“I really should let her know I’m all right. She worries so much.”
Brady was pondering offering his own phone when Quinn pulled his out. He noticed now it was a rather distinctive device, with a set of physical buttons across the bottom, including a red one. Quinn pressed one of the others, opened an app, then held it out to Ashley.
“Now untrackable,” he explained.
Both Brady’s and Ashley’s brows lifted in surprise. He knew his own reaction was at the equipment, and his guess about hers was confirmed with her shocked words.
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing, except we need time to assess everything before we do anything that leads anyone straight to you.”
“But…my mother?”
“If she’s reported you missing, she may not have control of what’s done any longer,” Brady explained quietly. Not when Ashley would undoubtedly be reported as an at-risk missing person.
“Oh.” Her voice had gone small again. He couldn’t imagine what it must feel like, to have so totally lost control of your own life.
But she input the number and tapped in a message.
The response was almost instant, and Brady guessed her mother had been anxiously hoping for contact. The exchange went back and forth several times before Ashley rubbed at her forehead as if she had a headache.
“Sign off,” Hayley suggested. “Tell her you’ll be in touch, but for now, stop.”
Ashley looked almost relieved and did so. She handed the phone back to Quinn.
Brady wasn’t sure what made him ask, “Do you mind if we look?”
Ashley looked puzzled but merely shrugged. “Go ahead. You won’t see anything you don’t already know.”
Quinn was already scanning the texts. Without a word he handed the phone to Brady.
Hi, Mom.
OMG, honey, where are you?
Somewhere where I can think. And rest.
Whose phone are you on?
A friend’s.
What friend?
It doesn’t matter, Mom.
You need to come home. You need help.
I’m fine.
Clearly you’re not. Don’t be irrational.
I’m perfectly rational right now. I just need to think.
It will be all right. We’ll just forget about what happened.
What happened?
Just come home now. Dr. Andler is here.
Brady guessed that had brought on the headache.
I will. In a while. I just wanted you to know I’m okay.
The string ended there. Brady frowned at the screen for a moment, thinking. Then he went back to his questions.
“What happened when she got home from the fundraiser? Walk me through it, step by step.”
“She seemed wound up, but she always does after those things. She has to be on all the time, you know, and it’s hard to come down from that. So I offered to fix her something to eat, because she rarely does at such functions. People are always wanting to talk to her, so she barely eats a thing, even at dinner functions.”
There was a familiarity in her tone that made him ask, “You’ve gone to these with her?”
She nodded. “When I first got here, I went to a couple. Before…” She let out a weary sigh. “Before things got too bad.”
Before I got too bad.
He heard what she’d meant as loudly as what she’d said. But he just went on, listening to her describe fixing the salad her mother had requested, slicing tomatoes, chopping onions.
“After she finished, I started to clean up. I was going to run the dishwasher, then remembered I’d left the knife I’d cut everything up with on the counter.” She stopped then. Lowered her gaze. “I’m…not sure how it happened. We must have both reached for the knife at the same time. It was strange, she kind of grabbed at me when I picked it up. She got cut, and I tried to help her. That’s when I got her blood on me. I let go of the knife, of course…but…she acted like…she backed away, just staring at me with this awful expression.”
She let out a long sigh. And suddenly Brady thought he understood. “You think she was afraid.”
“Yes.” She looked up then, and he saw tears welling up again. “She’s been afraid for me, for a while now. But this was the first time I ever realized she was afraid of me.”
“And that,” he said gently, “is what sent you to the lookout tonight? That had you thinking that was the only way out?”
She nodded, and she looked so utterly broken it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms again. He’d always had the need to protect, to help, but he’d never felt anything like this fierce need to comfort. It was so overwhelming he had to stand up for the distance it put between them.
He had to look away from her as he thought, tried to work through his unexpected emotional response to simple facts. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but he was almost grateful when his cell signaled an incoming alert, giving him an excuse to turn and walk away a few steps.
He pulled it out and tapped on the icon for the county alert system. As the app opened, he wondered what could be happening worth a county-wide alert on what should have been a quiet Sunday night.
It was an all-points bulletin. But not one relayed from another agency, as they usually were here. This one had started not only here in this county, but in Hemlock itself. A felony want. Assault with a deadly weapon. One victim, minor injuries.
And he stared as the bulletin scrolled past on the screen.
Her mother’s text had said, We’ll just forget about what happened.
And Ashley had seemed to have no idea what that was referring to.
But this APB was for a knife attack.
And the suspect was Ashley.
CHAPTER 13
Ashley knew something else bad had happened by Brady’s expression when he saw whatever it was that had come across his phone. And then he turned to look at her, and she felt a chill unlike anything she’d felt yet. The Foxworth dog was on his feet in an instant. The animal came back to her and sat, as he had before, at her feet, facing toward the deputy. As if he’d felt the need to put himself between them.
And when she got a better look at the man, at his eyes, she understood why Cutter had moved. Crazy as it seemed, this dog she barely knew was protecting her. Because this was the man bad guys saw, she guessed. Tough, cool, capable and strong enough to do what he had to do.
“What is it?” She hated how quavery her voice was, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Not when he was looking at her like that.
“An APB. All-points bulletin,” he added.
She sighed. “My mother had already reported me missing again before I texted her.”
“Not exactly.”
He took a deep breath, then read what was on his screen aloud. “‘Wanted on suspicion of third-degree assault with a knife, Ashley Jane Jordan, female Caucasian, five two, dark brown and green. Last seen at the scene of the assault, the home of the victim, her mother, Hemlock mayor Alexander. Weapon is in custody, but suspect may still be armed.’”
Suspect may still be armed.
Somehow it was that last sentence that sucked all the breath out of her. That warning of danger. They were warning the people looking for her.
Her.
They were looking for her.
She lifted her gaze to his face, knowing she was probably gaping but unable to care. He’d lifted his gaze from the screen and was looking at her, his expression utterly unreadable to her, his blue eyes frighteningly steady and assessing as he watched her. As if he expected her to…what? Run? Try to escape? Or, more ridiculous, attack him?
Suspect may still be armed.
At least they hadn’t said the old cliché, armed and dangerous. But then she supposed it was implied, if you believed she’d alread
y assaulted someone. Quinn Foxworth had come over to stand beside him, and suddenly Ashley felt very confined.
She felt the creeping advance of panic, but at the same time, she nearly laughed at the absurdity of it; they were ordering everyone to search for her when Deputy Crenshaw already had her practically handcuffed.
Cutter moved then, leaning into her, and she desperately threw her arms around the dog’s neck, hugging him close, seeking, needing that odd sort of comfort he seemed able to give.
After a moment Brady looked back and tapped the phone a couple of times, then held it to his ear. He didn’t bother to walk away, so obviously he didn’t care if she heard.
More likely he just doesn’t want “the suspect” out of his sight.
“This is Crenshaw,” he said into the phone. There was a pause, then, “Yeah, I’m off, but I just copied the APB. I’m familiar with the suspect. What are the circs?”
That’s what she was to him now, obviously. She wondered what they were telling him. Cutter gave a low, sympathetic-sounding whine. And Hayley Foxworth put an arm around her and spoke softly.
“You’re not alone, Ashley. Whatever happens, you’re not alone. We’ll help. It’s what we do.”
Who were these people? They were taking the good Samaritan bit a little far, weren’t they? But more importantly, how on earth had a simple accident ballooned into this? Did the deputies make some crazy assumptions because her mother had reported her missing and had a couple of cuts on her hands? Had they—
He ended the call. Shifted his gaze to her face again as he slipped the phone into his shirt pocket. She saw his jaw was tight again as he walked back and resumed his seat on the table, directly in front of her. When he spoke, his tone was calm, businesslike, and she found that somehow steadying. Which she needed, in light of what he said.
“Your mother reported the assault.”
“She…reported I assaulted her? My mother?”
He nodded. “Claims you came after her with a kitchen knife. That she tried to grab the knife, tried to fight you off, which resulted in her injuries.” He held up a hand when she started to speak. She fell silent, decided he was right, she should hear it all first. “They wanted to go with second degree, which is a class-B felony, but she insisted on third, a class C, saying…you weren’t in your right mind, and you didn’t mean to seriously injure her. Her proof of that was that you dropped the knife and ran when you realized you’d sliced open her arm.”
She’d been wondering what the difference was between class B and C, and wondered how the human race had gotten to the point of needing such classifications when the last thing he’d said registered.
“Sliced her arm? She only had a small cut on one finger from when we both reached for the knife at the same time.”
“So you’re denying you attacked her?”
“Of course I didn’t attack her!”
“Easy,” he said. “I need you to stay calm and think. Is there any way she could interpret what happened as an attack?”
Again she nearly blurted out a denial but reined it in and tried to do as he’d asked—stay calm and think. She ran it through in her mind at least three times before she spoke.
“We both reached for the knife at the same time. I got to it first. I never expected her to try and grab it, like it mattered who put it in the dishwasher. So I kind of jumped, and that’s when her hand got nicked. So there’s no way I can see she should have thought that.”
There was a moment’s silent pause before he said quietly, “Unless it was already in her mind for some reason.”
She was feeling even more bewildered now. “But why would it be?”
For the first time, he hesitated. He even shifted his gaze down to Cutter, making her realize just how tightly she was clinging to the dog, who had made no effort to move and made no sound of complaint. Still, she eased up a little. And the dog swiped the tip of his tongue over her hand. It was unexpectedly comforting, as everything about this dog was.
“Why would it be?” she repeated, and he lifted his gaze back to her face.
“Because, according to your mother…your father went the same way.”
A brutal chill swept over her. The memory, that memory, of the discussion she’d not been meant to overhear. Her father’s—and now her—psychiatrist sadly advising her mother that his violent tendencies and fantasies were worsening, and that her father was having great trouble dealing with them. The very idea of her gentle, loving father having any kind of violent ideas had seemed insane to her, even at her young age.
But he had been insane.
And whatever mental or genetic glitch he had had, she had it, too.
But… “I didn’t,” she whispered. “I didn’t cut her, not like that.”
“She was taken to the clinic for multiple stitches.” He said it almost sadly.
Nausea seized her, violent and sudden. “Bathroom,” she barely managed to get out. Instantly Hayley was on her feet and leading her out of the room. She barely made it, and the waves of upheaval continued to grip her long after her stomach was empty.
* * *
“She’s terrified,” Quinn said.
“I know.” Brady also knew he would never in his life forget the memory of her face.
Brady was still staring down the hallway where the two women—and the dog, glued to her even now—had gone. He tried to shake off the queasy feeling he himself had developed at her expression of pure horror. Whatever her illness was, she knew where it was going. And she was appalled by it. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it must feel like. Going deaf or blind would be awful, but there were ways to compensate. How did you compensate for losing reality?
“What was wrong with her father?”
Brady shrugged. “There, I’ll have to show my ignorance. One of those combinations of three different mental disorders, with names I can’t remember or pronounce, from manic this to dissociative that, from what I was able to find. Apparently his suicide wasn’t a surprise to anyone.”
“Except maybe her,” Quinn said softly, also looking down the hall.
“Eight years old,” Brady said, shaking his head. “And now thinking she’s going the same way…”
“It’s amazing she’s functional at all, let alone so normal seeming.”
He nodded. “I just can’t believe…” He stopped himself, knowing what he should have said was I don’t want to believe.
“What do you want to do?” Quinn asked.
“Go back to two weeks ago?” he suggested sourly.
“If only,” Quinn said, but with humor.
“I know what I’m bound to do,” he said reluctantly. Cuff her, take her in, turn her over to the system.
“But that isn’t always what you should do,” Quinn said, in the tone of one who had had to make this kind of decision.
Cutter appeared out of the hallway. He walked over to his master—Brady had the odd thought that a dog like this would have no master except by choice—and sat, looking up at him.
“I know, boy,” Quinn said quietly.
“That ‘fix it’ look you talk about?”
“Yes.”
“And just how are you, or any of us, supposed to fix this?”
“That,” Quinn said with a long-suffering grimace, “is for us less clever humans to figure out.”
Brady grimaced in turn. “Great.”
Quinn turned to look at him. “You’re the only one of us who has seen her on a downswing. How bad was it?”
“Bad,” he said grimly, describing the time he’d gone to her mother’s house, and then her crumbling at the coffee shop.
“Could that have been the pain meds they put her on after the crash?”
“I thought—” hoped “—it might be. But this, tonight…she was going to jump. I could feel it.”
“I beli
eve you. Cutter made it clear it was urgent we get there.” Brady looked down at the dog again. Cutter met and held his gaze as if Brady were some stubborn sheep. “Hayley agrees she meant to jump. Because she didn’t even bring her purse.”
He looked back at Quinn. “Her purse? Seriously? I mean, I know they always carry them around. Never understood why.”
Quinn’s mouth quirked. “I suggest you don’t question Hayley about that, unless you want a full lecture on the lack of pockets in much of women’s clothing.”
Brady studied the other man for a moment. “You were a Ranger, Dunbar said.”
“Yes.”
“And your parents were killed by a terrorist bombing.”
“Yes.”
“A couple of very large doses of reality.”
Quinn smiled. “So why am I doing something so unreal as putting such faith in the instincts of a dog?”
“Exactly that,” Brady said, looking back at Quinn. A pair of steady eyes looked back at him. “You’re saying he’s never been wrong?”
“He’s never been wrong.”
CHAPTER 14
“We’re what?” Ashley looked at Brady blankly as she sat up on the couch in the large great room, where she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep. She didn’t know how long ago.
“Staying here for a while.”
She stared up at him. She’d expected him to take her into custody—had in fact thought of herself as in custody since he’d shown up. Expected him to drag her back to town at any moment, had even been grateful he’d allowed her to sleep for a while first.
But he hadn’t done it.
She knew he couldn’t possibly believe her, not when her mental state was so clearly deteriorating. And yet…her memories of last night, of what had happened with the knife, were so vivid, so clear. As clear as her mind had always been before the fog-inducing meds.
She had never understood why people on those medications for mental conditions would stop taking them when they were the only thing keeping their illness at bay. How many times had her mother told her that if her father had started taking them sooner, he might have been saved? But she understood now. She’d do almost anything to stay out of that fog. Except without those meds, it seemed she conjured up innocent explanations for what she’d apparently done. Or severely distorted what had actually happened.
Harlequin Romantic Suspense December 2020 Box Set Page 57
