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He had to.
Setting her jaw and tamping down her fears, Jessica hauled in her sleeping bag, a pillow, a backpack, her empty thermos, and a single bottle of water, which, along with half a bag of jerky and a banana that was turning brown, would be her dinner. She eyed the living room, searching for any kind of hiding spot. There was a vent in the back corner of the firebox that allowed for the dropping of ashes and intake of air when opened. That would work for the items she wanted to keep safe but wouldn’t need handy and also act as a decoy if the house were ransacked. In that little niche, she’d hide one set of fake identification documents, the ones she’d used in Denver. But that little hidey-hole wasn’t enough, so she looked for other spots and decided her best bet was to pull off a section of the baseboard, tear out a hole in the wood wall, then replace the board. It was where she’d hide the other ID and money she wanted to stash. She spent the next hour at a spot at the edge of a built-in bookcase. Once she’d whittled out an area large enough, she stuffed her valuables inside and replaced the baseboard.
She thought of her weapons—a small switchblade that fit in her palm she’d keep with her, hidden inside the padding of her bra during the day and
up her sleeve at night, and a gun. She’d carry it as well, in her SUV, under the seat, and at night, tucked beneath her head on a pillow. Not very imaginative, she knew, but the tiny pistol would be close enough to grab should an intruder burst in.
Her heart pounded at the thought.
Could she do it?
Pull a trigger?
Take a man’s life?
Absolutely. In a flash, she remembered him, how cruel he was, how he’d enjoyed torturing her. She wouldn’t think twice about blowing the bastard away.
After tucking the Kel-Tec P-32 under the pillow, she let out a slow breath and found her meager dinner.
Bon appetit! she thought as she peeled the banana and cracked open the bottle of water. Spreading her sleeping bag over the ancient love seat, she took a long swallow from the bottle, then checked her cell phone. So far, she had service. Maybe the Internet wasn’t an impossibility. But not for tonight. No. After a double check to make certain she wasn’t locking any creatures into the cabin with her, she threw the deadbolts, ate two bites of the banana and, lying on her makeshift bed with the wind keening down the mountainside, decided she’d never fall asleep.
Within two minutes, she was out like a light.
Detective Selena Alvarez sent up a prayer, one she’d learned in catechism, then added a personal request to God that he spare the life of Dan Grayson, who lay comatose in the hospital bed. Tubes and wires were attached to him, monitors tracking his vital signs, the room sterile and utilitarian. A tall man who barely fit on the hospital bed, Grayson was the sheriff of Pinewood County, one of the best men Alvarez had ever known, one she’d once fancied herself in love with. But the person lying under the crisp white sheets and slightly rumpled blankets was a shell of the man she remembered, the vibrant, slow-talking lawman whose eyes twinkled when he was amused and darkened dangerously when he was serious. His skin had a weird grayish tinge under the fluorescent lights, his gray mustache was untrimmed, his breathing labored.
She touched his fingers with the tips of her own, willing him to open his eyes, wishing he’d never stepped out of his cabin and been the target of a crazed assassin. The bastard who had wounded Grayson had been caught and was behind bars and awaiting trial for a variety of charges including murder and attempted murder.
“You hang in there.” Her throat clogged and she chided herself as she was usually in control, her emotions under tight rein.
“A cold bitch,” she’d heard in the lunchroom of the sheriff’s office. It had come from Pete Watershed, a deputy who was quick with crude jokes and thought of himself as an expert when it came to the opposite sex.
“Ice water in her veins,” Connors, the buffoon, had chimed in, sliding Alvarez a sly glance as if he hoped she’d overheard.
She had and had retorted with, “Better than carrying the double I-gene like you, for impotence and idiocy.” Afterward, she’d kicked herself as she rarely let herself be goaded, had prided herself on keeping cool and collected. It was just that Connors was such a dick sometimes.
But the man before her in the hospital bed, Dan Grayson, was one of the best.
She glanced out the window to the still winter night. Snow was falling steadily, covering the parking lot and the scattering of cars parked beneath tall security lamps. She trusted Grayson was safe, but she wasn’t certain he’d survive. Releasing a pent up sigh, she leaned forward and brushed a quick kiss against his cool cheek. Though she was in love with another man, one she hoped to marry, a part of her would always cherish this sheriff who had taught her humility, patience, and empathy.
She left the room quickly, nodding at the nurse on the night shift who opened the electronic doors. They parted and there, on the other side, waiting patiently, probably understanding how conflicted she was, stood Dylan O’Keefe, the man who had been in and out of her life for years and whom she loved.
“How is he?” O’Keefe asked, knowing full well how Alvarez felt about her boss. His eyes, a penetrating gray, were filled with concern.
“Not good.” She flung herself into his arms as tears burned the back of her eyelids. “Not good.”
Strong arms held her close. “Shh. He’ll be fine,” O’Keefe assured her and she took comfort in his lies. “He’s strong. It takes more than a bullet or two to knock that cowboy down.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she wished to high heaven that she could believe him. And she had to. Despite all of her efforts to bring his assailant to justice, Dan Grayson still had to fight this battle on his own. She’d done all she could, even going off the rails and becoming a bit of a rogue cop—totally out of character for her—to arrest the man responsible for Grayson’s injuries. But she couldn’t help him now. He was fighting for his life and it was all down to the strength of his body and his will to live.
Sniffing, forcing back her own dread, she finally took a step back. “You’re right. He is strong.”
“Ready?”
She nodded and O’Keefe pressed the elevator call button. When a soft ding announced the car had arrived and the elevator’s doors whispered open, they stepped inside, and once more, Alvarez silently prayed for Dan Grayson’s life.
When Jessica woke up, she was disoriented, her bladder stretched to the breaking point, the darkness in the cabin complete. She found her phone in her pocket and first checked the time. Nearly five AM. She’d slept almost around the clock and had a crick in her neck to prove it.
But she’d survived.
