Her shoe slipped, and she lost her footing. Zeke grabbed her wrist, twisted.
Pain shot up her arm.
Blindly, she jabbed the knife at him. Felt it penetrate flesh. It slipped from her bloody hand.
He screamed, backed away. Dropped the gun. Didn’t let her go.
Raw fury filled his gaze. He brought the wounded arm up, grabbed her neck. Squeezed.
She couldn’t breathe.
The world went silent. No croaking frogs. No chirping crickets. Just the sound of Zeke’s breath in her ears.
His other arm wrapped around her, kept her in place. “I will end you.” Voice low, the sound resonated like last words.
Her vision darkened. She struggled, but there was no escape.
No escape.
A gunshot echoed through the forest.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dylan kept the gun aimed.
Zeke collapsed. Blood dripped from the hole just above his ear.
Chelsea inhaled a gasp, a beautiful sound.
Dylan fell back against the hard ground. The gun landed at his side.
“Thank God.” Chelsea hobbled across the clearing and knelt at his side. “I thought you were dead.” Emotion thickened her voice.
“I’m alive.” He had to be. Heaven wouldn’t hurt this much.
Minutes after Chelsea had run, he’d quit fighting. Not that he hadn’t had any fight left, but with his injuries, there had been no way he could beat Zeke. Better to let the man think he’d bested him than to keep taking the beating. He’d collapsed.
Zeke had pushed him off, stood. Kicked him a couple of times for good measure. But Dylan had done everything in his power not to react.
To just lie there and take it.
The ruse had worked. Not that it had been much of a ruse. Truth was, he could hardly move.
When the gun barrel had pressed against his skull… had to have been God’s peace that flowed within him. Because everything in him had wanted to flinch.
Emotion clogged his throat as he considered what could have happened. Not to him but to Chelsea.
She brushed her fingers down his face. “What did he do to you?”
“I’m okay.” He worked his way to a sitting position and got a good look at her. It was too dark to see bruises. Her hands were wounded, bloody. He took one, studied the cuts. “What happened?”
“I’m not as proficient in duct-tape removal as you are.”
He chuckled, but it died as pain throbbed in his middle. He studied Chelsea’s fear-filled face, pressing his palm to her cheek. He could stare at her all day. Just the sight of her, alive, breathing, infused him with strength.
She wrapped her arms around him and wept onto his shoulder.
Tears stung his own eyes, too. They were alive. They’d survived. Against all odds, somehow, they’d survived.
She backed away. “He had a cell phone.”
“I’ll get it.” He started to push to his knees, but she pressed her hand against his shoulder. After a glance at the body, she said. “I can do it. Do you know where it is?”
Kind of her, but he wasn’t going to let her paw through the pockets of a dead man. That was an image Chelsea didn’t need to take with her into her future. He pushed to his feet, stumbled the few feet to where Zeke lay, and checked for a pulse. None. He found the cell phone, lit the screen, and pressed Zeke’s thumbprint against the button to unlock it. There was some way to make an emergency call without unlocking it, but he didn’t have the brainpower to think about what it was.
Dylan dialed 911. He explained what happened, told them he had no idea where they were. The dispatcher asked him to keep the line open, so he put it on speaker and shoved it in his pocket. He helped Chelsea to her feet, and they sat on the back of the van, legs dangling.
Shoulders touching.
“How did you know it was Laura?” she asked.
“The call I took at the restaurant. The golf resort…”
His voice was fading. “Where that photo of Zeke was taken?”
He nodded. “Expensive. Exclusive. It’s by the Foxwoods Casino in Connecticut, which I thought was odd. Why would someone with Zeke’s limited income belong to an expensive golf resort—in another state? Cote looked into it. Zeke wasn’t a member, but Laura was. She brought him as a guest.”
But when they’d asked Laura about him, she’d acted as if she didn’t know him. No wonder Dylan hadn’t wanted to bring it up on their date.
Dylan rasped out, “I’m sorry. I know you—”
“No. Don’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened. Sorry I couldn’t help you when you were fighting him.” Her voice was teary. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“Don’t.” He was too tired to talk, too achy to think. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”
“You saved my life. I nearly got you killed. When he had the gun—”
“Shh…”
She quieted, and he took her hand, laid it gently in his, afraid to hurt her with all those cuts.
“We’re both alive,” he said. “He’s dead. You’re safe, and I love you.”
“Dylan—”
“Don’t say anything. Let’s…” He didn’t have the strength to finish the sentence. He just wanted to feel her beside him until help arrived.
He didn’t resist when she urged his shoulders onto the floor of the van, then lifted his legs so he was lying down. “Rest, sweet man.” She kissed his forehead.
Disappeared.
Returned a moment later with a jacket, which she laid over his shoulders. “Found it in the front.”
Zeke’s jacket. Zeke was dead. She was safe.
She sat at his side, brushed her fingers along his hairline.
His eyes drifted shut.
She was safe. Wasn’t she?
Had he dreamed the whole thing? Dreamed that moment when he’d crept across the ground, grabbed the gun, rolled away to get a better angle, and fired? Dreamed the beautiful gasp as she pulled in that sweet breath? Dreamed the feeling of her fingertips on his skin?
His eyes snapped open, saw her there, her blond hair falling on either side of her beautiful face. She was alive.
Somehow, they’d both survived.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chelsea sat by Dylan’s bed in a small room in a Manchester hospital. Two hours had passed since the first police cruiser had found them in the clearing. The wounds on her hands and the cuts on her back had been treated and bandaged. No amount of antiseptic would wipe away the memory of Zeke Granger or the terror she’d felt. Those were the kinds of wounds only the Lord could heal. She trusted that He would.
Dylan was lying on the bed, eyes closed. They’d performed X-rays and found no broken bones, just bruises. The doctor had explained that the ones to his ribs would hurt terribly and take weeks to heal. They’d given him Tylenol for that pain and the headache caused by the concussion. There was nothing more they could do. Any minute, surely, the nurse would return to release him.
A knock on the door had Dylan’s eyes popping open. When he caught sight of Chelsea, he smiled. “I keep thinking I’m still back there.”
“We’re safe,” she said.
The door opened, but it wasn’t the nurse. Dylan’s friend, Eric Nolan, stepped in. “How’s our patient?”
Dylan raised the head of his bed, eyes blinking. “Never felt better.”
“You’ve definitely looked better.” He focused on Chelsea. “How about you?”
“I’ll be fine.” The fact that both hands were wrapped in bandages for the second time that week notwithstanding.
“From what I heard, you guys got lucky out there.” Eric closed the door.
“It wasn’t luck,” Dylan said. “It was all God—and Chelsea’s courage.”
“Hardly,” she said. “It was God and your heroics. I had no idea what I was doing.”
Eric chuckled. “Let’s just give God the credit and move on.” He carried a notebook, which he looked at now. “Y
our truck was found behind that seafood restaurant on the lake.”
“The one where the attack happened?” Chelsea asked.
“Right,” Eric said. “I suspect they’d have taken it farther, but it was pretty banged up. It’s been impounded. We’ll go over it, look for fingerprints.” He focused on Chelsea. “A purse, a”—he consulted his notes—“Louis Vuitton, was found on the floor.”
“It’s mine. When will I get it back?”
“Tomorrow, probably. No reason for us to keep it.” He snagged a pen from his breast pocket. “I’d like to speak with each of you privately, get your take on what happened.”
She wanted to argue that they’d already told the uniformed officers everything. But a man had died. It made sense they needed to thoroughly investigate.
She followed Eric and a uniformed officer to an empty room. Eric closed the door and directed her to sit in one of the chairs along the wall. The uniformed officer and Eric pulled up chairs to face her, and for the next thirty minutes, she related everything that happened. Her voice shook as she spoke. When she started to cry, Eric found a box of tissues on a table in the corner and handed it to her. She couldn’t stem the tears, though. The truth of it was just now hitting her—she and Dylan both could have died that night. And for what? Because Laura Blanchette wanted money? A woman who’d been like a grandmother to Chelsea, a woman her mother had trusted and loved and supported for years, had betrayed them.
Eric took notes, asked questions, took more notes. When she finished, he stood. “It sounds like a clean self-defense shooting.”
Clean. Was that what they called it? The gunshot, the bullet in the skull, the blood… She squeezed her eyes closed.
Eric’s hand rested on her shoulder. “You’re safe now.”
She opened her eyes and forced herself to focus on the detective’s face.
“We’ll find Granger’s accomplice, don’t worry.”
“You don’t think Laura was the accomplice?”
“She was the mastermind, but I mean the person who helped him tonight.” He shrugged. “Might’ve been her, but we need to confirm it.”
Chelsea tried to imagine Laura as the other person there. Laura with those shoes and jeans. Laura wrapping the duct tape around her wrists. Laura taking her feet and carrying her to the car. She couldn’t imagine it, but she was still struggling to wrap her mind around the fact that Laura had been behind all of it. “If she wasn’t, then…”
“Either way, she’s in custody and there’s no chance the other man, if there is another man, will get paid. This was a work-for-hire job. I’m certain the attempts on your life will stop.”
Just like that.
“There’s a man in the waiting room demanding to see you,” Eric added. “Your uncle?”
“Uncle Frank is here?”
“I guess Cote called him.” Eric held the door open and pointed. “Waiting room is that way.”
Chelsea found Uncle Frank pacing, scowl in place. She hardly noticed the other people seated around the room, all waiting to see a doctor. “Uncle?”
When he saw her, he rushed toward her and scooped her into his arms. His hand was rough against the bandaged cuts on her back, but she bore the pain. She’d expected to feel safe with him. It wasn’t that she didn’t, only that his arms weren’t the ones that most comforted now. Funny how quickly Dylan’s presence had usurped that of her uncle.
“Thank God,” he said. “Thank God you’re all right.”
When he set her on her feet, she leaned back to study him. “Thought you didn’t believe in God.”
“It’s amazing what fear will do to you. When I got the call that you’d been… I don’t even know all the details, only that someone abducted you. That man, Dylan, he saved you?”
“The Lord protected us.”
He held her away, met her eyes. “If that’s true, then I might start believing again.”
If her uncle became a believer because of all that had happened to her, that would be an outcome she could live with.
“Is it true?” he asked. “Did Laura Blanchette really do all of this?”
“It appears so.”
“I can’t believe it.” He shook his head. “After all our family has done for hers over the years.” He took Chelsea’s hand. “Are you ready to go? You must be exhausted.”
“Oh.” She glanced at the doors that led to the ER. “I can’t leave without Dylan.”
“He’s a grown man. Surely he doesn’t need you to take care of him.”
“Well, but…”
Uncle Frank’s eyes narrowed. “Is something else going on between you two?”
“We’ve become friends.” She thought of the kisses they’d shared, the things Dylan had said to her. How could it have only been a few hours before that he’d declared his love? She wasn’t ready to share any of that with Uncle Frank. Not considering the disapproval in his expression. “He saved my life tonight, and he was badly injured in the process. He may need me to—”
“We can hire a nurse if he needs—”
“Uncle.” Her voice was sterner than she’d intended, but she didn’t back off. “He is my friend, and I’m not leaving until I know he’s all right.”
Frank huffed a breath, then slapped on a plastic smile. “Fine.” He indicated a couple of unoccupied chairs. “We’ll wait to speak with him.”
It was another thirty minutes before Dylan shuffled out the double doors. He was bent, one hand pressing against his ribs. His eyes were already darkening with bruises. His gaze scanned the space until they rested on her.
She stood and hurried toward him.
Beside her, Frank held out his hand. “Thank you.” His voice thickened, and he cleared his throat. “Thank you for protecting her.”
Dylan shook it, didn’t seem to know what to say.
“I thought I’d take her home,” Uncle Frank said. “But she wanted to wait on you.”
“Home?” He turned to Chelsea. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” Frank asked. “She’s safe now, and I’m sure she’s ready to get back to her own bed.” He focused on Chelsea. “Right?”
“I am, but…” But Dylan seemed against the idea, though she wasn’t sure why. He looked like he was about to drop. “Let’s sit.”
Dylan lowered carefully into a chair and turned to her. “There was an accomplice. Until he’s caught or we know who he was, I’m not ready for you to go home, to be alone in that big house.”
Truth was, she wasn’t ready to be alone there, either. Not after everything.
“Cote thinks you’re safe,” Uncle Frank said. “And I can stay with you, if you’d feel more comfortable.”
Dylan’s gaze caught Chelsea’s and held it. “If that’s what you want, but…” He swallowed, said nothing else.
She was caught between the two men she cared about the most in the world. Frank was concerned with Chelsea’s wellbeing, but Chelsea was worried about Dylan’s.
She turned to Frank. “Thank you for coming. It means so much to me. I need to stay with Dylan for the time being. When we know more…”
Frank stood, seemed to be casting about for a way to convince her to go with him. Apparently, nothing came, because he blew out a frustrated breath. “Fine, then. Where will you be?”
She said, “I don’t know.”
“We’ll find someplace safe,” Dylan said.
Frank glared at Dylan. Did he really still not trust him? After everything? “Where?”
Dylan pushed to his feet. “I don’t know yet.”
“I need to know where she is.” Frank turned to her. “He doesn’t even have a plan. He’s not—”
“Somebody nearly killed us tonight,” Dylan said, “and I’m too tired to be polite. We’ll be somewhere safe.”
Frank’s gaze flicked from Dylan to her. “Fine. Figure out where you’re going, and I’ll drive you.”
“That’s okay.”
The words came from behind the
m, and she turned to look.
“Sorry.” Eric stepped closer. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was trying not to interrupt.” He focused on Frank. “I’ll drive them. I have a few more questions anyway.”
Frank’s lips pressed together. After a moment, his shoulders dropped, and he turned to Chelsea. “Guess you don’t need me after all.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “Of course I need you, Uncle.”
“I love you, Chelsea.” He kissed her head. “Be safe and call me if you need me.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chelsea sat at the kitchen table in their two-bedroom hotel suite checking her emails and sipping her coffee, trying to act as if everything were normal.
As if she and Dylan hadn’t been abducted the night before.
As if they hadn’t nearly lost their lives.
As if she hadn’t been inches from a killer when he took his last breath.
But the bruises wouldn’t let her forget.
She was safe, and it was over. It would take time for her heart to believe, to accept all that had happened. To accept her mother’s murder, her dear friend’s betrayal.
Her shocking, wonderful feelings for Dylan.
The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be His name.
After a fitful night’s sleep, she’d awakened at nearly nine o’clock—not many hours after she’d crawled into bed. Since then, she’d peeked into Dylan’s room multiple times to make sure he was still breathing. It was foolish and silly, and each time she’d done it, she’d prayed he wouldn’t awaken and catch her. But she’d needed to remind herself, over and over, that he was alive and breathing and safe.
Only when she heard his shower running was she able to relax.
When he stepped into the common area from his bedroom later, both of his eyes were rimmed in bruises. He’d changed into jeans and a T-shirt, but he was hunched, holding his hand against his ribs. Despite the injuries, he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Her redheaded hero.
She stood and helped him to a kitchen chair.
He glanced at the clock. Nearly noon. “I can’t believe I slept so long.”
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