Wicked in Winter

by Jennifer Bernard

  “No. You said it. I want to know why. I want to know if it’s true or if you’re just saying it and why you expect me to just leave when you told me you love me and—”

  “You should listen to her!” A female voice rang out from behind Gretel. Gretel flinched and shot Zander one more desperate look as she jerked her head toward the front door. “You should have gotten the hell out!”

  Gretel stumbled forward, with a woman right behind her, shoving her from behind, as if she—

  Oh my God. She had a gun to Gretel’s back.

  Zander went cold and clear. Full alert. What exactly were they dealing with here? He analyzed the situation the way he’d been trained. The woman, who looked to be in her late thirties, was armed and hostile, with a manic look about her. Meth head, maybe? Her hair was a greasy tangle. She wore a dirty blue parka and a turtleneck with a stain on it. As they came closer, she pointed the gun at him and he saw that it was a Ruger LCR, a smallish six-shot revolver.

  She aims the Ruger at Gretel again, but surveyed Zander with curiosity. “Are you really her husband?”

  “Yes,” he said calmly, all trace of passion and anger erased from his voice. “I’m her husband. Is this a robbery? Because I’ll give you everything you want. Just let her go. My truck is right outside. We can drive to the bank and I’ll clean out my accounts for you. Just let her go.”

  “I don’t need money.” The woman spit at Gretel’s head. Gretel flinched as the saliva struck her, as if she was anticipating a bullet. Now that she’d come farther into the room, he noticed a bruise on her forehead. The woman must have hit her.

  Zander clenched his fists against a wild surge of fury. He needed to keep his cool here. This stranger was on the edge and almost anything could push her over.

  “What do you want, then?” he asked her.

  “I want my man. She stole him.” She pushed the revolver deeper into Gretel’s back.

  Gretel winced again, then quickly tried to mask it. “I keep telling her that I’m married to you, so I couldn’t have stolen her man.”

  “I saw photos of you in his phone. And then I saw you here with him. You hugged him for a long time. Such a slut you are.”

  “No no, that was just friendship. You know what? Ian told me about you. He said he operated on your child. How is she doing?”

  “You shouldn’t talk about her.” The woman drew her hand back to hit Gretel again, but Zander jumped in to interrupt. He couldn’t bear to watch Gretel get struck right in front of him.

  “Hang on a second, I have the right to know what’s going on. If my wife’s having an affair, someone should fill me in on it.”

  The woman’s gaze tilted toward him, wild and bloodshot. But at least she wasn’t hitting Gretel.

  Her hand wobbled—she was getting tired of holding up the gun. Maybe he could use that to his advantage.

  “Does someone want to explain this whole thing to me?” he demanded, keeping the woman’s attention on him. “You. What’s your name?”

  “Elizabeth. Most people call me Lizzie, but not him. He calls me Elizabeth.”

  “And who’s ‘him.’ Is it Ian Finnegan?”

  “You know him?” Her voice filled with hero worship.

  “I wish I did, but I don’t. Maybe you should tell me about him.” Establish a bond. That was the key. Anything to keep her from lashing out at Gretel. “Maybe I’ll go beat him up myself. Where is he?”

  That got a strong reaction out of her. She swung the Ruger away from Gretel and toward Zander. Good. Not that he liked having a gun pointed at him, but he liked it even less pointed at Gretel.

  “Don’t touch him. It’s not his fault. It’s hers.” The revolver swung back toward Gretel, but in the meantime Gretel had inched away enough so that the three of them were points in a triangle. A misshapen triangle, with him a few steps farther away. But Gretel had created enough distance so that the woman couldn’t keep the gun on both of them. Smart move, so long as it didn’t piss her off..

  “Tell me what she did,” Zander demanded, dragging her attention back to him. “I’m her husband, I deserve to know.”

  “I want to shoot.” The Ruger swung back and forth between the two of them, as if she couldn’t decide which one to aim at.

  “That’s a very, very bad idea,” Zander warned her. “You’ll go to prison if you pull that trigger. It’ll be really hard to see Ian in prison. And what about your child? If she just had surgery, she needs you.”

  “You don’t know anything!” she screamed and turned the Ruger on him.

  Zander put his hands in the air and, by some miracle, kept his voice even. “You’re right. I don’t. That’s why I’m asking. Please tell me what’s going on. If I can help, I will. I promise.”

  “It’s her! He wants her! I saw the photos! She’s pretty and rich and spoiled, I know her type, she’s the kind of girl everyone wants and her life is perfect and he wants her too and I hate her! She doesn’t deserve to live!” With a cry of anguish, she wheeled back around toward Gretel and Zander saw in a flash that she was going to shoot. But her hand was shaking so much that she needed both of them, and that gave Zander his only chance.

  Before she’d even rotated fully toward Gretel, Zander launched himself into the air toward her. He aimed for her closest arm, hoping to knock the revolver from her grasp.

  She fired just as he slammed into her. He knocked her arm enough so the shot went wide, but not wide enough. Gretel cried out and stumbled backwards into the coffee counter. She clapped a hand to her upper arm—where the bullet must have struck her. Worst of all, the woman still had possession of the Ruger.

  The two of them, he and the shooter, hit the floor with a thud. He heard her shout something angry, but couldn’t make it out.

  “Go, Gretel,” he yelled. “Call 911! Call your sister, call Maya!”

  The woman underneath him was kicking and thrashing, a bucking bronco trying to get him off her. She was a tall woman, heavy-set, with the chaotic strength of someone driven by hate and fury. She fired another shot, but it went into the wall. He had to get that gun away from her, but it was just out of his reach.

  Gretel staggered into his field of vision. Shit—she was trying to help him, he realized. She wasn’t running, she was coming toward them. Jesus. Was she trying to get shot again?

  “Stay back!” he yelled at her.

  He couldn’t see if she obeyed him, because he was focused on the gun. He pinned the woman’s legs under him and crawled across her body toward the weapon. In her hand, the black Ruger was turning, wobbly but determined, until it pointed in Gretel’s direction.

  One last microsecond was all he had. He flung his body forward in a desperate move to put himself between Gretel and the gun.

  Something seared into his ribs.

  And then blackness swallowed him up.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Gretel screamed as the gun went off again. By some miracle, Zander managed to deflect another shot. But now he was unconscious and slumped on top of the crazy stalker, who was fighting to get free.

  Even though her right arm throbbed like a swarm of bees, adrenaline kept her going. She made it to the pile of Zander-squashing-the-Stalker and kicked the gun as hard as she could. Her zebra-print boots also had a pretty substantial heel and a sharp toe, but even so, it took two hard kicks to get the gun out of Elizabeth’s hand.

  Gretel pounced on it and grabbed it with both of her wildly shaking hands. “I don’t know how to use this!” she yelled as she aimed it at the stalker. “But it can’t be that hard and you’re right in front of me!”

  The woman hissed at her, but try as she might, she still wasn’t able to free herself from the weight of Zander’s big body. Even unconscious, he was saving her.

  “Stay there,” Gretel told her, sidestepping around them. She had to get help for Zander. That was the only thing that mattered. But she had no idea where her phone was, and she couldn’t let go of the gun. Her arm was bleeding badly and he
r vision was blurring around the edges.

  Keeping the gun trained on the woman, or near her, anyway, she backed toward the front door. Of course she couldn’t pull the trigger because she might hit Zander. But this stalker-chick wasn’t all there, so hopefully she wouldn’t realize that in time.

  When she reached the front door, she pushed it open with one hand, her gun hand still aimed at Lizzie/Elizabeth.

  “Help!” she yelled over her shoulder, into the outdoors, in the loudest and clearest voice she could manage—as if she were singing above a crowded club. She didn’t look away from the woman as she shouted, so she had no idea if anyone was out there. Come on, Lost Harbor. Come through for me. “Call 911! We need help! Call the police! Call an ambulance! A man has been shot! Help!”

  She kept yelling and shouting even as the world blurred around her and the cold from outside crept under her clothes and gripped her with icy claws. Didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to stop until someone came and took care of Zander. She’d stay out here all night if she had to. Or until that woman came after her like some zombie who wouldn’t stay down.

  She didn’t stop calling for help until a Lost Harbor police car pulled up—she heard the sirens and the red-and-blue flashers going off behind her.

  She heard Maya Badger’s familiar voice and the sound of footfalls. “Gretel? Are you okay? You’re bleeding!” Maya was right behind her now, but Gretel was too spent to do anything besides let her arm fall to her side.

  “Where’s that ambulance?” Maya yelled to someone behind her. “We need it now.” Then lower, softer, right in her ear, “Gretel. Give me the gun. I got this. You can let go now. Is there another gun inside?”

  “No. Zander,” she whispered as she loosened her fingers enough for the gun to be taken away. “Take care of Zander.”

  And then Bethany was there, wrapping her in a blanket, and Maya was charging inside the coffee shop and all that adrenaline was vaporizing from her body. She let Bethany whisk her toward the ambulance, where Nate and another EMT were busy pulling a gurney out of the back.

  But she wouldn’t rest until she knew if Zander was okay. Before Bethany could push her into the ambulance, she clutched at her sister.

  “Bethany. Find out if Zander…” She couldn’t complete the thought. It was too horrible to contemplate.

  “You have to rest, Gretel. You’re in shock. We’re going to take you to the hospital.”

  She summoned the last bit of her strength. “No. I can wait. Zander’s hurt worse.”

  “Let your sister check you out,” Nate called from next to the gurney, which he and the other paramedics were wheeling toward the Wicked Brew. “I’ll get an update on Zander. I’ll be right back.”

  Gretel nodded. Bethany helped her onto the van’s tailgate and unpeeled the bloody sweater from her body. “Jesus, Gretel. You have a serious wound here, but it could have been so much worse.”

  “Yeah. Zander knocked her arm—” Her throat closed up.

  “Shhh,” Bethany soothed her. “Keep breathing. We got this.”

  But did they? She didn’t even know where the bullet had hit Zander. She shook her head, trying to articulate her fear into words, but nothing came out.

  Bethany wrapped a bandage around her arm. “This is just temporary to stop the bleeding. You still have to go to the hospital. What’s this bruise here?” She touched her forehead, but Gretel shook her off. None of that mattered now.

  Nate reappeared at a jog, eyes grave. “He’s alive, Gretel. He’ll be okay. But he’s going to need surgery and we need to get him to the ER right away.”

  “I’ll take Gretel in my car,” said Bethany. “I can get her there faster.”

  “Sounds good. I gotta get back in there.” He ran back in the direction of the coffee shop.

  Gretel let Bethany guide her toward her car. She wanted to stay and see Zander with her own eyes. But that was silly. There was nothing more she could do. He needed doctors and surgeons. He needed gold-plated health care. Time off work to heal. Enough money to allow him that time.

  Whether Zander knew it or not, he needed her to leave.

  None of what had just happened changed anything.

  At the hospital, Bethany re-bandaged Gretel’s arm and checked her over for other injuries. Her big sister kept a blanket wrapped around her and brought her some hot chocolate and fussed over her. All that tender care finally stopped the shivering.

  Ian came rushing in at some point, horrified to hear that his stalker had attacked Gretel. “I’m so terribly sorry, Gretel. I came down here to get away from her. I never imagined she would leave Anchorage.”

  “She seemed to think I’m a threat to her. Where did she get that idea?”

  Ian took off his glasses to clean the condensation off them. He must have just come in from outside. “I made a reference to a woman I was attached to, but I never used your name. I was hoping to inspire her to move on. I couldn’t conceive of her taking it even further.”

  Gretel nodded wearily. “You can’t predict something like that. It’s not your fault, Ian. Where is she now?” She addressed that question to Maya—Police Chief Badger—who had just walked in.

  “She’s in custody, heavily sedated. Her husband is on his way.”

  “She has a husband?” Gretel exchanged a shocked glance with Ian. “She never mentioned that while she was berating me for stealing her man.” Her hand stole to the bruise on her temple, where a dull ache pulsed.

  “He says she’s been struggling with emotional issues for years, and their daughter’s health crisis sent her into a tailspin. She became obsessed with Ian as some kind of white knight savior.” She hesitated. “Given that history, I’m not sure how the DA will want to handle this case.”

  “I don’t care,” Gretel told the police chief. She’d be gone and all this would be just a terrible memory. “But Zander’s hurt even worse than me, so he should have a say in what happens. And she should never, ever be able to get her hands on a gun again.”

  Maya’s stern expression softened with a wry smile. “We’ll do what we can. Gretel, I gotta say, you handled the situation like a pro. If Zander comes through like they say, it’ll be thanks to you.”

  “If?” Gretel shoved aside the blanket and jumped off the hospital bed. “What do you mean, if?”

  Maya grabbed her by the shoulders. “I misspoke, Gretel. Listen to me. He’s going to be fine. I swear to God, he’s okay. What I meant was if he comes through with no lasting damage. I’m so sorry. That was terrible. I checked in with the surgical team before I came in here and they said it’s looking really good. I probably should have mentioned that when I first walked in.”

  Gretel couldn’t get her heart rate to slow down. It was hopping like a jack rabbit all over the place. “Police Chief Badger, I love you, but you really, really need to work on your tact.”

  “No arguments here.” Maya gave her a long hug. “Take care, Gretel. The whole town’s rooting for you.”

  Gretel bit her lip, tears springing to her eyes. Bethany noticed, and as soon as Maya was gone, she guided her back to the hospital bed with a gentle touch. “Are these post-trauma tears or is something else wrong, kiddo?”

  Gretel tried to answer, found more tears welling up, and shook her head.

  “Is it Zander? He’ll be okay. Nate went to get the kids out of school so they can be here when he comes out of surgery. They can wait in here with you if—”

  “No.” Gretel grabbed her sister’s hand. She couldn’t see the boys. She couldn’t let them see her. She had to get out of town, immediately. “I need to go.”

  “Go? What are you talking about? I’m not letting you leave until all your vitals are stable and—”

  “Bethany. I’m begging. I need to leave before the boys get here. I’m going back to Mom’s in Connecticut.”

  It was as good a place as any to recover from a gunshot wound. Then she’d figure out what came next.

  “Gretel!” cried Bethany. “Why? Yo
u’re not thinking clearly. You’re in shock.”

  “I’m thinking one hundred percent clearly. I was on my way out of town when that crazy stalker came into the coffee shop. I’m leaving Lost Harbor, Bethany. I was going to tell you when I got further down the road.”

  “But…I don’t understand.” The dismay on her sister’s face nearly tore her heart in two. “I thought you liked it here. Zander, the boys, the Wicked Brew, the town, all the eccentrics…”

  “I love it here!” Gretel couldn’t keep the truth from bursting out. “But I have my reasons and they’re good ones, and it’s for the boys, so you just have to trust me.”

  If she told Bethany everything, her sister might try to talk her out of it, and right now Gretel didn’t have the strength to argue. She had to save her energy for the road trip.

  “Will you trust me?” she managed.

  Bethany gave her a slow nod. And maybe for the first time, Gretel saw something in Bethany’s eyes that she’d always unconsciously longed for—the respect given to an equal. Not to a baby sister, but to a grown woman.

  “Will you tell me eventually?” Bethany asked her.

  “I will. I promise. Now will you help me make a quick escape?”

  Bethany swung into doctor mode and gathered up some bandages and acetaminophen and antibiotic ointment in case of infection. She got Gretel discharged, then ushered her out a side door so there would be no chance of running into the boys. She drove her back to the Wicked Brew, where Gretel’s truck was waiting.

  “How about I take you to the airport instead, and Nate and I will return the Noonan’s truck to them?”

  “Technically, it’s my truck, because they gave it to me. But since I’m not about to drive it to Connecticut—sure. Tell them I’m going to write them a long letter really soon.” Tears leaked from her eyes again as she thought about Abby and Earl and the kids. She was going to miss them like crazy.

  Bethany grabbed her bags from the truck and they headed for the airport. Gretel’s arm still throbbed, which gave her an idea.