by LENA DIAZ,
“Ms. Ray—”
“Tell you what, Detective Burns.” She flattened her palms against the table but didn’t sit. “How about you get me a real update this time on Mr. Anton’s condition. Something more detailed than a simple acknowledgment that he’s still in surgery, and then, maybe I’ll answer more of your endless questions.”
He sighed heavily, then left the room, presumably to get the information that she’d requested.
Another detective motioned toward her seat. “There are three murders attributable to your abductor—Mr. and Mrs. Broderick and the driver of the delivery truck that he hijacked. We need to catch this guy before he hurts someone else.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” She shook her head at his seeming callousness. Her heart ached over the senseless, brutal murders her kidnapper had carried out while trying to get to her. She wanted him caught just as badly as anyone else, probably more so. Because even though she wasn’t the one who’d hurt those people, she’d always wonder whether she could have done something differently to prevent their deaths.
“Ms. Ray,” he began again. “I know this is nerve-racking, especially when you’re worried about your fiancé. But we really need your help.”
A twinge of guilt shot through her over the fiancé lie. But she’d wanted to make sure that the hospital would share information with her on Bryson’s condition. Not that it had served her well so far. She’d been stuck in this room, answering dozens, maybe hundreds of questions during this inquisition. There just wasn’t anything else she could tell them. Maybe if they’d actually work on the investigation, using the information that she’d already given them, they’d figure out the killer’s identity and arrest him.
She plopped down in her chair. “I honestly don’t know what else you think I can tell you. We’ve been over the timeline again and again. I told you the guy looked familiar but I couldn’t figure out why, still can’t. I sat with your sketch artist and you’ve got his likeness now. Why don’t you put an APB out based on that and try to find the guy?”
“They don’t use the term APB anymore, Ms. Ray,” a familiar voice spoke from the doorway. “It’s called a BOLO—be on the lookout.”
Relief had her slumping in her chair at the sight of Bryson’s boss from The Justice Seekers, Mason Ford. “Mr. Ford, thank you so much for coming.”
He stepped inside the room. “I’m just glad that I was already in the state working a case when you called.”
“Who the heck are you?” one of the detectives demanded. Rodriquez, she believed.
“A friend of the family. If you don’t mind, I need to speak to Ms. Ray.” He opened the door wider when they didn’t move. “Privately.”
The detectives shot sour looks at both of them but finally got up. As they headed out the door, Rodriquez turned back to Teagan and slid a business card across the table. “When you’re ready to cooperate, give me a call. We need to jump on this case fast. Please don’t take too long.” With that he headed out the door.
She threw her hands in the air. “When I’m ready to cooperate? I’ve done nothing but cooperate. They keep asking me the same questions over and over.”
Ford shut the door behind him and gave her an apologetic look. “And I’m about to ask you to repeat everything you just told them. Sorry about that. But you did call. I’m here, and the full force of my company is at yours and Bryson’s disposal. I’m pulling everyone off noncritical cases effective immediately. We’ll do everything we can to catch this guy.”
Some of the tension that had taken hold of her for the past twenty-four hours began to melt away at his words. “Thank you, Mr. Ford. I can’t tell you how good it is to hear someone say that. Those detectives treated me as if I was a suspect, the jerks.”
His mouth tilted up in what she assumed passed for a smile for him. Back at The Justice Seekers headquarters he’d never cracked even a shadow of a smile. But he’d been nothing but courteous and had jumped at the chance to help once she’d called him on the way from Live Oak to Jacksonville to tell him that Bryson was hurt.
He set a leather portfolio on the table and sat across from her. “First, please call me Mason. After all, you being Bryson’s fiancée makes you family, more or less.”
She felt her cheeks heat. “I’m sure you realize we aren’t really engaged. I made that up so the hospital would share updates about his condition. Not that they’ve bothered.”
“Since you only met a few days ago, I kind of figured that was a ruse. The offer to call me Mason still stands.”
“A few days ago? It feels like I’ve known him forever.”
“Not surprising, given the trauma and emotional turmoil you’ve weathered together. As to those detectives being jerks, I’m sorry it feels that way. They’re under a lot of pressure to solve this thing and probably don’t even realize how they come across. Not that it excuses poor manners. As for Bryson’s condition, I can update you on that.”
She straightened in her chair. “The hospital gave you information?”
“Let’s just say that I got the information from the hospital and leave it at that. Sometimes the end justifies the means. Don’t you think?”
She grinned. “I like how you work, Mason. Please tell me how he’s doing. Is he...is he going to—”
“He’s going to be fine.”
She dropped her face in her hands, unexpected tears flowing down her cheeks.
He waited silently until she regained control of her emotions. A few minutes later, she drew a ragged breath and sat back. “That’s very good to hear. Thank you.”
“Of course. He’s actually in recovery now and should be awake soon.” He placed his cell phone on the table. “The second he’s lucid, that’s going to vibrate. I’ll take you right to him.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, fighting to hold back more tears.
“The bullet nicked his spleen but no other organs,” he continued. “It went through and through. He lost a lot of blood. That on top of the concussion pretty much shut him down. That’s why he was unconscious after the blast. Luckily you were both behind a log when the tank exploded, which shielded you from the shock wave. Otherwise, your insides would have liquefied.”
She winced.
He smiled apologetically. “Sorry. That was graphic. Bottom line, he’s going to be okay, eventually. He was lucky. You both were. If the explosion and resulting fire hadn’t alerted authorities so that help arrived quickly, he’d have bled out.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Once again, he saved me, in spite of how badly he was hurt. He saved both of us. He’s an incredible man.”
“Yes. Yes, he is. And I want to do everything I can to protect both of you. We need to catch this guy and get enough evidence to ensure he’ll either be executed or locked up so he can’t hurt anyone else ever again. I know you’re weary of answering questions. But I’m coming in late on this. So I’d very much appreciate it if you’d start from the top, right after you left my office in Gatlinburg.” He pulled a computer tablet from his portfolio and set it on top of the table. Then he took out a small electronic device and set it a foot away from her. “To save time briefing my team, and to make sure I don’t miss anything, I’m going to record this as well as take notes. If you’re okay with it?”
“Absolutely.” Covering the same ground yet again didn’t bother her since it was Mason who was asking the questions. She believed that he’d actually do something with the information. None of the detectives she’d spoken to earlier had inspired that kind of confidence. “Did the police give you a copy of the likeness their sketch artist came up with?”
“Not yet.” He picked up his phone. His fingers practically flew across the screen as he typed out a text. He waited a few seconds, then the phone buzzed. He checked the screen, then set it down. “My team will have the sketch within minutes.” He poised his hands over the
virtual keyboard on the tablet. “You were going to tell me the timeline. Don’t leave anything out.”
Half an hour later, a knock sounded on the door. Mason was out of his chair, gun in hand but hidden behind him before the door opened.
The detective who’d gone for a status update stood in the opening, a look of surprise on his face when he saw Mason. He took a quick glance into the room. “Where is everyone?”
“Not here. What can I do for you?”
“I, ah, wanted to let Ms. Ray know that Mr. Anton is out of surgery.”
“Thank you.” Mason closed the door before the detective could say anything else. He holstered his gun, then sat down. “You were saying?”
She clenched her hands together beneath the table. “You drew your gun. You think he’ll show up here? At the hospital?”
“It’s possible. Don’t worry. I had a guard stationed outside the surgery room. He’ll stay with Bryson in recovery as well.”
She blinked. “How do the police feel about that?”
“I’m always as accommodating as possible with law enforcement. But I’m not about to leave the security of an injured member of my team to their care. The hospital administrator was more than okay with it after I offered a substantial donation in Bryson’s name.” He winked. “Now, if you don’t mind. Please continue.”
“Yes, of course. I, um, I guess I was up to the point of where I ran like a coward for the trees.”
“No. I think you were telling me that you did exactly what Bryson asked you to do, so you wouldn’t put him in more danger by making him worry about having to protect you rather than make his own escape. But I’m puzzled. If you ran into the woods at the front of the clearing, how did you end up behind the shack when it exploded?”
Her face heated. “I didn’t exactly follow Bryson’s instructions. I know he wanted me to keep going, to run as far away as I could. But I hadn’t seen him leave the shack, and I was worried that he might have been pretending to feel better than he did, just to get me out of danger. All throughout our ordeal, he kept telling me to have faith, that it was two against one, that we could beat the bad guy together. And there I was running away. I just couldn’t do it.”
He crossed his arms on top of the table. “So what did you do?”
She wrapped her arms around her middle, remembering. “I circled through the woods to the back of the shack.”
“Where was the gunman?”
“I wasn’t sure. The truck was still parked out front. I didn’t see him anywhere.”
He stared at her, waiting.
“I got down on my belly and tried to see beneath the shack, through the crawl space. When I didn’t see anyone moving around under there, I was terrified that the gunman was inside with Bryson. So I ran to the shack and crawled up into the closet through the hole in the floor.”
He still didn’t say anything. But his eyes widened slightly.
“I heard the gunman shouting in the other room. And I smelled gas. It was filling up the cabin. A moment later, the front door creaked. I peeked around the corner and saw the gunman running for his truck.” She swallowed hard. “And Bryson, he was just sitting there, his back to the wall, holding the gas line in his hand.”
She swiped at the tears in her eyes. “For a split second, I thought he was dead. But then I saw his chest rise and realized he was still alive. I yelled at him to get out. We dropped through the hole in the closet floor and made it to the woods just before the explosion.” She wiped her tears again. “Like you said earlier, if it wasn’t for Bryson getting both of us behind that log when he did, we’d both be dead. He deserves a medal of honor. Not a bullet in the back.”
He cleared his throat. “That’s quite a story. I gather you sat with him until help arrived?”
“Of course. I know CPR. But that’s about the limits of my nursing abilities. He was breathing, and his heart was beating. But he wouldn’t open his eyes. I didn’t know what to do. All I could think of was to apply pressure to the wounds, even though they didn’t seem to be bleeding all that much. I had no idea he was bleeding internally.”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and let out a shuddering breath. “Thank goodness the fire department and police arrived so quickly. I heard the sirens and ran to the clearing. They were amazing, ran with me around back, no questions asked. They immediately started an IV and got him on a gurney. I think they flew him out in a helicopter within a couple of minutes. They saved his life.”
He slowly shook his head. “No, Ms. Ray. I think that distinction belongs to you. If you hadn’t been stubborn enough and brave enough to go back into that shack to check on him, he’d be dead right now.” His voice sounded oddly hoarse, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “Thank you. On behalf of all the Justice Seekers, thank you for saving our dear friend and coworker.”
She was about to argue that he wouldn’t have even been in danger in the first place if it wasn’t for her, but his phone vibrated against the table.
He picked it up, then stood.
She shoved out of her chair. “Bryson’s awake?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. But I’ll go check on him right now. Meanwhile, you have visitors.”
“Visitors?” She frowned. “The police are back?”
He hesitated at the door. “When you called me to help Bryson, I took the liberty of calling someone to help you. But I asked them to give me time to interview you first. They’ve been very accommodating. But they’re out in the hall now, demanding to see you.” He smiled his first real smile. “You’re an incredibly brave and smart young woman. Thank you again for everything you did.” Without waiting for her reply, he left the room.
A moment later, two people rounded the corner and paused in the doorway.
She let out a shriek and ran around the table, tears flowing again.
Her mother and father gathered her to them in a bone-crushing hug.
Chapter Nineteen
Teagan sighed deeply and shifted positions in the plastic chair a few feet from Bryson’s hospital bed as he slept the morning away. Three days. It had been three days since she’d cried all over him in the recovery room after he woke up from surgery, only to have him gruffly tell her that he needed his sleep. Since then, he’d hardly spoken a word to her. He was acting just like the surly bear she’d encountered the first time they’d met. But they’d moved beyond that. Far beyond it. So why was he acting like they were strangers and he was the grouchy hermit again?
She’d asked him that very thing.
His answers were many. He had a headache. He was feeling fuzzy from the concussion. The pain from his surgery had him feeling bad and he just needed to sleep. All of that was probably true. But he was a strong man, and had overcome far worse to save both their lives. And he’d been at his kindest in the past when he was in tremendous pain, because he’d risen above it to save them. So none of his actions now made sense.
Thankfully, his boss—Mason Ford—didn’t seem worried about Bryson’s less than friendly attitude that seemed to extend to anyone unfortunate enough to be in his vicinity. He simply ignored Bryson’s gruff responses and went about his business. And he kept Teagan up to date on everything going on with the investigation.
Which, unfortunately, wasn’t much.
Even with half the Justice Seekers working the case here in Jacksonville, none of them seemed to be making any more headway than JSO. No one had discovered the identity yet of the man who’d abducted them and killed three innocent people. But Mason assured her they were doing everything they could and weren’t giving up. And he did something else—he gave her a company credit card to use for all of her and Bryson’s needs. He told her the card had no limit and to use it for anything at all, no questions asked.
He’d also ordered Bryson to let her make all the arrangements to get him set up at a local hotel after being dis
charged so he could get strong enough for the trip back to Gatlinburg. Teagan decided that she liked Mason Ford very much, especially since he made no secret that he was rooting for her to win this little cold war between her and Bryson.
She crossed her arms and waited another half hour before the doctor’s morning rounds finally brought him to Bryson’s room to perform a final evaluation before giving him discharge papers. Miraculously, he woke up just as the doctor stepped into the room. Teagan snorted and looked out the window, pretending indifference, when she was fuming inside.
The hurt had long ago faded. Or, at least, it was buried down deep. No more crying in front of him. She had her pride after all. And no crying on her mama’s shoulder either, given that her mother now thought—along with the hospital staff—that she and Bryson were engaged. That was going to be a huge disappointment for her parents once he went back to Gatlinburg and she told them the “engagement” was off. They’d half fallen in love with him when he’d had dinner at their home. They fell the rest of the way after hearing everything he’d done to protect their only child.
But they wouldn’t be the only ones nursing a broken heart.
She kept her face averted, pretending interest in something out the window while she wiped the wetness from her eyes. How could she still have all these inconvenient feelings for a man who didn’t return them? She took a few deep breaths and reached down for her anger again, wrapping it around her other emotions like a shield, to keep her safe.
“All in all, you’re an incredibly lucky man,” the doctor said behind her as he apparently finished his exam. “Any one of your injuries—the blow to the head, the gunshot, the half-dozen pieces of wood that the explosion drove into your back—could have killed you. You might not feel lucky right now, but once the pain fades and you’re back on your feet, I think you’ll begin to realize just how fortunate you are. Someone was looking out for you.”