Chapter 12
Twelve
Between the ankle injury, a busier-than-normal office, doing her best to avoid Supervisor Howard all day, and dealing with Ethan’s overprotectiveness, Aubrey was ready for a hot bath, her pj’s, and a good book.
Renegade was supposed to have been safe.
This week, her safety net had disintegrated.
Yesterday on those trails, lost on the mountain, she’d realized that ignoring her past had been a luxury.
She wanted this nightmare to end.
“Ready to go?”
She jumped and almost fell out of her seat. “Ethan! You scared me.”
“Sorry.” Ethan stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Let me help you with your bags.”
She clomped over to the coffee station and threw away the boxes and pastries that’d sat out all day. She needed to get her emotions under control. Glancing down at her shaky hands, she squeezed them into fists.
She huffed out a lungful of air. “Ethan, I’m fine carrying my things.”
Besides, he needed two hands free to fight off all the bad guys.
She restacked the coffee cups and turned to face him. Anything to delay returning to the safe house. She needed to calm down and maybe accept his help. But he was so different than how he normally acted around her.
“Sure?” he asked.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” Maybe if she repeated that mantra enough times, she’d actually believe it herself. But she wasn’t fine.
She could almost see the wheels turning in that analytical brain of his. If there was one thing she knew about Ethan, it was that he thought through everything he said before saying it.
Finally, he spoke. “Aubrey, I just got the initial report from the coroner’s office concerning the judge.”
The words startled her, immobilized every coherent thought. She gave herself a little shake. “What did the report say?” Words and feelings scraped against her throat as she tried to rein in her emotions.
“He was killed prior to the fire. No soot in his lungs.”
She closed her eyes, trying to process what he was telling her. Slowly, she met his steady, compassionate gaze. “So the car didn’t just spontaneously combust in front of the church with the judge in it?”
“No, considering accelerant was used.”
“I see.” She resumed cleaning up around the office—anything to keep her hands busy and her mind from rushing to conclusions. Then she stopped and whirled around to face him. He was standing in the same spot as before, studying her.
“How…?” She shook her head. “Maybe I don’t want to know.”
He moved into her personal space, his blue eyes holding a storm of their own, edged with worry instead of case-hardened detachment.
“Blunt force trauma to the back of his head,” he said quietly. “The report confirms it most likely killed him instantly.”
Aubrey’s breath thinned. The hallway suddenly felt too narrow.
Ethan softened his stance, though not the truth.
“And the lab rushed the DNA. The housekeeper had Finn Donovan’s DNA under her fingernails.
Defensive wounds.” His jaw tightened, but his tone gentled—anger for the dead, ache for the living.
“They’re working on the assumption he killed them both before he took the shot at you in the crowd. ”
Aubrey’s pulse kicked, sick and sharp. “Shot at me in the confusion,” she whispered, pieces clicking coldly into place.
“Not randomness,” Ethan said, softer still. “Confusion he was counting on.” He let the words land before adding, “You were the target. The chaos was the camouflage.”
Aubrey’s shoulders folded as regret crawled through her body, cold and suffocating. She’d brought danger here.
“As for leads, they’re thin. But that DNA isn’t. It gives us direction and enough weight for a warrant to dig more.” He eased back just enough to let her breathe. “And you’re not facing any of this alone. Not on my watch.”
She nodded once, reining in all the emotion that wanted to rise to the surface. “Thank you for letting me know.”
If she’d thought seeing the judge’s car engulfed in flames had been bad, this was even worse. She’d held on to the hope that it had been someone else in the car. Anyone else but Judge Mullinax, although that was a cruel thought. It would mean an innocent victim had been killed.
The judge was the one person who had listened to her fears, helped her work through her trauma, and paid for her therapy. He’d even set up the job interview for her here at the Marshals office.
Now there was a killer on the loose. The judge and his housekeeper had been murdered, and she was probably his next target.
She tried to sound strong when she asked, “What happens now?”
Ethan held her gaze, tone firm and measured. “We’re going to tighten security around you. I’m taking you back to the safe house for the night. Work and safe house. You only go those two places, okay? And you’re never alone.”
Oh, he was good. She didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. That’s why she’d hidden out here all these years. “I really need to grab some clothes from my house. Can we swing by there first? Or maybe Jenna can bring me some of my things.” She tossed the remaining used napkins into the trash.
“We don’t need to involve Jenna.” He picked up her tote bag and opened the office door. “Coming?”
He propped the door open with his hip, watching her, assessing her reaction. Always assessing.
She stood in the hallway and exhaled. As they waited on the elevator, she glanced over her shoulder.
Ethan stood behind her, his back ramrod straight, staring at the steel doors.
What was up with him? Had Howard told him about their conversation?
Maybe he agreed that she was hindering the search for Donovan by needing protection.
That was why she’d jumped at the chance to be at the office today.
But it wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t go home alone.
“Aubrey! Ethan! Wait up!” Liam called after them.
The elevator doors opened, but she stepped back into the hall, Ethan glued to her side. Her foot ached, she was tired, and she really didn’t feel like talking.
“I’m glad I caught you before you left the building.”
“Can this wait?” Ethan said. “I’m taking Aubrey to the safe house.”
“Not really. You see…” He massaged the back of his neck, never looking at her, just the bright red numbers above the elevator. “My niece, Sophia, is having a party next week at my house, and I was wondering if Aubrey could make some of those fancy cupcakes. I want to surprise her and her friends.”
Was that all? A slow smile spread across her face. “Yeah, sure. I’d love to do that. Email me and let me know what kind, colors, how many.”
Liam grinned. “Thanks so much. She’s gonna love them. At least, I hope she does. Let me know how much I owe you for this.”
“No charge.”
“I can’t. At least let me pay for some of the ingredients.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a twenty-dollar bill.
“Really, Liam. I don’t want your money. Besides, you helped rescue me. Consider it a reward for saving my stupid behind.” She needed something interesting to do at the safe house, and this was perfect.
He stuffed the twenty in the side pocket of her bag. “Too bad.” He glanced over his shoulder and addressed Ethan. “I’ll be in the conference room when you return. Have to get back to work. Adam and I are going over the notes from the team. Discussing our next plan of action.”
She gave Liam an encouraging smile. “Maybe you’ll find a clue from the plane.”
“That’s what I’m praying for.”
She pushed the down button again. What was taking this thing so long? The ding of the elevator doors opening cut off their conversation. “See you tomorrow.”
Liam waved as the doors shut, and she leaned against the wall, but not before pressing the “G” for the courthouse’s first floor. Soon enough, she could relax.
Well, relax as much as possible in a house that wasn’t hers, with a fugitive on the loose.
They paused at her bungalow only long enough to grab a bag, the realization that her diffuser—cinnamon, apple, home—sat forgotten on the counter not hitting her until they stood on the porch of the safe house.
The safe house smelled like nothing. Like survival.
Safety, she realized, was a scent she’d left behind.
Her pulse hammered as Ethan unlocked the door.
“Let me check it out first before you go in,” he said, already reaching for his weapon.
She barely nodded, one hand tightening around her duffel strap. Was this her life now? Forever scanning shadows, waiting for footsteps only she could hear?
Ethan stopped short as the door swung open, and stood in the entryway, unmoving.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, bag thudding to the ground. He hadn’t drawn his gun, so it wasn’t that he faced a threat.
The answer hit her as she peered over his shoulder.
Couch cushions were slashed open like gutted fish, stuffing scattered across the room like tufts of snow. Lamps lay sideways, tables had been overturned, and every drawer yawned, its contents spilled out like confessions beaten loose. The calm of the bungalow had been destroyed.
This couldn’t be happening again.
Panic surged up her throat, denying the oxygen her lungs needed. She stumbled forward and into a solid wall of muscle.
Ethan.
His hands locked around her upper arms. “Aubrey. Look at me.”
“He found it.” She gasped. “A Marshals safe house. How did he even—”
“No time.” Ethan’s voice snapped—firm, urgent, cutting through the spiral. He turned her toward the steps, guiding her out with controlled force, boots hitting the boards fast. “We’re leaving. Now.”
She stumbled onto the gravel as he steered her toward the truck, his service weapon drawn, eyes burning with protective fury.
“Lock the doors,” he ordered, opening the passenger side. “I’ll handle the rest.”
He slid behind the steering wheel, his phone pressed to his ear. “Yeah, this is Butler. We had a break-in at the safe house. Send a unit to 1107 Pine Valley Road.” He cranked the engine.
“Ethan…” Her voice broke off in a sob. “How did they know?”