“Who?”
“Well, it was just the build, the way the person ran . . .”
“Who, Chad?”
“Christine.”
35
Saturday, 9:04 a.m.
Alexia got tired of waiting on the paperwork that would allow her to leave the hospital. Instead of sitting in her room twiddling her thumbs and watching brain-numbing shows on the little TV, she decided to get up and visit her mother. For the most part, she felt fine after her terrorizing ordeal from the night before. A tender scalp from where her hair had almost been yanked out, some lingering fatigue, and a slight headache. The side effects of being drugged with chloroform.
She opened her door and walked into the hall where she found an officer sitting with his back to the wall. He stood when he saw her.
“Ma’am? Is everything all right?”
“I’m just going to take a walk, Officer—” she leaned forward to read his name badge—“Pickens.”
“Then I’ll walk with you.”
Alexia nodded, not minding the watchful eyes. In fact, she was grateful for them and knew that she could thank Hunter for the protection.
Officer Pickens was quiet as she made her way to the nurses’ station to let them know where they could find her should they need to.
Five minutes later, she found herself on her mother’s floor in front of her door. Officer Pickens planted himself at attention to one side of the door.
Alexia knocked, then pushed into the room slowly, not wanting to wake the woman should she be sleeping. Peering around the edge, she saw her mother propped up in the bed. A bowl of soup sat in front of her.
“Hi, Mom.”
At Alexia’s voice, the woman’s eyes brightened. “Alexia, come in, darling.”
Alexia made her way to the empty chair beside the bed. “You look better today.”
“The medicine they gave me seems to be working. For now.”
Interesting comment. “Where’s your sidekick?”
“Michael?” Her mother took a sip of the soup from the silver spoon. “I told him he couldn’t stay by my side the rest of his life. He has a job and needed to go do it.”
“He cares a lot for you.”
Her mother paused and studied Alexia for a moment. Then she gave a slow nod. “Yes. He does.”
Alexia fidgeted. Then blurted, “I figured after Dad, you wouldn’t want another man.”
The woman blanched, then grimaced. “I didn’t for a long time. Then I met Michael. He’s . . . special. I like him.”
“Do you love him?”
A frail shoulder lifted in a slight shrug. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I even know how to love a man.”
The honest confession threw Alexia for a moment. Then she asked, “Why did you send me away after graduation?” She hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but she had to know.
Her mother drew in a deep breath and let it out in a slow, shallow stream. “You were so anxious to leave, to get away, I didn’t blame you.”
“But you practically forced me out the door. Did you hate me that much?”
An agonized cry escaped the dry lips. The spoon clattered to the tray. “No, no, Alexia. I loved you that much!”
Alexia blinked at the passionate words. Her heart trembled and she felt short of breath. “How can you say that?” Anger churned. “How dare you say that?”
A single tear traced a zigzag path down her mother’s cheek. “I had to send you away. My precious child. Your father was so bitter, so angry with you. He blamed you for the fire, for his burns and his pain. He was so full of the desire for revenge that I knew as soon as he regained his strength, he would do something to you. Something horrible.” Another tear slipped from beneath her lashes. “I had to send you away. I had to make you hate me enough that you would leave. It wasn’t hard,” she finished with a whisper, “you already had no respect for me for staying with your father. Turning that to hate didn’t take much.”
Stunned, Alexia stared at the woman she’d resented, maybe even hated, for the past ten years. For years, she’d hung onto the memory of her mother telling her to get out and never come back.
It was that memory that fueled her desire to succeed, to show her mother she wasn’t a loser, that she was lovable. To prove she was somebody. Her fingers went to the ring on her left hand. Twisting, turning, worrying it.
And all along, her mother had loved her? Had sent her away because she feared for Alexia’s life? It was almost too much to take in.
Alexia pulled in a shuddering breath. “What about after he left? Why didn’t you tell me? Why wait until this past year to start trying to get in touch with me?”
Her mother shrugged a sad, slow lift of her shoulders. “It was only recently that I’ve felt safe enough to try to contact you. I was so afraid he’d come back,” she whispered.
Alexia swallowed hard. Yeah, she still had that nightmare too.
Her mother’s gaze fell to Alexia’s hands. “You still wear the ring?”
“What?”
“The ring I gave you for your twelfth birthday, remember?” A smile softened her features.
Alexia stared at the piece of silver jewelry. “Yes. I remember.” The ring had brought her comfort in the last ten years. She never took it off. Swallowing hard, she was hit with the knowledge that it was the connection with her mother she’d longed for. A connection she never allowed herself to openly admit. Until now. Confused by her conflicting feelings of love and hate for the woman before her, she asked, “What is it you need me to do for you, Mom?”
“What?” Confusion knit the woman’s brow then cleared. “Oh. The conversation from the other day.”
“Yeah.”
“It was . . . nothing, Alexia. All right? Just forget you heard what you heard. Really, it’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing and I can’t forget. Just tell me what Michael wants me to help you with.”
A shaky hand brought a tissue to press them against her dry lips. A sigh escaped and she closed her eyes for a brief moment. “I need a bone marrow transplant.”
Surprise slugged her. “What?”
“I have aplastic anemia. Michael—” She paused, then sighed and closed her eyes. When she opened them, more tears swam, threatening a deluge. “Michael told me I needed to ask you to be tested as a possible donor.”
Alexia froze as she took in her mother’s words. Her mouth moved but nothing came out. Then she started laughing. A hysterical laugh void of humor. The laughter turned to tears, but she wouldn’t let them fall. She clamped a hand over her mouth, unable to figure out why she was reacting this way.
Finally, she calmed enough to swallow. “You want me to be tested.”
Tears flowed down her mother’s cheeks, freely, like a river with a broken dam. “No. No, I don’t.”
That stopped Alexia. “What?”
“I don’t. I told him I couldn’t ask that of you. Because I don’t want you to think . . .” She pressed her lips together. “No. I don’t want you to be tested. You weren’t supposed to find out, to know about this. I didn’t want you to know.” Her voice trailed off into a whisper. Then she gathered some strength and said, “I’ve been added to the transplant list. I’ll find a donor another way.”
36
Saturday, 9:58 a.m.
Hunter flashed his badge to the officer seated outside of Alexia’s room. The man nodded and motioned him to the door. Hunter rapped his knuckles on the wood, waited until he heard her call “Come in,” and pushed the door open.
He stepped into the room, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his fist. Alexia sat on the bed fully dressed. She looked tired and stressed, but other than that, he couldn’t see any obvious side effects from the night before. And she looked beautiful to him. Her red curls dangled over her shoulders, just begging him to run his fingers through them.
He cleared his throat. “Hey, how are you feeling this morning?”
She shrugged, but her emerald eyes flashed with gla
dness at seeing him. “I’m doing all right. Other than a little bit of a headache, I’m fine. The doctor said someone used chloroform on me.”
Hunter winced. “Yeah. I got the criminal report. It came last night, but you were really out of it. I just ran home to grab a shower and get back over here.”
Her gaze flicked to the floor, then back to him. “What happened to the officer watching the house? And Officer Howell?”
Hunter swallowed. “They’re . . . dead.”
She nodded, no emotion showing other than a shuddering indrawn breath. “I’m sorry,” she whispered and closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“We are too.”
Alexia lifted her eyes to his. Dry eyes, he noticed, although her upper teeth were sunk deep into her lower lip. After a minute, she said, “How did the person get in the house?”
“With the alarm code.”
Another short nod as she considered this. “And how did this person get the code?”
“That one I haven’t figured out yet. Or how he got the drop on Marty. She was killed, then hidden in the kitchen pantry with the dog.” He took a step closer, then another.
Finally, he reached the bed and sat beside her. In a smooth move, she turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his shoulder. Fortunately, it was his good arm, not the one that still ached from the recent bullet wound.
“Why is this happening, Hunter? What did I do to deserve this? Am I such a rotten person that God has to come after me this way?” she whispered.
He squeezed her shoulders a little tighter and leaned over to place a kiss on her head. “It’s not God doing this. He loves you and wants the best for you whether you can believe that or not.” He paused. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I promise, from now on, I’m not letting you out of my sight until we get this figured out.”
“Thanks.”
They sat there for the next fifteen minutes, not moving, not talking, just . . . being. And Hunter prayed. Without ceasing. For Alexia, for justice, for peace, for wisdom. For God to show Alexia he loved her and was there for her.
She finally stirred and stood. “I’m ready to get out of here.” A pout formed on her lips. “You know, this person is really getting on my nerves. I can’t handle anyone else dying because of me.”
He thought she might let the tears fall at this point, but she blinked them back.
“Nobody died because of you. Two good cops died because there’s a sicko out there.”
He could tell she wanted to argue. Instead, she said, “I want to leave.”
“Have you been released yet?”
“The doctor came by a little earlier. I’m just waiting on the paperwork.”
“Sure.” He lifted a hand to rub circles on her back. “What’s wrong, Lex?”
She raised a brow. “You have to ask?”
He simply stared at her and a frown furrowed her brow.
Finally she said, “I’m not sure anything is actually wrong—other than the obvious. I had a conversation with my mother this morning that I need to process.”
“Want to share?”
Alexia was silent for so long after his question, he wondered if she was going to answer.
Then she said, “My mom needs a bone marrow transplant.”
“And she wants you to get tested to see if you’re a match.”
“I’m not sure if she does or not. I can’t tell if she’s playing me or if . . .” A sigh slipped out and she grimaced. “I hate being so suspicious. Why can’t I just take things at face value?” She told him the rest of the conversation. “So, part of me is hurt, thinking she only wants to make nice to get me to have the test and see if I’m a match. But part of me wants to really believe her when she says I wasn’t supposed to find out because she doesn’t want me believing exactly that.” A shrug. “I do know that she was trying to get in touch with me before she found out about the need for the transplant, so . . .” She stood and paced to the other side of the room, then turned back and waved a hand dismissing the topic. “I’ll think about it and figure out what to do.”
“Would you like to pray about it?”
She froze. “Pray about it? Like . . . with you?”
“Sure. I’ve been praying for you—now, if you want, I’d be glad to pray with you.”
He waited while she thought about it. “I don’t know, Hunter. That might be a little weird. I wouldn’t know the first thing about praying with someone. I’m just now figuring out how to pray inside my head.”
Her words lifted his heart. So, she’d been praying on her own. He was glad to hear it. “Come here and I’ll show you.”
After another brief hesitation, she stepped over to him and placed her hands in his. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. He could feel her watching him. Not letting it distract him, he focused on the prayer, tuning his heart to the God who would listen.
“Lord, thank you for your unconditional love and your interest in even the smallest details of our lives. You know what’s going on here. You heard the conversation. Alexia has some choices to make. Could you just open her eyes to the truth and lead her to the right decision?” He prayed just a little longer, ending with a request for Alexia’s protection and justice for the one after her. “In your name, Jesus, we pray. Amen.”
When he opened his eyes, he found Alexia staring at him. He smiled. “What?”
Her lips curved into a smile and some of the stress seemed to be gone from her face. “That wasn’t so weird.”
Hunter laughed and pulled her into a hug. Then he sobered. “You’ll know what to do, Lex. Trust God.”
“Hmm.”
Now for the hard part. “I need to ask you something.”
“What?” she mumbled into his chest.
Hunter gripped her upper arms and gently pushed her back. “I need to know if you saw anything last night. If you had any impressions about your attacker. Anything.”
Alexia sighed. “Somehow I figured we’d get to this.”
“Yeah, you need to tell me exactly what happened.”
Hunter watched her gather her thoughts. She said, “I was in bed asleep. Then the alarm went off. I think. Just for a split second, like when you enter the door and hurry to punch the numbers in.”
He frowned.
“At first I just laid there, wondering if I’d heard right or if I was dreaming.”
“I must have been in the bathroom when that happened. I didn’t hear it go off. But Marty did and probably went to investigate.”
Alexia eyed him. “And when she did, the person was waiting for her?”
He nodded his approval. “Marty was garroted.”
A pained groan escaped her. “That’s horrible.” She blinked her shock. “How can someone do that?”
“It’s a brutal way to kill a person.” Hunter felt the anger claw at him. He controlled it and said, “Jimmy was killed the same way. The killer managed to crawl into the backseat of his car and get him.”
“And I was drugged. So, it’s still pretty obvious that this person doesn’t want me dead. Yet.”
“Right. But he’s not afraid of killing. In fact, he’s quite skilled at it.” Hunter paused. “Anything else?”
She filled him in on the rest of it, ending with waking in the hospital with the doctor standing over her.
Hunter took her hand. “I need you to think about something.”
“What?”
“The person who attacked you . . .” He paused, wondering if he should even bring it up. Finally, he said, “Could you tell if it was a man or a woman?”
She lifted a brow. “I . . . don’t know. I mean . . . I think it was a man. But I suppose it could have been a really strong woman. Maybe.” Doubt crossed her face. “I don’t know, Hunter. I’m pretty strong for a woman. I mean, I work out all the time. Becoming a firefighter isn’t physically easy. I’m stronger than a lot of men. So for a woman to overpower me . . .” She shrugged. And wondered at the relief on his face. �
��Why would you ask that?”
He shook his head and pursed his lips. “Just something Chad mentioned.”
“What was that?”
“He seemed to think the person he saw carrying you out of your house was a woman.”
“And how would he know that? The person was dressed completely in black. I mean from head to toe. And I struggled and fought against him . . . her . . . whoever.” A light pink stained her cheeks. “And I didn’t notice any . . . uh . . . female attributes during my struggle.”
He smiled. “Were you in any kind of state of mind to notice?”
She grimaced. “No, all I was thinking was that I wasn’t ready to die yet. I know the person is taller than I am. That I’m sure of.”
He stood and pulled her up beside him. “I’m six feet tall, exactly. How tall are you? Five six? Five seven?”
“Five seven. And a half.”
His hands rested on her shoulders as he stepped closer. The top of her head came to just below his chin. He liked being this close to her. Memories of their shared kisses surged to the surface.
“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat, “five seven and a half. Now, tell me where you think you might measure against the person who attacked you.”
“About your height. Maybe a little shorter.”
He frowned. “Anything else? Any smells?”
“Just the smell of my own fear.” Alexia shook her head. “No, nothing really. Except . . .”
“Yeah?”
She still stood in his arms and he found he wasn’t in any hurry to let her go. She said, “Maybe . . . fabric softener.”
“Fabric softener?”
“Maybe. But then I was smelling the chloroform and was doing my best to avoid it.” She grimaced. “Only I failed.”
His fingers started a slow motion on her shoulders, offering a light massage. She leaned into it and he felt her muscles start to relax.
“How’s your headache?” he asked.
“Fading by the second,” she murmured as her eyes closed.
Hunter covered her lips with his, pulling her closer, his hand now rubbing circles on her shoulder blade. She kissed him back and Hunter silently thanked God that she was alive and well. Holding her, his senses tantalized by her nearness, the scent of her freshly washed hair, nearly had him on his knees.
When the Smoke Clears (Deadly Reunions) Page 23