“Let’s start with the easy stuff.” He flipped to a blank page on his tablet and clicked the pen in his hand. “Full name and date of birth.”
“Emma Jean Rhodes, September seventeenth, nineteen-eighty-eight.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Grand Marais.”
“Siblings?”
“Only child.”
“Parents still married?”
“Yes.”
It took a while to run through her demographic information. So far, no red flags. Other than physical description, there weren’t any notable similarities between Emma and the other women. “Where do you frequently shop? What clubs do you hang out in?”
“I don’t go to clubs. I usually get my groceries delivered. Once in a while, I’ll stop at Mallory’s after work with Molly for a drink, but that’s it.”
None of those things were mentioned in the other victims’ reports. “What about past boyfriends? Men you’ve dated? I need first and last names. Phone numbers if you still have them.” He flipped the tablet to a clean page, set the pen on it, and pushed it across the table.
Something painful flashed in her verdant eyes, her expression locking down. “There isn’t anyone.” She slid the tablet back to him.
She’d told him she wasn’t dating right now, but never? Not possible. But why hide it? No way she had no one to put on that list.
“Everyone has someone in their past, Emma. You haven’t been living in a convent for the past twenty-six years. This is important—”
She exhaled a sigh, grabbed the tablet back, and scribbled a name on it before pushing it toward him. “This isn’t going to help you.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because he’s dead.”
Good thing Sawyer was experienced in masking his emotions because Emma just surprised the hell out of him. It explained a lot. Why she didn’t date, why she buried herself in her work. She was obviously still in love with the guy. He’d known there was more to it than simply being busy with her residency. And now her virgin status took on a whole new meaning. These were all questions he was dying to know the answer to, but in this context, he had no business asking. He felt like a prick for being jealous of a ghost and stuffed the emotion before it could begin to take root. “All right, so no boyfriends. What about the hopefuls? Guys that have been interested in you?”
She shrugged.
Well, that was clear as mud. “What about Blake Weston?” he prodded.
Her gaze snapped up and locked on his. “Blake’s my boss.”
“I’m not sure how that excludes him from the list.”
“He knows how I feel about mixing my personal life with my professional one. I’ve been very clear with him. I don’t date the people I work with.”
Her tone was clipped, as if he’d offended her by even suggesting she’d mix business with pleasure. It still didn’t mean shit, though. Blake Weston had a thing for Emma. Anyone with eyes in their goddamn head could see that. He wrote Blake’s name down then met her eyes with a waiting stare. “Anyone else?”
She returned it, non-pulsed, and didn’t miss a beat when she replied, “Not unless you want to put yourself on that list.”
Chapter 14
Emma was relieved when Sawyer didn’t press her for details about Matthew’s death, but something told her it wasn’t a subject he intended to let go. He was all cop right now, focused and professional. Walking into his makeshift office, she’d felt the change in his demeanor, his frustration with the case, and solid determination to stop a madman. If he wasn’t careful, this case was going to consume him.
She was still reeling from the morning, but Sawyer was right, it was too big of a coincidence to ignore. Her car had been tampered with. Emma had been alone for so long, isolating herself from anyone who might get too close for fear they’d discover her past, she’d forgotten what it was like to have someone care about her.
Sawyer had done the impossible. He’d lit a spark inside her that had turned into a slow burn. In a few short days, he had expertly slipped past her defenses and she was having a hard time remembering why she was so determined to keep him out. She liked him, a lot, and craved the comfort his presence provided.
In her heart, she knew she could trust him, yet a part of her was still unwilling to tell him the truth about her past. Somehow, putting voice to the horror she’d lived through would make it more real, and she feared conjuring the demon she’d hidden from for the last eight years. Besides, what happened to her had nothing to do with Sawyer’s case. There were no similarities to Matthew’s murder. To bring it up would accomplish nothing more than unearthing heartache and leading Sawyer down a dead-end road that would cost him precious time and possibly more lives. He had enough on his plate and didn’t need her baggage dumped on him as well. These were the rational lies she used to convince herself she was doing the right thing by keeping Evangeline Larson’s past right where it needed to stay. In the past.
Sawyer was silent as he sat there studying her. Surely, he didn’t think Blake was behind this. She’d known him for years. There was no way he could be a killer. Yet, something about last night needled at her. Blake hadn’t been himself lately. Sure, he’d always subtly let his interest in Emma be known, but the last few months he’d been coming on stronger. He never did give Emma an explanation for why he’d been in that ramp when his shift had ended over an hour before hers.
“Are we done here? I need to get ready for work.”
A few seconds of silence passed between them before he nodded. “For now. Can you make some time to meet with me tomorrow? Do you work?”
She nodded. “Three to three. How much time do you think we’ll need?”
“Maybe forty-five minutes or so. Do you always work the same schedule?”
“I’m on a six-week rotation.”
“Have you been on this one a while? Long enough that someone could pattern it?”
“I guess so.” The thought of someone watching her sent goose bumps needling over her flesh. That it could be someone she knew and trusted was unsettling.
“Does Blake have access to your schedule?”
She wished he would let this fixation with Blake go. “He makes all the residents’ schedules. I work under him so most of my shifts mirror his, give or take a little overlap.”
He made a few more notes and then closed the notebook. “I’ll take you to work. And I’ll pick you up.”
“You don’t have to do that. I won’t even get done until three a.m. at the earliest. If a trauma comes in, or I’m in the middle of a critical case… I can just call security. They can escort me out.”
“You didn’t do it last night,” he challenged.
She knew she’d made a mistake and didn’t need Sawyer pointing it out.
“Why didn’t you get a security escort?”
He was waiting for an answer and she didn’t want to sound like one of those women in a B-rate horror movie, the ones that went into the dark alley all alone to investigate a strange noise instead of running in the opposite direction. The too-stupid-to-live kind.
“They were tied up with some emergency and I didn’t want to wait the extra half-hour for someone to walk with me. I was tired, and I just wanted to go home. I should have waited. It won’t happen again.”
If he was thinking she was an idiot, at least he hid his judgment well. “I don’t want you going out there by yourself. If you insist on using security then I can’t stop you, but I’d prefer to drop you off and pick you up myself. I won’t be able to sleep until you’re back here anyway. I might as well come get you.”
He made a convincing argument, but Emma wasn’t used to having someone worry about her. Most people backed off when she pushed them away.
“All right,” she conceded. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“I’m sure. If it was up to me, I’d keep you tied up here until I catch the son of a bitch who’s doing this.”
Emma was prett
y sure he hadn’t meant the threat to sound so…tempting. But the idea of being tied up by Sawyer Gerrard was an interesting proposition. “I’m going to go shower. We need to leave in thirty minutes.”
He gave her a nod and Emma wondered if Sawyer always got his way. Something told her the answer to that question was yes.
* * *
“You don’t have to walk me in. That leg needs a rest.”
Perhaps it was a bit overkill, but Sawyer was the first to admit this case was making him edgy. When it came to Emma, he wasn’t taking any chances. They stopped outside the Emergency Department and she hesitated a moment, glancing up at him with those beautiful green eyes. Sawyer’s chest tightened with emotion he didn’t want to think about. This was a mistake. He had no business getting involved with a possible victim in this case, and yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“My leg is fine. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I get that. And thank you for doing this. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful. It’s just—”
“I know…” This was hard for her. Emma didn’t want to need him or his protection. If they’d met under different circumstances, perhaps he’d have an easier time maintaining those boundaries. Maybe if she didn’t look so sexy in those damn scrubs. All that mahogany hair pulled up on top of her head... There were some serious doctor/patient fantasies running through his mind right now. “I’ll pick you up at three. Have a good night, Emma.” He took a step back before he did something crazy like kiss her goodbye.
On his way home, Sawyer put a call into the station and requested a dossier on Emma Rhodes and a list of the hospital pharmacies in the Twin Cities metro area. Then he contacted Bryan Lombard, the head of security at the hospital, and requested a meeting with his staff tomorrow afternoon. He suggested the security department issue the recommendation that employees leave the building in pairs or request escorts rather than going out alone. The man was amiable and willing to do whatever Sawyer thought was necessary to assure the safety of the hospital staff.
Shortly after returning home, a list of pharmacies arrived in Sawyer’s email and he spent the rest of the afternoon on the phone inquiring on the policy and procedure for controlled substance disposal and asking if the hospitals had any missing Ketamine. So far, nothing was reported. Protocols were tight, with the glass bottles being disposed of in the locked Sharps containers. Another dead end.
“Fuck!” Sawyer’s fist connected with the table, frustration burning through his veins, exhaustion lighting the wick of his increasingly short temper.
“Sounds like you’re ready for a break.” Hunter stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, his shoulder propped against the wall.
“I can’t stop.”
“You need to get some rest, man. I’ve done nothing but watch you live and breathe this case since I got here. It isn’t going to bring them back.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he snapped, jacking his hand into his hair. “I’ve got three burned corpses and a fucking madman on the loose.”
Hunter held up his hands, a defensive gesture that was not at all like his brother. “That wasn’t the them I was talking about, and you know it.”
“Don’t start with me again.” He couldn’t do this. He had enough ghosts in his head without Hunter adding a squadron more.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
That was where Hunter was wrong. It was his fault. As a tactical and operational psychologist for the USMC, it was his job to see the warning signs. He’d known Hendricks was going to crack. He just didn’t want to believe it. And neither did his CO.
But by then, it was too late. Seven soldiers were dead and three were wounded. Sawyer had taken a bullet in the chest that had effectively ended his military career, and nearly his life.
“We’re not talking about this.” He stood, sending his chair sliding back across the floor, and reached up to rub the phantom ache in his chest, the knot of scar tissue beneath his palm an ever-present reminder of his failure and what could happen if he didn’t do his job. If he needed anymore reminders, he could always go down to the morgue and view the charred remains of Amanda Kennedy.
“Come on, let’s go get a beer. I need one and you sure as hell do too.”
Sawyer was about to decline. He had too much work to do, when his brother added, “I’m out of here in seventy-two hours, man. Don’t make me drink alone.”
Chapter 15
True to his word, when Emma left the Emergency Department shortly after three a.m., Sawyer and Sam were in the hallway waiting for her. He shouldered away from the wall and came toward her. His limp had grown increasingly prominent as the day wore on, but he wasn’t using his crutches. She suspected it was more in defiance of his injury than a miraculous recovery.
What a sight for sore eyes, those two. In the last twelve hours, she’d treated two shootings, one hemorrhagic stroke, and ended the night with a suicide. She was exhausted—physically and emotionally. As he approached, she resisted the urge to slip her arms around him and absorb his strength. Sawyer must have seen the toll the shift had taken on her, because his smile shifted to a concerned frown as she approached.
“Bad night?”
“The worst.”
He nodded in understanding, and she believed him. It was rare to connect with someone on this level. He got the toll this job could take on a person and the determination that kept them coming back the next day and the day after that, because without that same driving need inside of him, he wouldn’t be able to do his job.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“I understand,” he said, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a gesture of support as they walked down the hallway.
All the years Emma had worked in the emergency department, suicides were always the hardest on her. She kept thinking the next one would get easier, but they never did. It was awful, fighting to keep someone alive when she knew they wanted to die, because there was no mistaking intent when someone stepped off a ladder with a noose cinched around their neck.
But when a mother is on her knees sobbing and pleading for a miracle, it’s absolutely gut wrenching. Even if she managed to save her child, after an anoxic injury like that, they would never be the same. Whoever said family presence during resuscitation was a good idea obviously never had to experience it.
Emma wanted to turn into him and melt into the comfort of Sawyer’s embrace. For a few minutes maybe she could pretend the last twelve-hours never happened. But she couldn’t do that. She needed to pull up her big girl panties and suck it up because that was life in the ER. No one said it was an easy job.
Sawyer took his arm away when they reached the elevator, and she instantly felt the loss. “How was your night?” she asked, searching for a distraction.
“I spent a lot of time of the phone with metro hospitals trying to track down if any pharmacies are missing Ketamine.”
She canted her head and glanced at him. “Are there?”
“No. No missing medication and no undocumented waste.”
The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside. Sawyer pressed the button for the 2nd level and the floor shifted beneath her feet. “Well, he’s getting it from somewhere.” As she pondered the options, a chilling thought occurred. “What if it’s someone who works at a hospital? What if he works at this hospital?”
Sawyer didn’t appear as surprised by her revelation as she was. “He likely does. It would explain why he’s targeting the parking ramp. It’s easy access. He knows it well. He could come and go without detection, and there’s the Ketamine. I haven’t figured out how he’s getting it yet, but it makes sense it would be someone who worked here. Or used to.”
The elevator bounced to a stop and Emma wasn’t sure which caused her stomach to drop, gravity or the idea that there could be a killer working among them. “How long have you suspected it was someone at the hospital?”
“Since Ama
nda Kennedy was taken and you told me you had the feeling you were being watched. Then after yesterday—”
The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. As they neared Sawyer’s car, she noticed the backend wasn’t level. At the same time, Sawyer’s hand shot out, pulling her to a stop.
Emma’s gaze followed Sawyer’s and a startled gasp caught in her throat when she saw the note pinned to his back tire with a knife.
Only through death can one truly experience life.
In one motion, Sawyer pulled his gun and dragged Emma behind him. “Sam, search.”
The dog took off, making a systematic sweep of the parking lot.
He’s here.
Emma’s breaths sawed in and out of her lungs—rapid and ineffective. Dizziness swamped her and her hands began to go numb. It had been a long time since she’d experienced a panic attack. They’d started the day Matthew died and it had taken her years to overcome them. But the stress of these last few days, and now this, finally pushed her over the edge.
Sawyer holstered his weapon and slipped his hand behind her neck. Bending her forward, he forced her head down by her legs and knelt in front of her. “Emma, look at me.”
His voice was firm, calm—controlled. She met that dark blue stare locked on hers and tried to focus. “Just breathe,” he coached, taking a slow deep breath and then letting it out. “Everything is going to be okay.”
Tears pricked her eyes at his promise. That’s exactly what Matthew had told her the night he’d taken her home and she’d been so upset about the threatening messages—the same night he’d died. It’s not happening again. That man killed Matthew. He hadn’t gone after her. This situation was completely different.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you, Emma.”
His heartfelt vow sent a fresh wave of tears flooding her eyes. She fought to hold them back, but they spilled down her cheeks. The memory of it all was still too raw. Sawyer reached up, tenderly cupping her face and brushed her tears away with his thumbs. Sam circled back a few moments later and sat beside her. He nudged her hand with his wet nose and let out a high-pitched whine seeming upset by her anxiety.
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