The police report burned in Detective Cassidy Bowman’s hand. Accidental death due to drunk driving. No way. She knew her cousin better than that.
Laura didn’t drink, and neither did Cassidy after a close friend from high school died in a drunk driving accident. Cassidy didn’t care that the lab had found alcohol in Laura’s bloodstream and an empty bottle in her car. The report had it wrong.
Cassidy intended to find evidence to support that fact—one of the reasons she’d temporarily moved to Valley Springs, thirty miles from her home in Brentwood, Indiana. The second reason? Killings throughout the surrounding counties that her boss refused to recognize as the result of a serial killer on the loose.
“Talk to me, Laura. What really happened to you?” Cassidy sank deeper into the brown overstuffed leather recliner provided by her rental apartment. Twisting a strand of her hair, she flipped the page and continued to read. The end table lamp beside her illuminated the papers. And the blazing fire in the fireplace on the far wall added to the glow in the room. A cozy atmosphere, if not for the confusing conclusions in the document.
A witness to her cousin’s accident had her scratching her head. Cassidy studied the statement. What bothered her about it?
She tapped her phone. “Remind me to reinterview the man who saw Laura’s accident and witnessed someone helping her.” After setting a reminder for the morning, she returned the device to her pocket.
Her attention drifted to the twinkling multicolored lights on the Christmas tree in the corner of the room. The crackling fire added warmth to the cold evening, and the scent of burning wood comforted her.
Christmas was coming, and she had no desire to celebrate, but the pine smell of the tree and sparkling lights had lifted the weight of depression—at least a little. The past year she’d spiraled toward a dark abyss, and she struggled not to let it take her under.
Her landlord, Mr. Webster, had gone all out on decorations at the main house and guilted her into a tree for the front window of the garage-turned-apartment. Saying no—not an option.
The older man had taken her in and made her feel special. More than her father had ever done. Colonel Trevor Bowman treated her like a soldier and not a young girl who’d lost her mother to cancer. Cassidy had never felt like enough, constantly striving and falling short. Others thought of her as driven. Ha! More like self-preservation in her father’s world of perfection.
Until this year, Cassidy had always seen Christmas as a time for hope, thanks to Meredith, the older neighbor lady who’d taken her to church and helped her through her teenage years. Well, too bad Cassidy didn’t have hope anymore. Being alone in the world did that to a person.
But she’d had that pity party earlier, and it hadn’t gotten her anywhere, so she pushed the loneliness aside and concentrated on the investigation. Her father had demanded excellence and hadn’t allowed emotions to interfere. He’d died years ago but left his mark on her life.
She tucked her black-and-red-plaid pajama–clad legs under her, wrapped her hand around the mug of hot tea and perused the document for the second time. She’d switched from coffee to decaffeinated tea weeks ago, hoping not to use the sleeping pills that sat next to her on the small square table. She’d only had mild success, but with the way her evening had gone, she hadn’t held out hope of avoiding the prescription.
Laying the copy of Laura’s file neatly aside, she picked up another. She’d scoured the surrounding areas for unsolved suspicious deaths and accidents where family members had protested the results of the investigation. Because in her mind, that’s what Laura’s death was—murder. She was confident that someone had killed her cousin and made it look like an accident. Cassidy wanted to find the person responsible and clear Laura’s name.
When her boss at Brentwood PD discovered her using police department resources for her personal hunt for the truth, he gave her a sympathetic look, then told her to take time off and not come back until she’d worked out her issues.
Issues? Of course she had issues. Her best friend and partner, Amber Lofton, died during a drug raid Cassidy had commanded. Then three months later, her cousin’s life ended in a tragic accident, leaving her alone in the world. Two deaths that never should have happened.
She lifted her hand and made a fist. The burn scars that wrapped around her lower arm and the top of her hand stretched and turned white. She’d paid a physical price during the raid when the door exploded seconds before they’d planned to breach the house, but the emotional scars had dug in deeper.
When she’d regained consciousness after the explosion, her team lay across the lawn, and someone used a jacket to slap out the flames that threatened to burn more than her arm.
She’d suffered severe second-degree burns, a concussion and lacerations over her back and legs from flying debris. The hospital stay had felt like an eternity, but at least she’d lived. Unlike Amber.
The claws of guilt raked across her heart. Why hadn’t it been her instead of her best friend? Survivor’s guilt. That’s what the therapist had called it. She called it her mistake. If only she’d read the situation faster...
The walk down memory lane left her wallowing in self-pity. Someday the loss wouldn’t hurt so badly. She hoped. Until then, she’d work on finding justice for her cousin and prove her worth as a detective. Failure hadn’t sat well. Replaying the tactical plan and mentally sorting through the intel hadn’t given her a different outcome. It shouldn’t have happened. But she’d missed something, and that was on her.
The new file angled toward the lamp, Cassidy settled deeper into her chair, refusing to give way to the pit of depression that threatened to swallow her whole.
A soft snick came from her right.
Cassidy resisted the urge to grab her gun off the coffee table and froze. She tilted her head and listened.
Nothing.
Great. Now her mind had decided to play tricks on her. Her pulse rate settled.
She flipped open the file on Bradford Technology CEO Tim Raines. Two shots to the chest during an in-home burglary. His wife, adamant she’d set the security alarm. Cassidy’s finger trailed the list of stolen items. A few pieces of jewelry and inexpensive electronics. That didn’t make sense. A house filled with high-priced belongings, and the attacker takes minor things? She continued to read and halted at the words “Peeping Tom multiple nights prior to the crime.” The basics fit her theory, especially the prowler, but the location was the key.
Cassidy checked the address and closed her eyes, visualizing the site. It fit. The crime was one of his. She leaned her head back on the cushion, letting the information settle in her brain. Her serial killer moved to new hunting grounds after a few kills so the police wouldn’t link the crimes.
The guy tended to concentrate on the wealthy in power positions. Beyond that, his victims varied in gender and age. And then there were people, like her cousin, who didn’t fit at all. But Cassidy knew in her gut that Laura’s accident had a connection to the other crimes. She’d never dealt with this kind of killer before. Cassidy knew he’d taken the life of at least thirteen people. But how did she prove her theory?
Exhaustion flooded her system. Her eyes drooped. She debated calling it a night. But if she headed to bed, sleep would refuse to come. And she desperately needed it. She closed the file and added it to the pile.
What choice did she have? Medication, her only answer for rest tonight. She glanced over and spotted the bottle of prescription sleeping pills. Giving in to reality, she dropped one tablet onto her palm and sighed. So much for avoiding the chemical help. She popped the pill into her mouth and swallowed.
When would insomnia cease and her life return to normal? She missed her job and her coworkers. More than anything, she missed the peace in her life. She and God had been close once, but after the year she’d had, He seemed far away.
A clunk came from the kitchen.
That was not her imagination. Someone was in her apartment.
She’d rented the garage apartment from the lovely Mr. Webster, an elderly man who lived in the main house. Maybe her landlord had let himself in. As soon as the idea came, it left. Mr. Webster never entered without knocking. He’d promised her privacy, and so far, he’d kept his word.
No. It couldn’t be him.
She hurried to unfold her legs and reached for her SIG-Sauer on the coffee table where she’d placed it hours ago after coming home from the tiny office that she’d rented to keep her investigations private.
Why hadn’t she trusted her gut instinct about the earlier sound?
A blow to the back of her head sent her sprawling. Her weapon clattered across the wood floor, and white lights streaked across her vision. She lifted her blurry gaze to a figure standing over her.
The shadows and the haze from her head wound refused to give away her attacker’s features. Her eyes closed of their own accord, and she drifted on a dreamlike state.
Hands clutched her wrists. Her assailant pulled her arms above her head and tugged. Her body slid on the floor, the movement making her shoulder muscles burn.
The man released his grip, and her head bounced on a hard surface, sending pain slicing through her. The pounding inside her head increased. She struggled to put the pieces of what happened together.
Heat warmed her, and the rough surface beneath signaled her brain that she lay on the brick next to the fireplace. But her mind wouldn’t function beyond that basic awareness, and her body seemed worthless to fight back.
Glass shattered beside her, and the scent of alcohol burned her nose.
The harder she tried, the less clarity she achieved.
Smoke invaded her senses. Pops and crackles sounded next to her. Fear swirled within, but her body refused to move. The heat crawled closer, sending panic climbing up her throat. She couldn’t endure the pain from burns again. She just couldn’t. God, where are You?
Cassidy fought to open her eyes—to get away. But her lids remained closed.
Hot breath flicked across her cheek, and a whisper met her ear. “Sweet dreams.”
She struggled to respond, but the weight of her head and limbs proved it impossible.
The serial killer she’d stumbled upon had targeted her as his next victim. It was the only thing that made sense.
The burning scent of pine and smoke clogged her throat. She gasped for air. A blanket of darkness fell over her and took her under.
I’m sorry, Laura. Your killer will continue to go free.
Detective Kyle Howard’s gaze traveled around Dennis and Charlotte’s home.
The Christmas tree branches drooped under the weight of the overabundance of ornaments. Garland draped from one window to the next, and decorations filled every corner and flat surface available. It looked like Christmas had thrown up in every room of the house.
No doubt the couple wanted a memorable holiday for their five-year-old girls whom they had met for the first time several months ago. Dennis became a sudden single dad when a social worker had dropped off his daughter, whom he knew nothing about. And Charlotte discovered that her baby hadn’t died, but was a victim of an illegal adoption ring.
Kyle appreciated the efforts for his honorary nieces, but the stark reminder of the loss of his fiancée, Amber, made his heart ache.
Music played in the background, and Kyle’s friends and coworkers chatted while the little girls and their two dogs bounced around, making everyone laugh. Keith and Amy’s little boy, Connor, toddled from one person to another, soaking up the love in the room.
And then there was Melanie. Kyle glanced at his coworker and friend Jason, who had his arms wrapped around his wife and his hands splayed on her nine-month-pregnant belly. The baby, Jason and Melanie’s first, made child number four in their tight work family.
He’d hoped to add to the growing group of little ones, but his dream had evaporated with Amber’s death.
He adored his extended family of friends, but nine months and the first Christmas without Amber left a hole in his life. All he’d ever wanted was what his grandparents had had—a long, strong marriage to someone he considered his best friend. He’d found that match, but his happily ever after ended before it had started.
Except for his partner, Doug, who had his wife ripped away from him, his team had found their helpmates in life, and he should be part of that group—but wasn’t.
God, it hurts so bad.
Joy was beyond his ability tonight, and he couldn’t fake the cheer anymore. Kyle tossed his dessert plate in the garbage and made his rounds with a quick goodbye to his friends.
He hoped to escape before his boss zeroed in on him, but Dennis stopped him on the front porch.
“The ducking out is noticed.” Sheriff Dennis Monroe, his boss and friend, stood blocking his path.
Kyle sighed. So much for a clean getaway.
“I’m not going to push.” Dennis rested his hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “Call if you need a listening ear. You know I’m here for you.”
He knew. Dennis had helped him those first few weeks when Kyle thought he’d never survive the heartache.
A smile tried to curve on the corner of his mouth but failed. He had a great boss and appreciated the man’s offer. But right now, he wanted to grieve in private.
“Thanks.” He swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Kyle ducked around his boss and headed to his truck.
He maneuvered through Valley Springs, heading home alone, wishing, not for the first time tonight, that he had Amber beside him celebrating her favorite holiday. She loved Christmas and would’ve enjoyed the evening with his friends.
Tears stung his eyes. He blinked away the moisture.
Kyle took the long way home, hoping the Christmas lights would boost his spirits. He wove through the streets known for colorful displays.
He actually smiled as he approached Mr. Webster’s house. Kyle slowed to enjoy the sight. Multicolored lights twinkled under the night sky. A handcrafted wooden nativity scene stood prominent in the front yard. The man had outdone himself this year.
Kyle made a mental note to bring his “nieces and nephew” to see the decorations.
As he eased by the house, smoke swirled from the older man’s garage apartment. Kyle stopped, shifted into reverse and took a second look. Flames flickered in the front window.
What in the world?
Mr. Webster rushed down the front steps of the main house in a robe and slippers, frantically waving his hands.
Kyle slammed his truck into Park and jumped from the vehicle.
“She’s inside!” Mr. Webster pointed to the apartment.
“Who?” As if it mattered, but Kyle wanted to know what name to call out. He hadn’t met the current tenant.
“Cassie.”
“Call 911.”
“Already done.” The older man put his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
Kyle sprinted to the entrance and tried the knob. Locked. He pounded on the door. “Cassie! Open up!” When no one answered, Kyle raised his boot and struck the door. The wood splintered but didn’t break. On the second kick, the frame fractured, and the door flew open.
A wave of smoke rolled out from the apartment. He moved to the side and lifted his arm in a lame attempt to block the black haze.
Lifting the neckline of his sweater over his nose and mouth, he let his gaze roam the room. He spotted a body lying near the fireplace not far from the Christmas tree that glowed with flames.
He grabbed a small blanket that lay over the back of the couch and slapped at the fire that crept toward the woman.
The flames persisted and crawled closer. A dark gray cloud of smoke hung from the ceiling. The foul air clogged his throat and stung his eyes. He had to hurry. The fire hadn’t stretched far, but the smoke could kill, and promised to do so if he didn’t act fast.
Kyle increased the tempo of his assault to snuff out the fire.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his back. His attempts had slowed the spread, but the threat continued to take hold. He refused to allow the woman to die on his watch. He had to get to her before it was too late.
After what felt like an hour but had only taken less than a minute, he’d cleared a path to the woman. Without delay, he lifted the lady into his arms and hurried from the apartment.
The cold December air, a jolt from the heat of the fire, sent chills zipping down his back, freezing the sweat droplets on his skin. Fresh air entered his lungs, clearing the smoke he’d inhaled.
He’d made it out of the blaze and now had a newfound admiration for the three men from the Bible who’d endured the fiery furnace.
Sirens wailed in the distance, sending relief through his system for the first time since he’d spotted the blaze.
“Here.” Mr. Webster motioned to the front porch of his home, where he’d laid out a blanket away from the cold, wet ground.
It had snowed recently, and even though the temperatures had melted most of it away, a thin layer of ice lingered on the dead grass.
His boots crunched across the lawn. He carefully maneuvered the steps with his precious cargo. “Thanks.” Kyle laid the woman down.
Mr. Webster handed him a first-aid kit and pulled a patio chair close. “Cassie, honey. Wake up.”
The woman moaned, but her eyes remained closed.
Kyle checked her pulse and breathing and found no immediate danger. He shed his jacket, covered her torso to help keep her warm, and brushed the hair from her face. He wiped away the soot with his shirtsleeve and got his first good look at the person he’d rescued.
“Cassidy?” No, please, not her.
Lord, not now. Not at Christmas. I’m struggling enough without having to face the person whose actions killed Amber.
“I take it you’ve met.”
“Oh yeah, we’ve met.” Boy had they, but he’d keep the truth to himself for now.
Mr. Webster clutched Cassidy’s hand and held it. “She’s such a sweet girl.”
Kyle huffed. Sweet. Not the word he’d use to describe her. At least not anymore.
A small porch light glowed above, and for the first time since getting her out of the apartment, he noticed blood on the blanket near the back of her head.
His first-responder training took over. He retrieved the medical gloves from the first-aid kit and slipped one on. With a gentle touch, he slid his fingers over the area. He lifted his hand. Blood streaked the blue glove. “She’s got a nice gash here.”
“What do you need?”
The fire truck’s red lights filled the air, and the siren whined one last time and went silent. Kyle pointed to the paramedics. “They just arrived.” He pulled the glove off inside out and tossed it aside.
His firefighter friends dropped from the truck and unrolled the hoses. He didn’t envy their job. Tonight had more than confirmed he’d made the correct choice not pursuing a career in firefighting. He’d take law enforcement any day over facing a fire.
Rachel and Peter, the paramedics on duty, made their way to the front porch.
Peter set down his duffel. “What do we have?”
“Thirty-year-old female. Cassidy Bowman. A Brentwood PD detective.” The smoke had given him a gruff, deeper tone.
Mr. Webster raised a bushy white eyebrow.
Kyle chose to ignore him and continued. “She has a laceration on the back of her head and with the smoke, most likely a case of smoke inhalation.”
“Sounds like you have some too.” Peter offered him oxygen.
Kyle considered refusing but decided against it. “Maybe a little. Thanks.” He accepted the mask and sucked in the clean air. His eyes closed at the relief. He scooted over to give the paramedics room to work on Cassidy.
Rachel placed an oxygen mask over Cassidy’s nose and mouth and pushed the sleeve of her pajama top up her arm to take her blood pressure. “Whoa,” she said as she inspected the burn scars. “These aren’t very old. What happened?”
Kyle swallowed hard at the devastating results of that case. He’d known she’d suffered burns, but seeing the severity shocked him. “A drug raid gone bad. Cassidy got caught in the effects of an explosion.”
“Well, that would do it.” Rachel took Cassidy’s blood pressure and pulse. “All seems normal.”
Within minutes, the fire was out, and Captain Phillips strode their way with a scowl on his face.
“Captain.” Kyle stood and shook the man’s hand.
“Detective Howard.”
“What’s the assessment?” He wondered if the tree had dried out and caused the fire. A common occurrence when people ignored the watering instructions for real trees.
“You know we have to take a look when it cools down.”
Kyle waited the man out. The fire captain had a habit of protesting then giving his opinion.
Phillips pursed his lips and shook his head. “Initial look, the tree was the origin of the fire. Unsure what started it. I’m assuming you found the lady by the fireplace.”
“I did.”
“We found a broken wine bottle on the brick, and one of my guys grabbed these off the end table.” Phillips handed him a bottle of prescription medicine.
Kyle read the description. His head jerked up. “Antidepressants?”
Rachel leaned over his shoulder, grabbed his hand and twisted to read the label. “Could be a sleeping aid. These work for both.”
Captain Phillips crossed his arms. “Either way, they don’t mix with alcohol.”
Kyle shook his head in disbelief. “The meds, I can understand. But the alcohol? Not her style.”
“How well do you know her?” Peter asked.
“Well enough to know that she doesn’t drink.” Kyle remembered the story about her best friend’s car accident. In all the time he’d spent at Amber and Cassidy’s place, he’d never seen her drink. Even after she’d worked a horrific accident with multiple fatalities.
He’d joined Amber and her team, including Cassidy, at a bar that evening. Most of the officers drank to kill the images burned into their brains. But like Amber, Cassidy hadn’t touched the stuff. One of the reasons she and Amber had roomed well together. Neither partied and both agreed to keep the apartment alcohol free.
Phillips pointed to Cassidy’s arm. “Maybe those scars changed things.”
Kyle scratched the stubble on his jaw. “It’s possible, I guess.” What did he really know about her now? Nothing. Because he’d walked away and never intended to see her again.
“When was the last time the two of you talked?”
“Nine months ago.”
Captain Phillips stared at him, but Kyle refused to go into details.
Cassidy groaned, and her eyes fluttered open. Her lack of focus concerned him.
“Hi there. I’m Rachel.” The paramedic leaned over Cassidy. “How are you feeling?”
“Been better.”
Kyle cringed at Cassidy’s raspy voice. The smoke had done damage before he’d pulled her out.
“Do you remember what happened?” Rachel continued her questions.
She shook her head and winced.
Rachel patted her shoulder. “Try to stay still.”
Cassidy lifted a hand to her forehead. “Yeah, I figured that out.” Her gaze shifted to the surroundings. “Where am I?”
“Mr. Webster’s porch.” Kyle studied her reaction, wondering if the meds and alcohol had made her memory fuzzy. Or had the head wound caused the issue?
Cassidy closed her eyes long enough that he thought she’d fallen asleep. When she opened them, worry flickered behind her gaze. “Better question. Who am I?”
He glanced at Peter then back to Cassidy. “Wait. You don’t know?”
Terrified eyes stared back at him. “No.”
So much for walking away from his painful past. Amber would clock him for not helping her best friend. He had to stay until he made sure Cassidy would recover.
Kyle inhaled. “Take it easy. We’ll figure it out.”
What was Cassidy doing in Valley Springs?
Kyle paced the waiting room at Valley Springs General Hospital. The light green walls closed in on him. He’d never wanted to see Cassidy Bowman ever again. The woman had failed his fiancée, then hadn’t contacted him and explained what happened.
A tinge of guilt poked at him. Maybe when Amber died, he’d ignored Cassidy and blamed her for failing his fiancée, then changed his phone number. Okay, so that was on him. But Cassidy was, after all, the task force commander, and the people under her command were her responsibility. And she’d botched her duty.
He ran a hand through his hair. The shock of seeing her had worn off, but the hurt lingered.
Kyle had called his boss, and Sheriff Monroe had told him to stay with Cassidy while he did a little digging into why a Brentwood Police Department detective, a town thirty miles away, was in Valley Springs, Indiana.
All Kyle wanted to do was go home and crawl under the covers and forget the holidays. He’d promised himself to stay until the doctor confirmed Cassidy had minor injuries. But no, Dennis had stuck him babysitting her until they released her from the hospital. Professional courtesy and all that. Kyle huffed. Why him? Keith had a much better bedside manner.
Kyle rubbed his gritty eyes with his finger and thumb. What a way to have your past thrown in your face.
Boots struck the hard floor, pulling him from his grumbling. He turned and spotted his boss striding down the hall.
“Dennis.” He shook the man’s hand.
“Hey, Kyle. Are you doing okay?” The sheriff squinted, doing a visual assessment.
“My eyes itch, and I’m still coughing, but overall, I’m good.” As if Kyle’s body wanted to prove a point, his lungs protested and sent him into a coughing fit.
“Are you sure about that?” Dennis raised a brow, but Kyle waved him off. “Any word on Cassidy?”
“No. Doc came in about two hours ago after they admitted her and told me he’d let me know when I could talk with her. He hasn’t been back since.”
Dennis motioned toward the chairs. “Have a seat. Let’s chat.”
That didn’t sound good, but Kyle followed his boss into the waiting room and collapsed onto the cushioned chair. “What’s up?”
Dennis joined him, unzipped his coat and removed his black stocking cap. “I spoke with Cassidy’s supervisor.”
“And?”
“She’s on forced leave.” Dennis ran a hand over the back of his neck. “He’s worried about her mental state. He told me she’s obsessed with her cousin Laura’s death.”
“The car accident VSPD investigated six months ago?” Kyle had heard about the accident and had asked to read the report. It stated a drunk driving incident. He’d questioned the findings himself due to Cassidy and Laura’s pact not to touch alcohol after their friend’s death. But things changed, so he’d let his concern go, especially after reading the autopsy report, indicating a high blood alcohol level.
“The same. Cassidy believes her cousin was murdered and that there’s a serial killer out there wreaking havoc on the citizens of Indiana.”
The news jolted him. He’d known Cassidy a long time and had never seen her overreact. In fact, quite the opposite. Her meticulous behavior and thoroughness was one of the reasons the failed raid confused him. “Is there any truth to it?”
“Not that her captain believes.” Dennis fidgeted with his hat. “I know it’s a sore subject and brings back a lot of bad memories, but I could use your insight.”
Kyle wanted to spout off about Cassidy’s carelessness and that she didn’t deserve any accolades from him. But the truth was the truth. “She’s not the type to grasp at things that aren’t there. Amber spoke highly of her investigative skills. Cassidy’s nothing but logical. In fact, she’s a bit obsessive-compulsive.”
“So, this is out of character for her?”
“Seeing a serial killer that the captain believes doesn’t exist?”
Dennis nodded.
“I’d say yes. I’d like to know why she thinks that. Does her captain have the evidence she presented to him?”
“He said he looked at it and handed it back to her. Told her to stop pursuing something that wasn’t there. When she refused to let it go and investigated after hours, he put her on leave until she worked through her issues.”
“I don’t know, Dennis. The drug raid incident...” Kyle choked on the words. “And her cousin’s death so close together might have sent her into a tailspin. I haven’t talked to her since the day before the explosion that killed Amber, so I’m not sure I can make that leap.”
His boss raised a brow and narrowed his gaze.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Kyle glared back.
“Like what?”
It appeared that Dennis planned to shift from boss to friend. Kyle refused to take the bait. He waved a hand, brushing off the question. “I’ll get her statement about tonight and have it ready for you midmorning.”
“Actually, I’m putting you in charge of Detective Bowman. I want you to stay with her and see her safely to a hotel room once she’s discharged.”
“What?” Kyle’s voice rose. The man couldn’t be serious.
“And yes, I’m serious.”
Had he said that out loud, or had the sheriff started reading minds? “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”
Sometimes it really stunk having an intuitive boss. Kyle crossed his arms. “Fine. I’ll get her statement, stay with her and see her to the hotel.”
Dennis smiled. “Thank you.”
“Stupid babysitting job,” Kyle muttered.
“Excuse me. I didn’t hear you.”
“Right.” Now the man thought he was funny.
“Kyle.” Dennis turned serious. “She’s a fellow officer and needs our help until her memory returns. Plus, I think it’s time you let go of your hurt and move on. From what you’ve told me, in my opinion, you need to clear the air between you and Cassidy before that can happen.”
He’d told Dennis more about the death of his fiancée than anyone else in town. The man had a way of tugging information from you. Which might have something to do with the fact he was a great listener and compassionate guy. Kyle had never seen his friend riled except for when he met his wife a little over eight months ago. That had been interesting to watch. The calm and easygoing man had let his emotions out. It had shocked yet comforted him to know Dennis wasn’t perfect.
Kyle sighed. “I’m not sure I agree with you, but I’ll do what you’ve requested.”
Dennis patted his shoulder. “That’s all I ask.”
“Detective Howard.”
Kyle shifted his attention to the gray-haired doctor standing in the archway of the room. “Yes, sir.” He stood and strode toward the man.
“We transferred Ms. Bowman to a room a little while ago.”
Sheriff Monroe joined them. “How’s she doing?”
“Still a bit foggy. She remembers her name and job and little things about her life. But isn’t clear beyond that.”
“Will she regain her full memory?” Kyle had called her a friend once upon a time, but he’d walked away. He wasn’t prepared for the concern for her well-being that struck him in that moment.
The doctor nodded. “I believe she will. The concussion is mild. But she needs time to heal.”
“When can we see her?” Dennis asked.
“You can go in now, but please don’t disturb her if she’s asleep. And don’t hound her for answers she can’t give.” The doctor pinned them both with a stern look.
Kyle stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The doctor snorted. “Room 202. And my nurses have orders to throw you out if you cause a problem.” With that, the man spun and walked away.
Kyle’s mouth hung open. He shifted to his boss. “What did I do to deserve that?”
“Well, the last person you brought in here caused a ruckus.”
“That dude was drunker than a skunk when I arrested him. And he yelled at me, not the other way around.”
Dennis chuckled.
“Not funny. I had to restrain the guy while the nurse stitched him up. And then the man threw up all over me.”
“You obviously made an impression.”
He glared at his boss, who coughed to cover his laugh.
“Go watch over Cassidy. Let me know if she recalls anything else.”
“Sure.” Kyle wanted to stomp off like a toddler, but he grabbed his jacket from the waiting room, straightened his spine and headed toward Cassidy’s room. He could do this.
A few minutes later, he tapped on the door of room 202. No answer. He peeked in and found her sleeping. Kyle walked in, lowered himself into the easy chair near her bed and waited.
His emotions reminded him of one of those scrambler rides at the county fair. Too many directions to count. And a queasy stomach to go with it.
Cassidy had been Amber’s best friend, and by default, his too. The three of them hung out together frequently. He knew the woman lying in the bed better than most.
That’s what made him wonder how she could have been so careless with Amber’s life. It didn’t matter that the explosion surprised everyone. Her raid—her responsibility.
He bunched his coat, tucked it behind his head as a pillow and closed his eyes.
God, why? I was finally getting a handle on my grief. The pain had dulled. Now that Cassidy is here, it’s like someone filleted my heart. I’m going to need You to help me through this mess.
He breathed deep, pushing the tension from his body, and drifted off.
“Kyle?” Cassidy’s soft voice roused him from a light sleep.
He hadn’t realized how badly his body had craved rest until the dim lights and quiet room wrapped him in a cocoon. He sat up and wiped a hand down his face. “Yeah.”
“What are you doing here?” The harsh rasp in her voice remained.
“The sheriff asked me to make sure you’re okay.”
She patted the back of her head and winced. “Ouch. What happened?”
His brows rose to his hairline. “You don’t remember?”
“Not really.”
Kyle resisted the overwhelming urge to move to her side and hold her hand. “Doc said it might take a while to regain your memory.”
Cassidy nodded, then looked around the room. “Where’s Amber?”
“Excuse me?” His breath caught in his throat.
“Amber. You know, my best friend. My partner.”
She had to be joking. And it wasn’t funny. “Amber’s dead.”
Cassidy looked at him like he’d grown donkey ears and a tail. “I...” Her eyes darted back and forth, mentally searching for answers. Tears welled. “The explosion.”
He nodded.
She deflated against the bed. “And you’ve hated me ever since.”
“Hate is such an ugly word,” Kyle snipped.
“Well, what would you call it?” she challenged.
“I’m...angry.” He felt his blood pressure rise, and before he stopped his words, they tumbled out. “You were the one in charge.”
“We had no idea the guy had rigged the door to blow. There was no intel about the suspect using explosives.” The soft beep of the heart monitor attached to Cassidy increased.
His ability to maintain a civil tone disappeared. “Maybe so, but you didn’t even attend your best friend’s funeral.”
She threw back the blanket, uncovered her arms, exposing the scars he’d seen earlier, and held them up in plain view. “Because I was in the hospital recovering from burns and vertigo from the blast. And you would have known that if you’d taken the time to come visit me.” Cassidy rubbed her forehead. “I thought you were my friend.” Her voice had lost its bite.
Guilt flooded Kyle, but he couldn’t get past blaming Cassidy for Amber’s death.
Maybe he’d failed in the friend department, but she’d failed as Amber’s partner.
Cassidy’s scars itched at Kyle’s accusations. The memory of the raid and her friend’s death hung huge above her head, but beyond the basics, she’d blocked out the details of that day to keep her sanity. The report said Amber breached the entry before Cassidy gave the orders, and the door exploded on contact. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember the specifics.
The weight of the Kevlar and the smell of smoke filled her senses. The heat of the fire pricked her skin. The world spun out of control. And the odor of burnt skin—her skin—roiled her stomach.
Sweat beaded on Cassidy’s forehead. Air refused to enter her lungs. She struggled to force the memory away, but it hung on.
“Cassidy?”
With a shaky hand, she retrieved her water from the roller table and took a sip. The cool liquid coated her throat, chasing away the acidic burn. After returning her cup, she eased back against her pillow and wiped the perspiration from her upper lip.
“Sorry.” The flashbacks had dwindled over time, but she had a feeling they’d return with an unwanted frequency after facing another fire.
Kyle leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. “Let’s start with what you do remember.”
She rubbed her forehead to ease the ache. “After my cousin Laura’s death, my supervisor forced me to take an extended leave.”
“Why?”
Because he thinks I’ve lost my mind. “He thought I needed to take time off to deal with the losses after the failed raid and Laura’s death.” The peek into her cousin’s accident had sent her on a search for the truth, but, at the moment, the reasons eluded her.
“And Valley Springs was your choice of locations to recover...” He used air quotes around recover and drew out the word.
“To be honest, I don’t recall why.” Cassidy wanted to open her brain and scoop out the information. The doctor told her to give it time. Patience. Not one of her strengths. Solving problems and reaching goals—that’s where she excelled.
“What about last night? Anything you can tell me is appreciated.” Kyle slipped a notebook and pen from his pocket. “Sheriff Monroe promised the fire captain I’d get your statement.”
Of course, they needed her statement. She smoothed the wrinkle in her blanket and straightened the cup and tissue box on the small table. Hands folded in her lap, she returned her focus to Kyle. “I’ll try to help any way I can, but the events are a little foggy.”
“Anything you can tell me is fine.”
She searched her memory for the events of last night. “I sat by the fireplace reading most of the evening.”
“Was the book any good?”
“It wasn’t a book.” She scrunched her forehead and stared at the wall. “I don’t recall what, though.”
“Did you have anything to eat or drink right before the fire?”
The strange question jerked her gaze to him. “Not that I remember.”
“Are you sure?” The skeptical look in his eyes made her wonder what he suspected.
“Am I sure about anything right now? No.”
He scowled while he jotted in his notebook.
Cassidy fisted the blanket. Dread knotted in her stomach. “Kyle, what’s going on?”
He looked at her and pursed his lips. His gaze never wavered.
Too tired to play games, she wanted the truth. “What are you trying to say?”
“Fine. The fire captain found prescription pills in your apartment.”
Cassidy hadn’t wanted to admit her problem with insomnia and the nightmares that woke her multiple times a night...a sign of weakness she had no desire to confess. A weakness her father would shame her for. She sighed. “They’re mine. I’ve had a few problems sleeping since the explosion. The doctor prescribed them to help me sleep.”
“Well, that answers one question.” Kyle exhaled.
“And what’s the other?” She hadn’t liked his tone. Even though he looked as though he’d aged ten years in the past nine months, she refused to allow him to crawl beneath her defenses.
He shifted on the chair. His expression hardened.
The man had an attitude, and she didn’t feel like putting up with his judgment. Her head hurt, and the scars on her arm ached where they’d turned pink and tender from the heat. “Spit it out.”
“When did you start drinking?”
“What?” Now she was really confused. “You know I don’t drink. And you know why.”
He tapped the pen on his knee. “That’s what I’d thought, but the evidence says different.”
“I don’t understand. What evidence?” Where had he gotten that idea?
He tilted his head and raised a brow.
“Seriously, Kyle. You need to explain.” She didn’t have the energy to put up with his condemnation.
His shoulders drooped. “They discovered a broken wine bottle near where I found you.”
How could that be? She shook her head and regretted the movement. “Sleeping prescription, yes. Wine. No way. I wouldn’t do that.”
“The old you—I agree. I don’t know the new you.”
“And whose fault is that?” she bit out. His negativity toward her had pushed her limits. “What did I do to you? Amber’s death was terrible. I miss her every day. But it wasn’t my fault.” If only her heart agreed. She’d replayed every decision and plan about the raid. All of it was tactically sound except for those last few seconds, which remained a mystery.
“Wasn’t it? You were in command. You gave the order to breach.”
“Then you didn’t read the report. Amber hit the door before I gave the order.” Cassidy suffered from a tremendous amount of guilt. Yes, she’d commanded the raid. Her team—her responsibility. She refused to admit that to Kyle, but in the end, Amber had moved prematurely, according to her teammates.
“She’d never be that careless.”
Wow, his opinion of her was lower than she’d thought. “And I would?”
He all but glared at her.
“Never mind.” Cassidy had her fill of his accusations. “You have my statement. Just go.”
“No can do.” Kyle sat back and crossed his arms.
“And why on earth not?”
“I promised the sheriff I’d see you to the hotel once the doctor releases you.”
“Then I suggest you go find him and encourage him to discharge me so you can be relieved of your duties.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. “Fine. I’ll be back.” Kyle stood, paused by her bed like he intended to say something, then shook his head and exited the room.
Cassidy took five deep breaths. The tension bled off her, and she refocused her thoughts.
First things first. Regain her memory from last night and figure out why she chose Valley Springs, knowing Kyle lived there. And do all that without his judgment.
Right. Like that would happen.
She closed her eyes and tried to put aside the past—and failed.
The room phone rang, and Cassidy rolled to grab it. She groaned. Her muscles had stiffened, and her head protested the movement. She picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
When no one answered, she tried again.
Breathing filled her ear. Not the creepy heavy kind like in a horror movie, but disturbing all the same. The person wanted her to know he was on the line. But to what end?
“I know you’re there.”
“Hello, Detective Bowman.”
The hairs stood on the back of her neck. “What do you want?”
“You. Your time is coming to an end.” The whispered words sent the sensation of icy fingers creeping up her spine and onto her scalp.
Her mind spun to last night. Bits of memory flashed like short video clips. Sitting in her chair. Taking the sleeping medication. Hearing a noise. The shadowy figure. The pain in her head. The smell of smoke. His words sweet dreams.
She jolted upright and slammed the phone down.
Someone had done this to her, and he knew where to find her.
Her pulse raced, and air refused to fill her lungs. The increase of the heart monitor tunneled in her ears. Who had targeted her?
“What’s wrong?”
Cassidy jerked her gaze to Kyle, who had returned and stood in the doorway. “He tried to kill me.”
In two strides, Kyle stood by her bed. “Who?”
“The man who hit me over the head.”
Kyle shook his head. “You fell onto the brick hearth.”
“No, I didn’t.” She gritted her teeth.
“Cassidy. When I found you, I didn’t see anyone around except Mr. Webster. And the fire captain hasn’t said anything about an intruder. Just the broken wine bottle and your prescription.”
“I don’t drink! Someone did this to me!”
Why wouldn’t Kyle believe her?