7:56 A.M.
Tom actually felt well rested this morning. It wasn't as though he had gotten a lot of sleep last night, between the hubbub with Garry Smith, half expecting another monster to turn up at Hannah’s door, and knowing that she was upstairs asleep in her bed—well, her armchair—he had laid awake most of the night. But knowing he was making progress with her was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
Things with Hannah were still pretty precarious, teetering between growing closer and pushing each other away again. He wanted to make his focus solving this case, but whenever he was around Hannah, he couldn’t help but kiss her. Tom knew he was sending her mixed signals, and he knew it needed to stop.
He’d been going to talk with her this morning, but she had been asleep when he’d left and she needed the rest so he hadn’t wanted to wake her, but he couldn’t put it off any longer. The longer he waited, the more he continued to tell her this was his job, the greater the chance that he would lose her again. He kept saying the wrong thing because he was trying to make keeping her safe his top priority. Thinking back, that might have been why he lost her in the first place. He couldn’t bear the thought of her in pain, so he had constantly tried to wipe it all away, to take it from her and make it his own. Hannah hadn’t wanted that, she had accepted quicker than he had that what had happened was a part of them forever. They couldn’t take it away, but they could learn to live with it.
He hadn’t been able to accept it, so he had lost the woman he loved.
Now, he wanted her back. And he actually had a chance of making it happen.
Tom was sure that Hannah wanted to reconcile just as much as he did.
If he was wrong, if he asked and she said she wasn't interested in getting back together, then at least he would know.
A week ago, getting back together with Hannah had been the last thing on his mind. When he’d walked into her jewelry store four days ago, he’d thought that maybe they could both walk away from this case with closure. Now, closure was the furthest thing from his mind. He didn't want closure; he wanted his wife back.
“Coffee,” Chloe announced as she set a takeaway cup down on his desk and shrugged out of her coat, scarf, and gloves.
“Thanks.”
“I can't believe Christmas is only three days away.” Chloe pulled off the reindeer beanie she’d been wearing since October and set it on her desk.
He couldn’t either. He hadn’t decorated for Christmas since the last one he’d celebrated with Hannah. He went to his family’s gathering, exchanged gifts, sang carols, and ate too much Christmas dinner, but his heart was never in it. Obviously, Hannah’s wasn't, either. She didn't have a tree or a single Christmas decoration up in her house. And he knew how much she loved the holidays. When they’d lived together, she had decorated every single room in their house, filling it to the brim with Christmassy decorations and festive fairy lights. The look of joy on her face when she discovered a new decoration she just had to add to her collection was priceless.
Hannah’s Christmas Eve ritual of leaving milk and cookies out for Santa and carrots for his reindeer always made him laugh. As soon as she would fall asleep, he would sneak downstairs to eat the cookies, drink the milk, and gnaw on the carrots. In the morning when they woke up and went downstairs to open their presents by the tree, Hannah would always make a big deal out of pretending Santa had been and loved her homemade cookies. Her joyful laugh filled their home and his heart, making the day the single most perfect day of the year.
He wanted that joy for her again.
For both of them.
And he knew the only way they could find it was together.
They were so close. If Garry was the one who had set up the robbery in an attempt to draw Hannah back to him, then they had him in custody. All they needed was some proof to keep him locked up.
“How’s Hannah after what happened last night?” Chloe asked.
“She was still asleep when I left, but she’ll be fine.” Despite what Hannah apparently thought, he had always seen her as the strong woman that she was. “She was shocked and upset, and I think it threw her that she hadn’t seen Garry for who he really was, but if this was what it took to find that this was all because of her ex, then I think she’s glad it happened—scary as it was at the time.”
“It was lucky you were watching her house or things might not have worked out so well.”
“It was,” he agreed. He honestly wasn't sure if Garry would have physically hurt Hannah or not, but regardless, he was relieved he’d been there before things even had a chance to get out of hand and turn violent. “I spent some time this morning looking into Garry Smith.”
“Oh, yeah?” Chloe arched a brow. “We didn't look into him too deeply when we spoke with him before. He doesn’t have a criminal record.”
“No, he doesn’t. But he does have a psychiatric one.”
“How did you find that out?”
“I spoke with his sister.”
“The sister?”
“She was upset to hear about him being arrested and quick to tell me that he’s unbalanced, and that this isn’t the first time he’s gotten a little too obsessed with a girlfriend. It’s not even the second or the third. Hannah is the fourth woman that Garry has gotten out of line with.” Although it had scared Hannah and himself, he was glad that last night had happened. If it hadn’t, Garry’s actions would have escalated.
“What did he do?”
“The first incident was back when he was in high school. He latched onto a girl after a school dance. They had never even dated, but he built up this relationship between them. He started leaving gifts and notes in her locker, followed her around. After he started turning up at her house at night, her parents threatened Garry’s parents that if they didn't make him stop, they were going to press charges. His parents took him out of school and homeschooled him for the remainder of his junior year and his senior year.”
“When did he strike again?”
“College. Same sort of thing, only this time he had been dating the woman. When she ended things, he started stalking her. At first, she thought it was fairly harmless and he would eventually lose interest and move on. When he didn't, she ended up transferring to a different school to get away from him.”
“She didn't press charges?” Chloe asked.
“No, she didn't. She tried, but stalking cases are so hard to prove. When cops talked to him, he said that it was all just a big misunderstanding, and since Garry hadn’t done anything threatening and the girl hadn’t been hurt in any way, the cops never took it further.”
“He escalated with the third one?”
“He did,” Tom agreed. “The third one was a few years later. He was in his mid-twenties, working at a bank, and the woman was a colleague. They dated for about a year before things ended. She thought they ended amicably enough. And for the first couple weeks, it seemed like they did. And then the gifts and flowers started coming. Garry was still posting all over his social media accounts like they were still a couple. He started turning up at her apartment in the middle of the night, like he had with the others, he never made any attempts to get inside, he would just sit and watch the house. Then one night, he broke in.”
“Did he hurt her?”
“Not badly. He was convinced they were still a couple. Tried to get into bed with her. When she fought him off, she received some minor injuries.”
“What happened? He doesn’t have a criminal record, so he wasn't arrested.”
“They made a deal that if he got some psychiatric help that no charges would be filed against him. He did. He spent a few months at an in-facility treatment center, then came out, he takes medication and sees his psychiatrist once a month.”
“Doesn’t seem to be helping,” Chloe muttered.
“It looks like Garry could be a viable suspect. He knew Hannah’s store, and he could have gotten in when she wasn't there to plant the listening device. He has a reason to want to scare her, and he knows that Hannah has suffered a trauma before. He probably thought if he shoved her right into the middle of another one, he could get her to come back to him. He knew Hannah saw a therapist and maybe thinking they had that in common, he decided to fight harder to keep her than he did with the others.” The thought of another man obsessed with Hannah got his blood boiling and his protective juices flowing.
“We can't be sure yet that Garry was the one who set up the robbery,” Chloe reminded him. “We haven't ruled out Bryce McCracken yet.”
* * * * *
8:43 A.M.
She was just about to get up and walk out the door, unable to spend another second in this place without driving herself crazy, when the door swung open.
“Thanks for coming down here, Hannah,” Special Agent Luckman smiled at her.
“Are you okay?” Tom asked, his eyes assessing but emotionally empty.
He was back in cop mode. She couldn’t take much more of this. Hannah understood that this was his job, that he was an FBI agent, and that he solved crimes and saved people. It wasn't that she didn't want him to do his job or that she didn't understand his desire to protect her, but she couldn’t keep spending time around him when he kept switching between the Tom she had known before and the one who was like a stranger.
“Hannah?” he prodded, when she didn't answer.
“Yeah. Fine. What did you want to ask me about?” She wished Tom had still been at her house when she woke up this morning; she’d liked falling asleep knowing he was close by. When his partner had called her to ask if she would come and answer some questions for them, she had reluctantly agreed. The sooner they ended this, the sooner she and Tom could sit down and talk.
“I don’t want you to worry about Garry,” Tom said. “He’s going to be charged, and if he’s the one who organized the robbery, then we’ll find out, and he will be charged with that, as well.”
“Is Garry going to be kept in jail?” she asked.
“He’ll probably be out on bail,” Tom replied.
So, there would be nothing stopping him turning up at her house again. And if Tom wasn't there the next time, she might not escape unscathed.
“He won't have a chance to hurt you again.” Tom said it so confidently, she believed him. “His family is aware of his problems. He has a history of being unable to let go of relationships. They’re going to make sure he doesn’t come near you again. And you should take out a restraining order; if he does turn up at your house again, his bail will be revoked.”
“Yeah. Okay,” she agreed, although it didn't seem like a piece of paper was going to protect her much if Garry came back. And if his family knew that he was a danger to women, why hadn’t they done something about it? She and Garry had dated for a little over a year. She’d met his parents and his sister, and never once had they mentioned anything to her about him being unbalanced. And how had she not noticed that he was unbalanced? He had seemed so perfectly normal. She never would have pegged him for having any sort of mental health issue.
“It’ll be okay, Hannah. I won't let him hurt you.” Her Tom was back. The fire in his eyes, the protectiveness in his voice—this was who Tom was, and if they were going to get back together, she was going to have to learn to accept it. She might not want a husband who was a guard dog, but she could put up with it if it was what Tom needed to do.
“All right,” she agreed, putting her trust in Tom. “What do you want to ask me? Is it something about Garry?”
“No, we want to ask you about Bryce McCracken,” Tom’s partner informed her.
“Dr. McCracken?” she repeated. Tom had asked her about him before. If they wanted to talk to her about him again, they must really think there was a chance he was behind all of this. He had been her doctor for nearly three years now; he’d helped her a lot. She would never be where she was right now if it wasn't for him. She had loved Dr. Langley, and when the woman had retired shortly after she and Tom had divorced, she had considered giving up therapy. But she’d known she wasn't ready yet to take that step and asked her doctor for a recommendation, and she’d been introduced to Dr. Bryce McCracken.
“Do you like him?” Chloe Luckman asked her.
“Yes.”
“Your sessions with him have helped you?”
“Yes. A lot.”
“He said you’d called him after the robbery.”
“Yes. I wanted to work on my phobia of guns.” Hannah had been deliberately avoiding looking at the agents’ waists where she knew their guns were, but now her gaze dropped there, and she felt a shiver rocket through her. The six men who had ambushed Tom and broken into their home had tortured her mercilessly with their weapons. They had ground them into her temple and her forehead—leaving her with bruises far more substantial than the one from the other night—and laughed while they did it, pretending they were going to shoot her. Then they had pushed the barrel of the gun inside her and laughed again, like it was all some big joke to them. They had run the cold metal of the gun all over her body, asking her where she wanted them to shoot her first. She had believed she was going to die that night, and if it hadn’t been for one of their neighbors, she and Tom would have. Her gaze now riveted on Tom’s weapon, Hannah pulled her bottom lip in behind her front teeth and chewed on it nervously.
“Do you want us to take our guns out of the room?” Tom asked.
She did—desperately—but she knew that if she wanted to overcome her phobia, she had to start somewhere. Neither Tom nor his partner were a threat to her, so here was as good a place as any to start. Deliberately, she ripped her gaze from his waist to his face and calmed her ragged breathing. “No, its fine.”
“What are some of the things you and Dr. McCracken have worked on?” Chloe asked.
“You don’t have to answer that, Hannah,” Tom inserted. “It’s up to you. Your sessions with your therapist are privileged.”
She didn't have anything to hide, and she didn't believe that her doctor was in any way involved in the robbery, so she was happy to tell them whatever they wanted to know—at least the basics. They didn't need to know all the details. “We worked on my feelings to do with the assault. Techniques to help deal with the panic attacks. Dealing with my fears of the dark and being alone and sleeping in a bed. I wasn't very successful with the bed one.”
“How did he help you overcome your fears?”
“It wasn't really about overcoming them; it was learning to manage them. I'm probably always going to be jumpy alone in my home at night, but I got to a place where I can do it even if I'm not one hundred percent comfortable with it. We did exposure therapy. With my fear of the dark, we worked at it in steps. At first, he had me try not having every light in the house on. Then we worked on being in the dark for short times. Then we worked up to longer times until I got to the point where I could last throughout an entire night without having to have a light on in the room.”
“You were happy with his methods?”
“Yes.”
“He never pushed you to try something you weren’t comfortable with?”
“I wasn't comfortable with any of it, but no, he never pushed me harder than I could cope with.”
“You never worked on your phobia of guns with him before the robbery?”
“I think we might have talked about it early on, but it wasn't as pressing to me as my fears of the dark and being alone and learning to deal with the panic attacks. Those things affected my everyday life; guns didn't. I never came in contact with them. It wasn't until the robbery and I realized that Jeff and Vincent could have died because I froze up that I decided I had to do something about it.”
“Did he ever do anything to make you feel uncomfortable?”
Tom stiffened as his partner asked that, his guard dog side was out in full force again.
“He never made me feel uncomfortable. I like him.”
Tom relaxed, and asked, “What do you know about him?”
“He mostly works with victims of PTSD. He loves apples and eats them all the time, and he recently got divorced. Other than that, he’s just a good doctor. He’s helped me a lot.”
“Do you know any of his other patients?” Chloe asked.
“Not really. I might say hello and exchange pleasantries with them if we’re waiting together in his waiting room, but that’s about it. Why do you think he might have done this?” She couldn’t hold back her curiosity any longer.
“Families of some of his patients have filed complaints about his methods,” Tom informed her.
“The exposure therapy?”
“Yes. He took it to the extreme a few times and ended up causing his patients more harm than good.”
“What did he do?”
“One of his patients was a young woman who had been raped while jogging in the park with her dog. She hadn’t been able to exercise since and had put on a substantial amount of weight. Her dog had tried to fight off her attacker, and the rapist had killed him. She hadn’t been able to go near a dog since. Her family finally convinced her to seek help and she did. At first, things were going well. She worked on her inability to be around dogs and got to the point where she got a new puppy. Then he pressured her to agree to let him set up a fake assault. After working with Dr. McCracken, she’d been able to go back to exercising, taking to the gym rather than jogging. She was happy with her progress. Her family was happy with her progress. But the doctor wanted more. He convinced her to go jogging and told her he was going to set up a fake assault. He did, and it set the woman back in her recovery.”
Hannah frowned. “That’s taking the exposure therapy too far.” If Dr. McCracken had set it up for a group of men to pretend to break into her home in the middle of the night, it would have brought everything back. It wouldn’t have helped her. At all.
“That’s what her family thought.”
“Were there any other instances like that one?”
“There were a couple of others. All since his wife filed for divorce,” Tom replied.
“But he had their permission, right? I mean, he might have pressured them to say yes, but they did say yes. He never asked me about working on the gun phobia by throwing me into a fake armed robbery, so I really don’t know that he would have had anything to do with it.” She didn't think that Dr. McCracken was involved, but her relationship with him had certainly been soured by what she’d just learned. She couldn’t continue to see him as her doctor; she’d have to find a new therapist.
“Maybe he’s trying to make a name for himself in the psychiatric world by trying methods that are extreme. Or maybe he feels some sort of attachment to you for some reason, possibly because you bear a striking resemblance to his ex-wife. I don’t know,” Tom said, “but if he’s involved, we’ll find out.”
She nodded, feeling so overwhelmed. A week ago, she had just been going about her everyday life, trying to make it through the holidays, focusing on work. Now she’d been held at gunpoint, discovered that the man she’d dated was an unbalanced stalker, and the therapist she trusted was more interested in himself and his career than helping his patients. What was going to happen next?
* * * * *
12:20 P.M.
Hannah yawned, a huge face-splitting yawn. She was really struggling to keep her eyes open today, which was weird given she’d had a better night’s sleep than she had in the last three years.
The feeling of being overwhelmed was still there—and no doubt the cause of the drained and exhausted feeling that swamped her—but she was making strides to overcome it. She had started looking for recommendations for a new therapist. She had called a home security firm to see about having an ungraded system installed at her house, and she was back at her store determined to finish the list of stolen stock.
It was a tedious task because she had to go through every single item of jewelry left in her store because she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure exactly what Jeff and Vincent had put into the safe. She had a printed list of inventory beside her and was working her way through the boxes where she had stacked the jewelry crossing each item off on the list when she confirmed it was still here. She was bored and tired and finding it difficult to concentrate, but she’d put it off long enough. And it wasn't like she had anything else to do, so she was going to sit here and work on it until it was done.
Her stomach grumbled loudly.
She was starving; she hadn’t eaten anything yet today. When Tom’s partner had called and asked her to come to their office, she’d left immediately, and when they were finished questioning her, she’d come straight here. She hadn’t eaten dinner last night either, and she was kind of iffy on whether or not she’d had lunch yesterday.
Maybe she should stop and grab some lunch now, come back to this later.
It was tempting.
But if she stopped this close to being done, she wouldn’t want to come back and finish it later. And she really had to finish. She needed to know exactly what was gone so she could file her insurance claim, and Tom and his partner wanted to know.
Hannah sighed.
No more procrastinating. It shouldn’t take her more than another hour or so to finish going through everything, then the task would be done, and she could go get something to eat, then maybe head home and grab a nap.
She was working through the box that contained some of her most expensive stock, stuff that was always kept in the safe overnight, when she froze.
Something was missing.
Something that shouldn’t be.
A heart-shaped five carat diamond ring worth around $65,000 wasn't there.
It should be there.
How could it have gone missing?
It would have been in the safe the night of the robbery.
There was no way that Jeff and Vincent wouldn’t have put it in there. They packed up most nights, and they’d always put it in the safe before.
It had been in the safe.
She was the only one who had the code.
She hadn’t given the robbers the code, so the robbers couldn’t have taken it.
So, where was it?
It had to be here somewhere.
Standing quickly, she hurried to the safe. It was probably still in there. Maybe it had somehow fallen and was lying unnoticed on the floor. That seemed unlikely; the safe was only five feet by five feet, and lined with shelves, which she kept perfectly organized. But where else could it be?
Punching in the code, Hannah threw open the door and dropped to her knees, running her hands along the floor, searching for the missing ring.
She found nothing.
Next, she worked her way up, shelf by shelf, both looking and feeling to see if the ring was there.
It wasn't.
It was gone.
It should be in the box. There was no way the robbers could have taken it. It was impossible. It was in the safe when they were here. Someone had taken it after the robbery. Which meant there were only two people who could have done it.
Jeff or Vincent.
She’d given them the code. She’d had to. There was no way she could risk another robbery, and her phobia of guns causing her to freeze up again, so she had given the code to both her employees, intending to change it once Vincent moved on. Never again would she be the only one who could access the safe.
Why would Jeff or Vincent have stolen one of her rings?
There was only one reason she could think of.
They had set up the robbery and stolen the ring to pay the men they’d hired, hoping she would just assume it had been stolen the night of the robbery.
Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. How could she not have seen that one of her employees was psychotic and out to get her? Probably the same way she hadn’t see that Garry was psychotic and out to get her.
Hannah had never felt so betrayed in her life.
It seemed like rather than working with a therapist on overcoming her phobia of guns, she needed to work on learning how to more accurately read people.
At least now she knew who it was. Jeff and Vincent were the only people with the code to her safe, and they had access to the store, so they were the only ones who could have snuck in here and taken the ring following the robbery.
She had to call Tom and tell him.
As she walked out of the safe, she sensed the man was there even before she saw him.
She opened her mouth to scream, but he was on her before she could make a sound.
He was big.
So big.
And wearing a balaclava.
That was good, right? If he didn't want her to see his face, there was a chance that he didn't want to kill her.
He held a knife in his hand and he grabbed hold of her arm, yanking her up against his chest, clamping his free hand over her mouth and holding his knife to her neck.
This had to be one of the men who’d held a gun on her the other night.
Now that she knew that they didn't just want her merchandise but her, as well, it was so much more terrifying.
What did he want from her?
Who had hired him?
Why had one of her employees hired him to rob her store and then come back to get her?
“You’re pretty,” his voice whispered in her ear. His breath through the thick black material that concealed his face was hot and stinky.
Hannah shivered; she was so scared. If this man raped her, she didn't think she could deal with it.
“So pretty,” he drawled. He moved the knife so the tip punctured the skin on her cheek and trailed it down, around her chin, along her neck and down onto her chest.
The cut was shallow but Hannah could feel a small trickle of blood seeping out. The knife was above her heart. Was he going to kill her? She didn't understand. What did Vincent or Jeff want from her? Robbing her store was one thing. That could easily be explained away by greed, but sending someone here to cut her, to possibly rape and kill her, made no sense.
Whatever the reason, she wasn't going down without a fight.
“I bet men throw themselves at you all the time.” The masked man pressed the knife deeper into her flesh, cutting through her rose and lilac striped cashmere sweater and into the skin of her left breast. “I bet you take advantage. Use them to get what you want and then dump them once you have it.” He pressed the knife deeper still, and she cried out beneath his hand. “Not so pretty now, huh?” he chuckled as he gouged a hole in her breast.
He was going to torture her before he raped and killed her.
She had obsessively taken self-defense classes since the home invasion, learning every single technique she could in case she was ever in a position where she needed to use them.
And now she was.
Lifting her right leg, she kicked backward and to the side, aiming for and connecting with the man’s knee.
He yelped in surprise and released her.
Hannah darted for the door. It was the middle of the day and only three days before Christmas. There would be lots of people at the mall. She just had to get their attention and help would come.
She hadn’t caused her attacker as much damage as she’d hoped, and he lunged at her, tackling her and sending them both sprawling to the floor. As soon as they were down, he flipped her onto her back and sat on her stomach, pinning her down. Hannah didn't give up. She reached up and gouged her finger into where she believed his eye was. Her aim must have been spot on because he howled a string of profanities and backhanded her across the face so hard she saw stars.
By the time they cleared, he’d slapped a piece of duct tape over her mouth. “I didn't like that,” he growled, digging his finger into the wound on her breast.
She screamed, the sound muffled by the tape.
She was so scared she had almost moved beyond fear, to a distant empty place her mind had gone to before.
She was disconnecting.
With quick efficient movements, the man turned her over onto her stomach and pulled her arms behind her, securing her wrists together with layer after layer of tape. He did the same with her ankles. Her attacker put something over her eyes, and she felt him tie it behind her head.
Bound, gagged, and blindfolded, she was helpless against him.
Completely helpless.
As he picked her up, her mind descended into the peace and serenity of shock.
* * * * *
1:03 P.M.
As he walked toward Hannah’s jewelry store, Tom wondered what he should get her as a Christmas gift.
That they would spend Christmas together was already a given in his mind. They might not spend the whole day together. He might not share Christmas lunch with her, and they both might be busy with their respective families, but he had no doubt that they would see each other.
He wanted to give her something special, something meaningful, something that showed her how much he still loved her and how much he wanted them to find a way to work things out. He wasn't sure yet exactly what that would be, but he had no doubt he would think of something. He still had time.
He had an hour before he had to be back at work, and he hoped he and Hannah would have enough time to talk—both personally and professionally. He wanted to let Hannah know that this wasn't just a job and that he wanted more. Tom also wanted to let her know about the listening device they’d found in her office, and find out whether either Garry Smith or Bryce McCracken might have had access to her store to leave the bug.
In his hands, he carried two cups of soup from Hannah’s favorite store, a peace offering of sorts. He wanted to apologize for his repeated claims that everything that had happened the last few days was all just a job. It wasn't. And he couldn’t keep using that as an excuse to keep a barrier up between the two of them. If he and Hannah were going to find a way to put their relationship back together, there couldn’t be any more hiding from each other. He couldn’t complain that Hannah shut him out when he did the exact same thing.
The mall was busy with people everywhere, and Hannah’s quiet store seemed out of place. He wished that none of this had happened, that no one had set out to target her, that she had never been held at gunpoint, that her store hadn’t been robbed, that she wasn't missing out on business during the busiest shopping season of the year.
Although . . .
If none of that had happened, though, they wouldn’t have been thrown back together. He was selfish enough to be thankful for anything that brought them back together. He just wished Hannah hadn’t been hurt in the process.
He opened the door to her store and movement through the open workroom door caught his attention.
“Hannah? It’s Tom.”
No answer.
He was immediately on edge.
His gut said something was wrong, and he always trusted his gut.
Without hesitating, he dropped the cups of soup, pulled out his gun and ran through the store. As he entered the workroom, he saw blood on the floor, a man in a black balaclava, and no signs of Hannah.
“FBI, freeze!” he yelled at the man.
The man was close to the door to the office. If he got through it, he could escape out the back door.
That was not going to happen.
Tom had his gun trained on the man, and he would use it if he had to. The man hadn’t moved and appeared to be weighing up his options.
Apparently deciding it wasn't worth trying anything stupid, the man put his hands up.
“Down on the ground,” Tom ordered.
The man complied, getting down on his knees, then lying on his stomach, his arms out above his head. He knew the drill. This man had been arrested before.
Cautiously, he crossed the room, keeping his gun trained on the man as he pressed a knee into his back and reached with his free hand to snap a handcuff around his wrist, pulling the man’s arm back, then putting his gun away in order to reach for the man’s other arms to finish cuffing him.
With the man restrained, Tom yanked off the balaclava, “Where is she?”
A sullen, pock-marked face pouted back at him. His left eye was red and swollen. Hannah had fought back.
“Where is she?” he repeated, fighting the urge to pummel the man he knew had hurt Hannah.
“The safe,” the man muttered.
Calling in backup, Tom darted to the safe. “Do you have the code?”
“No.”
He had to figure it out. He had to think. What would Hannah choose? She was smart enough not to do her birthday. She had named her store with a nickname he had given her, because that reminded her of him and the happy times they’d shared. Would she choose a date related to the two of them?
Tom tried their wedding date.
It didn't work.
Next, he tried the date they’d met.
Again, it didn't work.
He tried the date that he’d proposed.
Another failure.
He was starting to panic. The red light on the keypad was flashing at him, mocking him. He wasn't familiar with the particular system Hannah used and was afraid that if he kept putting in wrong numbers, the system would just shut down altogether.
That couldn’t happen.
He had to get in there.
The blood on the floor told him Hannah was hurt. He just didn't know how badly. She could be bleeding out on the other side of the door. He had to keep it together.
Sunkissed Jewels.
Her store’s logo was printed on the door of the safe.
Sunkissed.
He had first called her that when they had spent their first vacation together. They’d been at the beach, chasing each other through the waves. He’d carried her on his shoulders out to the deep water, then tossed her in. She’d paid him back by staying under and not coming up for air for an impossibly long time. Afterward, they’d laid in the sand, the sun drying their wet bodies, tangled in each other’s arms. In the sunlight, the red in Hannah’s hair had shimmered and shone, and as her head on his chest had tilted up to look at him, the freckles across her nose and cheeks had looked like little kisses from the sun.
That day.
That was the code Hannah had chosen.
Tom knew it even as he punched in the numbers, and the keypad rewarded him by changing its light from red to green.
He was in.
He quickly spun the handle and swung open the door.
Hannah was lying on the floor of the safe. She was bound, gagged, and blindfolded.
She lay on her side and he could see that her sweater had been cut, and the edges were covered in blood. A line of blood ran from her cheek, down her chin, along her neck and disappeared under her sweater.
Her sweater had a hole right above her heart.
The man had cut her breast.
As she heard the door to the safe open, she tried to wiggle backward, away from him, he heard her whimper through the tape on her mouth.
“It’s okay, Hannah; it’s me,” he said as he dropped down at her side.
At the sound of his voice, she stilled, and he saw her sag back against the floor in relief.
Supporting her head in one hand, Tom pulled off the blindfold. Hannah’s eyes were watery, but she wasn't crying. As carefully as he could, he pulled off the tape covering her mouth. Hannah flinched as it took off a layer of skin with it.
“Are you all right?” he asked, taking her face in his hands and searching her eyes for answers.
“Mmhmm.” She gave a small nod. “Did you get him?”
“I did.” His heart was still hammering in his chest. That man could have killed her. And what had he had in mind for her if he hadn’t been interrupted? “Hannah,” he leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers.
“I—I’m okay,” she assured him. She was trembling, but she was holding it together. Just.
“I’ll go get something to cut the tape.” He gently laid her back down, and she winced as the movement jostled her wounds.
Leaving her was difficult, even for a moment, but he had to get her free. Her attacker still lay where he’d left him, and Tom glared at him as he ran past and into Hannah’s office to find a pair of scissors to cut away the tape that bound her. He hated that man. Hated him. But at least now he could get the answers he needed.
Back in the safe, he sawed through the tape at her ankles, then sat Hannah up, propping her against his body as he leaned behind her and freed her wrists. He rubbed at her hands to restore circulation, then turned his attention to the wound on her chest. “How bad is it?”
“I don’t think it’s too deep.”
Grabbing the strip of cloth the man had used to blindfold her, Tom supported Hannah against his bent knee and pressed the material to her chest, stemming the flow of blood from her wound. Sirens filled the air, and he relaxed a little. Hannah was okay, and now that they had the man who had attacked her, she was safe, as well. There was nothing left standing between the two of them reconciling.
“Tom?” Chloe called out a moment later.
“In the safe,” he called back.
“You got him,” his partner appeared behind him.
“Good timing,” he said.
“Is she okay?”
“She is,” Hannah replied, sitting herself up straighter and grimacing as it caused pain. “Tom, go and find out who he is.”
“Hannah …” He didn't want to leave her.
“Please,” she begged. “I need to know.”
“Fine.” He’d do it for her; he would do anything for her. He helped her move backward so she could rest against the wall, then lifted her hand and held it to her wound. “Keep pressure on this.”
She squeezed his hand before taking over keeping pressure on the cut. “Thank you,” she whispered. A single tear escaped and rolled slowly down her cheek.
He kissed her forehead then very reluctantly left the room, leaving Hannah with his partner. Cops were dragging Hannah’s attacker to his feet.
Tom saw red.
The man had hurt Hannah. He deserved to be hurt a million times worse.
But this man was only the middle man. He wasn't the one they needed. They needed the one who’d planted the bug—the one who was after Hannah.
“Who is it?” he demanded, stalking across the room.
“Who’s what?” the man asked, but Tom could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew exactly what was being asked of him.
“Don’t lie to me and don’t play games,” he growled, getting right up in the man’s face. “Who paid you to hurt Hannah?”
The man squirmed.
“Who?” Tom held his face millimeters from the man’s.
“I don’t know his name.”
“Then how did he find you?” Why did nothing on this case go smoothly? They had one of the men who’d committed the robbery at Hannah’s store, they had confirmation someone had set it up on purpose. But the only man they had in custody didn't even know who had hired him.
“Through a friend.”
“The other man who held up the store a few nights ago.”
The man nodded. “But he ran a couple of days ago. We were supposed to get the ring and then disappear, but he took the ring and ran.” The man’s face grew bright red, and he vibrated with anger.
“What ring?”
“He promised us a ring that was worth more than fifty grand.”
So, it was an inside job, someone who knew what Hannah had in stock. “Why did you come back here?”
“He asked me to. Said he’d get me a ring of my own. All I had to do was come here and scare her. I was just gonna leave when you showed up.”
“Do you have a phone number for this man?”
“He uses a different one every time.”
Burner phones. “Is he young or old? Any accents? Anything you can tell me about him from talking to him?”
“He sends texts.”
Tom groaned. Of course he did, because nothing went smoothly in this case. “Take him away,” he told the cops. As they led the man away, Tom noticed he was limping. Hannah must have gotten in a blow to his knee. His heart swelled with pride. She never gave up, she was the ultimate fighter.
“Did he tell you who it is?” Hannah asked when he returned to her side.
“No, I'm sorry. He said he doesn’t know.”
“It’s Jeff or Vincent. I gave them the code after the robbery. One of them went in and stole a ring. I was going to call you and tell you when the man attacked me.” She began to chew on her bottom lip, and he couldn’t help but smile. She was so adorable when she did that.
“We’ll figure it out,” he promised as paramedics joined them in the small, cramped room. He should probably move back and give them more space to work, but he didn't. The fear of turning up here to find a masked man and blood on the floor, and then seeing Hannah tied up and bleeding, hadn’t left him yet. It wouldn’t for a long time.
While one EMT began to check Hannah’s vitals, the other shot him a look. “I'm going to have to remove her top to check her injury.”
“Okay.”
“Tom,” Hannah raised a brow at him.
“You already used up your one ask-me-to-leave-the-room pass. You don’t get another one.”
For a moment, Hannah looked like she was going to argue, but then she turned to the medic. “It’s fine, go ahead.”
As the medic cut away her damaged sweater, Tom saw the continuation of the long shallow cut that started on her cheek, and a much deeper wound on her left breast that was still oozing blood. How dare that man mar Hannah’s beautiful breasts. The desire to pummel him until his face was a bloody, unrecognizable mess was overwhelming.
“How bad is it?” he asked, when the medic was finished examining it.
“Needs a couple of stitches.”
“You’ll do that here,” Hannah said, not asked.
“If that’s what you want,” the medic agreed.
“It is.”
“You should go and see a doctor within the next day or so if you're not going to go to the hospital,” the medic cautioned.
“Okay,” Hannah agreed noncommittally.
“I’ll make sure she does,” Tom inserted. He expected Hannah to complain, to inform him that she didn't need anyone to take care of her, that she could take care of herself, that it was none of his business whether she decided to go and see a doctor, and that he’d overstepped his bounds.
But she didn't.
She said none of that.
She just smiled up at him.
* * * * *
3:15 P.M.
He hoped he hadn’t scared Hannah too much.
He only needed her scared enough that she would seek comfort and solace in his arms, but so far it didn't seem to be working.
Why hadn’t she come to him?
He didn't understand it.
He knew she had a phobia about guns. The fake robbery at her store should have been enough to send her running straight for him.
But it hadn’t.
He had waited patiently, trying to give her time, not wanting to take things further unless she left him no other choice. Still, she didn't come.
When it became clear that he didn't have any other choice, he had reluctantly upped the ante. He had sent one of the men who had committed the robbery back to Hannah to scare her a little more.
He wasn't pleased to hear she’d been injured.
That wasn't part of the plan.
The man was just supposed to scare her, maybe tie her up and leave her. He wasn't supposed to cause her physical harm. He would have to be clearer about that next time. It couldn’t happen again.
Even with one of them taking things too far, finding those two men had been a serious stroke of luck. They had been greedy enough to do what he’d asked in exchange for the ring. Which was the perfect payment because it didn't even cost him anything. Hannah would just assume the robbers had taken it and add it to the list submitted to the insurance company, so she would be reimbursed for it, as well. A win-win.
As great a plan as he’d had, it still didn't seem to be working.
So, he’d come here.
He was at a loss; he didn't know what to do next. He couldn’t risk Hannah being physically hurt again, so maybe this would show her how much she meant to him.
Carefully, he picked the lock on the back door of Hannah’s house. He knew where she lived, but he’d never been to her house before. Well, he had never been inside her house before. He’d been here lots of times. Just watching the house. It made him feel closer to her here. And if he was lucky and he came by in the summertime, he might see her sitting in her backyard in a bikini, lying on her lounge with a book in her hands.
He loved those days.
He’d sit and stare at her, transfixed, imagining what it would be like to touch her, to kiss her, to run his hands all over her body, to put his hands inside her body, to be inside her, to come inside her. Those times he watched her usually ended with him masturbating, because she got him so hard he just couldn’t help it.
He would have her.
He wouldn’t allow any other outcome.
How could he be without her?
He dreamed about her every night. She drove him wild every time he was in the same room as her. She consumed his thoughts during the day and his dreams at night.
He had to have her.
He had to.
He’d thought she would be his by now.
Maybe she would be if it wasn't for that FBI agent.
He knew who the man was. He knew everything about Hannah Buffy. He knew that her full name was Hannah Jade Buffy. He knew that she had been born on October 31st, the second of three daughters to Joel and Freya Buffy. He knew that while her older sister Rachel had been the sporty one and her younger sister Bethany was the academic one, Hannah had been the artistic one. She might be artistic, but she was smart, too, and had been a straight A student throughout school. He knew that she loved to swim, read, and ski, in addition to making jewelry. And that Special Agent Tom Drake was her ex-husband.
He knew about the home invasion.
He knew that it had destroyed her marriage.
He knew that when she was suffering the most, her husband had walked out on her.
He knew that it had been three years since they’d last seen each other.
Only now, it seemed Tom was back, and it looked like he wanted Hannah.
Well, that was not going to happen. Tom Drake had had his chance with Hannah, and he had tossed her away. Now it was his turn. And he would never, ever let her go. Not for anything. No one was going to get in the way of him getting what he wanted. No one was going to stop him from having Hannah for his very own. No one. And if anyone, including FBI agent Tom Drake, got in his way, then he would kill them.
Hannah would be his.
As soon as she knew how much she meant to him and how he wanted to make her the very center of his universe, she would be happy to belong to him. She would know that he would make her happiness his top priority. She would know that his love for her was all-consuming.
She would know that soon.
Maybe she already knew it, and she just needed that little push to overcome her fears and turn to him. To learn that being strong and independent was a good thing, but so was letting the man who loved you more than life itself take care of you.
These gifts would show her how he felt about her.
Chocolates, because Hannah was the sweetest person he had ever met, in a heart-shaped box, because she and she alone owned his heart. And a bouquet of forget-me-nots—for true love and because he would never forget her—tulips—red for undying love—and violets—blue for faithfulness. He had chosen all of them especially for her. He hoped she appreciated them.
He tiptoed through her kitchen. Even though he knew she wasn't here, her house filled him with a sort of reverence. He set the gifts on her kitchen table where she would be sure to find them when she returned home.
He wanted to stay, to be here waiting for her, but he couldn’t. That would startle her and he didn't want to do that. She had to be the one to come to him, and she would.
Perhaps even today.
After what had happened earlier, she would be scared and shaken and in need of comfort and support. Who better to give it to her than him?
She would come.
She would.
He was sure of it.
* * * * *
4:40 P.M.
“Ready to regroup?” Chloe asked.
Tom looked up from his computer where he’d been running background checks for the last hour. He hadn’t wanted to leave Hannah; he didn't want to be away from her right now. When the paramedics had finished with her at the store, she had allowed him to drive her to one of her sister’s houses so she wouldn’t be alone and someone could keep an eye on her following the attack since she wouldn’t go to the hospital.
He knew she was all right and he knew she was being well taken care of and he knew he was going to go back and watch her house tonight, but that didn't loosen the pull that wanted to draw him back to Hannah’s side.
But he had a job to do, and he was going to do it. He had to make sure that Hannah was safe. He couldn’t stand the thought of her in danger again, of her being hurt again. He kept picturing the bloody gash on her smooth white skin. That would not happen again.
Focus on his job.
That was what he had to do right now.
“You want to go first?” he asked his partner.
“You can.”
“The man who attacked Hannah today is Tristan Hinkle. He’s twenty-seven and has a lengthy criminal history. Assault and battery, domestic violence, a kidnapping. Started with fights at bars, then the cops were called to his house several times after he beat his girlfriend. He’d be sent to prison, and she kept taking him back every time he got out. When she finally decided she’d had enough, he kidnapped her.”
“How’d he do so little time for the kidnapping?”
“Took a deal to a lesser charge and pled guilty. He’d been out of prison for about two months before the robbery at Hannah’s store.”
“Who was his partner?”
“Troy Abbadakka. Also twenty-seven, he grew up with Tristan, they lived across the street from each other, went to school together, and got into bar brawls together. Troy has also been in and out of prison. Mostly snatch-and-grab robberies. He’d stake out ATMs, wait for someone to withdraw cash, then follow them, hit them over the head, and run off with their bags. He was out for about four months before the robbery.”
“So, he had plenty of time to set up the plan with whoever orchestrated the robbery.”
“He did. And according to Tristan, it was Troy who was the one who had contact with the man who wants to hurt Hannah. I looked into whether either Tristan or Troy spent time in prison with Warren Maloney or his cousin, and I didn't find any connections.”
“We know the robbery at Hannah’s store wasn't related to the others,” Chloe reminded him.
“I know. I just wanted to confirm to make sure. According to Hannah, a ring worth around sixty-five grand was missing. Tristan confirmed that whoever hired them was going to give them a ring as payment. Which means it was an inside job. We’re looking at either Jeff Shields or Vincent Zimmerman.”
“Jeff was shot,” Chloe said.
“What better way to throw suspicion off himself than to be injured? If we didn't know about the ring, we wouldn’t even have been looking at him. And Hannah thought that he’d left the building. He was in the back room; he could easily have gotten away, but he stayed.”
“Hannah stayed, too.”
“Because she wanted to try and get Vincent out before the men got to him. But Jeff could have left. He didn't. And not only didn't he leave, but he didn't even stay in the office. He went into the workroom where Hannah and Vincent were being held at gunpoint,” he said.
“To save Hannah.”
“Right. The timing is suspicious. He stayed out of sight until right when Hannah was going to be shot, then he bursts in to save her.”
“I guess you could look at it that way,” Chloe agreed.
“But we looked into both of them at the time of the robbery and neither of them had criminal records; so what did you find?” They had split the work—he looked into the two men who robbed Hannah’s store, and Chloe looked into Hannah’s two employees.
“Jeff Shields is fifty-four, never married, no children, but he comes from a big family. He has nine brothers and sisters and over fifty nieces and nephews. It seems like he’s pretty involved with his extended family, and has had some of his siblings’ children come and live with him at various times for various reasons. He has worked at the jewelry store for the last thirty years. When Reginald Thames sold the store to Hannah, he stayed on.”
“Doesn’t really sound like the kind of man who would want to hurt her,” Tom reluctantly acknowledged.
“No, he doesn’t. Besides work and family, he also volunteers at a homeless shelter and works with underprivileged kids.”
That caught his attention. Hannah had volunteered at a homeless shelter for as long as he remembered. She also always donated some of her wages to help underprivileged kids. Coincidence or something more?
“What?” Chloe asked, reading the look on his face.
“Hannah does, too.”
“A possible connection,” she agreed.
“What about Vincent? He had only been working for Hannah for a month. Is that long enough to become obsessed enough with her to want to hurt her? Especially given that he doesn’t have a criminal record.”
“Vincent Zimmerman doesn’t have a criminal record, but Charles Zimmerman does,” Chloe beamed at him, her brown eyes glowing with excitement.
“Who’s Charles Zimmerman?”
“Vincent’s brother.”
“You think he might be involved?”
“In a way.”
“You think that Charles somehow coerced Vincent into helping him? Or somehow took advantage of him? Or that both brothers were involved?”
“In a way.”
“Chloe,” he growled with frustration. He got that this was all new to Chloe and that the thrill of solving a case got her all excited. But this wasn't a game to him. This was Hannah’s life. He wanted answers. Now.
“You know how Hannah said that her friend Ellen’s husband had died fairly recently? Well, what she didn't say was that one of Ellen’s sons had died, too.”
“She probably didn't think it was relevant.”
“She probably didn't; she would have no reason to.”
“But you think it is?”
“Vincent and Charles were twins. They were inseparable up until high school, then they headed down different paths. Vincent wanted to be a doctor, and he studied hard. He didn't spend much time with the other kids, he didn't go to parties, and he didn't date. All he did was study. Charles was more into the party scene. His grades started to slip when he started drinking, and it got out of control. He had numerous drunk driving offenses, and he wasn't even legal drinking age when he died. Charles was a violent drunk, particularly with his father. Gavin Zimmerman was a competitive shooter, so he owned several guns. A few times, Charles got a hold of them and threatened his parents and brother. The police were called a few times and Charles was sent to rehab, but it wasn't very successful.”
“That’s all interesting background on the brothers, but what does it have to do with this case? Charles Zimmerman is dead, and he was the brother with the problems.”
“Gavin and Charles died in a car accident. Gavin had been sick; he’d had several heart attacks in the couple of years before his death, so the cause of the accident was deemed to be Gavin having a heart attack at the wheel, losing control and causing the car to crash.”
“You think it was something else?” So far, Tom had no idea where his partner was heading with this.
“Vincent was in the car at the time, too. The bodies were pretty badly messed up. The car hit a brick wall, which crushed the entire front of the car. Gavin and Charles were unrecognizable, and . . .”
“And you think Charles Zimmerman saw an opportunity to change his fate,” he finished, finally catching on. “It was really Vincent Zimmerman who died in the car accident, and Charles decided to assume his brother’s identity.”
“If Charles didn't successfully complete his rehab program, he was facing prison time. Maybe he found the perfect way around that.”
“That is the craziest idea I’ve ever heard.” Tom shook his head in disbelief. “And you thought I was seeing things that weren’t there when I first suggested the robbery at Hannah’s store wasn't committed by the same men who’d been robbing jewelry stores. We have zero proof that Hannah’s employee, Vincent Zimmerman, is really Charles Zimmerman.”
“We had no proof that your theory was right either, but it was. There’s someone who would know which son died in the accident.”
“Hannah’s friend and neighbor—Ellen Zimmerman. If you're right, then she’s helped cover this up. She went along with it, even coming up with a story about why Vincent had dropped out of pre-med and needed a job at the jewelry store. Why would she do that?”
“She lost her husband and one of her boys. The only one that survived was facing prison time; maybe she couldn’t face any more loss.”
“Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say that Charles stole Vincent’s identity, but none of that explains why he would want to hurt Hannah.” Right now, as interesting as Chloe’s theory was, that was all he cared about. He wanted to know who was after Hannah before they managed to hurt her again.
Or worse.
If someone was obsessed with her, then when they made their play for her and realized that she was never going to reciprocate their feelings, then there was a chance that they would kill her.
The thought of Hannah being gone paralyzed him.
He couldn’t let that happen.
He wouldn’t.
They needed to talk with Vincent or Charles Zimmerman and Jeff Shields. They needed answers and they needed them now.
* * * * *
8:59 P.M.
Sometimes she was too stubborn.
Hannah knew that.
Like tonight, she would have preferred to spend the night at her older sister Rachel's house, but when her sister had offered, she’d said no, she would be fine at home on her own. Then when Rachel dropped her off here, she would have preferred that her sister come inside and stay the night, or at least stay for a while, but again when her sister had offered she had said no, that she would be fine here on her own.
Her desire to prove that she wasn't a victim, that being raped hadn’t turned her into a different person, that it hadn’t destroyed her, that she was a survivor, was sometimes stronger than she could manage. It made her feel like she needed to keep proving herself over and over again. She had to show everyone that she was okay, that she wasn't fragile, that she wasn't going to break.
Tom wasn't the only one who had treated her like a delicate porcelain doll after the assault. Her parents and sisters had, too. Hannah didn't want anyone to see her that way. Those men hadn’t destroyed her. She had bounced back; she was resilient, and she wasn't going to let anyone crush her.
But maybe it was time to find a balance between being strong and being human. And humans needed other humans. Over the last three years, she had emotionally distanced herself from everyone. It was hard to know that the people she loved hurt because she hurt, and there was only so much hurt she could cope with. As much as she claimed she was strong and she could handle everything all by herself, some days she didn't want to. Some days, she wanted someone there to give her their strength when her own faltered. It was exhausting pretending she had everything under control all the time, that she was strong enough to handle everything, that she could do it all herself.
She wanted a break.
She wanted Tom.
She just had to be positive he wanted her, too, and for the right reasons.
She couldn’t take him back if this was just about him and his need to save her because in his mind he failed her last time.
Hannah waved to Rachel as her sister backed down the driveway and pressed her other hand to her chest. The deeper wound on her breast ached, and the stitches pulled when she moved or turned. It was going to leave a nasty scar. Despite the violence of her assault, she hadn’t been left with any physical scars, and the prospect now of having one, and on her breast, was upsetting.
She knew it was just a scar, nothing more than a mark on her skin. But it was on her breast. How was Tom going to feel about that? Would he still find her attractive? And even if she and Tom never got back together and she ended up with someone else, would it impact how they saw her?
There was no point in worrying about it now. She and Tom weren’t even close to sorting things out, and other than him, she couldn’t really ever see herself with anyone else.
Hannah opened her front door and walked inside.
Her house looked so empty.
Well, it wasn't empty. She had lots of beautiful furniture, and she had spent ages searching for and choosing just the right pieces. There was art on her walls, and photos and vases of flowers and other accents on the tables. There were throw cushions on her sofas, and all the other little things that made a house a home.
But there were no Christmas decorations.
There were only three days until Christmas, but you couldn’t tell it by walking inside her house.
Christmas had been her favorite holiday for as long as she could remember, but the last few years, she just hadn’t had the heart or the energy to decorate her home and immerse herself in the joys and fun of the season. She still had all the decorations she had been collecting since she was a little girl packed in boxes in her attic, and maybe one day soon, she would feel like getting them out again, but for now, she was okay with just enjoying Christmas day with her family and nothing else.
As she flicked on lights and made her way through the dining room to the kitchen, she remembered the fun she and Tom had had celebrating Christmas together. He had enthusiastically embraced her all-encompassing love and childish joy around the holidays, going along with the traditions she hadn’t let go from her childhood. He had made Christmas all the more special, and . . .
She lost her train of thought the moment she stepped into the kitchen.
Her back door stood slightly ajar.
On her kitchen table, there was a bright red box shaped like a heart and a bouquet of flowers.
Someone had been inside her home.
It had to be whoever was targeting her.
Were they still here?
Slowly, she began to back out of the house.
As she walked, she scanned her surroundings, searching for signs of movement or a person hiding in the shadows. She couldn’t see anyone, but that didn't mean that they weren’t there.
Her hand fumbled around inside her bag, then her fingers curled around her phone.
Who should she call?
911 or Tom?
She was scared and she wanted to call Tom, but she wasn't sure she should. She wasn't quite sure exactly where she stood with him right now. He kept telling her that he was just doing his job, and while she knew he still had feelings for her—maybe even still loved her—he had made it very clear that his job was his number one priority at the moment. He had said that this was just a job so many times that she had gotten the message.
Hannah was dialing 911 as she unlocked her front door and stepped outside, but as she turned around, she saw Tom’s car.
Relief washed over her.
Shoving her cell back into her bag, she ran toward him. She wasn't even halfway there when he got out and came running to meet her.
“What's wrong?” he asked, his brown eyes glowing with concern.
“Someone was in my house. He left me gifts. On the kitchen table.”
He reached for his gun. “Is he still there?”
“I don’t think so.” She already felt so much better having Tom here, she might be able to take care of herself, but this went beyond that. Tom was an FBI agent; he knew what he was doing.
“Go wait in my car, lock the doors,” Tom ordered as he started toward her house.
No way was she waiting out here on her own. What if the man who left her gifts was still around? What if that was his plan? Wait for her to be alone and unprotected, then make his move. “I'm coming with you,” she said as she hurried to catch up.
“Hannah,” Tom groaned.
“I'm not staying out here on my own,” she said firmly.
“Fine. Then at least stay behind me.”
That she was happy to do.
Keeping close to Tom, they crossed her front lawn. She had left the front door open, and Tom cautiously entered, holding an arm out to keep her in place as he scanned her front hall and the dining room to their left. When he saw nothing, he moved into the house, heading for the kitchen. Hannah followed. She didn't think that there was anyone in here, because if there was, they had already had their chance to grab her, and she was, presumably, what they wanted.
Once Tom had cleared the kitchen, he paused at the table, studying the gifts the man had left her. Eventually, he tore his gaze away and ordered, “Stay here and I’ll check the rest of the house.”
This time she didn't argue, just scrunched herself into a corner and waited for him to return.
“Nothing looks disturbed up there,” he announced when he walked back into the room a couple of minutes later. “I’ll have you check later to confirm that you don’t think he touched anything. I called the FBI’s ERT unit to come and dust for fingerprints, but we know it was one of two men.”
Vincent or Jeff.
She still couldn’t believe one of her employees was doing this to her. It didn't make sense. She didn't understand.
“You all right?”
She blinked and Tom was standing in front of her.
“Hannah?”
Drawing on reserves of strength she didn't know she had left, she nodded. “Yeah. I'm all right. A little shaken up to know he was here in my home, but I’ll be okay.”
“You will,” he agreed.
Tom kept saying that. She had spent these last three years thinking he believed she was weak and helpless, but it seemed she’d been wrong. Maybe he really did see her as strong. Hannah wanted to rest against his sturdy chest. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and hold her up. She wanted to lean against someone, even if it was just for a little while.
“Hannah,” Tom’s voice had gone soft, gentle, without the cop tone, “we need to talk.”
They did.
She knew that.
But maybe this wasn't the time.
Maybe Tom was right.
Maybe his focus did need to be his job right now.
Whoever was intent on torturing her had already set up an armed robbery at her store, sent someone to terrorize her and leave her bleeding and tied up, then broken into her home and left her gifts. What would they do next? She didn't want to die and she didn't want to live in fear. She needed Tom to find who was after her and stop them.
“Not now,” she said. “Later. I know that you’re here to do your job. Are you going to stay here again tonight?” Hannah couldn’t keep the longing out of her voice and didn't bother to try.
“Of course.” Tom sounded all business again.
“Do you need anything from me right now?”
“No. ERT will dust down here for fingerprints and take the gifts.”
“I'm going to go to bed. Just call me if you need me.”
Part of her thought that Tom would follow her or ask her to stay, but he didn't.
He let her go.
Part of her wanted him to follow her or ask her to stay, but it was better this way.
Job first.
At least with Tom here, she might actually sleep well again tonight.
She appreciated his presence more than she could express right now.
Hannah paused at the door. “Thanks for being here, Tom.”
“Always.”