Charlee hid her surprise when Hunter motioned her into the tiny security office along with him and Pete. She’d expected to wait in the hall. The guard, a balding, heavyset older man, had smile lines that creased his face and a uniform shirt that strained over his belly. The rolling chair creaked when he sat down at his keyboard. Most of the wall was taken up with monitors pointed at different hallways, the parking garage, entrances to the building.
“Such a sad thing that happened. We sometimes have family members get a little out of control with grief over a loved one, but murder…” He shook his head. “It don’t make a lick of sense to me.”
“We appreciate the help,” Hunter said. “Can you bring up the tape for the fourth floor from last night, starting just before midnight?”
The man leaned over, punched keys, then sat back as grainy images sped backward on the screen.
Charlee’s heart pounded as she leaned closer, squinted to make out faces as the tape rewound. Hal, according to his name tag, stopped the tape at just after 11:30 and then started playback. Charlee’s hands gripped the back of his chair, willing a face to jump out at her, to give them a name, someone, who could have done this. At the same time, she prayed it wasn’t someone she knew. She knew people did terrible things to each other. She’d certainly dealt with enough of it at FWC to keep her up nights. But kids dying was the worst. A kid being murdered? It defied comprehension. Brittany had come through the surgery like a champ. She was young and would have made a full recovery. Why had someone shot at her to begin with? And why had they come back to finish the job?
Silently, they watched nurses walk up and down the hall, go into and out of various rooms, go back to the nurses’ station. Then a doctor appeared in a white lab coat and did the same. Just before midnight, they watched Paul Harris come down the hall, go around the corner. Shortly after that, a man in a ball cap walked down the hall, then disappeared around a corner.
Something about him caught her attention. Before she could figure out what, she felt Hunter and Pete both stiffen beside her. “Do you have a camera where we can see Brittany’s room?”
Hal just shook his head, face sad. “Unfortunately, no. The cameras are pointed at the elevators and nurses’ stations, the hospital entrances and exits. But that’s it.”
“Go back,” Pete barked, and Hunter shot him a look before his eyes went back to the screen.
Hal rewound again, stopped. Charlee leaned closer still, her shoulder brushing Hunter’s, bringing the usual jolt of awareness, but she couldn’t think about him now. Who was that…?
Beside her, Hunter muttered a curse as Pete did the same. When it clicked in her mind, she bit back her own. “That’s Rick!”
Hunter nodded, eyes glued to the screen.
Rick Abrams? What was he doing here in the middle of the night, heading down the hall toward Brittany’s room?
The tape kept scrolling, and they watched the same doctor they’d seen earlier go down the hall, then Dr. Morgan appeared several minutes later. He disappeared around the corner too, and that must have been when the fire alarm went off. The tape didn’t have sound, but suddenly, there was a flurry of activity. Nurses sprang into action, hurrying up and down the halls, call lights flicked on outside doorways, patients rushed from their rooms. You could feel the tension in the air.
Several minutes later, a uniformed firefighter stepped off the elevator and headed for the nurses’ station. The chaos slowly eased, patients shuffled back to their rooms, but then a nurse came charging around the corner to where Dr. Morgan had just exited a patient’s room. She gripped his arm, and they disappeared down the hall toward Brittany’s room.
Hal moved to stop the tape, but Hunter said, “Keep going.”
They watched for several more minutes, but there was no sign of Rick or anyone else who shouldn’t have been there.
“Go back again,” Hunter told Hal. When they reached the segment where Rick appeared, he said, “Print that frame for me, would you?” Hal nodded, clicked a few buttons. “Keep going.” Whenever a nurse or doctor appeared, Hunter had Hal print out their faces.
Stack in hand, they thanked Hal and left the security office.
They took the elevator back to the fourth-floor nurses’ station. Hunter went straight to the unit supervisor, a no-nonsense woman with a sturdy build and tidy look. He introduced himself, and she asked, “What can I help you with, Lieutenant?”
“Can you identify these people for me?”
She grabbed the glasses on a chain around her neck, balanced them on her nose, and went through the pictures one by one. As she rattled off names, Hunter jotted them down on the back of the photo. When she got to the one of Rick, she paused, shook her head. “Don’t know who that is. Never seen him before.”
She paused again when she got to one of the doctors, who had his back to the camera. “Not sure who this is, either.” She held the picture closer, studied it. “Could be Dr. Franks or maybe Dr. Hillman, based on the build. But neither of them have patients on this floor.” She looked up as Hunter came to attention. “Though that might not mean anything,” she was quick to add. “Sometimes, the vending machines on three don’t work, and people come up here to use ours.” She shrugged.
“Thank you, you’ve been most helpful. We’ll be in touch if we need more information.”
Her expression turned fierce as she looked at Hunter. “Find out who did this, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, ma’am. We plan to do just that.”
They moved into a small alcove. Hunter looked at Pete, handed him the picture of the unknown doctor. “Ask around, see if you can find a staff member who can identify him. Then track him down and see what he has to say for himself.” Pete nodded and left.
Hunter turned to Charlee, pulled out his cell phone, and called Sanchez. “As soon as you’re finished there, I need you to find Rick Abrams, ask him what he was doing here last night.”
There was a pause. “Abrams was here?”
“Yes. Go find out why.”
“Okay, Lieutenant, though I’m sure there’s a good explanation.”
“If there is, we need to know it, sooner rather than later.”
“10-4,” Sanchez said.
Charlee shook her head in disbelief. “Maybe, like the nurse said, he was here to get something out of a vending machine while visiting someone on another floor.”
Hunter nodded once. “Maybe. Sanchez will check.”
She rubbed her hands down her arms again, fighting a chill that was deeper than the frigid air-conditioning. She met his eyes. “None of this makes any sense.”
“Not yet. But it will.” He turned and held out his hand. “Let me see the pictures you took of Brittany.”
Charlee hesitated, then opened the photo app and handed him her phone. He studied the photos, handed the phone back. “What are you thinking, cher?”
“I’m not sure yet. I need to get back to the cottage and check on something.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why won’t you just spit it out?”
“Because it could be nothing, and if it is, I don’t want to send the investigation down a rabbit trail that will waste time.”
“Let me be the judge of that. Tell me the whole story.”
He was right, but after the way Rick had dismissed her concerns last year, she was loathe to say anything. Still, if it meant finding Brittany’s killer, how could she not? “I’ll tell you everything as soon as we’re back at the Outpost.”
They went back to Brittany’s room, found Wyatt crouched on the floor outside the door, hands over his ears as though to block out his father’s wailing. Hunter went into the room, but Charlee slid down beside the boy. He lowered his hands, and in his eyes, she saw pain, certainly. The clear knowledge that his oft-annoying sister was gone forever. But there was…more, she decided, something more. It looked a lot like fear.
“How you doing, Wyatt?” she asked quietly.
He looked away. Shrugged. Then speared her with a hard glance. “I heard people talking. They say somebody, like”—he swallowed hard—“suffocated her. Is that true?”
Charlee returned his look. “I wish it wasn’t, but yes. It’s true.” She watched the emotions race over his face. There was that fear again, along with all the rest.
“That lieutenant guy, he thinks my father did it, doesn’t he?”
Charlee shook her head. “They don’t know anything yet. But they’ll ask questions, keep digging until they figure it out.” Charlee winced. Not the most encouraging thing to say. “But I’m sure your father had nothing to do with it.”
She waited for Wyatt’s vehement declaration of his father’s innocence, some outburst about accusing him unfairly, but it didn’t come, and another chill slid over her skin. “Wyatt, do you have a reason to think your father had something to do with this?”
Abject misery and a split second of what looked like guilt flashed in his eyes before he sprang to his feet. “Don’t say things like that about him! You don’t know him!”
He raced down the hall before Charlee could stop him. She debated following but decided to give him a bit of space. And give herself time to think through his reaction and figure out what to say next. Several minutes later, Hunter came out of the room, glanced around. “Where’s Wyatt?”
“He took off to get some air, I think.”
When Hunter simply looked at her and waited, she sighed. “He seemed worried, scared maybe. I asked if he thought his father had anything to do with Brittany’s death, and I guess it spooked him.”
Hunter’s eyebrows shot almost to his hairline. “You guess?”
Charlee shook her head, tried to make him understand. “It’s hard to explain, but he wasn’t acting right. Something is off about his relationship with his father.” She met Hunter’s knowing look. “You’ve thought it, too. And how he flinches whenever someone touches him.”
Hunter rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “I’ve noticed. And I need to ask him about it.”
They walked out the main exit of the hospital, found Wyatt pacing on the sidewalk. He stopped right in front of Hunter, chin up, eyes desperate. “He didn’t do it. You can’t make it sound like I don’t trust him. He’s my father. He loved Brittany. He didn’t do it.”
“No one is accusing anyone of anything right now, Wyatt.” Hunter’s voice was calm, and Charlee felt her own racing heart slow just listening to that easy Cajun drawl. “It’s way too soon. Right now, we’re just asking questions, trying to get a sense of what happened. Can you tell me what you remember?”
“We already told you. Why are you asking again?”
When Hunter just waited, Wyatt spoke, every word clipped. “We were in that stupid waiting room. They said one of us could go see her. Dad wanted to go, so I stayed. He came back, said she still hadn’t woken up, so I could go in.” He looked away. Bit his lip. “I didn’t really want to, but I did. She was just sleeping. It wasn’t like she could talk or anything.” He shrugged. “I came out, we got snacks from a vending machine. Then Dad said he was going for a walk, and a few minutes later, the fire alarm went off and everyone went crazy.”
“Did your dad come back then?”
Wyatt seemed to consider. “Yeah, after a while. He brought me another soda from the vending machine.”
Hunter opened his mouth to ask another question when Paul Harris burst through the door. “There you are, Wyatt.” He turned on Hunter. “Why are you questioning my son without me present? How dare you.”
Hunter raised both hands, palms out. “We just asked him what he remembered, that’s all.”
Paul put an arm around his son, and Charlee saw Wyatt wince, then cover his reaction. She met Hunter’s eyes.
“You want to talk to my son again, you do it with me present. Understand, Lieutenant?”
“Of course. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“When can I have my daughter? Take her home?”
“Soon. I’ll let you know as soon as I can. In the meantime, I hope you’ll both go get some rest.”
“You think I can sleep, knowing my baby is dead?” His voice rose with every word.
Wyatt took his arm, tugged gently. “Let’s go, Dad. It’s okay.”
In an odd role reversal, the son led the father away, glanced over his shoulder as they did.
“He’s scared,” Charlee murmured. “And he knows more than he’s saying.”
Beside her, Hunter nodded. “I agree. Let’s go. You’re dead on your feet.”
* * *
It was almost dawn when they got back to her cottage. Charlee dreaded the conversation, wanted to avoid seeing his skeptical look, but it had to be done. As soon as she got inside, she went into her bedroom and pulled a cardboard file box off the top shelf of the closet. Before she’d resigned last year, she’d made copies of everything she could get her hands on having to do with the case. Call it a cop’s sense, but beyond her guilt over JJ’s death, there had just been something…off about what had happened, and she couldn’t quite let it go. But she’d never found anything more concrete than a feeling, and Rick had convinced her that maybe she wasn’t cut out for police work, since she couldn’t emotionally separate from the case. Maybe he was right.
But now, a year later and another death, with her the only obvious link. It was past time to figure out what really happened. She pulled out a file folder, flipped through it until she found the picture of Nora, JJ’s sister.
She grabbed the photo and went back to the kitchen where Hunter sat at the table, sipping coffee. She slid onto a chair, set down the photo. Then she pulled up the photos of Brittany and held the phone up next to it.
Beside her, she felt him stiffen as he studied the bruising on both necks. The ones around Brittany’s throat appeared to be from strangulation. Which didn’t make much sense if the killer covered her nose and mouth with tape. Why do both?
Hunter’s sharp gaze flicked back and forth between the photos. “Who is this, Charlee?” he asked, pointing to the photo on the table.
“That’s Nora Jennings. JJ’s sister. I was able to save her, but not JJ.”
“Someone tried to strangle her?”
“No. I don’t think so. Maybe.” Charlee ran her hands through her hair, winced when the movement pulled on her healing stitches. “When I got to Nora, there was a branch over her neck, and her head was underwater. She almost didn’t make it.”
He shot her a look. “But she did, thanks to you.”
Charlee waved that away. “She doesn’t remember what happened, says it’s all a blur, but those bruises have always bothered me. They don’t look like something a branch would cause.”
“What did the investigator on the case say?”
Charlee looked away, couldn’t meet his eyes. “He told me to let him do his job, and since she was alive, the bruises really weren’t important. JJ got swept away and drowned. It was tragic, but it was an accident.” She sighed. “Rick said the same thing.”
“Rick is an idiot,” Hunter said immediately. Then he fell silent, and Charlee could almost see the wheels turning in his head. She waited for him to dismiss her concerns, but instead, he asked, “What about the bruises—or about the scene—seemed off to you?”
Charlee’s mouth dropped open, and she wondered if she’d heard right. When she didn’t respond, he said, “Think, cher. You have good instincts. What bothered you?”
“Like I said, it was always the shape of the bruises.” She stopped. “And the fear in Nora’s eyes when she said she couldn’t remember what happened.”
“Is it possible brother and sister fought, and she accidentally pushed him in?”
“Yes, anything is possible.”
He studied her for a long moment. “But it’s still like an itch you can’t scratch. I’ll have the techs see if there’s a way to match up the bruising patterns.”
Charlee sucked in a breath. Once again, he had taken her opinion seriously. His easy acceptance made several more bricks in the wall around her heart tumble to the ground, letting in glimmers of light. “Thank you.”
He looked at her in surprise. “For what?” He paused. “You were a great officer. You ever think about coming back?”
Yes. No. Maybe. She turned, pushed to her feet. “Not having this conversation right now, Lieutenant. I’m beat.”
* * *
Hunter checked the perimeter around the cottage, then sat in his FWC truck and used his laptop to catch up on paperwork. After he was sure Charlee was asleep, he went inside to try to catch a few hours shut-eye on her too-short sofa.
He’d barely drifted off when her shout woke him. He came off the couch in one smooth motion, gun in hand, already racing down the hallway. When he burst into her room and saw her thrashing around, he stopped, realized she was caught in a nightmare.
He huffed out a relieved breath, sat down on the side of the bed. “Easy, cher. It’s just a dream.”
“JJ! Oh God, JJ. Where are you?” Her head thrashed back and forth, hands clenched.
He put a hand on her arm, felt the tension there.
She jerked away. “No! I have to find him. JJ!”
He leaned closer, ran his hand slowly up and down her arm. “Wake up, cher. It’s just a bad dream.”
Slowly, her eyes blinked open, fear still lurking in their depths. “Hunter?”
He pushed the tangle of hair out of her eyes. “Yeah. You’re okay.” The first fingers of dawn crept through the window, highlighting her bare shoulders and slender neck. He swallowed hard, nudged the strap of her tank top back into place, determined to ignore the temptation of her creamy skin. “Go back to sleep.”
He started to rise, but she reached out and stopped him with a hand on his forearm. She sat up and propped a pillow against her back. “Stay.” She closed her eyes, swallowed hard, opened them again. “Please? I can’t go back to sleep yet.”
He studied her, caught by the effort those words had cost her.
All the reasons this was a very bad idea crowded his tongue, but somehow, he couldn’t say no. He nodded and scooted next to her, tucked her hand in his.
She looked at their joined hands, then ran a finger over the heavy silver bracelet he wore. “You never take this off, do you?”
He’d told her funny stories about his younger brother late one night after a few too many beers. He’d mentioned that he’d bought Johnny the bracelet but had glossed over his brother’s death, unwilling to admit it had been his own fault. He really didn’t want to tell her now either, but this was Charlee.
His eyes met hers, and he found himself telling her the truth. “I wear it to remember him. He died because I wasn’t paying attention. I got cocky.”
Her eyes widened, but her voice was quiet. “Tell me what happened.” He was tempted, but when he opened his mouth to tell her, the words locked in his throat.
The silence lengthened. Charlee didn’t push, and finally, he just shrugged, shook his head to push the memories away.
She let it go, just kept running her finger back and forth over the silver links in a soothing motion. “I like it. It’s very sexy,” she murmured.
His eyes shot to hers, and even in the predawn light, he caught her startled expression, as though she hadn’t meant to say the words aloud. He took the out she’d offered him, eased away from the memories, and grinned, turning the tables on her. “Glad you think so, cher. I think you’re sexy, too, by the way.”
He saw the slight shiver that raced over her skin as he pulled her closer, ran his palms over her bare shoulders, and touched his lips to hers in one featherlight kiss. She pulled back, eyes wide, and they stared at each other for long seconds. He saw the longing in her expression, the indecision. He waited, completely still, while that clever brain of hers warred with desire. When she slowly leaned into him and kissed him back, he let out a sigh of relief.
The kiss deepened slowly, gradually, until his tongue slipped between her teeth and she pulled him closer and closer, until there wasn’t an inch of space between them. His body urged him to tug her closer still, but his mind told him to hit the brakes. Charlee wasn’t at the top of her game just yet, and he would never take advantage.
He inched back, saw the wide-eyed shock on her face.
“What are we doing?” she whispered.
He sent her an easy grin, ran the back of his hand down her cheek. “Being there for each other.” He saw the way her longing glance ran over his bare chest, but he eased her back down on the bed, then pulled the covers over them both. “Get some rest, cher. You’ve had a long day.”
“Good night, Lieutenant,” she said and rolled onto her side, snuggling against him until her back hit his chest. He gritted his teeth, tucked her in close, and wrapped his arm around her waist. Every nerve ending in his body wanted more of the way her body curved into his, but he held himself stock still.
Comfort, this was about comfort. Everything else could wait. To distract himself, he started mentally reciting every fact of the case.
He must have drifted off, because he woke to her calling Brittany’s name, tears running down her cheeks, panicked. He ran his hands up and down the smooth skin of her arms, inhaling her sweet vanilla scent as he murmured in her ear, “It’s okay, it’s just a dream. I’ve got you, cher.”
He kept up the soothing motion until she drifted off again, content to hold her so she could rest.
Somehow, having her in his arms soothed him too, and he slept, holding her tight.
* * *
Charlee woke disoriented. She remembered the nightmares, and…Hunter. She turned, smelled him on her pillow, and a warm fuzzy sensation expanded in her tummy right before an embarrassed flush washed over her cheeks. He’d held her, calmed her. And she’d kissed him silly. But he hadn’t pushed, despite the desire building between them.
Unsure what to do with the emotions he stirred in her, she grabbed a quick shower and found him at her kitchen table, wearing a crisp, clean uniform, laptop open in front of him. She hesitated. What to say?
He sent her a slow, lazy smile. “Morning, cher. You look better. Rested. Coffee’s ready,” he added, then turned back to his laptop. “I ran home for clean clothes while you were sleeping.”
She poured a cup, watched him work. “Want me to scramble a couple eggs?”
He stood, closed the lid on the laptop. “How about you sit while I make eggs?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I can make eggs.”
“I know you can. But from what Josh said, I can make them better.” He grinned over his shoulder as he pulled the eggs from the fridge.
“Nobody complains about my cupcakes.”
“And they won’t. You bake amazing cupcakes. But I have it on good authority that your cooking is another story.”
She grimaced, appreciating this lighter side of the intense lieutenant. He was trying to relieve some of the tension from last night, as well as break through the darkness surrounding them, and Charlee was grateful. She waved a hand. “Carry on, then. I can handle being served.”
“Glad to hear it.” He put a skillet on the stove, cracked eggs into a bowl. “How’s the head this morning?”
She touched the stitches, winced. “Headaches are getting better, but the wound is still tender.”
“Then quit touching it.”
She smiled as he’d meant her to. They bantered back and forth while he scrambled eggs with an expert hand. She made toast, poured more coffee.
But too soon, the meal—and the reprieve—was over. “What’s on today’s agenda?” she asked.
“I have some more people to talk to. Wouldn’t mind you coming along.”
She raised a brow. “Not exactly protocol.”
He propped both fists on the table and leaned closer, the clean scent of his aftershave making her lean in, too. “If I left you here alone, would you stay? Or go off digging on your own?”
Charlee took a sip of coffee to hide the flush that crept up her cheeks.
Hunter straightened. “Former cop. Case related to you. I get it. Just don’t get in the way, okay?”
Once again, his calm acceptance of her skills and opinions threw her off balance. Before she could formulate a response, he started clearing the table. “We’re out of here in five minutes.”
“Let me get my shoes and my phone.”
Out of habit, she also grabbed her backpack and tucked her gun inside, just in case.