hopefully, there was only one shooter. And hopefully, whoever it was hadn’t realized that the game room also included a computer room with internet access.

  “Are those bullets? Are we being shot at?” she yelled back over her shoulder.

  “Yes.” He slammed the door to the smaller room and barricaded it with a chair under the knob. “Get online and contact the police. I’m going to keep the shooter away from you.”

  Holly logged in to the internet from a kneeling position. “I don’t think it’s Denise anymore,” she said, trying to use logic to make sense of a life-and-death situation.

  No. This was not a crime of passion. This was a premeditated attack. “I don’t think so, either.”

  “911. What is your emergency?” The voice echoed over computer speakers.

  “We are being shot at.”

  We? Did she just say “we”? Preston craned his neck around to send her a warning look.

  Holly covered her mouth, eyes wide.

  “Have you been shot?” the voice asked.

  “No. No. The door is locked. I’m inside the computer room at Cedar Glen Lodge.”

  “Police are on their way. Has anyone been shot?”

  Preston splayed his hands as if he could feel the handcuffs. Unless Holly did some quick damage control, he’d soon be wearing them soon.

  Or he’d be dead.

  The door vibrated as a body slammed into the other side.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Holly’s heart thumped as loudly as the thudding on the other side of the door. Would the chair keep the shooter out? As if having the same thought, Preston pressed his body against the door, as well.

  Help, Lord. Maybe she should help. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, making her limbs feel strong and shaky at the same time. She dashed toward the door to keep the enemy out.

  “Miss? Has anyone been shot?”

  Oh, the emergency operator. She darted back. “No.”

  The door bulged again.

  Holly’s heart jumped. Would the enemy bust through? Would this be her last moment on Earth? Would her parents have to mourn her death the way they’d all mourned Preston? Her heart ached for them.

  Preston anchored his shoulder against the wood. He pushed his feet against the ground. His red face scrunched with exertion.

  Another bulge. The chair underneath the knob crashed to the ground. Space between door and frame grew larger.

  Holly charged. Together they could push the door closed.

  The barrel of a gun appeared, followed by a hand.

  She dug her toes into the floor harder. Leaned forward. Reached for the door to smash the shooter’s arm with the strength of her momentum. Almost there.

  “Get down,” Preston shouted.

  Holly ducked, but kept on going. She could slam the door closed from the bottom as well as she could from the top.

  Pop.

  Her arm flew backward. Her ears rung like a firework had exploded in her face. She blinked, trying to figure out if she’d made it to the door or not.

  Someone called her name in the distance. Tile rushed up to meet her. She reached to catch herself, but the moment her left hand touched the ground, a searing pain shot up her biceps. Or was that her triceps? The pain grew to overtake both areas.

  Had she been shot?

  Blood dripped down to her fingers. Her blood. She sank to the ground, feeling nothing but the mangling of her flesh. It radiated through her whole body. Made her dizzy.

  Had Preston been shot, too? The weight of her eyelids pulled her eyes closed, so she couldn’t find him. She tried to call for him but heard nothing except the low wail of sirens.

  Police. Would law enforcement make it in time? Would she be okay? Would Preston?

  Lord, please keep Preston safe.

  * * *

  Preston watched in horror as Holly sank to the ground. She’d been hit. It looked like a flesh wound. But still. He was there to keep her safe, and he’d failed.

  With renewed strength, Preston pulled away from the door to ram his whole body back harder. The gun knocked against the wall. He’d caught the shooter’s arm. Good. Now the man couldn’t aim anymore. To keep him there, Preston would have to wait for police to arrive, and he’d be caught as well, but at least Holly would be safe from whoever was trying to kill her.

  Oh, God, don’t let this guy get away.

  Sirens rang in the distance. About time.

  The gun thrashed in the shooter’s hand as the man realized he was about to be caught. Preston pressed harder to keep the owner pinned in place.

  The hand stilled. Was he giving up?

  The door arched, sending Preston stumbling away. He reestablished his balance and charged back into position. The door slammed tightly into the doorframe. He’d given the man enough time to pull his arm out.

  Preston’s heart constricted. Not only had he let Holly get shot, but he’d let the shooter escape. He held his position until footsteps crunched over broken glass on their way out the front door. Then he lowered himself next to Holly and brushed a wisp of pale hair off her clammy forehead.

  Sirens grew louder. Tires screeched. She’d be in good hands. Though the shooter had gotten away. Unless he chased the man down himself. Preston probably knew the area better than police.

  “I’m sorry, Holly,” he apologized quietly before sprinting out the door.

  * * *

  Darkness. Heaviness. Throbbing. Voices.

  Holly opened her eyes. She was alive. In the computer room and surrounded by emergency workers. Where was Preston?

  Her heart lurched. She used her good arm to press herself to a seated positio
n and scanned the room. “Where is he?”

  An EMT pushed her chest back toward the floor. She twisted out of his grip.

  Officer Shaw strode over. “He got away for now, Miss Fontaine, but we’ll find him.”

  They’d find Preston? Oh no. The policeman was talking about the shooter. Preston must have escaped before police arrived. He was okay.

  She sank to the floor. Thank You, Jesus.

  “Hold still, ma’am. I need to clean your wound.” The EMT adjusted her arm with gloved hands and dabbed at the gash with some kind of cold liquid.

  Holly gritted her teeth as the stinging increased. At least it looked better than it felt.

  Shaw focused on her. “Glad you survived another attack. That was some quick thinking, using the internet to call for help.”

  Holly closed her eyes. She wouldn’t have survived if not for Preston. Where had he gone? Would she ever see him again?

  “So you propped the chair underneath the door and held off the gunman by yourself?”

  Holly’s eyes flew open. She hated dishonesty, and she wouldn’t lie. She’d made that her policy from the very beginning of her law practice. But she’d also told Preston she would keep his existence a secret. What now, Lord? Her gaze zeroed in on a Bible most likely left at the lodge by the Gideons. That had to be a sign. God would want her to tell the truth.

  “I wasn’t alone.”

  Shaw followed her line of sight. “God was with you?” He harrumphed, then made a note in his notepad. “If there is a God who answers prayer, you’re certainly keeping Him busy today.”

  Holly almost laughed. She’d been about to give Preston all the credit for rescuing her, but the policeman had thought she was talking about God. Maybe she should have been. God was the one who’d answered her prayers. He was the one who’d orchestrated events so Preston had seen the bomb being planted in her cabin earlier that day. God must have known this was going to happen back when they were kids. He’d brought them together to support each other.

  Preston’s friendship and commitment had gotten her through a lot. Like when she’d lost the freestyle race at the state swim meet. And when she hadn’t gotten the scholarship to Stanford. And when she’d found out her best friend from high school had cancer. He’d been the one to suggest the polar plunge fund-raiser that had paid off Alexandria’s medical bills from chemo.

  Had she ever been there for him like that? He’d always been so strong and capable. But now he wasn’t. He was nonexistent. And since she was the only one who knew he was still alive, she was the one who could offer him help.

  The EMT dabbed her arm with gauze. “It’s just a graze. I’ll use some butterfly bandages to hold the wound together.”

  Holly cringed. She’d fainted over a mere scratch? At least she wouldn’t have to go to the hospital and she could get her hands on a computer sooner to research Operation Desert Hope. Something bugged her about the online story she’d looked up. Something told her to look deeper. She just couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “Here, ma’am. I think this will help.”

  Holly waved away the pill and water cup. She just wanted these people to track down the bad guy and leave her alone. She had work to do. And she couldn’t do it with a fuzzy brain.

  Officer Shaw bit at a nail. “Miss Fontaine, this has to be very scary for you. Until the person who did this is apprehended, I’m going to guard you around the clock.”

  Holly squeaked. And not just from the way the EMT pinched her skin together. She wanted the police to find out who was trying to kill her so she could move on with her life. Move on with helping Preston get his life back. She needed Shaw to leave so she could do that.

  “How long do you think that will take?”

  Officer Shaw studied her. “You’ve got somewhere else you need to be?”

  The irony. On what was supposed to be the biggest weekend of her life, she had nowhere to go and nobody who would miss her. “All I have is canceled plans.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Fontaine. This wasn’t my plan for the weekend, either.”

  “Shaw.” A short, redheaded woman in a business suit entered the overcrowded computer room carrying a clipboard. “We checked Brooks’s alibi. He was down at the yacht club the whole time.”

  They still suspected Caleb? He could have been the voice on the phone, but since he’d never really loved her, having her cancel their wedding shouldn’t have been that big a deal. Preston hadn’t even suspected him. At least it was one more name they could cross off their list.

  “It wasn’t Brooks,” Shaw stated. “Deputy Young saw the perp sneaking out a back window but lost him in the woods. Caucasian. Six feet, one hundred and eighty pounds. Tan with medium-blond hair and a camouflage hoodie. Knows the area really well, too. Put out an APB.”

  Holly gasped. Shaw had described Preston. He was after the wrong man.

  * * *

  Preston watched from up the mountain as the sun set and lights flicked on in the cabins below. He wiped sweat from his brow when an ambulance pulled away without Holly. She must be okay, but his stomach still churned at the idea she’d gotten hurt under his care. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. She’d be better off with police protection. The same officer who’d been at the bombing now walked her across the commons to her cabin. Looked like he planned to personally guard her.

  From now on, Preston would keep a safe distance as he watched for the shooter to return. The man had disappeared before Preston could follow him, but that wouldn’t happen again.

  If only they’d found a lead in Holly’s work files. Maybe the police department would have better results than he’d had.

  Cop cars pulled away from the scene of the crime one by one. A couple plainclothes detectives stuck around to record evidence. Had Holly been able to keep his existence a secret this time around?

  Preston shook his head to free himself from the fear of being discovered. The more pressing issue would be to discover whoever was trying to hurt her.

  Was he right in believing the shooter to be related to a client from her past? Or was it just a random psychopath? Or perhaps he should look into Denise Amador as Holly had suggested. The other woman could have hired a hit man. That could have been her on the phone with the bomber.

  Preston rubbed his temples. Time to sneak down to Holly’s cabin and wait outside a window for a chance to talk to her. He’d make sure she was okay after the bullet wound. And then he’d say goodbye. No matter how well they worked together or how good it was to see her again, his presence only complicated the situation.

  After driving the old Chevy down the mountain and parking on the street, Preston made his way to Holly’s cabin. He hated having to leave her, and he hated how much he hated having to leave her.

  He crouched down to avoid detection as he neared Cottage 19. He peeked through a window to find Officer Shaw in front of the television and Holly on the phone. Probably talking to her mom.

  It had been years since Preston had talked to his own mom. The emptiness he’d once been used to now overwhelmed him like a tidal wave. Being with Holly, being known, had been a sip of water to a man in the desert. It wet his tongue, but made him realize how parched his throat had become. How would he survive if he had to head back out into the desert again?

  Holly hung up. Spoke to Shaw. Turned toward the bathroom.

  This was Preston’s chance. He crept toward the light that flicked on through a frosted pane, swallowed down emotions and tapped on the glass.

  Running water stopped. He tapped again. The sill trembled as she unlocked the window. It slid open silently.

  Holly’s face appeared. She squinted into the dark. “Preston? Oh, I prayed—”

  He held a finger to his lips and pointed to the showerhead. She nodded, then disappeared for a moment. Pipes squeaked as the rush of water resumed. Now they could talk without being overheard.

  She leaned toward him, her short blond hair illuminated like a halo from behind. “I’m so glad y
ou’re okay, but I have to tell you, I don’t think I can keep your secret much longer. I almost revealed your existence to Officer Shaw earlier. And my mom knows something’s up.”

  He’d requested she not tell police about him, but he hadn’t figured in Holly’s connection with her mother. And if Mrs. Fontaine found out, she would never be able to refrain from spilling it to Preston’s mom.

  “I know it’s difficult. That’s why I have to disappear.”

  “What?” Too loud.

  He held a finger to his lips again and tensed, waiting for Officer Shaw to come charging through the door. Sure enough. Footsteps.

  “Miss Fontaine? Everything all right?”

  Her glare told Preston she wanted to say no. “Yes, thank you,” she answered anyway.

  “Good. I’m going to step outside to call my wife, but don’t worry, I’m not going far.”

  “Okay.”

  They waited for his footsteps to fade.

  Holly rested a forearm on the sill to lower herself enough to look Preston straight in the eye. “You told me you would stick around until you knew I was okay.”

  He sighed. This wasn’t an easy choice, and she wasn’t making it easier. “You’re safer with police, Holly. As much as I want to protect you, I’m just one man.”

  “Officer Shaw is just one man.”

  “He has a gun. And backup. You could have been killed today.”

  She searched his eyes through the steam floating from the shower. “When will I see you again?”

  He started to shrug, but the gesture fell flat. This wasn’t something he could shrug off. “After I figure out who sabotaged the helicopters.”

  She leaned forward. Did she want to kiss him goodbye? Like the last time he’d said goodbye? It had been different when he’d left for his tour overseas. They’d had hope for a future together. A kiss now would break through the walls that kept his heart from hurting. And yet the touch of her lips to his might be what brought healing and kept him going. It had been so long since he’d made any good memories.

  Her hands clamped down on his shoulders. She leaned all her weight into him. Definitely not the most natural position for a goodbye kiss. He rocked forward.