7:11 P.M.
These long days were going to kill her.
Well, not really, but Hannah was so tired. Running a business on her own was a lot more work than she’d ever thought it would be. And she had thought it would be a lot of work. Still, she wouldn’t change a single thing. She was living her dream. Work wise at least.
Her personal life was pretty much a mess.
“That’s everything in the safe, Hannah.”
“Already? You guys are so quick. Thanks, Jeff; you’re a lifesaver.” Hannah smiled up at the older man. She was so grateful she had him; he worked hard and he’d filled in the occasional time she got sick and couldn’t make it in. If she didn't have Jeff Shields, she didn't think she could make her business the success it was.
“You should go home early tonight,” he told her.
“Maybe,” she nodded noncommittally.
Jeff laughed. “You’re not going to, are you?”
“I have so much work to do.” Running a jewelry store was busy enough as it was, but it was a week out from Christmas, and things had been crazy. She’d been working from six in the morning until nine or ten at night, every night, then driving home in a fog to eat and collapse into bed before getting up and doing it all over again. Still, there was only one more week to go until Christmas. Then, after all the holiday hoopla calmed down, things would quiet down a little before picking up again in the lead up to Valentine’s Day.
“You’re going to burn yourself out.” Jeff’s brown eyes were full of concern.
So, what? she thought to herself. There was no one to worry about her if she did. And besides, when she kept herself busy, she kept herself out of the dark place that used to consume her. She wasn't going back there. Ever. So, she focused all her energy on her work, and it was paying off. Her store was booming.
“Do you want me to go pick up something for you to eat for dinner and drop it off before I go home?” Jeff offered.
“That’s so sweet, but . . .” Hannah trailed off as movement on the CCTV screen caught her eye.
Then she froze.
Jeff’s gaze followed hers, and he gasped.
Two armed men in balaclavas had just walked through the front door of the store.
Hannah’s every instinct clambered at her to run and hide, to flee to safety. But she and Jeff weren’t the only ones here. Her other employee, nineteen-year-old Vincent Zimmerman, was still in the workroom. Her office was at the back of the store, but the workroom was between it and the main storeroom. If she didn't warn Vincent and get him back here where they could escape out the back door, then the armed robbers would get him.
“Hannah, no.” Jeff grabbed for her arm as she ran past him.
She shook him off. She couldn’t stay here and let Vincent get hurt. How would she live with herself if he was killed?
Triggering the silent alarm that would bring the police running and ignoring the back door that led to safety, Hannah threw open the office door and froze again.
She was too late.
The two men stood in her workroom.
Her vision tunneled until all it saw were the guns in their hands.
She had a massive phobia of guns.
They terrified her.
Paralyzed her.
She would have bolted from the room regardless of the consequences if only she had control of her body.
“What's the code to the safe?”
Hannah heard the words, but she couldn’t seem to make sense of them. In her head, they got all muddled up, then finally put themselves back together.
The code.
They wanted the code.
If she gave it to them, then they’d just take what they wanted and leave.
She tried to say the numbers, but her mouth refused to form the words.
“The code,” one of the men growled, pointing his gun at Vincent.
“I don’t know, man, I don’t know,” Vincent whimpered. “Only she does.” He gestured at her.
“What’s the code, lady?”
She wanted to answer.
She really did.
Her mouth moved but no sound came out.
Her stock wasn't worth someone’s life. Diamonds, gold, rubies, emeralds, sapphires—it wasn't anything her insurance wouldn’t cover.
Panic was swimming inside her, filling her up, growing exponentially by the second. They were going to shoot Vincent if she didn't say something.
“What is the code?”
The taller of the two men stalked toward her, and she began to shake in fear. Now was not the time to let her phobia of guns turn her into a mute. She had to tell them. Then they could take what they wanted and leave before anyone got hurt.
“Do you want me to blow your brains out?” The man yanked her up against a chest as solid as steel and rammed the gun into her temple.
She knew what the cold, smooth metal of a gun barrel felt like against her bare flesh.
She had felt it before, barely making it through that night alive, and now, she feared this time she wouldn’t be so lucky.
“Just shoot her,” the other man said.
“Then how are we gonna get the code?” the one pressing a gun to her head snapped.
“Shoot her in the foot, and see if that makes her talk.”
Hannah whimpered and her shaking intensified.
“You hear that, lady?” The man shoved the gun into her temple so hard she knew it would leave a bruise, which would be the least of her problems if they started firing it. “You don’t tell us the code in the next five seconds, I’m gonna shoot you in the leg. Then I'm gonna shoot you in the other leg. Then I'm gonna move on to your arms. Get the idea?” he snarled.
“One, two,” the other man started counting as though this were all just some big joke to them.
Tell them, Hannah commanded herself.
“Three, four.”
Now, they were about to start shooting.
“I’ll tell you the code.”
Jeff appeared in the doorway of the office. She’d thought he had escaped out the back door and gotten to safety. Why hadn’t he gone? Now they were going to kill him, too. Jeff didn't know the code to the safe where they stored the most expensive jewelry overnight. She was the only one who did. That had always seemed like the safest option. Now that decision might cost all of them their lives.
“What's the code, old man?” the robber holding her asked, digging the gun harder against her temple.
“It’s seven, two, nine, five,” Jeff replied.
“Open it.” The man finally moved the gun from her head, and Hannah sighed in relief.
That relief was short lived.
When they tried to open the safe and found the code Jeff had given them didn't work, they were going to start shooting.
Why had Jeff come in here?
He should have run when he had the chance.
Now he was going to die, too.
All because she couldn’t speak.
“It didn't work.” The man at the safe turned back to his partner.
“You think you can lie to us, old man?” The gun was shoved against her ribcage, and Hannah prepared herself to die.
The bang was amplified in her head.
She waited for the accompanying shaft of agony.
Only it didn't come.
Then she realized why.
Jeff was on the floor, a bright red patch of blood blooming on his chest.
They hadn’t shot her; instead, they’d shot her friend.
He was dying.
She had to do something or Vincent would be next.
Then she heard the most magical sound in the world.
Sirens.
Growing louder.
Getting closer.
Help was coming.
It would arrive any second.
Seemingly realizing this, the two men cursed, and then she was released and they were fleeing through the office.
With the gun out of sight, Hannah regained control of her body and flung herself down next to Jeff. Was he still alive? She pressed her fingertips to his neck and felt his pulse thumping steadily beneath them.
“Get me something to stop the bleeding,” she screamed to Vincent who still stood in the same place he’d been in when the armed robbers burst in. “Vince, something to stop the bleeding,” she repeated, then added more gently, “they’re gone.”
The teenager blinked slowly, his dark eyes two big saucers in his pale face. Then he nodded slowly and left the room.
Hannah whipped her attention back to Jeff; he was paler than Vincent, and his breath was wheezing in and out. He couldn’t die. She would never forgive herself if he died because of her. Why hadn’t she just answered the robbers and given them the code? Her phobia could have gotten her killed. Her and two other innocent people.
“Here.” Vincent dropped a coat at her side.
She snatched it up and pressed it hard against Jeff’s wound. She was rewarded with a groan of pain and prayed that meant he was going to live. It had to be a good thing, right? He was conscious enough to feel pain. And help was almost here. They would rush Jeff to the hospital and fix him. Save him. He wasn't going to die. He wasn't. He couldn’t.
“Move out of the way, ma’am.”
Large hands gently clasped hers and pulled them away from Jeff’s chest, then moved to her shoulders and pulled her to her feet.
She hadn’t heard the cops arrive.
She was pushed carefully to the side as the two officers began to perform first aid.
As she stared at Jeff’s still face, everything else faded around her.
All she thought about was willing him to keep breathing.
Her face was wet with tears. She could feel them falling like drops of ice down her cold cheeks. Her hands were wet and sticky with Jeff’s blood. Her entire body trembled.
The wait for the EMTs felt like an eternity.
Eventually, they arrived. They tended to Jeff’s wound, started an IV, checked his vitals, and bundled him onto a stretcher and out of the store.
She stared after them.
Maybe people were talking to her. Maybe they were asking her if she was all right. Maybe they were asking her what had happened. She wasn't really sure.
Her legs could no longer support her, and Hannah’s knees buckled and she sank to the floor.
* * * * *
8:32 P.M.
“Are you sure the owner of the shop’s name is Hannah Buffy?” Special Agent Tom Drake asked his partner.
Chloe rolled her eyes at him. “Yes. Just like I was sure the last five million times you asked. Why? Who is Hannah Buffy?”
Tom just shook his head.
Hannah was long gone, no longer part of his life, and this woman had to be someone else who just happened to share her name.
“This is the fifth burglary in the last month,” Chloe said, assuming he wasn't going to elaborate on who Hannah was.
“They’re getting bolder,” he said, pushing all thoughts of Hannah from his mind. “This is the first time they hurt someone.”
“It is. And they didn't even get hardly anything,” Chloe said. “First cops on the scene said they fled with only a handful of jewelry.”
“Could mean they’re going to hit another store sooner rather than later,” he said as he parked the car among the many others outside a small jewelry store. If it weren’t for the half a dozen cop cars, crime scene truck, and ambulance, the strip mall would have been beautiful. It was full of high-end stores where a pair of jeans cost more than he made in a month, and with what you’d pay for even the cheapest meal at any of the restaurants, he could have fed himself and his entire extended family for the week. The stores were quaint, and the street was lined with trees, which had been strung with hundreds of fairy lights. Snowflakes were fluttering in the air, covering everything with a light dusting of snow.
Hannah had loved Christmastime. He wondered if she still did or if, like with him, nothing had been the same since things between them ended.
Deliberately, Tom ordered himself to stop thinking about Hannah. He hadn’t in months, it was just hearing her name that had brought back the memories.
No, that was a lie.
He thought about her every day.
Every. Single. Day.
But this wasn't about Hannah.
He was here to do his job.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Then he walked inside.
And came face-to-face with the woman whose grip on his heart he had never been able to loosen.
He had known that it couldn’t be anyone else. He’d been clinging to the delusion that this had nothing to do with her, but how many women named Hannah Buffy could there be who owned a jewelry store? Of course, it was her.
Hannah was sitting on the floor, in a corner of the room, her eyes closed, her head resting back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her face was pale, and her long dark auburn hair hung around her shoulders. She was wearing a black dress that clung to her frame—which was thinner than the last time he’d see her—and black, knee-high boots.
Even from across the room, he could see the blood on her hands and the tear tracks on her cheeks.
Blood.
His eyes zeroed in and locked onto it.
The sight of blood didn't bother him.
Unless it was on Hannah.
That he couldn’t stand.
That made him sick to his stomach.
That made him want to tear his hair out and find who was responsible for putting the blood on her and then rip them to shreds.
“Why didn't someone clean her up?” he demanded.
“She won't let anyone go near her,” the closest cop replied.
Tonight would have been traumatic enough being held at gunpoint, but given Hannah’s history, it would have been infinitely more horrifying. Just knowing what she had been put through had his heart thumping painfully in his chest. “Has an EMT checked her out?”
“No. They tried, she refused. She hasn’t done anything but sit there and cry.”
“You know her,” Chloe said quietly.
Tom nodded. He knew Hannah very well, indeed. And he wasn't letting her sit there and relive the trauma that had torn them apart any longer.
He walked over and stood above her. She didn't notice him. Just sat there. Alone. Trapped in memories. He didn't have to ask her to know what she would be thinking about.
“Hannah,” he said softly.
Her eyes popped open, and she looked up at him, her mouth falling open in shock. Tom loved those eyes. Depending on her mood they could be as bright a blue as the sky on a hot summer’s day, green like the ocean, or a bleak, desolate gray. Right now, they were gray, representing the atmosphere around them. She stared at him for a long moment then squeezed her eyes closed and opened them again, apparently, wondering if he were nothing more than an apparition. As though she may have conjured him up right out of her mind. He knew seeing him again was as big a shock for her as it was for him to see her.
Up close, Tom could see a bruise forming on her temple. A round circle of black and blue. It was the barrel of the gun. It may have been three years since they'd divorced, but Tom felt the familiar rush of protective rage flash through him at the thought of anyone hurting Hannah.
Quickly, his gaze skimmed her body in search of any other injuries. She hadn’t been checked out by a paramedic so there could be injuries they didn't know about yet. He didn't see anything else other than the blood on her dress as well as her hands, but he assumed the blood was her employee’s. When the first cops arrived on the scene they had found Hannah on her knees beside the older gentleman, keeping pressure on his gunshot wound.
Although she appeared to be mostly uninjured, what he was most concerned about was her going into shock. Tremors wracked her body in a constant steady stream. Tom shrugged out of his coat, but when he bent down to drape it over her shoulders, she shrunk away from him.
“You’re shaking, Hannah,” he reprimanded. “I'm scared you're going into shock.”
Her big eyes just stared at him, but she didn't shrink away from him again as he wrapped his coat around her. With the heavy material draped over her, Hannah’s shaking calmed a little and her hands grasped the lapels of the coat and pulled it tighter.
Her bloodstained hands.
Before he could interview her, he needed to get that blood off her hands. He hated seeing blood on her; it brought back too many memories of a day he’d much rather forget. Leaving Hannah where she was, he went and found the bathroom where he wet a towel and then returned to her.
Crouching at her side, he grasped one of Hannah’s hands and began to clean it. Part of him expected her to pull away, refuse to let him touch her like she had the last time they had been in the same room together. But she didn't. She just sat there and trembled and watched as he washed as much of the blood from her hands as he could.
There was blood on her face, too. She had big smears on her cheeks where she must have brushed her bloody hands against them at some point. Taking hold of her chin, he angled her face so he could wipe away the blood that was there.
Hannah’s big eyes grew bigger as he leaned in closer to make sure he had gotten all the blood off. Her breath was warm against his face, and he drew in the scent of her. A mixture of the cherry scented shampoo she always used and the vanilla perfume that was her favorite. The combination of the two reminded him of the cherry pies his grandmother used to make every Sunday when he was a child.
It felt so good to be touching her after so long.
But she wasn't his to touch anymore.
He should release her.
Instead, of their own accord, his fingers reached up and brushed across her damp cheeks, catching the tears that were still falling. His fingertips lingered there, not wanting to break physical contact with her, for his sake as much as hers.
But at last, Tom let his hand fall away, and since he had her mostly cleaned up, he sat back on his haunches and studied her. She was ashen, her pupils dilated, her skin clammy, and when he had brushed his fingertips over her wrist while he’d been washing her hands he had felt her pulse beating way too fast.
She was in shock.
She needed to be examined and treated.
“Are you okay?” he asked. He knew it was a stupid question. How could she be okay? But he needed to hear her talk. He needed to reassure himself that she was, in fact, all right. That she was strong enough to endure this just as she had endured everything else that had been thrown at her.
Hannah nodded.
Tom shook his head back at her. “Of course, you're not okay.” He kept his voice quiet so only she could hear him. “They held a gun on you, Hannah.” Again, moving of its own volition, his hand moved to trace the darkening bruise on her temple.
This time she did flinch away from his touch, and he quickly snatched his hand back.
She looked so small and scared and fragile, and he had to remind himself that Hannah was none of those things. She was the toughest person he knew. What she had been through would crush most people, and yet she had survived. And by the looks of her store, survived and thrived. Well, thrived businesswise. She was too thin and there were dark smudges under her eyes that he knew had nothing to do with the night’s events.
Sometimes Hannah was too strong. She thought she could handle everything on her own, and acted like admitting you needed help was a bad thing.
“I want to call the EMTs over to check you out,” he told her.
“I'm not hurt,” Hannah said. Hearing her voice again made him shiver. Even scared and traumatized, her voice was the sweetest and most melodic sound he’d ever heard.
“You’re in shock; you should be examined,” he countered.
“No.”
Tom sighed. That was his stubborn girl.
Then he sighed again. She wasn't his girl anymore. She wasn't his concern. Her emotional well-being was none of his business, just the way she wanted it. He was here to do a job, that was all. And to that end, he needed to interview her to find out what exactly had happened here tonight. He would be able to get more out of her once she wasn't so preoccupied with the blood on the carpet and replaying in her mind everything that had gone on in this room tonight.
“Do you think you can stand up?”
Hannah shook her head.
“I want to get you out of this room, okay?” He spoke slowly, making sure her shock-muddled brain was hearing him. “You shouldn’t be in here looking at your friend’s blood. I’ll help you up.” Tom stood and extended his hand.
She didn't move. In her face, he could clearly see she was debating her options. She knew he was taking her out of the room regardless of any protest she offered, and she knew her legs most likely weren’t steady enough to support her, but she didn't want to accept his help. For some reason, the notion of letting him help her was repulsive to her.
Eventually, she sighed, and having weighed her options, she grasped his hand and let him pull her to her feet. As soon as she was standing, she tugged her hand free, and just as he had suspected, her legs weren’t strong enough to hold her up right now. She teetered, then staggered forward and lost her balance, landing in his outstretched arms.
* * * * *
9:04 P.M.
Hannah knew as soon as she was on her feet that standing up had been a bad idea. She wobbled all over the place. Seeking something solid.
Then her knees buckled and she fell.
Landing in a strong pair of arms.
Arms that wrapped around her in a comforting warmth of familiarity and safety.
She was pulled against a rock-hard chest, and although she knew it was a bad idea, she rested against it, letting those arms hold her up. Her head swam, and her stomach turned in a constant procession of slow somersaults. She wanted to move away, to stand on her own two feet, but she knew that right now that was out of the question.
Tom Drake.
What were the chances that her ex-husband would turn up here tonight?
The odds had to be astronomical.
And yet, here he was.
Holding her, soothing her fears, calming her pounding heart, guiding her shock-addled brain back to reality.
This was wrong.
She had to get away from him. Letting him hold her was only going to make this so much harder than it was already going to be.
Lifting her hands to Tom’s chest, she pushed until he loosened his hold. When he didn't release her, she tipped her head back so she could look up at him. The light brown eyes that stared back at her were swirling with emotion, but then he shuttered them and they went blank.
Hannah felt her heart drop.
Nothing had changed.
She was stupid for allowing herself to believe for even a second that things could be different.
When she pushed at his chest again, Tom let his arms drop to his sides this time. She took a step backward, and was swamped by a rush of dizziness so severe she could do nothing but moan and crumple.
Again, when she fell, her landing was in the same pair of strong arms.
This time they swung her feet up off the ground and carried her out of her store.
As soon as they stepped out into the night and the cold air hit her, Hannah felt the cobwebs begin to clear from her head. The blood was gone, the gun was gone, the fear that had held her in its icy grasp began to lessen, and she felt herself returning to her usual self.
“Put me down, Tom,” she ordered, pleased when her voice sounded strong and confident, not the weak, quivering mess it had been before.
“You fainted, Hannah,” he shot back, his voice harsh.
“I’m okay,” she said firmly.
“Fine. Whatever.” He let her slide slowly down his body till her feet touched the ground, then kept his arm around her waist until he was sure she had her bearings.
When Tom finally withdrew his arm, she very nearly toppled over again, but through sheer strength of will managed to remain on her feet and fairly steady. She drew in long, slow, deep breaths of the winter air and slowly, bit by bit the dizziness began to fade.
She was still shaking, though; she hadn’t been able to quell it since she first saw the guns.
Guns.
For a moment, it all came rushing back. The fear, the panic, how close she had come to dying.
If the cops hadn’t shown up when they did, she would be dead right now.
Jeff could still die.
And all because she had frozen.
“Your friend will be okay.” Although it had been three years since they’d divorced, apparently Tom was still able to read in her face what she was thinking. “The bullet missed his heart and his lungs,” he continued, turning her to face him, taking hold of one of her arms and slipping it into the sleeves of his coat, which was still draped around her shoulders. As he slipped her other arm in and buttoned it up, dressing her as though she were a child, he said, “He was lucky. A couple of inches either way, and he could have died instantly.”
She shivered.
So close.
So close to dying.
Hannah had to push the thoughts away before they consumed her. The cops had come, and their sirens had scared the robbers off, and all of them had made it out alive.
“I'm going to take you over to get checked out by the medics,” Tom announced.
That snapped her back to her senses. She wasn't hurt. She didn't need a doctor. “I told you I was okay.”
“You have a bruise.” He lifted his hand as though to touch the mark like he had done back in her store, but this time his hand stopped before it made contact with her skin.
“It’s nothing. He just shoved the gun into my head. I’ll be fine,” she insisted.
“Hannah, you were held hostage, with a gun to your head. A gun. You know you need to be checked out.” He sounded annoyed. She was very good at annoying Tom.
She couldn’t think about the gun right now. If Tom was here, then the FBI was involved. She’d heard about the other armed robberies at jewelry stores throughout the city. Whatever else Tom was or was not, he was a good agent, and he would find these men before anyone else got hurt, but to do that, he would need her statement. She wanted to just do it and get it over with, then go home, swallow some sleeping pills, and go to sleep.
“I’ll give you my statement first.”
“Hannah,” he frowned at her.
“I'm not arguing with you, Tom. Ask me whatever questions you have, and then I’ll let a medic look me over before I go home.”
“Well, we’re not doing it out here. We’ll sit in the back of my car.” He took her arm with a gentleness that was at odds with the irritated tone.
He had been so gentle with her inside, too. The way he had cradled each of her hands as he wiped the blood off them had caused a fresh wave of tears to cascade down her cheeks. No one had ever been as gentle with her as Tom had. Then when he had turned his attention to cleaning her face, she had wanted nothing more than to curl up in those arms that had at one time been her only solace when the world was crumbling around her.
“Here you go.” He had steered her to a dark sedan, and now opened the door and guided her into the back seat. He closed the door then walked around to the other side and climbed in. A woman with shoulder-length light brown hair climbed into the driver’s seat, turned on the engine, and then the heater. “You’re still shaking, Hannah,” Tom said, his voice soft again.
She didn't need to tell him that being held at gunpoint was the cause. He knew it. He knew why she had a phobia about guns. He knew everything about her.
“Chloe, can you get me some blankets?” he addressed the young woman in the front seat, his eyes never leaving hers. Once they were alone, he searched her face. “Are you really okay? I know how horrible that must have been for you.”
New tears were clogging her throat. She didn't want to think about the night that she knew was seared into both of their minds forever. She wanted to erase it from her memory and her life, just like she wanted to forget tonight. “They shot Jeff because of me. Because I couldn’t give them the code,” she whispered.
Tom’s eyes went fierce. “That is not your fault, Hannah. You know that. You still freeze up at the sight of a gun?”
When his gaze dropped down to his waist, hers followed. She saw the bulge under his sweater and knew it was his weapon. Involuntarily, her shaking intensified. She knew Tom would never use his gun on her, but now that he had drawn her attention to it, she couldn’t look away.
“Do you want me to give it to Chloe and ask her to stay outside while we talk?”
She shook her head, her eyes still fixed firmly on Tom’s waist.
“Hannah.” He hooked a finger under her chin and forcibly—although carefully so as not to hurt her—tilted her face up. “I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I'm sorry I didn't find them before they hit your store.”
That was the Tom she knew.
The man who took responsibility for everything that happened around him.
The man who wanted to save everyone even when they didn't need saving.
“I’ll be okay,” she reminded him. And she would. She was scared and she was in shock, but she would get through it. She was strong.
“I know you will.” He gave her a half smile.
His eyes were just unshuttering when his partner returned, passing a stack of blankets to Tom. Hannah expected him to wrap them around her, but instead he simply passed them to her, his eyes empty again. She took them and wrapped both around herself, cocooning herself in a little bundle of warmth. Warmth that couldn’t seem to penetrate through to the cold deep inside her.
“What time did you close up tonight?” Tom asked.
“Seven.”
“Did you lock the front door?”
“No.”
“Do you have any other employees?”
“Just Jeff and Vincent who were there with me.”
“What did you do when you closed up?”
“I went to the office to start on paperwork.” Tom’s questions were helping her to calm down. Focusing on facts meant she didn't focus on her emotions. He had always been a details man. It made him good at his job but also hard to live with sometimes. He wanted to plan everything out, down to the tiniest detail, and when he lost that sense of control, he didn't know what to do.
“What did the others do?”
“They put all of our most expensive jewelry into the safe like we do every night.”
“Do they have the code to the safe?”
“No, but they don’t need it. I open it and then they put everything away and close it when they’re done.”
“You triggered the silent alarm at seven nineteen. Is it usual to have everything packed away in the safe that quickly?”
“It was maybe a little quicker than usual.”
“How did you know the robbers were there?”
“I saw them on the CCTV screen in my office.”
“Why didn't you leave? You could have run out the back door. Why did you stay?”
The first hint of emotion edged into Tom’s voice. Whatever had happened between them, he still cared about her. Just not enough to have stayed. He had turned his back on her, walked away when she needed him the most. She couldn’t forget that. “Vincent was still in there.”
“You were in the workroom when the cops arrived. Did you go in there or did the robbers take you in there?”
“I went in. I thought I could warn Vincent before they got there.”
“What did you see when you walked in?”
Hannah shivered as the scene recreated itself in her mind. “Two men with guns.”
“Are you sure it was two men?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?” Tom’s voice had gone soft again.
“They wanted the code. I wanted to give it to them. No amount of jewelry is worth someone’s life. But I couldn’t make my mouth work.”
“How much is the stuff in the safe worth?”
“A couple of million, maybe.”
“A couple of million?” Tom repeated, his eyes growing wide.
She just shrugged. She didn't care about that right now, not while Jeff was in a hospital because of her.
“Did the men address each other with names?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What about you or either of your employees, did they use your names?”
She thought, but wasn't sure, the gun had blocked out everything else from her mind. “I don’t think so.”
“What was their demeanor like? Were they calm? Were they anxious or nervous? Were there any arguments between them?”
She dropped her eyes to her lap, feeling useless that she couldn’t answer any of those questions. “I don’t know. All I saw were the guns.”
“Did Jeff come into the room with you?”
“No. I thought he’d gotten away. I was surprised when he came in.”
“Why did he come in?”
“He gave them a code.”
“I thought only you had the code.”
Hannah nodded. “He made one up. They got angry; that’s why they shot him.” Her breath hitched as the sound of the gunshot rang in her head.
“Why did they leave?”
“The sirens. We heard the sirens, and they just left. I ran to Jeff as soon as they were gone. There was so much blood. I thought he was going to die, because he had tried to save me. They were going to start shooting me until I gave them the code. There was so much blood,” she intoned, remembering the feel of it on her hands as it seeped through the coat she’d held to Jeff’s wound.
“But he’s going to be okay,” Tom reminded her. “Did you get a look at them?”
She shook her head. “They wore jeans and black hoodies. They had balaclavas on so I couldn’t see their faces. I'm sorry, Tom, I don’t have anything helpful to give you.”
“You did fine.” He patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Okay, interview is over for now. You can give an official statement in the morning. Now, you go and get checked out, then you go home and get some rest. Is there someone who can stay with you tonight?”
“I’ll be fine on my own.” All she wanted was to sleep. Adrenalin was draining from her system leaving her exhausted.
“Of course, you will.” Terseness was back in Tom’s tone. For some reason, he didn't like her to be self-sufficient. It had been a regular argument between them those last few weeks of their marriage. “I’ll walk you to the ambulance. Don’t even think about arguing,” he snapped when she opened her mouth to protest.
There was no point in arguing. It wasn't worth it. She was too tired. Hannah climbed out of the car and was unsurprised that Tom was already there, ready to take her arm and help keep her on her feet.
At the back of the ambulance she went to unwrap the blankets that were still around her shoulders, but Tom stopped her. “Keep them, you’re still shaking.”
“What about your jacket?”
“Keep it. You can give it back to me tomorrow when you come to give your statement.”
The thought of seeing Tom again tomorrow wasn't an altogether pleasant one. He stirred up too many unresolved feelings and emotions. Things had ended abruptly, and she could admit to herself that she still had unresolved issues with their breakup.
As medics bundled her up into the ambulance, Hannah watched Tom walk away.
He was here only because this was his job.
When it was over, he would walk away again.
She hoped her heart could handle it.
* * * * *
11:57 P.M.
Eat or go straight to bed.
Neither option sounded particularly appealing.
Tom locked the door behind him and tossed his keys on the table in the hall, and then stood and stared at his dark, empty house. He’d moved in here shortly after he and Hannah split up, neither of them had been able to stay in their house after what had happened there.
Although it had been three years since he’d bought the townhouse, it had never felt like a home. He hadn’t furnished it with more than the basics. The big open plan living, dining, and kitchen had nothing more than a single sofa and a TV—that he never watched—on an entertainment stand. There was no dining table. When he ate here, he sat on the one stool at the breakfast bar. Although the house had three bedrooms, two sat empty, and the master contained only his bed.
This was his house, not his home.
He hated living alone. He hated coming back from work after a long day and being met with nothing but silence. When he and Hannah had lived together, he’d come home each night to all the lights blazing, the smell of a home-cooked meal wafting out to meet him, and if he was lucky, Hannah would have baked something special.
It wasn't that he wanted a woman at home to take care of him. He had helped Hannah build her business and encouraged her in any way he could, and he had loved that she was smart and successful. Coming home to her was what had mattered. She had made their house a home, she had made his day better—no matter how bad it had been—just by being there.
Now without her, Tom felt so empty.
Letting her go had been the hardest thing he had ever done, but at the time it had felt like the only option. They had become poison to each other, taking a bad situation and making it so much worse. They had bickered constantly. Long, bitter arguments that left Hannah in tears and him feeling like the most useless human being on the planet.
It had been hard to accept that he wasn't helping his wife; he was hurting her.
It had been harder to accept that Hannah didn't need him.
What she needed was to be free of him.
She wanted to do it on her own. That had been her choice, and one that he had had to accept for both their sakes.
So, he had walked away.
It had nearly killed him, but he had done it because he had loved Hannah enough to do what was best for her, even if that meant being away from him.
Did he still love Hannah?
Yes.
He didn't even have to consider that. He would always love her. She was the one great love of his life. He hadn’t really dated since they had split up, only the occasional relationship that never went anywhere because his heart just wasn't in it. They had been nice women—pretty, funny, sweet, smart, sexy.
They could have made him happy if he had let them, but his heart was still tangled up in Hannah Buffy.
Seeing her tonight looking so small and scared and fragile brought back so many bad memories. Holding her in his arms when she had fainted had brought back a mixture of good and bad memories. Tom had loved carrying her curled against his chest, and when they used to go for hikes, Hannah had hated crossing streams, so he’d always picked her up and carried her across them. But the last few times he’d held her in his arms, it had been to comfort her as she relived the horror of what had happened to her.
A horror that would be brought back by tonight’s events.
Maybe he shouldn’t have left her alone.
The whole time he was interviewing her, he had been debating whether he should stay with her while she was examined by the paramedics, then personally see her safely home. She was holding it together surprisingly well, but he knew inside she must be a mess.
Inside he was a mess.
The thought of anyone hurting Hannah made his blood boil.
The thought of anyone holding a gun against her beautiful, soft skin rendered him useless.
But now wasn't the time to be rendered useless.
Now was the time to be focused and on his game. The robbery at Hannah’s store was different than the other four. And if it was different, then there was a chance that it wasn't related. And if it wasn't related, then it meant that the jewelry might not have been the main goal. And if the jewelry wasn't the main goal, then something else was. And Tom was terrified that the something else could be Hannah herself.
He couldn’t stomach the thought of her in any sort of danger.
He wouldn’t allow it.
And if he let the past suck him back into that same cycle that had almost destroyed both Hannah and himself, then she could wind up paying the price, and that was unacceptable.
All he had to do was keep the focus on work.
He was here to do a job. And do his job, he would. He would find who had held Hannah and her co-workers at gunpoint and he would arrest them. Then she would be safe.
Although things were over between them, and they could never go back to the way they’d been before, he wished her all the best. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted her to find someone who could be the partner she needed. He wanted her to get married and have children and live out the rest of her life happy and at peace.
Maybe seeing her again, as hard as it was, was for the best.
Things had ended so abruptly that neither of them had really gotten any closure. Back when they got divorced, they had both been so raw, in so much pain, still traumatized by what had happened. Then they had decided to end their marriage and that was it. They hadn’t seen each other again until tonight.
But now they could get that closure.
Now they could tie up any lingering feelings that still existed. They could say their goodbyes properly, so this time when they walked away, they would both be able to move on with their lives.
Move on with his life.
Walk away.
It was the right thing to do; he knew it was, and it was what Hannah wanted.
That didn't mean it was going to be easy.