The Good Samaritan

by Price, Melynda

  He wasn’t there.

  She headed to the door to go check his truck, her steps quickening as an eerie sense of dread settled over her. Something was wrong.

  She rounded her dad’s Jeep and froze. Her heart seized inside her chest as the air in her lungs fled in a blood-curdling scream. The windshield of Matt’s truck was coated crimson. She couldn’t see him through the gore, and yet she still clung to the hope it wasn’t too late.

  It took a moment for her feet to move and then she was running toward the truck. Wrenching the door open, sightless eyes met hers as she was hit with a sharp metallic scent. Coagulated blood caked the deep gash in Matt’s throat. Her stomach heaved and she stumbled back, vomiting on the front lawn.

  Her knees buckled and she collapsed onto the grass. Her retching eventually abated into sobs—horrific, gut wrenching sobs.

  “Eve? Eve!” She could barely hear her father’s frantic voice over of the deafening pound of her heart.

  “Emma!”

  As the memories slowly receded, Emma was vaguely aware she was no longer in the kitchen. Kneeling on the cold, tile floor, hands braced against the rim of the toilet, her stomach heaved again. A muffled curse sounded behind her right before her long hair was quickly swept back so the ends didn’t fall into the soiled water. Sawyer knelt behind her, one foot planted firmly on the floor. His hard, muscled chest was a comfortingly heat as she leaned back into him. A damp washrag was waiting in his free hand.

  She took the cloth and covered her face. The coolness was a tangible anchor helping to banish any remnant memories blurring the line between past and present, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She inhaled a hiccupping breath that left her lungs heaving in a shoulder-wracking sob. Emma had known it was going to be difficult reliving that night and the horrible images seared into her mind for all eternity. She just didn’t think that dredging up the past was going to affect her so violently. She’d thought the sights, the smells, the emotions would have dulled over time, but no, they were as razor sharp as the knife used to cut Matt’s throat.

  “It’s okay, Emma.”

  Sawyer’s deep voice should have comforted her, but it only made her cry harder. What a mess. She was a mess. If Sawyer knew what was good for him, he’d get as far away from her as he could, because she was dysfunction with a capitol D. There was no hiding it now, and she hadn’t even gotten to the part about being arrested yet.

  “I’ve got you.” His grip on her tightened, holding her as they knelt together on the bathroom floor.

  The emotions had been building for so long, she needed to get it out of her system. Sawyer must have thought that too, because he just let her cry. Periodically, he’d kiss the top of her head, whispering assurances and making her promises she had no idea how he could possibly keep. What if he couldn’t find Matt’s killer? What if his killer found them first? Emma feared they’d just entered a game of cat and mouse. Had this been the madman’s endgame all along? Perhaps he wanted them back in Grand Marais where he could finish what he’d started all those years ago, and Sawyer was playing right into his hands.

  Chapter 31

  Sawyer glanced at Emma before turning his attention back to the road. He wasn’t thrilled about going half-cocked into this meeting with the Chief of Police. There was still a hell of a lot more to Emma’s story that needed to be told, but he could bring himself to ask her about it. She was having a hard enough time keeping it together after recounting the horror of finding her boyfriend murdered.

  He knew the jist of the details from the police reports and had pieced some others together by listening to her talk, but he still had a lot of questions buzzing around inside his head. The cop in him knew that pressing her for full disclosure was the right thing to do, but as her boyfriend, all he wanted to do was protect her—even from himself. And that right there was the problem with mixing business with pleasure.

  He’d known talking about what happened would be hard on her, but he’d underestimated just how hard it was going to be on him. He reminded himself that he was a professional. He did this shit all the time—interviewing victims and their families. But never in his career had he felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest and put through a meat grinder while doing it. Emotion clouded judgment; it biased perspective and narrowed thinking. He’d always been able to detach from the job, and if he was going to continue to run this investigation, then he’d better lock that shit down—fast.

  But it was easier said than done. He was worried about Emma. She wasn’t the same since her breakdown last night. And despite all the promises he’d made to her that she was safe and that he’d never let anyone hurt her again, nothing he said seemed to penetrate the shell she’d crawled into.

  Another quick glance at her had his gut tightening with that familiar knot of unease. She stared out the window, those beautiful green eyes unfocused and dazed. She looked…numb. Her monotone responses to his attempts at conversation were stony, one and two word answers until she finally stopped talking to him altogether. Last night had dredged up a lot of pain she’d never dealt with and he was starting to question the wisdom of bringing her with him. Even after all these years, her wounds were too raw. Would she ever heal?

  He could have asked Cade to stay with her. Though his request to put Emma in protective custody had yet to be granted, his partner would have helped him out. But if Sawyer was being honest, he didn’t want to be apart from her. Emma was his—his to protect, his to care for.

  “How long has it been since you’ve been back?” When she didn’t respond, he reached over and placed his hand on hers, giving it a squeeze. “Emma?”

  She startled, her eyes snapping into focus and darting over to him. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I asked you how long it’s been since you’ve been back to Grand Marais.”

  “This is the first time.”

  No wonder she was looking so shell-shocked. “And your parents? They still live there?” At least that’s what the police report stated.

  She nodded. “They tried to sell their house, but after taking out a second mortgage to cover my legal bills, they couldn’t get enough money out of the place. It’s not exactly a seller’s market up there.”

  “How long has it been since you last saw them?”

  “Six months. They’ve been coming to visit me. It was just too hard for me to go back.”

  If he’d known that, would he have pushed so hard to keep her with him? Was bringing her back a mistake? “I have a cabin on East Bear Skin. It’s about forty-five minutes from Grand Marais.”

  “It sounds great.” The smile she gave him was forced, but he’d take it.

  “Will you let your parents know we’re here? If you’re up for it, maybe we could have dinner with them? I’d like to meet them.”

  She nodded. “I called before we left, and dinner would be nice.”

  Eight-years was long enough. Emma’s past did not have to define her, and he wouldn’t let the actions of a madman reduce her to a victim’s mentality. She had a bright future ahead of her, a future she’d hopefully want to share with him when this was all over.

  “How long do you think we’re going to be here?”

  “That’ll depend on the leads I get after meeting with the chief. Are you sure you don’t want to come with me to the station?”

  She tensed. He didn’t think she’d agree, but he wanted to offer. It’d be helpful to have her there to answer questions that might come up as he went through the case file, but he didn’t want to pressure her.

  “No. You can drop me off at my parents’ house. I’d like to spend some time with them.”

  He reached over and laced her fingers with his. “I’m proud of you, Emma. I know this isn’t easy, coming back here and facing your past. But I’m going to be with you every step of the way. I promise. We’ll get through this together.”

  “You really think you’re going to catch him?”

  The invisible band around his che
st squeezed a little tighter at the hopefulness in her voice. “I do,” he answered. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Emma, and I’m good at my job. My instincts are usually right, and they’re telling me Grand Marais is the key to catching this guy.”

  * * *

  It’s time to go home.

  It might have taken one panic attack and a stubborn, ridiculously sexy homicide detective to make Emma see it, but it was time. She could only hide from her past for so long. Eventually it would find her—he would find her.

  If it wasn’t for Sawyer, she wasn’t sure she would have had the courage to do this. He was compassionate and understanding without being enabling, nudging her out of her comfort zone because he knew it was what she needed, not necessarily what she wanted. If the pained expression he’d worn as he held her head out of the toilet last night was any indication, this wasn’t any easier for him than it was for her. Throughout the night he’d held her as she struggled to process grief that was too painful, too raw, while whispering promises and soothing her with assurances.

  She’d underestimated how difficult taking Sawyer through her past was going to be. The alcohol hadn’t been the balm she was hoping for. But Sawyer had seen her at her worst, and he was still here. His rock-solid strength and support was the only thing that made this bearable. His confidence gave her the courage she needed to see this through. She was so grateful to him—for him—she fell a little more in love with him every day.

  Thankfully, Blake had granted her a Leave of Absence, although he clearly wasn’t happy about the short-notice. She couldn’t blame him, knowing it was sure to put an extra burden on him to cover her shifts. Her parents had been ecstatic when she’d called to tell them she was coming to visit. Though she didn’t go into the details surrounding the reason for her spur of the moment return, she did tell them that she was dating a detective who was looking into the connection between her case and one he was currently working on. They hadn’t pressed her for more information, and she was grateful for that. She didn’t want them worrying about her any more than they already did.

  “What exactly do you think you’re going to find there?” she asked, wondering how Sawyer could be so certain he was going to catch Matthew’s killer. He was resurrecting a cold case, and with each passing year, the odds of solving it decreased substantially.

  “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll know it when I see it. All I need is one good lead. You mentioned Matthew had an ex-girlfriend that wasn’t thrilled you two were dating, but you never mentioned yourself. What about ex-boyfriends?”

  “No one serious. Matthew was my first ‘real’ boyfriend.” Her cell chimed with an incoming message. Emma pulled her phone from her purse and swiped her thumb across the screen.

  Mark said he went by the apartment and you were there. What’s up? I thought you were staying with the detective.

  Going to Grand Marais to visit my parents. Was there to pack. Be back in a few days.

  “Who was that?”

  “Molly. Mark told her I was home, and she was checking in to make sure everything was all right.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That I was visiting my parents for a few days and not to worry.”

  “Does she know about Matthew?”

  Emma shook her head.

  A thoughtful frown tightened Sawyer’s brows. He looked like he wanted to say something but changed his mind.

  “What is it?” Sawyer wasn’t someone who held his tongue. It was one of the many things she liked about him. “Just say it,” she prodded, a defensive edge sharpening her tone when he didn’t answer her.

  Sawyer gave a non-committal shrug. “She’s your best friend. I assumed you would have told her.”

  Molly was her best friend, but Emma was so desperate to put her old life behind her and begin a new one that speaking of the past felt like she was tempting fate and summoning the devil.

  “Well, I told you,” she offered with an edge of defense.

  “You didn’t tell me. I found out about it and confronted you. It’s not the same thing. A big part of dealing with grief is letting someone in that you trust. It’s the only way you’re going to heal from this.”

  “You sound like a shrink,” she grumbled. It didn’t matter that he was right, because last night had reopened a wound that had been festering far too long.

  “Not a shrink. I just know a thing or two about grief. That’s all.”

  Emma studied him a moment, considering her response. “How did you get shot? I mean, before this last time.”

  His gaze snapped to hers, his surprise quickly turning guarded.

  “I saw the scars, Sawyer. When we first met, that wasn’t the first time you’d been shot.”

  He didn’t respond. She’d almost given up hope that he’d tell her when they passed a little sign for a scenic overlook ahead and he pulled in to the rest stop, parking the car in front of a stunning view of Lake Superior. Letting the engine idle, he shifted in his seat and turned toward her. When his sapphire eyes locked on hers, Emma’s heart tripped inside her chest. Her body hummed with nervous energy, afraid he wouldn’t tell her, and now suddenly afraid that he would.

  “Before I was a cop, I was in the military. I was a Tactical and Operational Psychologist with the Marine Corps serving a unit in the Special Forces Recon Division.” Though he told her this with about as much enthusiasm as if he’d said he was a milkman, Emma couldn’t help but be impressed. “It was my responsibility to develop counterinsurgency strategy through profiling, interrogation, and detention support. Another part of my job was the selection of personnel for specialized military operations. I knew those soldiers better than they knew themselves. I wasn’t with the unit very long before I realized they had a problem. Their lead sniper, Chad Hendricks, wasn’t right. He enjoyed it too much—the killing. There was no emotion in him. He wasn’t bonding with his unit or making the kind of friendships you see between people who live together day in and day out and put their lives in each other’s hands.

  “He displayed sociopathic tendencies and I began to suspect he felt no more empathy for his team than the insurgents he was killing. I documented my concerns in my reports and went to our C.O. with the recommendation they pull him off active duty. The C.O. called him in for a meeting and Hendricks found out I wanted him removed from the unit. He was pissed.” A derisive grunt echoed in Sawyer’s chest and he slowly shook his head. “He wasn’t just pissed, he snapped. We were in the mess tent eating supper when Hendricks charged in with his rifle and opened fire. He was gunning for me.”

  Emma’s breath seized, a tiny gasp catching in her throat. The imagery playing through her mind was too horrific to imagine, and yet it was all too easy for her to picture the scene Sawyer was describing.

  “Someone finally got off a kill-shot, but by then it was too late—seven soldiers were dead, three more were wounded, and I’d taken a bullet in the chest and one in my side.”

  He paused, seeming captured by his own memories, taking a moment to battle the emotion roughening his voice. The silence was deafening. Tears pricked her eyes and she reached for his hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

  “You think I don’t blame myself for that?”

  His tone lacked the emotion she could see him battling, and Emma found herself wanting to feed him the same placating crap she’d been fed by her parents about Matthew’s death. “It wasn’t your fault.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “You can’t blame yourself for the actions of someone else.”

  “I know that. In my head—” He tapped his temple, the intensity of his sapphire stare never wavering from hers. “I absolutely fucking know that. But in here—” He made a fist, thumping his chest over his heart, “that’s another story. I will carry that guilt with me to the grave. I was the trigger that made that soldier snap. It doesn’t matter that it was inevitable. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been something or someone else. But if I hadn’t been in that mess tent, would a
ll those soldiers still be alive? What if I would have seen the signs sooner? Maybe I could have somehow stopped it from happening.

  “My point is, Emma, we all have regrets, and in the middle of the night when the what ifs come, they can drive a person mad. I could tell you that what happened to Matthew wasn’t your fault—and it wasn’t. But you already know that. What I can tell you is this… The guilt isn’t going to go away until you forgive yourself. No one can give you the absolution that you need, that’s between you and God. And until you reach out and take hold of it, you’re never going to get past this.”

  “What about you?” she challenged. “Have you forgiven yourself?” By the raw pain in his expression, she was sure they both knew the answer to that question.

  He studied her a minute, seeming to thoughtfully consider her question, then honestly answered, “No. But I’m willing to try if you are.”

  Chapter 32

  For the first time since this nightmare began, Emma truly felt like someone understood what she was going through. Though it wasn’t the same, and some would argue it was possibly worse, Sawyer had been through a similar situation. The circumstances might be different, but the guilt and regret he lived with every day was the same. Had he not shared this painful part of his life with her, she never would have guessed the struggle he endured to move past a tragedy that still held him tightly in its grip, much in the same way Emma’s still held onto her.

  She felt a kindred connection to Sawyer, more so now than ever before, but if she was being honest, maybe her soul had recognized the pain in his all along. How else could she explain falling for someone so fast, someone she still had much to learn about? That Sawyer had trusted her enough to share this painful part of his past meant more to Emma than she could explain. Not only had he given her a part of himself, but he’d given her hope. With Sawyer’s support, she could finally face her past. He was right, she needed to forgive herself, and in doing so, she needed to open her heart and allow herself to be loved.