Chapter 31 #3
“Your death solves multiple problems,” Morgan continued, her voice clinical now, like she was discussing a business transaction instead of murder.
“Connor will be devastated. Vulnerable. Easier to manipulate once he's grieving.
And you won't be around to testify about anything you've learned. Clean solution.”
“Please,” I whispered, my voice breaking completely. “Morgan, please. The baby didn't do anything. I'll leave town. I'll never see Connor again. I'll sign whatever you want saying I don't know anything.”
“You'd promise anything right now,” Morgan said simply. “But the moment I let you go, you'd run to the police. You'd tell them everything. My father would have me killed for such sloppiness.”
“I won't!”
“You will.” The knife pressed harder. “The only way this ends well for me is if you disappear. Permanently.”
“Morgan, no—” Armand lunged forward, reaching for her arm.
Morgan spun, the knife flashing out in an arc. Armand jerked back with a curse, a thin line of red appearing on his forearm where the blade had caught him.
“Don't touch me!” Morgan screamed. “This is my operation now! My decision! Daddy said I was in charge of damage control!”
“Damage control doesn't mean murder—” Silas started.
The sound of splintering wood exploded from above, cutting off Silas’ thought, making all of us jump.
“Harper!” Connor's voice, loud and desperate, echoing from multiple directions. “Harper, where are you?”
“Down here!” I screamed with everything I had, my throat tearing with the effort. “Connor, I'm in the basement!”
“Fuck—” Silas pulled his gun. “They found us. We need to go. Now.”
“We're not leaving empty-handed,” Morgan snarled. She grabbed me by my hair, yanking me up despite my bound hands, the knife moving to my throat. “She's our ticket out.”
Heavy boots thundered through the house above us, getting closer.
Connor appeared on the basement stairs, gun raised, Jaxon right behind him. Both of them froze when they saw Morgan holding a knife to my throat. Sheriff Davies pushed past them, entering the basement in front of the other two.
“Let her go.” Connor's voice was deadly calm, but I could see the way his hands shook, the way his eyes went to me with desperate intensity. “Morgan, let Harper go. Right now.”
“No.” Morgan started backing toward the storm cellar exit I hadn't noticed before, dragging me with her. “No, she's my insurance policy. Nobody moves or I cut her throat. I swear to God I'll do it.”
“Morgan, don't—” Davies had his weapon raised but couldn't risk a shot with her behind me.
“Stay back!” Morgan screamed, pressing the knife harder. I felt it break my skin with sharp, burning pain and the warm trickle of blood down my neck.
We were moving backward, Morgan dragged me toward the storm cellar exit, toward whatever escape plan she had. Silas was already through the doors, and I could hear an engine start outside.
Connor started down the stairs. “I'll kill you—”
“Connor, no—” Jaxon grabbed his arm, holding him back even as Connor fought to get free.
“Let go! She has Harper—”
“And if you rush her, Harper dies,” Jaxon's voice was controlled but urgent. “Connor, think.”
We were at the bottom of the storm cellar stairs now and I could see grass and sunlight where the doors now stood open. An engine revved outside and I could see the top of a van as it sat idle.
“Get in the van,” Silas barked from above. “Now.”
Morgan dragged me up the first step, then the second. The knife never left my throat. I could feel blood trickling down as my heartbeat pounding against the blade.
“Morgan, stop!” Connor's voice from the bottom of the stairs, desperate and furious and helpless. He and Jaxon were trapped down there. If they tried to rush up after us, the angle was wrong, the stairs too narrow. They'd never reach us before Morgan could cut my throat.
“Stay back!” Morgan screamed down at them, dragging me up another step. “Stay back or I swear I'll kill her right now!”
We were halfway up the cellar stairs now, and I could see the van clearly. The side door was open with Silas in the driver's seat, and Armand in the passenger seat. Both of them looked panicked.
“Get in!” Silas shouted. “Morgan, we need to go—”
Davies appeared outside from around the side of the house with two deputies flanking him. Their weapons were raised but they couldn’t get a clear shot on her while Morgan used my body as a human shield.
“Morgan, don't do this,” Davies said, his voice calm but urgent. “You're only making this worse. Let Harper go and we can—”
“We can nothing,” Morgan snarled, still backing up the stairs with jerky movements. “This is the only way out. She's my ticket.”
We were almost at the top now. My feet stumbled on the uneven steps, and Morgan's grip on my hair tightened painfully to keep me upright and between her and any potential gunfire.
From below, I could hear Connor shouting, his voice raw with desperation, with rage, with helplessness that I'd never heard from him before. He was at the bottom of the basement stairs looking up, unable to reach me, unable to do anything but watch as Morgan dragged me toward freedom.
“Harper!” His voice cracked on my name.
“Connor—” I tried to call back, but Morgan jerked my head, the knife pressing harder against my throat.
“Shut up,” she hissed in my ear.
We reached the top of the stairs and I felt the sunlight on my skin as a breeze blew exhaust fumes from the van into my face.
Then I heard sirens in the distance, the sound of multiple vehicles approaching fast. “They called backup,” Armand said, his voice panicked. “Boss, we need to leave now—”
“Get in!” Silas revved the engine.
Morgan's foot touched the grass at the top of the cellar stairs. We were out and almost to the van. She hesitated for just a second, glancing toward the approaching sirens, and I felt her grip loosen infinitesimally.
It was enough. I threw my weight sideways, trying to break free, trying to give Davies a clear shot.
“Bitch!” Morgan shoved me.
Hard.
With both of her hands she put all of her strength into it and the force sent me flying backwards. Back down the storm cellar stairs.
My body hit the steps, shoulder first, then hip, then head.
Each impact was a burst of white-hot pain that made my vision white out.
The world spun, concrete and sky and darkness blurring together.
I couldn't catch myself with my hands still bound.
I couldn't do anything but fall and hit, fall and hit until I crashed into something solid at the bottom.
Not concrete. Something warm and giving that caught me with rough but gentle hands, breaking my fall.
Connor.
He'd been at the bottom of the basement stairs but had tried to rush up when Morgan shoved me. My falling body slammed into him, and we both went down in a tangle of limbs.
“Harper,” his voice was in my ear, panicked, his hands immediately on me. “Harper, are you—”
Above us, tires squealed after the van door slammed shut through the sound of gunshots and the engine revved.
They were getting away.
But I couldn't focus on that. I could only focus on the pain radiating through my entire body and the terror that I'd hurt the baby. That falling down those stairs had—
“The baby—” My hands, still bound behind me, tried uselessly to reach my stomach. “Connor, the baby—”
“Don't move. Harper, don't move.” His hands were shaking as they ran over me, checking for injuries with gentle touches. “Jaxon! Get the EMTs down here now!”
“Already called,” Jaxon's voice from somewhere nearby. “Ambulance is three minutes out.”
Connor was cutting through my zip ties with a knife, freeing my hands, and the moment they were loose I pressed them to my stomach. Searching desperately for any sign of injury. Any cramping. Any bleeding.
Nothing. Just soreness. Just the ache of hitting concrete stairs multiple times.
“I think—” I took a shaky breath that hurt my ribs. “I think the baby's okay. Connor, I don't feel—”
“We're getting you checked. Right now. Immediately.” His face was pale, his hands trembling as he carefully, so carefully, shifted me in his arms. “Can you move? Does anything feel broken?”
I tested my limbs gingerly. Everything hurt, but nothing felt broken. Just bruised and battered. “I don't think so. Just…everything hurts.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know.” He pressed his face against my hair, and I felt wetness from his tears. Connor was crying. “God, Harper, when she pushed you—”
“She didn't stab me.” I pulled back enough to look at him through my own tears. “Connor, she could have. When she pushed me, she could have driven that knife in but she didn't. She just wanted to escape.”
“She threw you down concrete stairs,” Connor said, his voice shaking with rage. “You could have—the baby could have—”
“But we didn't.” I pressed my hand over his where it rested on my stomach. “We're okay. We're alive. That's what matters.”
Above us, I could hear Davies shouting into his radio, calling out the van's direction, the license plate, and descriptions of the suspects as he organized a manhunt.
Jaxon appeared at Connor's side, his face grim. “They're gone. Heading east on County Road 12. Davies has units pursuing.” He looked at me and his expression softened. “How badly are you hurt?”
“I don't know. Bruised with some cuts.” I could feel blood on my neck where the knife had broken skin and my head throbbed where it had hit the stairs. “But I'm conscious. I'm talking. That's good, right?”
“That's very good,” Jaxon confirmed. “But we're still getting you to a hospital. The baby needs to be checked.”
As if on cue, I heard sirens approach the house from the road.
“Can you walk?” Connor asked gently.
“I think so.” I let him help me to my feet, leaning heavily on him when my legs threatened to give out. Everything hurt. My shoulder, my hip, my head, my ribs. But I could stand. I could walk.
I kept my hand on my stomach as Connor guided me slowly up the basement stairs, through the trashed house where furniture was overturned and out to where the ambulance was pulling in with flashing lights.
EMTs rushed over with a gurney, but I waved them off. “I can walk. I need you to check the baby. Please. I'm pregnant and I just fell down stairs and I need to know if—”
“We'll check everything,” the female EMT said gently, guiding me to sit on the gurney. “But you need to lie down. Head injuries are serious, and combined with pregnancy—”
“Okay.” I lay back, letting them work, letting them shine lights in my eyes and check my vitals and ask me questions about pain, dizziness, and nausea that I answered on autopilot.
All I could focus on was the baby and whether those falls had hurt the tiny life growing inside me.
On whether Morgan's knife had done any real damage when she'd pressed it to my stomach.
Connor stood beside the gurney, his hand never leaving mine, his face pale and drawn with worry.
“Sir, are you the father?” one of the EMTs asked.
“Yes.” Connor's voice was firm. “Where are you taking her?”
“Teton County Medical Center. They have an OB on call who can check the baby.”
“I'm coming with her.”
“Of course.” The EMT didn't argue.
As they loaded me into the ambulance, I caught a glimpse of Davies standing near his patrol car, his radio to his ear, his expression grim. Our eyes met for a moment, and I saw the apology there. The regret that they'd gotten away.
But I was alive. My baby was hopefully okay. And Morgan would be caught eventually. She had to be. Because I couldn't live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, waiting for her to come back and finish what she'd started.
The ambulance doors closed after Connor climbed in beside me, his hand still gripping mine like I might disappear if he let go.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered. “Connor, I'm so sorry. I should have been more careful. I should have—”
“Stop.” His voice was firm. “Harper, none of this is your fault. None of it. You understand me?”
I nodded, tears spilling over that I couldn't stop anymore.
“We're going to get through this,” Connor said, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. “We're going to make sure you and the baby are okay, and then we're going to make sure Morgan never gets near you again. I promise.”
I wanted to believe him and trust that everything would be okay.
But as the ambulance pulled away from that nightmare house, all I could think about was Morgan's face as she'd pressed that knife to my stomach. The absolute conviction in her eyes that I'd ruined everything. The certainty that she'd do whatever it took to get revenge.
And the terrifying knowledge that she was still out there.