by Robin Caroll
She made her way down the hallway lit only with the flickering that crept around the corner from the television. Chubbers growled and his nails tapped against her bedroom window. Goose bumps pimpled her arms. Her heartbeat kicked into overdrive.
Entering the bedroom, she kept to the walls, using the shadows as cover. “What is it, boy? What’s out there?” she whispered.
The dog barely turned his head. He kept his focus out the large bay window, ears matching his hackles standing at full alert.
Bella dropped to her hands and knees and crawled to join him at the window. The motion-detector security light blazed, throwing shots of light into the bowels of void in the backyard. She laid a hand on the dog’s back and followed his line of sight.
Up against the bayou’s edge . . . was that someone moving or wind shoving the tree limbs?
Chubbers growled again from deep within his chest. His muscles tightened under Bella’s touch.
“What do you see, boy?” she whispered again, keeping her eyes trained into the black night.
Movement. Definitely not a tree. Human. Silhouetted in the shadows.
Bella scrambled on her hands and knees to her bed. She shoved her hand between the mattress and box springs, grabbed the butt of her 9mm, and jerked the handgun into her lap. Quickly she checked the magazine, then slid one into the chamber. Loaded.
Her pulse echoed inside her head. She forced herself to concentrate on her breathing. In. Out. Slow. Steady. In. Out.
This was the moment she’d been dreading for three years. They’d found her and were here to silence her forever.
So much for Hayden’s theory about Rafe Baxter. And just when she’d thought . . . no, she should have never let her guard down, even in her own mind. This was the reason why.
Hayden!
With a trembling hand, she grabbed the cordless phone from the nightstand. Nothing. No dial tone. No buzzing. Nothing.
She clicked the Off and On button several times. Still nothing.
Her heart jackhammered her chest. The phone line had to have been cut. Stupid her, she’d left her cell in the living room.
Wait a minute. Hayden had left his iPad. It was on the nightstand.
She pulled it onto her lap, turned it on, registered it was connected to her wireless router, then opened the website that would let her text from the Internet. Keeping a tight hold of her gun with one hand, she used the other to type in Hayden’s cell phone number and then wrote her frantic message:
Someone is in backyard. Come. Hurry.
She sent the message, then opened Safari to connect with the Hopewell police department.
Chubbers went crazy! He jumped against the window, growling and barking like she had never seen before. He snarled and lunged again, hitting the glass.
Bella dropped the iPad and gripped the gun tight. She dropped flat on her belly and slid across the smooth wood floor toward the window and Chubbers.
An inch, maybe two.
She could practically hear the blood rushing to her brain.
Another inch. Using her legs to propel herself.
Her heartbeat rammed inside her.
A little farther. Pushing herself.
A bead of sweat heated her upper lip. She swiped her upper pajama sleeve against her face.
Socks slid against wood. An inch. Another. Three. Four.
Psing! Psing!
Everything exploded at once. The glass shattered, spilling onto the floor with tings and pings. She ducked and covered her head. Chubbers yelped midbark. A thud sounded just before another spray of bullets.
Psing!
Bullets whizzed over her head so close she could feel the wind. She lifted her head just a fraction and glanced toward the window.
Chubbers lay in a still heap on the floor. Her heart stuttered, then froze. Chubbers? Movement stirred outside.
She couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of her own heart and the racing of her pulse. The metallic stench of fear—her fear—filled the room and turned her stomach.
No! She would not go down like this.
Bella rolled onto her back, used her heels for traction, and shoved herself toward the window. Grasping the 9mm with both hands, she extended her arms over her head and squeezed the trigger.
She barely felt the recoil as the gunshot filled her ears.
Pop! Pop!
Again she pulled the trigger. And again. And again.
Incoming fire ceased.
She kicked herself beside the still form of her dog. Rolling over, she propped up on her elbows and fired off another shot. And another.
Then nothing but silence.
No gunshots. No movement in the yard. And her dog lay as still as the night was dark. Even her own heartbeat had hushed.
Trembling gone, she reached over and laid a hand across Chubbers’s chest. Slow rise and fall. So he was breathing. She withdrew her hand, now wet. Wet? She stared at the red moisture coating her palm.
Her dog had been shot and lay bleeding. Her breath quickened as silent tears burned tracks down her cheeks.
She needed to get help and needed it now. Her entire body shuddered and shook.
Leaves crunched in the yard.
God, if You’re still listening, please help me. Please, God.
“Thanks for letting me know, Mom. I’m glad to hear Em’s safe. Text me her room number so I can call in the morning and check up on her.” Hayden finished the phone call and placed the receiver on its base on the corner of his desk.
The night officers ambled up and down the station’s halls, the aroma of coffee brewing chased them. Voices, then laughter.
Hayden grabbed the report off the printer, scanned the information, then scrawled his signature across the bottom. With a sigh, he walked it across the main floor and dropped it in the head night officer’s box.
Emily had given her official statement and been charged with petty vandalism. She would be held responsible for the damage of MaryBeth’s car.
His sister had also been admitted into the hospital. Mental ward.
He cringed at the words but had long ago learned that the term encompassed all patients with varying stages of mental illness: depression, anxiety, dementia, psychotic disorders, and yes, bipolar.
At least at the hospital, his sister was safe and would again be given the medication and proper dosage to help her function as normally as possible with her illness. It was all he could ask for . . . a start.
But the end of a very long day for him. He stretched and headed back to his office. A glance at the clock on his computer told him the diner would already be closed. He’d have to grab a sandwich at home to keep the hunger pains at bay. The tortilla soup Bella and he had made hadn’t meant for him to stay up so late.
Pathetic, really, to plan to be in bed before ten on a Saturday night. Maybe Bella was right and he should get out more. He’d never find someone to spend his life with if he didn’t bother to look.
He retrieved his cell phone off the charger. The buzz of the intercom startled him. “Hayden, you still back there?” the front desk sergeant’s voice filled the room.
Now he’d get pulled into work tonight when he didn’t feel like it. Not to mention he wasn’t even on duty.
Contract renewal. And because of Emily’s stunt, he’d have to do all he could just to keep his job. He turned away from his cell phone and pressed the intercom button on the desk. “Yes. What is it?”
“There’s someone here to see you, sir. Says he saw your car and needs to ask you a question.”
“Who is it?”
“An FBI agent. Rafe Baxter.”
Hayden sighed. “Sure, send him back.” He’d already committed a felony by lying to the FBI agents about Bella being sick. Why not just com
pile his crime?
Lord, help me.
He remained standing until the agent appeared. “Agent Baxter, what can I do for you tonight?”
Rafe smiled and extended his hand. “Sorry for dropping by so late. I was out for a drive when I got some information I needed to run by you. I saw your car was here and took a chance.”
Hayden shook his hand and then motioned for him to have a seat. He took his seat behind the desk and leaned back in the chair. He could only pray he looked calm, cool, and collected. “It’s been a long day, so what can I help you with?”
“It’s about Bella Miller.”
Big surprise. “What about her?”
“Do you know anything about her past? Before she showed up here in Hopewell?” Rafe sat on the edge of the chair.
Hayden shook his head. How was he supposed to answer these questions? The truth? He couldn’t do that to her. But he could answer based on Bella, not Remington. “Not really. I mean, she told me she’d moved to Hopewell to start over in life.”
“Do you know why she wanted to start over?”
“No. I asked her once and she implied she had a bad relationship.” He shrugged. “Over the years it wasn’t important to bring up again.” He studied the expression in the agent’s face. “Why do you want to know?”
Rafe held up a finger. “I just heard from her landlady in Lake Charles, where she lived prior to Hopewell. Did you know that?”
“Why are you looking into Bella’s past at all? She has nothing to do with your case.” Maybe she’d been right and he did know she was Remington. But if that were true, why hadn’t he gone after her yet?
“Actually, she does.” Rafe scrutinized Hayden.
Here it came—the facts. Was Hayden prepared to commit another felony in lying to protect his best friend? A lie they’d most likely charge him for?
Lord, what do I say? I need to protect Bella, but I can’t lie. Guide my words, God. Please.
The agent leaned forward, his expression one of animation. “One of the photographs of the crime scene reveals a framed print of a nature shot. It was covering Tate’s wall safe. I’m positive Bella Miller took that photograph, which means she had to know Tate prior to her moving here.”
Hayden forced himself not to react, but how could she have been so careless?
Zuzz!
His cell phone vibrated on the filing cabinet beside the desk, indicating an incoming text message. Hayden waved it off—just Mom texting Emily’s hospital room number as he’d requested.
He shrugged at Rafe. “Perhaps not. Maybe Daniel just bought the picture because he liked it. My mother buys art created by artists she’s never met all the time.”
Rafe leaned back. The old chair creaked against the weight. “Well, I thought it was at least something to look into. You know, following every lead no matter how obscure. So I talked with her landlady in Lake Charles.”
If it wasn’t in Little Rock, maybe Agent Baxter was going down a rabbit trail. Bella hadn’t said anything about Lake Charles.
“A Mrs. Cox. Nice elderly lady. Rented her guest cottage to Bella for almost a year. She remembered Bella quite well. Spoke very highly of her.”
That had to be good, right? Where was Rafe going with this? Hayden did his best to look bored. He needed to call Bella and warn her. As soon as he learned everything the FBI knew. “Well, that’s nice, I guess.”
“It would be except that she called Bella a widow.”
Hayden slumped in his chair. “A what?” He hadn’t expected that one.
“Widow.” Rafe leaned back in his own chair. “As in, had a husband who died.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Apparently, according to Mrs. Cox, he perished in a fire. For which Bella received insurance money for not only the house that burned down, but for her husband’s death.” He dropped his arms and leaned forward again. “Tell me the truth, Hayden Simpson: Is Bella Miller a widow?”
Wow, Hayden had no idea Bella had such an amazing imagination. What a backstory she’d created. But her story put him in a bad situation now.
“Hayden? Has Bella been married?”
Lord, forgive me for the deliberate mislead. “I honestly don’t know. She’s never told me, but I’ve never asked about her past romantic relationships.”
“She’s your best friend. How could you not?” Rafe wore the most shocked expression. Just wait until he found out Bella was Remington. He’d go through the roof.
Hayden pushed the chair out from the desk. “I guess I assumed it was none of my business. Correctly assumed. If Bella wants me to know about her past relationships, she’ll tell me.” He stood. “Maybe that’s what she meant by the fresh start she needed when she moved to Hopewell.” He reached for his cell from the filing cabinet.
Rafe stood as well, bewilderment reflecting in his eyes. “Maybe. I still think she’d tell her best friend.” The dig was implied—she didn’t consider Hayden a close enough friend to tell him about her past.
It was all Hayden could do not to laugh in the agent’s face. If Rafe Baxter only knew the enormity of the secret Bella had shared with him. “I don’t know. Who can try to understand why women do what they do?”
Rafe chuckled, even if it did sound forced. “There is that.”
Speaking of confusing women, he needed to write down Emily’s hospital room number. He clicked on the envelope icon on his cell and then selected the Read option.
Hayden had to read the message three times before the meaning sunk in. He broke out into a sweat.
“I’ve got to get to Bella’s right now.” He reached for his holster and wrapped the belt around his waist.
“What?” Rafe went still.
“Someone’s in her backyard.”
And he’d almost bet his badge that it was someone after Remington Wyatt.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“The fear of death follows the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.”
MARK TWAIN
Bella made it into the hidden panel she’d built in her closet before the front door crashed in. She secured the entry, panting.
Oh-my-stars. This was it. She was going to die.
Her pulse throbbed throughout her body. She steadied her breathing, forcing herself to relax. She wiped one palm free of sweat, then the other. Her hands trembled as she gripped the butt of the 9mm tighter.
Footsteps stomped on the cold, wood floor. In the entry. In the living room. Scraping and thundering.
She pressed her back against the hidden wall and silently adjusted herself to the peephole she’d installed.
Thuds . . . thumps—they were tearing up her living room.
Her cell phone chimed from the living room. Her heart caught in her throat. It chimed again. After a pause, a third time. Was it Hayden?
Bella shifted slightly, just enough so she could see Chubbers on the floor. She’d wanted to move her brave dog but couldn’t. There was no space in the tiny hidey-hole she’d created. Undetectable unless you looked at the plans, the two-by-four area was just enough space for her and the bag she kept ready to go.
But her stomach ached so badly at having to leave poor Chubbers out there, dying. Alone. With them. Her silent tears continued to fall.
Masculine grunts sounded. More heavy footfalls squashed across the floor, coming from the kitchen and dining areas. Clattering of pots crashing to the floor. The smashing of glass rebounded through the cabin.
She pressed her lips together. Her china hutch? A window? How long could this go on? Why hadn’t Hayden responded to her text?
God, I know I’ve been difficult. I know I’ve screamed at and turned my back on You. But if You really love me like Scripture says, and You’re listening, I really, really need some divine intervention. They’re going to kill me
.
She let out a slow breath. Oh, and God, please take care of Chubbers. Please don’t let him die because of me.
“Where is she?” Footsteps thundered down the hall.
Bella bit her bottom lip. Lars Hartlock. She had known it all along. Had told Hayden. And she’d been right.
Her left leg cramped, but she couldn’t chance changing position. Not now. They were too close.
The footfalls pounded into the guest room she used as an office. Bangs echoed as furniture overturned . . . scraped against the wall . . . clattered to the floor.
She gritted her teeth. Hayden, where are you? Why hadn’t the cavalry shown up with sirens squalling and lights flashing?
“Have you found her?” Hartlock asked from just outside her bedroom.
She held her breath.
“No. Not a sign.” Devane’s emotionless voice found its way down her spine, rendering her unable to breathe.
“She couldn’t have gotten out.” Hartlock’s words were accompanied by footsteps into the bedroom.
Bella concentrated on breathing through her nostrils and stared out the peephole. She adjusted her grip on the gun as Hartlock moved into view, followed by Devane. They wore ski masks, but she knew who they were. Her heart responded by skidding and stuttering.
They approached the blown-out window. Devane squatted beside Chubbers. “We got the dog.” He stood and pushed a toe against Chubbers’s head. “Some guard dog, huh? He warned her we were out there.”
Tears blurred her vision. She should just storm out of her hiding place and blast both men to kingdom come. They’d killed Chubbers, just like they’d killed Daniel. She reached for the handle—
“This is where she was when she returned fire.” Hartlock kicked the empty shell casings. They clattered against the wood planks as they rolled. “9mm. She’s here—armed and aware. Find her.”