by Jane Blythe
“You won't get away with it, Isabella,” he warned, watching her carefully. She kept her gun trained on him, aimed at his head, but if he was able to distract her enough, he may still be able to make a run for it. They weren’t all that far from the house, and if he could get close enough to scream, then one of the CSU techs or officers would be bound to hear him.
“I already have,” she said smugly. “The police aren’t even blinking in my direction because they think Logan is their guy. There’s only you left to kill, and then Logan, and then I can disappear.”
“Logan’s still alive?” That his firstborn wasn't dead should make him happier, but he couldn’t deny he would have been relieved to hear his son was finally gone.
“For the moment at least,” she smirked.
“What about Brooke’s baby?” he demanded. That child was his, and Isabella had no right to interfere with it. “What did you do with the baby?”
“That baby is better off without any of you,” Isabella snapped.
Isabella’s gaze grew unfocused for a second and the gun dipped slightly. Seizing what might be his only opportunity, Logan turned and started to run as fast as he could toward the house.
Letting out a frustrated growl, Isabella fired off a shot, but her aim was off and the bullet soared above his head. Continuing to run, dodging through the trees, he was making good progress, despite the fact he was losing blood quickly from the wound to his shoulder. Behind him he could hear Isabella puffing along. He may be seventy-two while Isabella was only sixteen, but she was only strong, not fit at all, while he had maintained his active lifestyle religiously over the years.
As she ran, Isabella continued to fire shots at him, most went long, but one flew by his neck so closely he could feel the bullet’s heat. Her next shot was dead on target, piercing his leg and sending him flying to the ground. Blood was gushing from the wound, but he hardly noticed, using his good leg and arm to crawl on his stomach along the ground as fast as he could.
He had dragged himself maybe another twenty yards across the sticks and rocks, the house now in sight, when Isabella caught up to him, stomping a foot down on his injured leg.
Screaming in agony, Logan rolled onto his back, and tried to push Isabella’s foot off his leg.
Batting his hands away, she giggled manically. “Kind of ironic, don’t you think?”
Hardly hearing her words, his hands and face torn up by the crawl through the woods, the pain in his shoulder and leg overwhelming, the blood loss starting to make him weak.
“You were the one,” she continued, “who insisted I learn to shoot, and now I'm going to kill you by shooting you.” She laughed at what she obviously thought was a hilarious twist of fate.
As she pressed the gun to his forehead, Logan’s last thought was that he was going to die unloved by all, even the children he had gone to such lengths to have.
AUGUST 20th
2:26 A.M.
Sofia hadn't moved a muscle since he’d put her on the couch ten minutes ago.
She was starting to scare him.
After leaving the basement yesterday morning, Ryan had set her up in the library. Laid her down on a couch, covered her in blankets because she wouldn’t stop shaking, and left her there to rest while CSU combed the basement. As Stephanie and her team searched the basement, he had kept a close eye on Sofia, checking on her regularly to make sure she was doing okay, or to ask for clarification on something.
When the crime scene guys had finally finished, he had taken Sofia with him back to the station while he and Paige updated Belinda on the case’s progress. Now he had finally brought her back to her place for some proper rest, but she was just sitting there like she was stuck in a trance.
Each time he had had to wake her to ask her a question about Logan or the basement or things she remembered from the past, she had withdrawn further and further inside herself.
Now she sat there like an empty shell.
After she had asked him how many bodies they had found in the basement and he had told her there were thirty-two, she had completely shut down. Ryan hadn't wanted to answer her when she asked, but she had looked so wearily distraught as she begged him to tell her. And he felt like she deserved the answer after all the emotional upheaval she had gone through telling them what she remembered, so he had reluctantly complied.
Now he was wishing he hadn't.
Ryan wanted to pull her back into the moment, but he wasn’t sure how to do it. “Sofia?” he sat beside her. “I made you some tea,” he pushed the steaming cup into her hands.
She didn’t move.
“Sofia.” He took her chin and gave it a gentle shake. “Come on, cupcake.”
Sofia blinked and slowly her eyes focused on him. “It’s my fault,” she whispered.
“What is?” he asked, confused.
“The girls,” she murmured.
“What girls?”
“The ones Logan killed. If I'd said something earlier, then they would still be alive.”
She was shaking so much Ryan quickly took the mug of tea from her hands before she could spill the boiling liquid over herself. “That’s not true, Sofia,” he told her forcefully. “It’s not true at all.”
“Yes it is,” Sofia said, nodding. “Some of those girls have only been dead a few months. If I'd told earlier what I'd seen, then Logan would have been stopped.”
Ryan regretted telling her that, too. He hadn't wanted to, but they had needed to know if Logan still used the basement. “No, baby,” he soothed, concerned about the haunted gleam in her eyes, “that’s not true. You didn’t know that it was real. He convinced you it was just a dream, you had no reason to doubt that.” He pulled her into a hug but she remained like stone in his arms.
“I killed them,” her voice was scarily toneless.
He held her at arm’s length, her guilt crushing not only her but him too. “No, cupcake. Logan killed them. You had nothing to do with it. Oh, baby, what do I say to convince you?”
Teardrops sat on her eyelashes; she blinked and they tumbled out and rolled slowly down her cheeks. “Just hold me, please.”
Lifting her into his arms and settling her on his lap, she rested against him, nestling her head on his shoulder, crying silent tears. Ryan let her rest for a moment, and just enjoyed holding her. If he played his cards right, then this could be the way they spent every night. Cuddled together on the couch, minus the tears of course. Right now, though, he had to get her through this, alive and emotionally in one piece. “Sofia, you have to believe that it wasn’t your fault,” he said at last.
“I believe it in my head,” she whispered. “I just feel so guilty.”
“Because you're a good person,” he kissed the top of her head.
“I have a horrible headache,” she lifted a hand to press to her temple.
“I'm not surprised,” Ryan stood, holding Sofia in his arms, then lay her down on the couch, propping her up against some pillows. “Drink some tea,” he passed her the mug. “I’ll be right back.”
Going to the kitchen, he retrieved some painkillers and Sofia’s medication, then rummaged through her cupboards until he found a cloth. Turning on the cold tap, he ran the cloth under the water, then collected the pills and returned to the lounge room. He paused at the door to simply look at Sofia. Even weak and worn out, she looked beautiful. Her long red hair pillowed out around her face, silky and shining red and gold as it caught the light. Her complexion was milky white, her skin looked so soft, her lips so full, that Ryan couldn’t wait to take her face in his hands and kiss her until the worried lines in her forehead smoothed away.
Sofia shot him a watery smile when she saw him watching her. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” he crossed over to her and sat on the edge of the couch. “Feeling any better?”
“Not really,” she admitted.
“This should help,” he placed her medications in her hand, she swallowed them quickly with a mouthful of tea. “Close you
r eyes and try to relax,” he placed the cold cloth over her forehead, then moved behind her and began to massage her shoulders. It took several minutes, but eventually she started to loosen up, the tension easing off her. Returning to sit beside her, he removed the cloth, “Feeling better now?”
Her large silver eyes stared up at him, then suddenly filled with tears and she began to cry again. Holding her close against his chest, Ryan rubbed her back, unsure what to say to help her, so instead he just held her. Realistically, there was nothing he could say to make any of this better, but before she had just wanted to be in his arms, and that he could do. He could make sure that she knew that she had a place where she could feel safe and secure when her world was a swirling mist of chaos.
“I'm sorry, Ryan,” she said at last, her voice muffled against his chest.
“For what?” he pulled her back so he could see her and with his thumb brushed away the last of her tears.
“I really like you. I mean I really like you, and I really want this to work, but you must think I'm the biggest mess.”
“I don’t think that, cupcake,” he assured her.
“I thought after the basement I was emotionally drained, but somehow there’s still more tears inside me,” she continued miserably. “I don’t want to be a quivering mess anymore. I don’t want to be weak and pathetic and a … a mess.”
“You’re not a mess,” he told her.
She raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him.
“Okay,” he agreed with a smile. “You are a mess, but anyone would be in your situation. Honey,” he grew serious, “you're sick, you're grieving, and you're scared for your life. It’s completely normal to be a mess, but you are not weak and pathetic. You’ve told me everything you think I needed to know, even when your father was threatening you. You're strong and brave and amazing.” Once again, he picked her up and settled her in his lap, taking a deep breath and readying himself. “You accused me of being afraid of you, well I am.” She stiffened in his arms and tried to pull away, but he held her firmly. “Just not in the way you think.”
She eyed him warily, “Then why are you scared of me?”
Deciding to just say it and get it over with, like ripping off a Band-Aid. “I was engaged. Three years ago. Her name was Katrina. She committed suicide.”
Her face fell, “Ryan, I'm sorry. That’s awful. But why would that make you afraid …” Her eyes grew wide, then looked both disappointed and frustrated, “I am not suicidal, I would never even think …”
He cut her off, “No, Sofia,” he soothed. “I don’t think that you're suicidal. With Katrina, I knew that she was depressed, I knew that she wasn’t doing so good, but I thought that I could handle it. I thought that I knew what to say to her to help her, but I didn’t. I tried. I did and said everything I could, everything I thought I should. It wasn’t enough, though. She swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills.”
“And you think it’s your fault,” her gentle fingers wiped away his tears.
“I was her fiancé, and I couldn’t give her what she needed.” Ryan’s guilt over Katrina's suicide had been severe. Still was. He had truly believed that he could be enough to help her. He had tried. Over and over again. Trying to say and do all the right things. And still it hadn't been enough.
It was meant to be the happiest time of their lives. Planning their wedding and their lives together. Ryan had thought that Katrina was getting better. So coming home that night to find her dressed in her wedding dress and passed out on their bed had been a horrifying shock. She had sounded off on the phone when he’d called her before leaving work. He had asked if anything was wrong but she had denied it. Still, he hadn't been convinced, so he had assured her he would be home soon and he was there for her if she needed to talk. When he had arrived home she had still been alive. He had been too late by just a couple of minutes. She had died in his arms. He had performed CPR but it hadn't done any good. She was already gone.
Following her death, Ryan’s self-confidence had been shaken. Not only had he lost the woman he’d loved but he had blamed himself. He had felt if he’d only known what to say to Katrina to help her, then she would still be alive. So he no longer trusted that he could say the right thing to anyone. And he hadn't been in a relationship since. The only place he had still felt in control had been at work, so his job had become his life.
“That’s why you were worried about saying the wrong thing to me,” her eyes were full of sympathy and understanding.
“It’s a sensitive issue for me. Katrina was vulnerable, and you’re vulnerable. I loved her, and I'm falling in love with you. I want you to know that you can count on me, trust me, rely on me to lift you up when you're feeling down. I didn’t do that for Katrina; I let her down, because I couldn’t give her what she needed. I haven’t been able to date yet, because I didn’t trust myself with others. I had grown up seeing the way my parents supported each other, and my younger brother and his wife supported each other through their son’s illness, and I thought it was me. I thought there was something wrong with me, so I decided that I wasn’t going to get married, I didn’t want to…” He paused to mentally search for the word he was looking for, “inflict myself on anyone. But from the moment I saw you, I knew you were different. I want to be everything that you deserve.”
“That’s sweet,” she smiled and lifted a hand to his face, running her fingers softly through his hair. “But I don’t need you to be anything other than what you already are. You’re a great guy, thoughtful and caring and sensitive. Any woman would be lucky to have you,” she brought his face down to hers and kissed him, long and soft and deep. “I'm lucky to have you. And you have to know that your fiancée didn’t commit suicide because of anything you did or didn’t say to her—she was sick, it wasn’t your fault.”
Remembering what she’d said earlier about feeling responsible for her brother’s actions, he understood because he felt the same way about Katrina. “I understand it in my head, I just feel so guilty.”
“I get that,” she snuggled herself closer against him, nestling her head in the crook of his neck. “I think we both have some guilt issues to work through.”
He tightened his arms around her, “We can help each other.”
“I’d like that,” her voice had gone faint, she needed sleep.
“All right, let’s go to bed and get some rest. Today is going to be another long . . .” he broke off as his phone began to ring. Picking it up, he saw Paige’s name on the screen, concerned about what she was going to tell him, he gently slid Sofia off his lap. “It’s Paige,” he told her, “so I gotta take it.”
He crossed to the other side of the room. “What’s up?”
“Are you alone or is Sofia with you?” Paige asked.
Casting a glance at Sofia, who had curled herself up into a little ball on the couch, he replied, “I'm with Sofia. Why?”
“I have bad news,” Paige sighed.
A sinking feeling took residence in his stomach. “Who’s dead? Isabella or the judge?”
“The judge,” Paige replied.
At least that was the better of the two options. He turned his back and lowered his voice so Sofia wouldn’t hear what was going on. “How? Wasn’t he at the estate? That place is crawling with cops and crime scene, how did Logan get in and kill him? Didn’t someone see something?”
“Shot. Yes, he was at the estate. I don’t know how Logan got in. And no, no one saw anything,” Paige answered his list of questions.
Shaking his head, this nightmare just kept getting worse and worse. “Okay, I better go tell her, I’ll see you later.”
“You two going to be okay tonight?”
“Officers outside and I have my gun,” he assured his partner. “We’ll be fine.” Hanging up the phone, he turned back to Sofia. She was still curled up in the corner of the settee, hands pressed together, her cheek resting on them, mouth open in a small o. Even in sleep she looked worried. She looked so fragile, so vulnerabl
e, but Ryan knew that Sofia was strong. Perhaps the strongest person he’d ever met. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to deal with believing he was dying. Or seeing his family slaughtered one by one.
Kneeling beside her, he swept his fingers across her lips, wanting to kiss away all her troubles.
“Tell me what?” she opened one eye to peer at him.
“I thought you were asleep,” he took her hands, absently rubbing his thumbs across her knuckles.
“I couldn’t sleep. Tell me what?” she repeated, prying open her other eye.
“I have bad news,” he stalled.
She grew paler, “Isabella or my father?”
Hating what he had to say, he answered, “Your father. I'm sorry, cupcake.”
For a long moment Sofia didn’t move. Just sat staring blankly at him, and Ryan started to worry that she was going into shock. Increasing the pressure on her hands, about to speak when she suddenly burst into tears and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him tightly.
“Shh,” he comforted. “It’s going to be okay. Shh, shh, baby, shh.”
“He didn’t even like me, and I know he was a bad person, that he covered up Logan’s crimes, but I still loved him,” she sobbed against his chest.
“Of course you loved him, he was still your father,” Ryan reassured her, kissing away her tears. “Shh, baby, please don’t cry anymore.” When she didn’t stop, he kissed her again, on the mouth this time, soft and gentle. At first she didn’t respond, but then she kissed him back, a small sigh escaping her lips when he eventually broke contact.
He eased her back so he could see her face, “It’s not wrong to love him, Sofia. You know that, right?”
Nodding slowly, he could literally see the last of her energy draining away. “I feel faint,” she whispered.
With a hand supporting her head, Ryan laid her back down to rest against the pillows. “When did you last eat?”
Letting her eyes fall closed. “I'm not sure, I don’t remember.”
“Well I've been with you for the last twenty-four hours and I haven’t seen you consume a single thing. You need to eat.”