by D. C. Stone
Trent picked his head up over the black hood and scanned the edges of the trees, thankful the moon was full tonight and gave him a bit of light. From what he could tell, without the light from above, this area would be pitch black. Unusually full, it shone like an orbiting lamp, helping with what was left of his night vision.
He shook his head in answer to the chief’s question.
“Nothing.”
He took a step to the front end of his car, Charlie’s cruiser a foot from his bumper.
“Easy, son. You don’t want to go rushing in there. You don’t know what you’re gonna come up against. Be smart, fall back on your training.”
He ground his teeth together, fighting against the urge to run for the front door. Charlie had to be inside. His intuition screamed he needed to hurry, bust down the door, grab and scuttle her away to somewhere safe. Protective instincts ran through him like a freight train going eighty miles an hour. His hands tightened around the stock of his gun, and the hard rubber gave him comfort, a reminder of who he was.
Peeking around the front bumper, he scanned the yard again. It was empty. He looked to the chief, knowing—no, needing—to move. “I need you to cover me. I want to move up and will hold position at the front door to cover you as you come up. I can’t just sit here.”
Woolsey’s brows drew together, and his lips pursed as if he were going to argue. If he did, Trent would go without him.
Instead, the chief nodded.
“Good. On three. One…” Trent braced a hand against the car. “Two…” He waited a beat and pushed off the vehicle, lifting his gun as he made his way across the yard in quick, sure steps. His weapon stayed steady in front of him, and he took it all in, including the still house. It was too damn quiet. He bounded up the wooden steps to the porch and pressed his back to the wall next to the door. His heart pounded in his ears, and his throat was dry.
He listened, tried to push past the steady beat in his ears before he lifted his fist, and dropped it again, a universal sign to proceed.
He didn’t watch the chief cross the yard, but instead focused on the quiet coming from the house, the wooded areas surrounding them. Seconds later Woolsey stood next to him breathing heavy.
“You sound a bit out of breath there, chief.”
“Hell, if my patrolmen could see me now, they’d make sure I joined them in PT each week.”
Trent lifted the side of his mouth, understanding the need for humor in the tense time. Some people broke out in tears when stressed, others ran the other way. Apparently the chief made jokes, something he could appreciate.
“Getting up in age, old man? Surely you’re joking.”
Woolsey snorted. “I made a call in as you crossed the yard. Patrol is coordinating with county PD to get some backup out here. It’s too quiet.”
His lips thinned. “You noticed, too. I won’t wait, Chief.”
“I know, son. I don’t blame you. Let’s go get our girl.”
He nodded, agreeing with more than going inside. Charlie was his girl. He took a deep breath, his chest feeling lighter than it had in weeks at the realization. His closed his eyes briefly and pictured her smiling face. If it were possible, his heart swelled at the sight. She lit his world, much like the sun basked the Earth. She gave him the energy he’d needed to get through the rough shit he’d been dealing with his mom. She drove him to want to be a better, stronger man. All for her.
Christ, what a time to realize it.
The chief nudged him in the shoulder, and stared in his eyes, his face softening at something he must have seen.
“Understand, son, no matter what we find inside. She cares for you. I’ve never seen her so hung up on a man. You better do right by her.”
He swallowed, pushed down the knot in his throat, and spun in a circle as he pivoted and stepped in front of the entrance. He pulled back on the screen door, and the chief stood to the side. A loud boom slammed into the air as Woolsey’s boot met the wooden door. Before he could blink, they both entered the dark house, the chief low, he above, scanning the interior.
Quiet.
His pulse kicked, and he pushed past Woolsey, entering the kitchen and great room. A needle lay on the dark counter top, but he didn’t stop. The urge to find Charlie screamed at him, especially if that needle had any implications on the scene. His gut flipped, and he spun around to make his way down the hall.
He peeked in each open door until he came to the last room on the right. The chief stepped up behind him, and Trent stared at the door, scared to move, fear at what they’d meet on the other side a living thing in his veins. The house was too fucking quiet!
His hands tightened around his gun again, and he lifted his foot, kicked it forward, and the door slammed against the sidewall. He took in the mussed bed, broken wooden slats littering the white pillow. He stepped to the side of the bed and sucked in a sharp breath. Echols’ prone body lie on the floor, pain-filled eyes pointed to the ceiling. A dark spot spread from center mass on his chest, what Trent suspected must be blood and a result of the gunshot they had heard outside.
The chief’s harsh curse had him spinning around. His stomach rushed up his throat, bile, hot and heavy at the sight of Charlie’s pale frame slumped against the wall. Her hair was like a dark nest around her head, a shocking contrast against the white wall. Naked, but for a bra, she trembled violently. Her gaze jerked around the room, pulsing back and forth between him and the chief, like a skittish animal caught in a hunter’s trap.
He took a step forward and the familiar sound of a gun cocking turned him to stone. He froze. Charlie pointed the Glock at him, the muzzle shaking, but aimed center mass on his body.
“Drop the fucking weapon, Rossi.”
Like he’d been holding a hot coal, he lifted his hands, tossed the weapon on the bed where it bounced once and settled. Her voice was like the gravel in the drive, raspy and strangled.
“Charlie, we just want to help.”
Trent glanced at the chief as he spoke and back at Charlie. She looked so damn vulnerable and scared huddled against the wall. Nothing like the strong woman he had come to know over the past couple of weeks.
“You may want to help, Uncle B. But he, he knew him. They trained together, they were partners. You can’t be blind to this!”
Charlie shouted the last few words at him, accusation in her face. Tears slid unabashed down her cheeks and had his heart thundering in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, hated that he couldn’t. Her instinct for survival was in full gear. The mood stretched over her features, over the tight, quivering muscles of her body. One wrong shake of her finger against that trigger, and he’d be the next on the ground.
“Charlie,” he began slowly, “I didn’t know. I swear to you.”
“Bullshit,” she spat. Her face twisted in agony. “You fucking knew.” The words choked out of her, her pain tangible. She put the back of one of her hands against her mouth to try and capture a sob. He stepped forward, then stopped when she lifted the gun.
“Christ, Charlie. Think for a moment. I had no clue. Let me come to you. You’re scared and cold. You need help, let me give it to you. I would never hurt you. I swear on it.”
“You sure are swearing a lot tonight, Rossi. I wouldn’t make any promises you can’t keep. How can I trust anything you say? Where were you this time? You’ve shown me a few times just how much I can depend on you, huh? Tonight—now? No different.”
Woolsey inched his way to the side, bent to put his fingers at Echols’ neck. “Christ, he’s still alive.”
She glanced over at the chief, then came back to him. Her eyes, normally a beautiful hazel were dark as the night outside, the pupils wide. She was on the edge of tumbling off a cliff into losing it.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “You can’t understand how much I am, but okay, you want me to back off, I will. Just answer me this one question.”
“Fuck you.”
He closed his eyes and sighed
, her words slicing through his chest. He hated to ask, but he needed to know. “Are you okay? Did he—did he hurt you?”
His voice grew strangled and he had to take a deep breath.
“Get out, Rossi. Get out of here before I show you how well I am.”
He forced down the denial. Now wasn’t the time. He couldn’t argue her into listening, and she denied him the opportunity to comfort her with the gun in her hand. So he gave her the only thing he could. Time. He cared enough to give it to her. Without a word, he turned for the door and stepped out in the hall. His footsteps echoed in his ears, sounding heavy and desolate, just like his heart.
He stepped out on the porch, and the thick, heated air wrapped around him like a cloak. His mind spun with questions, and his chest ached. Lights flashed across the lawn as four patrol cars skidded to a stop. He grabbed his badge, lifted it and his hands in the air as the county boys ran up.
One young officer moved across the green lawn, a gun trained on Trent until he stepped up closer and recognized the flash of gold he held. After a nod from the cop, he pulled his arms down, motioned over his shoulder with his head.
“They’re inside. Last door on the right down the hall.” He swallowed and called out as the patrolman moved past, then remembered the state of her undressed. “And knock before you open that damn door.”
With a deep, troubled sigh, he stepped off the porch and headed for his vehicle, needing to make a few calls.
Chapter Nineteen
“Seriously, Uncle Ben, I’m fine. Stop fussing over me like a mother hen.”
A few days after the attack, Charlie sat on her kitchen chair and drew a leg up, sitting her bare foot on the wooden seat. She wrapped both palms around the cup of steaming coffee and brought the mug to her mouth. Heat from the liquid inside washed over her face, and she closed her eyes only to snap them open again. Dillon Echols’ harsh grin filled her mind behind her closed lids, something he’d been doing ever since that night. He was in her dreams, the living monster of her nightmare.
She glanced across the table to the chief, who studied her with silent, knowing eyes.
“Charlie,” he began in a soft voice. “It’s okay if you aren’t, you know? That was a very stressful situation you went through.”
She sat her mug on the table, swallowed, tried to plead with her churning stomach to settle. Her stare sought and latched on to the colorful leaves on the sugar maple and pine trees lining the back of her property. Squirrels darted along brown limbs, jumped from branch to branch, and flew through the air without fear of falling. She pushed from the table, entranced in something so free, and headed toward the windows.
Wrapped in a thick white robe, she hugged her body, gripping the soft cotton. The air conditioner clicked on, created a comforting hum, and the refrigerator rotated the ice in its bucket. Beyond all that, the chief sighed. The sounds of her life, showing it goes on. Rather than pushing forward, though, she was held suspended, a pause button pressed, unable to break away.
She stood at the window, her soft reflection mirroring back. As if in another body, she studied her clenched fists holding on to the cloth, knowing if she let go, she’d simply fall apart.
Ben’s strong hands came down on her shoulders, the touch soft, but no less frightening. She tensed, but he didn’t move away.
“I know what you’re going through, Charlie. You’re scared, can hardly hold it together. I won’t promise you it’ll get better. That same emptiness sitting inside, the one where you’re barely surviving? I went through it, too, after your father’s death.”
She dropped her head forward until she rested against the glass.
“Chief…” Her voice cracked and pain pricked inside her chest.
“No, you need to hear this.” His voice grew gruff, thick with emotion. “I failed your father, and I won’t break my promise to him.
“That night, we barely finished dinner when we were sent on a 911 call. Dispatch reported gunshots off Broadway and First. We hoofed it on foot, having only been a few blocks away. Your dad’s grim expression as we came up on the body of a young man, no older than eighteen, was so different than from what I saw minutes before. He was talking about your ninth birthday coming up, the plans he had for you.”
Her throat grew tight, and her eyes stung with unshed emotion. “Please, Uncle Ben.”
Strong but gentle hands drew her away from the glass, turned her toward him. Woolsey pulled her into his embrace. When she saw liquid in his bright, blue eyes, the dam of tears broke in her and she let go. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his broad chest.
“You’d been bugging him all spring to get you a new catcher’s mitt. Our little Charlie.” His hands stroked down her hair. “Keeping up with the boys, wanting to prove something but wanting to do it with a pink mitt, right?”
She let out a watery laugh at the memory. Playing on the town’s little league team garnered the attention of many mothers, all who chastised her father each time they got the chance. Nowadays, it was common to find a girl on the team, but back then, it had been almost as bad as the pants she always wore. Never a dress, or a skirt. Her father ignored them all and told her to do what made her comfortable and happy.
“I still have that mitt.” She’d been given it the day of her father’s funeral. Uncle Ben held her as she cried then, too. Much as he did now.
His arms gave her a brief squeeze. “He planned to take you to the city, meet with a few Yankee players before the game, worked out to have you help the ball boys catch the practice hits. Andy Hawkins was planning on surprising you by tossing a few pitches your way.”
She choked on a sob, and his arms wound around her tighter. Andy had been her idol, the starting pitcher’s pictures plastered across her room.
“Your dad was excited to take you there and told me about it before that call. He loved to watch your eyes light up when it came to baseball. I knew what he was talking about, because when he spoke of you, his eyes did pretty much the same thing. So, as we arrived on scene and the switch occurred in your dad, it was like night and day. It was a change I never saw before. I wanted us to split apart, cover more ground that way and try to find the shooter. Your dad said we should stay together, that we didn’t know where the threat was.”
Woolsey heaved a sigh before continuing, “Eventually, we split up. I headed up First, and he went down Second to cut anyone off. It hadn’t been any longer than maybe three minutes before the sound of a gunshot ripped through the air.”
The chief continued to pet her hair, rocked his body from side to side. His entire frame radiated pain and shook with the force of it. “I found him lying prone, stripped of his weapon and radio. He was barely breathing, staring at the sky with a peaceful expression. It was so wrong, seeing him laying in all that blood and not saying a single thing.
“I pressed on his wound, but the blood came through my fingers faster than I could stop it. A stomach wound was fatal. We both knew that. Your dad wrapped his hands around mine and then the bastard actually grinned at me.”
Charlie smiled for a moment at the affection and bafflement in his tone.
“He made me promise to keep you safe, to allow you to become the woman you wanted to be. He spoke of your mother, how much you reminded him of her, and how from day one, you’d taken over his heart. He explained how when the nights would get too rough, how the pain would become almost unbearable over the loss of your mother, he’d go sit by your bed and watch you sleep. You were his everything, the focus of his life.”
She didn’t realize she wasn’t standing on her own any longer until the chief led her to the couch, and sat, settling her next to him. His hold never lessened. He sheltered her, provided his strength and protection, just as he had always done.
“I was angry with myself for weeks after he died. Destructive, not only to my professional life but my personal one, too. I pushed myself away, became a loner. My wife saw to your needs, tried to help you in your comfort
, but you cried non-stop and the guilt inside of me grew and grew every day.
“Uncle Ben,” she began.
“No, Charlie, let me finish. We both need it.”
She wanted to argue, but rested her head against his shoulder, stared out the windows again, not seeing anything in front of her, only the past.
“I drank myself into a coma every night. Couldn’t remember pieces of time the next mornings.”
She remembered all-too-well, the scent of it on his breath.
“One morning when I woke, you were there, sitting on my lap, your tiny, little hands wrapped around one of mine, and suddenly, it was like I woke up. The anger inside me for so long turned to shame. I felt as if I were failing not only your father and my promise to him, but you, too. Here, this little girl had no one left in her life but me, and I pushed her away until she forced herself into my arms. Even in sleep, you looked troubled, sad. I made a vow to remove that expression from your face and never allow it to get there again.”
He drew in a shaky breath, and his tears dripped on her hand. He reached down and tugged on her robe, covered her legs and cradled her within the shelter of his arms, the same as he done all those years ago.
“I see it again in your eyes, Charlie. I know what’s put it there. You have to know two things. One, Echols will never get to you again. He’s been given clearance by the doctors and will be transported to the city this afternoon, under FBI protection. Dwayne will be acting as an escort. Rossi insisted on it. To put everyone at ease.”
She stiffened at the mention of Trent’s name.
“That’s the other thing. I know you need time, but you can trust him. He’s asked about you, worried just the same as the rest of us. I see what he’s feeling, saw it the night we found you, and it’s killing him not being able to see if you’re okay.”
Charlie didn’t say anything. She couldn’t.
“He didn’t know. He has been doing everything by the book, has amassed a pile of evidence against Echols to ensure he won’t ever get out of prison.”