Faith shifted into a more comfortable position on the side of Asher’s hospital bed. He sat a few feet away in the reclining chair eating breakfast, frowning at her. He’d barraged her with questions the moment she’d entered the room. And she had a few for him as well. But she’d refused to discuss anything other than reassuring him that Leslie Parks was in good condition and home with her family. Since this was Asher’s first solid food since being admitted to the hospital, Faith wanted him to eat as much as possible. He needed to regain his strength. He’d obviously lost weight. And he was still far too pale for her peace of mind.
He washed down some scrambled eggs with a sip of water, glaring at her the whole time.
“Okay, okay,” she relented. “You’ve done really well and haven’t tried to murder me while waiting to interrogate me. I’ll take that as a win. Two more bites and we’ll talk. Big bites.”
“You’re worse than my instructor at the police academy,” he grumbled.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It’s not.”
She laughed. “Eat.”
He wolfed down the rest of his eggs then tossed his fork onto the tray. “Enough. Where’s our killer being held? Did TBI take him into custody or is he in the local jail?”
Her amusement faded. “Unfortunately, neither. They never managed to catch him.”
He choked on the water he’d just sipped.
Faith started to rise to check on him, but he held up a hand to stop her. “I’m okay,” he rasped then cleared his throat and shoved the rolling tray away from his chair. “How the hell did he get away?” He coughed again, his eyes tearing from the water going down the wrong way.
“We can discuss all of that in a minute, when you recover from almost drowning from a straw.”
His eyes narrowed in warning.
“It’s so good to see you out of bed and finally lucid,” she added, her cheerfulness returning. “How are you feeling this morning, by the way?”
“Angry and disgusted. How did the TBI and police screw this up? Stan only had a half hour’s head start in rough terrain. They should have closed down that mountain until they found him. What day is it anyway? How long have they been searching for him?”
“I’m fine. Thanks for asking. In spite of several uncomfortable nights sleeping on that recliner waiting to see if my partner would ever wake up.” She grabbed the pink blanket that she’d left on the foot of his bed last night and covered her legs. “Is this room cold to you? Maybe I should adjust the thermostat—”
“Faith.”
“Normally, if you took that tone with me, I’d be out that door and wouldn’t come back without an apology and some serious groveling. But I’m feeling exceedingly generous right now. I guess almost losing your best friend does that. I’m very glad you didn’t die, in spite of how irritating you’re being this morning.”
He rolled his eyes.
She laughed. “Getting my bad habits?”
He inhaled a deep breath then winced.
She was immediately off the bed, tossing the blanket behind her. Leaning in close, she gently pressed her hand against his forehead, the same way she’d checked him for fever dozens of times over the past few days as he’d slept. “How bad is the pain? I can call the nurse and ask her for—”
He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto his lap.
She blinked up at him, so astonished that she didn’t immediately try to get up.
His arms wrapped around her like a vise, making the decision for her. She was trapped, unless she wanted to wiggle and push her way off him. In his weakened state, it wouldn’t be that difficult. But she didn’t want to cause him any pain, either, so she let him win this round.
She tapped his left arm where some tubing was taped against the back of his hand. “Careful. Don’t mess up your IV.”
“I don’t even need one. I should pull the thing out and be done with this place. They’ve kept me so drugged up, I haven’t been able to think clearly, let alone stay awake long enough to get any information. If you hadn’t showed up a few minutes ago, I was going to start calling everyone at UB until someone gave me an update on the case. I’m not letting you go until you answer every question I have. First, what are they doing to try to catch Stan—”
She covered his mouth with her hand.
This time it was his turn to look surprised.
“The most important question,” she corrected him, “is about your prognosis. Do you even know what happened? What injuries you have? Have you spoken to the doctor?”
He pulled her hand down. “I haven’t spoken to anyone, except you, and the guy who delivered my breakfast tray. I feel okay. I can wiggle my toes. And I got from the bed to this chair without any help, so I figure I’m going to live.”
She blinked. “Wiggle your toes?”
He smiled. It was a small one, but the fact that he was smiling at all was huge.
“I was worried earlier,” he said. “I think it was the first day, after surgery. You asked the doctor about me being able to walk again and—”
“You heard me?”
He nodded.
“I’m so sorry.” She gently pressed a hand to his chest. “I should have been more careful in case you were able to understand me even with all those drugs in your system. The knife the bad guy threw at you missed your spine, as you’ve obviously figured out. It punctured your lung, which is why you had such a hard time breathing. It’ll take a while to fully recover. And they had to stitch up muscles, so you have to be careful. I definitely shouldn’t be on your lap—”
He tightened his hold. “You’re not escaping until we’re through talking.”
“You do realize that I could make you let me go by punching you in the chest.”
“But you won’t. Because you don’t want to hurt me.”
“Yes, well. Friends don’t generally hurt friends. So there is that. Your prognosis is excellent. It was scary there for a while, touch and go, because you’d lost a lot of blood. You were bleeding internally, in addition to the collapsed lung. But Grayson had them fly you up here so the trauma-one team could take care of you.”
“They should have flown Leslie up instead of me.”
“Leslie wasn’t in nearly as bad a shape as you. She was terrified, shell-shocked. But physically she only suffered some bruises and minor cuts and scrapes. We got to her before he did his worst. She has you to thank for that. You saved her life, very nearly getting killed yourself.” Her hand tightened against his chest. “Lance told us what you did. He arrived in that clearing right as it was happening. You saved Leslie from being hanged. And you threw yourself between the perpetrator and his knife. You shouldn’t have taken chances like that. You nearly died.”
“I did what I had to do. We’re both alive. That’s what matters. Leslie told you he’s our guy, right? That he killed Jasmine too? She whispered to me that he hated Jasmine because she ruined everything, that she was going to tell the police about him. That goes along with our theory, that Jasmine saw something she shouldn’t have. Put two and two together, figured out he was bad news. That’s all Leslie said, though. I couldn’t really talk and she just sort of...stopped. Are you sure she’s okay?”
“She’s okay. Promise.”
He gave her a curt nod, looking relieved. “We need to find Stan and put him away before he hurts another woman.”
Faith stared up at him. “You really haven’t spoken to anyone about the case, have you?”
“If I did, it was in a half-awake state and I don’t remember anything.”
“Well, I’ll answer your very first question, about how long you’ve been here. Since Thursday evening. Today is Sunday morning, so that’s—”
“I slept for almost three days?”
“The doctor wanted you to be still and rest to let your body heal. You weren’t quite in a drug-induced coma, but close. It was scary to watch you sleeping so deeply, so long.”
His eyes widened. “You were here the whole time?”
Almost every single minute. “Of course not. I was here off and on. I wanted to make sure you were okay. That’s what friends do.”
Asher frowned down at her then sighed. “Well, as your friend, thank you for looking out for me.”
“You’re very welcome. Now, may I get up?”
INSTEAD OF LETTING her go, his arms tightened. “Tell me about the hunt for Stan first.”
“Stan Darden Junior isn’t our serial killer. The guy you went after, the man who took Leslie, we don’t know his real name yet.”
“I was worried that might be the case. But I’d really hoped he was Stan. At least that way we’d know his identity. More importantly, the real Stan would be okay. He’s dead, isn’t he?”
She nodded. “We found him and his father in the tack room.”
“Good grief. I got a saddle out of there and didn’t even notice. Where were they?”
“Hidden under some horse blankets behind some piles of equipment at the very back. There’s no reason you would have noticed. Lance pulled some stuff out of there and didn’t see them either. The only reason I discovered them was because I was anxious while waiting for you and Lance and went exploring.”
He gently squeezed her waist. “I’m sorry you found them. I’m sure it wasn’t a pleasant sight.”
She stared up at him. “I’m a cop, or I used to be. It goes with the territory. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”
“I must have. Goodness knows it wouldn’t make sense otherwise for me to worry about you, us being just friends and all.”
The bitterness in his tone had her studying his face.
“What?” he asked.
“Are you in pain? You don’t seem...yourself.”
“I’ve been sleeping for three days and have been shut out of my own investigation. Of course I’m not myself.”
“Our investigation. And no one shut you out. I was just going to tell you that Lance has been filling in, helping me, while you’re recovering.”
He frowned. “Has he really?”
She frowned back. “Yes, of course. No reason to get surly about it. He’s not trying to steal the case. He wants to help us.”
His jaw tightened, but he gave her a crisp nod. “What have you both found out? Anything?”
“A lot and nothing, kind of like where you and I were. It’s been one step forward, two steps back. Lance worked with Gatlinburg PD to put together a timeline of events based on cell phone records and neighbors who saw Stan Senior and the real Stan Junior the morning that Leslie was taken. Our theory that the abductor drove Leslie to one of the turnoffs near the ranch and parked his car there is correct. They found the car, but it was stolen.”
“Of course. It being his own car would have been way too easy.”
“It’s not a total dead end. The car was taken in a neighborhood about ten minutes from Leslie’s home. Since no other vehicles were found ditched around there, the belief is he walked to that location from his own place, or hired a car to drop him off.”
“He wouldn’t have hired a car. Too easy to trace.”
“I agree. So does the TBI and Russo. They’re canvassing that neighborhood with a sketch of the perp based on my and Leslie’s eye-witness accounts. Now that you’re up and about, I’m sure that Russo will want to send his sketch artist here to see what you remember so they can refine the drawing.”
“Not necessary. You’re better at details like that than me. I doubt I can add anything.”
She smiled. “Was that a compliment?”
“Nope. Just a fact.”
“Oh, brother.”
He grinned.
She laughed. “It’s good to see the old Asher is still in there somewhere.” She smiled up at him, relieved. But as he stared down at her, something changed. His eyes darkened, his face tightened. And for the first time ever around him, she felt...confused, unsure, and a little afraid of whatever this...this tension might mean.
Asher was her friend, her best friend. She treasured that closeness and didn’t want to lose it, or change it. She was already struggling not to see the image of his drool-worthy chest every time she closed her eyes. What she really needed to do was to get off his lap and put some distance between them before they crossed a line they could never uncross.
Before she could figure out how to extricate herself without hurting him, he tightened his arms around her. And then he was kissing her. It happened so fast, like him pulling her onto his lap, that she didn’t react immediately. Her mind was in shock. This was Asher. His mouth was actually on hers. His very warm, insistent, and unbelievably expert, lips were doing sensual things that had her toes curling in her shoes.
A little voice of warning cried out somewhere in her dazed mind telling her to push him back, get up, and stop this insanity. But that voice became a whimper of pleasure as he deepened the kiss. This kiss eclipsed every other kiss she’d ever had or even dreamed of having.
She didn’t want to push him away. She wanted...more. More of his mouth on hers. More heat. More... God help her, she wanted more Asher. Her fingers clutched at his hospital gown, pulling him closer as she pushed her soft curves against his hard planes. Their bodies fit together as if made for each other. Even the evidence of his arousal pressing against her bottom wasn’t enough to make her stop. She was helpless to do anything but feel.
When she pressed the tip of her tongue against his mouth, he groaned and swept his tongue inside. Heat blistered through her, tightening her belly. Every reservation, every lingering doubt was viciously squashed into oblivion. She refused to pay attention to the warnings, the doubts. She didn’t want to think right now. All she wanted to do was to enjoy him, to answer every stroke with one of her own, every ravenous slide of his mouth with an equally wild response.
His warm, strong hands speared through her hair as he half turned, pressing her back against the recliner. When he broke the wild kiss and his warm mouth moved to the side of her neck, she bucked against him, her fingers curving against his shoulders. Her heart was beating so fast she heard the rush of it in her ears. Trailing her hands down his hospital gown, she caressed his mouthwatering chest muscles, and continued the long, slow slide of her fingers toward his impressive hardness pressing against her hip.
A knock sounded on the door, followed by a vaguely familiar voice. “Mr. Whitfield, it’s the doctor, making rounds.”
Reality was a bucket of ice water, snapping Faith back from the precipice. She practically leaped off Asher and whirled away from him just as the doctor stepped inside, a stethoscope hanging around his neck.
His brows rose. “Should I come back?”
Faith’s cheeks flamed. She absolutely refused to look at Asher. “No, no. I was just, uh, leaving.”
“Faith, don’t go,” Asher called out. “Please.”
Mortified about what she’d done, what she’d almost done, with Asher, she grabbed her purse from the vinyl chair on the other side of the room and escaped out the door.
ASHER SWORE AND leaned back against the chair.
The doctor gave him a look of sympathy. “Bad timing. Sorry, pal. But at least you appear to be doing better. This is one of the few visits where I’ve caught you fully awake.” He sat on the side of the bed where Faith had been only moments earlier. “I’m Doctor Nichols, in case you don’t remember.”
“I have a vague recollection of hearing that name before. Faith told me I’ve been here since Thursday, three days. I would have thought it was only one.”
“You’ve been heavily sedated to keep you from moving around too much. The man who stabbed you in the back used a two-inch-wide serrated hunting knife. Thankfully, it only nicked your left lung, otherwise those jagged edges would have shredded it. But it did a number on the muscles in your back, damaged some nerves, collapsed the lung.”
“That explains why everything hurts. Thanks for patching me up.” He glanced at the door, silently willing Faith to return.
“I can get the nurse in here to give you more pain meds.”
“No, no. They just put me to sleep. I need to talk to my coworkers and get updates on the case I’ve been working. But thanks. Thanks for everything. Sounds like you saved my life.”
“I can’t take all the credit. There was another surgeon with me, and an excellent trauma team to help pull you through. It’s a good thing your boss insisted on medevac. You’d lost a lot of blood and were fading fast. It’s doubtful you’d have survived an ambulance ride and subsequent treatment at a hospital without a level-one trauma team.”
“I appreciate everything, believe me. But I’m ready to go home. When can I get out of here?”
“Don’t mistake the fact that you were able to move from the bed to a chair to mean you’re ready to be discharged. You’re not.”
Asher frowned at him. “I have a job to do, a killer to catch. I really need to get out of here.”
“Ignore him, Doc. He’s a terrible patient.” Lance strode into the room, nodding at the doctor before smiling at Asher. “Good to see you finally back from the dead. Gave us all quite a scare.”
Lance clasped his shoulder then moved back. “Sorry to interrupt. Faith told me you were awake and I wanted to see for myself. Please, finish whatever you’re doing, Doctor.”
Nichols looked back at Asher. “When you got here, you had a pneumothorax—a collapsed lung. By itself, that usually requires a good week at the hospital so we can monitor for any breathing issues or signs of infection. But, on top of that, you had major surgery to reconnect muscles and repair nerves. If you get out of here before next Sunday, I’ll be surprised.”
Asher swore and proceeded to argue with the doctor.
After a few minutes back and forth, Nichols shook his head. “This isn’t a negotiation, Mr. Whitfield. I understand you’re involved in an important investigation. I’ll release you as soon as possible. But it won’t be one minute before I deem it safe for you to go home.”
Once the doctor conducted his exam and left, Asher eyed Lance. “You have to help me.”
“No way. I’m not breaking you out of here. I won’t have that on my conscience if something goes wrong. You’re here like the doc said, until it’s safe for you to leave.”
“We’ll see about that,” Asher grumbled. “You said you spoke to Faith. How is she?”
“Hard to say. She was in a hurry to leave, said she had an errand. Barely stopped in the waiting room long enough to let me know you were awake. Did something happen between you two? She seemed upset.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. Damn. He hadn’t meant to upset her. He’d gotten caught up in the moment and had finally done something outrageous, as Daphne had encouraged him to do so many times. Had he opened a door with Faith? Or slammed it shut?
“Asher? You okay?”
Hell no. “I’m fine. Tell me about the search for the killer. Faith said you were working on the timeline. When did he get to the ranch? Why was he in the stables when Faith and I got there? Where was Leslie when he was in the stables? How—”
Lance held up his hands, laughing. “I can see why Faith was in such a hurry to get out of here. You probably drove her nuts with all your questions.” He crossed the room and grabbed the extra chair, then sat in front of Asher. “Since you didn’t call the bad guy Stan again, I’m guessing you heard the real Stans, junior and senior, were murdered and stuffed in the back of the tack room long before you and Faith arrived.”
“I heard. I’d hoped to stop this guy before he hurt anyone else.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. The cops had five years to find him. You and Faith found him in a few months. We’ve got his description, a BOLO out on him. Every law enforcement officer in eastern Tennessee will be on the lookout, with the picture the sketch artist made after talking to Leslie and Faith. They swabbed the hilt of that knife he threw at you and sent it away for DNA testing. That could break the case wide open.”
“Only if he’s in the system already.”
“Pessimist.” Lance chuckled. “We also know, thanks to both you and Faith, that he’s good with horses. Maybe he’s employed at one of the horse-riding operations around Gatlinburg or Pigeon Forge.”
Asher glanced at the door again, worries about Faith making it difficult to focus. Or maybe it was the drugs. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake.
“I wouldn’t characterize our killer as being good with horses,” Asher said. “He doesn’t have the patience or empathy for them. Not surprising for a sociopath. I admit I bought into him being Stan, though. He spun a detailed convincing story about his dad and girlfriend, and him inheriting the business. Either he got that info from the real Stan before killing him, or he’s a good actor.”
“Probably both. We’ll never know how much time he spent, or didn’t spend, talking to Junior before killing him. Unless we catch him and he confesses, gives us details. The girlfriend part seems to be made up. None of Stan’s friends were aware of him dating anyone, let alone living with them as he’d told you and Faith.”
Asher nodded. “What about Leslie Parks? Physically, I’m told she’s more or less okay. But we both know she had to have gone through hell.”
Lance’s smile faded. “No doubt. Thankfully, he didn’t have a lot of time with her, relatively speaking. From what he told her, he was planning on holding her for days, maybe weeks, torturing her before killing her. Considering what could have happened, her physical injuries are minor. Psychologically...well, I can’t speak to that. I’m sure it’s going to take a long time and some intense therapy to move past this, if that’s even possible.”
Asher refused to glance at the door again, not wanting to clue Lance in to just how worried he was about Faith. He really needed to talk to her. But what would he say? How could he fix this? Did he even want to? He didn’t want to go back to the friend zone. He wanted her right where he’d had her, in his arms. Hell, he wanted far more than that.
“You okay, buddy?” Lance asked.
“Just thinking about the case,” he lied. “What about the other bodies we found in his Smoky Mountains graveyard? Have they been identified yet?”
“As expected, Jasmine Parks is one of them. They’ve identified three of the others so far. No known cause of death, unfortunately, since all the ME had to go on were skeletons. No knife marks on any of the bones to indicate stabbing. No bullet holes or shell casings.” Lance pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll pull up the latest update.”