A Need to Protect

by Diane Benefiel

  After she completed a few errands in town Emma returned to the resort. Her afternoon chore was to inspect and organize the boathouse. She wanted to offer her guests use of the canoes and kayaks and basic fishing equipment. An examination of the interior showed her the pulley system her grandfather had rigged to raise and lower canoes and kayaks onto racks still functioned, though the ropes needed replacing. The boats would need to be cleaned and checked for seaworthiness. She sorted life vests into two piles, some too old to keep and others still functional. Some of the fishing rods had tangled line and the tackle boxes were a mess. She figured most people would bring their own poles and tackle, but if a guest wanted to try fishing for the first time, she would be able to offer the basics.

  Her mind filled with plans, Emma looked up sharply when she heard heavy footsteps approach. She frowned at Frank Singleton, looking hot from his walk in the sun, sweat plastering his shirt to his body.

  He must have finally gotten the message he wasn’t her favorite person because he held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t shoot the messenger, now, Ms. Kincaid.” He paused a bit dramatically, Emma thought, perhaps thinking to give his statement more weight. “Great Mountain Development has authorized me to enhance our offer for your property.” His smile showed the gap between his front teeth.

  “I already told you I’m not interested, Singleton. You’re wasting your breath.”

  “Mine to waste. Now, my company has agreed to raise the offer by ten percent. Mind you, that’s ten percent of what was already a very generous offer. You like this little town so much? You could take the money and buy yourself a nice place in town and not have all the work and worry that goes with keeping up with a load like this. Relieve yourself of the burden.”

  “No. Thank you for your offer, but no.” Emma turned to use fishing pliers she’d found to cut snarled line from a reel. She could feel Singleton’s hard stare, but he finally turned on his heel and stalked off. Emma heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn’t like him not to argue or try to persuade her, but maybe he had finally gotten the message.

  She finished sorting through the equipment and began to organize the boathouse. Her shoes sounded loud on the raised wood floor. A single low-wattage bulb hung from the ceiling but with the door propped open she could see well enough to line up the rods, nets, and oars along racks at the back.

  Footsteps approached once again and Emma moved toward the door to have it slam violently shut in her face. “Hey! I’m in here!” The rasp of metal and then a clicking sound told Emma the padlock had been snapped shut. “Singleton, is that you?” She pushed against the door. Whoever had locked it must have heard her and knew she was inside. Emma felt a cold chill skate up her spine.

  With an ear pressed to the door she could make out the sound of footsteps moving around the corner of the building. A rustling sound came from the other side of the wall. She held still, trying to hear over the thunder of her heart until, long moments later, she heard feet pound up the path, away from the boathouse.

  Wishing desperately she hadn’t left her cell phone to charge in her cabin, Emma pushed at the door. It was old and the hinges were a bit loose so she tried a hard shove that jarred her already bruised shoulder. She heard a fluttering sound and frowned. The footsteps had retreated, so what was making the noise? It grew louder, and then she smelled it, an insidious little smell. Just a whiff, but enough to know that whoever had locked her in had set fire to the outside wall.

  “Help!” Emma screamed and pounded her fists on the door. Who could hear her? No one was near. She would have to get herself out of the building, or she would burn with it. In the dim light she looked frantically for something that could act as a lever. If she could wedge it between the door and the frame, or maybe against the loose hinges, then perhaps she could pry off the door.

  She grabbed an oar. The flat end of the paddle might work. The stench of burning grew stronger as the fire caught and smoke began to filter in. Telling herself to stay calm, Emma tried to wedge the flat end of the oar into the narrow space around the door. It was too thick. Flames licked up from gaps in the floorboards near the wall, smoke spiraling up to the open rafters. She tried to breathe shallowly and in desperation she used the grip end of the oar to bash against a hinge. At the first few tries the metal held, but by the third hit screws stressed by use and age gave a bit. She hit the weakened hinge again and again, her ears filled with the hissing and snapping of the growing fire.

  Fighting the swell of panic, she struck the hinge again but then stopped, ears straining. A muffled voice called her name, tone harsh. It was Brad. “Emma, are you in there?”

  “Brad!” She screamed his name and pounded on the door, choking against the acrid smoke that filled her lungs.

  “Get away from the door!” She hastily backed away and then a forceful jolt struck the door, swinging it back violently to crash against the wall.

  Brad filled the square of light and Emma ran to him. The fire intensified as it received a fresh blast of oxygen and she could feel the heat searing her back. Brad wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her free. They ran up the slope toward the cabins, away from the burning building until Emma stumbled, coughing uncontrollably. She pulled clean air into her lungs and the coughing eased. “We need to call the fire in,” she rasped.

  Brad stood with a hand gripped on her shoulder. Eyes alert, he scanned the terrain. “I reported it.”

  “How did you get here? How did you know I was in there?”

  Brad’s expression was tense. He continued to look intently around them before bringing his gaze back to her. “A hunch. I’ve been following a theory about who could be behind the garage fire and the vandalism. Do you remember Van Horn on the city council?” At her nod he continued. “I’ve had a tail on him the past several days, and today I brought him in for questioning.”

  At Emma’s expectant look, he continued. “He wasn’t very cooperative at first. But when I told him what we already have on him, he spilled it.”

  He took Emma’s hand to lead her up the path toward the cabins.

  “He admitted he hired Jackson to start the garage fire? Was he the one who used an ax in my cabin?” Emma also scanned the area. Her attacker could be close by. “Jackson’s out on bail now, isn’t he? Do you think he locked me in the boathouse and started the fire?”

  “Van Horn did hire Jackson. But he’s not behind the vandalism and he didn’t start this fire.”

  “Then who did?”

  A whisper of sound and then the louder crack of a twig to their right had Brad swinging around, his hand going for the Glock at his side. Emma’s attention focused immediately on the gun pointed level with Brad’s heart. Painted red nails contrasted vividly with the dull metal. Everything that had happened to her since she’d arrived suddenly clicked into place. The effort to get her to leave Hangman’s Loss, the personal nature of the attack in the office, it all made sense now.

  “Don’t pull that gun, Bradley. Keep your hands up. Don’t force me to shoot you.” The gun turned its ugly eye from Brad to Emma as Marla Banks stepped from between a group of trees and a large boulder. “Or her.”

  Brad stilled and then slowly raised his hands. “Put the gun down, Marla.” He kept his voice calm and nonthreatening but the authority was evident.

  Marla gave a nasty little laugh. “Aren’t you the smooth one? Do you really think I’m just going to set down my gun and let this little bitch win?” Her voice dripped venom. “Now both of you, step back toward the boathouse.”

  Emma glanced over her shoulder. Fire engulfed one side of the building, black smoke billowing into the cloudless sky. Neither she nor Brad moved.

  “You won’t get away with it, Marla,” Brad went on. “I’ve already called it in. There’ll be cops and firefighters crawling all over this place in about three minutes.”

  Marla’s gaze hardened, her face turning ugly with hatred. “And by the time they get here you two will be what I believe are referred
to as ‘charred remains.’ I’ll be sure to frantically make another emergency call once you’re both in there with the door locked.” She smirked. “I’ll let them know how I saw Frank Singleton speeding up the road. And, oh yeah, I’ll be very upset when I tell them how I couldn’t get the door open because the heat was too intense.” She motioned with the gun, smile gone. “Go, into the boathouse. With little miss perfect here gone and no heirs, I’ll be able to buy this property for pennies. I’m expecting to make a very tidy profit.”

  When neither of them moved, she pointed the gun at Emma and fired. Emma jerked, she could have sworn she felt the air roil from the bullet as it whizzed past her head. “I’m a very good shot so let’s say that one was just a warning. Into the boathouse.”

  Emma felt Brad shift, then tense as he looked over Marla’s shoulder. He called out sharply, “Warren! Back off, she’s armed!”

  Marla swung around but too late realized Brad had tricked her. He was on her with a swift jump, his left hand reaching out to grab the gun in her outstretched hand. Emma stood frozen in place. Brad’s leap took both he and Marla to the ground. The sound of another gunshot exploded into the air, and galvanized, Emma jumped forward. Brad clenched Marla’s hand still fisted around the gun, slamming it into the dirt. Emma saw her chance and stomped on Marla’s wrist. The woman screamed in pain or rage, she wasn’t sure which, but her grip had loosened and Brad took the gun. He quickly set the safety and tucked it into his belt at the small of his back. It was then that Emma realized his movements looked awkward.

  “Emmaline, unsnap the pouch on my belt and get the handcuffs for me.”

  With her weight still on Marla’s wrist Emma turned. Her stomach took a sickening roll. A patch of deep red spread slowly down Brad’s side.

  “Brad! You’ve been shot!”

  “I’m fine. Just get the cuffs.” Emma could hear the tension in his voice, and he seemed to have to make an effort to say each word clearly.

  She located the cuffs and bent down to slip one around the wrist she was stepping on. She pulled the arm around. Brad had his knee pressed into Marla’s back and brought around the other wrist to be cuffed. Throughout the process she lay face turned to the side in the dirt, motionless, with her eyes staring blankly ahead. The fight seemed to have simply seeped out of her. Brad rose to his feet and let out a stifled groan and Emma saw him clench his jaw in pain.

  “Brad, sit down, we need to get the bleeding stopped.” She wrapped an arm around his waist and urged him toward a shady spot against a tree trunk. She glanced at Marla and decided the woman wasn’t going anywhere.

  “She pulled the trigger when I took her down and the damn bullet ricocheted.” His voice sounded strained. “I’ll be fine.”

  But Emma wasn’t so sure. He leaned on her more heavily and, when they got to the tree, he slowly eased himself down, grimacing. With shaking hands, Emma grabbed the radio from his belt and relayed the need for emergency aid. Blood had soaked Brad’s left side down to his belt and his face looked pale. Dread formed a balled fist in her throat. Her mind scrambled frantically for the best way to help him.

  “Sit back, Brad. I need to stop the bleeding.” He leaned against the tree, and Emma pulled his shirt free from his belt and unbuttoned it with fingers that trembled, careful to keep from jarring him. The bullet had struck the left side of his chest just under his shoulder. She pulled off her own shirt, glad she had worn a tank top underneath it. She folded the soft cotton into a bandage and pressed it firmly to the wound. Shifting to look at his back and could see no exit wound. She glanced at his face, alarmed at the glassy look in his eyes.

  “Brad, I think I’ve slowed the bleeding. The ambulance will be here soon and we’ll get you to the hospital.”

  “Sweetheart.” His voice lacked its usual strong, assured tone. “Give me a kiss.”

  Distracted, she stared at him, then shook her head. “Blood loss has made you loopy.” Her ears strained to hear sirens, to know help was coming.

  “Not loopy. Give me a kiss, make me feel better.” Emma’s heart melted at his lopsided grin.

  Leaning forward, she pressed her mouth to his, alarmed at the chill of his lips against hers. “I’d give you a million kisses if I thought they would really make you feel better.” She could hear it now, the faint wailing of emergency vehicles rushing up the highway. She brushed a lock of hair of his forehead, willing him to stay strong.

  “See? I feel better already. When are you marrying me?” Her heart jolted, and Emma looked on in alarm as his eyes rolled back in his head and he lost consciousness. His radio buzzed and she grabbed it to guide the emergency personnel to their location. The pad she’d made from her shirt had nearly soaked through by the time the crew arrived in a flurry of activity. The paramedics eased her aside and exchanged her soaked shirt for clean bandages. She stood back, eyes on Brad’s face while they worked on him. Firefighters in heavy gear swarmed past, pulling thick hoses toward the boathouse.

  “Emma.” She jerked as if touched by a live wire. Warren stood a few feet away with Monica, his expression grim. Each of them gripped an arm of the disheveled mayor. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  Even though the sun shone hotly, Emma shivered in the light breeze. The paramedics prepared to move Brad onto a gurney and she sent Warren a distressed look.

  “Marla was trying to force us into the boathouse. She had a gun; Brad has it. She wanted us, or more precisely me, dead so she could get my property.” The fact that Brad had nearly died, that he could still die, because of her was not lost on Emma. Marla glared at her and Emma felt no compassion for the handcuffed woman. Marla had put her ego, her pride, and her vanity into building herself up into a power broker in the region. But her greed and quest for control had fed a hubris that had led to her downfall and she hadn’t been bothered if others went down with her. Now the woman’s entire psyche would need to adjust to the new reality that she was a criminal and would be spending years in prison.

  One of the medics came forward to hand Marla’s pistol to Monica. She produced an evidence bag and the gun was dropped into it before the man rushed back to help push the gurney into the ambulance.

  “They’ll be taking him to the hospital in Bishop.” Warren tugged on Marla’s arm. “I’ll get this one locked up and meet you there.” He eyed her critically. “Are you all right? Is all that blood on you from Brad or are you hurt?”

  Emma looked down. Smears of blood colored her hands and forearms and splotches stained her white tank. She shook her head numbly. “It’s Brad’s.”

  Monica said, “C’mon, Emma, let’s go back to your cabin and you can get cleaned up, and then I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

  She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to pull herself together, then nodded her agreement.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Emma sat anxiously in a chair next to the bed where Brad slept. Events of the hours since the ambulance had raced away, sirens screaming, formed a tumultuous jumble in her head. Washing the blood from her hands and arms and watching the swirls of red disappear down the drain. The ride to the hospital with Monica in a police cruiser. Then the agonizingly long wait until the young doctor with tired eyes had come out to tell them they’d removed the bullet. It had not struck any organs or bones but the doctor had talked about “blast effect,” the damage caused to the surrounding tissue. He expected Brad to recover fully but for the coming week the police chief would be in a lot of pain.

  Hospital smells of antiseptic and strong cleaners brought back stark memories for Emma. Most vivid were those last few days before her mother died, sitting by her bed, eating out of vending machines. And then the growing realization that her mother would never again come home with her. Here she was again, keeping vigil by the hospital bed of someone she loved. But this time it had been because of her that he had nearly died. Marla Banks had wanted Emma gone, had wanted her property, and had wanted Brad. Brad’s need to protect her had made him a target.

 
Emma gazed at his unmoving face. Beneath the shadow of his beard she thought he had more color. The hospital gown looked bulky around his left shoulder and she could see the stark white against his skin where bandages had been wrapped up to his neck. He was always so vibrant, so alive, that his very stillness seemed unnatural. She picked up his right hand in both of hers, stroked his knuckles, and wished she could will some of her energy into him. Anything would be better than this feeling of absolute uselessness. When the fingers in her hand tightened briefly her gaze flew to his face. Dark-fringed eyes were open and, though she could see the effort behind them, steady on hers.

  “Hi,” she whispered softly. She put up a hand to brush back the hair from his forehead.

  He tried to speak but swallowed convulsively.

  She reached for the cup of melting ice chips. “Here; the nurse said you could have a small sip when you woke.”

  She put the straw between his lips and he took a drink. His gaze traveled over her until it caught on the bandage at her elbow. “What happened to you? Are you hurt?” he rasped.

  Emma shook her head. “The nurses corralled a bunch of us to donate blood.” She felt so inadequate and she’d needed to do something, anything, to help. “Everybody has been here. Cops, county sheriff’s deputies, firefighters. They all came. Your mom and sisters left just a little while ago to get some dinner. They’ll be back soon. Your brother has called twice.” His family had tried to get Emma to join them, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to eat a thing with her stomach still knotted in worry.