Angela stumbled forward, clutching for Dan. She ricocheted off the slammed door. Reeling, she fell backward, tumbling down three steps before she could regain her balance, banging her elbows and shoulder into the hard wood railing. Panting, she righted herself.
“Dan,” she yelled as she charged back up the steps, slamming palms first into the stairwell door. It was locked. She pounded on it, screaming. “Answer me!”
There was no response. Pressing her ear to the cold metal she heard a muffled crash. Throwing her shoulder at the panel did nothing. Shut tight. Without stopping to think, she ran back down the stairs to the first floor on shaky legs. Tumbling out into the reception area, gasping for breath, she dialed the police.
“I need help.” She gave the address.
“What is the nature of your emergency?” the dispatcher inquired.
“There’s an intruder at the medical clinic and a doctor’s in trouble. Please hurry.” It was the best she could manage. She knew her voice was high and tight, edging into the panicked range.
“We will send someone right away. Exit the building and stay on the line, ma’am.”
But Dan was locked on the third floor. Hurt? Unconscious? Was Harry Gruber up there? His brother? Was Tank? Her mind spun with so many thoughts it dizzied her. The minutes ticked by in a whirling confusion. Fighting against the paralysis that gripped her body, she forced herself into action.
She ran to the elevator, slamming a hand onto the button. The seconds ticked by as the machine creaked on its way to meet her.
Her mind shrieked at her to run, to flee. She was walking helpless into a trap, to certain capture. A gleam of brass from the receptionist’s desk caught her eye, the blade of a letter opener.
Not helpless. Not that. Hardly daring to let herself think it through, she snatched up the blade. Would she be able to use it? To stab someone? Her skin was prickled in goose bumps. When the elevator door opened, she leaped through, punching the third-floor button.
As she clutched the makeshift knife tightly, her heart hammered a violent rhythm against her chest. What was she thinking? What did she plan on doing when the elevator reached its destination? How could she protect herself and Dan with a letter opener?
Terror circled high and tight in her chest. She heard roaring, but she could not tell if it was the memories of the past or the slamming of her own pulse through her veins.
The elevator reached the second floor. Waves of sensation rippled through her, leaving her nauseous and shaking. It was dark save for the weak lighting and the gleam of the buttons marking her ascent. Shadows crowded her vision, and she thought she might pass out. Then the elevator would deliver her unconscious into the hands of her enemy. Breathe, Angela. Keep breathing.
What had she done? Whoever was on the top floor would be waiting for her inevitable arrival. Waiting and ready.
She reached for the buttons to hit the emergency stop, to reconsider, but the machine was already making its way to the third floor.
What if Dan was...?
She swallowed hard. God help me, she tried to say, but the words stayed stuck in the mire of her fear. There was only terror, which had begun to override her senses.
The letter opener trembled in her hand, and the metal walls seemed to close in on her. She realized she was pressed against the back elevator wall, breath shallow and rapid, palms ice-cold.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open. She did not move. Through the gap she could see nothing but a darkened office, empty and quiet. Her hand jerked toward the close-door button. Run, get away, live, her body screamed.
But Dan?
Where was he? Could she flee and leave him there? Would he die like Julio for getting involved with her?
In a rush, on trembling legs, she stepped out into the office.
She listened over the roaring of the blood through her veins. The elevator doors slid closed behind her. Cut off now. No escape the way she had come.
It was silent at first.
Then the squeak of metal. She edged forward past a cubicle where there stood an empty exam chair. Trays of dental tools, wrapped and sterile sat waiting for the next patient. She passed a second cubicle, also empty. The squeak sounded again, louder.
In the far corner of the office was a final cubicle. It was dark and quiet, save for a soft scuffling coming from that space. In vain she listened for the sound of approaching sirens. Forcing in a breath, she willed her feet to move closer. Each step drove the fear to new heights.
Help him, Angela. Help Dan.
One more step and she peeked in the cubicle.
Dan was slumped in a chair, someone bending over him. He was unresponsive, injured in some way, perhaps bound?
“Don’t touch him,” she ordered.
The bending figure straightened. It was Peter Gruber.
“The police are almost here,” she said. “Get away from him.”
Peter’s face remained expressionless, but he held up his hands, palms toward her, and did as she asked. Keeping a close watch on Peter, she edged closer to Dan and grabbed his shoulder.
“Dan?”
He groaned and stirred. She could see a developing bruise on his cheekbone. Hurt but alive. The relief almost choked her.
Peter leaned on the edge of his desk, watching her. He was taller than his brother; his thinning hair was on its way to matching Harry’s bald dome. Everything from the shape of the nose to the cock of the head marked them as siblings.
She wished her hands were not shaking so badly. “What did you do to him?”
“I pulled him into the office, and he smacked his head on the desk. I was about to check his pupils when you arrived.”
“Why are you here?”
“I work here. Why are you here?” A hint of anger threaded through. “I thought you were some derelict trying to break into the office. That’s why I yanked open the door and grabbed Dan. You shouldn’t be here.”
Dan groaned again and opened one eye. Blinking, he shook his head. “Angela?”
She squeezed his shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He touched his cheekbone gingerly, eyeing Peter. “You could have just opened the door and asked what we were doing.”
“And you could have called on the phone and arranged to speak to me like a normal person.”
“We’ve got reasons not to trust you,” Dan said. “You were driving past Cora’s house earlier, scaring her.”
“I was being cautious. Lots of kids in the streets. You’ve got to be careful with kids.”
“What were you doing in Harry’s truck?” she said.
“I help my brother out doing deliveries when I can. Clean his teeth, too.” A hint of a smile. “I’m a dentist, you know.” He said to her, waving a hand around. “Hence the dental office.”
She still clung to the letter opener. There was no way she was going to trust Peter Gruber any more than she trusted Harry.
Torrey and another officer pounded up the stairs, hands on their guns. Breathing hard, Torrey crossed the floor. “What’s going on?”
“I came to check on something. Heard what I thought was an intruder,” Dan said.
“They sneaked up the stairwell and I figured it was a burglar.” Peter shrugged. “I knocked him off his feet and dragged him into the office and slammed the door.” He smirked. “I think I defended myself pretty handily against two people breaking and entering.”
“It wasn’t breaking and entering. I have a key,” Dan said.
Torrey lowered his gun. “Working on a Sunday, Dr. Gruber?”
Peter shrugged.
“And you, Dr. Blackwater? Decided to put in a few hours tidying up some paperwork?”
Dan stared at Peter. “I guess we’re both hard workers.”
“I guess so,” Peter said.
Gruber did not look in the least nonplussed. “About time you got here, Torrey,” he said.
“Came as soon as we got the call.”
Angela glanced at the paper shredder and the file next to it with the neat label Guzman. “Why were you shredding this file?”
She heard a soft sound behind her, the turning of a knob as the door to a small storage room opened.
She gasped in shock when Lila Brown stepped out.
“He wasn’t,” she said. “I was.”
* * *
Dan tried hard to focus in spite of the pain throbbing in his face. Lila was dressed in baggy clothes a couple sizes too big for her. She was pale, lips chapped.
“Why did you run from the hospital?”
“I got tired of being there. Checked myself out,” she said.
“That’s not true.” Angela put down the letter opener she was holding. “Someone sent you flowers and a lock of hair in an envelope.”
“Are we back to that again?” Torrey said.
Lila stood stiffly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It was the Grubers, wasn’t it?” Angela said. “They’re trying to scare you. Are they threatening to hurt your son?”
“My son is nobody’s business but mine.” Lila snatched the file from Angela’s hand. “I checked myself out. I resigned my job here, so I came to tidy up. Dr. Gruber was here working, too. He...persuaded me not to quit.”
“How did he do that?” Angela said. “By scaring you?”
Peter’s face remained expressionless, but his eyes hardened like two flints. “By offering her a raise. She’s a good employee. I don’t want to lose her.”
Angela picked up the folder. “And this file? You just happen to be shredding Tank’s information? The day after you were begging him not to meet with me? I heard you on the phone—remember?”
“You misunderstood.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Someone tried to blow you up,” Dan said. “Lila, if you’re scared, let us help you.”
“Or the cops,” Torrey said. “That’s what we’re paid to do.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I just want to be left alone.”
“No you’re not fine. You’re being threatened. Blackmailed.”
Peter cleared his throat. “She said she’s not. What evidence do you have to the contrary?”
Dan got to his feet, pain throbbing. “You and your brother scared her in the hospital. You know it and we know it.”
“You’re looking at the wrong people here. Tank is the bad guy.” Peter folded his arms.
“Peter,” Lila started.
“No. I’m not going to protect him.” Peter’s eyes narrowed into angry slits. “Tank’s a drug user and a thief. He’s infatuated with Lila and he won’t leave her alone. If there are any threats being leveled at her, it’s from Tank, not me or my brother.”
“Is that true, Lila?” Torrey said. “What about the stairwell? Did Peter or his brother, Harry, detain you in the stairwell? Or threaten you in any way?”
“No,” she said.
“But—” Angela started.
“I called Peter, and he and Harry came to get me from the hospital. I asked them not to tell anyone, so they were lying to protect me. I’m sorry if it caused problems.”
“It didn’t,” Peter said. “You were right to be scared of Tank, and Harry and I would do anything to protect you. Did he send you the flowers and card?”
Her mouth tightened, and she stared at him for a moment. “I don’t know who sent the flowers, and I never saw any card.”
“You don’t need to protect Tank or be scared of him,” Peter said, covering her hand with his. “We’re going to keep you safe.”
She offered a tremulous smile before she pulled away.
“Is it true that Tank is infatuated with you?” Torrey said.
“We’re just friends. That’s all.”
Peter moved closer. “She’s a loyal person and she doesn’t want to get him in trouble.”
Lila nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “I don’t want any trouble with anyone.”
Torrey radioed dispatch and filled them in. “Still, Miss Brown, I’d like to talk to you if you don’t mind. Just a few questions.”
She nodded, her gaze avoiding Peter Gruber.
When Torrey led Lila away to an empty cubicle, Peter fixed a final look on Angela and Dan. “My brother is a good man. He puts a big chunk of his profits into this clinic because he believes that everyone should have the same access to health care. He’s a hero, not a monster.”
“What about you?” Dan said. “Just a nice guy who happens to be driving along in front of Cora Guzman’s house?”
Peter’s expression hardened. “Look. All I want is to keep Lila safe from Tank Guzman. He’s been terrorizing Lila, stalking her. I wanted to show him what it feels like when the woman he loves feels uncomfortable.”
The woman he loves?
Angela cocked her head. “Peter, are you in love with Lila Brown?”
Peter jerked and raised his hand, cheeks flushing. “Me? Of course not. I’m her boss. She’s a good worker and she’s my friend. I care about her—that’s all. I’ve got to go call my brother now and tell him what’s just gone on at his clinic.” He turned on his heel and stalked away.
Angela watched him go. “Who is telling the truth?”
Dan couldn’t answer. Gingerly, he followed Angela back down the stairs, and they stood for a moment in the sunlit parking lot.
“This is spinning out of control,” Angela said. “Everyone’s got a different story.”
“One thing’s for sure—Lila’s still scared.”
“But is she scared of Harry or Tank? Or Peter?”
“That’s too many questions for me right now. My head is throbbing.”
“You should go to a doctor.”
“And have my head examined?” He laughed. “It’s like a big block of cement. Perfectly fine.” On impulse, he caught up Angela’s hand and kissed it.
“What’s that for?”
“You came back for me after I conked my head.”
She shook her head mournfully. “If Peter’s telling the truth, he wasn’t intending to hurt you. There never was any danger, except in my mind.”
“You didn’t know that. You grabbed a letter opener and came after me, all by yourself.”
“Some rescue,” she said, rubbing her free palm on the leg of her jeans as if to rub away the feel of the letter opener.
“Some courage,” he echoed. “You were brave.”
For a moment, her eyes glimmered, then she looked away, detaching herself. “I’m not brave, Dan.”
“I beg to differ.”
The sun drifted behind a cloud, and her eyes went from emerald to sage. “I’m so scared I can’t do my job. I can’t even pray.”
“God’s patient. He’ll wait until you’re ready.”
“I don’t think I will be. I’m...” She gulped. “I’m going to ask to be discharged.” She breathed hard. “I can’t serve. I can’t help people.”
“You helped me just now.”
She blinked hard again. “My last assignment, before I was put on leave... I was supposed to escort a family to view their son who’d been killed by an IED and flown home.” She stopped.
“You couldn’t do it?” he said softly.
“I couldn’t even get out of the car,” she spat, hitting every word hard. “I stayed there, clutching the steering wheel, crying like a kid. I was supposed to be there comforting, helping that family hold on to their faith and I couldn’t even get the seat belt off.” Her laugh was bitter. “How’s that for a chaplain? Crying in the front seat while a family waited to say good-bye to their son. That’s not serving.”
He tried to take her hand, but she pulled away.
“Don’t call me brave, Dan. Please. It’s an insult to all the men and women we served with.”
The silence built between them for a few moments. “If you were counseling someone who felt the way you do, would you tell them they were a coward?” He kept his voice low and soft. “Or would you tell them they’d been injured and they needed help?”
“Don’t you see? I wouldn’t tell them anything,” she said, voice breaking, one tear edging down her face. “I can’t hear God anymore, Dan, so what right have I to counsel anyone else?”
“Angela—” he started.
The words came out in a halting whisper. “I can’t hear God anymore,” she breathed, trembling.
“With time and help, you will. He hasn’t left you.”
She sucked in a deep breath. “I’m going to walk back to my hotel.”
“I’ll drive you.”
She shook her head, bangs trailing in front of those haunted green eyes. “I need to walk.”
He watched her leave, head down, hands jammed into her pockets as she shuffled along. Sorrow for her made him ache inside. He looked up at the sky, to the puff of clouds against a brilliant blue.
“Help her, Lord. Find Your way through that silence and restore her connection with You.”
Another cloud darkened the sun. Dan watched its progress, his gaze going to the third-floor window. Peter Gruber looked down, following Angela’s progress like a cat tracking a wounded bird.
Something went cold and hard inside Dan, a surge of protectiveness rippling through his gut. Angela had been hurt enough. He turned and stepped away from the building, staring right back up at Peter, sending the message loud and clear.
If you think you’re going to intimidate her, you’ve got another think coming.