Jeannette didn’t know exactly how long it took her to work her way out of the bathroom and back into the main part of the quaint cottage. She’d wasted time hollering Warren’s name before realizing it was completely futile. Then she tried the most obvious, least strategic means of getting free; she threw her body against the door with all her might. Twice. It got her nowhere. And it probably bruised her shoulder more than it did her ego. Next, she turned her attention to the window. But it wasn’t just locked; it was sealed shut with layers of paint and some kind of adhesive. After that, she did the least productive thing of all. She sat on the floor and let herself have a good cry.
She cursed Warren, both mentally and out loud. She wondered how he could possibly have left her there. But she also knew that somewhere in her head and heart, she’d been expecting it. Hadn’t she been thinking, almost the whole time, that he’d try and sacrifice himself? Hadn’t she been the one who’d insisted that he needed to find an answer for what had happened all those years ago? There was nothing to do but admit that she’d been aware of what Warren would do in his quest for justice and his desire to keep her safe at the same time. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. And it also didn’t mean that Jeannette was just going to sit back and let him throw himself on a bomb.
He doesn’t get to decide for me, she thought as she pushed back to her feet.
With renewed determination, she sought a way out. After another perusal of the tightly shut window, she decided it would’ve been too small to allow escape anyway. Which meant that the only way to get free was going to be the door. And since acting as a battering ram didn’t seem to work, she’d need to adopt a slower and steadier approach. So that’s what she took. She positioned her back against the door, pressed her feet to the cabinet opposite that, then pushed. At first, she didn’t think she was going to see much success. But after a moment of effort, she heard a scrape on the other side. Enthused, she put in even more effort. Another noisy rasp was her reward. Then another.
Pretty soon, sweat wasn’t just beading along Jeannette’s forehead—it was coming down in rivulets that threatened to blind her. She wiped them away, took a thirty-second breather, then started up again. After ten hard-core pushes and ten tiny breaks, she finally hazarded a look at her handiwork. She was pleased to see a four-inch gap between the door and the frame. Through that, she spied the object that Warren had used to cause the blockage—the huge dresser that had been on the other side of the room. She could also see that her furious efforts had scratched up the floor in a serious way. And she still didn’t have quite enough space to squeeze through.
Wincing and making a mental promise to ensure that the woman who’d rented the little house to them was properly compensated, Jeannette slid her rear end back into place and gave the effort another go. With a few more minutes of serious exertion, she managed to earn herself another three or so inches. Thankfully, that was all she needed. She pushed through the door, shot the dresser a resentful look, then surveyed the room.
Everything was exactly as it had been when she’d unknowingly stepped into the bathroom. With one notable difference, of course. Warren was missing. The sharp stab of his absence made Jeannette suck in a painful breath. It also made her want to sink down onto the bed and weep a little more. How could he possibly have left her? Even knowing what motivated him—that he only wanted to protect her—didn’t change the fact that she couldn’t wrap her head around the reality of it. He was really gone. And he was heading straight toward death.
Thankfully, sorrow wasn’t the only strong emotion that Jeannette was currently riding. She was also angry. Furiously mad that Warren had decided it was up to him to choose for her. It was a feeling that she could use to fuel herself to move forward. She harnessed the hostility and spun to face the door, muttering at the missing man as she strode toward the exit.
“You had to know I’d get out and come after you,” she said. “So why even bother? It’s not like I don’t know where you’re going. And you can only have gotten so far, even if you managed to get yourself a ride. Or a car. It was a waste of both our times. Might as well have just taken me with you in the first place.”
Except as Jeannette twisted the door handle, she realized that it wasn’t going to be quite that easy to give chase. Through the frosted, decorative pane of glass beside the door, she spied a flash of blue and red.
The police.
Fear pricked at her, and she dropped her hand to her side, then quickly moved back from the door. Drawing a breath and thinking fast, she ducked down and inched over to the front window. There, she lifted the curtain—very carefully, and just a miniscule bit—and peered out. She saw nothing. Just the driveway and the thick shrubbery that blocked the cottage from the view of the main house. As she stared out at the greenery, she realized that the car was probably hidden by the bushes. She also clued in that it was likely on purpose—she wasn’t supposed to have seen the squad car in the first place. She dropped the curtain.
What were the police doing there? How did they know where to come in the first place? Jeannette no sooner thought the questions than she got an accidental answer. Across the room, just at her current eye level, was the phone they’d used to place their calls to the victims’ family. It sat off its hook on the nightstand. And beside it, resting against an abstractly shaped stone paperweight, was a business card. Jeannette knew immediately who it belonged to. The RCMP officer from the Main Street parking lot.
Damn you, Warren.
Her gut told her that it was he who’d alerted the authorities. To what end, she wasn’t sure. Maybe just to thwart her plans for going after him. Maybe something else. She didn’t care. Her anger at him increased. But she knew she had to stow it. She needed to focus on finding a different way out. And fast. If she didn’t, she had a feeling that no matter what she told him, the formerly friendly RCMP officer was most definitely going to stop her from heading for the cabin.
She scanned the room. With the bathroom offering no escape and the front door out of question, she saw only one option—the large window behind the bed.
Decision made, Jeannette dropped to her knees and crawled across the floor, then climbed up onto the mattress. She was glad, at least, that the bed was off to the side and out of view for anyone who might try to see through the glass beside the door. But when she pushed back the curtains, she saw that she had yet another hurdle to jump. The window wasn’t the kind that opened.
Jeannette swung her gaze around in search of a solution. One cropped up right away. But she was sure it was a risky move. It might even attract more attention, if things went wrong.
What other choice do I have? And what does it matter? Either I’m caught anyway, or else I give myself a small chance.
Muttering what she thought was an impressive string of curses, she yanked a sheet free from the bed, then reached over and grabbed the paperweight. She wrapped the former around the latter, closed her eyes, then drew back her fist and put every bit of strength into a punch directed at the glass. And luck went her way. Her smash of the window let out a distinct cracking noise, but it wasn’t an echoing one. And while the damage webbed over the majority of the glass, there was no shatter.
“Okay,” Jeannette said under her breath. “One more little hit should do it.”
She sent another punch into the window, this time with a little less force. The spidery cracks vibrated, and a moment later, the glass fell outward in a thousand tiny pieces. They hit the cement on the other side with a sound like a torrent of rain tapping against a rooftop. And then it was done. The cottage was so silent that it took several, long seconds for Jeannette’s brain to catch up to the fact that her plan had actually worked.
Hurry!
The internal yell prodded her to move. She dropped the sheet-wrapped paperweight on the bed, pushed away the last of the protruding shards, then hopped out. It wasn’t until her feet hit the ground and the stab of glass dug into her soles that she realized that she’d forgotten an essential item—her shoes. But it was too late. From her new position, she could see the uniformed officer approaching the cottage.
Jeannette took a deep breath and flattened her back against the exterior wall. She closed her eyes and listened. The cop’s booted feet crunched over the gravel, then thumped along the concrete walkway at the front of the little house. Jeannette exhaled. She opened her eyes again and started to move, but she froze once more as she heard the RCMP officer call out her name.
“Miss Renfrew? Are you here?”
She nearly burst into tears before clueing in that the cop was at the front door.
Now or never, she told herself, knowing that it would only take so long for the man to force his way into the cottage.
Wincing as the glass dug even deeper into her feet, she tiptoed along the rear of the house. She paused at the corner, then inhaled and took off.
Please don’t let him see me, please don’t let him see me, she chanted silently as she made the run toward the tall shrubs. Please!
Jeanette’s hands hit the greenery. And rather than sliding along to make her way around the bushes, she kept going instead, pushing all the way through them. When she reached the other side, she bent over and put her hands on her knees, sucking in air. She needed the oxygen more for the panic than for the exertion, but it still took several seconds for her to recover. Slowly, she lifted her head. If the RCMP officer had spotted her, there was no sign of it. She let out another breath—this one relieved—and swung her gaze around in search of an option.
How had Warren gone about leaving? Jeannette had to assume that he’d started out on foot. But what had been his next move? He would’ve needed a car to get to the cabin. What had he done to acquire one? Stolen one? Jeannette suspected he might’ve, if he’d been desperate enough. And she also supposed that she might do the same. Maybe it was really the only viable option, given the circumstances. And certainly felony theft could be justified in the name of stopping a far worse crime.
“Great,” she muttered. “All I need to do is to find a car that I can—” She stopped as her eyes landed on the vehicle that was already in sight, and she shook her head. “That’s not just a bad idea. It’s the worst idea.”
But once the notion was there, it stuck.
Jeannette ran her eyes over the white vehicle. Her gaze hung on the bold lettering. Then she bit her lip and took a step toward the driver’s side door.
“I truly have to be off my rocker,” she whispered.
There would be no subtle way to hide her travels, if she took it. She was sure the car was equipped with GPS. It wouldn’t take them long to send backup to the exact right location. Then again. What did it matter? She was running straight into a criminal enterprise. She was in endgame mode. Warren’s life was on the line, and that was way more important than trying to keep her location secret from the police. It was more important than anything, actually. Jeannette would gladly spend years in jail if it meant that Warren didn’t take a bullet in the chest. The thought of him dying was more than she could bear. So she took another step.
The cop probably didn’t leave the keys in the ignition anyway, she reasoned. I mean...who would? But if they are there...that would be a sign, right?
She cast a quick glance in the direction of the cottage, then took the final few steps to the car. Her breath all but whistled between her teeth. The keys were there, sitting conspicuously on the seat. She had no idea if they’d been dropped on purpose, or if it was merely bad luck on the cop’s part, and she wasn’t going to waste time thinking about it. She opened the door. And with a final inhale, Jeannette did the craziest thing she’d ever done. She grabbed the keys, climbed in and stole a police car to try and save a man she’d just realized she was in love with.
Up ahead, a large, faded sign announced that Warren was nearing Gray Spot Hideaway. Less than ten minutes to go. His mouth twisted as he noted that the newly familiar Alliance Properties logo was displayed in a prominent spot near the bottom right corner. The fact that the Galbraiths had their fingers in that particular pie didn’t surprise him, but it did send another flash of frustration and sadness through him. At least ten times over the last thirty minutes or so, he’d had to stop himself from pulling a U-turn. He wanted to see her so desperately that it hurt. After all, what kind of man walked away from the woman he loved?
The kind who knows she’s safer without him around at the moment, that’s who, he thought grimly.
Unconsciously, he flicked a look toward the center console. The gun that he’d pilfered from Jeannie’s skirt rested there, looking conspicuous and dangerous. Warren knew he likely wouldn’t get a chance to use it. He’d probably pull into the cabin’s driveway and find five other weapons trained straight at his head. He just hoped that he’d get a chance to speak before they fired. He’d do what they wanted. Take the blame for everything. All he wanted in exchange was an assurance that Jeannie would be okay.
Will they really let her go after all this? he wondered. Or is their reach—and their risk—just too great?
For a moment, as he flicked on his signal and guided the car onto the road labeled as Gray Spot Way, he indulged in a fantasy where everything went off without a hitch. The RCMP officer took what Warren had said at face value and brought Jeannie to a safe house. He kept her there until Warren had done what he had to do. And because it was a fantasy, he lived, too. He explained and the police believed him. He told Jeannette how sorry he was, and she understood exactly why he’d had to go. There was a happily-ever-after waiting at the end of all this, and every moment was worthwhile. Reality came slamming back in, though, as Warren guided his car around the bend that led to the cabin and brought the car to a slow halt at the end of the driveway.
Vaguely, he was aware that Harper’s sedan was there, midway up the gravel. What really held his attention, though, was the oversize motorcycle parked directly in front of the faded veranda. Seeing it there threw Warren right back to that final moment. The one where he’d seen Stephanie violently shaking her head at the scraggly haired man atop the bike. He recalled the way the man’s arm shot out to grab her, and how the man had lifted his head and cast a brief, unnerving glance in Warren’s direction. More important than all of that was the final detail—the one that Warren left out when telling the police his story. It was the second where Warren had turned and walked away from the two of them.
I could’ve saved her.
The thought cut sharper than a razor, and years of pent-up regret and guilt made Warren want to put his head in his hands. But he knew that wasn’t an option. He needed to face this. To confront his own responsibility. So he made himself do it. He grabbed the gun, then reached for the door handle. He barely swung the door open, though, before a red dot appeared on the steering wheel, making him freeze once more. He’d seen enough action movies to know what a laser sight looked like.