Книга - Silent Sabotage

Silent Sabotage
Susan Sleeman


A HIDDEN ENEMYEmily Graves left everything behind to save her aunt's struggling bed and breakfast, but she's hardly through the door before she's the one who needs saving. Someone in Bridal Veil, Oregon, will go to any lengths—even murder—to keep her from making the B&B a success. Sheriff's Deputy Archer Reed has made it his personal mission to bring down the culprit. But first he has to convince Emily to accept his protection…and determine why anyone would want to harm her. As Emily's unknown enemy becomes increasingly violent, Archer may be the only person who can keep her alive.First Responders: Brave men and women alert and ready for danger and love.







A HIDDEN ENEMY

Emily Graves left everything behind to save her aunt’s struggling bed-and-breakfast, but she’s hardly through the door before she’s the one who needs saving. Someone in Bridal Veil, Oregon, will go to any lengths—even murder—to keep her from making the B and B a success. Sheriff’s deputy Archer Reed has made it his personal mission to bring down the culprit. But first he has to convince Emily to accept his protection…and determine why anyone would want to harm her. As Emily’s unknown enemy becomes increasingly violent, Archer may be the only person who can keep her alive.


“So what you’re saying is to butt out of your business.”

His jaw firmed for a moment and some unreadable emotion flashed in his eyes before he ground his teeth. “You want me to take off? Just say the word, and I’m out of here.”

“No, please. That’s not what I meant at all. I’m grateful for your protection.”

“But you don’t think you need it?”

“No, I do. It’s just…” She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s more. You…me…there’s something going on between us, right? And I don’t want you to think just because you’re stepping in to protect me that it’s going anywhere.”

He let his gaze linger. “So you feel it, too?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Isn’t it?”

He had her there, but she wouldn’t acknowledge it. She looked away again and felt his gaze on her, but she wouldn’t turn back. He was right. It was the point. She didn’t mind his taking Stan down a notch. In fact, she actually liked having someone on her side. Someone willing to defend her. And that was the problem, as she’d said. She couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—start to rely on someone for them to turn around and bail on her.


SUSAN SLEEMAN is a bestselling author of inspirational and clean-read romantic suspense books and mysteries. She received an RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award for Thread of Suspicion; No Way Out and The Christmas Witness were finalists for the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence. She’s had the pleasure of living in nine states and currently lives in Oregon. To learn more about Susan, visit her website at susansleeman.com (http://www.susansleeman.com).




Silent Sabotage

Susan Sleeman







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


I have told you these things, so that in me you may

have peace. In this world you will have trouble.

But take heart! I have overcome the world.

—John 16:33


For my family, who always take over my responsibilities

when I approach deadlines. It is through you and

your patient understanding that I am able to

share these stories of peace with readers.


Contents

Cover (#u041e394b-d32d-5093-afd6-b756f333c301)

Back Cover Text (#u4a824365-5a14-55f4-b081-d1ac0c8e787d)

Introduction (#uf2cfce79-8992-50ba-b9d1-79e6a2297812)

About the Author (#u191689cb-ee45-505a-b17c-04ef06aeb9df)

Title Page (#ud5495c16-b74e-5241-b0c7-25b2db4ec3b9)

Bible Verse (#u842eba3e-b076-5a05-bf5b-513b39328698)

DEDICATION (#u76b14187-7c8d-5d37-89bd-87362eaca825)

ONE (#u181d9e94-7128-55df-aeda-c8ac533f8bd6)

TWO (#u007d15fa-3cb9-58f1-bc54-9d127fe8b4cc)

THREE (#uc61af8ee-38a5-5e26-8ec6-6333d93c7bde)

FOUR (#u708291bb-894b-523f-81dc-dbde64ab3167)

FIVE (#u43f7b918-9162-5f72-9f01-34fb9ee040f5)

SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

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TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


ONE (#ulink_f2ca13a1-d61d-59b0-abfd-a45dbb99886b)

The scream was high and sharp, and Emily felt her aunt Birdie’s pain to her core.

“He’s shooting at us!” Birdie cried.

Emily had heard the gunshots sounding from the parking lot at the flea market and antiques mall where they were shopping for all-natural soap. Could be a hunter, as cougar season was open all year in this part of Oregon, but the blasts sounded too close.

So then, what? A shooter on a killing spree? But that was ludicrous. Nothing like that happened in sleepy Bridal Veil, Oregon.

“Someone has to help us.” Birdie took a tortured step back like a trapped animal ready to bolt.

“No one is shooting at us.” Heart racing, Emily patted Birdie’s arm and searched the space for any sign of a danger.

She saw a small crowd browsing at colorful booths rimming the exterior walls of the old grocery store. A mobile food cart selling corn dogs, pretzels and soda sat in the middle of the space next to worn picnic tables. Big fans whirred overhead, stirring the unusually steamy July air, but it was still thick and muggy. Nothing out of the ordinary for this small town in the foothills of Mount Hood, except the heat wave.

Emily lifted her hair from her sweaty neck, her heart rate starting to return to normal. She looked at Birdie, her face red and blotchy from the heat. In one of her Alzheimer’s fogs, she’d insisted on wearing jeans and her favorite long-sleeved flannel shirt.

Pop, pop, pop. Gunfire rang out from the parking lot.

Birdie grabbed Emily’s arm. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes.” Emily spun toward the door, fear spearing her heart.

“A shooter!” a man yelled as he came running in the front door. “He’s gone postal in the parking lot. He’s headed this way.”

“I told you so,” Birdie said matter-of-factly as if being right was more important than the fact that a crazy gunman was coming into the building.

A burly guy stepped through the door with a big black rifle in his hands and green duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He wore a baseball cap pulled down low and surveyed the space. His jaw firmed in determination, and he looked up. Dark, cold eyes swept across the room.

“It’s Delmar,” Emily whispered, trying to stem her fear when she recognized the former member of Oregon Free, a local environmental group where she was a member.

Was he here for her?

He’d been kicked out of Oregon Free for committing violent acts to further environmental causes. Acts such as planning to blow up a bridge to stop tankers from carrying oil. Not that he was able to carry it out. He’d shared his plot with her to try to impress her so she’d go out with him, and she’d turned him in so the police could intercede before he caused unspeakable harm.

A sheriff’s tactical team stormed the bridge, but Delmar’s sister had already convinced him to hold a peaceful protest instead. When the authorities arrived, his anger surged, and he marched toward them. His sister tried to stop him before an officer shot him, but she caught her foot in a pothole and fell, hitting her head on the curb and dying on the spot.

An accident. A horrible accident. But Delmar blamed Emily for the death. Hated her. And now he was here with a gun. Likely for her.

Alarm bells rang in her head, and she started backing away, tugging Birdie with her.

“It’s showtime, people,” he shouted, lifting his weapon and staring at a young man holding a corn dog.

Delmar spoke to the man, and he replied as he backed away. Emily couldn’t hear their conversation, but Delmar frowned, then lowered his eye to the sight and popped off a shot, cutting the man down.

Emily gasped and panic grabbed at her throat, making it hard to breathe.

Delmar swung his weapon up higher, his finger stretched out on the side. He ran the barrel over the crowd as if searching for someone specific. Back and forth he went, swinging in wide arcs until he stopped with the sight leveled in Emily’s direction.

“We have to take cover,” she whispered to Birdie and took her aunt’s hand to slip quietly out of the aisle before he spotted her.

His steely eyes glared over the sight. He adjusted his cap, spit on the ground, then stepped into the food court. Up went the gun again. Down went his finger. He talked to two additional men, the result the same.

Stomp, stomp, stomp, he advanced on them. Heading her way.

Terror gripped Emily’s body. They had to flee. Now! If he spotted her, he’d...

No. Not going there.

She turned to the nearest booth owner and whispered, “Is there a back door?”

“Yes, but you’ll have to cross the courtyard to get there. He’ll see you for sure.” The owner melted into the corner of his space and ducked under a small table.

No room for Emily and Birdie to hide under there with him, but she couldn’t keep moving and risk drawing Delmar’s attention. She directed her aunt into the man’s shop and behind a rack of soaps and lotions. Emily peeked around the rack to get a look at the food court.

Delmar came closer. Step by step. Bearing down on them.

Emily drew them deeper into the shadows and prayed. For herself. For Birdie. For everyone in the building. God was the only thing standing between them and a bullet.

Delmar stepped up to the booth and she confirmed his identity. His eyes were glazed and his focus jumpy. He’d had some run-ins with the law in violent protests, but he’d grown even more radical over the past few months. After his sister died, he’d also become bitter and angry. Now he was unhinged.

She waited. Watched him. His face. His expressions. The cold hate and fury emanating from his body. This wasn’t the quiet and unassuming man she’d once sat beside in meetings. That she’d planned peaceful events with to save the environment.

This man, the one standing here, was filled with rage. His gaze connected with hers. Sharpened for a second, then narrowed into snakelike slits.

Emily’s heart stuttered and nearly stopped beating.

“Emily Graves,” he said, cocking his rifle, a sick smile sliding across his mouth. “Imagine finding you here...”

* * *

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Gunshots sounded from inside the mall as Deputy Archer Reed sneaked up on the main entrance. He might be alone, but as the first officer on scene, he had to take action, as it would be quite some time until reinforcements arrived. Twenty or so minutes outside the Portland metro area, deputies were spread thin. Even a rapid response team like his team wouldn’t get there quickly enough. If he hadn’t been driving back to Portland from doing a community outreach event when the active shooter call came over his radio, he wouldn’t be here either. No law enforcement officer would be.

But he was here and it was up to him and him alone to stop the shooter.

He muted his radio so it didn’t alert the shooter to his presence, then grabbed his rifle from the trunk of the squad car. Thankfully he’d come off patrol to go straight to the event so he was armed and ready to roll.

Strapping on his vest and grabbing extra ammo, he raced for the door, offering a prayer for the injured, the potential victims inside and for his ability to apprehend the shooter without loss of life.

He paused at the doorway to evaluate. The shooting had stopped, people had taken cover and it felt like a desert in the middle of summer. Jet engine–sized fans blew from above, stirring the muggy air. Loud and whiny, they would cover any sound he might make as he eased inside.

Muffled sounds, perhaps voices, came from a booth on the far side of the space. Archer raised his rifle and moved on the balls of his feet. Silently. Stealthily forward. Keeping to the edge of the booths.

Nearing the backside of the building, he saw movement in a shop with all-natural products made in Oregon.

A large man shot across the opening. Archer made him at five-ten, 180 pounds. Dark, ugly eyes. Holding a high-powered semiautomatic rifle in his hands and attired in a combat vest, the pockets holding fresh ammo clips.

Odd. Most active shooters wanted to die, but the vest, especially one with steel plates like the body armor he’d put on, said something else.

This guy was here to inflict damage—serious damage—and would not be easily taken out.

Sirens sounded in the distance. Good. Backup was almost there.

“I said do it. Now!” the shooter suddenly shouted. “Before the cops arrive.”

Archer heard a woman respond. He couldn’t make out her words, but she pled with the gunman as if he was holding her hostage.

A good sign, actually. If the shooter was taking hostages instead of opening fire, Archer could use his skills as a negotiator to talk him down. But first, Archer had to get close enough to evaluate the situation without alerting the gunman to his presence.

He dropped to the ground. Belly-crawled along the floor sticky with soda until he could see inside the booth. He forced himself to ignore the grime and focus on the action.

A woman with curly gray hair stood staring into the distance. A younger woman dressed in cutoff jean shorts and a bright yellow T-shirt stood tall in front of the older woman. A slight man wearing a brown shop apron huddled in the corner, his face slack, his mouth hanging open.

The shooter approached the young woman. Pressed the rifle barrel to her heart.

“Do as I ask or I’ll shoot you right now.”

“Delmar, please. I can’t...”

Delmar. Something about that name rang a bell. Archer couldn’t place it, but the woman knew the shooter’s name.

Was she involved with him?

“My aunt.” She turned to point at the older woman. “She’s not well. Alzheimer’s. She’s afraid. Needs me by her side.”

“Boo-hoo. I don’t care. In front of me. Now!” He ground the rifle deeper into her chest.

After a lingering look at her aunt, the young woman complied and he clamped his arm around her neck, then backed away from the other people before releasing her. “Don’t move.”

Archer wanted the chance to use his negotiation skills to end this without loss of life, but right now, the situation still fell under an active shooter scenario and protocol called for an armed intervention.

He sighted his rifle on the gunman. Held his breath. Focused. No clear shot.

Weapon still trained on the woman, Delmar reached into a duffel bag sitting on a table and pulled out a bright red vest with pocketed explosives and long wires running from his backpack.

A suicide vest.

“Father, no,” Archer whispered and drew in a breath.

“Put it on, Emily.” Delmar’s mouth split in a twisted smile. “I can think of no one better than you to wear this.”

Emily. Her name was Emily, and she obviously knew the shooter but was terrified of him, and his piercing glare said he hated her.

What was going on here?

Large brown eyes flashing with strength and determination, she slipped her hands through the vest armholes. She stood five-six, and the vest hung to her thighs. The wires trailed along the floor to the backpack connecting her to Delmar.

Anger choked off Archer’s breath, and he fought to draw in the sweltering air. How dare this shooter come in here, gun down innocent people and terrify this woman. How dare he!

He wasn’t going to get away with it. Not today. Not on Archer’s watch.

“Hurry it up. The cops are on the way just like I planned.” Delmar grinned arrogantly. “But be careful. Wouldn’t want to blow you to pieces...yet.”

So he wanted the cops on scene and seemed as if he wanted to take Emily out, too. Maybe he was one of those guys who couldn’t end his own life, and he needed the police to do it for him. Or...maybe this was designed as an ambush for responding officers.

Archer rolled to his side and scanned the building. Then to his back and other side, looking for a sniper waiting to kill the first responders. Archer didn’t see anyone, but then if the shooter was a trained killer, Archer wouldn’t see him.

“Why are you doing this, Delmar? Why me?” Emily’s hand stilled over a Velcro loop and she looked up at Delmar. Her chin rose and her determination doubled when Archer expected her to fall apart or at the very least burst into tears.

A sardonic smile played on the man’s face. “Why not you?”

“We once worked well together. Remember all the group meetings where we championed the same issues?”

Group? What group? Archer wanted to ask.

“Sure. Once upon a time.” He paused, his face still filled with rage, then took a step closer. “That was before you killed my sister.”

She looked up from fastening the vest’s Velcro loops, terror in her brown eyes. “I didn’t kill your sister. It was an accident. She fell and hit her head on the curb.”

Delmar’s lips curled in a sneer. “If you hadn’t reported my plan to the cops, Cindy would be alive today.” He got in her face. “And you deserve to pay with your life. The world will be better off without you.”

She gasped and stepped back, her worn Birkenstock sandals slapping on the concrete. “You can’t mean that.”

“I can and I do,” Delmar bit out.

Archer cringed at the unfettered fear in her eyes now, but kept his focus glued to his scope. He was desperate to save this woman’s life, yet he still hoped he wouldn’t need to fire.

“You’re not being fair,” she said. “I was afraid your bomb at the bridge would take lives.”

Bomb at the bridge.

Aha...that’s it. How Archer knew the name Delmar. Though Archer wasn’t the negotiator and hadn’t responded with the First Response Squad to a bomb callout at the Interstate Bridge, he’d heard about the incident. Turned out there was no bomb, but a woman died in an unfortunate accident.

And Delmar, this man armed to kill, wanted revenge. On Emily. Maybe on the FRS for their response to the bridge callout.

A sick feeling sent acid burning up Archer’s throat.

“I had to report you, don’t you see?” Emily continued.

“And I have to end your life, don’t you see?” He ended in a high note, mimicking her.

She gaped at him. “Is that what this is all about today? Shooting others to get to me?”

“Big head, much?” He rolled his eyes. “No, seeing you walk in the door just gave me a chance to stop trying to make your death look like an accident and take you out in a blaze of glory.” He grinned, a mean, ugly smile. “Now close that vest so we can get on with my plans.”

“What do you mean me dying by accident?” Her fingers shook as she finished the loops, then she raised her shoulders and stood staring at him, her arms hanging limply at her side.

“Exactly what I said. A pot rack falling in your kitchen. An arrow barely missing you, lodging in the tree instead.”

Emily gasped. “You... Those...weren’t accidents...? You did it? But when the police found a camouflage hat, they said the arrow was likely from a hunter who ran off because the season hadn’t opened yet. They never thought someone had tried to kill me.”

Delmar grinned, but didn’t say another word. He drew out a trigger, the wires running straight to the bomb. Then he palmed the handheld trigger and proudly displayed it for the hostages.

Archer’s heart sank. The guy had admitted to trying to kill her, which could mean he had nothing to lose and planned to die today.

And was going to take himself and the hostages out with a bomb.

Emily took a step back, her gaze roaming the area. Her eyes locked on Archer. Before she could respond and give him away, he jerked out his badge and held it up for her to see then placed a finger over his mouth, telling her not to speak.

She took a deep breath then gave a jerky nod. Time stood still for a moment as he looked her in the eyes and transmitted confidence in his ability to end this standoff successfully. And before he looked away, he caught a flash of renewed strength in her eyes. She was a strong, courageous woman, and he was looking forward to meeting her once this was all over.

Archer returned to his scope. Fixed it on Delmar, then zoomed in to get a better look at the bomb trigger.

Archer wasn’t the bomb tech on the First Response Squad, but he’d seen his fair share of devices, and the unit in Delmar’s hand looked like a compression switch.

This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

If Delmar was shot or simply released his hand, the bomb would detonate.

Oh, man.

The game had dramatically changed. Not only was Emily—a woman Delmar hated and wanted dead—now his hostage, but he could take out the whole building with the simple release of his fingers.


TWO (#ulink_d8dda5e7-a42f-59d6-9391-55503c868ac6)

Archer stood before Delmar Withrow and the hostages. After seeing the bomb, he’d crawled out to notify dispatch that they were now in a hostage situation and to prevent arriving officers from rushing the building and firing on Withrow. Then he’d called the FRS and pocketed his phone to keep his connection with team leader Jake Marsh so he and the team could listen in.

Archer had already gotten introductions out of the way with Withrow when he’d announced his presence over a bullhorn. Withrow demanded Archer leave his gun at the door before stepping inside to talk. Archer had no choice, and he’d complied.

Before he started negotiating, he quickly glanced at Emily to restore their earlier connection. He couldn’t hold her gaze for more than a second, but that was all it took to see her confidence in him.

Good. She was calm enough not to be a danger to herself or others.

He turned his attention to Withrow to start by asking for something in good faith. “I’d like to bring in medics to tend to the wounded.”

The gunman arched a bushy brow. “What’s in it for me?”

Right. He really didn’t care about the hostages. Not surprising. Archer resisted gritting his teeth. “If you don’t take this any further, your prison time will be greatly reduced.”

Withrow held up the trigger. “What makes you think I’m planning on going to prison instead of letting this go?”

“You should consider it as an option.”

“Maybe.” A sick grin slid across his lips. “Once my demands are met.”

Now they were getting somewhere.

Archer kept the hope for a peaceful resolution from his voice and spoke in Withrow’s deadpan tone. “Demands?”

“Quit trying to yank my chain.” Withrow scowled. “I know you’re here to try to talk me out of this, but you won’t. You have to know by my actions that I’m committed to my cause and will stop at nothing for my voice to be heard.”

“This isn’t the way to do it,” Emily said matter-of-factly.

Withrow glared at her. “A real advocate of environmental causes would be here applauding me. Helping me. Not antagonizing me.”

She gaped at him. “Do you really think anyone in Oregon Free would support murdering people?”

“Some would.”

“How do you know that?” she prompted.

“Because we discussed it.”

“So others know about this...your plan to kill people?” she asked.

“Maybe.” He grinned.

So he had people supporting him. One. Two. Possibly more? Could these accomplices have helped him with those other so-called accidents he’d mentioned, too?

Archer hated relinquishing control of the conversation to Emily, but getting the guy on record admitting his crimes would help in keeping him behind bars, so Archer would stand back unless this turned ugly.

“Stan’s working with you, right?” she prodded. “He and Cindy were engaged, and I know he’s mad at me. Did he help you with the arrow and pot rack, too?”

“Really, Emily? You think I’m going to tell you.”

“You felt free to say you’d tried to kill me,” she pointed out. “Why not tell me if you had help?”

“I have nothing to lose.” He held out the trigger, raising Archer’s apprehension. “Not after this. But I won’t implicate those who can carry on my mission.”

Archer could feel the hatred radiating from the creep. Emily was the enemy and he had friends standing behind him. Even if Archer succeeded in resolving this safely and putting Withrow behind bars, would the others continue their attacks on her?

“You mentioned a cause,” Archer said. “Tell me about it.”

Withrow swung his gaze back to Archer. “It’s about time someone asked. Big Oil is trying to transport three hundred and sixty thousand barrels of oil a day through the Columbia River Gorge. Railroad cars loaded with the stuff. I aim to stop it today.”

Archer was familiar with the contentious battle with the corporation that’d built a large oil depot just across the state line and hoped to transport oil in a mobile pipeline.

“I would think you’d go straight to the oil company and place your demands there,” Archer continued in a calm, steady voice. “How can shooting up a mall help?”

“Just like a cop.” Contempt tightened Withrow’s eyes. “Can’t see the obvious. Security at the oil company is like trying to break into Fort Knox, and I’d get nowhere.”

“Still doesn’t explain the mall.”

“Couldn’t resist the chance to pay back my so-called neighbors who are supporting the pipeline. And, of course, this...” he paused and held up the trigger “...wouldn’t have been possible in the city. Cops would be breathing down my neck before I got the vest out of the bag. But out in the country you cops are few and far between.”

He was right. Many Oregon counties had lost funding and had to cut back on law enforcement. This county was no exception.

“Now,” Withrow continued, “you’re going to get a TV reporter on site to film this so people will sit up and take notice and finally stand up to the stinking oil company.”

“So you want to speak to a reporter?” Archer clarified.

“Yeah. Get one out here to do an interview, and I’ll turn over the trigger.”

Archer didn’t trust that Withrow’s motives were as pure as he was making it sound, but Archer could use the demand to negotiate for the evacuation of the wounded. “You allow the medics to tend to the innocents you wounded and transport them to the ER, and I’ll work on arranging your interview.”

Withrow arched an eyebrow. “I only plugged three guys and all of them deserved it.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“You mean that they deserved it? Yeah. They’ve supported Big Oil and it was about time someone made them pay.”

“I meant with all the bullets you fired, that you only hit three people?”

“It’s the truth.” He waved the trigger device at Emily. “This was my end game all along.”

“In that case, you’ll let the medics in,” Archer stated.

“The guys deserved what they got, but...” He shrugged. “If letting the medics haul them out gets me what I want, then so be it. I’ll provide the location of the first two and if the reporter isn’t here by then, number three will have to wait.”

Of course, he would arrange this to meet his needs alone. “I have to get out my phone to call my supervisor.”

“Go ahead.”

Archer dug out his phone. Not that the call mattered at all other than to assuage Withrow, as Jake would never let a reporter come into a standoff.

As Archer talked, Withrow stepped to his backpack and traded his rifle for a handgun. He circled around Emily and jerked her against his chest. He pressed the gun against her temple.

Archer expected her to blanch or even get sick, but she stood strong through his call and while the medics removed two of the injured.

“Okay, Nee-go-tiator,” Withrow sneered. “Seein’s how you didn’t comply with my demand, I’ll give you another thirty minutes. I see a reporter or I detonate the bomb.”

“You don’t want to do this, Delmar,” Archer said in a flat tone. “You heard the medics. The people you shot were still alive. So why not do this the smart way? You don’t need to die today.”

“This’s the only way I get to talk to a reporter.”

“Not so. I can get on the phone right now and arrange for an interview for you once you surrender.”

“Right.” Delmar’s brow creased. “You’d arrest me and then not follow through.”

“Even if I did—” Archer paused and looked him square in the eye “—which I won’t—you don’t have to rely on me. You control the people who visit you in County lockup. Put any or every reporter you can think of on your visitor list and they’ll be glad to come see you. That way your message will be broadcast on more than one station.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I could, couldn’t I?”

“Sure. Plus, if you direct us to the last guy, you won’t go away for murder and can get out so much sooner to continue your quest to protect the environment.”

“Maybe,” he said and his arm slackened from around Emily’s neck.

“Not only that,” Archer added, making sure he sounded enthusiastic, “you can continue fighting for your cause from prison. You can’t do that if you release the trigger.”

Archer could see he was making progress and it was time to end the standoff. “Who’s going to take up the charge if you’re not here? No one’s as passionate about it as you are. Don’t you want to keep fighting?”

“I do.”

Archer slowly lifted his arm and held out his hand. “Then give me the remote, and I’ll make sure the reporter comes to visit you.”

Withrow took a halting step forward.

Yes...

Then another step.

It was all Archer could do not to rush the guy, but he stayed put, his feet planted firmly on the ground.

Withrow took the remaining steps. Held out the trigger. Archer wrapped his hand around it and freed it from Withrow.

The room seemed to sigh in relief.

“Now on the floor, hands behind your back,” Archer said in a nonthreatening tone when every part of him wanted to bark orders at the man.

Withrow’s expression changed, and he looked as if he was going to balk.

“Your cause,” Archer soothed as he might with a small child. “Remember your cause.”

Withrow gave a firm nod, then lay down.

Wearing tactical gear, the First Response Squad flooded the room. Archer held firm on the trigger and looked at Emily. A grateful smile played across her lips, and if he wasn’t already captivated by her incredible bravado under pressure, her smile was enough to suck him in and never let him go.

* * *

The deputy named Archer who saved them all crossed over to Emily. He’d risked his life coming into this building to rescue them. Took a fine man to do that and she wanted to fling her arms round his neck and express her thanks. But she still wore the vest and until she was out of it, this wasn’t over for her.

“The vest. Can I take it off now, please?” she implored, as chaos seemed to reign around her with men in black clothes, helmets and heavy vests hauling Delmar to his feet.

Archer shook his head regretfully. “Our bomb expert will be in soon to take the trigger and help you.”

“How long will that be?”

“He’s suiting up now. I know these guys look kind of intimidating in their tactical attire, but if you haven’t done anything wrong you have nothing to worry about.”

She shot him a look. “Do you think I’m involved in this? Because I assure you I’m not.”

He shrugged as if he dealt with incidents like this every day. Maybe he did, but she sure didn’t. “I know Delmar, yes, but as you heard he hates me and apparently wants to kill me.”

“Yeah, I heard, and it sounds like you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it’s not up to me to figure out your role. Once you’re free of the bomb, we’ll turn this over to detectives to sort out and my team and I will take off.”

“No!” she said before thinking about it. “Please. You saw me through this so far... Can’t you stay? Just for a little while.”

She sounded weak and whiny but she didn’t care. She was still wearing a vest. A bomb vest, for goodness’ sake! And people had been gunned down right in front of her. Unbelievable.

She didn’t think she’d ever forget what she’d seen and heard today. How could life ever go back to normal? Especially if Stan was coming after her to kill her. This handsome deputy standing tall and strong beside her, the man who risked his life for her, gave her hope that she desperately needed right now.

“Please,” she added when he didn’t speak.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Let me go talk to my team leader.” He took powerful strides across the space and stopped by a man who removed his helmet.

The leader clapped Archer on the back. “Great work, Archer.”

Archer.

She liked the name. Kind of regal and formal, which seemed to fit him. At times, there was something in his expression that was warm and welcoming, and yet there was an undercurrent of steel and a warning not to mess with him.

He looked every bit the rescuer, too. He was very tall, six foot four maybe, long and lean, but solidly built. A square jaw, sandy brown hair cut short and a uniform that fit to a T added to her perception. His eyes were icy blue and they seemed to look right through people.

He also seemed like a man who liked to control the action.

Just her type. Which meant if she crossed paths with him ever again, she’d turn and run in the other direction, as she wasn’t getting involved with any man. Ever.

She jerked her focus away and watched as two men snapped cuffs on Delmar and hauled him to his feet before marching him forward.

“Easy now,” he bellowed. “You’ll pay for every bruise I find.”

At his approach, he glared at her, his eyes a mass of anger and resentment. His narrow lips curled up in a wicked smile. His dark, sinister stare remained locked on her.

She cringed and wanted to scoot back from the barely contained rage, but that’s what he wanted, so she stayed strong.

His smile turned into a smirk. “You may have won this round, but our fight is far from over, sweetheart. And if I were you, I’d watch your back.”


THREE (#ulink_eb971641-5ba2-5ee5-9fa5-29f5f460fed6)

Emily sat at a folding table under a canopy in the mall’s parking lot. Birdie rested at a similar table twenty feet away. A vacant, empty expression born from jumbled memories claimed her aunt’s face. Emily had asked to stay with Birdie and offer comfort, but Detective Carothers, who would investigate the case, forbid them to talk to each other until after they’d given their statements.

Poor Birdie. Stuck here. Alone. Lost and confused.

A common problem these days. Hour after hour. Day after day. Confusion. Fear. Living in another world. All courtesy of Alzheimer’s, early stage two. If they could afford a care nurse, Emily would have left her aunt home today. If it hadn’t been absolutely necessary, Emily wouldn’t have come either, but upcoming guests were expecting to find all-natural soap at the environmentally friendly B and B, and ordering soap was just one of the things that had fallen through the cracks as she desperately tried to save the business.

The fund-raiser. She’d almost forgotten. They’d scheduled a mini-carnival for that night to raise a quick influx of cash to pay the mortgage. If they failed, Birdie would be out of business in short order. Plus, Emily had invested all of her savings in the business, so if it went under, she and her aunt would be homeless and penniless.

Emily checked her watch. She had to get out of there and quickly. She searched the area for Detective Carothers, who was deep in conversation with Archer and his team leader, Jake Marsh. The detective, a pencil-thin man wearing a baggy suit, clutched a folder to his chest and locked Jake in a stare down. Jake appeared to be asking for something.

Carothers suddenly shoved his hand into his hair and gave a firm nod. He spun, then started toward her. Jake gave Archer a thumbs-up. Archer grinned.

“Ms. Graves.” A sour look claimed Detective Carothers’s face as he dropped into one of the metal folding chairs across the table. “Deputies Marsh and Reed will be sitting in with us, but I’ll be taking lead on this investigation.”

“I don’t mean to sound impertinent, but could you wait to take my statement?” she asked, and explained about the fund-raiser and how important it was to their business. “If I don’t get going now, we won’t be ready on time.”

“I need to take your statement while the incident is fresh in your mind.”

Archer took a step toward Carothers. “Why not cut Ms. Graves some slack? She could jot down her thoughts right now, and you could question her later at home. Withrow is off the streets and won’t hurt anyone, so this isn’t time sensitive.”

Carothers pressed his lips together. “That is against protocol.”

“I get that,” Archer said. “But sometimes we need to be flexible.”

“She could talk to others. Change her story.”

“Look,” Archer added, “I’ll be glad to accompany her home and keep an eye on her all night. If someone is helping Withrow get back at her, I can keep her safe and ensure she doesn’t talk to anyone about the incident. Then if you have questions, I’ll personally escort her to the station in the morning or you can come to the B and B if you’d rather do it that way.”

Carothers took a long breath, let it out, then shoved a legal pad and pen across the table to her.

“Write down your version of the incident, leaving nothing out, and you can go.” He stood, gestured for Deputy Marsh to follow him and stepped away from the table.

She looked up at Archer. “Thank you. Normally, I wouldn’t put you out like this, but the fund-raiser is basically our last chance to keep Birdie’s B and B afloat.”

“I don’t mind.” He sounded sincere and his eyes were warm and friendly. “Besides, it seems like you could use some help getting ready for the fund-raiser, and I’m nothing if not helpful.”

He turned on a megawatt smile, and she had to look away before she found herself smiling up into eyes that were at times icy blue and like now, a warm, soothing baby blue. The last thing she needed was for him to think she was one of the many dopey-eyed women who must fall at his feet all the time.

She didn’t want to date anyone or even engage in a flirtation. Her mind needed to be squarely on helping Birdie. That, and if Delmar’s threat was true, watching her own back so she stayed alive to take care of her aunt.

* * *

Archer trailed Emily Graves’s classic pickup truck around another bend and onto a gravel road lined with tall pine trees. The temperature had dropped and the once-vibrant sunshine disappeared, replaced with heavy shadows moving in the breeze.

As they approached the B and B, an uneasy feeling settled in his gut. His agency patrolled the large county with both urban and rural areas, but he’d never worked the rural beat. Coming from cosmopolitan New York City, where he’d lived his entire life, he was far more comfortable in a city setting than a rural one.

He followed Emily another three miles over hills, around bends, and she finally clicked on her blinker near a large house set back from the road. She turned the rusty truck under a blistered white sign with Birdie’s Bed-and-Breakfast etched in black lettering hanging from large log poles over a dirt-packed driveway. They wound around a few curves until he spotted a guest-parking sign near a small paved lot, but Emily gestured out her window to follow her toward the house.

Two stories, the place was painted a cheerful yellow with white trim, but as he drove closer, he could see the building needed a fresh coat of paint. A wide wraparound porch held white wooden rocking chairs and large planters filled with red and purple flowers. Off to the side of the house, he spotted a small cottage painted in matching colors with window boxes overflowing with the same flowers.

Emily suddenly stopped, and Archer had to slam on his brakes not to rear-end her truck. She jumped out and rounded the front of her car before bending down and disappearing from sight.

A spear of adrenaline sliced into his body, and he charged across the space to check on her. He was aware of Birdie getting out of the car and mumbling, but his focus remained on Emily. He reached the front of her vehicle, and she stood, her back to him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to keep the concern from his voice.

She turned and was holding a coffee-colored chicken with white tail feathers. “Birdie left the chicken coop open again.”

“Did not,” Birdie said, but Archer suspected she wouldn’t remember if she had.

“Here.” Emily shoved the chicken into his hands and let go.

“What...” Archer complained, but Emily was already chasing after another chicken running toward the road.

Archer gaped after her. What in the world was he supposed to do with a chicken? His only experience with chickens was in a dining room, and he hadn’t a clue what to do with a living bird.

It squirmed and squawked in his hands, and he held it out as he searched for a place to get rid of it. Instead, he found five more chickens pecking the ground and scurrying around. He searched for Birdie, but she’d ignored the fiasco and was climbing the wide steps to the house.

So he stood like a dolt, hands outstretched until Emily returned with her fingers around the wayward chicken’s feet, the body clutched against her side and the head tucked under her arm.

“Follow me and hold that chicken this way.” She lifted her arm. “Or she’s going to squirm out of your hands.”

He tried maneuvering the plump bird, but she clucked loudly so he held her as close as he could and trailed Emily. She zigzagged around the yard, corralling the other birds. Together, they all clipped across the clearing and down a hill toward a small weatherworn building. It sat on raised stilts with a side room made of wooden uprights and covered in chicken wire. Emily scooted the chickens through a door into the open area, then slipped the one she was holding into the space.

Good. Archer could get rid of this animal, too. He rushed forward, maybe too fast for the bird, and made it nervous as it deposited a big splotch of white-and-brown gunk on his shirt.

“Ack,” he shouted and held out the chicken.

Emily watched him for a moment, then started laughing.

“It’s not funny,” he warned sternly. “This is my uniform, and I don’t want it ruined even more than it already is from the mall.”

“You’re right. The shirt isn’t funny, and I’m sorry this happened.” Her grin widened. “But you stared down a guy with a bomb not more than an hour ago with hardly a hint of what you were feeling, and now? Now the horror on your face is from a chicken. That’s priceless.”

“I’m not a country guy, all right?” He shoved the bird at her.

“That goes without saying.” She cradled the chicken and settled it in the building. “If she was making an egg, the way you held her would surely be the end of that.”

Archer didn’t care about an egg. He looked down on his shirt and gagged. He quickly undid the buttons and rubbed the offending gook onto the grass. He wore a khaki-colored T-shirt to match his uniform shirt, but it had a moist spot as well so he held it away from his body.

Emily turned and when her gaze landed on him, she stopped in her tracks and peered at him. The humor was long gone in her expression, and she stared at him with a clear look of interest.

If he wasn’t so creeped out about the goo on his shirt, he suspected he’d be returning the gaze, but this mess outweighed most everything else. “Is there somewhere I can clean up? I’ve got clothes in my trunk, but I’m not putting them on until I wash up.”

“I can wash your shirt.” She held out her hand.

He gladly turned it over. “I’ll grab my clothes.”

He sensed her watching him as he walked back to his car and could just imagine what she was thinking. He was a deputy. Could carry a gun and shoot people. Was trained in defensive combat and worked out to keep in top physical shape, and yet, a little bit of bird poop and he’d acted like a big sissy.

He didn’t like it any more than she did, but he was raised with overly strict cleanliness standards and, try as he might, he’d never been able to relax them. His pants and shirts were pressed at all times. If he got a spot on them, even a small one, he changed. Sure, it was prissy, but it was ingrained, and he made no apologies.

He grabbed his duffel bag and met Emily on the front porch. Without a word, but the remaining hint of a smile on her face, she escorted him straight to an upstairs bathroom.

“Do you need a full shower or will a washcloth with soap and water suffice?” Her eyes creased with unspoken laughter.

“No shower necessary,” he retorted and didn’t mind one bit that she gave him a knowing look as she shut the bathroom door.

In fact, he kind of found her teasing cute and endearing.

Odd.

He sure didn’t react that way when the team razzed him about his cleanliness obsession. Although he didn’t like it coming from them, for some reason this was different. He was sure that if he examined his feelings, he might discover the underlying cause, but in his mind, this situation was best left unexplored.

He ripped off his undershirt and scrubbed his stomach clean before putting on the fresh FRS uniform of a black polo shirt and tactical pants that he always kept at the ready. When he stepped back into the hallway, Emily was waiting for him.

She held out her hand. “I can add the undershirt to the washer, too.”

For a moment, he froze as it seemed so personal to be handing an undershirt to a near stranger, but like it or not, he’d rather the stain be removed.

“I can help,” he offered.

“You want to help because you don’t trust me to get it clean enough.” She grinned up at him.

“Busted,” he said and found himself smiling back at her. “Also, I came here to help, not add to your workload.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s taking us longer to talk about this than it will take to do it.”

“Then would you mind if I have a look around the place while you put it in the washer? I want to check out the security.”

Her smile fell. “Security. Why?”

“I promised to make sure you remained safe, and I always keep my promises.”

“Oh, I heard you all right when you said that. You also said you’d keep an eye on me all night, but that’s not going to happen.”

“I meant that figuratively, but make no mistake, Ms. Graves, I’ll be staying here all night.”

She narrowed her eyes. “On the couch.”

He refrained from dropping his mouth open at her innuendo. “I’m here to protect you and nothing more.”

“I didn’t...” She shook her head and ran her fingers through long, chocolate-brown waves. “Do you really think one of Delmar’s friends is going to come after me?”

“It’s too early to tell,” he said to keep from heightening her apprehension. “But threats have been issued and we have to take them seriously until we can prove them false.”

“Understood,” she said, suddenly looking distracted. “I’ll get the laundry started, then meet you on the porch when you finish your tour.”

“Are there any rooms off-limits?”

“We don’t have guests right now, but I suspect Birdie might be napping. Her room is on the third floor in the front. If the door is closed she’s asleep, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disturb her.”

“You got it.”

She looked at him as if pondering something, then turned and started down the hallway. Maybe he wasn’t able to read all of her expressions, but one thing was clear. She was uneasy around him, and she didn’t try to hide it. He’d tried to be compassionate and understanding so he wasn’t giving off a tough-deputy vibe, but there was obviously something else that bothered her.

Maybe he wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding the way she piqued his curiosity. Or maybe, she was just out of her element with everything that had happened.

Archer watched her disappear in the stairwell. He’d read in her statement that she was an accountant and he tried to imagine her in that position. With his MBA, he understood the duties in an accounting job, and he honestly couldn’t see her spending her days inside, bent over a desk in a small cubicle.

Problem was, he wanted to know more about her so he could figure out where she belonged.

“Get a grip,” he mumbled as he started his tour. “Remember why you’re here.”

He searched five guest rooms and three bathrooms, all decorated in a traditional style to match the age of the house. The windows and locks were original, and it wouldn’t take much to jimmy them open. Hopefully, the first-floor windows had better locks.

Archer climbed creaky stairs to the third floor, where the temperatures spiked and any attempt at decorating stopped. He suspected these were once servants’ quarters.

One door was closed, and he heard a fan running from inside. Birdie’s room, he supposed. He walked through a small sitting room with a table holding a reading lamp and piled high with books. He went into the other bedroom, and the wildly colored clothing hanging on a portable clothes rack, much like the bright hue of Emily’s shirt today, told him it was her room. The furniture was period and all looked original, especially the worn sofa against the far wall and the tall highboy in the corner. Water stained the upper portion of the plaster wall behind her ornate headboard and large sections of plaster had been removed, exposing the studs.

Archer suspected they’d opened the wall to fix a plumbing leak and never finished the repair. Her window was open with a box fan running on high speed, but it was still stifling hot in here, and he left the room before he started sweating in his clean shirt.

He took the stairway to the main floor. The dark wood was old and worn, but polished until it gleamed. The living area held comfortable furniture and walls filled with shelves packed with books.

Clean, tidy and spotless like the other rooms. He’d been impressed with Emily before, but her penchant for neatness added to the appeal.

The locks were of the same flimsy nature as the upper floors, and he didn’t like that one bit. Frowning to himself, he stepped into the kitchen and climbed up on a chair to look at the beam holding the pot rack. He spotted roughly patched holes, likely where it hung before and had been moved over a few inches. Archer saw nothing to suggest Withrow caused the rack to fall, but then with the original holes patched, Archer didn’t think he would. He pulled hard on the rack just to be sure it was securely fastened, and once he was satisfied, he finished his inspection before stepping onto the porch, where Emily gazed over the property, a clipboard in hand.

A cool, soft breeze played over his skin. The temperature in the secluded location was far cooler than the city and the steaming-hot grocery store. She’d tidied up a bit, pulling her hair up into a ponytail, giving her a girl-next-door look. She seemed so sweet and innocent, so far removed from the catty socialites he’d met when he’d lived in New York. Maybe that’s why she sparked his interest.

She pointed at a large truck in the driveway. “The workers just got here with the bouncy house and other games. Would you mind overseeing the setup to make sure they put them in the right location?”

“Sure, tell me where they go and I’m all over it.”

She pulled a very detailed map from her clipboard.

He studied it. “When do you need these ready to go?”

“An hour.”

“Okay, you got it.” He set an alarm on his watch.

“My timing isn’t that precise.”

“Time is money, you know,” he said, issuing one of his favorite quotes. “You can count on me to have it all ready within an hour.”

She eyed him for a few seconds. “Let me know if you have any issues.”

She jogged down the stairs, her ponytail bouncing. Made her look carefree, but with her struggle to keep the B and B afloat and the incident this afternoon, she was clearly anything but.

He got that. If she was right about this Stan guy, she had to be worried about another attack. At least Archer was concerned, and only one way to put it out of his head. A visit to Stan Fannon, which he would do first thing in the morning.


FOUR (#ulink_43c08ab3-1877-5e92-8d9d-be3f2042693e)

The afternoon flew by and Emily couldn’t believe she’d managed to get everything organized for the small carnival. She wouldn’t have been able to do it without Archer. He pitched in wherever needed, and that included the last item on her list, gathering eggs from the coop so she could sell them. She’d built rollout nest boxes that would allow him simply to open the back to retrieve eggs without entering the coop or sticking his hand under a chicken, but he still puckered his lips as he started gathering.

She forced her mind from those lips that she suspected had kissed many women and went over her list one more time. She realized she hadn’t seen Birdie for some time so she went to check on her and found her in the kitchen eating a large bowl of cereal.

Emily watched her aunt from the door for a few moments. She had a mop of wild, curly hair that she’d clipped up in the back, leaving tendrils sticking out in every direction. She’d changed into striped capris and a short-sleeved blue T-shirt much more in keeping with the warm temps.

She suddenly looked up and noticed Emily. The smile Emily treasured slid across Birdie’s face and brought tears to Emily’s eyes. She had to cherish each and every one of these smiles, as there were fewer and fewer of them as time passed.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said, her eyes clear and present in the moment.

Emily’s heart lifted at the return of her aunt. “The fund-raiser is all set up. Why don’t you come out and have some fun for a change?”

“I’m way too tired to attend.” She yawned and stretched. “I’m going to finish up my cereal and go to bed.”

Concerned, Emily stepped inside. “You’re not feeling ill are you?”

Birdie shook her head, her curls springing in every direction. “Stop worrying about me. Go enjoy the event you worked so hard to prepare, and I’ll be fine.”

“We do have a nice crowd building out there. I’m sure we’ll raise at least enough money for another loan payment.”

Birdie frowned and pushed back from the table. “I’m sorry I put you in this position.”

“It’s not your fault, and I won’t have you worrying about it.” Emily squeezed her aunt’s shoulders. “I’ll save some of the goodies for you so you can have them for lunch tomorrow.”

Birdie clutched Emily’s hand, as tears started to glisten in her own eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Memories of walking through the same back door with a small suitcase and a broken heart washed over Emily. More tears threatened, but she forced them back and smiled. “Then we’re even. I had the same feeling many years ago when I came to live with you. Who knows what would have happened to me without your love and support. Now it’s my turn to give back.”

“Thank you for being so gracious.” Birdie gave Emily’s hand a kiss then released it. “Now scoot.”

Emily didn’t move. She wanted to stay. To enjoy the time when Birdie’s memory was so clear. To just bask in her aunt’s presence and enjoy the only person who’d loved her unconditionally. How she was going to miss the warmth, the affection when Birdie’s memory had been fully eclipsed.

She grabbed Birdie in a hug and held tight.

“Now, now,” Birdie cooed. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

No, it wouldn’t. Birdie would forget everything, even basic bodily functions, and Emily would be all alone unless she did something about it. But what could she do? Men were off-limits. She’d been raised in a highly dysfunctional and chaotic home. An alcoholic father who caroused and had affairs. A mother who paid him back with affairs of her own and didn’t bother to hide them. They fought all the time. Bickering. Snapping. Mean, ugly fights.

When the arguing got brutal, Emily had learned to take control of her own life. To go to the library or when it was closed to take a stroll through the park. Then her father took off and when Emily was thirteen, her mother chose a man who didn’t want children. So her mother left Emily on Birdie’s doorstep. Life might have been tough and her mother less than the parent Emily had wanted, but she was her mother and Emily had grieved her leaving like a death in the family.

Emily vowed then and there that she would never be hurt again. And to make sure that didn’t happen, she took control of everything. Of herself. Her surroundings. And she never...never...gave her heart to a man as her mother had done so many times.

Better to live alone as Birdie had all of her life. It had worked so far, and Emily was happier than her mother and father ever were. She wasn’t about to change that now. Especially for a man whose smile reminded her of all the men her mother readily gave in to.

Emily kissed Birdie’s papery cheek and went back outside just in time to see Archer come up the hill with a full basket of eggs. They were basically clean but had a few feathers and bits of shavings on them.

Not that Archer noticed. He had that same puckered expression lingering on his handsome face. “I imagine you want me to wash these before you sell them.”

“Washing eggs can allow bacteria to get inside the shell.” She grabbed a rag sitting by the empty cartons and handed it to him. “Just wipe the outside and put them in the cartons.”

His pucker grew, and she had to fight back a laugh. He was obviously a clean freak, and he was torn between handling the eggs again and running in the other direction.

“I can do it if you don’t want to,” she offered.

He shook his head hard and firmed his brow in determination. “No. I got it.”

The thought of having a guy around who put her needs first as he’d been doing brought a trickle of joy and she forced it away. The last thing she needed was to be beholden to this man.

“FYI,” he added. “Jake just texted me with an update on the shooting victims. Two are in stable condition and should be released soon.”

“And the other one?”

He frowned. “In surgery. He lost a lot of blood and is in critical condition.”

“Then he needs our prayers more than ever,” she replied softly, vowing to redouble her efforts to pray on his behalf. “Will Deputy Marsh keep you updated if anything changes?”

Archer nodded. “And as soon as I know anything I’ll make sure you know, too.” He lifted the basket. “I’ll get these done so I can help you with something else.”

She stepped away to find a quiet spot to pray, but turned back to check on him. Oddly enough, she was proud that he was able to clean and carton the eggs. A simple task for sure, but he’d done something he detested. Something for her and Birdie. A pure, selfless act. Sure, it was only boxing up eggs, but outside of the guys on the FRS today, no man had really put himself in an uncomfortable position for her, and she was touched that he continued to do so.

His generosity temporarily erased the bad day, allowing her to breeze through her tasks. Unfortunately, once the carnival was in full swing, Detective Carothers cut across the grass, ending her good mood. Archer hurried over to join him. They held a heated conversation, before they stepped up to her.

“Detective Carothers felt he needed to talk to you tonight,” Archer announced, his lips thinning in disapproval.

“My lieutenant insisted,” Carothers said. “We still need to look for accomplices and document the incident.”

“Accomplices?” She watched him for a moment. “You think because we were once part of the same group that I helped him, don’t you?”

Carothers leveled his gaze at her. “Did you?”

“I may know Delmar from Oregon Free, but I am not friends with him and would never help him or anyone else shoot innocent people, much less willingly wear a bomb vest.”

“Then why don’t we find someplace quiet and away from the crowd so you can tell me why you were at the mall today?”

“Good idea,” she huffed. “I’d like to get this cleared up once and for all. Follow me.” Emily led the way to a long picnic table down by their guest cottage. It sat in the middle of a gazebo covered with fragrant honeysuckle and was lit with sparkling white Christmas tree lights. She took a seat on the nearest bench.

Carothers sat across from her. Archer leaned a broad shoulder on an upright and crossed his ankles. On the surface, he looked relaxed and carefree, but she could see frustration lingering in his eyes. He was just as unhappy about Carothers’s untimely visit as she was.

Carothers flipped open his notebook. “Now, why were you at the mall?”

“As I put in my statement, a simple shopping trip,” she replied. “We needed soap for our guest bathrooms. We’ve recently made a name for ourselves as an all-natural inn and the mall is the only place close by that sells the soap we use.”

“So you didn’t know Delmar Withrow was going to be there?”

“No. Like I said, we’re not friends or anything, so how would I know that?”

“In fact, from your statement, it sounds like he hates you.”

She sighed. “I knew he blamed me for his sister’s death. That word spread around town fast, but the Oregon Free group kicked him out for his violent behavior, so I haven’t seen him since then. And before you ask, I didn’t know that the incidents that happened here weren’t accidents.”

“Why don’t you tell us more about them,” Archer said, earning a raised eyebrow from Carothers.

She swiveled to look up at him. “First, we had this large cast iron pot rack above the island in the kitchen. I was making sandwiches on the island one day when my phone rang. It was on the table so I stepped away to answer it. Just as I did, the rack fell. If I hadn’t moved, it would have hit me.” A shudder racked her body, but she ignored it. “In case you haven’t noticed, this place is in desperate need of repairs so we thought it was just one of the many items that needed to be fixed. Now Delmar claims he was behind it.”

“Not sure how he could know that it would hit you,” Carothers stated.

“True. It could have fallen at any time, but I’m the only one who cooks here so if it did hit anyone, it would be me.”

“And it would look like an accident if Delmar rigged it the right way,” Archer added.

“I’d like to see it.”

“I already checked it out,” Archer informed the detective. “The handyman repaired the holes and put in new bolts. There’s nothing to see there.”

“And the other incident?” Carothers asked.

She swung her attention back to him. “A few weeks later, I was in the garden just over the hill. I bent down to harvest a head of lettuce when an arrow flew over me, then lodged in a tree. If I hadn’t bent over...” She let her words fall off because she couldn’t say aloud that she now believed the incident was on purpose.

“And you said you called this in and it was determined that someone was hunting out of season and took off,” Archer added.

She nodded, but didn’t look at him. “But now it also looks like Delmar’s handiwork.” She shook her head. “This is all so unbelievable. I’m a corporate accountant. Or at least I was until I came back to help Birdie with the B and B. I sat in a cubicle. Ran numbers. Hardly a job where someone might try to use a bow and arrow to kill me.”

“Do you remember the date and time of these incidents?” Carothers asked.

“No,” she replied. “But the police report will have it for the arrow, right?”

“Right,” Archer said, then looked at Carothers. “If Withrow really is behind this, then we’ll need to see if he’s bow hunted in the past and if he has an alibi for that day.”

There was that we thing again. Was he really going to stay beyond today?

Carothers puffed up his chest and eyed Archer. “I’ll be doing just that. Since hunting licenses don’t fall under our jurisdiction it might take some time to get my hands on them, but I’ll start by asking Withrow about it and look for hunting equipment when we search his home.”

“We need to remember it could also be the person or persons that Delmar hinted at helping him,” Archer offered.

Carothers swung his laser focus back to her. “Any idea who might help Withrow?”

“I honestly don’t know very much about Delmar, but from what I do know, I’d guess the most likely person is Stan Fannon. He was engaged to Delmar’s sister Cindy and he was at the bridge the day she died. I saw him at an Oregon Free meeting after that and he clearly blames me, too.”

“He help plan the bombing?” Archer asked.

She shrugged. “He claimed that he was only there for the peaceful protest and no charges were filed against him. That’s why he wasn’t kicked out of the Oregon Free group.”

“Obviously the group believed him. Do you?”

Did she? “I did, but after seeing how crazy Delmar acted, I just don’t know anymore.”

Carothers made a note on his pad, then flipped the page. “Tell me everything you know about Fannon.”

“The only other thing I know is that he’s an electrician and he lives in Troutdale.”

“So he’s not a local?” Archer asked.

She shook her head.

“Back to these incidents at your B and B,” Carothers went on. “Can you think of anything else that happened that can now be attributed to Withrow? Especially something violent with Oregon Free.”

She didn’t have to think about her answer for very long. “Oregon Free, no, but there were some other incidents at the B and B. They weren’t life threatening but...”

Archer came to his feet. “Incidents like what?”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Anywhere.” He smiled, revealing perfectly straight white teeth, and his already high cheekbones lifted. He was boyishly handsome and her heart flip-flopped, plus she felt a twinge of a smile starting.

Seriously? She’d just gone through a huge trauma and she was tempted to flirt with the guy. Unbelievable.

She directed her answer at Carothers. “The first thing that happened was our website reservation system failed. We didn’t realize it at first. We just thought business was slow for a few weeks and then a customer finally called and told us the reservation form didn’t work.”

“Could just have been a malfunction,” Carothers pointed out.

“That’s what we thought, too. But the guy we hired to fix it said it had been hacked. I can’t provide the specifics as everything he said was tech speak and I really didn’t understand it, but I can give you his contact information and you can get the details from him.”

“Did you report the crime?”

She shook her head. “Our repair guy said he doubted it would do any good as the police probably wouldn’t be able to track him. We put better security in place to prevent it from occurring again and were just grateful we could take reservations once more.”

“What else happened?” Archer asked.

“Our inventory system was hacked, too. The numbers were changed, making it look like we had supplies, but then when we’d go to retrieve them for use, the items were out of stock and we had to buy more expensive goods locally. For the longest time I thought it was because of Birdie’s failing memory until it all came to light.”

Archer shifted on his feet, widening his stance. “And is that all that happened?”

“No. Someone set up a roadblock on a busy weekend and turned guests away.”

“Did you report this incident?” Carothers asked.

She nodded. “We called your office but the deputy was unable to determine who was behind it. In addition to that, we’ve had deliveries that were mysteriously canceled or didn’t show up, and we had an infestation of bedbugs. All of this occurred in the last two months and has taken a serious toll on our business.”

“Anything special about the last two months that would make these things start happening?” Carothers probed.

“No clue. And honestly, as I tell you this, I don’t believe Delmar would be behind them. He clearly wanted to kill me and none of those things are life threatening.”

Following a long pause, Carothers shrugged his shoulders and said, “Maybe he wants to strike back at your aunt, too, by putting her out of business.”

“Maybe.” She pondered what would have happened to Birdie if Delmar had succeeded in his attempts to kill her and ran the business into the ground. Birdie could sell the property and make out okay, but who would care for her? She would have to be institutionalized.

The thought shattered Emily’s heart.

“I really need to get back to the fund-raiser,” she said, more determined than ever to make it a success.

“Fine.” Carothers handed her a business card. “In case you think of anything that might be helpful.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Archer offered in a way that Carothers couldn’t refuse.

Emily put the conversation behind her and went to greet her guests and to assist Birdie’s church friends who’d volunteered to work the carnival. At 9:00 p.m., when the crowd had finally thinned, she sat down by the food booth to count the proceeds. She held the metal cash box in her lap and felt her eyes drooping as she waited for Ralph Inman to join her. As the former business manager for the B and B, he’d volunteered to help reconcile the income and receipts for the night.

She saw him working his way through lingering visitors toward her, his hands shoved in baggy pants pockets, his worn leather satchel slung over his shoulder as usual. He wore his typical plaid shirt with a chest pocket. He was short and balding and reminded her of Mr. Magoo. Birdie was a jovial lady by nature and loved to watch old cartoons so Emily could name all of the cartoon characters from years past.

As he approached, he looked at her with the same sharp eye he’d used to keep the B and B’s finances in line for the past twenty years, until they’d fallen on hard times. He’d been at Birdie’s for so long he was almost part of the family. Thankfully, he’d decided to retire and enjoy life when the business started tanking and they could no longer pay him.

He sat beside her and yawned. “I forgot how much work it takes to run one of these events.”

She set the cash box on the table. “Then let’s get going on this so we can get you home.”

He nodded, flipped pages in his book and they started reviewing the receipts she’d stored in the cash box. She explained each receipt, and he noted them in the expense column in his ledger. He’d never changed over to computerized bookkeeping, which meant Emily would have to add these details in the computerized system she’d created when she started managing the business.

He asked so many detailed questions that the receipts took over thirty minutes to log and then move on to counting the cash.

Ralph rearranged bills so they all faced the same way. “Want me to drop this in the night deposit on my way home?”

“Sure, that’d be great,” she replied, but her attention was diverted as she noticed the crowd moving rapidly toward the house. They seemed agitated and upset, which was odd.

“What’s going on?” she muttered.

“Fire in the back of the house,” a man in their midst called out.

Emily jerked her head around to see flames shooting from a third-floor window. Her bedroom window! Dark smoke billowed from the nearby bedroom.

Birdie.

Emily was vaguely aware of a scream. A wild, air-rending noise.

Had it come from her?

Maybe. She didn’t care.

She shoved the cash box at Ralph and ran.

All she cared about was getting inside the house to save Birdie.


FIVE (#ulink_350c39e7-69a6-5f50-a241-459ef7232cc1)

Archer caught sight of flames greedily licking at an upstairs window, seeking air and fuel to burn brighter.

Emily. Where’s Emily?

He shot a look at the food table where he’d seen her just minutes before counting money with Ralph Inman. Ralph sat alone, staring up at the fire.

Archer ran his gaze over the crowd. Caught sight of Emily racing toward the front door of the house.

“Call 911,” Archer commanded the woman next to him and took off running.

“Emily, no!” he shouted, but she either didn’t hear him or chose not to listen.

He grabbed one of the Bridal Veil T-shirts they were selling, powered toward the house and offered a prayer for help and guidance.

Inside, he paused to listen and assess. The foyer was filled with a light cloud of smoke, but no fire. He heard Emily’s footfalls on the stairs to the third floor. She was heading up to the fire. Maybe to Birdie. He started after her, tying the T-shirt over his nose and mouth.

As he climbed, smoke swirled around his body like a living, breathing thing. The color darkened as he climbed higher, and when he hit the top floor, he heard a woman coughing. It didn’t take him long to see that the blaze had flared up in Emily’s room.

“Emily, call out!” he yelled.

“In here,” her voice came from her bedroom.

He ran down the hall and found her trying to lift Birdie from the floor, but she wasn’t making any progress. Birdie’s breathing was labored and low, but she was conscious. Flames spread across the far wall and smoke billowed from an antique sofa, which Archer suspected was the fire’s point of origin.

“Step back,” he commanded.

“No, Birdie’s my responsibility. I’ll do it.” Emily started coughing and doubled over as the spasm racked her body.

There was no way she could move Birdie, and yet, she was a fierce protector and wouldn’t leave her aunt. He admired this trait, but she would only succeed in killing them both.

His lungs were starting to burn from the smoke, but he ignored the pain and intense desire to get fresh air. He hurried to Emily, moved her out of the way and lifted her aunt into a firefighter’s hold over his shoulder.

“Go, now!” he shouted at Emily, who was staring up at him, but not moving.

“I...”

He rounded the bed and grabbed her by the wrist, directing her into the hallway. “Pull your shirt up and cover your mouth. Try to stay as low as you can.”

As he stepped to the door, water sprinkled from the open window. The fire department couldn’t have arrived yet so the people downstairs must have deployed a garden hose.

Please, Lord, let it be enough water to calm this fire.

As they descended the steps, the air became easier to breathe, but his lungs were still raw with pain. His throat was dry, his eyes stinging. Emily kept looking back, slowing them down, and keeping Birdie from needed oxygen. He pushed past Emily and hoped she followed. If she had the strength. If she didn’t, he’d settle Birdie outside and come back for Emily.

He hit the main level and looked back one last time before racing out the door. Emily’s eyes went wide, and she crumpled to the floor. Archer’s heart stuttered, and yet, he couldn’t help her now.

He burst onto the porch and down the steps, nearly running over a burly man in bib overalls. Archer ripped the T-shirt from his mouth and gulped deep breaths of air.

“What can I do?” the man asked, his focus on Birdie. “I know CPR if that helps.”

Archer didn’t think twice but handed Birdie over to him. “She’s breathing and shouldn’t need CPR, but help her any way you can. I’m going back in for Emily.”

He charged up the steps to the foyer. Found Emily crawling toward the door. She batted her eyes, and her breathing was labored.

Fear roiled through him as he scooped her up and barreled out the door.

Please, Father, please. Emily. Birdie. Let them both be okay.

Emily continued to battle watery eyes and struggled to breathe. She coughed, then gasped and coughed some more. Despite her pain, he remained optimistic. She hadn’t lost consciousness and could breathe on her own. That was a good sign.

“Birdie,” Emily finally eked out. “Take me to her. Please...I need to see her.”

He thought to argue in case Birdie had taken a turn for the worse, but Emily would fight him off and worsen her own health in the process. He scanned the crowd and saw the man in the overalls kneeling in the grass by the bouncy house where Birdie lay.

“I see her,” Archer said and started his way through the crowd.

Emily’s coughing fits eased and her breathing improved, but her body remained limp and she made no move to get free.

As the crowd parted, Archer saw another man kneeling next to Birdie, and he seemed to be assessing Birdie’s condition. She wore an oxygen mask and Archer followed the line to a mobility cart where an older man sat, his breathing labored.

The man in overalls stood. “Doc’s tending to her. Said the oxygen is working and she’ll be okay.”

Emily squirmed out of his hold and knelt by Birdie, whose eyes were closed.

“Birdie, it’s me, Emily. Open your eyes.”

Nothing. A guttural sound of pain came from Emily’s throat.

How many times in one day did this poor woman have to deal with potential death and loss?

Anger burned in Archer’s soul.

It’s not fair, Lord. She’s suffering. Help her, please.

Birdie’s eyes fluttered open, and Emily’s shoulders sagged. Archer wanted to follow suit, but he had to stay strong for her and for the crowd. Law enforcement officers were trained to take control and people expected that from them. If he lost his command presence here, people would panic and then he’d have chaos on top of everything else.





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