If You See Her

by Shiloh Walker

  But what if he was wrong?

  The men split up, but not a one of them had gone more than fifteen yards when a shot tore through the silence. A few seconds later, there was another. Another … another.

  The sound of gunfire in the rural area surrounding Ash wasn’t unusual.

  Hell, Remy knew how to fire a gun and once in a while, he could even be talked into going hunting with his brother … or back before his brother had gotten so lost in his grief.

  The sound of a shot being fired hadn’t ever turned his blood to ice before. Not until that cool night with the thunderheads piling up in the distance, turning the already dim woods into an endless, dank twilight. Taking off through the woods, ignoring Ezra, ignoring Reilly, ignoring the deputies who tried to reach out and grab him.

  Nothing mattered. Nothing but Hope and in his gut, he knew … he knew … those shots weren’t some guys out hunting, and he knew it wasn’t some kids out being stupid.

  Hope.

  His gut was nothing but ice and knots, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

  All he could do was hope … and pray.

  Please God …

  And he couldn’t even manage anything more than that.

  Just Please God …

  He ran for what felt like forever.

  After ever.

  Forever—the moments were endless, but he had no idea how much time had passed before he came across the cabin. He didn’t know who owned it.

  Some of the forested areas around Ash were owned by the state and some were private property. He hadn’t seen this cabin before, but it didn’t matter. Hope was in there—in his gut, he knew it. That was all that counted.

  He lunged for the door, but just before he reached it, hard, strong hands caught him, restrained him. “Stop it,” Ezra growled in his ear. “Just stop—wait. Let the deputies do their fucking job and check—you go tearing in there, you can get her killed.”

  Remy struggled, trying to tear away from Ezra, even though, logically, he knew the guy was right.

  Hope was in there … Hope—fuck.

  “Just give them a few minutes,” Ezra said. “Just wait.”

  “Could you?” Remy snarled. “If it was Lena? Could you?”

  “Yeah. I’d hate it and I’d need somebody to do the same damn thing I’m doing, probably, but if I knew it was the only thing that might save her life? Yeah. Now just wait …”

  If the run to the cabin had seemed to take forever, if the entire day had dragged on endlessly, it was nothing like those long, eternal seconds it took for the deputies to move to peer through the windows, their feet almost soundless even though the ground was littered with damp leaves and broken twigs.

  Tense, silent moments ticked away.

  “Oh, fuck …” Keith muttered.

  As he lunged for the door, Remy’s heart stopped beating.

  For those few moments, his entire world went dark. Then, with a sudden jerk, he tore away from Ezra.

  No.

  Fucking hell, no.

  He’d just found her, damn it. Just got her and … no.

  He shouldered past the deputies, not giving a fuck that they’d tried to stop him, not caring about anything but getting inside that damn cabin …

  She was there.

  Lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.

  Pale.

  Blood spread out from her head in a dark, dark pool. Déjà vu rippled through him and for a moment, he thought for sure he’d see blood seeping from her wrists.

  Not caring about the blood, or anything else, he ran to her and just as he knelt by her side, she groaned, and the thick, black fringe of her lashes fluttered.

  Once more, his heart started to beat.

  Oh, shit.

  “Hope.”

  She sighed. Without even opening her eyes, a faint smile curled her lips. “Remy …” Then she looked up at him. “You came for me.”

  Gently, he slid his arms under her, pulling her against him. “Damn straight. God, baby, are you okay?”

  Her fingers curled into his shirt. “Am now. I … he wanted me to write you a letter. Say I was leaving. Leaving you. Wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t make me do it, Remy. Couldn’t make me …”

  “Shhh.” He stroked his free hand over her, searching for injuries. The arm he had under her neck felt sticky from the blood and as he gently probed her skull, he felt the edges of a jagged, open wound. Long and shallow. “You hit your head again, baby. You need to quit doing that.”

  “Okay. He couldn’t make me write the letter. Wouldn’t do it. Not leaving. I’m not leaving you. Not ever …”

  Those words reached inside his heart, wrapped a fist around it.

  Pressing a kiss to her brow, he murmured, “I hope to hell you remember that. I plan on holding you to it.”

  Then he closed his eyes. Thank God.

  All around him, he heard voices buzzing, radios crackling, and he knew Reilly was kneeling just a few feet away and he needed to let the guy see Hope for a second.

  But not just yet. A few more seconds.

  Just a few more seconds so he could really start to believe he hadn’t lost her right after he’d just found her.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  LONG AFTER REMY AND REILLY HAD CLIMBED INTO the ambulance with Hope, Ezra remained at the cabin. He stood at Keith Jennings’s side, along with the deputy sheriff, a quiet man by the name of Steven Mabry. Together, the three of them stared down at Nielson’s body, and Ezra tried to wrap his brain around what he was seeing.

  The guy was dead.

  “Why was he out here alone?” Ezra asked.

  “We were meeting up. He didn’t think this was going to be worth the time it would take to get another deputy out there. I guess he didn’t want to pull anybody away from the rest of the search area. I lost radio contact with him about twenty minutes before we heard the shots,” Keith said, keeping his voice quiet. “He told me he was following a hunch, to come out here. Looks like he was right.”

  “Guess he was right.” Mabry sighed and shook his head. “I don’t believe this.”

  The sheriff had indeed been right—it had cost him his life … and probably saved Hope’s life. “Who owns this cabin?”

  Jennings sighed, reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Shit. If I’m remembering right, it belongs to Deb Sparks’s kids. Their daddy bought it and left it to them when he died. She always hated the place. The guys use it some, not a whole lot.”

  Ezra glanced around, eyed the neatly made bed, the obvious lack of dust. “Somebody’s been out here fairly recently. And often.”

  “Yeah.” Mabry knelt by Carson’s corpse and eyed him. “I’m thinking maybe he was squatting out here. If he’s been wanting to keep an eye on his ex-wife, but not be seen … well, here’s a good place for it.”

  Ezra blew out a breath, thinking about the night Brody Jennings had seen somebody in the woods near Reilly’s place. “How close you think we are to Reilly’s?”

  “Oh, it would take awhile to drive. But cutting through the woods? Maybe a forty-five-minute hike. Even less if you’re in good shape and know the way.”

  “Mabry?”

  Ezra glanced up as one of the other deputies called over from across the room.

  “Yeah?”

  “You need to come see this.”

  Mabry grimaced as he stood. “Shit. I’m not the fucking sheriff.”

  Ezra looked at the still body near his feet. No. The sheriff was dead. He and Jennings watched as Mabry made his way over to the other deputies. “He doesn’t want to be the sheriff, but he’s stuck with it now,” Ezra said, keeping his voice low.

  “Yeah.” Keith glanced down at Nielson. “Damn it.”

  A voice muttered in the back of his brain, but he shoved it aside. Ezra couldn’t think about that right now. He tried to push all the pieces into line, tried to make them fit—but they weren’t lining up. At least, they weren’t lining up the way he wanted them
to.

  “Well, shit.”

  There was enough heat and shock in Mabry’s words to cut through Ezra’s musings and he turned, made his way over there, taking care with his leg. It hurt like a bitch after trampling around through the woods all day. He wanted a beer, a bed, and Lena something awful.

  There was something in his pocket that he’d planned on giving her earlier, and now those plans … well. Hell. He’d had all sorts of plans. Roses. Champagne, even.

  Then this happened.

  He came to a stop by the bed and stared down, eyeing what the younger deputy held in his gloved hands—a picture. Bloodied and wrinkled. He held it gingerly, by one corner.

  “Wonder who this is,” the deputy muttered.

  “Can I see that?” Keith said, holding out a gloved hand. As the other deputy turned it over, Ezra moved around to study the picture. There were two women—a striking woman of mixed race—he didn’t know her. But the other woman … yeah. He knew who she was. He’d never forget her face. Ever.

  Swallowing, he said, “That’s Jolene Hollister, I think. Jennings?”

  Keith sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it is.”

  “There’s a wallet over here, Mabry,” one of the other deputies called out.

  Ezra met Jennings’s gaze and after the picture was bagged, they moved across the cabin to the deputy sheriff’s side. Tucked inside Joe’s things, the little pink leather wallet stood out like a red thumb.

  Mabry was gingerly going through it. “It’s got Jolene Hollister’s license in it.”

  Jolene Hollister.

  Jolene—the woman who bore a striking similarity to Ezra’s girlfriend.

  Turning, Ezra stared at Joe Carson. His heart thudded inside his chest and blood roared in his ears. Too neat, he thought. This wasn’t his case, hell, he was barely even a cop anymore. But none of this fit.

  He stripped off his gloves and stood there, staring at Carson’s lifeless body. Then he slid a hand into his pocket, stroked the nubby velvet of the box there.

  Ezra’s world didn’t start to realign until he saw her, standing on the porch, waiting for him. She was pale, her fingers buried in Puck’s fur, and she looked like she hadn’t slept at all.

  She hadn’t ever looked more beautiful to him.

  As he mounted the steps, she started toward him. He met her before she’d taken even three steps. Catching her in his arms, he buried his face against her neck, clutching her tight.

  “Are you okay?” Her hand stroked up and down his back.

  “I am now,” Ezra muttered. He wasn’t okay—not yet.

  But he would be. Slowly, he breathed her in, then eased his grip, knowing he had to be crushing her. She rested a hand on his chest, just above his heart, as she slid the other one, cupped his cheek. “Law called. Told me he was at the hospital with Hope—that she’s okay. And …”

  She bit her lip, catching the shuddering sob of a breath before it could escape.

  “Nielson’s dead,” he said softly. “Son of a bitch shot him. But the sheriff probably saved Hope’s life.”

  Hearing the growl of an engine, he looked up, watched as Carter Jennings parked his sedan and climbed out, weariness written all over his face. He started toward the Inn, giving Ezra a tight, strained smile.

  “Hey,” Carter said, his voice heavy and rough.

  Moments later, the door opened and Roz launched herself at her husband, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  Ezra had brought Lena out here before going on the hunt for Hope, but now all he wanted was to get her out of here, back to her place—their place. So he could ask her the most important question of his life. Screw roses and champagne. He’d been reminded, again, just how fucking fragile things in life were. He wasn’t letting this chance slip by him.

  Pushing his hand through Lena’s gleaming, dark red hair, he kissed her brow and murmured, “You ready to go home?”

  Roz said, “Oh, you two don’t need to leave. Stay for the night. It’s late. And it’s been one hell of a day …”

  “No.” Lena softened it with a smile but shook her head. “I need my bed, Roz. My bed, some wine …”

  “Okay. Just … well. I’ll see you soon. Call you. Tomorrow, maybe. Or I guess later today,” she muttered. Then she sighed, leaning against her husband. “I can’t believe Dwight’s gone. That son of a bitch.”

  In a blur, Ezra said good-bye, watched as Lena rounded up Puck and got him settled. He barely remembered the drive home, barely remembered following her to the house.

  He couldn’t focus on anything, but her.

  And the ring. And the question.

  She’d barely gotten Puck’s leash off before it tore out of him. He couldn’t wait—couldn’t.

  Pulling the ring out of his pocket, he came up behind her. Slid one arm around her waist. “Lena …”

  She leaned back against him, a sigh slipping out of her. “It’s been one hell of a day, huh? And we were supposed to have some sort of fancy date tonight, weren’t we?”

  “Fuck the date,” he muttered. He stroked his fingers down her left arm, caught her hand and lifted it. The somewhat practiced proposal was lost to him—he’d had the words, he knew he had. But now, they were lost.

  Slipping the ring onto her finger, he whispered gruffly, “Marry me, Lena?”

  A sob caught in her throat. “Wuh … what?”

  He turned her around, his hands resting on her slender hips. “Marry me. That’s what the fancy date was for … I had this nice little evening planned, was going to wine you, dine you, maybe try to get you a little tipsy before I fucked your brains out. Then I was going to ask you to marry me. Everything exploded, though, with Hope and that Carson bastard … and I know I shouldn’t be doing this right now, I should wait, do it over, do it right, but I was thinking about how close Remy came to losing Hope, and it made me sick inside, thinking about what if it had been you and damn it, I’m screwing this up—”

  Her mouth came against his, soft, cool and firm. “Ezra. Shut up.”

  He shut up as her fingers curled over the back of his neck. The noise in his brain abated a little and when she pulled back, her lovely, ice-blue eyes resting on his face, he muttered, “Shit. I can do better than this. Just …”

  “I don’t need better. It’s already perfect.” Tears gleamed in those lovely eyes and she lifted her hands, cupped his face. “I’ve got you, what more do I need? I love you … and hell, yes, I’ll marry you.”

  “We’d like to keep her overnight.”

  Panic shot through her.

  Hope clutched Remy’s hand and tried not to let the doctor, or him, see it, though.

  But no … no hospitals.

  No …

  Even though her head was aching, and even though it felt like it was stuffed full of cotton, she didn’t think she could handle being in there. Couldn’t. All she’d done was hit her damn head—she didn’t need to be hospitalized for a bump on her skull.

  Remy rested a hand on the back of her neck, warm, comforting. He’d been at her side from the time she’d opened her eyes, and she knew he’d stay right there. When the deputies had tried to slip in earlier and talk to her, he’d told them in a brusque voice, “It can wait a few hours. Got it?”

  And now here he was running interference for her. Again. She loved him for it … even though she knew she couldn’t let him keep doing it.

  “If it’s just a concussion, why does she need to be kept overnight?” he asked.

  The doctor gave him a polite smile, but focused his attention on Hope. “You live alone, Ms. Carson. You’ve got a concussion. The wound to your head is small and has stopped bleeding but we do need to monitor you. Might I add—this is the second concussion in a relatively short period of time. You can’t be alone for the next twenty-four hours.”

  “She—”

  Hope reached over and touched the back of his hand. He closed his mouth, then smiled and leaned in, nuzzled her hair. “You can stay with me … you know th
at.”

  “Yeah. I know that.” Then she focused on the doctor. “I won’t be alone. I’ll go stay with Remy for a few days.” Maybe the rest of my life … It just might take that long to get over the fear still crowding her mind. Geez, between the fear and the residual panic and shock, it was a wonder there was any room for pain.

  The doctor glanced at Remy, then cocked a brow. “She’ll have to be woken up. Regularly. You won’t get much sleep.”

  Remy grimaced. “I won’t get much anyway, because if she doesn’t come home with me, I’m staying here. I’m not leaving her.”

  Hope snuggled closer. His arms tightened around her.

  The fear, the panic receded. Even the pain fell to a tolerable ache.

  Now that she didn’t have to worry about staying here, and now that she had figured out what she was doing with herself, she was going to let Remy worry about the rest of it.

  While she leaned against him and just enjoyed being alive …

  Three hours later, after a hot shower to clean away the blood from her body, she was settled on Remy’s couch, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets she didn’t really need, but she didn’t have the heart to push them away after he’d done so much to get her comfortable.

  When he came back with another pillow, she reached out and caught his hand. “Remy … stop. Sit. I’m fine.”

  A look darkened his eyes. His face tightened. Then … it cleared and he smiled. “Sure. I’ll sit.”

  “Yeah. You do that and tell me what that look was for.”

  “What look?”

  Hope narrowed her eyes. “Remy … I’m not going to break. Stop acting like I am. Stop hovering and just sit down and talk to me.”

  He gave another tight, strained smile, went to sit—then he surged back up.

  “Shit. You want me to fucking relax. Sit down and talk … like I almost didn’t lose you today, all because I didn’t listen to my gut. Damn it,” he snarled. Pacing the living room, his blue eyes almost black with fury, he looked everywhere but at her. “I knew something was seriously fucked up with him, but I didn’t listen to my instincts, and look what happened. Damn it.”

  Hope eased the blankets away, watching as he continued to pace, barely even aware of her. He was too caught up in the storm of emotion, too lost in it.