Chapter Three
Bryn
Bryn leaned against the back of the poorly parked car.
If they wanted to park in the wrong spot, then she was going to use it to her advantage.
Her toes ached from the kick to the tire.
She let out a deep sigh with a sinking feeling.
There were few vehicles around and everyone seemed to be walking.
With no idea what direction her hotel was in, she kicked herself for not planning ahead to have a ride waiting on her.
She pulled out her cell phone and powered it on, something she should have done as soon as the plane landed. Hopefully she would have service and her GPS would work. At the very least, she could call for a taxi to pick her up.
With movement all around her, Bryn’s attention was drawn to a man standing still. She realized with a start that he was staring straight at her.
Is he the owner of the car? Did he see me kick it?
Without taking the time to wonder about it, Bryn straightened up and gave a sarcastic little wave.
Heat washed over her and she felt like an idiot when the man didn’t wave back.
He half turned as if he was going to walk toward her and panic gripped her.
I don’t have bail money. The thought almost brought her to tears. Can you get arrested here for touching someone’s car?
Run!
Her hand tightened on her suitcase and she prepared to flee as best she could. Maybe he wouldn’t chase her and she could pull stuff up on her phone just as easily a few blocks away as she could standing right there.
Bryn’s eyes were still locked with the stranger as her brain struggled to make her legs follow commands. Almost as if he thought better of it, he turned back toward the terminal. She let out her breath and glanced at her phone.
A scream yanked her attention back to the man just as he jerked backwards a bit and grabbed his chest. It wasn’t until she heard his vague, muffled cry that she registered something horrible had happened.
An arrow stuck out of the man’s chest. His hands wrapped around it as he fell to his knees.
What the hell?
The woman screamed again as she ran and people scattered. Suitcase forgotten, she covered the distance in just a few leaps. He was almost on the ground by the time she grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to ease his fall to the pavement.
“Easy, buddy. Let me help you.”
He stared up at her, but the only word that he uttered was a name. Lars.
“Who is Lars?”
She sat down next to him with her back to the airport entrance.
“I’ve got you.” She cradled his head in her lap. Nursing had never been her strong point, but she suddenly wished she had gone to college to be a registered nurse. “What the hell happened?” Her brain could not process the situation.
His eyes pierced into her, full of pain but also…
something else that she couldn’t interpret.
One of his hands left the arrow and gripped her own.
She ignored the warm, sticky blood that covered his fingers and smeared across her own skin.
She gently brushed his hair back with her free hand. “Who did this?”
Even as she uttered the words, her mind suddenly slammed into focus.
“Oh, shit. You were shot.” Whoever had shot him could still be around.
She glanced all around but most people had ducked behind whatever was available when he fell to the ground.
She was alone with a stranger, completely out in the open.
He needed to be moved to a safer spot, but she knew enough to understand that moving him could be fatal.
“You’re not Lars…” He struggled to whisper to her.
She leaned down toward him, suddenly not worried about the danger. He needed her, and if someone was going to shoot her, they had already had plenty of time to do so.
“I don’t know who Lars is. I’m just someone in the right place at the right time.” Or is that the wrong place at the wrong time? “For you anyways.”
Before she could stop him, he yanked the arrow out. It fell to the side and his arm dropped as if he had no more strength. Her free hand automatically covered the wound and she applied pressure through his clothes as she had seen on television to quell the bleeding.
His lips curved almost as if he were trying to smile. “I guess Lars was right…” he croaked out, but then the hand that gripped hers suddenly went slack.
“Stay with me,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She moved her legs to jostle his head just a bit to try and keep him awake.
His eyes fluttered open again, but only for a moment. She touched his cheek and felt a jolt in her arm. It wasn’t like a static shock, but she couldn’t focus on what it was. “Come on. Wake up.”
When his eyes didn’t open, terror set in. He couldn’t die right there in her lap. She pressed harder on his wound and felt a tingling run through her arm. She frowned as it grew stronger but chalked it up to adrenaline.
“I need help over here!” Bryn’s voice was high and panicky. Someone shouted to her that help was on the way.
The man’s hand slipped from hers and fell to his side. Tears spilled over at the helpless feeling that rushed through her, and Bryn could do nothing but cradle his head and hold his hand.
She became aware of the shouts all around, the car doors slamming, and the excited shouts of other passengers. It had been mere minutes but already seemed a lifetime.
Her first few minutes in Stagholt had narrowed down to an injured man and the section of concrete beneath them.
The man’s eyes fluttered again.
“What’s your name?” she asked. “Tell me who you are.” Anything to keep him conscious.
She had watched enough television to know staying awake was half the battle.
His hand reached for hers again and she gripped his fingers.
“It’s okay. I’m here.” She squeezed and tried to infuse him with some of her strength.
His mouth opened, but before he could answer, a shadow fell over them.
“Ma’am, get out of the way. Move!”
She looked up into the face of a man built like a warrior. Broad shoulders, long hair slicked back, eyes scanning the area and seeing everything. His stance was one of danger and alertness, with a definite no-nonsense vibe.
“He keeps asking for Lars. I don’t dare move him but he’s been shot with an arrow.” As if that wasn’t obvious.
“Move.” This time it was sharper and with an urgent tone that brooked no argument.
“No!” she shot back, squeezing the man’s hand. “You want to get him help, right? We need to wait for an ambulance. And find this Lars. I’m not just letting him…”
“I’m Lars, dammit. Now move.”
A low groan from beneath her cut her off. The injured man’s fingers curled weakly around her own.
“It's okay,” he murmured, his voice weak and ragged. The small squeeze wasn’t strong, but it traveled through her like an electrical current with an unspoken permission that he was safe with the warrior man.
The warrior knelt down and took the man’s head. “We’ve got him. Now go.”
Before she could argue again, two more men appeared.
They moved with the practiced speed of a team.
One pulled her away and the other helped lift the injured man.
One of them grabbed the arrow. Bryn was helped to her feet and then ignored as they carried the man toward an SUV parked next to the original car.
“Where are you going?” she called. “Wait for an ambulance.”
“We can get him help quicker.”
“Wait…” she tried, but they had reached the SUV and slammed the doors. “Where are you taking him?”
She ran toward the vehicle. She wanted to tell him to hold on. That she’d find him.
But then they were gone. She watched until the SUV disappeared from sight.
She didn’t know how long she stood there before someone touched her elbow.
“Ma’am?” A police officer in an official, yet drab, uniform guided her toward the terminal entrance, his tone calm but brisk. “We need your statement.”
She followed him numbly to where a makeshift command post had been set up just inside the entrance. There were several officers with clipboards and even more milling around. Her brain felt several seconds behind her body and she almost missed the officer commending her bravery.
“Who are you again?” she heard herself ask.
“I’m Director Coben, ma’am, but please, call me Coben. And you are?”
She gave her name. “Can I please go use the ladies’ room?” She held up her blood-streaked hand.
He nodded and sent her off. She washed her hands a few times and sighed when she looked in the mirror. Her jacket was beyond saving. Blood had soaked into the sleeve and she knew it wasn’t coming out.
“Guess it’s a good thing I needed a new coat.”
She washed her hands one final time when she realized her ring was gone. A stab of pain poked her heart. That ring is what had gotten her through life.
“Did anyone find a ring?” she asked Coben when she returned.
“A ring?”
“I had a ring that I bought myself as a…” As a what? A good luck charm? A goodbye gift? A witchcraft talisman? “A ring I bought myself that must have gotten bloody and slipped off.”
Coben spoke into a radio. “I’ll let you know.”
They started with basics and she automatically answered the easy questions like her name, date of birth, and address. She showed her boarding passes for her flights and the Paduskys’ name and address. She tried to focus, but her gaze kept flicking toward the car parked in the wrong spot.
“My suitcases.” She groaned. “I hope they’re still there.”
“Excuse me?” Coben glanced up from his clipboard.
“My suitcases. And my purse. They’re out by the curb, behind that car that’s illegally parked. I was looking for a taxi when that man was shot.”
He snapped his fingers and gave an order to another. “We’ll get them for you.” He cleared his throat. “Tell me what happened.”
She did even though there wasn’t much to tell. She recounted every detail she could remember.
“You didn’t see the shooter?”
“No. I didn’t even think about the shooter, which was probably really stupid.”
“So you didn’t position yourself in any specific way?”
She frowned. “I was focused on whoever that man was. It didn’t even occur to me that the shooter could still be around until I had been with him for a couple of minutes. If someone was going to shoot me with an arrow, they had plenty of time.” She paused. “What do you mean by position myself?”
“We suspect the shooter was on the roof, and the way you positioned yourself, it would have been difficult for them to take another shot. You were blocking the target.”
Her brows rose. “Well, that was helpful, I assume, but completely unplanned.”
“Did he say anything to you?”
“I already told you everything that happened.” Bryn was suddenly exhausted. “Lars. He wanted Lars, who I assume was the warrior man that took him away.”
“Warrior man?” That earned her a faint lift of his eyebrow, but he kept writing.
She snorted. “He reminded me of a wrestler that my dad used to like. The Ultimate Warrior. It was the first thing that came to mind.”
He chuckled. “Well, I’m sure Lars would be pleased to hear that.”
“Do you know who they were?”
Coben shifted in his seat. “We’re aware. They’ll take good care of him.”
“Do you know who he is?”
He turned his full attention to her. “You don’t?”
“Should I?” Realization swept through her. “Do you think I had something to do with this?”
“Oh, no,” he held up his hand. “We’ve already cleared you. It was simply a question.”
“Who is he?”
The second officer arrived with her possessions. “Luckily they were close enough to the car that no one dared touch them.” He gave her a shrug. “But no luck on any ring. We’ll keep an eye out for it though.”
“Thank you.” His words echoed in her ears. “What would that car out there have to do with anything?”
They both ignored her question. Another group of officers motioned for the director.
“Excuse me, Ms. Matsen. I need to attend to this.” He ushered the second officer away.
Bryn frowned. “Do you at least know where they took him?”
Coben’s answer was careful. “Couldn’t say, ma’am. Probably to a private medical facility.”
“Probably?”
He shrugged. “Folks like that handle things differently. You are free to leave. We have a car waiting to take you to your hotel.”
Folks like that? Folks like what?
She had a bunch of questions, but Coben was already moving on.
Her rideshare driver was leaning against his sedan, scrolling his phone. He was parked right next to the first car.
I wonder if he feels special being allowed to park there.
“Bryn?” he called when she approached.
She nodded, sliding into the back seat. The scent of cinnamon mingled with a strong aftershave and she made a crunching noise on the leather seats.
The drive took them along a causeway where the late afternoon sun bathed everything in a special light. Normally she would have noticed everything, especially since it had been so many years that she had wanted to visit Stagholt. But instead, her thoughts looped endlessly.
She hadn’t gotten his name. She didn’t know where he’d gone, or if he’d even make it to morning. And no one would tell her anything.
And yet, she could still feel that something in his eyes. She could still feel his hair flowing through her fingers. She could feel a connection with him that was created within seconds.
Or was that how nurses felt about their patients?
Read another romance novel, she chastised herself. Watch another Hallmark movie. It’s not love. Love took more than seconds, but whatever it was made her chest ache.