Читать книгу Security Measures - Sara K. Parker - Страница 14

Gravestones lined both sides of the cobblestone path and dotted the acreage beyond. The cemetery was a patchwork of narrow footpaths, ancient trees and wrought-iron garden benches. Wind chimes hung from tree branches, their sorrowful melodies echoing through the graveyard. A couple of months ago, Triss Everett might have found the place charming, even beautiful. Today, after attending a funeral for the fourth time in three weeks, she couldn’t escape soon enough. Her black boots crunched through piles of autumn leaves, the wind whipping her long black hair as more foliage swirled from the wooded canopy. Unfamiliar heat stung her eyes, tears threatening as the cemetery blurred around her.

She sucked in a sharp breath of chilly air and focused on the parking lot ahead. She’d learned after the first funeral to park in the overflow lot. No one parked there, and she could avoid the dreaded lingering that happened after the burial—the hugs and tears and words that could do nothing to ease anyone’s suffering.

Maybe she should have expected this when she’d signed a twelve-month graduate-student housing contract with the Harmony Senior Living Community in August. But she hadn’t. And she certainly hadn’t expected to forge friendships with the residents. Warm, deep, meaningful friendships. She’d spent years pouring her energy into work and school, too busy and driven to invest in friendship. But the pace was slower at Harmony, where she and four other graduate students had embarked on a pilot program in which they received room and board in exchange for volunteer hours and companionship with the residents. There, friendships had formed as she spent her contracted volunteer hours partaking in chair fitness, bingo and weekly outings with the residents. Soon, she’d found herself taking on extra hours to sit with her new friends at hair appointments, mealtimes and dialysis sessions. She couldn’t help but care about them as she grew to know their personalities and histories, their hobbies and families.

A tear escaped and she swiped it away, hurting. Angry. If she had known she’d get so attached, she never would have signed the agreement.

Her little black Mustang sat alone at the edge of the lot, and she hurried to it, determined to get a handle on her emotions. It had been nearly six years since she’d let herself cry. All other pain had paled in comparison to that cold November day, until now. Forcing away the tears, she unlocked her car and climbed into the driver’s seat. She turned the key in the ignition and glanced in the rearview, her hand on the gearshift. But her gaze caught on her reflection, the pallor of her face, the glaze of tears in her eyes, and an ache rose in her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking as her shoulders began to heave, and a keening sound rolled from her throat—raw grief that could not be contained. The memory forced its way into her heart until she finally gave in to the weight of loss, her forehead coming to the steering wheel as she grieved for her four unlikely friends and their loved ones, and also for the life she’d turned her back on years ago.

She stayed like that for long minutes until she’d poured out what felt like a lifetime of guarded emotion. Then she cleared her throat and pulled a couple of napkins from the console, blowing her nose and drying her cheeks. No mascara to worry about since she seldom wore makeup. Glancing at the clock, she put the car in Reverse. She needed to get moving. She’d volunteered to help set up the reception at Harmony, and guests would be arriving soon.

Forcing herself into business mode, she drove away from the cemetery and pulled onto the highway. But even as her tears dried, the ache in her chest tightened, grief giving way to anxiety. Four deaths in three weeks, but she had nothing she could report to police.

No one else even suspected a problem. On the contrary, her fellow grad-student friends and Harmony staff she’d come to know had all gently assured her that it was normal to want to place blame when grieving. They’d pointed out other truths as well: that her security background made her more paranoid than she needed to be, that all four of the residents had had underlying health conditions and that “old people die.” That last gem had been contributed by Riley Jasper, the youngest of the grad students and the most immature. Some kind of genius, she’d started college at fifteen, and now, at nineteen, her social tact was still sorely lacking. Not that Triss was one to judge. She was well aware that her own personality was considered by most to be cold at best, abrasive at worst.

But that was beside the point. Riley Jasper’s comment, genius notwithstanding, was ignorant. The four dead residents had not been that old, and all had passed swiftly, without warning.

Even the Harmony staff agreed that four deaths in such a short period was unusual in the forty-eight-bed community—though not unheard of. But Triss had to admit that her suspicions were a little far-fetched. Could someone in the home really be set on murder? Or was it simply a difficult season of loss?

Whatever the cause, and regardless of the skepticism of her new friends, Triss figured that tightening security at Harmony wouldn’t hurt anyone. She’d worked as a security agent for Shield Protection Services for a little over two years, and the four deaths at Harmony had not only piqued her suspicions but had also alerted her to the lax security around the community. Two days ago, she’d proposed some simple ideas to boost security. No one had taken her seriously, but Triss was never one to go down without a fight, and—

A loud pop sounded behind her and she jolted, glancing in the rearview. Had a rock hit her rear window? She didn’t see a crack, thankfully. The car had already been in the shop a few times this year, and Triss didn’t have extra cash for more repairs. Not seeing anything, she started to return to her thoughts when she picked up an acrid, burning scent.

Again, she checked the rearview. This time, her heart lurched. Smoke! A thick, black cloud plumed from the rear of her vehicle.

She didn’t think, just reacted, checking her mirrors as she swerved toward the shoulder. Smoke billowed above her gas tank in black waves. She didn’t have much time. A driver laid on his horn as Triss nearly plowed into the side of his truck and swerved again, overcompensating with the wheel. Her tires spun, the car flying across the highway and out of her control as she pumped the brakes and tried to get it under control. Tires screeched and horns blared as her Mustang skidded sideways into a speed-limit sign, the impact sending her car into a spin, and then she was sliding over the shoulder and into a shallow embankment.

In a daze, Triss reached for her seat belt, her hands shaking as she jerked it off and grabbed the door handle. The door wouldn’t budge! She jabbed at her window control, but it didn’t respond. Smoke started to fill the car, burning her throat and lungs as she looked in terror at a bright orange flame too close to the gas tank. Desperate, she yanked at the handle again, a painful cough taking hold and stealing her strength even as she frantically scanned her car for something she could use to break a window. She wished she’d brought her gun, but she never carried it off duty.

Dread grew as thick as the smoke inside the car. Her breathing was labored and punctuated by coughs, and her hazy mind drifted back to the cemetery she’d just come from, the red and gold leaves flitting to the ground. Searching through her console, she fought rising panic as the car grew hotter, the smoke thickening. Desperate, she yanked at the door again, knowing it was futile. Cars pulled over ahead, shadowy figures running toward her, but the smoke was thick, stealing her air, and she was sure they were too late.

* * *

Hunter Knox threw his truck into Park and ran to the back, rummaging through his supplies for his window breaker, and then sprinted to Triss’s Mustang. A crowd had gathered, a couple of people using various tools to try to break open windows, while others warned the crowd to stand back. A small flame was licking up the back of the car, an explosion imminent. Black smoke filled the interior.

“Move aside!” Hunter yelled, forcing his way through the crowd to the front of the car. Deciding his best option was the front windshield, he climbed up on the hood and kneeled as he locked eyes with Triss. The fear there pierced his heart as smoke swirled behind her. He’d known Triss for two years and had never seen her scared. “Cover your face!” he yelled, and placed the tool in the center of the passenger side of the windshield. The glass cracked immediately, and he pushed the rest of it in, others joining in to clear the shards as Triss attempted to pull herself up and out of the car.

She was weak, gasping for air. Hunter reached down, clearing the glass. “Try to stand!” He wanted to scream for her to hurry, to focus. He was afraid he’d lose her to an explosion at the last moment, but she was dazed, attempting to find her footing on the seat to push her way out.

Leaning close, Hunter held out his arms to her. “Hold on to me!”

She reached toward him, her hands locking on his upper arms as he latched onto her and yanked her over the dash and through the broken window. Others, eager to help, brought her to the ground as Hunter jumped off the hood. Easily lifting her into his arms, he again warned the crowd to retreat and jogged away from the burning vehicle.

Triss’s hand clutched the front of his shirt, her head tucked under his chin as he moved toward his truck. He’d only taken a few dozen steps when an explosion erupted behind them. Triss jerked in his arms, and he tightened his hold, glancing back to see her car in flames, bystanders gawking and filming.

A shudder ran through him as he considered what would have happened if he had simply finished up his shift and gone home today. Shaken, he walked to the passenger side of his truck and shifted Triss so he could open the door.

“You can put me down,” she said, the words whispered at the base of his neck, her voice raspy. “I can stand.”

He was surprised she hadn’t wriggled out of his arms already. She was the most fiercely independent person he’d ever met. But he suspected that if he set her on her feet right now, she’d collapse.

“I’ve got you.”

She didn’t argue, her fingers still grasping his shirt, her silky black hair grazing his chin. He pulled the door open, easily seating her inside and adjusting the seat so she could lean back. She’d started shivering, whether from shock or the chill in the air, he couldn’t be sure. But the truck was still running, and he leaned over to turn the heat on full-blast. He yanked off his jacket and tucked it gently under her chin and around her arms and sides.

She stared up at him, eyes so dark he could barely make out her pupils, long lashes shielding her thoughts. They’d been coworkers for a long time, and he was used to her quiet, but this was different.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Good. Just hang tight for a couple of minutes.” He pressed her door shut and reached for his phone to call for help, but he could already hear sirens. Plenty of others had likely already called in the accident.

Assuming it had been an accident.

He eyed her flaming car as he moved to the driver’s side of his truck. He didn’t know a lot about cars, but he was pretty sure it was rare for a vehicle to start smoking near the gas tank and then explode. As far as he knew, fires usually started under the hood.

He frowned, sliding into his seat and closing his door. Or maybe he’d been working at Shield too long. Nearly five years in, he had to admit he was prone to suspicion. It wasn’t like she’d been driving a brand-new vehicle. The Mustang had to be at least ten years old. There must have been a problem with it because the alternative was that someone had caused the fire, and that didn’t seem likely. Who would want to harm Triss? What motive could someone have?

Not that he and Triss spent much time talking about her personal life. In fact, he’d barely seen her since she’d moved into Harmony nearly four months ago. She’d cut her hours at Shield and switched to the night shift three days a week, so they only worked together on the rare occasion one of them took on a double. She’d explained that the free room and board would help her finish her graduate degree faster, which he respected. She had her sights on a career as a forensic investigator with the FBI, and he had no doubt she’d be one of the best in the field. But he suspected she’d had other motives for cutting her hours at Shield—motives that included avoiding Hunter and his two kids. He couldn’t blame her for that, even if he wished things could be different. She had big goals, and an instant family would only slow her down.

Next to him, she had tugged his jacket closer and closed her eyes.

Something had shifted between them over the past year or so, their friendship growing rapidly. In fact, not long ago, Hunter had gotten the impression that they might have something deeper than friendship, but Triss had backed away every time he’d started to get too close. Still, despite the growing distance between them, Hunter had been compelled to go to the cemetery a while ago. He’d been late because he’d been waiting for his relief at work, but was just in time to see her running from the graveside, her normally deep tan skin pale. He’d stopped his pursuit when she climbed into her car, slammed the door shut and leaned her forehead on her steering wheel, her shoulders quaking with grief. He had never seen Triss emotional, and he had a feeling she didn’t want him to. Instead, he’d gotten in his truck and decided to follow her at a distance to make sure she got safely to Harmony, considering her emotional state.

Turned out, she hadn’t been safe at all.

He glanced over at her again, noting that her shaking was starting to subside. She was still silent, her eyes closed, her shiny black hair spilling over her shoulders and onto the reclined seat.

For a moment, he thought she’d fallen asleep, but then she opened her eyes and turned her head toward him.

“Why are you here?”

The blunt question caught him off guard, but it was Triss’s way.

“I heard—”

“I mean—”

They both spoke at the same time, and Hunter stopped, waiting.

“I mean, you usually work day shift,” Triss explained. “Shouldn’t you still be there?”

“I heard Luke talking with Roman yesterday about the funeral. I thought you could use a friend.”

Triss’s brother Luke had been friends with their boss, Roman, for years, but beyond the daily prayer meeting they held each morning, the two rarely had personal conversations on the job—which was why Hunter had taken note of yesterday’s conversation, even though he knew he shouldn’t be eavesdropping.

In fact, he’d almost talked himself out of going to the cemetery today. He didn’t know the man who had died, and he hadn’t even seen Triss in weeks. But he’d wanted to be there for her. As far as he could tell, she didn’t have many good friends—if any—and he knew what it was like to navigate death alone. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Especially Triss, who he had long suspected had already endured her fair share of sorrow.

She looked away, and he wondered what she was thinking. Triss was a difficult person to read, even more difficult to get to know. Normally, he would steer clear of someone with her personality. But the day she’d offered to watch his kids when their nanny was sick had changed everything. He’d come home to peals of laughter, walking into a mess in the kitchen that resembled the aftermath of an indoor blizzard. Powdered sugar and flour covered nearly every surface, the kids and Triss included. His kids were rolling with giggles, and Triss was leaning against the counter, helpless against the laughter.

Until that moment, he wasn’t sure Triss even knew how to laugh, how to really smile. And since then, he’d made it a mission to hear that laugh and see that smile as often as he could. Which hadn’t been often since August.

He turned fully to her, but she didn’t look at him, her profile tilted toward the window.

“Must have been a quick funeral at the church,” Hunter said. “I barely made it to the cemetery before you were flying out of the parking lot.” She was teased mercilessly at Shield for her lead foot. Usually, she laughed it off. Now, she adjusted her position in the seat, turning toward her mangled car.

“Yes. The service was short and sweet.” She stared out the rear window, then finally looked at Hunter. “So, you followed me out?”

He read the question in her gaze, but didn’t think she’d appreciate that he’d seen her crying and had worried about her. “Thought I’d catch you at Harmony, see how you were doing.” That was the truth, minus a few details.

“It’s a good thing you followed me.” Tears brimmed under her eyes, her voice thick. “Five more seconds and...”

She would have been dead. No way around it. They both knew it.

A fire truck swerved onto the shoulder, firefighters rushing toward her car with retardant, the sirens cutting off. Triss watched silently, emotionless. He couldn’t figure her out. Every time she let him see a piece of her heart, she quickly hid behind a mask of indifference. It was that habit that had finally convinced him to let her keep the distance she was forever trying to expand between them. His kids had been confused and hurt when she’d disappeared from their lives months ago, and Hunter wouldn’t put them through that disappointment again.

He was glad he’d come today, glad he’d been there at the right time. But it was time to get going. He figured he should call Luke in to take over.

A police officer approached the truck, and Hunter opened the door, stepping out. He immediately recognized the officer as a friend of Roman’s they’d worked with in the past.

“Officer Goodson,” Hunter said, offering a hand to the seasoned cop, noting his impeccable uniform and alert expression.

“Hunter.” They shook hands, and Hunter motioned to Triss inside the cab.

“The Mustang is hers.”

“Was,” she muttered, leaning her head toward them to greet the officer.

“Doesn’t look like you should have made it out of that alive,” the officer commented. “Are you injured?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“We’ve got paramedics on the scene. I’d encourage you to take a ride and get checked out at the hospital, anyway, after we speak.”

“I’ll see my doctor tomorrow if I need to,” she said. “But I appreciate it.”

“You should let them check you out at the hospital,” Hunter suggested. “It was a pretty bad wreck.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“You could have internal—”

“Hunter.”

She’d made her decision, and there was nothing he could say to change her mind. Her jaw was set, her lips pressed together. He knew the look when he saw it.

The officer ducked his head slightly so he could see her. “Tell me what happened.”

Hunter listened with interest as she described hearing a distinct pop before she smelled smoke. He hadn’t seen anything but the smoke, and he wondered what could have caused the pop. The interview was brief, and the officer handed her his card. Once again, he advised her to get checked out and to rest up, and then he returned to the scene.

“That was a sweet ride,” Hunter said. “Looks like there’s no saving it.”

“No. But I’ll have it towed to my mechanic, anyway. Hopefully, he can figure out what happened. I can’t afford not to get anything from insurance.”

The moments before the wreck played through Hunter’s mind, the sudden smoke billowing at the rear of the car. “Wonder what could have caused that fire.”

She was quiet for a moment too long, and then she shifted in her seat, pulling off his jacket and handing it to him before raising her seat straight. She was clearly ignoring his comment. “Would you mind driving me to Harmony after I get the car situation settled?”

“Hold on a minute,” he said, searching her eyes for what he was missing.

She held his gaze, her expression unreadable. “What?”

“You’re not telling me something.”

She glanced away for a fraction of a second, and he knew he was right.

“What is it?” he persisted when she didn’t respond.

She shook her head. “Probably nothing.”

“Well, if that isn’t the most overused and usually inaccurate phrase we hear in our line of work, I don’t know what is.”

It was a phrase used too often by victims of stalking and domestic violence, unsure whether they were in danger or out of their minds.

Triss sighed. “I know. But what I’m thinking sounds crazy.” She stared into his eyes with conviction, as if willing him to believe what she was about to say.

He already did. He might still be rankled by how suddenly she’d dropped out of his life—out of his kids’ lives—but that didn’t change what he knew about her. She was intuitive, sharp and levelheaded. She was not prone to drama, exaggeration or misinterpretation. And if Triss Everett had something bizarre to say, she’d only say it if she knew it to be true.

“I can handle crazy.”

Her eyes were dark, troubled in a way he’d never seen before. “I don’t think what happened was an accident, Hunter,” she said finally. “I think someone caused the fire. I think someone hoped I would die. And I think that same person may have killed before. At Harmony.”

That, he hadn’t expected. Hunter reached for what to ask next, and Triss narrowed her eyes.

“You said you could handle crazy.” In a flash, she reached for the door. “I’m going to talk to the tow-truck driver.”

“Hey.” He slid his hand to her free arm, tugging her wrist gently to get her to stay. She looked at him, her eyes flashing annoyance. But, also, uncertainty. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, because it seemed like that was what she needed to hear, even if he thought it couldn’t be more obvious. “But I’m going to need more details.”

She yanked her wrist from his hand, but let go of the door handle, her attention flicking to the clock on the dashboard. “There’s a lot to tell you. But I need to get to Harmony. There’s the reception, and I need to—”

“The reception can go on without you, Triss. You’ve been in a major accident. I still think you should get checked out at the hospital.”

She was already shaking her head and reaching for the door again. “I’m fine. Just let me talk to the tow-truck driver, and I’ll give you more details on the drive back.”

“Sure,” he said more casually than he felt, pushing away a dark flash of memory from the night his wife had died. He should have called the ambulance sooner, or picked her up bodily and forced her to go to the hospital. His misjudgment had cost her her life. Now, he wished Triss would listen to him—but he was just a coworker and had no right to push her. Still, he wasn’t without recourse. He couldn’t force her to go to the hospital, but she couldn’t force him to go home, either. And he wouldn’t be heading home tonight until he was sure she was safe.