When she was alone in her room she leaped to her closet and checked that she had placed the drawer unit back in position, she hadn’t—they would have certainly noticed the deep lines in the carpet that revealed where it had been cut. At first, she thought she would just move it back, but then decided it was best she hide the gun back under the floor too. She heard Ewan's voice downstairs as he let his men in. She would have to hurry. Abandoning the closet, she ran to turn on the shower and then moved to retrieve the gun from beneath her pillow. Ewan's voice trailed his footsteps on the stairs. Her heart pounded in her chest, yet she remained in control of her body. She skittered across to the bed, retrieved her pistol, then glided toward her closet.
A knock sounded on her bedroom door and Ewan's voice announced he was on the other side of it.
Her hands paused over the loose floorboards, careful not to make a sound.
"Jorgie, I've got the lads at it downstairs. I'll catch up with you later, forensics have finally arrived."
"Sure, thanks," she yelled back and waited until she heard the wooden stairs groan under his feet as he went downstairs. Her hands moved quickly, lifting the floorboards then hiding her gun in the leather duffle bag. Once she’d moved the drawer unit back into place, she pulled her clothes over the rail, closing the gaps around the unit so everything appeared undisturbed.
Everything but the dark secrets of her past that now threatened to bubble up to the surface and disrupt everything she had worked so hard to keep hidden.
Chapter Seven
In the days that followed the gruesome murder that had the entire seaside town on edge, the once tranquil atmosphere had shifted into rumbling gossip, fear, and general unease. The crime had taken the town by surprise and to add insult to their holiday-safe reputation, every fame-seeking reporter in Cornwall had come down in the hopes of scooping the story. But, as with these small seaside towns, the residents stood firm, protecting their territory like an animal during breeding season. They had formed small civil policing groups that took shifts guarding the two entrances into town, the shops in the village, and in and around the small residential neighborhood—a welcome relief to the understaffed police station who had their hands full with the investigation.
With the annual St. Ives art fair approaching, and all her usual help occupied with guarding their town, Jorja kept to herself. She worked tirelessly in the hopes of settling her own unease that seemed to tighten its grip on her heart with each day that passed. Grateful for the art fair to distract her, she buried her anxiety in the preparations, spending more than one night working late in her gallery. In a desperate effort to rid her body from the gut feeling that gnawed at the insides of her stomach, she told herself that she was imagining danger, that Myles Brentwood's death had nothing to do with her, and that she was safe.
Having pulled every resource available to them, the police were no closer to catching the perpetrator responsible for the evil deed. It was as if all leads died on the leafy forest floor, where Myles' body was found. Major Crimes had stepped in and taken over the investigation, leaving Ewan to run around like a puppy on a leash. He had texted her a few times to let her know that he would pop in to check on her as soon as he could, but it had been four days since they last saw or spoke to each other.
She glanced at her wristwatch. It was an hour before midnight. Outside her small gallery, the street was dark and deserted. She hadn't realized the time and resolved to head home, grateful the threatening weather had prompted her to come to work in her car that morning instead of by foot as she normally did. She closed the folder she had been poring over on the antique desk that stood in the rear of her shop, reached for her cup, and lifted it to gulp down the last few mouthfuls of now-cold tea. As she brought the lip of her teacup to her mouth the light from the nearby desk lamp reflected off the narrow gold band that ran around the inside rim of the cup, exposing a dark shadow directly behind her. She knew in that very instant she was not alone and spun around to see who it was but it was too late.
Her head was violently pulled back against someone's hard body, held in place by something around her neck. Black-gloved hands on either side of her head yanked back harder, restricting the airflow through her windpipe.
She gasped.
Gagged.
Fought for air.
As the last of the oxygen in her lungs ran out, her fingers scrabbled to loosen whatever was around her neck.
It couldn't.
In a final desperate attempt to have her attacker relax his grip to let the life back into her lungs, she reached back and snatched at the intruder's face. Her fingers searched for his eyes, the tips sensing rough stubble instead.
He pulled back harder.
She felt her head compress, her eyes bulging under the pressure.
Survival instincts kicked in.
Her legs extended, pushing into the parquet floor under her feet. Her body heaved back, knocking the Windsor chair over in the process. She pushed her legs down harder, drove her heels into the floor, and forced the attacker's weight to shift. The noose around her neck slackened, just enough to allow a little bit of air into her lungs and smell the alcohol on his breath.
Two of her fingers found their way in between her flesh and the rubbery wire around her neck. He regained his balance, pulling back on the wire again.
It sliced into the soft flesh of her fingers.
She fought hard not to faint. Nearly did so twice.
He groaned.
She fought back. But he was too strong. The energy slowly drained from her body and she could feel her life slowly slipping away.
Her feet left the floor, and her legs and body felt heavy, straining against the restraint blocking her airways.
She reached for the desk lamp with her free arm but it was too far away.
Her fingers searched blindly, snatching at anything that might aid her in her fight to survive.
It was futile.
She caught herself asking God to help her. She had never done that before for fear of God rejecting her, but it was all she had left.
A tear escaped down her cheek, made her feel vulnerable. She hated the feeling, hated herself for being afraid.
From somewhere behind there was a shuffle on the wooden floor, then another male voice. The wire around her neck relaxed and she drew an involuntary breath as she flopped to the floor, pulling the cord of the lamp with her. The lamp smashed and shattered into pieces on the floor next to her.
The room was plunged into near darkness. She gasped and blinked several times to force her eyes to regain focus in the dark room. Behind her, groans echoed through the small space then, what sounded like a chair breaking. She crawled across the floor, feeling the impact of someone falling onto the floor next to her leg. She flinched, her mind suddenly clear on what was happening.
As she flung her body around and pushed herself further away from the commotion, she regained all her senses. Her eyes traced the silhouettes of two men as they wrestled on the floor. One was entirely clothed in black, the other in a light gray suit. Ewan!
The intruder was on top of him, holding him down with one arm while the other drew back and drove a fist into Ewan's jaw.
She tried screaming for him to stop as she scrambled to her feet, but her throat had not fully recovered yet.
The sudden change in posture made her dizzy and she froze in place for a few seconds. Just enough to see her attacker deliver several more blows to Ewan's face. The man rose to his feet, stretching tall above her and watching him from behind, his height instantly revealed his similarity to the man who’d stood across the street. She watched as he pulled a wire from a strap around his left wrist, then bent forward to put it around Ewan's neck.
It was as if every reflex in her body jerked into action and her mind instantly recalled the tactics she’d thought had long since left her.
Her foot smashed into her assailant's back, causing him to tumble to the floor. He was quick to his feet immediately to
wering over her once more. Her hands were up in front of her face, palms stretched out and facing each other, prepared for his attack.
He thrust his fist forward. She ducked to the left. Once again he punched the air in front of her face, she ducked the other way, then thrust her flat hand into his chest. It rendered him off balance and gasping for air. Her body flexed, she pivoted, then extended one leg high above her waist, whipping her foot across his jaw.
The impact thrust him against the wall and he slumped to the floor.
Next to her, Ewan moaned and she turned to look. It was no more than a second. Something hard hit her legs, forcing her to her knees. Before she knew it, the man's arm had her in a chokehold. He was strong, stronger than before. Propelled by hatred, intentionally wanting to bring her harm. Kill her.
Ewan coughed and tried to get up. His mouth was covered in blood, so was his right eye. He looked up and spotted Jorja in trouble. His body was weak, too weak to get up.
His eyes locked with Jorja's. Fear lay deep in both their eyes. He reached for his gun. His holster was empty. He looked back; saw the smugness in the attacker's eyes. Moments later he stared down the barrel of his own gun.
It was as if time had stood still in the moments that ensued. Still immobilized by the man's grip around her neck, Jorja saw the intruder's other arm extend past the side of her face. As it did so, his sleeve brushed against her cheek before he pointed the gun at Ewan. Fear made way for anger and she let go of the elbow she had tried to pull away from her neck. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, twisting his arm, and twisting her body along with it, until the gunman's arm was contorted upside down.
The strain on his armpit made him cry out in pain. Several oaths escaped from his mouth, then, out of nowhere, his bald head slammed hard against her forehead leaving her breathless as she stumbled a few paces back on her feet.
He turned the gun on her, pointing it directly at her face. She watched his index finger tighten around the trigger, expecting the bullet to banish her to hell, accepting that she probably deserved it.
Then suddenly Ewan's face came into view, his body wedged between her and the gun.
The gun went off.
Ewan's full weight was on top of her and she found herself pinned between him and the floor, moments before darkness blotted out all light and sound around them.
Chapter Eight
She had no idea how long she had been lying on the floor but by the time Jorja opened her eyes, the moon was high. She could tell from how it beamed its silver light to a spot on the bottom of the wall next to her. Her head hurt and she let out a soft moan. The space around her slowly came into focus. In the moonlit room, her eyes traced the shadowy half-circles of the fish scale ceiling above her. She was flat on her back, head in the doorway that opened to the front of her gallery. She knew because she had brought in a freelance contractor from London to add the texture technique to her ceiling.
She tried moving her body but couldn't. Something was on top of her, weighing her down. Her mind scrambled to figure it out, recalling the events that had brought her there. It took only a few seconds to remember what had happened.
"Ewan," she whispered, realizing he was still on top of her.
He wasn't answering, or moving.
Her hand went to shake his shoulder. He didn’t stir so she called out for him again, wriggling her body beneath him as she tried to free herself. But it was no use. He wasn’t moving, nor could she get out from under him.
Suddenly realizing their attacker might still be around she froze, scanning the area as best she could. There was nothing but dead silence. Assuming he had left them both for dead she managed to get one hand to the side of Ewan's neck—there was a pulse, faint but a heartbeat, nonetheless.
"Ewan," she called out again.
Still he did not answer.
Her hand lowered to his torso where she aimed to drag him off by grabbing hold of his jacket. Something felt sticky. She let her hand blindly search for the source, tracing the sticky moisture to where her fingers soon disappeared in a shallow pool just below his left shoulder. It took a split second for her to realize it was blood and that he had been shot.
Shot by the bullet that was intended for her. He had saved her life.
Adrenaline rushed through her body and forced its way into her arms all while she continued to call him back to consciousness. It was only when she pulled her leg up to wedge her knee under his hips that his body rolled off and plonked onto the floor next to her. It took no time at all for her to get up and hover over his body, staring down at the open wound in his shoulder.
"Ewan, can you hear me? Wake up!" she patted his cheek, each time with more vigor until the quietest of moans escaped from his lips.
Her hands pushed down on the pool of blood that had started to well up under his jacket.
"It's okay, you're going to be okay. Stay with me, Ewan."
He moaned again.
She vaulted to the phone that lay upside down on the floor beneath her desk, pulling the cord to free the receiver that had landed inside the wastepaper basket.
Her bloody fingers dialed for an ambulance, barely aware of the words she spoke when they answered. Her attention was with Ewan who had since opened his eyes and was desperate to say something.
She pinched the phone between her shoulder and ear and knelt beside him. His eyes looked urgent while his lips moved with hardly any sound emerging from it.
The emergency operator interrupted and asked for any details she could remember about the shooter. She couldn't answer that. Should not answer her—she needed more time.
"I don't know. I can’t remember, just hurry! He's lost a lot of blood, please, hurry!"
She slammed the receiver back on the cradle then turned her full attention to Ewan whose eyes looked even more desperate to say something.
"You shouldn't talk, Ewan. They're on their way, just hold on for me, okay?"
But he ignored her, hooked his good arm's hand behind her neck, and gently pulled her mouth to his ear.
"Leave anger to God," he whispered in staccato sentences.
His words took her by surprise. She didn't quite know what to make of it and stared down into his eyes, the green color now suddenly dull.
"Hush, don't try to talk. You can tell me when you are better." She smiled.
Once more, he pulled her in so he could speak. This time his words came in the form of a Bible verse: Leviticus 19:18
She caressed his face.
"I'll read it, okay? Hush now, save your energy."
The ambulance sirens rang in the distance and drew closer with each passing second.
"They're almost here, Ewan. Not long now."
She jumped to her feet and darted across the small shop floor to unlock the front door, leaving it open to invite them in, then hurried back to Ewan's side to wait for the paramedics. Even in the soft moonlight, she could see Ewan's breath becoming shallow and his eyes less responsive.
"Oh no you don't, Ewan Reid! Don't you dare bail on me! Do you hear me? Stay with me, Ewan. Fight!"
She was close to panic, but didn't allow her voice to make it known to him. His eyes threatened to close and she tapped him on his cheek to wake him up. From the street she heard the ambulance pull up, followed by a police car.
"In here!" she called out to them moments before she watched Ewan close his eyes.
It was all she could do not to let anger and fear engulf her as she shouted for Ewan to open his eyes. The paramedics were already on the floor next to him and she felt someone lift her to her feet to usher her away. It was Charlie.
"Let them do their work, Jorja. It'll be okay."
They watched in horror as the paramedics worked to save Ewan's life before they rushed him out on a gurney toward the ambulance.
"I need to go with him," Jorja announced, already chasing after them as they loaded Ewan into the back of the ambulance.
"I can't allow that, ma’am, I'm sorry. His conditio
n is critical. You are welcome to follow us." The female paramedic slammed the ambulance door shut without saying another word and Jorja watched as the vehicle sped off.
"Jump in," Charlie motioned toward his police vehicle. "I'll leave PC Daniels here to call for backup and to process the scene."
Jorja did not hesitate and quickly settled into the seat next to Charlie. When they were a fair distance away, Charlie glanced at her.
"You haven't said a word since we arrived at your gallery, Jorja. Are you sure you're not hurt?"
"Uh-huh, I'm fine. I just cannot believe what happened. I could never live with myself if Ewan—“
"Don't even think it. He is in good hands. We have to have faith that he will pull through. Besides, it wasn't your fault."
He paused briefly before he asked, "Care to tell me what happened? I mean we're going to need to take down a statement, but anything you can recall right now will help catch whoever did this."
Her body went rigid as she searched for an answer.
Charlie nudged her again.
"You're in shock, I get it, but it's really important you tell me everything you remember, Jorja. The sooner we have a lead to follow the less time the guy has to get away. Was it a burglar?"
For the briefest of moments, she thought of telling Charlie about the man across the street and her suspicions that it was he—and who it was she was now certain he worked for. But she couldn't, not yet, and certainly not to Charlie. He was too inexperienced. He would undoubtedly let it slip to his chief inspector since a breakthrough in a case of this magnitude would most certainly gain him an additional pip in rank—not to mention the threat it would pose if word got out that she was still alive.
"Was it a burglar, Jorja? Was it more than one?" He pushed again.
"I don't know. It all happened so fast," she finally answered.
"Try to remember, Jorja... anything. Why were you at the gallery so late at night? Why was Ewan with you?"
She knew Charlie was not going to let up so she told him as much as she could to shake him off her back for now.
Vengeance is Mine: A Jorja Rose Christian Suspense Thriller (Valley of Death Book 1) Page 4