Chapter 19
19
T ravis retrieved his department issue Glock after making a call to Sandy to report suspicious activity. Backup was half an hour away at best. If Ms. Bouche was in trouble, the wait could mean the difference between life and death.
On balance, going in was a risk he had to take.
With Chloe’s hand on his shoulder and so close behind him they would barely be able to fit a piece of paper in between them, he moved to Ms. Bouche’s porch.
Chloe walked so close she stepped on the heel of his shoe on his next step. She whispered an apology and then put a little more space between them.
Reaching into Ms. Bouche’s place, he fumbled for a light switch and then flipped on the light. At first glance, nothing looked out of place.
He took a tentative step inside, surveying the open concept living room and kitchen. A tablecloth covered the dining table, making it impossible to see if someone was crouched low on the other side.
With purpose, he walked along the wall until he could see that it was clear.
The hallway was next. He moved easily down the hall. The trailer had the same layout as Chloe’s and looked to be built roughly the same year. The contents were a different story. Ms. Bouche’s place was all doilies and antiques. It looked like the home of a grandmother. You didn’t want to touch anything and probably weren’t allowed. Whereas Chloe’s place was inviting, modern, and warm.
After clearing two bedrooms, a hall bath, and a washer and dryer closet, Travis moved to the master bedroom. The musty smell that was reminiscent of old books and aged beer was far better than the one he feared they might encounter…death. That fetid, sour, rotting scent wasn’t one he would ever forget. No amount of Vicks under the nose could completely erase it once it clung to your nostril hairs.
He mentally shook it off and moved to the bedroom door.
Chloe had collected a sharp carving knife from the block on the counter in the kitchen. She kept a little more distance now as they moved toward the closed door.
After taking a slow breath, he cracked the door and flipped on the light.
Ms. Bouche sat up straight in her flannel nightgown. “What’s happening?”
She blinked her eyes a couple of times; the sudden shock of someone present in her bedroom caused her to pull the covers up to her neck.
“It’s Sheriff Barrett,” he said to her in barely above a whisper. He motioned toward the en suite bathroom. “Stay calm.”
Disoriented, her jaw dropped as she rubbed her eyes. Chloe took that cue to go to the older woman and offer comfort.
“Thank heavens you’re all right,” Chloe whispered as she kneeled at the side of the bed, knife at the ready.
“What’s happened?”
“Your front door is ajar, and that’s not like you,” Chloe soothed.
Travis moved to the en suite. He checked the closet. Clear. He checked the bathroom. Clear. He checked behind the shower curtain. Clear.
After closing and locking the front door, he returned to the bedroom.
Ms. Bouche was sitting up now, head in her hands in shame. “I don’t know what could have happened. I never forget to lock the door.”
“It’s possible someone broke in,” Travis said as he joined them.
“What? Why?” The older woman looked distraught, which was understandable. “I don’t watch TV without locking the door first.”
“Did you go out today, Ms. Bouche?” Chloe asked.
“No,” the older woman said.
Meaning her door should never have been unlocked in the first place.
“Not even to check the mail?” Chloe asked.
“No, I didn’t.”
“The place is clear, but if you’d like to call someone, we’ll wait here with you,” Travis said. He excused himself to update Sandy.
When he returned to the bedroom, Chloe was helping Ms. Bouche get up. Her jaw dropped again when she glanced over at a bureau. The middle drawer was open.
“That should be closed,” Ms. Bouche said. She scooted off the end of bed, her floor-length flannel nightgown swished as she moved. She grabbed a pair of reading glasses and fumbled to put them on. And then she gasped. “I keep an envelope full of emergency cash in here. Someone took it.”
The older woman was a meticulous creature of habit. Would she leave a drawer pulled out?
“Are you sure you didn’t put the envelope in your purse?” Chloe asked. “Or move it to another safe location?”
With the drawer open, it wasn’t likely.
Ms. Bouche clasped the top of her gown. “Someone was in here. Someone stole my money.”
She was lucky that was all the intruder took.
Travis’ cell buzzed while still in his hand. He answered the call from Sandy. “What do you have for me?”
“I’m getting calls about break-ins this evening in the trailer park,” Sandy said. “There are at least two more. Folks who just came home and found out they’d been broken into.”
“Money is missing from Ms. Bouche’s home,” he said. “I was just about to send an update.”
“I’m farther away now. About forty minutes out,” Sandy said. “I can interview the victims. Why don’t you stay—”
“I’m here,” he said. “Send me addresses.”
After exchanging goodbyes, he ended the call.
“What’s happening?” Chloe asked.
“There have been multiple break-ins in this area tonight. I need to talk to a couple of families. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Ms. Bouche’s house had already been hit tonight. They should be safe here while he talked to the others. “Lock the door behind me.”
Chloe followed him to the door. She pushed up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. The kiss wasn’t more than a peck, but it sent a firebolt racing through him. When she looked at him, concern mixed with need in her eyes. “Be careful and come back to me.”
Words clogged his throat. At that moment, he knew exactly what he needed to say to her. There’d never been an ache so deep or so strong in his body as the one he felt at the thought of being without her. He would tell her upfront that he couldn’t give her the family she wanted. He would tell her that he’d fallen so in love with her that he couldn’t imagine being able to breathe without her. And he would tell her that he would understand if she had to walk away anyway.
At that moment, all he could do was press a kiss to her lips in return and then leave.
Chloe locked the door. She moved to the window and watched Travis through the slats of the miniblinds until he disappeared. Had someone broken into her home? No way was she going to investigate that on her own. Plus, she couldn’t leave Ms. Bouche. The older woman was understandably distraught.
“Can I make you something to drink?” she asked, returning to the bedroom where she’d placed the knife on the nightstand.
A crunch sounded from the other room. Was it glass breaking?
And then the lights went out, and Ms. Bouche screamed.
Where had Chloe dropped her handbag? Was it still inside Trav’s truck?
For a split second, her flight instinct kicked in. Running out the front door would leave Ms. Bouche alone with no way to fend for herself.
“I’m here,” she said to the older woman, trying to feel her way back to the bed. She found it and then placed herself between Ms. Bouche and the door. Hands shaking from adrenaline, Chloe reached for the knife.
“Ouch. Shit.” Her index finger burned from being sliced—wrong end.
She managed to secure the knife in her hand two seconds before a blinding light made her eyes involuntarily shut.
Ms. Bouche screamed as Chloe raised the knife and ran toward the person wielding it. The second she got within arm’s reach, a familiar smell hit her, and she knew exactly who was there. But why?
Before he could get a word out, her knife-wielding wrist was in a vise grip. Two seconds later, she was being thrown to the floor. Her head smacked against a hard surface and bounced. Pain shot through her skull.
“Why?” was all she managed to get out as she curled into a ball to instinctively protect her organs. A boot connected with her back as Ms. Bouche screamed again. Heavy footsteps caused the vinyl flooring to vibrate.
Another scream.
Chloe shot up to sit despite pain firing through her, which lit her nervous system like a soaked tree being struck by lightning during an electrical storm.
A pained grunt came before a thud. Then, silence.
“Ms. Bouche,” Chloe managed to say as she shakily stood. The trailer park still had lights. The fact shot through her brain. The room was pitch black because of the miniblinds and heavy curtains.
“Bitch is dead,” came the familiar voice. “And you’re next, but you’re not making it easy.”
“What the hell happened to you?” Chloe bit out seconds before another strike knocked her across the room. Her shoulder smacked against the wall, and pain burst through her bones as a crack sounded. A broken bone?
Chloe attempted to push against the floor, but her right shoulder was useless. At this rate, she’d be dead in a matter of minutes. What could she use to fight back? Legs.
She repositioned onto her back as he came closer. When he was within striking distance, she kicked with all the force she could muster.
“Sonofabitch,” came the word, along with a grunt. With his size, her kick had barely made a dent.
The couple of seconds gave her the time she needed to roll left. Something substantial, like a lamp, slammed into the wall next to her.
Could she survive long enough for Trav to return?
Ms. Bouche. If she died, Chloe would never forgive herself because she had brought this danger to the older woman’s doorstep.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Three rapid-fire impacts sounded like they hit hard enough to splinter the wooden door in the living room.
And then it sounded like an elephant was charging in the next room. There was no way Travis had circled back. No, he’d made certain Travis would be distracted.
How did she not figure this out before?
“You’re going to die,” came the familiar voice. She would recognize the stale smell of beer a million miles away. Why come after her?
“Not tonight, Craig.”