by Cindi Myers
The events of the past two days dragged at him—the rescue of Hunter Munson, the search for Michelle and Ethan, their safe return and then the long drive to Denver to get to Andi before Metwater could reach her. He fought sleep by focusing on the Russian. Where did he fit into the picture? Metwater’s twin brother had supposedly been murdered—rather, assassinated—by the Bratva, the Russian mob, though the Chicago police had never found enough evidence to formally charge anyone with the crime. The case was still open.
When Russians had shown up in Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park and two people associated with them had ended up dead, Daniel Metwater had panicked and demanded protection from the Ranger Brigade, though he would never say why he thought the Russians were after him. The Russians turned out to be part of a smuggling ring that was trying to move into the park, and not after Metwater at all, but the cool, sophisticated mask of the Prophet had slipped for those few days, allowing Simon to see how frightened he really was.
Did he know the blond Russian was asking about him—possibly looking for him? Or was the man, as he had said, merely someone who had met Andi before who wanted to renew the acquaintance? After all, she was a very attractive woman—her pregnancy didn’t detract at all from her beauty.
The elevator opened and a man in hotel livery stepped out, carrying a tray. He moved past Simon without noticing him, head down, a bored employee on the late shift, with hours to go before he got off work. He approached the door and knocked, and after a moment it opened and he stepped inside.
Simon waited. One minute. Two. How long did it take to deliver a tray, collect the tip and leave? His heart started racing, anxiety knotting his stomach. Something about the waiter wasn’t right. Something about the way he walked was a little too familiar. His blood went cold as he realized why.
He exploded from behind the plant and raced for Andi’s room, praying he wasn’t already too late.
* * *
GONE WAS THE SERENE, confident Prophet who had mesmerized Andi so. The man before her was unshaven and dirty beneath the clean clothes he must have taken from the real room service waiter, his hair greasy and smelling of sweat. She tried to pull out of his grasp. “Let go, you’re hurting me!” she protested.
He released her, but his attitude didn’t soften. “Call for a taxi. Tell the driver to meet you across the street, in front of the bank. What have you got that I can wear? And I need a scarf for my hair. I’ll be your sister, visiting from Grand Junction.”
“Daniel, wait! What’s going on?”
“You’re going to help me get out of here, that’s what’s going on,” he said.
“What about Starfall, and that cop—Ethan? And Starfall’s baby, Hunter? Did you really try to hurt them?” She hadn’t meant to say anything about any of that, but the words tumbled out. Simon and Michelle had planted all these doubts in her head and she needed the Prophet to allay her fears.
“Who have you been talking to?” He turned on her, rage contorting his face, and before she could draw back he hit her, hard, snapping her head back and leaving her cheek stinging.
She gasped, tears filling her eyes. No one had ever hit her before—no one. “Shut up and get moving,” Metwater said. “Or I’ll make you wish you’d obeyed me when you had the chance.”
He turned back toward the door, but it burst open. Simon Woolridge didn’t hesitate; he hit Metwater hard, dropping him to his knees. He pulled flexi-cuffs from his belt and reached for the Prophet’s wrist. “Daniel Metwater, you are under arrest.”
Metwater shook his head and rose up with a roar, shoving Simon backward. Andi screamed.
“Get out of here!” Simon shouted at her. “Go to the lobby, where you’ll be safe.”
“No.” She couldn’t leave him. For that matter, she couldn’t leave the Prophet. She had to stay and see how this played out.
Metwater lunged at Simon, swinging hard. Simon dodged the punch, but crashed into an end table, sending it toppling. The Tiffany-style lamp that had been sitting on it slid to the floor and shattered into a kaleidoscope of bright shards. Andi screamed again and looked around for anything she could use to defend herself. Simon staggered to his feet, reaching for the gun in the holster at his side. A vision of him shooting the Prophet filled her head. “No!” she sobbed, and started toward him.
He turned at the sound of her voice, which gave Metwater the opening he needed to grab Simon’s arm, trying to get at the weapon. “Don’t kill him!” Andi pleaded, not even sure which man she was defending now.
The men reeled away from her, grappling, and crashed into a second table, sending more fragile ornaments cascading to the floor. Glass crunched under her feet as she backed away. She spotted the telephone on the table at the end of the sofa. She should call someone. Not the police—they were looking for Daniel. But the front desk? Housekeeping, to clean up the mess?
Fighting back hysterical laughter, she reached for the phone, just as someone pounded on the door. “Hotel security!” boomed a man’s voice. “What’s going on in there?”
Daniel Metwater jerked his head toward the door. “Don’t open it,” he growled.
“Open the door!” Simon ordered.
“If you don’t open up in five seconds, we’re coming in!” the voice on the other side said.
Andi started toward the door. She had taken only two steps when Metwater rushed past her. She reeled away from him, but he scarcely noticed. He jerked open the door and, as two uniformed men rushed in, he ran past them and down the hall.
Simon tried to run after Metwater, but the two men who had just entered the room held him back. “What’s going on here?” the first man, tall and broad-shouldered, demanded.
Simon, whose shirt was half out of his jeans and who was bleeding from his mouth, still managed to look dignified as he presented his credentials. “Agent Simon Woolridge, Ranger Brigade,” he said. “The man who ran out of here is Daniel Metwater, a wanted fugitive.” He tried to move past them again, but the men—who were dressed in the uniforms of hotel security—held him fast.
The first guard studied Simon’s credentials for a long moment before returning them to Simon. “What’s your fugitive doing in this hotel?” he asked.
“Probably getting away,” Simon said, as he tucked the leather folder back into his pocket. He shoved past the two guards, who let him go this time. He rushed out the door, footsteps pounding down the hall.
“Ma’am, are you all right?” asked the second security guard, who was short but muscular.
She nodded, and pushed her hair out of her face. “I... I’m fine,” she managed.
“We had a report of screams and crashing,” said the second man. “Sounds of a struggle.” He surveyed the broken glass and overturned tables. “Can you tell us what happened?”
She shook her head. What exactly had happened? Had the Prophet really hit her? Had he really threatened her? The violence was so unlike him. He would never want to hurt her, would he? “He burst in here, and he was terribly upset,” she began. “He’s desperate, I think. And afraid...”
Simon stepped into the room once more, breathing hard. “He got away,” he said. “We’ll need to block all the entrances and conduct a search of the entire hotel.”
The two guards blinked at him. “We don’t have the authority to do something like that,” the first man said.
“Don’t you need a warrant or something?” the second man asked.
“Do you want to wait until he kills one of your guests before you do more than stand around twiddling your thumbs?” Simon snapped.
“I don’t really think the Prophet would kill anyone,” Andi protested.
“He could have killed you,” Simon said. His eyes met hers, searing her with their anger. He turned back toward the security guards and she started to protest, but a sharp cry out of her own mouth cut off her words.
S
he cradled her abdomen and tried to brace herself against the sharp pain that tore through her. As she blinked back tears, she realized the three men were staring at her. Simon was the first to reach her side. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just...gas or something.”
“She needs a doctor,” Simon said, helping her to the sofa.
“We have a physician on call.” The older security guard pulled out his phone and punched in some numbers.
“No. I’ll be fi—” But another sharp pain cut off the words. Andi closed her eyes. She couldn’t be going into labor. Not now. Not when so much was unsettled.
Simon took hold of her ankles and swung her feet up onto the sofa. “Lie back and close your eyes,” he said. “Breathe deeply and try to relax.” He had removed her shoes and was rubbing her feet. She ought to object, but it felt so good she couldn’t force the words past her lips.
“What about your felon?” one of the security guards asked.
“His name is Daniel Metwater,” Simon said. “Thirty-two years old. Six foot two inches, one-hundred sixty-five pounds, curly dark hair and eyes. Contact the police and alert the rest of your staff, but if you see him, don’t try to deal with him yourself. He’s dangerous and may be armed. But he has enough of a head start that he’s probably already left the hotel.”
“We’ll get someone up here to clean up this mess once the doctor is done,” one of the men said.
“It can wait until morning,” Simon said. “I don’t want any more strangers in here than necessary.”
Andi kept her eyes closed and let herself drift. Simon’s hands were warm, his fingers strong and soothing. Where had he learned to give a foot massage like that? As he dug his thumb into her aching arch, she had to bite back a moan. She may even have fallen asleep.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when someone squeezed her hand. “Hello, Ms. Daniels,” said a smooth, lightly accented voice. “I’m Dr. Johar. I understand you’ve been experiencing some discomfort.”
She opened her eyes and stared into the face of a handsome, brown-skinned man. She looked past him, searching for Simon. “Where’s Simon?” she asked.
“He’s in the hallway, talking to the local cops.” The older security guard stepped forward.
The police. They would be after Daniel. He wouldn’t stand a chance now. She struggled into a sitting position. “I’m fine now,” she said, hoping the words were true. She needed to talk to Simon, to plead with him not to be too hard on Daniel. Yes, he had hit her, but it must have been because he was out of his mind with fear. Ordinarily, he would never do anything like that.
Then Simon’s face came into view, hovering over the doctor’s left shoulder. “She had at least two moments of pain that were strong enough to make her cry out,” Simon said. “I did what I could to help her relax.”
“Are you her husband?” the doctor asked as he felt for Andi’s pulse. “Or boyfriend?”
Andi waited to see how he would answer. “No,” he said and turned away. “I’m a cop.”
“Perhaps you would like to step away and give us a little privacy,” the doctor said. “Ms. Daniels, would it be all right with you if I examined you? I want to check on your baby.”
Andi consented, and with less embarrassment and discomfort than she would have thought possible, the doctor made a thorough examination. When she was dressed and seated upright once more, he gave her a reassuring smile. “Everything looks good,” he said. “You are not yet in labor, though you are effaced two centimeters.”
Her face must have betrayed her confusion, because he added, “Your body is preparing for the upcoming delivery. The baby is shifting into position for birth and your cervix is getting thinner.”
“How long before the baby is born?” she asked.
“I take it this is your first child?”
She nodded.
“It could be a couple of weeks or a few days.”
“What was the pain?” she asked.
He glanced around the room, at the overturned tables and broken glass, at Simon standing by the window, his back to them. “The person who telephoned me said there had been an altercation. I assume the person who did this—” He nodded to indicate the mess “—is gone now?”
“Yes,” she said. Daniel was gone, though she wondered if Simon was right, and he would return.
“The pain was probably a stress reaction. A particularly sharp kick, a tension in the muscles.” The doctor shrugged. “What matters now is that you don’t worry about it, and try to get some rest.” He patted her hand. “You are young and strong and everything looks as it should be. When is your due date?”
“I’m not sure,” she said.
He raised one eyebrow, but didn’t comment, merely stood there. Simon turned toward them. “How is she?” he asked, though Andi was certain he had been eavesdropping on their conversation.
“She is fine,” the doctor said. “All she needs is rest and no stress.”
“Would you mind waiting with her here for a few minutes?” Simon asked.
“For a few moments,” the doctor agreed.
Simon left the room. The doctor looked down at Andi once more. “This cop—he is a friend of yours?”
“Not exactly,” she said. She was sure the doctor was curious, but she refused to elaborate—not that she could have found words to explain the bizarre situation in which she had suddenly found herself.
Simon returned in less than five minutes, carrying a black backpack. “Thank you,” he said to the doctor. “You can go now.”
As soon as the door shut behind the doctor, Andi sat up. “What happened to the Prophet?” she asked.
“He got away,” Simon said. “But the Denver police are looking for him. And hotel security will be watching for him.”
“When you find him, promise you won’t hurt him,” she said.
He glared at her. “He didn’t have any problem hurting you.”
She flinched at the anger in his voice. “He’s terrified. He’s never been in a situation like this before,” she said. “I’m sure when he calms down he’ll cooperate.”
“Save your breath,” Simon said. “No matter how much you want to believe it, Daniel Metwater isn’t the saint he’s been pretending to be. My guess is this isn’t his first run-in with the law.”
Was Simon right? How much did she know about the Prophet, really? But he had always been so gentle and kind to her. She couldn’t make the crazed, angry man who had confronted her tonight fit with her previous experience with him. “What are you doing?” she asked as Simon set the backpack on the floor at the end of the sofa.
“I’m staying here tonight.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can and I will.”
“I don’t want you here,” she protested.
“Maybe not, but you need me.”
She swallowed down the fear his words kindled in her. “He left,” she said. “He won’t come back.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” He sat on the sofa, only a few inches from her feet. “He won’t give up that easily, and when he returns, you’ll be glad I’m here. What did he say to you while he was here?”
“He wanted my help to get out of here. He planned to dress up in some of my clothes and pretend to be my sister.”
“Did you refuse to help him? Is that what set him off?”
She put a hand to her cheek, remembering the sting of the slap. “I asked him about Michelle and Hunter. I asked if it was true that he tried to hurt them. He became very angry and slapped me. Why would he do that? He’s never done anything like that before.”
“He knows we’re closing in on him,” Simon said. “I think he’s trying to destroy everyone who could provide evidence against him.”
“But what
do I know that could possibly hurt him?” she asked.
Simon regarded her coolly. “You’ve lived with him how long now? About six months?”
“Five.”
“You’re closer to him than anyone else.”
They were the same words Michelle had used. But they weren’t true. “He isn’t really close to anyone.”
Simon angled toward her, one arm along the back of the sofa. Weariness pulled at his eyes, and the dark shadow of beard showed along his jaw. If he had driven from Montrose this morning, that meant he had been up for hours. “Help me understand,” he said. “What is it about Metwater that attracted you? Why leave everything to live in the middle of nowhere with him? Seems to me you had it pretty good before you hooked up with him.”
“That’s because people like you think money solves everything,” she said. “My life was shallow and meaningless before I met the Prophet and heard him talk about what really matters.”
“And what is that?” he asked.
“Living in community. Being close to nature. Focusing on things of real worth, not merely those of monetary value.”
She braced herself, prepared for him to mock her, but he only nodded his head thoughtfully. “Those things are certainly important,” he said. “The problem with Metwater’s approach is that his idea of community is to live apart and isolated. He didn’t contribute to society, he only took from it. He liked to pass himself off as a giver, but really, he’s just a user. He used you.”
She hugged her arms across her chest and glared at him. “You’re one to talk,” she said. “You don’t care about me. You only want evidence for your case.”
His expression hardened. “You’re right. I want to build a case that will put Daniel Metwater away for years. He’s the worst kind of criminal—he pretends to care about people, then he takes advantage of the most vulnerable.”
“You’re wrong! You haven’t seen how he’s helped so many people. He’s helped addicts quit drugs and ex-convicts go straight.”
“Yeah? At what price? He takes everything they have and makes them believe they need him to survive.”