She went suddenly quiet, her gaze seemingly turned inward. “I…never realized how lucky I was last week, that you were there, behind me, on that road at that moment.”
“I’m just glad I was.”
He meant it. Especially since the other option would probably have been finding her frozen body days or weeks later, if not next spring. And for all her problems, all her confusion, he wouldn’t want to see that.
CHAPTER 10
Brady hated when things nagged at him. Especially when he suspected he was not being completely honest with himself, something he could usually tell by the way his mind skittered away from certain aspects of the problem.
Like when he kept not thinking about the simple fact that Ashley Jordan had mental health issues.
He’d run into her—and he’d swear it was not intentional, but what was he supposed to do when there was only one coffee place in town?—every day this week since Wednesday, and she’d been that charming, witty, together woman every time. It was like that other woman, teetering on the edge, was the product of his imagination, not the other way around.
And yet…the snow tires, the heading through the mountains when she was only supposed to be going into town, the confusion over the doctor’s appointment, the way she’d practically collapsed when confronted with the reminder of her mental state in the person of Dr. Andler, and her family history. And that was only what he personally had encountered. What he’d just discovered now just pounded it all home.
He sat at the computer workstation at the office—their small budget didn’t run to a station at every desk—and stared at the screen. He’d resisted doing the search and had only given in after he’d gotten off duty today because it was a quiet Sunday evening and no one would see him doing it. Why that mattered, when there would be a record of his search on the computer, he wasn’t sure.
Probably, he admitted ruefully, because he’d been afraid he’d find just what he’d found and wasn’t sure how he would react. But apparently all he was capable of was sitting here staring at the incontrovertible evidence. Multiple instances over the last five months, ever since Ashley had come to stay with her mother, that made it clear she was one confused woman. He supposed it was only chance and timing that he hadn’t encountered her personally before that day down the mountain.
She’d been found lost and disoriented by some hikers near the falls. The responding deputy reported that she didn’t know how she’d gotten there. She’d been found a week later walking along the highway a couple of miles from town. Same answer: she didn’t know how she’d gotten there.
Scariest of all was when she’d been cornered by a pair of unpleasant male tourists who’d apparently decided to take sexual advantage of her confusion, until she was spotted by a passing off-duty firefighter who had stepped in.
After that, her mother had realized the seriousness of the situation, and usually she was reported missing before she was found. And as it continued to happen, supplemental reports about her mother’s distraught state started to appear. Whatever polished front she presented as a small-town politician vanished when she was dealing with her daughter’s obvious and steady decline. Somehow that made him like her better. It couldn’t have been easy, being made a single mom by her husband’s suicide. Maybe her brisk exterior was just a defense.
He kept reading, reluctantly because the record was chronicling that decline so clearly. And as the weather changed, cooled toward fall, what had been simple became complex, culminating in her being found in the predawn hours outside city hall, without any jacket or shoes on an early October morning, the day of the first frost of the season. Her story then was that she was waiting for her mother to arrive, that her mother had told her she was on the way.
Her mother, the report said, had been sound asleep at home all night. The officer who’d responded to the house had awakened her.
Ashley had spent the morning at the clinic that time, then was transported to a psychiatric facility for observation. She had been released—after her mother’s tearful intervention and promise to keep her safe—but the incidents continued.
Brady tapped a finger on the table, still staring at the screen. Sometimes having influence isn’t always for the best. Maybe she’d have been better off…locked up somewhere.
He had trouble even thinking it, because the images of the woman he’d seen—the other woman, not the broken, terrified one—kept surfacing in his brain. Her bright, clear eyes, that incredible smile, her quick wit, her way of speaking…how could that woman be mentally crumbling?
But then, maybe that was it. Maybe the woman he’d encountered this week was the upswing side, and the one who’d answered the door two days after the crash was the downswing. Or maybe her problem was some kind of multiple-personality thing. Maybe one side of her was that charmer, and the other side was the…basket case.
He cringed at the phrase.
You just don’t want that to be her. Because for the first time since Liz, you’re actually attracted to a woman. Or are you just attracted to her because she’s…troubled? You become a glutton for punishment, Crenshaw?
Maybe he’d just developed some kind of savior complex.
Does your job run to rescuing everyone?
Her teasing words that had brought on an admission he didn’t usually make played back in his head. Had she, for all her confusion, nailed him that easily?
Maybe he was the one who was confused.
You’re job’s not to save all the birds with a wing down. You’re just supposed to protect this little corner of the world. Maybe you need to take some time to think about who you are—a good cop—and who the hell you’re not—Superman.
But then he thought of the Foxworths. And their dog, supposedly indicating Ashley had a problem. As if he hadn’t already known that. But the Foxworths, who were far from fools, insisted Cutter’s actions indicated the problem was something they—and apparently he, although how he’d ended up in the dog’s calculations he didn’t know—could help fix.
Okay, now you’re believing a dog’s assessment of a situation? Kinda puts your own mental health in question, doesn’t it?
By the time he reached this point, his head was spinning. And on impulse he pulled out his phone and made a call. Sergeant Celeski didn’t hesitate to give him a few days off, but then he shouldn’t; not only were the holidays over, but Brady hadn’t taken a vacation in over three years. And a few minutes after he’d gotten a hearty “Take all the time you need,” he was back in his vehicle, wondering what he’d just done to himself.
At least if he wasn’t patrolling in town every day, he wasn’t going to be running into her.
Nope, just plain running.
He grimaced inwardly at his own self-assessment. He started the motor, despite not knowing where he was going to go. Home? He would, but if he did, there was always something to do to distract him, some repair to be made or maintenance to be done, and he needed to think. Seriously, honestly think. He wasn’t real happy with himself right now, felt like he was heading toward disaster with this whole Ashley Jordan thing, and he needed to get his head straight.
And there was only one place to do that, for him.
The weather had cleared, just as a blazingly brilliant full moon was rising. Moonlight on new snow turned the world silver, and he barely needed the headlights to find his way. The roads were practically deserted on this quiet Sunday night, most of the shops in town closed and most of his people home and safe by now. Celeski always reminded him that when he was off duty, they technically weren’t his people or his problem, but he couldn’t change the way he felt. He loved this place, these people, these mountains, and if somebody was in trouble, it was a gut-level reaction in him to want to help.
But right now, he was the one who needed help. He reached down and snapped off first the radio in the unit, then removed the walkie-talkie and shut it off, too
. If they really needed him for some disaster, enough to call him in from off duty, then they could use his cell. He had things to deal with.
The question of the moment was, why was he feeling so compelled to help someone whose problem was way outside his experience? Simply because she had gorgeous green eyes and a great smile? Was he that shallow?
He tried to focus on the beauty around him as he drove the winding road to the lookout. The unspoiled swaths of pure white snow, the stark relief of the shadows of the trees caused by the silver light that gave everything an unearthly feel—it all should inspire awe, wonder, and yet he was so damned tangled up in his head, he was missing the splendor of it.
When he got to the point of thinking maybe he should call his mother for advice, he burst out laughing at himself. Not that Mom didn’t give good—occasionally great—advice, but he knew perfectly well she’d be on the next plane back if she thought he was as…confused as he was.
Thirty-two years old and running to Mom for advice.
The self-chiding didn’t work, mainly because of that realization that his mother was far from a hovering mother type, and she was smart as a whip.
Okay, maybe he would call her. Later. If he couldn’t work through this on his own. Although he had no idea how he would explain.
Hey, Mom, I’ve gone from a fragile flower to a diagnosed crazy lady. Ain’t that great?
With a great effort, he slammed the door shut on his roiling thoughts and contemplated the landscape as he got closer to the lookout. Last thing he needed was to end up over the side like Ashley had because he wasn’t paying attention. It was above freezing tonight, but sometimes it took the ice on pavement a while to get the message.
He slowed, then parked in his usual spot safely off the road. It was above freezing, but not by a lot, so he grabbed his black knit hat and pulled it on. It was one of his most used pieces of equipment during the fall and winter, and he needed to remind his mother, who had made it for him, of that again. She’d done it with some superwarm fiber, knitted in a lining that doubled the warmth and added subtle flaps that covered his ears without making him look like an overaged skateboarder.
It also had a small red heart knitted into that lining, which she’d told him was because her heart was always with him. It had seemed impossibly corny at the time, but every time he put it on, he thought of that, and it oddly made him more determined to live up to her love and faith.
And reminded him of how lucky he was to still have her in his life.
He got out, his breath sending clouds into the night air. He glanced upward. Miss you, Dad.
He didn’t even need his flashlight, so bright was the moonlight. He walked past the front of the unit toward the narrow, short path that led to his spot, the boulder with the odd shape that was conveniently like a seat, positioned for that view out over the mountains that always brought him peace. It was a fluke, he knew, a happenstance of nature, but sometimes in his more fanciful moods, he wondered if some long-ago denizen of these mountains had carved it out and it had just been smoothed over time. But the origin didn’t matter—what mattered was that he could be alone to think here.
Except…he wasn’t alone.
He saw the person the moment he rounded the big evergreen. Standing on the edge a few feet from his rock, staring not at the incredible view but downward, and shivering in clothes far too lightweight for a night in the mountains in January. Something about the posture, the set of the head, the slight sway of the body, warned him. He’d seen it before, on a different edge, but with the same sway, as if the person were fighting inwardly. That time it had ended well, and he’d grabbed the young veteran in time.
But this was a woman.
His gut knew—and knotted—before his brain accepted the fact.
Ashley.
But then she turned, looked at him, and something else crashed into his mind. Her shirt, that too-light, almost summery shirt, was stained with something dark, in small spots on the right sleeve at the wrist.
And although the moonlight leached out all color, he somehow knew this, too.
Blood.
What the hell had happened now?
CHAPTER 11
“Don’t, Ashley. Please, don’t.”
Until he’d spoken she’d half thought she’d imagined him. Why would he actually be here at this hour, on a Sunday night? She supposed she was gaping at him, but she couldn’t help it.
He took a step toward her. Instinctively she backed a step away, to maintain the distance. She couldn’t seem to think clearly when he was too close, and she needed to think clearly now. He froze, and she belatedly realized that step she’d taken had been toward the edge.
“Why are you here?” she whispered.
“I…needed to think. This is my spot to think.”
As he echoed her own thoughts, something curled oddly inside her. “I know. You told me. So I came here. I needed to think, too.”
“It’s the best spot for it I’ve ever found.”
“I…can see why.”
What she couldn’t see was why she was even talking to him. Because while she had come here to think, she had already reached her conclusion before he’d arrived. After what had happened tonight, she really had no choice left. This simply could not go on.
She could not go on. Not like this.
“Don’t ruin it for me, Ashley.” His voice was so soft, so full of pleading it made her ache inside when she thought she had no room for any more pain. “Don’t make this a place I can’t come to anymore.”
She went still. She hadn’t thought of this, had been so wrapped up in her own internal pain that she hadn’t thought of what this might do to him at all. Which seemed beyond unkind, given that he’d saved her once. Of course, throwing away the life he’d risked his own to save was even worse, she supposed.
Odd how her mind seemed to still work so reasonably, so logically on one level while descending into utter chaos on the other, the one she had to live with every day.
“I…wouldn’t want to do that to you.”
He gave her an odd look. “How did you get here?”
The ordinary question startled her. “I…walked.”
“Nearly a mile? Dressed like that?”
“I…didn’t think to grab a coat.”
“Come get warm in my car.”
In that moment she wanted nothing more, but something held her back, some tug of a decision made, of a conclusion reached…oh yes. That. She had made that decision. It was going to end, all the pain, all the confusion, all the horror at an even worse future barreling down on her.
“No,” she whispered. Because if she did that, she would change her mind. Just being with him now was tempting, so very tempting…
“Then take this.”
He was pulling off his own heavy jacket. He held it out, taking a couple of steps toward her as he did. She’d swear she could feel the warmth of it—his warmth—even from here. And it was irresistible.
She took the jacket. It was much heavier than she’d expected. Insanely—God, how often people threw that word around—she wondered what he had in the pockets. Moving on instinct more than anything, she slipped it over her shoulders. And smelled his scent, that mix of pine and crispness, as if he’d absorbed the scent of this place he loved so much. Then the warmth enveloped her, the heat he’d given her, cousin to the heat he roused in her in very different ways, and she couldn’t help herself—she closed her eyes for a moment.
Only a moment, but it was enough.
She heard him move, heard the faint crunch of the snow in the split second before he was there, beside her, his arms wrapped around her as he pulled her gently back from the edge.
And she found herself saying the only words she could find, the only truth she was sure of in this moment. “I don’t know what to do.”
“It’
s all right. We’ll figure it out, Ashley. Come on.”
It was so soothing, that voice, that deep, solid voice she could almost feel rumbling out of his chest, the broad, strong chest her cheek was pressed against. So soothing she almost believed him, that it was all right, that there was hope for her. But she knew better. Didn’t she? Hadn’t these past few months taught her well enough what was in store for her?
She was vaguely aware they were moving, walking back the way she had come. Vaguely, because all she could really think about was how good it felt to be warm again. Very, very good.
The only thing that felt better was him, and his arms so steadily, strongly around her. And when he urged her into the front seat of his SUV, then left her to get in and turn on the motor and the heater, she missed those arms with an ache she shouldn’t have the capacity to feel right now.
Then he came back around to her side, reached in to adjust the heater vents to blow warm air on her, then leaned in and asked gently, “Where are you hurt?”
“What?” she said, feeling disoriented again.
“There’s blood on your shirt.”
Reality slammed back into her mind with the ferocity of a charging bull. “I…it’s not mine.”
She saw her words register in his sudden, rigid stillness. She knew what she sounded like. Begging. Pleading. And what she—what all of this—looked like. Her out here, like this, blood on her shirt. Blood that wasn’t hers. She was certain she was about to be arrested.
That it was this man, of all men, who would do it seemed, in that moment, the most horrible thing of all.
* * *
Brady was swearing silently, mostly aimed at himself for letting her somehow get a grip on him. If he’d kept her at arm’s length, this would be no different than any other case. Potential suicides weren’t frequent around here—the one he’d remembered while staring at her was only the second one he’d ever handled. The first had been an after the fact, when he’d been left to merely wonder how bad it must have been for the man to eat a shotgun shell and be glad he didn’t have to do the actual cleanup. Sometimes gallows humor was all they had to get through things like that.
Harlequin Romantic Suspense December 2020 Box Set Page 55
