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“Lucy—”
My heart breaks at the mention of her name. I doubt she’ll ever forgive me for how I shoved her into my suitcase and fixed the zipper and lock into place. I had to do something to make her stay.
The first time I left the closet, she followed me out. She said since she had wished for me, it was her job to protect me and that she loved me too much to watch me get hurt.
I assured her I’d be fine, that her daddy and uncle had taught me how to defend myself, and that they were good teachers.
That kept her in the closet until the killer threw me down the stairs.
Lucy whacked and kicked into him with everything she had, so much so that he soon joined me on the landing.
He looked up at her like he hated her and snarled about her being just like her mother.
That’s when I realized he was going to kill her too.
I had to move quickly to find Lucy a safe hiding place. It wasn’t the most practical location, but I figured with my headphones over her ears, blasting her favorite tunes, she might stay still enough during my fightback to keep the killer’s focus on me.
I’d only just hoisted the suitcase on top of the closet when he kicked down the door. I’m not exactly sure how long I held him off. Things began blurring when he stabbed me in the stomach.
He was searching for Lucy when I heard Brodie call my name, but the gash in my throat didn’t allow me to warn him.
Mercifully, he found us before the killer found Lucy.
“Lucy was never in any danger, Brodie,” Macy pushes out, hearing the torment in Brodie’s voice as well as I am. “I had an agent at your place the entire time.”
Brodie’s roar bounces around the room. “An agent who died!”
“Because this case was never about Henley.”
What? How isn’t this about me? I brought the Night Killer back into Brodie’s life. I risked his daughter’s life because I was sick of being pushed around by snobby agents with misguided agendas.
This is my fault. Isn’t it?
“Leroy…” A growl completes Brodie’s sentence, but I miss the rest of what he says since I’m repeating the name he spoke in my head.
I swear that was the name of the man at the barbecue. The man Lucy didn’t like. Since he gave off creeper vibes, I didn’t reprimand Lucy for being short with him when he tried to stop her from charging up the footpath after Nathan Banks told her she looked fat. I told him it was girls’ business before closing the pool room door in his face and comforting a teary-eyed almost-six-year-old.
“Leroy is only the surface of this investigation, Brodie. We still have a mountain of evidence to go through.” Macy breathes out heavily before the pad of her feet inching toward my bed quickens my pulse. “But before that, we need to get her somewhere safe.” There’s a slight pause before, “I know somewhere I can take her.”
My eyes are still refusing to open, so I can’t see Brodie, but I picture his head shaking when the scent of his aftershave filters in the air. “She can stay with me.”
“That isn’t possible, Brodie. These people are trained operatives across the board in our industry. They’ll find her fast, which means they will also find Lucy.”
“Then we will go into WP with her.”
I smile at Lucy’s inclusion in his “we,” but it only lasts as long as I take to recall how lonely witness protection is. There’s no life in witness protection. No laughter. The light that has only just been relit in Brodie’s and Lucy’s eyes would be snuffed instantly.
“No…” I think that comes out of my mouth. It might sound more like a groan than a stern denial, but a squeak is better than silence.
“Henley.” Brodie’s body temperature is so skyrocketing when he curls his hand over mine fisted at my side that the zap it sparks up my arm is intense.
As I fight my eyes to open, Brodie instructs, “Grab a nurse.” The door opens and closes before he demands, “Don’t overexert yourself. You fought enough. It’s time for you to rest now.”
I blink and blink and blink until my vision finally clears, and I spot Brodie leaning over me. His hair is pulled back in a mannish bun, and his beard is more scraggily than usual, but he is still devastatingly gorgeous.
“Hey.” He pushes back a dark strand of hair hindering my vision, his hand shaky but unable to take away from the relief in his eyes, before he asks, “Is that better?”
I nod, and it hurts like hell.
Hold on… a dark strand of hair?
When my eyes shoot up to the hairs tickling my brows, Brodie announces, “They cut and colored your hair. I hope you like bangs.” His laugh is as fake as his pledge. “They suit you.”
