Chapter 4 #2
Like Green Mountain Guardians, Blade and Arrow Security takes on pro-bono cases, offering protection and investigative services to clients who haven’t had luck getting help from the police and don’t have the money to pay for a bodyguard or private investigator themselves.
And like Blade and Arrow, we work paid jobs to subsidize the pro-bono ones.
One difference between us and Blade and Arrow is we all have other jobs in addition to our work for GMG.
I have Stowe Security Services, Ronan works part time as a medic, Knox owns his own construction business, Enzo took over his late uncle’s outdoor supply store, and Gage works remotely as a flight simulator consultant.
It’s worked out pretty well for us, because we don’t take on many jobs.
But recently, we’ve been talking about possibly shifting our work for the Guardians to full time or even taking on another teammate.
I’m not sure how I feel about bringing in another person. I’d rather scale back my work at my company. Promote Jake and hire a few extra employees. But it’s not just my decision to make—the whole team has to be in agreement.
Turning my attention back to Ace’s message, I send my reply.
That’s awesome. So glad things are working out for you. When things slow down here, I’ll have to come back out for a visit.
His response comes back immediately.
Of course! Come any time. You’re always welcome.
If Ace was looking for another job, which he’s not, I wouldn’t mind if he joined GMG.
Or Rhett or Levi, the other two remaining members of my Green Beret split team.
Levi just separated from the Army, but his brother, Matt, works for the Blade and Arrow branch in San Antonio.
So if Levi was going to take a job like that, he’d probably want to work with them. Maybe Rhett, though…
I kick my feet up on the coffee table as I start to compose my response.
Halfway through the text, my phone rings.
And with it, my hopes lift.
Could it be Hazel?
A moment later, I have my unwelcome answer.
It’s not. It’s the Bliss Police Department.
My forehead creases in confusion. Why is the Bliss PD calling at ten o’clock at night? It can’t be about my office, because then the Stowe police would be calling. Did they discover something about Hazel’s car? Or is it something completely unrelated?
But if it’s GMG business, why call me? We have a good relationship with the police department, but even if they wanted us involved—unofficially, that is—they’d call Enzo, not me.
On the third ring, I give myself a mental shaking.
Answer the call. Then I’ll know.
Crisply, I answer, “This is Alec.”
There’s a hesitant pause when all I can hear is breathing.
“Hello?” I ask. Irritation tinges my tone. “Can I help you?”
“Alec?”
The voice is soft. Shaky. Feminine. Familiar.
My feet slip off the table, and I jump to my feet.
“Hazel.” I say unnecessarily. “Is that you?”
A moment later, I feel like slapping myself. Of course it’s her.
“Alec,” she starts again. She takes a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry to call you so late. But… you said…”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m at the police station. And… I’m not sure what to do.”
“Hazel.” Worry urges me towards my car keys hanging by the front door. “What happened? Why are you at the police department?”
“They told me I could use their phone,” she says. “The officers who brought me here. Since I didn’t think to grab the one you gave me when—” Her voice cracks. A hitching breath comes through the line.
“Hazel.” I try to keep my tone low and soothing. “What happened?”
She makes a small noise that sounds like she’s crying. “Someone broke into my house. I’m not sure how. I was in the living room when I heard… I got my pepper spray. And… I sprayed him with it.”
My heart leaps to my throat.
I shove my feet into my shoes and lunge for the door.
“Are you hurt?” I ask. “How did—”
Shit. Now’s not the time.
“Nevermind,” I continue. “I’m on my way.”
“I’m sorry,” she nearly whispers. “But I didn’t know… You told me to call…”
As I race towards my car, I take a steadying breath to calm the adrenaline surging through me. “I know. And I’m so glad you did.”
Hazel’s accident wasn’t a fluke.
Before, it was just a gut instinct I hoped was wrong.
But now, given what just happened, I’m sure it was intentional.
I mean, what are the odds? First her brakes fail, and then twenty-four hours later, an intruder breaks into her house?
Coincidence? I don’t think so.
I got the whole story from Officer Nelson—Sage, when she’s off duty—while I drove over.
Once I finished talking to Hazel, I asked her to put one of the responding officers on the phone so I could get the details.
There was no way I was going to ask Hazel about it; not when her voice was wobbling and she was sniffling back tears.
So I know the intruder cut a hole in one of the rear windows, unlocked it, moved Hazel’s trusty broomstick out of the way, and climbed right inside without making a sound.
But somewhere between the guest bedroom and the living room, he must have hit a creaky floorboard, because Hazel heard him.
Or she thought she heard something that worried her enough to grab her pepper spray before going to investigate.
Shit. Just the thought of Hazel coming face-to-face with a masked intruder makes me feel ill. And hearing how she fought to get away from him, spraying him with the pepper spray even as he was grabbing for her, using the distraction as an opportunity to get away…
Shit.
Just, shit.
I should have insisted on motion sensors for the windows. I should have stopped over on my way to Enzo’s house for dinner and installed them for her.
But I didn’t, because I didn’t want to push.
Just because I helped Hazel last night and brought over soup this afternoon doesn’t mean we have the kind of relationship where I do home improvement projects for her.
I was trying to be respectful.
But that wasn’t all, was it?
My jaw clenches at the truth I’m ashamed to admit.
I could have stopped over. It wouldn’t have even taken that long. But I was feeling conflicted and itchy about my feelings for Hazel, and I told myself distance was the best solution.
It wasn’t. Not just because I couldn’t stop thinking about her, regardless, but because my cowardice could have gotten Hazel seriously hurt. Even killed.
Dammit.
I thunk my fist on the steering wheel, welcoming the dull throb it leaves behind.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, I turn into the police station parking lot. My tires squeal as I round the corner, and I reluctantly let up on the gas even though instinct is urging me to move faster.
Yes, I know Hazel is okay, at least physically. “She has a few bruises,” Sage told me over the phone, “but all things considered, she’s pretty lucky.”
When I snorted at the ridiculousness of her statement—how can Hazel be lucky when she’s found herself in mortal danger twice in the last two days—Sage quickly amended, “I’m not saying what she went through was lucky. But it could have been a lot worse.”
I know it could have. And that’s one of the things I’m most upset about.
Another thing I’m upset about? Imagining Hazel sitting in the police station, hurt and scared and crying. Alone, save for the officers on duty, who are all very nice but not the same as having someone who cares about her there for support.
As soon as my car comes to a rocking stop in front of the station, I jab the ignition to turn it off and practically leap from it. It’s only a belated thought that has me spinning around to close the door behind me, and then I’m jogging towards the entrance, all my muscles tense and heart racing.
She’s okay, I remind myself. Bruised, scared, and upset, but okay.
But if that’s true, why am I so worried?
Why does it feel like there’s a band wrapped around my chest, drawing exponentially tighter by the second?
Shit. I can’t examine these feelings right now. I just need to get to Hazel, talk to her, make sure she’s really okay and not just painting a pretty picture of it, and come up with a plan to keep her safe.
I take the steps up to the entrance two at a time and burst through the double glass doors into the reception area.
In contrast to the storm of emotion rampaging inside me, the station is quiet.
Almost peaceful, in fact, if not for the lingering scent of disinfectant mixed with a hint of body odor and cigarettes.
The reception desk is empty, which isn’t surprising given that it’s almost ten-thirty at night. In a bigger city, the station would be fully staffed twenty-four-seven. But here, the officers tag team to answer phones and greet visitors when the regular receptionist, Glory, isn’t on duty.
So I’m stuck at the desk, drumming my fingers impatiently while I wait for someone to come out front to meet me. Spotting the little security camera positioned above me, I wave at it while forcing a tight smile.
After what feels like hours but is probably only a couple of minutes, one of the newer officers, Dylan Holmes, pushes through the door that leads to the back of the building.
He’s moving much too slowly for my taste, and I have to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from snapping at him to walk faster.
Once he gets closer, he calls out, “Hey, Alec. Sorry to keep you waiting. Paperwork, you know? You here for Miss Winston?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him sarcastically, No, I’m just here at the police station for the fun of it. Got tired of watching police procedurals, so I figured I’d get an up-close-and-personal look instead.
But I’m not going to take out my frustration on him; not when I know damn well who I’m really angry with.
Well, two people. The intruder, first. And then, myself.
Through gritted teeth, I force myself to reply pleasantly, “Yes, I’m here to see Hazel. Can you take me to her?”
He bobs his head. “Of course.” Motioning for me to follow, he heads back in the direction he came. “I heard about what happened,” he adds. “Lucky she had that pepper spray. Really, I think all women should carry some. Sucks that they need to, but better prepared than not, you know?”
“I do know,” I reply tightly. “So. Hazel?”
“In the staff lounge,” he answers. “Sage—Officer Nelson, I mean—said she didn’t want to leave Miss Winston in one of the interrogation rooms while she waited for you. So she’s in the lounge instead.”
We pass several closed doors before he slows. Then he opens a wooden door with a sign proclaiming, Staff Lounge (but not too much lounging!) on the front of it. He steps inside, and I follow close behind him.
As soon as I catch my first glimpse of Hazel, it’s a battle not to race over and pull her into my arms.
Sitting on a worn couch with her arms wrapped around herself, she looks small. Scared. And achingly vulnerable.
She jolts at the sound of us coming in, fear flashing across her face before she can hide it. But relief floods her expression as soon as she sees me, just as it did last night at the hospital.
Crossing the room at a normal pace rather than the run I’d prefer, I say, “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”
“Oh, no, it’s okay.” Pushing up from the couch, she sways for a moment before steadying herself.
Without thought, I close the distance between us and wrap my arm around her waist, guiding her back down to the couch. “Let’s sit for a minute. Okay?”
Hazel looks at me with pink-rimmed eyes. Her chin quivers. “Okay.”
I touch her hand, wincing at the chill of her skin. So I take her hands in mine and rub them gently as I ask, “How are you feeling?”
She hesitates. “I’m fine.”
“Fine?” My eyebrows shoot up. “Are you sure?”
Then her sleeve moves to reveal a large red mark on her arm. A mark that looks a lot like the shape and size of a man’s hand.
Rage erupts inside me. I have to take a couple deep breaths to keep from exploding. Once I trust myself to speak without yelling, I say, “Did he touch you?”
She blinks. Then she looks down at her arm, frowning at it. “Just this. From when he grabbed me. But then I got the pepper spray to work, and he let me go.”
I don’t like the flatness of her voice. Or the pallor of her skin. Or the flutter of her pulse at her neck.
“Did the police see it?”
Hazel nods. “Yes. Officer Nelson had me show her.”
“And what about this?” I ask. I gesture towards the red and brown stained fabric covering her knees.
“I fell. While I was running to get help.”
My molars nearly shatter at the mental image of Hazel running through the dark, terrified and crying while the intruder sprinted after her. “Where did you go?”
“My neighbor’s,” she replies. “Paula. I wasn’t sure I’d make it there before… he caught up to me. But… I did. And I made her hide in the basement until the police came. So he couldn’t break in and hurt her, too.”
Hazel stares at her lap for a moment before raising her head to look at me with fresh tears in her eyes.
“I didn’t want to get her involved. But I didn’t know where else to go.
” She sucks in a shuddering breath. “But… he got away. The police couldn’t find him.
What if he comes after Paula? And it’s all my fault? ”
“It’s not your fault. None of it.”
Her shoulders sag. “I guess.” After a long pause, she says quietly, “I’m sorry for calling you so late. But… I wasn’t sure… I don’t know what to do. Where to go. My house—” Her voice cracks. “I can’t go back there.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulders, hugging her to my side. “We’re going to figure this out. Okay?”
Tears slide down her cheeks. “Can you… maybe give me a ride to a hotel? I don’t want to ask someone from work to stay with them. Just… what if the burglar comes back looking for me? And—”
“You’re not going to a hotel.”
Her brown furrows. “But—”
“We’ll go to GMG,” I interrupt. “Enzo’s house, more specifically. Just to talk things over. We can make a plan from there.”
“Enzo’s house?”
“Yeah. He lives on the property. We could go to the building that serves as our official headquarters, but at this time of night, I think his place will be more comfortable.”
Small teeth dig into her lower lip. “I don’t want to bother anyone.”
“You’re not. I promise.”
As she lifts her gaze to mine, there’s a cautious hope in her eyes. “Are you sure?”
Something inside my chest pulls.
“Yeah, Haze.” I gently brush a tear from her cheek. “I’m sure.”