Into the Storm (Hudson Security #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Being a hairstylist wasn’t supposed to be a dangerous job.

Freya Hansen blinked as time slowed. Shock consumed her. She met her client’s surprised gaze in the mirror and then shifted her attention to the angry man rushing up behind them.

Her client, Janie, gasped.

Freya’s spa manager hurried toward them, chasing the red-faced man.

Before Freya could react, the man grabbed her by the shoulders and flung her to the side.

She crashed into the salon chair beside hers, toppling it.

Its lightly padded metal arm slammed into her ribs.

Fire tore through her chest. For a split second, her breath locked in her throat, and all she could do was stare, unable to take in the pandemonium that had exploded around her.

“How dare you, bitch!” he screamed at Janie.

He tried to yank the woman out of the salon chair, and Janie cried out, clinging to the chair with one arm, covering her head with the other as he slapped her.

All the while, Claire—Janie’s sister, who’d been seated at the station next to them—shouted, “Call 911!”

Claire pounced onto the man’s back, trying to drag him off her sister.

Chaos. It was utter chaos.

Freya untangled herself from the overturned salon chair and surged to her feet, ignoring the pain that shot up her side. Joining Claire, who was now punching the back of the man’s head, Freya grabbed the man’s right arm and yanked, hoping to get him off Janie.

The man continued to slap at Janie while screaming vile curses at them, but Freya clung to his arm like a spider monkey.

Then time stopped.

Freya’s eyes widened when she registered the black gun clutched in the man’s right hand.

She opened her mouth to shout out a warning, but before the words left her mouth, a deafening bang sounded. The mirror in front of them shattered. Screams rent the air, and the acrid scent of gunpowder filled her nose.

Her ears rang, but she held on to his arm.

“Let go of me, you bitch!” he roared. His brown gaze locked on hers, and fear chilled her blood, but she clung tighter to his arm.

“No!” someone screamed.

He reared back and smacked his head against hers.

A loud crack reverberated through Freya’s skull, and her vision wavered. Dazed, her grip on his arm weakened, and she crumpled to the ground.

The man sneered down at her, a trickle of blood dripping from his forehead. “Touch me again, bitch, and I’ll blow your fucking head off,” he spat before turning his back to her.

Heart racing and vision blurry, Freya scrambled backward over the broken pieces of the mirror.

She ignored the sharp stings on her palms and tucked herself under her workstation.

Less than ten feet away, Janie was huddled on the ground with Claire, both still wearing their salon capes.

The man stood over them, arms flailing wildly as he waved his gun at the handful of women still in the salon.

“Janie, Janie . . .” He tsked. “When will you fucking learn?” With a deranged laugh, he fired again, striking another workstation’s mirror. Then again into the drywall. And again into another mirror.

Hugging her knees to her chest, Freya made herself as small as possible, covering her head with her arms. More glass shattered, more screams filled the salon. Her body trembled with each heart-stopping gunshot.

“Police! Drop your weapon!”

Freya buried her face tighter against her knees and held her breath, too scared to move.

“Fuck you!” the man shouted.

Three more gunshots rang out. Freya jerked with each one.

For a moment, there was silence. Then the sounds of women crying and whimpering, muttered curses, and the crunch of glass underfoot replaced the quiet.

A deep groan, followed by a scuffle of some sort, had Freya opening her eyes.

The man was on his stomach while the sheriff cuffed him and read him his Miranda rights. A growing puddle of blood pooled beneath the man’s right shoulder. Two deputies stood sentry, while Janie and Claire were huddled together a few feet away.

After a few moments, a pair of EMTs rushed in.

Freya didn’t move. Not a single muscle twitched while she watched from her hiding place as the man was moved onto a stretcher and recuffed. The EMTs worked on his injuries despite the guy cursing everyone around him. He carried on about “suing you motherfuckers” the entire time.

Eventually—she’d lost all concept of time—the EMTs hauled him away. The sheriff followed closely behind, but the two deputies remained.

“Everyone can come out now,” the older of the two deputies said, but she remained tucked under her workstation, her heart still beating wildly.

“Is anyone hurt?” the younger deputy asked. “More EMTs are on the way, so if you’re injured, please gather over here.” He gestured to the sofa in their waiting area.

“We’ll also need to get everyone’s statements, so please don’t leave.” The older deputy crouched beside Janie and Claire and lowered his voice. “Ladies, are you both okay?”

Soft murmurs overtook the room as Freya’s salon and spa colleagues, along with their clients, rose from where they’d taken cover. She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and willed her body to stop trembling.

As fast as the madness had started, it was thankfully over.

“Miss Hansen?”

Freya startled, and her attention swung to the deputy in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. With her shaking, now-bandaged hands, she raked her long dark hair away from her face and recrossed her arms over her chest. Leaning against the waiting area’s sofa, she cleared her throat. “What was your question again?”

Deputy Chase, the younger of the two deputies, gave her an understanding smile. “Can you tell me what happened before the suspect arrived? What your day looked like leading up to the incident?”

She nodded and took a deep breath, hoping it would steady her nerves.

It didn’t.

Surveying the destruction around her, she frowned. The salon area of the Pacific View Resort’s world-renowned spa was in utter disarray. Two of the four stylist chairs were toppled over, and the mirrors at all four stations were shattered.

Deputy Chase cleared his throat, and her gaze swung back to him.

The incident. Right.

Exhaling another shaky breath, she willed herself to focus.

“It was just like any other day, really. I arrived at eight thirty, and my first client was scheduled for nine. I had three back-to-back haircuts and styles that went until eleven thirty. I took a half-hour lunch break and had a color scheduled for noon that finished up just after two. Then I had another break until four o’clock. That was Janie’s appointment . . .”

Freya’s gaze caught on her stylist chair across the room. It was still lying on its side with a single bullet hole splitting the seatback’s dark-brown leather.

“And once she arrived, Miss Hansen?” Deputy Chase prodded.

She tore her eyes from her workstation and looked to where Janie and Claire were speaking with the sheriff at the opposite end of the room.

“You don’t need to call me Miss Hansen. Freya is fine,” she murmured and brought her attention back to Deputy Chase, her mind scrambling to keep up with the conversation.

Her concentration was absolute shit, and it took a moment for her to recall her prior train of thought.

“Um, Janie showed up with her sister, Claire. Janie wanted to get a dramatic cut, and Claire was scheduled for a blowout with my colleague, Hazel.” She gestured to the spa’s check-in desk where her friend was giving her statement to Deputy Garwood.

“Basically, Claire was here as Janie’s moral support. ”

Deputy Chase’s brow furrowed. “Moral support?”

Despite the chaos and terror of the past hour, a small smile tugged at the corner of Freya’s lips.

“Janie had hair down to her waist, and she wanted me to give her a pixie cut. Even though it was something she really wanted, she was still nervous to have that much taken off.” At the deputy’s blank stare, she asked, “Do you know what a pixie cut is?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am, I don’t.”

She gestured to the mid-fade textured crop of his bright-red hair. “In essence, it’s a feminine version of your haircut, but a bit longer on the sides.” She glanced over at Janie again. She’d only been able to cut the woman’s hair chin length before her estranged husband had charged into the salon.

Deputy Chase’s eyebrows rose in obvious surprise. “That’s quite the change. I can understand what you mean by her being nervous.”

Freya nodded as sadness swarmed over her. Knowing what she did now, knowing why Janie wanted the shorter cut, her stomach turned.

She opened her mouth to continue but hesitated, unsure if it was her place to say anything.

But a glance at Janie’s swollen cheek—hell, even the throb of her own ribs when she took a deep breath and the lingering headache six Tylenol couldn’t ease—reminded her of that awful man.

Of his hate and rage. Of the terror on Janie’s face as he’d attacked her.

Whether it was Freya’s place to say anything or not, she wanted that asshole to pay for what he’d done.

Blowing out a breath, she sent a silent plea out to the universe to forgive her if she was betraying any confidences.

“Janie and Claire are at the resort for a girls’ week of sorts, but not the usual mimosas-and-yoga kind.

” She dropped her voice. “As you probably already know, the guy who did all this”—she waved her hand at the destroyed salon area—“is Janie’s estranged husband.

She left him two and a half weeks ago, got a restraining order against him, split town, and hasn’t had contact with him since. ”

“Is she a regular client of yours?” When Freya shook her head, Deputy Chase’s eyebrow arched. “So you know all this because . . .”

Freya shrugged. “Because I’m a hairstylist. That chair?” She gestured in the direction of her destroyed workstation. “It’s like a therapist’s couch. When she got here, we chatted for a little bit about what kind of style she wanted, and why it was so important to her.”

It had hurt Freya’s heart to see the pain on Janie’s face, to hear what she was sure was a very watered-down version of what the woman had endured. But Freya also saw Janie’s strength and resolve, especially with Claire’s unwavering support.

“She shared her journey with me while I cut her hair,” Freya said and nodded to the woman across the room. “We only got it to chin length before . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know what her estranged husband’s name is. They only referred to him as POS.”

The corners of Deputy Chase’s lips kicked up. “It fits.”

“No kidding,” she muttered, blowing out a breath. “But we only got that far before he stormed in here.”

They spoke for a few more minutes about how the man had thrown Freya to the ground, and how when she’d tried to assist Janie, he’d headbutted her. She explained how she’d taken cover when he’d started shooting.

“Thank you, Freya. If you think of anything else, please feel free to call me or anyone at the sheriff’s department.

” Deputy Chase handed her his card and inclined his head toward the two remaining EMTs who were treating a couple of spa clients for what looked like scratches and cuts.

“Make sure you get your head and ribs checked out before you leave.”

The pain along her side had dulled to a throb that matched the one in her head. “I will, thank you.”

He turned away, paused, and faced her again. He lowered his voice, concern evident on his face. “Freya, why did she want that shorter haircut?”

She could see in his eyes that he already knew the answer. But if he wanted her to say it out loud, so be it. “Because she was done getting dragged around by her hair.”

His jaw clenched, and he gave her a brief nod before heading toward Freya’s spa manager, Miriam. Letting out a breath, Freya crossed the room to Janie and Claire and waited as they finished up with Sheriff O’Conner.

“Are you both okay?” she asked when the sheriff stepped away.

Janie nodded, her eyes welling with tears. “Freya, I’m so sorry.”

Freya was shaking her head before the woman finished speaking. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all.” She stepped closer and took the other woman’s hands in hers. “Did you need to get checked out by the EMTs?”

Janie shook her head and let out a small chuckle that held no humor. “This”—she waved at the bruise forming along her jaw—“is nothing.”

Emotion squeezed Freya’s chest tightly. “Is it okay if I hug you?”

Janie nodded, tears spilling down her face.

Careful not to squeeze too hard, for both Janie’s sake and her own, Freya wrapped her arms around the other woman. “I’m so thankful you’re okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” Janie repeated, pulling away.

“Nope,” Freya said, retaking Janie’s hands.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. You didn’t do this.

He did. It’s all on him.” She gave the woman a reassuring smile, hoping to inject a little bit of calm, a little bit of comfort.

“I know this place is a disaster, but what do you say I grab some scissors and finish your cut?”

Janie’s eyes brightened, and she swiped away a few stray tears. “Really?”

“Hell yeah.”

“But what about your hands?”

Freya glanced down at her bandaged hands and stretched her fingers.

“The EMTs cleaned them up, and they’re fine.

Really.” The pain meds had eased the soreness in her hands, unlike with the low-grade headache that continued to throb.

“Besides, not only is that bob horribly uneven, but I think the pixie cut you’re thinking of will be a wonderful fresh start.

And that fresh start begins today. You up for it? ”

“Thank you,” Janie said, releasing Freya’s hands to wipe away more tears. “Thank you so much.”

“Give me a few minutes to talk to my manager about finding a room for us to use.” She met Claire’s gaze. “Do you want me to check with Hazel about finishing your blowout too?”

“Only if it’s no trouble,” Claire replied, her eyes bright with unshed tears and her arm wrapped around her sister’s shoulders.

If Freya had to pay Hazel out of her own pocket, she was making sure Claire got her blowout. Both these women had gone through so much—not only just now, but with everything leading up to today. Yet they were still standing tall. They deserved some pampering.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Freya said, meaning it with her entire being. “I’ll be right back, ladies.”