Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
T he elementary school stood silent in the Sunday morning light, its playground empty, its hallways dark. Gemma parked Case’s truck in the faculty lot, her gaze drawn to the colorful mural on the outside wall her students had painted last fall—smiling suns and playful creatures that seemed to mock the darkness of this moment.
This place had been her sanctuary. The one corner of her life that Michael hadn’t managed to taint with his obsession. Until now.
His text had been waiting when she woke just after Case had left the cabin.
Remember. Come alone or I start with your classroom.
Simple. Direct. A violation she couldn’t ignore.
Gemma stepped out of the truck, leaving the keys in the ignition. Her hand brushed against the weight of Case’s handgun tucked into the back of her jeans, hidden beneath her sweater. She’d found it in the bedside drawer while he was outside talking with Ty and Jake. Taking it had been instinctive, a decision made in the moment that she couldn’t—wouldn’t—second-guess now.
The playground equipment cast long shadows across the dewy grass as she rounded the building. The basketball court, the swing sets, the brightly painted hopscotch squares—all places where her students laughed and played, now silent witnesses to what was about to unfold.
She spotted him leaning against the brick wall near the back entrance, where the delivery trucks usually parked. Even at this distance, she could see the smug satisfaction on his face. He’d known she would come. Known she would protect this place, these children, at any cost.
“I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show,” Michael called as she approached, his voice carrying in the still morning air. “That would have been... unfortunate.”
Gemma stopped several yards away, keeping a careful distance. “I’m here. Leave this place alone.”
He smiled, pushing off from the wall to stand upright. “It’s important to you, isn’t it? These sticky-fingered brats and their finger paintings.”
“They’re children,” she said, anger flaring at his dismissal. “Innocent children who have nothing to do with this.”
“Everything has to do with this,” he replied, gesturing expansively. “With us. Your life is mine, Gemma. Every piece of it.”
The wrongness of him being here, in this place that represented everything good and hopeful in her life, settled like a stone in her stomach. “There is no us, Michael. There never was.”
His expression darkened. “We had something special. You felt it too.”
“We had two dates,” she corrected, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her insides. “Coffee and a movie. That’s it.”
“It was more than that,” he insisted, taking a step toward her. “The connection between us?—“
“There was no connection,” Gemma interrupted. “I was being polite to a colleague who set us up. When I realized you wanted more than I was willing to give, I told you so. Clearly.”
“You were confused,” he said, his voice taking on that patronizing tone she’d come to dread. “You didn’t understand what we could have together.”
“I understood perfectly,” she replied. “I said no. You didn’t listen.”
His face contorted with sudden rage. “Because you were MINE!” The shout echoed against the school building, a violation of the morning quiet. “You were meant to be mine! I knew it the moment I saw you!”
Gemma stood her ground, even as every instinct screamed at her to run. She was done running. “I was never yours,” she said quietly. “I will never be yours. You stole my life, my safety, my security. You forced me to leave my home, my friends, everything I’d built. But that ends now.”
Michael laughed, the sound harsh and jarring against the backdrop of the elementary school. “Does it? And how exactly do you plan to end it, Gemma? Your mountain man isn’t here to save you. His friends aren’t hiding in the bushes. It’s just you and me, like it was always meant to be.”
He gestured to the school behind him. “I’ve been watching you here, you know. Every day. Watching you play teacher, pretending this is your life. But it’s just another hiding place.” His smile turned cruel. “There’s a box of matches in my pocket, a gas can in my car. I wonder how quickly this place would burn.”
The threat to her school—to her students’ safety, their artwork, their haven—ignited something in Gemma that months of personal terror had never managed to touch. Her hand moved almost of its own accord, reaching behind her for Case’s gun.
Michael’s eyes widened slightly when she brought it forward, pointing it steadily at his chest, but his surprise quickly gave way to amusement. “You think you can kill me?” he asked, sounding more entertained than concerned. “You, who makes your students release spiders outside instead of squashing them? You, who swerves to avoid squirrels in the road?”
“I like squirrels more than you,” Gemma replied simply. “And spiders belong outside. You don’t belong anywhere near me or this school.”
Something shifted in his expression, the practiced charm falling away to reveal the emptiness beneath. “Put the gun down, Gemma,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “You don’t have it in you to pull that trigger. You’re soft. Weak. It’s why you need me—to protect you, to make the hard decisions.”
“I don’t need you,” she said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “I never did.”
He took another step toward her, apparently unconcerned about the gun. “He’ll leave you, you know. Your mountain man. They always do. But not me. Never me.”
“That’s not love,” Gemma said. “It’s obsession. It’s sickness.”
Michael’s face twisted with rage. “Don’t you dare tell me what I feel!” he shouted, his voice bouncing off the brick walls of the school. “I’ve given up everything for you! EVERYTHING!”
“I never asked you to,” she replied. “I never wanted any of this.”
“Liar!” he snarled, lunging forward suddenly.
Gemma saw his hand reaching toward her, saw the flash of metal—a knife, she realized with distant horror. Her finger tightened on the trigger, the decision made in an instant of perfect clarity.
In the heartbeat before she fired, time seemed to slow. She was acutely aware of everything around her—the school building behind Michael, the playground equipment casting long shadows across the dewy grass, the sound of a bird calling somewhere in the distance. This place of learning and laughter, of safety and growth, now forever marked by what she was about to do.
But she had no choice. Not if she wanted to live. Not if she wanted to protect her students from a man who would threaten to burn down their school out of twisted obsession.
The gun kicked in her hand as she pulled the trigger.
C ase’s heart hammered against his ribs as Ty’s truck skidded around the corner of the elementary school. The GPS tracker on Gemma’s phone had led them here, of all places—her classroom, her sanctuary. The thought of Reynolds violating this space made Case’s blood boil even as fear clawed at his throat.
They were too late. He knew it the moment he heard the gunshot echo across the empty schoolyard.
“Faster,” he growled, though Ty was already pushing the truck to its limits, tires squealing on the asphalt as they rounded the final corner to the back of the school.
The scene that greeted them froze Case’s blood in his veins: Gemma standing rigid, his handgun trembling in her outstretched hands; Reynolds crumpled on the ground before her, blood pooling beneath him; a knife glinting in the morning sun where it had fallen from the dead man’s hand.
Case was out of the truck before it fully stopped, racing toward Gemma. She didn’t seem to hear him approaching, her gaze fixed on Reynolds’ body, her face a mask of shock and horror.
Movement from the far side of the schoolyard caught his eye. Gene Woodruff emerged from behind a maintenance shed, his weathered face grim beneath his silver beard, a hunting rifle held casually but competently in his weathered hands. The oldest of their mountain brotherhood, Gene had been their sergeant and lead them here when they all got out. His quiet wisdom had guided them all at one time or another.
Gene nodded once to Case, a gesture that communicated volumes, before moving to Reynolds’ body. He nudged the knife away from the dead man’s hand with his boot.
“I’ll call Nathan,” Gene said, his voice gruff but gentle.
Case reached Gemma, carefully moving into her line of sight before touching her. “Gemma,” he said softly. “It’s me. It’s over.”
She turned to him slowly, as if emerging from a trance, her eyes huge and haunted in her pale face. “Case?” Her voice broke on his name, and the gun wavered dangerously in her grip.
“Let me take that,” he said, gently placing his hand over hers on the weapon. After a moment of resistance, she released it, her fingers uncurling from the grip like a flower opening.
Case handed the gun to Ty, who had come up beside them, his expression somber. Ty tucked it away with practiced efficiency, giving Case a subtle shake of his head and a jerk of his chin toward Gene. The message was clear: Gene had taken the shot, not Gemma.
Relief and gratitude washed through Case, tempered by concern for Gemma, who had begun to shake violently in his arms.
“I killed him,” she whispered, the words catching on a sob. “Oh God, Case, I shot him.”
“Shh,” he murmured, pulling her against his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”
She clung to him, her body wracked with sobs. “He had a knife. He was going to—I didn’t have a choice?—“
“You did what you had to do,” Case assured her, though his eyes met Gene’s over her head in silent communication. “It was necessary, Gemma. He gave you no choice.”
Ty moved closer, laying a hand on Gemma’s shoulder. “We called Gene when we realized we couldn’t get here in time,” he explained gently. “He lives just down the hill from town. One of our own.”
Gene approached, his rifle now slung across his back, his expression softening as he looked at Gemma. “Sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, ma’am.”
Gemma pulled back slightly from Case’s embrace, wiping at her tears as she regarded the older man. Confusion flickered across her face.
“Gene Woodruff,” he introduced himself, offering a weathered hand. “Friend of these boys since they were green recruits barely out of basic.”
Case watched understanding dawn slowly in Gemma’s eyes as she processed what they weren’t explicitly saying. That she hadn’t killed Reynolds. That Gene had taken the shot the moment Reynolds lunged with the knife. That they’d spared her that burden.
“Thank you,” she whispered, reaching out to grasp Gene’s offered hand with both of hers.
The veteran nodded, a world of understanding in his eyes. “No thanks needed, ma’am. We take care of our own.”
In the distance, sirens wailed, growing closer by the second. Case kept his arm around Gemma, anchoring her against the shock he knew would only deepen as the adrenaline faded.
“Nathan’s on his way,” Gene said, stepping back. “I’ll deal with him.”
Case nodded his thanks. Gene had more credibility with local law enforcement than any of them, his status as a longtime resident and local artist giving weight to his version of events. Not that there would be much question about what had happened—Reynolds had stalked Gemma across multiple states, shot at Case, and finally confronted her with a knife. The outcome was inevitable.
“You took my truck,” Case said to Gemma, keeping his tone light despite the fear that had gripped him when he’d realized she was gone. “Should’ve known you’d need the keys to my heart too.”
The weak attempt at humor drew a choked laugh from her, watery but real. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice steadier now. “I thought—I believed I could end this without anyone else getting hurt.”
“Next time, we face things together,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Partners, remember?”
She nodded against his chest, her breathing beginning to even out. “Partners.”
Nathan’s cruiser pulled into the school parking lot, lights flashing but siren silenced now that he’d arrived. The sheriff emerged, taking in the scene with a professional’s eye: the body, the knife, Gene with his rifle, Case holding Gemma, Ty standing guard.
“I guess you took care of the threat,” Nathan said, approaching with measured steps.
Gene moved to intercept him, already launching into an account of what had happened. Case caught fragments—“lunged with the knife,” “clear and present danger,” “no choice”—as he focused on Gemma, who had begun trembling again at the sight of the sheriff.
“It’s okay,” he murmured against her hair. “Nathan understands. This was a clean shooting.”
“But I didn’t—“ she began, then stopped, understanding belatedly that this fiction was for her protection, a gift from men who had seen and done things in war that civilians couldn’t comprehend.
“Let Gene handle it,” Case said quietly. “He knows what to say.”
She nodded, drawing a shaky breath. “I would have, you know. If I had to. To protect myself. To protect this place.”
Case tightened his arms around her, fiercely proud of her courage even as he was grateful she’d been spared the reality of taking a life. “I know you would have,” he said. “That’s why I love you.”
She looked up at him then, her eyes still haunted but clearer now, more present. “Take me home?” she asked, and the simple request held a universe of meaning.
Home. Not her apartment. Not some temporary shelter. Home, where she belonged. With him.
“Yes,” he promised, pressing his forehead to hers. “Let’s go home.”
As they waited for Nathan to finish with Gene, Case watched Reynolds’ body being covered with a sheet, the final chapter in a nightmare that had nearly cost them everything. The man had brought war to their mountain, threatened what Case held most precious, and paid the ultimate price for it.
There would be statements to give, paperwork to file, a story to maintain. But those were problems for later. Right now, all that mattered was the woman in his arms, alive and safe and, finally, free.