Questions would have to remain unanswered.
Questions like how to let go. How to move on. How to fight fear when you were supposed to be fearless. How to admit weakness when you were supposed to be strong. How to admit failure when you were supposed to always succeed.
He hadn’t succeeded in finding Jeffrey Levitts. But then he hadn’t given the signal to hack into his financials and track him. He had to play this by the book, so when it came time to put this creep away, nothing would be inadmissible in court. Aurora had made the boundaries clear. The woman was an astute attorney and had immersed herself in Georgia law since moving here and marrying Beck.
Beck had moved on. He was happy and building a life with Aurora on a farm with chickens. A baby was coming soon for them. Wilder didn’t hold it against him. Had never expected him to pine over Meghan forever.
A quiet knock sounded on his door. He checked the time: after 9:00 p.m. He raised himself off the couch with a grunt. Wilder’s knees were beginning to protest how hard he had worked them. He opened the door.
Cosette stood before him. She’d changed into jeans and an oversize T-shirt. Her hair was plopped in a mess on her head, revealing a slender neck.
“Everything okay?” he asked, and invited her inside with a sweep of his arm.
She glanced into the room, hesitated. He wouldn’t try to kiss her again. Wouldn’t lose control. But those lips coated in cherry red teased him. Did this woman’s lipstick never come off? “I’m not sure. I was planning on going by Kariss Elroy’s place with Jody this afternoon, but then we were nearly run down. I’ve called a few times this evening and I’m still getting voice mail. That worries me.”
Cosette’s concern for everyone touched Wilder in deep places. She paused at the piano, ran a hand along the sleek edge, then turned.
“Would you like to go by there?” he asked.
The uncertainty and fear in her eyes had him itching to pull her close, but she wanted a professional protector—even if they were friends—and lines couldn’t be crossed again. She’d pulled away from a kiss. Cosette thought he was a hovering bonehead like the others she’d fallen for in the past. Men who had destroyed her. No amount of higher education was going to pull that pain away and blast the iron around her heart.
“Not every man will fail you, Cosette.” The statement rushed out before he could contain it.
She half smiled. “I’m not prepared to take those chances. I’m happy on my own.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. I like belonging to myself.” Doubt laced her words. “I make the calls in my life. I decide what I want and when I want it. I answer to no one.” She lifted her chin.
His laugh was humorless. “You make it sound like a relationship has to be about a man being in charge of the woman.”
“It doesn’t have to be. I know that. But I seem to...”
“Seem to what?”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “Fall for the wrong men.”
“Men like me?” Cosette had compared him to all the other wrong men in her life. It still rankled.
“I’m not falling for you,” she said with force.
He wasn’t implying that, and started to say so, but she didn’t give him a chance.
“But if I’m being honest, yes.”
That stirred up his dander. “You think I’d stalk you? Terrorize you? Manhandle you?” What was this woman thinking?
She glanced away, then met his eyes. “No, but you’re controlling, obsessive and intrusive.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but was stunned speechless. He clamped his lips together and silently counted to ten. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’re not falling for me then, isn’t it?” Wilder tried to control his clipped tone, but it edged out.
She smoothed invisible wrinkles on her sleeve. “I guess so. Besides, even if I were, you don’t date employees.”
“Or mouthy, opinionated, pushy women. You fall under all three of those.”
“I’m...” She blew out a heavy breath, reeling in the fire in her eyes. Yeah, it stung to hear false accusations. Though she was all those things, but he never saw them as weaknesses. He admired and respected every one of those attributes. Flat out enjoyed them at times.
“Drive me to Kariss’s?”
Conversation over. It was going nowhere fast, anyway. He slipped his shoes on and grabbed his keys, wallet and gun. The ride to Kariss’s small home in a shoddy neighborhood was relatively quiet.
The Craftsman house had peeling paint and overgrown bushes out front. Darkness permeated the inside. In a burst, Wilder felt the hairs on his arms raise. “I don’t like this.”
Cosette clutched her purse. “I don’t, either.”
He exited the SUV, gun drawn. “Stay right behind me.” He ought to leave her in the car, but if someone was lurking, the minute Wilder disappeared into the house, Cosette would be at risk. He couldn’t imagine coming out to find her missing. Sidling up behind him, Cosette briefly touched his upper arm.
Wilder crept to the front door. Knocked lightly. Turned the knob.
It was locked. The blinds had been drawn. He paused. Listened.
Frogs croaked.
Cosette’s breathing was shaky.
Leaves rustled in the trees, but no sound came from inside. Not even a TV. It wasn’t that late.
“Let’s go around back.” Wilder unlatched the metal lock on the chain-link fence and surveyed the small backyard. “Okay,” he whispered and headed for the rear entrance. The hinges screeched as he opened the screen door, before testing the wooden one. “Unlocked. Stay behind me.” He’d shelter her if anything inside was hazardous.
He stepped into a kitchen smelling of Mexican spices. Dinner dishes had been left on the counter. Tacos. Ice dropped into the holder in the freezer with clinks and clanks. Otherwise, the place was silent.
No. There was a sound.
Cosette must have heard it, too. She clutched his biceps. “Wilder.”
Grasping the knob on the door that led to the one-car garage, Wilder flung it open. Fumes racked his senses and he covered his nose.
Kariss’s car was running.
“Oh, Wilder,” Cosette whispered frantically through her shirt, which she was using as a mask.
Feeling along the wall, he found the garage door button and punched it. The familiar squeal of it opening sounded and the automatic light kicked on.
Bounding down the steps, Wilder yanked open the driver’s door.
Kariss Elroy’s head rested back against the seat as if she was sleeping, but Wilder knew better even before he checked for a pulse.
“Wilder, is she...” Cosette’s voice shook.
He turned off the engine. “Call the police.” He started CPR, knowing it was a lost cause, but he had to do something. Cosette gave the dispatcher the information and called for an ambulance.
Wilder glanced up and met her eyes.
Cosette was studying the car, her lips trembling and her eyes as wide as saucers. “What’s the matter?”
“Wilder. This is the car that ran us down earlier.”
Wilder held a lifeless Kariss Elroy in his arms. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.” She covered her mouth, pain etching her lovely facial features. Tears pooled in her eyes and she shook her head. This entire situation was confusing, frightful and seemingly endless. People she cared about were dying, and judging by the paleness in her cheeks, and her shaking shoulders, Cosette was expecting her own outcome to be the same as Kariss Elroy’s. Wilder gently laid Kariss back against the seat as the ambulance sirens let them know they were close.
He closed the distance between them and drew Cosette against his chest. “It’s going to be okay. There was nothing you could do.” He stroked her hair.
She shook her head. “I could have checked on h
er earlier. I could have... I don’t know. Why would she run me down? Did Jeffrey convince her, somehow, and then guilt drove her to this? I don’t understand.”
Wilder didn’t have all the pieces, either. “Did you see if the driver was male or female? Jeffrey could have ‘borrowed’ her car, or stolen it and framed Kariss, then silenced her to keep her from talking.”
Cosette peered into his eyes. “You think this was a homicide?”
“I don’t know.” Nothing was adding up, but his stomach twisted in tight knots. Things were going to escalate even further. He had to stop it.
The ambulance and police arrived.
Officers questioned them. Cosette explained why they had come to Kariss’s.
“Did you report the almost hit-and-run?” an officer asked.
They should have, but it was easier to have Wheezer pull the partial plate number. Wilder spoke. “No. I’m officially investigating the case. It’s documented in my notes.”
The officer raised an eyebrow and scribbled on his notepad, then took their personal information for follow-up questions.
“Can you get a forensics team out here to take a look? It’s possible this isn’t a suicide,” Wilder offered. If the guy wouldn’t acquiesce, he’d call in a favor from a friend at the Atlanta PD.
“We’ll make a note.”
And Wilder would make a call.
When the questions were over, Wilder led Cosette to the SUV. “What would Jeffrey have to gain by using your patient to bring you muffins and then killing her—if he did?”
Cosette rubbed her hands on her thighs and shivered. He cranked up the heat, knowing she was shaking from fear, but maybe the added warmth would help. He hated seeing her this frightened and unsure.
“Jeffrey is calculating. Arrogant. He might have used Kariss just to see if he could. To torture me. Because this is torture, Wilder. Kariss was fragile. And she’s dead because of me, and he’s coming... He’s going to kill me,” she squeaked. “He’s gone off the deep end. I knew it for sure when he was willing to take out an innocent child. There’s no one he won’t kill to make me his. Wilder...you should send me away. To a safe house or something.”
Wilder gritted his teeth. This man had terrorized Cosette long enough. He grabbed her hand as they pulled into the circle drive at CCM. He squeezed it and waited for her to make eye contact. “I will not let him get his hands on you.”
“He’s cunning.”
What was it going to take to make her understand that Wilder would die in order to keep her safe? He had to calm her fears and doubts about his abilities—and revealing the truth about Allie and Meghan wouldn’t do that. He regretted now, on some level, confiding in her about Alan. “Cosette, I don’t care how cunning he is. I will protect you. Please believe me.”
“I do.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “But I’m losing my mind. I’m in a constant state of fear and I’m trying hard to be brave, but I’m wearing thin. He’s around every corner. He’s every shadow. Every creak and pop. He’s murdering people I—I care about. I don’t know how much more I can take before he breaks me.”
Wilder framed her face, wishing there was more he could do. Maybe there was. “Do you want to sleep at my place tonight? I can take the couch.”
Her teary eyes had washed some eyeliner down her cheeks, but that cherry red lipstick stayed strong. It was a sight to behold—beautiful and pitiful at the same time. “You don’t mind?” she asked.
“No.” Whatever she needed to feel safe.
He led her into his apartment and locked the door behind them. “You’ll be safe here. Not that you wouldn’t be upstairs, too...”
“Upstairs feels pretty far away.” Cosette slipped off her shoes.
Being near him made her feel safe. Good. “Do you want to go get pajamas or something? I can walk you up. Wait for you.”
She half smiled. “Thank you, but no. I’m exhausted. I can’t believe Kariss is dead. I didn’t see any suicidal signs, Wilder. She’s struggled with them in the past, but her therapy was going well. She was healing. Making strides toward a new and better life. Which is why I know she was murdered. What if the police rule it a suicide?”
“I’ll stay on top of it. We’ll find the truth and bring her killer to justice.”
He led her into his bedroom, switched on the lamp at the dresser by the door. “I’m only a few feet away. You can sleep peacefully. If you need me...”
She slowly surveyed his bedroom, then turned to him. “Thank you.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “For keeping me safe. For giving up your bed.”
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Good night,” he whispered and shut the door behind him. He padded to the linen closet in the bathroom and grabbed a blanket and extra pillow. Tossing them on the couch, he sighed and collapsed.
Cosette LaCroix was ten feet away, in his home.
But only for protection. That wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured it. He couldn’t afford to imagine her as his wife. But lately, the thoughts had come more often. Sharing a home. A family. Even a dog.
Tomorrow, he’d strip off the sheets and wash away her sweet scent. No point enduring torture if he didn’t have to.
Sleep wasn’t going to come. One hour ticked into two, into three. He tossed off the blanket and tiptoed to his bedroom. Cracking open the door, he peeked in on Cosette.
The soft glow of light coming from the bathroom illuminated her form. She was swaddled in his thick brown-and-blue comforter, her hair fanned across his pillow. Quietly, he closed the door.
He needed fresh air. Needed to escape this scene and she didn’t look like she’d be waking up soon. She’d never know he was gone, and he’d be back before she woke.
He set the alarm using his phone. If anything was off it would alert him, and he slipped from the house. He paced the porch and wandered out to the stable. Before long, Cosette’s mark would be on this property more than his own. Her offices. Her private road. Chances were she’d move back into her old apartment upstairs for good, to be closer to patients and the office.
And every day Wilder would have to watch the life he longed for but couldn’t have slip away.
Hay rustled. Wilder turned, but something smacked him upside the head, leaving him in darkness.
SEVEN
Cosette awoke disoriented, the clean scent of soap and something distinctly masculine muddying her thoughts. She blinked as she adjusted to the darkness.
Cottony sheets. A fluffy comforter. Walnut furniture.
She was in Wilder’s bed. Raising up, she glanced at his clock. He still used an alarm clock? It was nearly 2:00 a.m. She’d slept hard and deep for almost four hours. Pulling the covers up around her, she inhaled deeply and her pulse spiked. Mercy, they smelled good. Like Wilder, minus the signature scent of spearmint from the gum he chewed, like a smoker trying to quit.
She could get lost in this giant bed. The downy comforter. Fluffy pillows. She could imagine sleeping late. Eating breakfast and sipping coffee here.
But the reality was this wasn’t her bed. Would never be. And Kariss Elroy was dead. Jeffrey Levitts might have killed her. He’d probably killed Beau Chauvert.
A burst of color caught her eye from the window across the room. Slipping out of bed, she hurried to it, squinted into the night.
Heart lurching into her throat, she screamed for Wilder.
The stable was on fire.
“Wilder!” She raced into the living room. The couch was empty. Nothing but a pillow and blanket. Where was he? She continued screaming for him and dashing through the apartment while she dialed 911 for the fire department.
Exiting his apartment, she tried the control room. TV monitors showed the property, including the stable. Faint, almost undetectable, it appeared there was someone in the stable. Ice settled in the pit of her stomach and she flew barefoot out t
he door, down the porch stairs and across the yard toward the flames, the alarm she’d set off screeching.
She squinted due to the brilliance of the flames on the back walls and licking up the roof. Inside the stable, Wilder lay facedown. No time to waste or wait for the fire department. He might already be dead from injuries or smoke inhalation.
Smoke billowed from the building. Cosette covered her mouth and nose with her T-shirt and swallowed down fear. Wilder was in trouble. Hunching her shoulders, she entered the burning stable, the heat searing her skin, breaking her out in a sweat.
Four of the back stalls were ablaze. It wouldn’t be long before the entire place was ash. “Wilder!” She coughed, eyes burning. Making her way to him, she grunted as she rolled his massive frame over. A trickle of blood ran down his temple, but he was breathing. Barely.
Her heart raced at a frantic speed. She couldn’t let him die, but she couldn’t lift well over two hundred pounds of muscle on a six-foot-three frame. Grabbing his arms, she used all her might and pulled.
God, help me get him out of here. Give me strength. Hopefully, He’d show her—and Wilder—mercy. She wasn’t doing much of what God asked lately.
Struggling, she dragged Wilder a few inches, her muscles pulling taut and shaking from exertion.
Must. Get. Him. Out.
She felt a muscle pull in her back and she cried out. Sweat dripped down her cheeks.
Crackling and popping came from above, then hissing. Hot bits of ash burned her bare arms as they fell from the ceiling.
At this rate, she’d never get him out. She regrouped and tightened her grip under his arms, his head falling back. Terror shot acid into her throat.
Wood splintering caught her attention. The beam above was giving way. If it fell, Wilder would be crushed.
She coughed and gripped harder, ignoring the pain in her back. Cosette yanked with everything she had and dragged him a foot farther toward the stable doors and freedom.
The heat was too intense. Her throat burned, her tongue as dry as winter grass.
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