He glanced at her, nodded. “I’m glad you moved. You were safer in the bushes. It’s good to know you have a strong survival instinct.”
She wasn’t sure about that. She’d only known she didn’t want anybody finding her.
“I’m sorry I pushed you,” Dylan said.
She couldn’t help the short bark of laughter. “You’re joking, right?”
“Did I hurt you? Did I make your injuries worse?”
She was fine. No new injuries she could think of. He was worried about having hurt her, but if he hadn’t pushed her out of the way…
The bullet had hit just above her head. She’d felt the air of it lift her hair. Or maybe she’d imagined that.
If he’d hesitated a second, she’d be dead.
The thought of it had her gasping for air. She leaned forward, doubled over.
“Hey, hey.” Dylan patted her back. “You’re safe now.”
She was. She knew that.
But two attempts on her life in three days… Would she survive a third?
Chapter Nine
“I don’t need them,” Dylan said.
But Kelsey Nolan held out the Tylenol, eyebrows lifted, and he knew it was useless to argue. And, if he were honest, he’d admit his head was throbbing. How could one little splinter of wood cause so much damage?
He swallowed the pills with a gulp of the water she’d set beside him. “Happy?”
“Hardly.” Kelsey’d not lost any of her accent. South Carolina? Virginia? Something like that. “When Eric called and said you’d been injured, I pictured the worst.”
They’d reached Eric and Kelsey Nolan’s house a few minutes before. Kelsey had ushered them both in, made Chelsea a cup of hot tea, despite the heat of the June day, and then tended Dylan’s wound.
He glanced at Chelsea now. She was seated in the chair beside him, a blanket draped over her. He’d forgotten about shock, forgotten that normal people weren’t accustomed to such violence. Not that he was. He’d never drawn his gun in the line of duty, and he’d sure as heck never been shot at. But he’d been trained to handle such things. Chelsea, not so much. In the last three days, she’d been pushed off a cliff, abandoned to starve in a cabin, shot at, and shoved off a porch.
She pushed the blanket off her shoulders, and it fell to hang over the back of her chair. She smiled at him. “I’m fine. Really.”
Had his thoughts been so obvious? “You sure?”
“You’re the one who’s injured.” She turned to Eric’s wife. “Is there anything I can do?”
Kelsey dabbed at his head with alcohol.
He flinched. The treatment was far worse than the injury. “Is this necessary?”
Kelsey dabbed again and spoke over his head to Chelsea. “The man had a piece of wood embedded in his scalp. Filthy wood. I’ve never understood how men can be so tough one minute, such babies the next.”
Chelsea smiled.
Baby? He’d like to see them have someone pour astringent on an open wound. He pressed his lips closed to keep from saying that. Especially since it was far from true. He’d much rather be the one going through this. “Is Eric almost here?” He needed another man in the room. Desperately.
And Daniel, the little boy who’d run downstairs, said hello, and returned upstairs with the dog, didn’t count.
Dylan willed himself not to move as Kelsey dug into his cut.
“One more little piece…” she said.
He felt the tug as she pulled the splinter from his skin.
“Almost done,” she said.
Outside, a car door slammed. They heard the call of, “Daddy’s home!” Daniel ran down the stairs and out the front door. A moment later, Eric Nolan stepped inside the house, the boy slung over his shoulder like a feed sack, the dog doing her best to trip him up.
“Found this fella loitering outside,” Eric said.
“Daddy! Put me down!”
Eric chuckled and set his son down. “Go on back upstairs. I’ll come see you before I head back to work.”
The boy dashed up the stairs, the dog on his heels.
Eric crossed the room and held out his hand. “Eric Nolan.”
“Chelsea Hamilton,” she said.
His eyebrows lifted, and he glanced at Dylan. “Thought you looked familiar.”
Kelsey set her instruments of torture—tweezers, a cotton ball, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol—on the table. “Your picture was in the paper last week. We read about your mother’s death. I’m so sorry.”
Chelsea dipped her chin. “Thank you.” She took her seat again.
“What’s going on?” Eric asked.
Chelsea started the story. When it got to the cabin, she tipped her head to Dylan, and he jumped in, telling Eric about the shots fired at the lake.
When they’d finished the story, Eric said, “Glad you weren’t hurt. Sounds like you were very lucky.”
“If not for Dylan,” Chelsea said, “I’d be dead.”
Dylan shook his head. “Luck, good training, and instinct.”
Chelsea held his gaze. “I thank God for them all.”
Eric focused on Dylan. “Any ideas yet who’s behind the shooting?”
“I didn’t see much of the guy’s face, but I think he had a big nose. I haven’t made a single call yet on the case.” Dylan glanced at the clock on the stove in the kitchen. Just after one p.m. Seemed impossible that he’d only met Chelsea three hours before.
Eric stood. “I’m headed over there now. Where will you be?”
“I’m going to find a safe place for Chelsea to hide,” Dylan said, “and then I’m headed—”
“Absolutely not,” Chelsea said.
Dylan faced her. “Someone’s tried to kill you twice. You need to hide—”
“I was hiding, and he found me.”
“I’ll hide you better,” Dylan said.
Eric said, “She can stay here—”
“I’m not hiding,” Chelsea said.
“I don’t know. I’m afraid we’d be putting Kelsey and Daniel in danger,” Dylan said.
Chelsea stood. “I do not appreciate being ignored.”
Dylan’s head was throbbing, and he wasn’t in the mood to argue. “You’re not coming with me.”
“We’ll let y’all work this out.” Eric jogged up the stairs.
Kelsey stepped into the kitchen.
Chelsea crossed her arms, eyes narrowed to slits. “Do you remember why I hired you?”
He remembered. She’d felt God’s leading. And Dylan had felt the same leading to take the case. “So you should trust me and do what I say.”
“You saved my life.”
“If I’d been one second later—”
“But you weren’t. You did exactly what you had to do to protect me. I feel safe with you. I don’t want to stay with strangers.” She glanced at Kelsey on the far side of the kitchen counter. “No offense.”
“None taken,” she said.
“I’m a stranger!” Dylan hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but she was being ridiculous. “You hardly know me.”
“I trust you. And I don’t want to go to any other hiding place. I’ve been hiding, and it was torture. Just sitting around waiting for someone to burst in and…” Tears filled her eyes. She shook her head, swallowed the emotion. “I’ll not sit alone any longer. I trust you to protect me. I’m going with you.”
What was Dylan supposed to do here? He wasn’t sure where he’d hide her, even if she agreed. If she were with him, she could help him navigate the people he needed to talk to. But taking her with him meant exposing her. He didn’t want to put her in danger.
Of course, she was right. She had been hiding before, and the would-be killer had found her. Until he knew how, maybe she’d be safer with him. And anyway, by the look on her face, she wasn’t going to let him leave her without a fight.
“Fine,” Dylan said. “We’ll go together. But you stay with me at all times. At this point, we assume everybody is trying to k
ill you. There are no safe people. Not old friends, not family.”
Her eyes narrowed. “But there are people I trust, people—”
“Chelsea, if you come with me, you have to understand this—from this point on, everybody you’ve ever known is a possible threat.”
Chapter Ten
“Where are we?” Chelsea peered at the woods surrounding them.
Dylan pulled the truck to a stop on the side of a narrow deserted road a couple of miles from Eric and Kelsey’s house. “Just need to make some calls. Didn’t want to intrude on their lives any more than we already had.”
“Surely you won’t have service here.”
He typed something into his cell. “I have service everywhere in town.”
Odd. She pulled out her phone. No service.
He dialed someone. The phone rang through the truck’s speakers. Then, “Coventry PD.”
Dylan said, “I have information about an incident that took place on Mt. Coventry Monday morning.”
“What incident?” the woman asked.
“I’m a private investigator. My client, Chelsea Hamilton, was assaulted on Mt. Coventry on Monday. I’d like to speak to the detective working the case.”
“One moment please.”
Dylan turned to her. “Keep quiet, okay? I don’t mind you listening in, but I don’t want them to know you’re listening.”
“Why?”
Through the speakers, they heard, “Detective Cote.”
He faced the steering wheel. “Dylan O’Donnell. I’m a PI working with Chelsea Hamilton. She understood—”
“Wait. Working with? Are you with Neely Investigations?”
He glanced her way, shrugged. “Nope. Work for myself.”
The man huffed into the phone. “Okay, go on.”
“Miss Hamilton reported an incident on Mt. Coventry Monday morning.”
“Been trying to reach her, but she hasn’t returned any of my calls.”
She wanted to respond, but Dylan lifted his finger to his lips. “She hasn’t received any calls,” Dylan said.
“You know where she is?” Cote asked. “We need to speak with her right away.”
“What number were you given?”
Rustling sounded through the speakers. “Just a sec. Got it here… Yeah.” He rattled off her cell phone number.
Dylan looked at her, and she nodded.
“That’s it,” Dylan said. “She’s been having trouble with her cell. What have you learned?”
“We need to speak to Miss Hamilton.”
“Fair enough,” Dylan said. “She’s been keeping a low profile, for obvious reasons.”
“No good reason to avoid my calls.”
“Can you meet us in the Concord area?”
“You can find me at the station in Concord.”
“We’ll be in Concord.”
“We?” The detective’s voice rose. “She’s with you?”
“She might be,” Dylan said, “if we can find a safe place to talk.”
After a few minutes of blustering and frustration, the detective agreed to meet them at a sports bar in Concord, and Dylan ended the call.
“That was an odd conversation,” Chelsea said.
“He doesn’t know me from Adam’s nephew,” Dylan said. “He’s not going to tell me anything until he knows who I am and why I’m interested in information.”
“If you’d let me speak—”
“Do you know him?” Dylan’s eyebrows rose as he waited.
“I know of him. He was at the funeral.” She thought he had been, anyway. She’d met at least one person named Cote after the funeral, though no faces came to match the name.
“Would he have recognized your voice?” Dylan asked.
“Oh. I don’t know.”
“Your speaking wouldn’t have done anything but confuse the situation. The call wasn’t helpful as it was, but it would have been less so if he’d heard your voice. He’d have had to confirm that you were okay, and he’d have tried questioning you about what you knew. I’d much rather have that conversation face-to-face. He might think I’ve kidnapped you. He might think I’m the killer just hoping to find out what he knows.”
“I see.” It made sense, but she still didn’t like sitting by silently. “Am I to remain quiet during all of your calls?”
“You’ll have plenty of opportunity to tell your story.” He glanced at the useless cell phone in her lap. “How come you don’t have access to your money?”
Funny he hadn’t asked her that earlier. “All my accounts had fraud alerts put on them. Bank, credit cards, even store credit cards.”
“Who could’ve done that?”
“They’re all linked to HCI, so somebody in accounting, perhaps. Mum used to manage all that for me.” She shrugged off the emotion trying to rise.
“Why don’t you manage it yourself? I mean, you’re an adult—”
“Of course I am. And I’m quite capable of managing my own life.” At least, she assumed she was. All of her friends had graduated, gotten jobs, become contributing members of society. Even the wealthiest of them were working now. But she’d had this conversation with her mother a thousand times. Chelsea was an adult and was fully capable of controlling her funds. Except she’d been a student her entire so-called adult life, living off an allowance. Her current internship was paid, but the small income didn’t even cover her rent. So she was living off her family, living like a child.
She hated that about herself, but Mum had convinced her it was all for the sake of the company. She was to focus on learning business and design and not worry about money. She’d have plenty of time for that when she was working at Hamilton. Nobody could have predicted that she’d practically go straight from school to running HCI.
Dylan said nothing, just watched her closely. She hated to think of the emotions that had played across her face.
“Mum insisted on managing my finances. I was given an allowance so I’d have access to cash, which was deposited into my bank account every month. She paid my credit cards, my rent, my tuition…”
“You’ve been a student, so that makes sense.”
Kind of him to think so, though at twenty-five, she should have been taking care of herself. Of course, to do that, one had to have income. She should have gotten a job after graduating that would have prepared her for what loomed ahead. No, what she should have done was come home and work at Hamilton.
The learning curve would be steep and difficult, but she could do it. She had the education, knew the ins and outs of the company, even if she didn’t yet know the people. She’d figure it out.
Assuming she survived.
“I understand my background is unconventional. I understand that most people don’t have the resources my family does. Truth is, I wanted more control, but Mum…”
Dylan either didn’t notice the crack in her voice or pretended not to. “How many people do you think had access to your accounts?”
“When I had an issue, I called Mum, and she handled it. The accounting department has a number of people, but I don’t know them. And I don’t know how secure their systems are. I likely met some of them at the funeral, but…” She couldn’t remember. All the faces, all the names… they were a blur.
“Maybe somebody hacked the system and got the account numbers,” he said. “Or maybe somebody in accounting has it out for you.”
“I don’t know them. They don’t know me.”
If only Mum hadn’t lost control of her car that night. What had she been doing on the mountain, anyway? Chelsea had asked Mum’s friends and coworkers after the funeral, but nobody knew why she’d been there.
As for the accident, nobody could explain it. The tires had been new, the brakes had worked properly, according to the investigating officer. Perhaps a deer—or even a moose—had stepped into the road, and Mum had swerved to avoid it. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep. Chelsea would never know what had caused her mother’s accident that night.
> Was it an accident? She’d not doubted it, and even after two attempts on her life, she didn’t want to think about the idea that somebody had killed her mother. Why? What could possibly be the motive?
She had no idea. What she did know, what she couldn’t stop thinking about, was the fact that she was an orphan. So what if she was rich? So what if her position afforded her luxury and power? She’d give it all away to have her parents back.
Dylan covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry. I know this has been a shock.”
She looked away.
After a few beats, Dylan lifted his hand from hers. She missed it, missed that connection.
“Does the company take care of your cell phone, too?” he asked.
She glanced at the device in her hand, and it dawned on her. “You’re saying you think somebody…” It was obvious, now that he mentioned it.
“That’s my guess,” he said. “Same person who reported your cards stolen might have called the cell provider, either reported the phone stolen or just shut off your service.”
“I’m such a fool. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Let’s see. Pushed from a cliff”—he lifted a finger as he ticked off the list—“no food for two days, hardly any sleep in a dilapidated cabin, shot at. It’s a mystery why you’re not thinking straight.”
Nice of him not to mention Mum’s death, though that was probably the thing that had muddled her thinking the most. “When you put it like that, it does rather make sense.”
His lips quirked. “Rather.” The hint of English accent in his word made her smile. The amusement faded fast. “I need my mind to work better if I’m to figure out what’s going on.”
“That’s what you hired me for.” He did a three-point turn and navigated onto the narrow state highway toward the interstate.
“Could I borrow your phone to call my uncle?” Chelsea asked.
Dylan had just merged onto I-93.
“He must be out of his mind with worry,” she added.
Dylan tapped the steering wheel. His Adam’s apple bobbed. She watched his profile, tried to guess what he was thinking. Definitely something serious, considering the narrowed eyes, the firm set to his lips. After a moment, he said, “Sure.”
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