by Lisa Childs
Rae tossed the monitor down on the bed and rushed toward the door. When she pulled it open, Forrest was already in the hallway. She ran to him. “Don’t go!”
He tensed. “What?”
“I heard the call—on the monitor,” she said. “It’s a trick.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“The killer—whoever he is—wants you not to work the murder cases,” she reminded him. “This is how they’re going to get rid of you.” And her father was either going to help or do it himself. “Please don’t go!”
She threw her arms around him, clinging to him, like she’d clung to her father when he’d headed out the door all those years ago. “Please...” Sobs cracked her voice.
As if he was in pain, Forrest grimaced. “I’m sorry, Rae. I have to.”
She shook her head. “No, you don’t. You can send someone else.”
He shook his head now. “No. I won’t put anyone else in danger.”
“Then you know it’s a trap,” she said.
“I know it’s my best chance of catching your father and finding the killer,” he said. “I have to take it.”
Her father had said something similar—whatever game he’d been leaving to play had been his best chance at changing their fortunes, at helping them.
“I’m doing it for you,” Forrest said. “And for Connor.”
She shuddered. “I didn’t think you were anything like him,” she said. “But you are. If you really cared about me and Connor, you wouldn’t go. You wouldn’t leave us.”
“You’re safe here,” Forrest assured her.
“But you’re not,” she said. “You’re rushing right into danger.”
“That’s my job,” he reminded her. “It’s what I do.”
She pointed toward his bad leg. “It’s what nearly got you killed. Is it worth it?”
“To stop killers and protect innocent people?” he asked. “Of course it’s worth it.” He pulled away from her then and headed toward the stairs, his limp even more pronounced than it usually was.
She couldn’t help but think it would be the last time that she saw him. That he wouldn’t come back to her.
Words burned in the back of her throat.
I love you.
She wanted to tell him. But would he stop? Would he believe her?
Would he care?
Despite his limp, he was already down the stairs. Then the door opened and closed as he left, taking her opportunity with him. She’d missed her chance to tell him how she felt about him. Would she have another opportunity?
Would she ever see him again?
* * *
His cell phone vibrated across his bedside table, and beside him in bed, Bellamy murmured in protest of the interruption of her sleep. She needed her rest.
So Donovan grabbed the phone and rushed out of the room. But when he stared down at the screen, he saw that he had two calls coming in at the same time.
Forrest and Rae.
Weren’t they together?
What the hell was going on?
He hit a button and connected first with Forrest. “What—”
“Get out to the Lemmon house,” Forrest ordered him.
“Is that why Rae’s calling me, too?” Donovan asked. “Is she in danger?”
“No, she’s at the ranch.”
“Ranch?”
“Our ranch,” Forrest said. “With Mom and Dad. She’s safe.”
Donovan’s blood chilled. “But you’re not.”
And that was why Rae was calling him.
“I’m meeting her father there,” Forrest said. “He’s the one who ran me off the road and assaulted Officer Baker.”
Donovan cursed. “That son of a bitch—”
“He’s working for the real killer,” Forrest said.
“Who—”
“He doesn’t know,” Forrest said. “That’s why he’s lured him back to Rae’s—to find out.”
It sounded more like he was luring Forrest there. “It’s not safe,” Donovan said.
He’d left his clothes and gun in the bedroom. But as much as he didn’t want to wake Bellamy, he didn’t want to lose his brother either. He had almost lost him once already. He rushed back in to grab his jeans and his holstered weapon.
“Wait for me,” he said.
“I’m already here,” Forrest said.
Before Donovan could say anything else, his brother disconnected the call. He’d gone in alone—without backup—just like the day he’d nearly died.
And Donovan couldn’t help but think that this time Forrest might not make it.
Chapter 24
Forrest had a flashback to that day he’d walked into a warehouse to meet a potential witness and gunfire had erupted. He had nearly died that day.
The witness’s call to meet had been a trap. This probably was, too. Just like Rae and Donovan had warned him.
But it was a risk he had to take if he wanted to make sure the nightmare for Rae and Connor ended, if he wanted to make sure they were safe. And they meant more to him than his own life.
He had to do this, had to take this risk.
He shut off the headlights as he approached her driveway. Even with the lights off, he didn’t turn into the drive. Instead he parked his car on the side of the rural road. Before opening the driver’s door, he pulled the fuse for the dome light. From that other trap, he’d learned not to announce his arrival.
And to be prepared. He drew his weapon. He’d been meant to die that day, but his shooter had been the one to die instead. He’d thought his life had ended then, too. But now he knew differently. He knew there was so much more to living than work. There was family.
He had a wonderful one.
But he wanted another one.
He wanted a family with Rae and Connor. The only way he’d have a chance of that, though, was to make sure they were no longer in danger.
To do that, he had to put himself in danger first. But would Rae forgive him for leaving after she had begged him to stay?
The only way he’d find out was if he survived this meeting. So he clasped his gun tightly in his hand as he headed toward the house. It was dark—all of the lights were off and the nursery window was boarded up.
Instead of walking down the driveway to the front porch, Forrest slipped around the back. The ground was uneven, causing him to stumble and nearly fall.
He swallowed a curse, not over the pain shooting up his bad leg but over the noise he might have made. He didn’t want to alert anyone to his presence. Yet.
Was it just Beau here?
Or was the killer here, too?
Or were they one and the same?
He hoped not, because Beau knew this property too damn well. He’d already hidden on it too many times, with the police being unable to find him.
How would Forrest?
He knew one place where Beau kept turning up—at the grave he’d admitted to digging up. He’d turned up there to attack the young officer and to attack Forrest.
Forrest’s head still pounded from the blow Beau had dealt him. If he returned to the site, he risked getting hurt worse. But it was a risk he had to take—for Rae and Connor.
Keeping to the shadows at the side of the house, Forrest headed around it, to the back. He flinched with every rustle of grass beneath his feet and every twig snapping under the heels of his boots. But then something drowned out the faint noises of his walking: an engine.
One revved in the driveway before tires squealed, and the noise grew fainter as the vehicle drove away. Had he been too late?
Had they already left?
Maybe Donovan had put in a call for backup, and like Beau had warned him, the killer had access to police dispatch. He cursed.
Another curse echoed hi
s. But faintly.
Someone hadn’t left. Someone else was hiding somewhere in the darkness.
Then a groan followed that curse, and Forrest pinpointed the direction of the sound. Just as he’d suspected, it came from the crime scene.
He rushed forward and noticed that the yellow tape no longer fluttered between two of those poles. It had snapped and now lay on the ground in two pieces. He stepped closer, his foot sinking into the loose soil. Then he peered into the hole.
And like he had twice before, he found another body. The first light of dawn illuminated the swollen face of the older man.
“Beau,” Forrest called out.
“He’s gone,” the older man murmured. “You were too late.”
Forrest scrambled down into the hole with him. As he did, he holstered his weapon and reached for his phone. “I’ll get help...”
But Beau reached out and clasped his hand around the phone. “No.”
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m dying,” he said, his voice just a husky rasp.
As the light grew, Forrest could see the marks around his neck, too. He’d been strangled like the other victims.
“You can survive this,” Forrest assured him.
Beau used his other hand to gesture toward his chest and to the end of the pipe sticking out between his ribs.
Forrest flinched and cursed. The pain had to be intolerable. And the strength of the killer...
“Who is he?” Forrest asked. “Who did this to you?”
Beau shook his head. “No.”
“You saw him,” Forrest said. “You had to see him.”
“I did,” Beau acknowledged. “But I made a deal.”
“A deal with a killer?” His killer—because Beau was right. He was dying. There was no way he could survive with the blood gurgling out around the pipe shoved deep within his body. Not even if Forrest called for help.
“He won’t hurt Rae and the baby if I don’t say who he is.”
“And you trust him?” Forrest asked.
Beau just stared up at him.
“You trust him?” Forrest repeated.
Then he realized that Beau couldn’t see him or hear him anymore. He was gone.
But Forrest wasn’t alone. Dirt sifted down into the hole as someone approached it, and a dark shadow fell across him and the dead man.
He’d thought the killer had left, but maybe when he’d seen Forrest’s SUV parked on the road, he’d circled back to finish off him like he’d done Beau.
He reached for his holster to draw his weapon. But another gun already cocked. And he had no doubt it was aimed at his head. He wouldn’t be able to shoot his way out of this trap, like he had his last one.
* * *
After Forrest had left, Rae hadn’t even tried to sleep. She’d known it would be no use—not with Forrest out there, alone. No. He wasn’t alone.
When Donovan had returned her missed call, he’d been on his way to her house to meet Forrest. But Forrest had left long before he had. He would have already been there. He would have already walked into whatever trap her father had set for him.
Tears stung her eyes, and she stared down at Connor with blurred vision. She cradled the sleeping baby as she rocked in the chair she’d found in the nursery. Probably the same chair in which Josephine Colton had rocked all of her children.
How could her father be such a monster? How could he have threatened her and Connor and tried to kill officers of the law? And the man she loved.
Of course he didn’t know she’d fallen for Forrest Colton. Forrest didn’t know either. She should have told him when the words had been burning the back of her throat.
She should have told him then, because now she might never get the chance to tell him that she loved him. She blinked and focused on Connor.
Forrest was so good with him, so gentle, like he was with her. He was a good man.
That was why he’d insisted on leaving, on putting his life in danger. Because he was a good man, intent on taking care of everyone else before himself.
The one person he’d thought would take care of him had taken off when he’d needed her most. Rae couldn’t understand how the woman he’d loved could have abandoned him. She couldn’t understand how anyone could abandon him.
She should have chased him down the stairs, should have insisted on going along with him. Maybe her father wouldn’t have hurt him if she’d been present. But knowing how protective Forrest was, she knew he wouldn’t have allowed it. He would never willingly put her in danger.
Just himself.
It was his job.
Could she live with that, if he lived? Could she live with his putting himself in danger over and over again? Because every time he left the house for his job, he might wind up leaving her forever.
That was why she’d chosen not to wait for a man to start her family. Her dating history had proved to her that she had her mother’s luck with choosing men; she picked ones who couldn’t commit for life.
Forrest Colton had no problem with committing. His problem was that he was committed most to his job. His dangerous job. And that commitment might have gotten him killed.
He’d been gone so long. He’d left when it was dark, and now the sun had risen, pouring light and warmth into the already-sunny yellow nursery.
She’d heard footsteps earlier. People moving around the house—probably Forrest’s parents. How worried were they? How did they handle all of their children being in dangerous professions?
How would she handle it if Connor someday chose a high-risk career?
She gazed down at him with such awe, wondering what kind of man he would become. He had her father’s genes in him. Would that make him a gambler? And selfish?
But he had her mother’s and hers as well, so maybe he would be kind and generous and hardworking. What he needed, she realized now, was a strong male role model.
A man like Forrest.
Who put other people’s safety before his own. It was noble. For him.
But so damn hard on those who loved him, like she did.
The doorbell pealed, the bell a faint tinkle this far from the front door. The nursery faced the front of the house, where the driveway was.
Lifting Connor, she carried him to the window and peered out. An SUV was parked on the driveway, with lights fastened to the roof of it. An officer stood beside the driver’s door, while the passenger’s door was already open.
Forrest wouldn’t have rung the bell for his own house. The visitor had to be someone else—the chief, no doubt.
Wouldn’t he be the one who made the notification when one of his officers was killed in the line of duty?
Was that what he’d come here to do—notify Forrest’s parents that he was gone?
* * *
This was the worst damn part of his job. The chief hated making notifications. Hell, he shouldn’t even be doing this one. He’d been asked not to, but he figured she had a right to know as soon as possible...in case she wanted to see his body before they took him away.
When the door opened, it was Hays who stood in front of him. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and he looked tense with worry. “Archer, it’s early for a visit.”
Hays was a rancher; he’d probably been up for a while. It wasn’t the hour he was questioning, but it was the purpose.
“I’m here to see Ms. Lemmon,” he told his old friend.
Hays sucked in a breath. Then, his jaw taut, he asked, “About my son?”
Archer furrowed his brow with confusion. “Forrest wanted to do this himself.” And now he understood why; the single mom was more than someone the detective was protecting. She was important to him.
When she rushed down the steps to greet him, it was clear from the fear on her face that Forrest was important to her, too.
“Is he all right?” she asked. Tears already streamed down her face with the emotion overwhelming her. “Is he?”
Were her tears for her father, though, or for Forrest? Archer wasn’t sure now who she was upset about.
But he began his notification as he always did, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
And a small scream slipped through her lips as she slipped to the floor. Hays was there, with his arm around her, lifting her back up, letting her lean against him. The Coltons were good people, important people in Whisperwood.
But that wasn’t why the chief felt so damn bad about being here. He felt bad for Rae Lemmon. The young woman had already lost so much.
“Your father, Beau Lemmon, died earlier this morning,” Archer continued.
Rae gasped again. “My father?”
“Yes, you were aware that he’d returned to town.” At least that was what Forrest had told him.
She jerked her chin in a sharp nod. “Yes, he was the one threatening me and my son.”
Hays tightened his arm around her. “I’m sorry, honey,” he murmured.
“And Forrest,” she continued. “He tried to kill Forrest.” Her voice cracked. “How is he?”
She was obviously afraid that she’d lost him, too. She wasn’t the only one who was afraid of that. Archer wondered himself.
Chapter 25
Forrest had been gone too long. He knew it. But he’d wanted to make sure he—and the crime-scene techs—didn’t miss a single clue that might lead them to the killer of the women and of Beau Lemmon.
He hoped like hell they would find some DNA, something that would lead them to the real monster. Beau Lemmon hadn’t been a monster. He’d just been—as Rae had once said—flawed.
How was she?
She hadn’t returned to her house with the chief like he’d thought she might. But then, after what had happened at her house, would she ever want to come home to it?
He didn’t want her to—he didn’t want her here, where so many terrible things had happened. Hell, he could have died here himself when Beau had struck him over the head, and just a few hours ago when that gun had cocked.
