Shirlee McCoy - The Christmas Target

“I try,” he finally said. “I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t leave the room without me. They still haven’t found the guy who attacked you, and I don’t want to take chances. Boone is outside the ICU, making sure your grandmother is protected. You’re my assignment.”

“I’m your what?” she asked, but he’d already straightened and was heading out the door, pretending that he hadn’t heard.

If she’d had the energy, she would have followed him into the hall and told him just how likely it was that she was going to be anyone’s assignment. She’d been taking care of herself for years. Daniel had been part of an elite Special Forces unit and had been gone more than he’d been home during their marriage. When he was home, he’d been distant and unapproachable. She’d loved him, but their three-year marriage had been tough. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit that she wasn’t sure if it would have survived.

She’d wanted it to, but she and Daniel had both had their demons. They’d only ever fought them alone. That didn’t make for a good partnership. She knew that now. Maybe because she’d spent the last few years fighting beside and with Chance.

“Not the time,” she muttered. She had more important things to think about. Like the fact that the police hadn’t found the man who’d attacked her.

Men?

She still wasn’t certain.

If she had her cell phone, she’d call the local sheriff’s department for an update, but she’d left it at the house. There was a phone beside the bed and she picked up the receiver, tried to remember the sheriff’s number. Her mind was blank, her thoughts muddled. She dropped the phone back into the cradle and grabbed her pajamas from a chair near the window. Someone had folded them neatly. Her galoshes sat beneath the chair, side by side.

Chance?

She could picture him folding the clothes, setting the boots in place. Everything precise and meticulous.

She walked into the bathroom. It took a second to pull the IV from her arm, took a couple of minutes to wrangle herself into the pajamas. Her hands were shaky, her movements sluggish, but she didn’t want to be running from the bad guys in a too-big hospital grown.

Running?

She’d be fortunate if she could crawl.

Damp flannel clung to her legs and arms as she splashed cold water onto her face and tried to get her brain to function again. No dice. She was still woozy and off balance. A concussion? Had to be. She lifted the gauze that covered her temple, eyeing the wound in the mirror. The bump was huge and several shades of green and purple. No stitches. Just a long gash that looked like it had been glued shut.

She had a bandage on the back of her head, too. She didn’t bother trying to see. She felt sick enough from the effort she’d already put in.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door. One hard, quick rap that made her jump.

“Hold on,” she called, grabbing the handle and pulling open the door.

Chance was there.

He didn’t look happy.

As a matter of fact, he looked pretty unhappy.

“Why am I not surprised?” he asked, his gaze dropping to her pajamas and then jumping to the IV pole.

“You’d have done the same,” she responded.

“True, but that doesn’t mean I approve. You have a concussion. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I’ll rest better after I see my grandmother.”

“You won’t rest. You’ll be out hunting down your attacker unless someone is there to stop you.” He took her arm, the gentleness of his touch belying the irritation in his eyes.

“No one would dare try,” she responded, jabbing at him like she always did. Usually, he jabbed right back, but this time he just shook his head.

“How about we not test that theory, Stella? Because I have better things to do with my time than babysit someone who won’t follow the rules.”

“I hope you’re not talking about me.”

“I told you. You’re my assignment. Or rather, keeping you safe is.”

“Since when?”

“Since about two nanoseconds after you collapsed on your way to my car. Sit.” He gestured to the wheelchair that was near the bathroom door.

“I’m not a dog.”

“Trust me. I am very, very aware of that.”

She was suddenly self-conscious in her wet pajamas. But this was Chance. He’d seen her looking a lot better, and he’d seen her looking a whole lot worse. They’d crossed a river together once, emerging on the other side soaked to the skin and shivering with cold.

Yeah.

This was Chance. There was nothing he didn’t know about her and no situation he hadn’t seen her in.

She blushed anyway, dropping into the wheelchair so quickly that pain exploded through her head.

Her eyes teared but she didn’t close them.

If Chance realized how much pain she was in, he’d insist that she get back into bed. Truth? She didn’t think she’d have the energy to fight him. She felt so tired, she thought she could close her eyes and sleep forever.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Chance muttered, grabbing the blanket and tossing it over her legs.

“Did you ever think it was?”

“No,” he replied, pushing the chair out into the hallway.

There was too much noise there, too many lights—her head spun with all of it. She had to see Beatrice, though, and then she needed to talk to the sheriff. She didn’t have time to give in to pain or to lie in bed feeling sorry for herself.

Someone had attacked her.

She had to hold on to that, had to keep it in the front of her mind so that she stayed focused on the goal—find the guy, figure out his agenda.

Maybe he’d been a vagrant, wandering through the woods, startled by a woman suddenly appearing.

Maybe, but it didn’t feel right. The entire thing felt too coincidental.

“Have you spoken with the sheriff?” she asked as Chance wheeled her into the elevator. “I know you said that they didn’t find the perp, but I’m wondering if they found anything else.”

“They traced the guy to an old logging road that runs through the woods behind your property. They’ve cast tread marks that he probably left behind. Other than that, they’ve come up empty.”

“That’s not the news I wanted.”

“I know.”

“Maybe he was a vagrant.” She tossed the theory out, because Chance was as likely to see the strengths and weaknesses in it as she was. More likely. He wasn’t concussed, and he wasn’t sitting in a wheelchair with bandages on his head.

“Someone just moving through who was squatting out in the woods and panicked when you showed up?”

“It’s possible, right?”

“Anything is possible, Stell. That doesn’t make it likely. Right now, I don’t have enough information to speculate, but if I were going to guess, I’d guess the attack wasn’t random.” The elevator door opened, and he wheeled her out.

“You’ve got a reason for that. Care to explain?”

“You said there were two perpetrators.”

“Possibly two,” she corrected.

“I’ve never known you to make a mistake. If you say there might have been two, it’s because there probably were. If that’s the case, a squatter who panicked seems unlikely.”

“Squatters don’t always live alone.”

“It sounds like you want to believe the attack was random.”

“Don’t you?”

“I want to believe the truth. For right now, I’m keeping an open mind. Sheriff Brighton is still on the scene with half a dozen men. He said he’ll stop by the hospital when he’s finished. We’ll know more then.”

“Did they—”

“Stella, this isn’t your case. It’s not your mission. You are the victim, and you’ve got to let the local police handle the investigation.”