The Christmas Target Page 13

  Eventually, she’d asked to go home, and then she’d asked why Henry hadn’t visited, and the whole cycle of grief began again. She’d cried herself to sleep, and Stella had wanted to cry with her. She hadn’t because it would only have upset Beatrice more.

  She still wanted to cry.

  The fire had been too much.

  After everything else—Granddad’s death, her return to Boonsboro, the nightmares, the attacks—it seemed like the last straw. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she wanted to throw in the towel and call it quits.

  “Everything okay in here?” Boone peeked in the open door, a cup of coffee in one hand and a pretzel in the other.

  “Have you heard from Chance?”

  “Not yet, but Dallas finally arrived. I’m going to be heading home in a minute. Just thought I’d ask if you needed anything before I go.”

  “I need to speak with Chance.”

  “Sorry, I can’t help you with that.” He smiled and took a bite of the pretzel.

  “Boone, do you ever stop eating?” Trinity asked groggily. She’d been sleeping in the chair, head on her knees, doing exactly what her brother had asked. As far as Stella knew, she hadn’t left Beatrice’s side all day.

  “Not if I can help it. Got a couple of these babies from the cafeteria a few hours ago. They’re just as good cold as they were warm. You want one?”

  “No. Simon brought me a sandwich a couple of hours ago.” Trinity yawned and stood. “You said Dallas is here?”

  “Should be on the elevator up.”

  “I guess he found out what he wanted to know.”

  “What did he want to know?” Stella asked, and Trinity blushed.

  “Nothing.”

  “If it’s nothing, why do you look like you just spilled top secret information?”

  “I—”

  “Tell you what,” Boone said. “I’m going to leave you two to figure this all out. I’m heading to the elevator. As soon as Dallas gets off, I’m getting on. Got a wife and some kids who are missing me.” He took another bite of his pretzel and walked away.

  “Well?” Stella demanded, keeping her voice low enough not to wake Beatrice.

  “Well what?”

  “What was Dallas doing that I’m not supposed to know about?”

  “He went to talk to Noah.”

  “Wonderful.” She snagged her phone from the table near Beatrice’s bed. No messages. No angry texts. Whatever had happened, Noah seemed willing to let it drop. “We’ve been friends for years. I told your brother—”

  “What did you tell me?” Chance asked, walking into the room. He looked tired—his eyes shadowed, his hair mussed—and all her irritation slipped away. She wanted to tell him to sit down, ask him if he’d eaten, get him a hot cup of coffee and a warm blanket.

  More than anything, she wanted to pull him into her arms and kiss him. She forced the thought from her mind.

  “It’s not important.”

  “It was important enough five seconds ago,” Trinity muttered.

  “Tell you what, sis,” Chance said, his gaze on Stella. “How about you take a break? I’m sure Stella wouldn’t mind you spending the night at her grandmother’s place. The sheriff is running patrols by there every few minutes, you’ll be safe enough.”

  “A real bed?” Trinity perked up, her blue eyes bright with happiness. “Are you serious?”

  “You’ve worked three days without a break. Now that Dallas is here, you need to get some rest. Come back in the morning, and we’ll set you up with Beatrice again.”

  “Do you mind?” Trinity asked, and Stella shook her head.

  “Here’s the key.” She dug it out of her purse and handed it to Trinity. “Use any of the bedrooms. If you want clean linens—”

  “All I want is a bed. And maybe a pillow. I’ll see you in the morning.” She took off without a backward glance.

  “Maybe she’s finally cured,” Chance said.

  “Of what?”

  “Her desire to go on missions.”

  She snorted. “Not hardly. She’ll be back in the morning, armed for bear.”

  He smiled at that, crossing the distance between them in two long strides.

  He was right there, in her space, and she didn’t move back, just reached up and smoothed his hair, let her hand settle on his shoulder. His coat was cold and damp as if winter had soaked into it, and everything about him was so right and so wonderfully familiar. She wanted so badly to believe that what they had could last. That she could give herself over to love and not be sorry for it.

  “You look tired,” she said. “And cold.”

  “I’m both. The truck Cooper spotted? It was the one that chased us down.”

  Her pulse jumped, hope springing to life. If they’d found the truck, they might have found the perp. “Were you able to find the driver?”

  “He was long gone, and the truck was reported stolen yesterday, so we can’t trace him through that. We found something, though.”

  “What?”

  “An old Remington 22. A long rifle. Probably from the early twentieth century. Same caliber as the bullet that was found in the SUV.”

  “That’s an odd weapon to choose.”

  “It certainly isn’t a common one. What’s interesting is that the knife was old, too. An old bowie knife. Probably close to a hundred years old. At least, that’s what the expert Cooper hired said.”

  “An antiques buff?” she asked, surprised by the information and intrigued by it.

  “Sounds like it. Or like someone who has access to antiques. Ring any bells?”

  She wished it did, but she shook her head. “None. Is Cooper checking the serial number on the rifle? Maybe—”

  “It’s too old.”

  “So we’ve still got nothing to go on.”

  “We’ve got the rifle, we have the knife and we have a lighter the guy dropped. Cooper pulled a print off it. He’s running it through the database, trying to get a match.”

  “Was he able to get any prints from my place?”

  “A couple of partials. He said he was going to come by tomorrow to get Beatrice’s prints and yours. Anyone else who has spent a lot of time in your house?”

  “Just Karen.”

  “He’ll have to get hers, too.”

  “I’ll text her and let her know.” She grabbed her phone and typed a quick message. “She’s supposed to stop by the house tomorrow evening. Maybe he can just come there.”

  “You think Beatrice is going to be ready to go home.”

  “I hope she is.” She walked to the bed, touched her grandmother’s forehead. She felt warm, her cheeks pink.

  Too many blankets? Or a fever?

  Concerned, she checked Beatrice’s pulse. A little rapid, but steady.

  “What’s wrong?” Chance asked, and she shook her head.

  “I’m probably worrying about nothing.”

  “You never worry about nothing. What’s wrong?”

  “She feels warm. Or maybe I’m just cold.”

  Chance’s hand settled on Beatrice’s brow, his skin tan against her pallor. “She does feel warm. Why don’t you call a nurse? Have her vitals taken. If nothing else it will give you peace of mind.”

  “Peace of mind,” Beatrice murmured, her eyes opening.

  Did they look glassy?

  Or was that Stella’s imagination, too?

  “If you take a piece of my mind, I won’t have any left. I’ve already lost too many of my marbles,” she continued, and Chance chuckled, his hand dropping away.

  “You’re as funny as your granddaughter, Ms. Beatrice.”

  “Call me Nana. All my family does.”

  “We’re not family, but I�
�ll be happy to call you Nana.”

  “We’re not family yet,” Beatrice said with a sly smile.

  “Nana—” Stella began, but Beatrice coughed, the wheezy rasp alarming. “Are you okay?”

  She grabbed the pitcher of water, poured some into cup and handed it to Beatrice.

  “I’m fine. Just still a little under the weather. Maybe it was the chocolates I ate. They tasted funny.”

  “You said they were delicious earlier,” she reminded her. “Hopefully, your pneumonia isn’t getting worse.”

  “Do I have pneumonia?”

  “Yes, but you’re on the mend.”

  “That’s good, dear. Now let’s talk about the wedding.”

  “What wedding?”

  “Yours. I have my mother’s wedding dress packed in a box in the attic. It will look lovely on you.”

  “Nana,” she said gently, “I’m not even engaged.”

  “Yet,” Beatrice said, her gaze shifting to Chance. “Christmas is the perfect time for an engagement. Don’t you think?”

  “I think that Christmas is the perfect time for just about anything,” he responded.

  Not quite, Stella wanted to say. With all the bad memories and nightmares so tied to the holiday, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to enjoy it. For Beatrice’s sake, she’d have to try.

  “I knew I liked you, young man,” Beatrice murmured, her eyes drifting closed again, her face going slack. Awake and then asleep. That didn’t seem right to Stella. Sure, it was late. Sure, Beatrice had had a rough few days, but she’d been her usual spunky and energetic self the past two days.

  This seemed like a setback.

  She pushed the call button for the nurse, felt Beatrice’s forehead again.

  “Hovering isn’t going to help her get better,” Chance said, dropping into a chair. His long legs stretched out in front of him, his shoes speckled with mud. She’d forgotten how tired he’d looked, forgotten how cold he’d been.

  She took a blanket from the end of Beatrice’s bed and tucked it around his shoulders.

  “You were outside for too long,” she chided, and he smiled.

  “I think we both know that I’ve spent way more time outside in the cold and survived it.”

  “I think we both know that I need someone to fuss over. It might as well be you.” She moved away, though, because she shouldn’t be so close. Shouldn’t be tempting herself so much.

  “Come here.” He snagged her hand, tugging her so close that their knees were touching, and something warm and wonderful welled up in the region of her heart. Something filled with sweetness and beauty. Something she’d never really looked for and hadn’t ever expected to find.

  She should pull away.

  She knew she should.

  She should guard her heart, because she was going to get hurt again. She’d never ever wanted this kind of love. The kind that consumed everything, filled every empty spot in her heart.

  Even during her marriage, she hadn’t looked for it. She’d loved Daniel. She had, but she’d known that she couldn’t count on him to be there for her. Not for birthdays or holidays. Not for funerals or weddings. She’d planned every life event knowing that she’d probably be alone because Daniel’s work demanded all of his time and energy and commitment, and there hadn’t been anything left for her.

  And that had been fine.

  It was the way she’d wanted it.

  It wouldn’t be that way with Chance.

  She knew it.

  And it terrified her.

  “I was worried about you earlier,” he said. “I’ve never seen you so scared.”

  “You’ve never seen me scared,” she corrected, her voice tight from the memory of those flames lapping at the door, the smoke pouring into the basement.

  “Was it the fire?” He ignored the comment, his hands settling on her waist.

  “Did I ever tell you that I can remember it all? The accident I was in?”

  “No.”

  “It was Christmas day, and we’d just been to my grandparents’ house. My sisters and I were all sitting in the backseat of the old car my dad drove, and I was holding the gift my grandparents had given me. A copy of Little Women. Only it wasn’t an ordinary copy. It was old with beautiful watercolor illustrations inside.”

  “You don’t have to talk about this, Stella,” he said, but she did have to because Chance deserved more than the little pieces of herself that she was always giving, he deserved more than the tiny glimpses of her heart that she allowed others to see.

  “I think I do. I think you deserve to know. I’m sure you do know.” She laughed, the sound harsh and painful. “Some of it anyway. You do background checks on all your employees. I know you read the newspaper reports about the accident.”

  He didn’t deny it, just watched her through those deep blue eyes, his hands still on her waist.

  “My sister and I were bickering because she wanted to touch the illustrations in the book. Eva was six years younger than me, and she was always tearing up papers and scribbling on things.” She could remember that, just like she could remember Eva’s dark brown eyes, her pretty smile, her soft red hair.

  She blinked, surprised at the sting of tears in her eyes.

  “I don’t think my parents even saw the truck that hit us. The guy had been drinking all night, and he was probably going seventy in a thirty-miles-an-hour zone. He lost control and hit us head-on. One minute, my life was normal and happy. The next, flames were everywhere. The window beside me had shattered, and I managed to unbuckle my seat belt. I could see my parents, and...I knew they were dead. My baby sister was gone, too, but Eva was alive. At least, I thought she was, and I couldn’t leave without her.”

  Her voice broke, and Chance was up, wrapping his arms around her, pressing her head to his chest.

  “I couldn’t save her,” she said, the words muffled. “I was trying so hard to get her seat belt unbuckled, and my shoulder was burning, my hair was on fire, and I didn’t want to leave her, but some man...some guy dressed like Santa...yanked me through the window, and I didn’t have a choice.”

  Her arms slid around him, her hands clutching his shirt. She wanted to burrow deeper into his arms, disappear into the comfort of his embrace, let all the horrible memories be chased away and replaced by better ones.

  “If there is one thing I know, Stella, it’s this,” he responded. “If it had been possible to save your family, you would have done it. I also know that, while you’ve spent years focusing on the tragedy, your grandparents focused on the gift they received. They could have lost everyone. Instead, you were pulled from the wreck and returned to them. That’s amazing. I’d say they spent every day after that Christmas thanking God for it.”

  She’d never thought of that.

  But maybe she should have.

  All these years that she’d wondered why her grandparents still loved Christmas, all the times when she’d wondered how they could stand to put up a tree, sing the old carols, go to church and thank God for His gifts, and she’d never thought that she was one of the gifts they had been most thankful for.

  She glanced at the tree that Trinity had brought, thought about how happy Beatrice had been to see it. Not just a symbol of Christmas but of grace and mercy.

  “I’m going to have to dig the stockings out of the attic,” she said, and Chance smiled.

  “I’ll help you,” he said, his lips brushing her forehead, her cheek, her mouth.

  He lingered there, and she was lost, all the memories and nightmares gone, the longing for home and family and love taking their place.

  * * *

  Someone knocked on the door, and Chance broke away, his pulse racing wildly. He wanted to hold on to Stella, to keep her close, but she moved away, her hand shaking as s
he pressed her palm to Beatrice’s forehead as a nurse walked in.

  She was worried.

  Chance couldn’t blame her. Beatrice was pallid, her cheeks gaunt, her body frail. She’d faded since he’d seen her at the funeral, and even then she’d been fragile.

  Stella explained the situation to the nurse, her voice shaking. Maybe from nerves or maybe from the aftermath of the kiss. He didn’t ask. Wouldn’t ask. There were more important things to think about. More important things to worry about.

  For now.

  Later, they’d talk about it again.

  “She does feel a little warm,” the nurse confirmed, taking out a thermometer and running it across Beatrice’s forehead. “Ninety-nine point eight. Not too bad. I’m going to make a note of this and call the attending physician.”

  She pressed a stethoscope to Beatrice’s chest, and the older woman shifted in her sleep. “Sounds clear, but I think I hear bronchial wheezing.”

  “Are you going to check her oxygen levels?” Stella asked.

  “I know how to do my job, ma’am.” The nurse offered a tight smile as she attached a sensor to Beatrice’s finger. “She seems to be sleeping deeply. Is that normal for her?”

  “Not usually.” Stella touched Beatrice’s cheek. “Nana?”

  Beatrice moaned but didn’t open her eyes.

  “Oxygen levels are at 90. So that’s good. I’m going to call the doctor, though. We’ll see what he says. He may want to order some blood work. Maybe run an X-ray. Hold tight. If anything changes, buzz me.”

  “I should call my great-uncle and let him know what’s going on,” Stella murmured as the nurse walked away.

  “I’m not sure Larry needs to be informed of anything.”

  “We don’t know what he’s involved in, but the lie detector test—”

  “Can be cheated.”

  “He loves Beatrice, Chance,” she said, her hair mussed from their kiss, her lips still pink. She was a beautiful woman. He’d always thought that. Over the years, he’d seen just how deep that beauty went. Her attention to her grandmother, her need to make sure she was okay, her desire to believe her uncle—it was all part of that beauty, and Chance wouldn’t try to change it.