CHRISTMAS CAPTIVE (Decorah Security Series): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novella

by York, Rebecca

  His jaw clenched.

  “You said they’d inherit a lot of money if you died. Would any of them kill you to get it?”

  His gaze turned inward. “You can’t always tell by what you see on the surface. You probably think Richard is nasty.”

  “Right.”

  “He’s got an inferiority complex where I’m concerned. His father and mine were brothers, and they pitted the two of us against each other when we were kids. In academics, sports contests, even stupid little things like who could find the biggest pumpkin at the local pick-your-own pumpkin patch. I usually won because I can’t help being competitive.”

  “That’s awful. No wonder he doesn’t like you.”

  “When we grew up, I realized how we’d both been manipulated, and I tried to be friends with him, but it was already too late.”

  “Was he here when you were hit over the head?”

  “No.”

  “Who was?”

  “My sisters were both visiting.”

  “Did your father pit you against them, too?”

  “Not in the same way, but we were all expected to excel.”

  “Did they?”

  “Well, Stephanie snagged a better husband than June. That counts for a lot.”

  “Better how?”

  “Richer.”

  She winced. “Money isn’t everything.”

  “I figured that out. I’m not sure if they did.”

  Hannah was getting some insights into his family, but she wasn’t sure she was any closer to finding out who had put him in a coma.

  “Your grandmother said that you thought someone was taking money from your account.”

  His gaze turned inward. “I still don’t remember all the details of what I thought was going on. But I’m pretty sure someone had gotten into my computer and was manipulating my finances. And whoever it was was waiting for me when I came into the office.”

  “That’s what Frank Decorah believes happened.”

  “The detective?”

  “Well, the head of the agency that sent me here.”

  “And you really are a nurse?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Stephanie really did save me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wouldn’t have bet on it.”

  Hannah frowned, thinking back on everything Stephanie had said and done, wondering if her suspicious attitude meant she was being protective of Jordan—or concerned that Jordan’s nurse might foil the murder plan. But she knew no better than he where the woman’s loyalties might lie. And she was having trouble believing in a family murder plot. Yet for Jordan’s sake, she had to believe it—and to stop it from happening.

  Brushing a kiss against her hair, he murmured, “Thank you for taking that job with Decorah Security.”

  “I had to, once I saw the file on you, read about you, saw pictures and videos of you. I wanted to save you. And I still don’t know what’s going on.”

  “You haven’t been here very long.”

  She sighed. “The nursing shifts are so long that I don’t have much time to poke around. There are only two of us on duty.”

  He made an angry sound. “I can afford a lot more help.”

  “I guess they don’t want to spend the money.” She reached for his hand. “What about your housekeeper, Mrs. Estes. And the handyman, Carl Padilla?”

  “Mrs. Estes has been with me for years.”

  “She wasn’t very nice when I first arrived.”

  “She can be that way. She’s protective of me.” His gaze had turned inward.

  “What?”

  “Padilla. He doesn’t live here. He generally just comes in to do specific jobs.”

  “Well, maybe he moved in since your accident.”

  “Yeah, Richard wouldn’t want to have to change a light bulb by himself.”

  Ignoring his nakedness, he got out of bed and paced the room, his shoulders rigid. It was clear he felt the frustration of his situation.

  “I’ve never been in a situation like this,” he muttered. “Never been so damn helpless.”

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  “Will we?”

  He looked back at her, catching her grim expression.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Chapter Ten

  “It just came to me,” Hannah murmured. “The only answer that makes sense. Someone must be giving you medication to keep you asleep. I don’t know who, but I have to go back and find out.”

  His expression turned hopeful. “You think so?”

  “What else can it be when there’s no medical reason for you to be asleep?” She climbed out of bed and grabbed the gown he’d thrown on the floor and pulled it over her head. “And I have to find out who it is. But I can’t do it here, which means I have to leave,” she whispered.

  “How?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “How did you leave last time?”

  “Stephanie came into the room, and that pulled me back there. But now . . .” She let her voice trail off, then started again. “Maybe I have to get away from you.”

  When he looked at her with regret, her stomach clenched. She wanted to stay here with him, warm and cozy in bed, but she had to leave, because his life might depend on it.

  She walked to him and threw her arms around him, holding on tight. His arms came up to embrace her, and they stood that way for long moments. If she left him now, would she ever see him again? See the real Jordan Campbell, not the man lying unconscious in the bed.

  She could barely breathe as she forced herself to ease away from him and walk out the door into the hallway. Without looking back, she closed the door behind her.

  Now what?

  Grimly, she stood scanning the hallway in both directions. She’d never connected with a patient as deeply as with Jordan Campbell, never crossed the line from professional to personal relationship. And she’d never considered that she’d be stuck in someone else’s coma. But it seemed to be true, because she had no more idea than he did himself how to get back to reality.

  A shiver went through her. Had someone given him more medication while they’d been focused on each other? Was that the problem?

  Desperate to get back to reality, she hurried down the hall, putting as much distance between herself and Jordan as she could, but it didn’t seem to do any good. Feeling sick, she picked up her pace. She was almost to the end of the hall, where she’d seen Jordan as a baby in his mother’s arms.

  Then she rounded the corner and saw that she’d arrived at the year before he was born. And as she ran past that room, the dream snapped off, and she found herself back in the sickroom where she’d been on duty before going into the dream.

  She breathed out a sigh, thankful that she’d returned to reality—and that she was back in her uniform. But now what?

  When she glanced at Jordan, her heart squeezed. In the dream he’d been so vital and alive. He’d made wonderful love to her. Then he’d been angry at his predicament.

  But now he was lying in his bed, just as pale and still as he had been when she’d first arrived.

  She’d left the light low, and she intended to turn it up and try and rouse Jordan. Before she could, a noise in the hall made her go very still. Was somebody out there?

  Quietly she crossed to the door and looked out, but saw no one. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was lurking out there, waiting to pounce on Jordan.

  She stepped into the hall and looked around. Still seeing no one, she walked a few feet farther. A rush of motion behind her made her try to whirl around. But before she could turn, strong hands pressed against her shoulders, running her toward the wide stairs, then pushing her over the edge.

  She tried to grab the railing, but she was in the wrong position. Unable to save herself, she began to tumble down.

  She had tended patients who had taken a fall down a flight of stairs. They had been badly injured. Some had broken arms, legs or shoulders. One had even broken
his neck, and this flight was longer than normal—therefore deadlier. Frantically she made another grab for the banister, but she was moving too fast to clutch on, and she knew she was going all the way down.

  Until someone caught her in his arms. A man’s solid body broke her fall, and she knew it was Jordan, knew it was the same man who had made love to her less than an hour before.

  She felt him, but she couldn’t see him. All she knew was that he had stopped her tumble down the stairs.

  “Jordan.”

  He didn’t answer her as she stood struggling to catch her breath and assess her condition. She was all right. He had saved her, and she knew that she had to return the favor. Right now.

  Chapter Eleven

  Struggling to catch her breath, she charged back up the stairs and back into Jordan’s room, wishing she had the gun that had disappeared from her suitcase. The room was still darkened, and she strained hard to see through the shadows.

  A form moved by the hospital bed, and her gaze shot to it.

  It was a woman, Mrs. Fahrenhold. Hannah had thought she would find Richard here, but she’d been wrong.

  The nurse was standing over Jordan. She had a hypodermic in her hand. . . and she was reaching for the IV line. But there was no medical reason for her to be doing it. All at once, the picture came into focus, and Hannah understood what had been happening over the past few weeks. Well, maybe Jordan had been in a coma right after the accident. But then he’d started to come out of it. And when he began to get better, his nurse put him under again. Only this time, intuition told Hannah that the dosage would do more than put him back into a deeper sleep. She’d come here and changed the equation, and whoever was giving Nurse Fahrenhold her orders had decided to end the drama tonight.

  “No,” she screamed, flying toward the bed.

  Fahrenhold whirled, astonishment on her features as she saw who was trying to interrupt her deadly mission.

  “You’re supposed to be at the bottom of the stairs,” she spat, swatting Hannah away with a powerful blow.

  She landed against the small bedside table, her back crashing into the carved wood and the air whooshing out of her lungs.

  As she sprawled there, stunned, Fahrenhold turned back to Jordan, raising the needle once more.

  “No!” Hannah screamed again. But it was clear she couldn’t fight the woman by herself.

  “Help. Help me,” she shouted, praying someone would hear her. People had been coming into the sickroom unannounced since she’d arrived. Where were they now?

  Fahrenhold fixed her with a pitying look. “Don’t count on any help showing up. I made sure they’d be sleeping. And you’re not going to get a chance to talk about what happened here, because you’re going to have another accident. You went down to see where Jordan slipped on the rocks. And you’re going to do the same thing he did.”

  As Hannah tried to get up, Fahrenhold pulled a gun. “Stay there.”

  Hannah watched her turn back toward the IV drip, keeping the gun on Hannah as she lifted the hypodermic in her other hand.

  But she had to take her attention off of Hannah to plunge the needle in. That momentary lapse, gave her an opening. Scrambling to her feet, she ducked low and launched herself at the big nurse, knocking her to the side and away from Jordan.

  “You interfering little twit!” Fahrenhold swung around, trying to get the gun into firing position.

  Behind her, Hannah saw Jordan move. Wide-eyed, she watched him surge off the bed and lunge at the nurse, knocking the gun from her hand.

  Hannah used the opportunity to leap up. Grabbing the bedside table, she raised it high with both hands, and brought it crashing down onto the woman’s head.

  She dropped, unconscious, onto the rug.

  Hannah scrambled over to her and scooped up the gun. Then ran to Jordan, who was leaning against the bed.

  “You saved me on the stairs. Then you woke up!” she exclaimed, taking him in her arms.

  “Yeah, how about that?” He gave a short laugh, slumping heavily against her.

  For long moments, they simply clung together, with her supporting him as he breathed heavily against her neck. She could feel his entire body quivering with the strain of remaining upright, and she was about to insist he lie down when a scuffling noise made Jordan straighten and tense.

  She turned to see Fahrenhold staggering from the room.

  Hannah started to follow her, but Jordan’s hand closed around her arm. “Let her go for now,” he ordered. “I don’t want you hurt.”

  “But she was drugging you, and she tried to kill you! I’m sure all those nice neat reports she was writing were false. We need to call the police.”

  “Yeah,” he said wearily. “Call 911.”

  “I’m putting you back to bed first.”

  “Well then crank up the bed so I don’t have to lie flat. I’m damn tired of that.”

  She did as he asked. He was pale and looked worn out, but after she’d called the police, she checked his vital signs and was pleased to see that they were normal. Then she folded the screen that separated his hospital bed from the rest of the room to make space for the cops.

  In less than ten minutes, two uniformed officers walked into the room. They were escorted by Stephanie, who looked like she’d gotten up from a deep sleep. She crossed quickly to Jordan. The younger sister, June, trailed behind them.

  “Jordan! Thank God, you’re awake!” Stephanie said. “But what’s going on? Who called the police?”

  Hannah stepped forward “I did.”

  Stephanie shot her a quick look, before leaning over to hug her brother.

  Jordan managed to raise one hand briefly to pat Stephanie’s back.

  She straightened. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

  “So am I.” He looked toward June.

  “Yes,” she echoed.

  Hannah watched the uniformed officers observing the scene. One was a middle-aged man, a little thick around the middle and balding. His partner was, perhaps, ten years younger with dark hair cut military short.

  “I thought you were in a coma,” the older man said. “And the word was that you weren’t going to come out of it.”

  “As you can see, the news of my death was greatly exaggerated,” Jordan answered.

  “It’s great to see you’re awake.” He shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable.

  “I’m really glad to see you, too, Tommy,” Jordan said, then included the other officer in his greeting.

  “So what happened here?” the older one asked.

  “It’s complicated,” Jordan answered. “It looks like one of my nurses, Mrs. Fahrenhold, was drugging me. I woke up and found her trying to inject something into my IV line.” He gestured toward the hypodermic that Hannah had set on the bedside table. “Ms. Andrews, my night nurse stopped her from injecting the drug, and I’m sure when your lab analyzes it, they’ll find a barbiturate overdose.” He paused and looked around the room. “But of course, she had no reason to come up with that plan on her own. One of my relatives was paying her to do it.”

  Hannah heard a collective gasp in the room and saw the other people looking at each other.

  “That was after someone arranged an accident that was supposed to kill me. When that didn’t work out, they starting paying the nurse to keep me asleep.”

  “Who?” the older officer asked.

  “My sister, June.” He nodded toward her. “Conveniently, she’s right over there.”

  June turned and started to run, but the younger officer grabbed her and kept her in place.

  “Hold up a minute until we get this straightened out,” he said.

  The officer named Tommy looked at Jordan. “Uh, what makes you think your sister is involved?”

  “She told me. She came into my room and talked to me about it when she thought I was unconscious, and I’d never wake up. She was so pleased that she’d finally gotten the better of me.”

  “That’s a lie.” June spat out. “
And you can’t prove a thing.”

  “You’re right,” Jordan said. “I can’t prove it. But I can ask you to leave my house and never return.”

  “You bastard,” June screamed. “You always had everything. And I got nothing. It wasn’t fair.”

  “You know that’s not true,” Jordan said in a calm voice.

  “It is. You went to better schools. You got more money.”

  “I took what I inherited and made my own money,” Jordan countered.

  June tried to yank away from the police officer. “Let me go. You can’t hold me on any charges.”

  Stephanie cleared her throat. “Actually, I think we can prove what Jordan’s saying.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Everybody turned toward Stephanie.

  “How?” Jordan asked.

  Stephanie’s face hardened. “I was afraid something was going on between June and that nurse. They were having whispered conversations, and they’d stop talking whenever I came around. That’s why I took to hanging out in your room,” she said to Jordan, then looked at Hannah. “I’m sorry. I thought they might have gotten you in on the plot. I think they asked the nurse who left to cooperate with them, and she quit instead.”

  Hannah nodded. “I can understand why you might have thought I was involved.”

  Quickly, Stephanie walked over to Jordan’s four-poster bed and opened the drawer in the lamp table beside it. Removing what Hannah recognized immediately as a handheld tape recorder, she came back toward them.

  “I was afraid for you,” Stephanie said to Jordan. “So I . . . I bugged your room. The tape is voice activated and extremely sensitive. It picks up even the slightest sounds. So you do have something on June.”

  “I always knew you had a good head on your shoulders.” Jordan gave her a smile. “That tape will also let us hear Fahrenhold telling Hannah that she was going to kill me and then her.”

  The police took the tapes.

  “I take it you can’t come down to the station house to press charges,” Tommy said.

  “Not a chance,” Hannah answered.

  “I think we can send the State’s Attorney to you.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Amid the uproar, Hannah called Dr. Stanford, who arrived an hour later.