CHAPTER ONE
ONE WEEK EARLIER
William was here.
Brannon fought the terror as he sped down the road.
He’s dead. I think.
Moira’s words circled through his head over and over in an endless loop. His calm, cool, collected older sister had spoken in a shaking voice and he could hear the panic that had underscored her voice.
Moira was never afraid. But she’d been petrified.
William was here. He’s dead. I think. Neve killed him.
His hands shook and he tightened them on the wheel.
If William Clyde wasn’t dead, then Brannon would rectify that.
He’d touched his sisters. The son of a bitch would die for it.
Breathing through his teeth, fighting the urge to pound something, he flicked a look at the clock.
When he looked up, he swore long and loud, slamming on the brakes with a force that all but shoved the pedal through the floor of the car.
Joe Fletcher stumbled toward him.
“She’s dead. I think … I think she’s dead. I didn’t…”
He sucked in a breath and then went to his knees on the shoulder as Brannon rolled down the window to tell him …
“Hannah,” Joe croaked out.
Nothing else could have gotten through to him. Nothing but that single name. The words penetrated the fog of rage and fear and his aggravation stuttered, veered immediately into a whole new kind of terror.
Hannah. The woman he wanted more than he’d ever wanted anything—the woman he’d walked away from only hours before. His Hannah?
Throwing open the door, Brannon went to haul Joe back to his feet.
“She’s dead. Hannah’s dead…” The man wretched, then started to puke.
“Where’s Hannah?” Brannon demanded in between spasms. Joe swayed and then lifted his head.
“Fletcher, talk!”
Something in his voice cut through and Joe raised a hand, waved toward the trees on the right side of the road. “She wrecked. I ran off the road and was walking … she … she almost hit me and crashed.”
Brannon dropped Fletcher and turned, staring at the broken and busted greenery on the side of the road.
The red car was buried in it, all but lost in the kudzu and grass.
That wasn’t Hannah’s car.
He started to breathe once more as he jogged over. Shayla. That was Shayla Hardee’s car.
Okay, it was a bad wreck and as much as Shayla annoyed him, he hated to think of her being hurt. But it wasn’t Hannah—
Long, golden brown hair shone through the window.
Brannon’s world screeched to a grinding halt as his gaze landed on the blooming red of blood that dripped down her still, lifeless face.
* * *
Chief Gideon Marshall stood in the waiting room of the small county ER.
Small though it might be, the emergency department was state of the art. Gideon suspected there was a plaque somewhere with the McKay family name imprinted on it.
One of the women he loved was tucked away in one of the exam beds, with Ian Campbell at her side.
The other—the one who owned his heart—Moira, sat on a chair a few feet away, her hands clenched into tight little fists while she stared stonily ahead.
He wanted to go to her.
But he couldn’t.
Not yet.
“Dead,” he said quietly after the deputy on the other end of the phone finished up a quick oral report. “You’re telling me you found Shayla Hardee dead.”
“Yeah.” There was a pause and then Deputy Clayton Hodges said, “Hannah Parker was in Shayla’s car when she wrecked. We … look, chief, we don’t know if she was trying to get help or what, but she was driving Shayla’s car and our witness said she was driving like a bat out of hell, too. I know Hannah runs out on the path by the river a lot. We’re…” He hesitated and then continued. “We’re thinking she saw something, maybe whoever hurt Shayla, and she was running away or found Shayla’s keys or something. We don’t have an official time of death, but Shayla’s been dead a couple of hours. Dispatch had a call at approximately ten thirty-eight. The connection was touch and go, but the call-taker says she thought it was Hannah. Hannah said something about somebody being dead.”
“She saw something.”
“The sheriff is sending in someone to question her—”
“No point,” Gideon said gruffly. “She’s…” He closed his eyes and forced himself to steady out before he said it. “Hannah’s in a coma. Doctors aren’t sure if she’ll wake up at this point or not.”
“She’ll wake up.”
Hearing the low, determined voice, Gideon opened his eyes and stared at Griffin Parker, Hannah’s cousin—her only family.
The other man came out of his seat, staring at Gideon with bulldog stubbornness in his eyes.
“Hey, Hodges. I’ll get back to you. I’m going to keep a man on her door. We’ll talk once you get up here.”
He ended the call without waiting for a response.
Eyes on Gideon, he tucked his phone away. “Officer—”
“She’ll wake up!” Griffin shouted.
Okay, so much for hoping to remind him to stay focused. Although Gideon couldn’t blame him.
“She’ll wake up,” Griffin said again.
Gideon supposed it was just as much to convince himself as anything else. Moving closer, he caught the other man’s shoulder and squeezed. “Okay, then. Okay.”
“Chief.”
The two men turned as one to look at the doctor, standing in the doorway of the waiting room, one hand on the wall. His face was grim, his eyes dark.
Griffin said nothing, but the way he tensed had Gideon squeeze his shoulder once more.
“She’s still alive,” Dr. Howard Briscoe reached up and tugged off his glasses, giving them a cursory wipe with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. He barely flicked a glance at Griffin, his gaze intent on Gideon.
Too intent.
“What is it?”
The physician inclined his head and stepped back, holding up a badge to the electronic scanner near the door. It slid open with a hiss. “I think it’s best if we speak … privately.”
* * *
“Tests show swelling on the brain. Likely the cause of the coma. As she recovers…” Briscoe grimaced as he stood at the glass window, staring in at his patient. “It’s entirely likely she’ll wake up as the swelling goes down.”
“But…”
“It’s not much of a but.” Briscoe nudged his glasses up his nose, an absent-minded gesture of a man who did the same thing a dozen times a day or more. Briscoe was a tall man, rail thin, his graying hair buzzed short. He was going bald, but he’d never been the vain type and didn’t attempt to camouflage his slowly receding hairline. His eyes were hazel and studious, and still as grim as they’d been earlier.
“What is it?” Gideon asked when Briscoe tucked his hands into his pockets and continued to contemplate the silent form of Hannah Parker.
“We did some tests. Standard tests for all female patients.”
He turned then, staring at Gideon, his gaze briefly flicking to Hannah’s cousin, Griffin was her only living relative and he’d authorized Gideon’s presence. Having a cop in the family made things easier sometimes.
The younger man looked on, eyes narrowed. He hadn’t figured it out yet.
But Gideon had.
“Aw, hell,” Gideon whispered. Turning away, he rubbed his hands up and down his face.
“Now wait a minute,” Griffin broke in, his voice rough. “Are you telling me…” His gaze tripped over to his cousin, slid to her belly. There was no so sign of the baby growing there.
Gideon wasn’t surprised. He had suspected something was going on with … well, he was assuming. He was pretty damn sure he was right, too, not that he had evidence—so to speak.
Knowing Hannah was involved explained even more. But this was pretty damn recent—had to be.
“She’s pregnant,” Gideon said quietly.
Briscoe neither confirmed nor denied. After a moment, he said, “I’ve heard what happened—or what the police think happened. I know Shayla Hardee was murdered, that Hannah was in the area—or supposedly in the area. Is there…”
When he didn’t continue, Gideon turned to him. “Is there what?”
Briscoe took a deep breath, as if bracing himself to speak. “Speculation is that she was there, saw what happened to Shayla—in the wrong place at the wrong time. But what if Shayla was the one at the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“What are you getting at, Doctor?”
Briscoe scratched his chin. “Hannah is a runner. I see her down at the path along the river all the time when I’m out on my own run. Anybody who knows her is likely to know she’d be out there running. What if she was the target and Shayla was in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“Doing my job now for me, Doc?” Gideon scowled at the idea of what Briscoe was laying out. He didn’t like the idea. At all.
“I’m just explaining that there are … interesting circumstances,” Briscoe said, shrugging. “She’s pregnant. Involved in something unusual and she’s the only one who could shed light on what’s going on.”
Shit.
* * *
He looked like a maniac, busting through the doors—and the truth of it was, if everybody in town wasn’t aware of who the wild-eyed man was, it was entirely possible that the sober-eyed uniformed officer would have been moving toward him with a weapon in hand.
As it was, Officer Griffin Parker caught sight of Brannon McKay and curled his lip.
He’d just wrapped his brain around the fact that his cousin was in a coma and then he got slammed with the new fact that she was pregnant and now he had to accept the possibility—slim as it was—that maybe she had been the victim all along.
The last thing he needed to deal with was this prick.
It was respect for his boss and his badge that kept him from turning away entirely.
But Chief Marshall had told him to keep an eye out for McKay and to be honest, Griffin had his doubts about whether or not the bastard would show up.
Looks like the chief called it again. Griffin tried not to let his temper show as he cut McKay off. He didn’t want to be out here playing nice with some rich, entitled prick. He wanted to be back there with his cousin. But he was still on the clock and that meant the job came first.
Marshall had given him thirty minutes of personal time to sit with Hannah and get his head on straight, and by the time he came back out here, he had to admit—yes, maybe he could see why the doctor and Marshall were concerned. No, it wasn’t likely that Hannah had been the target, but yeah, everybody knew she was down at the park all the time running. Nobody ever saw Shayla down there. She was even known to say that she preferred to do her sweating indoors, thank you very much, where there are showers to be had when it’s all done. People could tell the day and time by when her damn red car was parked outside the gym—Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from eight to ten and Thursdays from one to three.
Fuck, Griffin hated himself, but he hoped she’d been the target and not his cousin.
Some weird shit was going on and somebody might be trying to hurt Hannah.
As Brannon McKay came striding toward him, he crossed his arms over his chest and pasted a bland smile on his face.
Nobody was getting back there to talk to Hannah without the chief’s okay.
Including Mr. Mega-bucks here.
As far as Griffin was concerned, Mr. Mega-bucks didn’t ever need to talk to his cousin again. Unless it was over a child support hearing. Then he could bleed zeroes for being an asshole.
“Hey there, McKay.” Griffin gave him an easy smile. Nobody had to know that he felt like punching the bastard. Griffin and Hannah were close. Maybe they didn’t sit around and braid each other’s hair, but he knew his cousin and the woman was in love with this prick. Brannon McKay probably didn’t love anything other than his cars and himself. Maybe his sisters. But Hannah hurt over him.
“Out of my way, Parker,” McKay said, the words coming out in a low, nearly soundless whisper.
“Can’t do that.” He gave a mock grimace. “Hannah’s condition is pretty serious.” He paused and then added, “I assume you are here to see her. I think your sisters are down the other hallway—unless they’ve already come and gone?”
“Get out of my way,” McKay said again.
Griffin just smiled. “Come on, now. Shouldn’t you be sitting with Neve, patting her hand? She could have been killed tonight. Her and Moira both.”
McKay just stared at him coldly.
“That’s what I thought.”
Unblinking green eyes simply held his and Griffin suspected this could continue indefinitely. He crossed his arms over his chest and settled himself more comfortably.
McKay did the same thing.
His suspicion on how long this might last wasn’t tested, though.
In the next moment, the doors opened with a light swish behind him, and he heard a familiar voice. “Brannon. Had a feeling you’d show up.”
* * *
The affable smile on Griffin Parker’s face didn’t fool Brannon at all. He had to admit, Gideon’s timing was spot-on. If he hadn’t shown up, Brannon might have done something stupid. Something like gotten into a fist fight with a cop. He thought he could probably take Parker. He was bigger, and he suspected he was stronger. He had a healthy respect for the skinny, wiry type—he’d seen that sort lay a person out flat quicker than it seemed possible, but he’d tangled with his share of skinny wiry types, plus, he’d seen Griffin taking a go at both Gideon and Ian down at the gym.
It might have landed his ass in jail for a while, but Brannon would have had a chance to see Hannah with his own eyes and know she was alive, breathing.
Gideon had saved him from that particular complication and for a while yet, he could say he still hadn’t seen the inside of a jail. As he cut around Griffin Parker, he gave Gideon a hard look. “I’m seeing her,” he said flatly.
Gideon inclined his head. “Maybe in a bit. We need to talk first.”
That wasn’t a no. Running his tongue across his teeth, Brannon debated and then he gave a quick nod. “As long as you keep it short. I need to see her.”
“You can’t be alone,” Gideon advised.
“Fine.” As long as he got to see her. His gut had been in a tangle ever since he’d heard the news.
He’d gone to Neve first.
It had taken him too long to get to his sister, because he’d stood by helpless, as paramedics cut Hannah out of the mangled car, then loaded her into the ambulance. The doors had swung shut before he even had a chance to try and leap in.
So he’d had to follow, emergency flashers on. Heaven help the person who tried to pull him over or slow him down.
They hadn’t let him into the emergency room and nobody had told him shit. He’d gone to see Neve and Moira, his older sister’s words still playing in his head. William was here.…
But for the first time in his life, he’d been torn between the love for his sisters and his need for Hannah. He’d clung to his siblings, breathed out silent prayers of relief over their safety.
And all the while, he’d worried over Hannah.
The calls hadn’t stopped coming in on his cellphone, either. Apparently Joe hadn’t seen the point in keeping it quiet. Half the town knew that Hannah had been driving like a bat out of hell, in Shayla’s car and thanks to too many people who didn’t have much of anything else to do but listen to a police radio, people also knew Shayla was dead.
Heard Shayla died.
Heard you found Hannah.
You got any idea what’s going on?
He just might have smashed the phone into nothingness, but he didn’t have the patience to get a new phone.
What in the hell was going on?
Not seeing Hannah was driving him nuts.
“Parker.”
Gideon’s brusque voice caught Brannon’s attention and he looked up just as Gideon gave his officer orders to take over for Ruiz.
Ruiz—an image flashed through Brannon’s mind. Petite woman. Hispanic. Short cap of black hair, big dark eyes that should have looked soft, but they were wicked sharp and could go hard as nails in a blink.
Maria Ruiz—cop. She was guarding Hannah. The implication of that hit home, hard.
“You’ve got cops on Hannah’s door,” he said softly.
Gideon lifted a brow. “Yes, we do.”
“Why?”
“That’s my concern, Bran.”
Brannon dragged his hands down his face. “Let me see her,” he said abruptly.
“We discussed this.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he snarled, whirling on Gideon. “Just walk me by her damn door. I need to see that she’s…” His breath caught in his chest. “I have to know she’s okay. That’s she … she’s…”
He couldn’t even finish it.
He couldn’t say the fear that had taken root inside him when he’d seen her in the car, all that golden hair spilled around her, her face so still. And the blood …
All of his fears, all of them, had happened in one day.
Neve.
Moira.
Hannah.
Raggedly, he said it again, “You have to let me see her.”
Copyright © 2016 by Shiloh Walker
