by Geri Krotow
“You are bigger than life. It’d be easy to think that, that I’ll never meet someone like you again.”
His hands stilled and he turned her around.
“Babe, it’s not me, or you. It’s what we become together. Us.”
“But you don’t like reporters.”
“And I live two hours away.”
“We have different career goals.”
“We do.”
They remained quiet as they stood together under the spray, then took turns drying one another off.
“So this was it?” Her voice was steady and he admired how pragmatic she was. He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut multiple times, except the memory of their lovemaking made it impossible to feel much of anything besides completely content.
“Bella, I—”
Suddenly, the sound of gunfire rang through the night, coming from the other side of the house wall. He pushed her down onto the floor, covering her with his body. He listened, but silence descended. Reaching up to the sink while still protecting Bella, he grabbed his phone and called Spencer.
“Inside the house, we’re under fire. Where’s MVPD?”
“We’re on it, Holden. Take cover until I find out where your patrol is.” Spencer’s frustration bit through his words.
He left the phone on speaker and placed it on the sink, next to his weapon, which he grabbed and flipped the safety off. “We’re in the guest bathroom, northern side of the house. I’ve got my weapon and we’re going to stay put until you tell me it’s clear.”
“We have to get dressed.” Bella’s voice was low, meant for him.
“Quick, let’s get clothes from the bedroom.” He’d left a bag in the guest room and knew she had her workout and out-of-season clothes in there. The bedroom was between them and the center of the house, where they’d have the most protection from bullets. “I think the MVPD patrol was disabled. There’s no other way a shooter got past them.”
They were dressed in thirty seconds flat, and as he zipped his cargo shorts and Bella tugged on bicycle shorts, gunfire again rang out.
Bella didn’t need him to push her down this time—she was already flat on the floor, between the bed and closet. He’d been in only one other live shooting and he’d relied on what he’d learned in Quantico at the FBI Academy. “Stay down, and let’s get into the center of the house.”
“Do you think it’s the killer?” Bella spoke as she shimmied on her belly down the hallway.
“Don’t go any farther. Stay between the two walls.” He sat, his back against the wall, weapon loaded and aimed at the ceiling until needed.
Bella copied his posture, and he again was impressed with her composure under duress.
“What do you think is going on?”
“I don’t know.” Spencer hadn’t, either, which was a red flag.
“What if—” She was cut off by a loud, splintering sound. “The kitchen door!”
“Stay here.” He ran up to the edge of the wall, weapon first, and peered around the boundary. It was dark and he was unable to see anything but a large shadow of a person on the other side, kicking in the door. The motion-detector light had been shot out, no doubt.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!”
A barrage of bullets through the shattered door window was the only reply. Holden’s only recourse was to fire back. As he held his hands steady, he got off six, seven shots, waited for the attacker to either drop or flee.
Rapid footsteps faded into silence, and he waited. The front door was one hundred and eighty degrees behind him, so he positioned himself to be able to answer fire from either entrance.
Sirens sounded in the distance, the wails soft but persistent. He had at least five more minutes before the house would be surrounded by responding MVPD. What had happened to the patrol unit in front of the house, and its officers, remained unknown but experience screamed at him that the killer had owned up to his role tonight.
“Holden!” Bella’s scream had him turning to the left, looking down the hallway. She was scrambling to her feet, trying to run to him, as a figure similar to the one he’d seen in the staff room stood at the end of the hallway, weapon aimed at Bella, who was now behind Holden.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!” Holden kept his weapon aimed at the killer. The intruder seemed to consider his options before he leaped sideways and disappeared into the master bedroom. Holden shoved Bella back, into the kitchen. He saw she held her handgun, which he’d asked her to keep by her side when at home. “Keep your weapon out—watch both doors.”
He was down the hall and cleared into the bedroom, where all he found was the window wide open, gauzy drapes hanging both in and out of it, billowing into the night. Running to the open window he knew what he’d find—nothing. As he peered out, he spotted a MVPD officer in tactical gear as they rounded the corner of the house.
“He took off into the desert!” Holden yelled, pointed at the heavy brush that made it easy for the killer to disappear. The officer nodded and Holden heard mumbles through their helmet as the officer spoke into his or her microphone. The officer ran to the back of the property, followed by another, who’d entered the backyard. Bella’s garden backed up to the desert and the perfect escape for a criminal who knew their way around the southeastern Arizona scrub.
Holden swore, the words inaudible to his own ears as the sirens roared and cruisers screeched to a halt, surrounding Bella’s house. The killer had eluded him once more.
Bella.
Running out into the hall he let out a huge breath when he saw her standing in the apex of the entryways and short hallway, her defiant posture underscoring what attracted him to her in the first place. Not her beauty, nor her sensuality, but her strength.
Bella was the strongest woman he’d ever met, and that was a big deal, as until now he’d always counted Grandma St. Clair as the toughest.
Beams of light splayed across the living area from the windows and partially-cracked-open door. Bella was safe.
For now.
* * *
“You can stand down, Bella.” Holden’s voice reached her ears but she couldn’t stop from standing on alert, her arms raised with her weapon ready to fire. Only when his hands touched her shoulders, ran down her arms to hug her from behind, did she lower her arms and engage the safety. “You’re safe.”
She leaned against him, not caring that it was only minutes since she’d promised herself she wouldn’t so much as touch him for the remainder of the pageant, no matter how much longer she had to rely on his protection. There was no hope for them past what they’d already shared, and she wasn’t about prolonging her own agony. Her resolve seemed trite in light of the shootout, and while her brain registered that she’d been intimate with Holden for the last time, her body needed the physical reassurance of his hold to confirm that they were both alive.
They’d survived.
“That was wild.” Her words came out higher pitched than usual, not unlike a cartoon character. Giggles erupted, joining the trembling that shook her.
“You’re going on adrenaline. It’ll pass.” His voice, his warm breath, was against her left ear and she had to fight to keep from turning her head the few degrees it needed to put her mouth to his. To escape into the heat they alone shared, far away from the threat of immediate death at the hands of a determined monster.
“This will never pass, Holden.”
He didn’t respond and she sensed he knew what she meant. Their combined attraction and connection wasn’t trivial, and was made of the fiber that bound couples together for a lifetime.
But their lives were too different, too separate. Even if she were willing to choose a career he’d be more accepting of, and she wasn’t, not for any man, Holden had made it clear that he wasn’t about long-distance relationships. The two hours between here and Phoenix wasn’t impossible to manage but
she knew he wasn’t talking about mere miles.
Holden meant their worldviews and values were too far apart to navigate. To make holding on worth it.
“Listen, Bella, if the intruder is the killer, if he’d captured you—”
“He didn’t. You were here.”
“But I might not always be. Do you know what to do if you’re taken hostage?”
She looked up at him. “Stay alive.”
“Yes, but there are some techniques we know are worth employing. Keep the kidnapper talking, try to draw them out. And don’t let them take you to a different place if you can at all help it. Promise me you’ll do that.” He wanted her to promise not just for her, but for him. Because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to live without her.
“I’ll do it, promise. But with you around, no killer is getting to me.”
He wished he was the man she thought he was. With Bella, he felt invincible.
Footsteps stomped outside, and someone pounded on the kitchen door.
“MVPD. We’re coming in. Stay still with hands up.” The female voice that sounded from the other side of the kitchen wall, on the patio, was Detective Kerry Wilder, whom Bella knew well through Spencer.
“Kerry, it’s Bella Colton. I’m with—”
“FBI Agent Holden St. Clair.” Holden’s voice was loud and commanding next to her, and she started to relax. “The shooter took off through the desert, heading toward the edge of the neighborhood.”
“Roger.” Detective Wilder’s next commands were rapid and Bella imagined Kerry was telling the team with her to disperse into the desert. “Stay put until I come back.” Kerry’s voice reached them from the other side of the kitchen door. Bella saw several shadows swipe by the window as the tactical team ran for the desert.
Holden and Bella stood in the quiet of the kitchen, and she reveled in the strength she drew from being in his arms. It was almost possible to believe they might be near the end of this nightmare.
Until the shadow of a police helmet passed the kitchen window. “It’s Detective Wilder, I’m entering your kitchen through the door.”
When Bella took full stock of Kerry in full tactical gear, her nerves forgot about relaxing. It was impossible to tell it was Kerry, as she couldn’t see the woman’s flaming red hair, obscured by a dark helmet complete with night-vision goggles. Kerry reached a gloved hand through the broken kitchen door window, turned the dead bolt and opened the battered door. She carried an automatic weapon and Bella registered the magazines of rounds clipped to her body armor.
Kerry lifted her helmet visor, sending the NVGs above her head, too. The flash of her familiar blue eyes sent waves of relief through Bella. Followed immediately by quakes of nausea. Where was Spencer? Had one of the bullets hit her brother?
Sweat beaded her upper lip and she forced breaths in and out of her mouth, not sure if she was going to pass out or throw up.
“At ease, folks. We’ve cleared the outer perimeter, and we’ve got several officers chasing on foot. You won’t be staying here for the rest of the night, though.”
“Is, is Spencer okay?” Holden wrapped a firm arm around her shoulders and she shrugged it off. Whether she got sick or crumpled to the floor, she had to do it on her own. Holden wasn’t her personal support system.
“I’m good.” Spencer walked in from the backyard and stood next to Kerry. “You’re going to need a new kitchen door, sis.”
Chapter 22
Three days later, Holden and Bella arrived at the school together for what would be the last pageant practice. Against her wishes, Bella had to stay at different places each night after the break-in to thwart the killer. The assailant at her house had knocked the police offers out with tear gas, similar to what happened after the high school locker explosion. So they knew it was most likely the same person but exactly who was still a mystery. They couldn’t rule out Becky as a suspect, even with her admission of not wanting the pageant to end if the files were examined by a reporter or the police. It made Bella nervous, knowing Becky might try to hurt her mid-finale.
Holden had remained at her side the past few days, but like her, never crossed the romantic involvement line that they’d silently laid down before the killer injured two MVPD officers. Bella kept telling herself it was for the best; it would make the last time she saw Holden that much easier.
If only her heart dealt in logic.
“This is really heavy, and hot.” She wore body armor under the evening gown she’d chosen. The short-sleeved, round-neck navy blue dress was the simplest and most modest style she’d ever worn, but it did the job of hiding the Kevlar vest. And also made her look twenty pounds heavier, in her estimation, but she had no illusions of winning the pageant.
“You’ve got tonight and then the pageant tomorrow to sweat it out. After that you’ll be free.” Holden strode next to her, his looks heightened by the tuxedo that he wore. The pageant board and Selina in particular had requested everyone be in the same attire they’d wear for the actual pageant. Since the final event was being live streamed via the Mustang Valley Gabber’s website, Selina and the technical-production team wanted the optics and blocking to be perfect.
“When do you go back to Phoenix?” She bit her cheek as soon as she asked. So much for keeping it platonic and easy between them.
“As soon as I catch the killer.”
“What if you don’t?”
“It’s my job to. What I came here for.”
She caught the undercurrent. He hadn’t come here to meet her, get involved with his buddy’s sister. Irritation that had nothing to do with the Kevlar armor made her chin rise, her anger sharpen.
“As I came here to get my story. I’m still waiting for MVPD to turn the files over to me.” She’d tried to get them released sooner but Spencer had made it clear that his team had to go through them first. With the demands of the pageant security, plus chasing the assailant at her house to no avail, there hadn’t been time to read several decades’ worth of pageant files. Bella didn’t doubt Gio but she also had to face facts. Gio’s mind hadn’t been operating at one hundred percent near the end. Her memory could have been faulty, but again, Bella needed the files to verify her theories. She’d done further research on the women who’d come forward with their eating disorder and mental illness stories, and while they’d all competed in Ms. Mustang Valley, none of them blamed the pageant. To a fault. They all stated that they’d had a tendency toward mental illness or eating disorders before ever joining a pageant, and the sometimes frenetic activity and perceived pressure may have triggered their illnesses. But none would state that the pageants, or any one thing, had caused their disorders.
“Bella, do you have enough for your story?” Holden stopped short of the front steps. The lowering sun cast streaks of violet and fuchsia across the Arizona sky and reflected a light in his mahogany eyes and made her heart hurt. He’d had the same spark when he’d looked at her naked.
“Maybe. But not really, no. Not until I read the files.” A clump of hair fell in her eyes and she shoved it aside, ignoring the crackle of too much hairspray.
He chuckled. “You never did figure out how to get your hair to stay up, did you?”
“I like to wear it down. It’s not my fault the pageant requires more than one hairstyle throughout the night.” Straightening her spine, she squared off with him, ignored the devastating contrast between his skin and the white crispness of the tuxedo shirt. Or how the black jacket material made his eyes appear impossibly seductive.
“You haven’t answered my question.” Spoken as softly as the endearments he’d whispered in her ear before he made her come in full technicolor splendor. Yet the current of his dislike of her profession remained.
“I will have a story at the end of this, yes. It might not be what I’d hoped for or expected, but I don’t have a choice. If I want to go further with my career, beco
me a bona fide investigative journalist, I need to produce. If this isn’t the story to move my career needle, there’ll be another.”
“Let me guess—you’ve finally found some dirt on Selina and the hold she has held over Payne Colton for years?”
Did he know his words were like an owl’s talons? Cutting deep, causing irreparable damage?
“Maybe.” She had no such thing, but wouldn’t admit it to him. Holden had gone back to being her adversary. “And just think, I didn’t have to pry it out of you with more sex.” Without further comment, she turned and bolted for the entrance. It was too agonizing to see if her words had landed anywhere as soft as his had.
Right in her heart.
* * *
Holden fought against pulling Bella up against him, holding her and kissing her until they both forgot why they had to throw down their respective gauntlets. Why they had to so effectively deny each other the pleasure they’d found in one another’s arms. And more—they’d found friendship, understanding, agreement between them. An intimacy he’d never experienced. And it wasn’t due to the intensity of this case, the constant threat of a methodical killer.
It was Bella.
He had no time or energy to spend on a failed relationship. She’d made her position clear. Bella had her entire life here in Mustang Valley, and would only ever leave for a new job. Judging from her diligence to meticulous research and the articles he’d read under her column in the Gabber and on its website, she’d receive offers from all over the country, if not the globe after her pageant story published. No matter what she chose to write about, Bella had a voice that demanded to be heard and stories that deserved the readership a major newspaper would bring.
“Okay, ladies. You all know what we’re here for tonight. We’ll take it from the top, with the opening number.” Selina, garbed in a sparkling, formfitting multicolored dress, stood onstage with a gold microphone, her bright red nails like talons on its neck. Holden wouldn’t miss this woman’s drama, or the pageant itself.