The Christmas Target

by Shirlee McCoy

  She should have recognized her immediately.

  She probably would have if the world had been standing still.

  “Are you okay?” Karen had reached her side and was leaning toward her, the smell of her perfume mixing with antiseptic and floor cleaner and making Stella’s head swim. “I was working on the pediatric floor and heard Beatrice had been admitted. What happened?”

  “She—”

  “Tell you what,” Chance interrupted. “How about we hash it all out after Stella sees her grandmother?”

  Karen frowned. “Of course. I was just so relieved to see her, I wasn’t thinking. I was going to visit Beatrice, but there’s a guy outside the door who says she can’t have visitors. I told the nurses, but they said you want him there, Stella.”

  “I do,” she responded, the words echoing hollowly in her ears. She felt light-headed and sick, and she wanted to grab Chance’s hand, hold on tight so she didn’t float away.

  “Why? Are you worried that Beatrice wandered off? Do you think she’s getting worse? I heard she left the house without a coat or shoes.” Karen’s words came in quick staccato beats that slammed into Stella’s head and made her want to close her eyes.

  She liked Karen.

  The young woman was smart and helpful, and she’d been wonderful with Beatrice, but right at the moment, Stella wanted to tell her to go away.

  She needed to think.

  She couldn’t do that with someone talking nonstop, asking questions she had no answers for.

  “Karen,” she began, but Chance’s hand settled on her shoulder, his thumb sliding against her neck, and she lost what she was going to say. Felt herself just give it over to him, because he was there, and he could handle it and she was more than willing to let him.

  She’d think about what that meant later.

  When she wasn’t so tired, so scared, so concerned.

  “It seems like you’ve heard a lot of information in a very short amount of time,” he said, his tone conversational and light.

  * * *

  Chance waited for the young woman to respond. Karen Woods. That’s what her name tag said. He’d seen her before. Probably at the funeral. He remembered the brown hair and the big smile. If she remembered him, she didn’t let on. Just offered a quick shrug.

  “The entire hospital is buzzing with the news. Beatrice and her husband helped fund the pediatric wing. They’re a big deal here.”

  Stella looked like she was trying to think of a suitable response, her brow furrowed as if she couldn’t quite come up with the words.

  Chance figured no response was necessary.

  “Big deal or not, Beatrice isn’t to have any visitors unless they’re approved by the police or by Stella. You know that, right?”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “It’s not about stupidity. It’s about knowledge. Were you informed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ll understand that Stella is going to have to say goodbye for now. She wants to see her grandmother, and—”

  “I’m not invited?” Karen smiled, but there was something hard in her eyes. “No need to hit me over the head with it.”

  “I’m not trying to. I just want to make certain we’re all clear on the rules.”

  “Because you’re so big on them,” Stella murmured, and he smiled.

  She was right.

  But that was why they got along so well.

  “Only when they matter. We’ll see you when we come out,” he said, pushing the chair past Karen.

  He wasn’t asking permission, and he didn’t wait for a response. He wanted Stella to see her grandmother, and then he wanted her back in the hospital bed.

  She was two shades too pale, red hair falling lank against her neck and cheeks. Her hand trembled as she tucked a strand behind her ear, and he wanted to turn the chair around and go straight back to her room.

  He knew Stella, though.

  She’d find her way back.

  With or without him.

  Family was everything.

  She’d told him that dozens of times when they were on a mission together. She’d proven how much she meant it when she’d tried to give up her job to take care of her grandmother. Chance hadn’t been able to let her go. She was too valuable a team member. And the team was its own sort of family.

  He pushed her through the hallway of the ICU, Karen following along behind despite the fact that he’d made it really clear that she wasn’t going in Beatrice’s room. She looked well-meaning enough, but there was a glimmer in her dark eyes that bothered him. A little bit of excitement that shouldn’t be there. He’d seen it before—some otherwise harmless person determined to get the juiciest bit of gossip and spread it to the four corners of the earth.

  He imagined she had a nice little group of friends that she’d love to give all the details to. She’d be the star, have her five minutes of fame because she’d brushed shoulders with a couple of people who’d almost died.

  She wasn’t getting any information from him, and he doubted Stella would share anything. Not if she was thinking clearly.

  Several closed doors lined the hall. Boone was in front of one, sitting in a chair, his legs stretched out, the bag of cookies in his hand. He’d eaten half. Chance was surprised he hadn’t eaten them all.

  “I see you finally made it up here,” he said, his gaze on Stella. “You look like death warmed over, Silverstone.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment. It was a hint that you should go back to bed.” His gaze shifted to Karen, and he frowned. “Are you here to try to kick me out again, Karen?” he asked, and the young woman blushed.

  “I wasn’t trying to kick you out. I just didn’t understand why you were sitting here.”

  “I told you why,” he said with typical Boone patience. The guy was almost never bothered by anything or anyone. “Next thing I knew, hospital security was trying to kick me to the curb.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Karen,” Stella cut in. “I appreciate you wanting to visit with Beatrice. Tomorrow will probably be a better day.”

  It was a dismissal, and Karen seemed to get it.

  Finally.

  She patted Stella’s shoulder. “Of course. If you need anything, you know how to reach me. I have classes tomorrow and Friday, but I’m free Saturday and Sunday if you want me to clean the house and do some shopping.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “I can also stay here with Beatrice, if you need me to.”

  “I think we’ve got everything under control.” The words were kind and a lot more patient than was typical of Stella.

  “Okay. Great. Good. Like I said, you know how to reach me.” Karen hurried off, and Stella sighed.

  “She means well,” she said, and Chance wasn’t sure if the words were a reminder to herself or information for him and Boone.

  “It didn’t feel like it when security was trying to strong-arm me out of here,” Boone muttered, pulling a cookie from the bag. “I nearly lost these babies fighting for my right to stay.”

  “I’m sorry she called security on you, Boone.”

  “Not your fault.” He stood, brushed crumbs from his lap. “If you two are going to be in there for a few minutes, I’m going to run and get coffee. Maybe see how the cafeteria food looks. You want anything?”

  “Juice. Orange. And a black coffee,” Chance responded. He’d drink the coffee, and hopefully he could convince Stella to drink the juice. She still looked shaky, and that worried him. She also looked thinner than she had the last time he’d seen her. A month ago. Maybe a little longer than that. She’d come to DC to pick up a computer system that she could use for work.

  She’d said she was fine, that her gra
ndmother was fine, that things were going well. He’d heard a lot that she hadn’t said. Or maybe he’d just assumed that things weren’t as easy as she claimed, that life wasn’t quite as fine as she was making it out to be, because that’s the way Stella was.

  She didn’t need help.

  She didn’t want it.

  Everything was always okay and fine and good.

  When a guy got too close, when he asked too many questions, she backed off and walked away.

  He’d watched it happen over and over again.

  He’d experienced it firsthand.

  She wasn’t the kind of woman who wanted more than an easy and light relationship. She didn’t want to share her soul. That’s what she’d told him on their last date when he’d asked about her family, about the accident that had taken them from her.

  I don’t go out to dinner with a guy so I can share my soul with him. Sharing a meal is good enough.

  He’d told her that he only ever wanted to be with someone who could share every part of herself.

  That was it.

  A bad ending to a story that should have had a great one. He and Stella had a lot in common. They clicked in a way he’d never clicked with any other woman. He could have made a life with her, but he wasn’t going to insist. He wasn’t going to beg. He wasn’t going to do anything but give her exactly what she’d said she wanted.

  “You want anything, Stella?” Boone asked, calling her by her first name. Something he almost never did.

  That seemed to shake her out of whatever stupor she’d fallen into.

  She frowned, locking the brake on the wheelchair and getting to her feet. “Just to see my grandmother.”

  “You go do that. I won’t be long,” Boone continued, meeting Chance’s eyes. “I’ll call Simon and let him know what’s going on here.”

  “See if he’s got anything new from the local police.”

  “And ask when the sheriff is going to get here. I want to speak with him.” Stella took a wobbly step toward the door.

  “Take it easy,” Chance said, taking her arm before she could face-plant into the door.

  “If I take it any easier, I’ll be prone in a bed.”

  “That’s where you should be.”

  “Not yet.” She opened the door and stepped into the quiet room.

  A heart monitor beeped a steady rhythm, and the soft hiss of an oxygen machine filled the room. From what Chance could see, Beatrice’s vitals were normal. Or close to it. Her oxygen level was low, but the mask over her face should help with that.

  Stella leaned over the bed rail and kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “Nana?”

  When Beatrice didn’t respond, Stella lifted her hand, studied the gnarled joints and short nails. “She used to love having her nails done.”

  “Did she?” Chance pulled a chair over to the bed and nudged Stella into it.

  “She thought it made a woman feel feminine. She always wanted me to have mine done, too, but I was never a girly girl, and I hated it. One year, we had matching nails for Christmas. Hers were green with little red Christmas trees. Mine were red with little green Christmas trees. Christmas morning, I realized she’d bought us matching outfits, too. Long red skirts and white blouses with high collars. I think she was going for a Victorian vibe.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “I guess the Victorian theme didn’t go over well with you.”

  “No.” She smiled at the memory. “But I wore the outfit to church anyway. Becky Snyder never did let me live that down. I heard about it every other day for my entire high school career.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t shut Becky down.” That was another thing Chance had watched happen over and over again. Stella knew how to put people in their places and how to keep them there. She also knew how to lift them up when they needed it, offer support when no one else could. It made her fantastic at her job, and it drew people to her. No matter how many times she tried to push them away.

  “Why would I? I never cared what anyone else thought. Beatrice was happy. That made me happy.”

  “I’m sure your grandmother wouldn’t have been happy if she’d known you were being teased.”

  “She knew. We used to laugh about how ridiculous Becky was for bringing up something so last year. And about how silly she was to think that someone who’d survived what I had would be bothered by her opinion.” She smiled at the memory.

  “Your grandmother was a smart lady.”

  Maybe she’d heard the past tense. Maybe she’d realized just how much of herself she’d just shared.

  Whatever the case, her smile faded, her gaze shifting to Beatrice’s face. “I hope she weathers this. She’s already frail, and her memory isn’t good. Sometimes older people don’t recover from—”

  A siren split the air, the sound shrieking through the silent ICU.

  Stella jumped from the chair, swayed.

  Chance just managed to grab her waist, holding her upright as her grandmother bolted into a sitting position.

  “What’s happening?” she cried, her voice muffled by the oxygen mask.

  Good question.

  Chance wanted an answer as badly as she did.

  “I don’t know, but I plan to find out. Stay here,” he said, looking straight into Stella’s eyes.

  She didn’t argue.

  She wouldn’t leave her grandmother’s side. That was one blessing. For once, he absolutely knew that Stella would stay exactly where he’d left her.

  He sprinted from the room, the siren still screaming as he raced down the hall to the nurses’ station.

  FOUR

  The siren cut off as abruptly as it had begun.

  Stella listened to the sudden silence.

  No. Not silence. There were sounds. Subtle noises mixing with the beep and hiss of machines.

  She could hear voices. Nurses and doctors talking, their excited chatter drifting in from the hall. They weren’t moving patients. That was good news, but it didn’t make her feel better. It didn’t make her feel confident that things were okay.

  She didn’t like this.

  She didn’t like it at all.

  “Is there a fire?” Beatrice asked, her voice hoarse, her face pale.

  “Probably just a drill,” Stella assured her and tried to reassure herself.

  No one would be foolish enough to launch an attack in the hospital.

  Would they?

  “Are you sure? Because where there’s sirens, there’s bread.”

  “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, Nana, but there’s no smoke. Sometimes hospitals check their equipment. Just to make sure everything is working.” Sometimes, but not often. Not with sirens that could scare heart patients into cardiac arrest.

  “I hope you’re right, dear. After last night...”

  “You remember last night?”

  “How could I not? People shouldn’t throw rocks at glass. It can cause all kinds of problems.”

  “Rocks at glass?” She was listening with half an ear, most of her attention on the door. She wasn’t sure what she expected. Maybe some masked gunman rushing in, ready to take Beatrice out.

  Or take her out.

  She had a lot more enemies than her grandmother.

  As a matter of fact, she’d be surprised if Beatrice had any enemies at all. Stella? She’d earned plenty of them. In her line of work, that went with the territory.

  “I had to tell him to leave, but he told me that he had a message from Henry, and I had to come down and get it.”

  “Who had a message from Henry?” Now she was focused, now she was really listening, and she still wasn’t sure what she was hearing.

  “The man with the rocks.
The one who woke me up.”

  “Nana, there was no man with rocks.”

  But maybe there was.

  Maybe that’s what had woken Beatrice and sent her out into the storm.

  Beatrice pulled the oxygen mask away from her face, her blue eyes blazing with irritation. “Of course there was, Stella. I may be losing my marbles, but I don’t imagine things. Yet.” She let the mask drop back, and her eyes closed.

  She was either tired of talking or tired of trying to explain what had happened. Either way, Stella let her be. She had bigger things to worry about and more pressing matters to attend to. She’d figure out the window and the rocks and the man with the message after she figured out why the siren had gone off.

  She walked to the door, her legs like noodles, her knees weak. She hated to admit it, but Chance had been right when he’d said she’d be better off in bed. The injuries to her head weren’t the worst she’d had, but they sure didn’t feel good, and they sure didn’t make her steady on her feet.

  The room seemed to tilt as she moved, the walls swaying. She needed Chance’s steadying hand, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  She hadn’t ever wanted to need him, but she thought that she always had. From the moment she’d met him, she’d known he was going to be trouble, that he was going to ask for a lot more than she wanted to give. She’d joined his team anyway. She’d dated him.

  She’d sent him packing.

  And she’d regretted it.

  She still regretted it.

  She frowned and opened the door, her hand clammy, her skin damp with sweat. She felt sick and she felt scared, and she didn’t like either.

  The corridor was empty. No nurses running to prep patients for evacuation. No security officers rushing through looking for trouble. Just the soft beep of machinery, the quiet hiss of ventilators. Everything seemed to be functioning normally.

  But the alarm had gone off. That meant something wasn’t normal.

  Rocks at glass.

  The words ran through her head as she took a step toward the nurses’ station.

  Rocks at glass.

  She thought about Beatrice’s room, the curtains billowing from the open window, the dusting of snow beneath it.