Under the Agent's Protection

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  Wyatt retrieved the sheets and stood reading by the firelight. Everly approached and peered over his shoulder. “The circumstances are all the same,” said Everly. “I can’t believe that nobody put all of this evidence together until now.”

  “Pleasant Pines doesn’t have a large police force and the technology they use is pretty dated. All the killings are months apart and each one has a natural cause of death.”

  “Are you saying that they aren’t connected?”

  “No, I think they’re probably connected, all right. It’s just that I can see how the sheriff missed all the links.”

  “Look at this.” She pointed to one page. “They all stayed at the Pleasant Pines Inn. It’s where Larry works.” Excitement coursed through Everly’s veins. “In the morning, we can take this information to the sheriff and force him to open an investigation.”

  Wyatt shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “We need something more substantial than five bodies who happened to stay at the only hotel in town. Until we have concrete evidence that connects the cases and a solid suspect, I don’t want to make accusations,” Wyatt said.

  Everly knew that past accusations had cost Wyatt his job. He was obviously reluctant to make the same mistake. Yet, without Wyatt she’d have a hard time convincing the sheriff to even consider that Axl had been murdered.

  “What more do you need besides all these deaths and Larry’s connection to Las Vegas?” Everly asked.

  “I want to see if any of the other victims were found with half of a two-dollar bill.”

  “And do you have a website that can tell you that?”

  “I don’t.”

  Wyatt turned to her. Firelight danced on his face, his shoulders, his torso. An inner fire sprang to life in her middle, consuming her until she was nothing but ash blowing in the storm. She looked away.

  “What do we do now?” How many times had she asked that same question of Wyatt? And yet, he always had an answer.

  “We need to look at the list of personal belongings for all the men. Sheriff Haak has those in his files, I’m sure. I’m just as certain that he won’t share them with us.” He paused and slipped a hand into his back pocket. He withdrew a slip of paper and held it up to the light. “I think I know what we can do, though.”

  Everly looked at the phone number. Underneath it was three words: Rocky Mountain Justice.

  * * *

  Snow swirled, rising and falling on currents of air. The night was vast and endless—an ocean of darkness. And then the Darkness took form. Snow crunched underfoot. The cold, biting and burning, was nothing compared to the heat of hatred that filled the Darkness to the very core.

  “‘And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, “Come and see.” And I looked, and behold, a pale horse.’” The words hovered, a mist in the cold, only to be swept away by the wind.

  The old farmhouse sat alone. The windows were ablaze with light and the scene within was visible, even at a distance. The two of them stood next to the table, shoulders close but not touching.

  The woman’s hair fell forward, and she tucked a lock behind her ear. Wyatt watched her, as if he could drink in the woman and her gesture. The woman didn’t interest the Darkness. She wasn’t its to claim. And yet, here she was—with Wyatt.

  Dense and heavy loathing filled the Darkness until it could crush the world.

  Continuing, the Darkness said, “‘And his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.’”

  In the distance, Wyatt lifted his head and looked to the window. Had he heard the words? Did he see the Darkness? Sense its presence?

  Sometimes the Darkness thought Wyatt knew and was still playing the game. But he never made a move, not even when the bodies began to turn up in Wyoming. It was if he had forgotten who he was and what he needed to do. They were the opposite sides of the same coin, Wyatt and the Darkness. That’s why the latest body had to be brought to his property. It was a trap to draw in Wyatt. And draw him in it had.

  But the woman was in Wyatt’s home. At his table. Smiling at him, as if she understood. She wasn’t part of the game and her presence could ruin everything.

  Well, that wasn’t going to happen. And sadly, there was no helping her now. She had to be devoured by the Darkness.

  * * *

  Wyatt folded the pillow over and adjusted it under his neck. He flipped to his back and stared at the ceiling. Even though it was the middle of the night, moonlight seeped in around the curtain’s edge. He’d been asleep, yet something had awakened him. What? He didn’t know. The air crackled with static, as if lightning had struck in the room.

  On the floor, in his dog bed, Gus growled in his sleep.

  Rolling to his side, Wyatt spied the dog. Head up, ears alert, Gus looked at the door.

  “What is it, boy?” he whispered.

  Another growl, this one deeper.

  Wyatt sat up. The covers slid down his torso and pooled in his lap. He strained to hear. The silence was complete, not even interrupted by the occasional creak of the settling foundation or the wind in the eaves. It was as if the house was holding its breath.

  He exhaled.

  Wyatt reached for the bedside light. His fingers brushed the cold metal at the lamp’s base. He hesitated, not bothering with the switch. Blindly, he opened the drawer of the bedside table instead. Hidden in the back, behind a book, was a SIG Sauer. It was empty, but a full magazine was tucked in next to the gun.

  He shoved the clip home and pulled back on the slide, chambering a round.

  Wyatt set his feet on the floor and stood. The old boards creaked in protest.

  “Gus,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Stay.”

  Treading lightly, he moved to the door and into the corridor. A small, circular window at the end of the hallway let in silvery light. Wyatt glanced outside. The storm had stopped, and a full moon hung in the sky. He peered down at the snow-covered ground. There, clear in the lunar glow, was a set of footprints.

  He froze. Blinked. Looked again.

  No doubt there was a single set of footprints leading to his back door. None going away. But he’d locked the back door. Hadn’t he? He tried to recall those awkward moments as he’d left Everly and checked all the points of entry while she settled on the sofa and couldn’t remember if he had.

  Had he really been so careless, tonight of all nights?

  Without question, someone had come to his home. Were they inside right now? If they were—well, then it was a game of cat and mouse.

  Rushing to the stairs, Wyatt pressed his back into the wall and glanced into the yawning abyss of the stairwell. Moving as quietly as possible, he descended to the landing. From there, he glanced down again. The entire living room was visible from where he hid.

  The fire was low in the grate. Cold seeped up the stairs, icy tendrils snaking around his bare feet and ankles.

  Everly stood in the middle of the living room. The unmistakable glint of a metal blade was at her neck. The perpetrator was hidden behind her, face obscured. His heart raced. His palms grew damp and a bead of sweat trickled down his back.

  The knife flashed, nicking Everly’s skin. Like a seam had opened, a bead of red blood gathered on her throat. She shrieked. A shadow took form and rushed from the room. The back door shut with a crack.

  Wyatt sprinted through the living room and pushed against the door. It didn’t budge. He fumbled with the doorknob and leaned his shoulder into the door, knowing it was a smart move on the intruder’s part. Barricade the door. Wyatt was trapped—a prisoner in his own home.

  He kicked the wood. The door gave. Gun drawn and at the ready, Wyatt ran into the night. His bare feet sank in fresh snow. The cold left his bones brittle and seared his flesh. He ignored the discomfort and pressed on. But to go where? A gust of wind bl
ew, erasing the footprints and leaving Wyatt alone in the darkness.

  Chapter 6

  In the distance, taillights appeared near the end of his drive as a car sped away. Wyatt leveled his gun at the retreating auto, took aim and pulled the trigger twice. He felt the recoil in his shoulder. The boom expanded to the edges of the horizon, as the stench of cordite was swept away by the wind. The car fishtailed as it rocketed away, disappearing into the night.

  Wyatt cursed and returned to the house. He examined the door on the way in. Scratches had been gouged into the wood, where the door had been pried open. He slammed the door shut.

  Every light on the ground floor was illuminated and Everly stood inside the threshold. A wound on her neck trickled blood. “I heard gunshots. Did you get him?”

  His galloping pulse slowed as he shook his head. “I don’t think I hit anything.” Then he asked, “How are you? You’re cut. Is anything else hurt?”

  She touched the wound. Her fingers trembled. “I think I’m okay. This is just a little scratch. I should get cleaned up, though.”

  He recalled the metal blade pressed into her flesh and went cold with dread for what might’ve been. He pulled out a kitchen chair. “Sit,” he said. “Let me help you.”

  Everly dropped to the seat. Wyatt set his firearm aside and wet a kitchen towel before dabbing at the cut on Everly’s throat. The slash was short, only two inches long, and thankfully shallow. The bleeding was already slowing. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” he said. “But you might end up with a little bit of a scar.”

  “Who cares about a scar?” she asked, her voice cracked. “What just happened?”

  It was exactly what Wyatt wanted to know. As far as he knew, she was the only person to meet this killer twice and survive. “What do you remember?”

  “I was asleep,” she said, “and I woke up with a knife at my throat.” She shut her eyes as a shudder wracked her body and tears threatened to leak from her eyes.

  Wyatt waited while she gave in to the terror she’d been holding back. She needed only a moment to let it out and pull herself back together.

  Everly swallowed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she continued her story. “I was pulled to my feet. I was so frightened I couldn’t even speak. I heard Gus upstairs. He was growling, and then...”

  “I showed up a moment later,” Wyatt offered.

  “Yeah,” she said with a nod.

  Wyatt pulled open a couple of drawers, shuffling around until he found a tube of antiseptic ointment, gauze and medical tape. He tended to her neck without speaking. Wyatt thought of a million questions he wanted answered and yet, there was only one that really mattered. “Why are you alive?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Wyatt had lived alone for more than three years. Yet he hadn’t been on his own long enough to mistake the tone of Everly’s question as anything other than being insulted.

  Yet this wasn’t the time to worry about being polite. If he was going to catch this killer once and for all, he had to understand everything.

  “Why didn’t the killer cut your neck while you slept? Or why weren’t you smothered after you’d been knocked unconscious at the hotel? Why are you still alive?”

  Everly pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “I’ve asked myself that same question again and again.”

  “Do you have an answer?” There was one thing that Wyatt was certain of now. The killer’s reluctance to murder Everly was the key to discovering his identity.

  She exhaled and let her arms drop to her sides. “No,” she said. “Not really.”

  God, she was beautiful. He wanted to take her into his arms and offer her comfort and solace. He wanted more. “You look tired,” he said instead. “Why don’t you go up to my room and get some rest?”

  She shook her head. “There’s no way I can sleep now.”

  “You might be surprised.” Wyatt stood in front of Everly and held out his hand.

  Everly stared at his outstretched fingers for a moment before placing her hand in his. It was there again. The warmth. The tingle. The connection. He pulled Everly to her feet and she stood slowly. “Thanks,” she said.

  “I’ll even let you keep Gus in the room with you,” Wyatt said, trying to lighten the mood, and at the same time knowing that Gus was a vigilant protector. “He’ll keep you safe.”

  “And what will you do?” Everly asked.

  “Me? I’ll be fine down here.”

  Everly pressed her lips together, an argument ready to break free, no doubt.

  Before she could argue or demur, Wyatt pointed to the stairs. “I insist.”

  “Thanks,” Everly said, with a yawn. Even after everything that had happened to her, she’d be asleep within minutes. Or maybe she’d be asleep because of everything that had happened.

  He watched as she walked to the stairs and disappeared past the landing. When he was alone, Wyatt moved to the front window and looked out at the night. He saw nothing but felt as if there were eyes everywhere.

  “Come and get me, you bastard,” he muttered. He aimed the gun at his own reflection in the glass. Sliding his finger onto the trigger, he continued, “This time, I’ll be ready.”

  * * *

  Everly sighed and rolled over. Her wound touched the pillow and she grimaced. She flipped to her back and the throbbing in her head began anew. “Wyoming sucks,” she said out loud.

  On the floor next to her, Gus whined.

  “Sorry for waking you,” she said to the dog.

  Funny, but Gus was easier to talk to than most humans. He was definitely easier to converse with than his owner. Wyatt Thornton had built such an impenetrable wall around himself that Everly imagined she could see the concrete and rebar. Not that she blamed Wyatt and yet, she couldn’t help but think he would be well-served to get out of the house more. Heck, maybe he should make a friend or two.

  Then again, his problems weren’t hers and she had plenty of troubles of her own. Rolling to the other side, she finally found a position without discomfort. Her eyelids felt heavy and sleep began to claim her...

  An icy shard of pain stabbed her chest and Everly sat up, breathing hard. Had she heard something downstairs? She strained to listen, hearing only her racing heart and labored breathing.

  There it was, a howl. The wind? A wolf? The killer, returned? Everly reached for the bedside lamp and turned it on. The room blazed with light. She glanced at Gus. He was lying in his bed, blinking.

  Sure, the dog seemed nonplussed, yet Everly knew that she had heard something...

  Moreover, there was no way that Everly was going to lie in bed and allow herself to be attacked a second time.

  * * *

  Wyatt stretched out as much as the sofa would allow. His feet dangled over the edge and he figured that this was as comfortable as he could get. A creaking came from upstairs. Wyatt sat up, reaching for the gun.

  It had to be Everly. Unless it wasn’t.

  She appeared on the landing. His fingers twitched with the need to touch her.

  “I thought I heard something,” she said. “It was like a howl.”

  Wyatt exhaled. “It’s the wind in the eaves,” he said. He set aside the gun. “I should’ve warned you. It can seem pretty loud upstairs, especially during a storm.”

  “Okay,” she said, pivoting to go back up the stairs. “Thanks for letting me know. Good night.”

  Wyatt wasn’t good at dealing with people, not anymore at least. And being helpful? Forget about it. All the same, he said, “I can check upstairs, make sure that it’s only the wind. It might help you sleep better.”

  She gazed up the stairs, and Wyatt was certain she was going to decline his offer. After a moment, she turned back to him. “Sure, that’d be nice.”

  She wore a pair of
loose pajama pants in a blush rose. They hung low at her waist. A cream-colored tank top skimmed her body like a second skin. She ascended the stairs and Wyatt followed, mesmerized by the sway of her hips and the perfect form of her butt.

  He forced his gaze to move and he looked over her shoulder, at once seeing Gus’s smiling face at the top of the stairs.

  “Hey, boy,” he said, scratching the dog’s head as he passed. “You keeping Everly safe for me?”

  The second floor of Wyatt’s home consisted of a master suite with its own bathroom. At one time, the suite had been two separate rooms and a closet. Before Wyatt moved in, he’d modernized the space. The rest of the second floor, not so much. There was a hall bath that had last been remodeled at the end of World War II and two small bedrooms filled with stuff that Wyatt no longer used but lacked the motivation to discard.

  He pushed open the first door. Downhill skis. Cross-country skis. Snowshoes. A mountain bike with a broken chain and flat tire. “Everything looks in order,” he said.

  “Are you sure?” asked Everly. “I mean, how can you tell?”

  “I can tell,” Wyatt snapped. Who was she to question how he lived? True, he hadn’t gone skiing the whole time he’d been living in Wyoming. And the mountain bike? It had sat, in need of repair, for over eighteen months.

  Everly lifted her hands in surrender. “There’s just a lot to keep track of, that’s all.”

  “Chaos is the natural order,” he said. “Did you know that?”

  Everly shook her head. “I did not, and I didn’t mean to offend you, either. I guess I shouldn’t be speaking my mind so freely,” she said.

  “Apology accepted,” said Wyatt. He moved to the second room and paused at the door. “This is where I kept all the notes from all the cases I’ve ever worked. It’s a lot and I’m warning you now.”