by Geri Krotow
She silently thanked the years of video workouts she’d done as she climbed atop her car and then leaped up to the loading dock, no small feat in capris and sandals. Euphoria began to sing in her veins until she eyed the keypad lock next to the sliding door. Her colleagues had failed to mention this. It must be a new addition.
Still, she was this far. Bella decided to go for it and pressed the main button, hoping that maybe she’d luck out and the door would rise at once. All she got was a “please enter the passcode now” message, given in a disembodied female voice.
“Drat. Drat. Drat.” She muttered as she looked over her notes and emails from her trusted reporter circle. There, in bold letters, was the password that Fred had insisted she write down.
MUSTANG#1
Without hesitation she punched in the code. Hitting Enter, she held her breath. Until the grinding gears engaged and the door rolled up.
Bella hunched to get inside as quickly as possible, and once past the entrance hit the close button, ensuring no one would see the open door and call the police. That’s all she needed, to be caught breaking into the very school she’d been attacked in mere hours earlier.
Darkness immediately surrounded her so she pulled out her Mag-Lite and made her way through to the staff room, behind the stage. There hadn’t been any cars in the front lot where Spencer dropped her, and none back here, so she was comfortable in the thought of being alone. For now.
She still had to be careful. Not that being a journalist didn’t involve a modicum of wariness each day, but this time it felt different. Not only because she was attacked. She was getting herself more embedded than she ever had before, and the stakes were higher, now that she knew Spencer suspected the two pageant murders were related. His belief had been written all over his face.
No one would blame her if she decided to quit.
Never. This was for Gio’s sake.
Light still came through the staff-room windows and allowed her to see what she’d tried to breach before—the antiquated file cabinet. Except something was off. She squinted, tried to deny what she saw. Each and every drawer was open. Rushing to the cabinet, she couldn’t keep her groan from morphing into a cry as she saw all of the drawers had been emptied. If anything had ever been in there at all. Grasping the corners of the rusty metal cabinet, she bowed her head and for the first time since Gio’s funeral allowed herself to weep.
After a good cry, she’d be ready to make an even better plan. No one or nothing was going to keep her from justice for Gio.
* * *
Holden gave Bella Colton credit. The woman was as intrepid as any agent he’d ever met. As much as he wanted to discredit her motives due to her job description, he couldn’t. She wanted something in the school, most likely the staff room, and wasn’t going to let a mere attack get in her way.
He waited to see her disappear through the cargo entrance before he used his fob to enter the building. It’d show up on the security system as him, as the guard, and he’d explain it as having seen the cargo door being opened after hours. If Bella had a key code she might have some kind of legit reason for entering. But if she were entering the school again for a valid reason, why wouldn’t she use the front entrance? His internal radar wasn’t happy with what he’d witnessed. It was time for Bella Colton to answer some questions.
It took him a few minutes to get to the stage, as he had to move quietly. He drew his weapon as a precaution against the attacker returning, not to protect himself from Bella. She was an aggressive reporter but had no criminal record. Once again he thanked his lucky stars for his investigative team at the Bureau and the training he’d received. This case was growing more complicated by the second, as if the evil surrounding it was molten lava seeping into every crack and crevice of Mustang Valley.
An odd sound made him halt backstage, behind the curtain that allowed for undetected passage from stage left to stage right. The sound was from the staff room, he was certain. But he had to get closer, to make sure it was only Bella in there. As he crept along the cinderblock wall, the black curtain to his left, he heard his breathing, his heartbeat. But no more sound from offstage. Had Bella already left?
He cleared the curtain and saw the light pour out of the staff room a.k.a. stage dressing area. A few more steps and he’d put Bella’s journalistic snooping to a quick end.
But when he looked into the room, cleared left and right, it was empty. He stepped inside the open door and saw that the LEAs had done their job—swept for fingerprints, opened all drawers and file systems to rule out explosives, left everything as they’d had to.
The attacker had held an unconscious Bella near the old file cabinet, before he’d dragged her to the side exit and made his escape. Holden holstered his weapon and walked to the cabinet, the dusty behemoth’s four deep drawers wide open.
“Stay right where you are or I’ll spray!”
Female voice, to his rear, dead center. Voice—Bella Colton.
Crap.
Holding up his arms, he spoke. “You’re safe. I’m the security guard.”
“Don’t turn around or reach for your gun. I will take you down. You’re not in uniform.” She paused and he wondered if she was calling the police.
“This is Bella Colton. I want to speak to my bro—”
“Heck no!” He turned and faced her, ready to explain why he was here and find out why the hell she was. “You’re okay, I’m—”
Wet liquid heat hit his face, his eyes, his nostrils and then his mouth. And oh, by the love of heaven, it burned. As if microscopic shards of glass were cutting his face wide open.
Bella Colton had just pepper sprayed him. He, an FBI agent, had been bested by a reporter.
Again.
Chapter 5
Bella watched the security guard, in plain clothes, wince against the sting, while his hand reached into his back pocket. She kept her grip on the spray canister, ready to hit again.
“Hands in front.” But he didn’t pull out another weapon, and his pistol remained holstered. He held out what she thought was his wallet, until it flipped open, displaying a badge and credentials.
“Holden St. Clair, FBI.” His voice was remarkably steady for someone who’d just been hit with burning pepper-oil solution.
“Really.” She leaned forward and grabbed the ID holder from him. It looked real enough. “I’m going to verify this through my brother.” She called Spencer’s cell.
“Go ahead. Tell him you’re with me.”
“Bella, you there?” Spencer’s voice broadcast over her phone’s speakers, from the side table where she’d thrown it when she decided to use the pepper spray. No longer seeing Holden as a threat, she grabbed her phone and turned the speaker off.
Spencer sounded stressed. A twinge of guilt made her feel like the bossy sister he teased her about being.
“Do you know an FBI agent named Holden St. Clair?”
“Maybe. Why are you asking?” Spencer’s voice was guarded.
“I just pepper sprayed him.”
“For crying out loud, Bella, he’s on our side.” Still, Spencer didn’t say how he knew Holden, if he did. Or why.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Put him on the line, Bella.”
Grudgingly she handed her phone to Holden. “He wants to talk to you.”
Holden took her phone and she absently noted she’d have to clean it, so that she didn’t get any pepper oil on her.
“Holden here.” He looked at her but it was short-lived as he squinted his eyes closed again, tears pouring from them.
“Yes, I’m with her. She’s safe. Uh-huh. Yes, it’s true. She did. I’m buying next time. I’ll let you know.” Holden’s one-sided conversation with her brother was impossible to follow, but she thought she heard the roar of Spencer’s deep belly laugh when Holden said Yes, it’s true. Apparent
ly she’d brought down a Goliath with the pepper spray.
“Trust me, Spencer. Thank you.” He handed the phone back to her. She gingerly held it to her ear, careful not to touch it directly on her skin until she cleaned it. Holden’s hands were probably full of pepper oil.
“Yeah?”
“Listen, Bella.” Spencer’s voice was lighter, but still serious. “For once in your life you have to follow everything someone else tells you. Holden is the real deal—we served together.”
“Wait—he’s that friend Holden?” Shock pulsed through her. Spencer had mentioned a Holden, the man who’d saved them both from certain death during one training mission gone wrong. Spencer always spoke with awe when he talked about Holden. “As in your bestie, your army buddy?”
“Yeah.”
She’d just pepper sprayed her brother’s best friend, and a war hero.
Way to begin your investigative journalism career.
“Did you know he was working the pageant? Why didn’t you tell me?” Bella knew her face was red. At least Holden’s eyes were too sore to notice.
“Why didn’t you tell me or Jarvis you were getting involved in the pageant, much less entering it? You don’t tell me a whole heck of a lot about what you’re working on, Bella. You let us think that you’re doing home-decorating stories.” Her brother’s frustration was tangible over the phone’s connection.
“Give me some credit, Spencer. I do more than lifestyle pieces.” Although his comment left a stinging barb. She was doing this article precisely to get away from her current kind of story. But it was secondary to finding clarity on, and maybe even the original triggers for, Gio’s eating disorders and mental illness.
His sigh would have bounced off the walls of the arroyo they played near as kids. “Just listen to whatever Holden says, Bella.”
“Will do. I’ve got to help him out with the pepper spray cleanup, then I’ll turn in for an early evening to binge-watch my favorite shows. All safe and sound.”
“Bella...”
Holden had moved to the staff refrigerator, and she saw his large, strong hand grab a quart of iced tea instead of what she assumed he wanted, the quart of milk next to it. “I’ve got to go now, Spencer. Thanks for verifying Holden’s identity and you have a good evening.”
Bella disconnected and looked around the staff room. No sign of her previous attacker, or anyone else. They were alone, she and Holden. His low groan drew her back to him. The man was in a lot of pain but she supposed he was swallowing most of it, keeping up some stoic front he’d learned in the military and perfected in the FBI.
“Wait, let me help you.” She took the quart of tea from him and handed him a bunch of napkins from the pile on the counter. “You grabbed the iced tea. I think you want milk, am I right? Come here, I’ll fix you right up.”
“Sure you will. Just like you sprayed me?” His words came between pants, indicating the depth of his discomfort. Regret tugged at her but she brushed it aside. Nothing she could do to change the past, but she could help Holden now.
She set the milk on the counter and grasped his forearms and ignored the warmth that emanated from his skin. It had nothing to do with physical attraction or any notion of romantic chemistry. The heat was his reaction to being attacked by a nasty chemical, right in the face.
“Here, kneel down with your back against the counter, and lay your head back on the edge of the sink. I’m going to pour the milk directly on your eyes. You’re going to have to open them.”
“And I should trust you because...” He lowered to the floor, his discomfort obvious but he was for the most part quiet. As much as one can be when tears and mucus were running like an Arizona spring rainstorm. As soon as his head tilted back, she opened the milk.
“Okay, here’s the first dose.” She poured the white liquid over his forehead, eyes, nose, mouth, then dabbed at his face with more napkins. She had no desire to get the oil on her hands. “Now, open your eyes as soon as you feel the milk again. We have to get it on your eyeballs.”
“Got it. Hit me.” His grim expression as he braced himself for the next round was almost comical. She bit her lip.
“This will make it feel better, promise.” She poured directly on the bridge of his nose, and when he lifted his lids she splashed milk into each eye, and he made sure he blinked several times instead of screwing his eyes shut again. “You’ve done this before, Agent St. Clair.”
“There are a lot of things I’ve done before, Bella Colton.”
* * *
“I’m talking about the milk, and pepper spray.” Her hands shook and he didn’t think it was from the weight of the carton. She was the wrong woman during the wrong investigation, or he’d enjoy the thrill of knowing he’d gotten under her skin.
Thank goodness she’d insisted on helping him with the milk. His eyes still hurt but at least it didn’t feel like fire ants were crawling over them and up his nose any longer.
“To answer your question, I’ve had training in countermeasures for everything from pepper spray to chemical warfare. Where did you learn the milk antidote?”
“My brother, of course. Lean back again.” She waited until he was in position and then poured more of the cold elixir on his eyes, his skin. “I made him tell me about everything he learned at the police academy, and he still fills me in about his more interesting cases, as much as he’s able. He doesn’t reveal any confidential material, of course. He had to take tear gas and pepper spray at the police academy. Do you do the same at the FBI Academy?”
“Yes, in Quantico. Virginia. But your brother and I went through a lot of combat training together in the military, and in particular we did the tear-gas training at the same time.” He remembered meeting Spencer and admiring how cool he stayed under high-pressure situations. They’d both gone on to reach US Army captain, before leaving for their respective careers in law enforcement.
“I know where Quantico is. I visited an old boyfriend there once, to see him finish Officer Basic. He was a marine.”
“Uh, I know who else trains at Quantico.” He couldn’t help the tiny dig. “What happened to him?” He hadn’t missed her old-boyfriend reference.
“He deployed overseas for nearly two years. I waited, but by the time he came back we were kaput. Too young to survive that many miles for so long. Plus, I happen to have two very overprotective brothers. No man has gotten past their scrutiny yet.”
Holden shook his head, wiped his face with the paper towels she handed him, letting the last of the milk drip off him and into the sink. He lifted his head, stood up and took ahold of the milk. “Thank you.” He looked at her with a clear gaze for the first time. And saw her brilliant green eyes wide and...aware. Of his every move. Heat roiled in his gut.
Can it. She’s Spencer’s sister.
“No problem.” She threw the empty milk container out, cleaned up the sink. He moved to help but she waved him away. “Are you going to tell me why you’re on assignment here, during the Ms. Mustang Valley Pageant?”
His eyes were calming down and he couldn’t stop his gaze from resting on her. And imagining the direction this conversation would go if they hadn’t met in the middle of a probable serial-killer case, if she wasn’t related to the one man he trusted with his life. He couldn’t give any woman more than today, not after how his ex, Nicole, had burned him. Long-term love wasn’t in his cards.
And Bella Colton was the kind of woman you didn’t mess around with to ease an itch. Bella struck him as a forever woman—either you gave her everything, or didn’t start anything.
Holden knew where that left him.
* * *
Holden’s silence unnerved Bella as she threw the last of the wet paper towels away, the scent of milk still clinging to the staff-room air. But how could she blame him? He’d survived a pepper-spray attack only minutes before yet he was already in control of hims
elf, and clearly demanded control of their discussion. Bella wanted to be annoyed, angry, furious at this stranger who, in some ways, knew her brother better than she did. Yet Holden exuded a sense of realness, a grounded energy she hadn’t experienced with another man. As if he was a man she could truly trust.
Whoa, girl, back it up.
Bella trusted no man besides her brothers. She didn’t know Holden from a hole in an Arizona butte. Just because being alone with an attractive man wasn’t something she’d done in a long while didn’t mean she could let her physical needs dictate her reaction to him.
“Don’t make me ask again, Holden. Please.”
“Tell me why you entered the contest first.” He volleyed the query with complete equanimity. Oh, yeah, Holden St. Clair was a man with his stuff in one sock.
She blinked, ignored the shiver of awareness that was getting too familiar around him. “Why do you think? You heard my interview. I need the scholarship prize.”
“So you said. To go to nursing school. And as much as you just handled my injuries with ease, need I remind you that you inflicted them? I’d think someone who wanted to go into any kind of medicine wouldn’t want to hurt a fly.”
“You were stalking me.”
“I was protecting you from your attacker.”
“Give me a break, Holden. If that’s true, you must have seen me earlier with Spencer. You knew he’d keep me safe. Yet you followed me in here. That’s pretty creepy, if you ask me.” Her hands began to shake and she didn’t have to question why. The mere mention of the attack must be triggering an unconscious memory.
“I was going to call Spencer and tell him that I was concerned about your personal safety. Today, in fact. But I, ah, was waylaid by a person very competent with pepper spray.”
“Wait a minute—my attacker, did you see him again? Around here?” Fear continued to rise in her gut and she tried to squelch it but couldn’t stop the tremor that rolled through her skeleton.
