It meant just as much to me.
The words repeated in her head as Bridgette opened the door then stumbled inside. Bone weary. Wishing she could curl up in her bed for a week. Shut out the rest of the world. Shut out Sam’s voice.
A shrill tone caught her off-guard, and she shrieked before she realized it was the damn alarm Sam had installed. She punched in the code, staring at the faceplate. Christ. He was everywhere. She’d inhaled his scent the entire drive back. She hadn’t realized his cologne had been infused into her Jeep. That the air seemed saturated with a mix of male spice and cottonwood. That she’d be forced to breathe him in for the hour-long drive. Or that he’d left his station programmed into her radio. There was even a pair of his gloves on the backseat.
Just another reminder of how foolish she’d been. How easily she’d played into his hand. While she’d initially admired his mission-oriented way of thinking, now, it left her feeling flat. Hollow. As if he’d taken part of her with him—stolen it in the night without her even realizing it. Maybe he had. Like all those missions he’d performed overseas where no one ever knew he’d been in and out.
The thought burned hot beneath her skin. She’d prided herself on being able to see through lines. Though flowery bullshit. Yet, she’d let Sam trick her. And not just once. Twice. All that talk about what had happened when they were teenagers—most likely just more lies. Fabrications designed to pull at her heartstrings. To make her trust him.
And she had. Like a freaking fish grabbing for a worm and not seeing the hook. She’d just latched on and let him reel her all the way in.
Only, it had been real for her. Other than not telling him about the incident in her building, she’d been completely honest with him. Bared a part of her soul she hadn’t shown anyone. Ever. Confided secrets she’d never uttered aloud. And he’d made her feel…
That was her problem. She’d let herself feel. Had leaped blindly ahead, oblivious to the traps he’d set. She’d been reckless. Uninhibited. And, now, she’d have to learn the lesson Brock had beaten into her all over, again.
Pain tightened her chest. Had it always been this hard to breathe? To focus? She knew Sam would follow. He was a soldier, and watching over her was his mission. Logic dictated that he wouldn’t stop until she was back in Seattle, a token cop in tow. Which meant grabbing the few things she needed then heading out.
She probably could have done without the files. Without her running shoes or boxing gloves. She could have bought new ones. But she’d driven here instinctively. Maybe it was because she wanted to say goodbye. See her grandmother’s house one last time. Because after today, she wouldn’t be coming back.
Montana would be nothing but memories. A view of snow-capped mountains and sprawling ranches reflected in her rearview mirror. She’d let her father decide what to do with the house. As much as she’d hoped that, one day, she might be able to make it her home, it wouldn’t shock him when she didn’t. She’d been gone for a dozen years. She’d been foolish to think she could have come back to stay. That her time here would offer her more than what it had—a place to hide.
It struck her that, somewhere deep inside, she’d been secretly hoping for some kind of epiphany. That the pictures or the landscape would offer a solution that would ease the emptiness that had taken root inside her. That she’d find another path that didn’t leave her feeling…
Damn. That word, again.
She swallowed the bitter taste of bile lingering in her throat as she quickly gathered the files she needed then returned to the kitchen. She set them on the counter, rooting under the sink for a plastic bag to keep them dry until she could transfer them to the carryall she’d left in her Jeep. All she needed were a few personal items, and she’d be gone. And in under ten minutes. If she took some of gravel roads, instead of the main thorough fair, she’d likely avoid any chance of running into Sam if he’d managed to make good time. Which he would. Probably had taken classes in that, too.
She straightened, plastic bag in hand, when the door at the side of the kitchen opened. A swirl of cold air rushed past her legs, the incessant beeping of the alarm stopping her cold.
It wasn’t Sam. She knew it wasn’t. He would have deactivated the alarm from his damn phone. Would have wanted the element of surprise. He wouldn’t have given her a chance to prepare before the inevitable confrontation. Wasn’t that how soldiers won battles? By out-thinking their opponent? Letting her believe she’d been quick enough, had successfully avoided him, only to jump out and prove her wrong?
The hairs on her neck prickled. A footstep sounded behind her. She recognized it. Whether outright or on some cellular level, she wasn’t sure, but she knew she’d heard that same hollow tone before.
Following her in her office building.
Walking across the parking garage while she’d huddled behind the cars.
Pacing her living room floor before turning to kick her in the ribs.
She almost laughed. How had she not figured it all out? The way he’d let her get just far enough ahead that night to make her think she’d be safe. How he’d managed to stalk her without her noticing. Even the shape of his body beneath the black wardrobe. They’d all been clues he’d left for her. Ones she’d been too blind to see until just now. Until it was too late.
Bridgette took a deep breath, letting it slowly hiss out through her teeth. She waited for panic to set in, but all she felt was a numbing calm. As if her life had finally come full circle. “Hello, Brock.”
The footsteps stopped. He was on the other side of the island. She didn’t need to turn around to pinpoint his location. She knew by the squeaky wooden plank he’d just stepped on. The one her grandmother had always begged her grandfather to fix. Bridgette saw it all clearly in her mind. He’d be dressed similar to the night in her office building, only no mask. He wouldn’t want to chance someone might spot a masked man going into her house. Brock wasn’t stupid.
He’d have a gun. He wouldn’t want to leave anything to chance, this time. Wouldn’t want to risk cutting himself or having to wrestle with her. He’d want the kill to be clean. Efficient. Too bad she didn’t plan on making it easy for him.
A raspy chuckle sounded behind her. “How did you know it was me?”
She shrugged, making a point of grabbing the files before slowly turning to face him. He hadn’t changed. Not really. Same pretty face. Square jaw. There were a few more lines around his eyes, but they were the same deep blue. The man was stunning. A monster, but definitely one of the most beautiful ones she’d ever encountered. The kind that got away with anything because he didn’t look dangerous. Had enough money to buy any version of the truth he wanted.
She held her head high. “I just knew.”
He smiled. A smug, vicious grin that beaded her skin with goosebumps. He was holding that large black gun with a suppressor. Sam would know what kind of handgun it was simply by looking at it. He’d know how many rounds the clip held, what the muzzle velocity was. Exactly where to hit a person to either maim or kill. Sam’s gun had looked like an extension of his arm. As if he’d been born with the long cylindrical object fused to his hand. He hadn’t thought about how to hold it, how to move with it primed and ready. He’d just done it. Naturally. Same with that massive knife he’d pulled out of some hidden holster.
Brock was nothing like Sam. Brock gripped the handle as if he expected the gun to jump out of his hand. Just standing there, she could tell he wasn’t accustomed to the weight. To the feel of the metal grip against his palm. She had no doubt he’d killed before. Would kill, again. But he wasn’t good at it. Whatever skill he’d acquired—he’d had to work for. He was nothing more than a bully with a lethal toy.
Brock leaned against the counter. He was enjoying this. He thought he had the upper hand. That he was in control. He wasn’t. Not in the way he imagined.
He nodded at her. “You look good. Much better than the last time I saw you.” Another cruel smile. “Do you remember?”
She relaxed her shoulders. She needed to be primed but calm. Needed to think five steps ahead while keeping him talking. Making him think the situation was going exactly the way he’d envisioned. She wasn’t convinced she’d walk away from this alive. But she’d make damn sure he burned for his crime. “I hadn’t, until today. Funny how it all came back, now. Like an act of providence.”
“A deadly one.” He wet his lips. “God, you really are pretty. You’ve lost some weight. Look—harder, maybe. But gorgeous. And you’re a lawyer. A fucking assistant US Attorney. Now, that, I didn’t see coming.”
“Really? I thought you would have expected it. After all, you pushed me down that path. Made me what I am.”
His smile broadened. “Did I? Guess it’s true what they say about self-fulfilling prophecies. Here, I’d been afraid you’d find a way to take me down, and my very actions are what put you in that exact position. Gave you the knowledge to seek revenge.”
“I believe the word you’re searching for is justice.”
“However you want to look at it, baby.” He sighed. “It’s a fucking shame I didn’t come here to get reacquainted. Where’s your bodyguard?”
“Gone.”
“That was stupid, Bridgette. He was good. I knew as soon as I broke in here and caught a glimpse of him that he wasn’t the kind of man I’d choose to fight. He’s why I left. Why I switched to a long-range rifle. I didn’t want to get anywhere near that cowboy. You should have kept him close.”
“And you should have made sure you killed me the first time. Big mistake on your part.”
She swung her arm, launching the file folder at his head. He hadn’t expected it. Had let his guard down, and the papers fluttered loose, covering his face. as the edge of the folder caught him in the temple, slicing a line across his skin.
She ran, darting through the doorway and into the hall. She grabbed the small bookshelf beside the opening, tumbling it across the entranceway. The wood crashed to the floor, half the books and trinkets spilling onto the hardwood.
Brock yelled her name, the sound followed by a series of dull pops. Pain blossomed through her shoulder, knocking her into the far wall. She hit hard, then tumbled onto her knees. Her vision blurred as the room swam for a few moments before mostly clearing. She pushed to her feet and managed to scramble to the stairs, taking them two at a time. More soft pops pelted the wall above her, and she ducked low, hoping to give him a smaller target.
Wood crashed in the distance as she raced down the hallway and into her bedroom, locking the door behind her. She knew it wouldn’t hold him, but it might slow him down. Give her a chance to make her next move.
She darted to the window, breathing against the burning numbness settling in her left shoulder and down her arm. It felt heavy. Thick. And it took all her concentration to force that hand to grip the window and shove it open.
Footsteps pounded up the stairs, that hollow noise skittering down her spine. Like rats running between the floorboards.
She kicked out the screen then jumped through, sliding down the roofline as her door burst open, bouncing off the wall. She didn’t try to catch herself, following the broken mesh over the side of the gutters and down to the ground.
There was a moment of silence as she seemed to hover in the air. She’d heard soldiers talk about how everything slowed down in battle. As if they were moving at half speed. This must be what it felt like. Hanging there, watching the ground inch toward her, as the snowflakes hung in mid-air.
Then, it was rushing back. Triple time. The snow-covered ground raced up and smashed into her with crushing force. The air left her lungs on a whoosh as black dots danced across her vision. Pain flooded her system, the intensity preventing her from fading. She blinked, staring up at the roofline, then laughed.
So much for your clean, efficient kill, you fucking bastard. Bet your DNA is all over the house, now.
She smiled. Score one for the good guys. Brock would never clean everything up before Sam got there. And she knew he’d make sure Brock got what he deserved.
More footsteps. Breaking through the snow. Following the path around the house. He was taking the long route. Probably forgot there was a shed attached to that side. He’d have to detour around it. Jump that fence since she was sure the gate wouldn’t open without being shoveled, first.
She used her right hand to drag herself onto her stomach then pulled her knees underneath her. Blood stained the snow. Bright. Red. Like a giant bullseye of where she’d landed.
Good. More evidence to convict Brock’s ass. She hoped he choked on her blood.
The ground tilted beneath her as she staggered forward, tripping over her own feet. Each step felt harder. Slower. Until she realized she wasn’t moving. She’d reached the side of the house fronting the street and had slumped against the siding. She tried to straighten, but her hand slipped on a window, leaving a bloody streak across the glass as she tumbled forward. Snow stung her exposed flesh, the icy drops trailing down her skin. But it faded, feeling almost warm as it settled around her neck.
The snow crunched beside her as a shadow blocked out the muted light, but it didn’t matter. She’d won.