DIAGNOSIS: AMNESIA

A man has been shot and left for dead on Echo Mountain, and Search and Rescue K-9 handler Breanna McBride wants answers. With no memory, all the injured man can recall is that his first name is Scott, and that someone wants him silenced. Scott knows better than to depend on strangers, yet he finds himself falling for his captivating protector. And although Breanna won’t rest until she helps him piece together the rest of his past, she vows to ignore the attraction between them. But as they close in on the truth, she becomes the killer’s next target. Now the pursuers will stop at nothing to ensure the pair is six feet under by Christmas.

Echo Mountain: Saving lives and finding love in the mountains of Washington State

Dodging into the street, Scott was hyperfocused on the lovely but terrified blonde.

He watched Bree step away from the car with a horrified look on her face.

“Bree!” Scott called.

A car horn screamed.

Brakes squealed.

Scott glanced to his left in time to see a compact car skidding toward him. The driver spun the wheel at the last second and the small car slid past Scott and slammed into a parked car. Scott turned back to the dark sedan, and was about to reach for the door when the driver peeled away, burning rubber on the street.

Without hesitation, he went to Bree and placed gentle hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, but he could tell she was traumatized.

“The man in that black car threatened me,” she said.

“Threatened you how?”

“He told me to get in, then he flashed a gun.”

Scott automatically pulled Bree against his chest into a gentle hug. “It’s okay, he’s gone.”

For now, he added silently.

HOPE WHITE

An eternal optimist, Hope White was born and raised in the Midwest. She began spinning tales of intrigue and adventure when she was in grade school, and wrote her first book when she was eleven—a thriller that ended with a mysterious phone call the reader never heard!

She and her college sweetheart have been married for thirty years and are blessed with two wonderful sons, two feisty cats and a bossy border collie.

When not dreaming up inspirational tales, Hope enjoys hiking, sipping tea with friends and going to the movies. She loves to hear from readers, who can contact her at hopewhiteauthor@gmail.com.

Covert Christmas

Hope White

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.

—Psalms 46

This book is dedicated to Washington State Search and Rescue volunteers.

A heartfelt thanks to those who answered my many questions: Chris, Guy, Bethany and Brenda from Snohomish County Search and Rescue K9 Unit, along with Andrew from Everett Mountain Rescue, and Justin from Bellingham Mountain Rescue.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

ONE

They were close, dangerously close.

Scott Becket sprinted up the trail, hoping to disappear in the brush ahead. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep up this pace considering the abuse he’d sustained at the hands of his captors. He was lucky to have gotten away, although without his backpack he wouldn’t survive long out here in the Cascade Mountains.

Scott needed the perfect spot where he could camouflage himself until they passed, if they passed, because he knew they were nothing if not determined to find Scott and kill him. After they finished what they’d started earlier—“persuading” him to admit where he’d hidden the proof of criminal activity that could destroy them all.

As long as he had sole possession of the documentation, Scott would breathe another day or two, long enough to gather the last bit of evidence he needed to end this thing.

Eyeing the trail ahead, he hoped he wouldn’t run into innocent civilians out for an afternoon hike. Scott didn’t want to put others in jeopardy and wasn’t sure how far his pursuers would go to secure the information and eliminate Scott, the only person cynical enough to question their plan.

He winced at the pain of bruised ribs as he gasped to fill his lungs with air. Scott berated himself for not catching on sooner. What a fool. Just like he’d been a fool to think he could get water samples to the EPA without being caught. But then he hadn’t been thinking clearly for a while now.

They’d distracted him with the illusion of love and happiness. Christa had been so good, too, an expert at making him feel safe and loved. He should have known better. Sweet, perfect women like Christa did not fall in love with damaged goods like Scott Becket.

They’d also distracted Scott with threats against his boss and veiled threats against Scott’s sister. He hoped Emily took his message seriously and got out of town. If anything happened to his baby sister—

Crack! He ducked at the sound of a gunshot echoing through the woods. Now they were shooting at him? They wouldn’t find zip if they killed him first and asked questions later.

He glanced over his shoulder to see how close they were—

His boot hit a tree root sticking up from the trail and he slammed chest-first against the ground, air ripping from his lungs.

It couldn’t end like this, with Scott dead in the mountains, the notes and emails he’d collected never making it to the proper authorities.

Junior would continue his plan, and eventually ascend to an even more powerful position as a governor or senator. Scott knew if the guy made it into office people would die from his greed.

Scott scrambled to his feet, his hiking boots getting a solid grip on the soft earth. He wouldn’t give up the fight until he was, in fact, dead.

With renewed focus he took off, eyeing a switchback up ahead.

“Stop!” a man shouted.

Sure, stop running and die. Not a chance.

Another crack echoed across the mountain range. He hoped someone heard the gunshot and called 9-1-1.

Scott should have called the cops before now, maybe even called his former partner at the Chicago P.D. Right, and have Joe lecture Scott about his screwup with the Domingo kid and subsequent resignation?

Scott didn’t have much pull left with law enforcement, which is why being named head of security for Global Resources International had been such a confidence builder.

Or had that been the plan all along, employ a scapegoat like Scott Becket as a fail-safe, someone to take the heat if it all went south?

He hadn’t seen it coming.

Approaching another switchback, Scott reached for a tree to steady himself as he made the turn. His momentum put him dangerously close to the edge of the trail overlooking a steep drop. If he could just make it around the corner and out of sight—

Crack!

Pain seared across his upper arm.

He instinctively grabbed it and stumbled, slipping over the edge and skidding down the lush terrain.

Whack! He came to a sudden stop and gasped for breath. His head throbbed, his arm burned and his ribs ached. He blinked, struggling to focus but his vision wouldn’t clear. All he could see was a blur of green above him; all he could hear was the sound of angry voices.

Closer, louder.

A high-pitched ringing cut through the echo of voices.

And darkness consumed him.

* * *

Breanna McBride dangled her feet from her position twenty feet up in a tree and gazed at the vast mountain range. The air smelled fresh and invigorating, and the Douglas fir and Western Hemlock scattered across the countryside reminded her that Christmas was only weeks away.

She heard what sounded like a gunshot and wondered if it was a blank fired off to signal the end of the training exercise for the Echo Mountain Search and Rescue K9 unit.

Some might accuse Bree of being overly enthusiastic for hiding out up here; others might call her crazy. But Grace Longfellow, the SAR group leader, asked Bree to plan an exceptional challenge for today’s candidates and handlers, so she found this camouflaged spot high off the ground in Woods Pass.

It could happen, Bree mused. A hiker could fall from a trail up above and land in a tree, maybe. Bree figured they should be ready for anything. Today was the final test, the graduation for three more dogs hoping to join the SAR K9 team.

She waited. Turned up the volume on her radio so she wouldn’t miss the announcement. The exercise wouldn’t have ended until the dogs found Bree, right?

A second shot echoed across the mountains and she ripped her radio off her belt. “This is Bree. Has the training exercise ended, over?”

“We’re still looking for you and one other victim, over,” Grace answered.

“But I heard—” Sudden movement caught her eye. A body tumbled onto the trail below, landing maybe twenty feet from her tree. “I think we have a real victim, over.”

“He’s gotta be down there!” a man’s voice called from the distance.

Bree raised her lightweight binoculars and spotted two men heading down the trail.

One of them was carrying a gun.

Her heart raced as her mind clicked off possible reasons why a man would be carrying a handgun in the national park. Hunting was illegal here, and the last time someone was shot in the park it was a private investigator shot by a criminal involved in a theft ring.

Bree’s eyes darted from the two armed men to the unconscious one on the trail. She was torn between staying concealed and safe or helping him. Maybe if someone would have helped her when she was with her ex-boyfriend Thomas....

“Don’t be foolish,” she whispered. How could she possibly defend herself and an injured man against two men with guns?

“Grace, I’ve got a situation here,” she said into the radio. “We may need the police. There are two assailants, one is carrying a handgun, and a third man who is wounded, over.”

“Location?”

Bree gave her the coordinates. “I’m turning down the radio so they don’t hear you.”

“Stay hidden,” Grace ordered.

“Copy that.”

Bree took a slow, deep breath to calm her frantic heartbeat. She hadn’t felt this kind of adrenaline rush, this kind of fear since...

“Thomas,” she hushed.

No, she’d left that behind when she’d fled Seattle, returned to Echo Mountain and rebooted her life. She thought she’d erased the fear and trepidation from her mind. From her soul.

The wounded man groaned and managed to stand up.

And that’s when she saw the blood seeping between his fingers as he gripped his upper arm.

She glanced to her right. The gunmen were heading straight for him. She snapped her attention to the wounded man. He stumbled a few feet....

In the direction of the gunmen!

Her gaze snapped back and forth from the gunmen to the wounded man back to the gunmen. With a groan, the man fell to his knees and collapsed on the ground. Unconscious, exposed and so utterly vulnerable.

“No.” She flung her leg over the branch and climbed down from the tree, unable to sit here and watch a man be brutalized. She had to help him.

She must be out of her mind.

Hitting the ground, she called in. “Grace, the gunmen are headed my way. I need to help the wounded man, over.”

“Bree, don’t—”

“I can’t watch them kill the guy, over.”

She turned down the volume on the radio and rushed to the man’s side. He was in his thirties with brown hair and a slight beard, and wasn’t carrying a backpack. His shirt was ripped in spots and she noticed a nasty gash above his right eye.

She felt for a pulse. Strong and steady.

Now what? The man was solidly built and probably weighed close to two hundred pounds. His pursuers were five, maybe six minutes away.

“Sir, we have to move. Sir?” She gave him a gentle shake.

He opened his eyes. They were a dulled shade of blue that she suspected were more vivid on a normal day.

“I... Emily?” He blinked a confused expression at her.

“Come on, you’re not safe here.”

She encouraged him to get up and put his arm around her shoulder. Although worried about his blood loss, she couldn’t take the time to dress the wound until they were safely out of sight. Bree led him to the edge of the trail where she’d seen a plateau maybe five feet below. She’d noticed it from her spot in the tree, and made a mental note that it would serve as good cover if someone got caught out here in a storm.

She didn’t imagine using it to save a man’s life.

“We’re going to climb down there.” She pointed. “Think you can do it?”

He glanced down below, but didn’t answer. He seemed out of it. She touched his cheek and his gaze drifted to her eyes.

“Watch me.” She shifted onto her belly and grabbed a tree root. “Hold on to this and edge your way down. It’s not far.”

She dropped onto the plateau and motioned to him. “Your turn.”

At first he didn’t move. Instead, his gaze drifted across the lush forest in the distance.

“Hey, Blue Eyes.” She clapped her hands.

He looked at her.

“Come on, buddy. Please?”

He sat down and for a second she thought he’d given up. Instead, he shifted onto his stomach.

“That’s it, now grab the tree root—”

He dropped down and wavered. She grabbed his jacket, yanking him away from the ledge.

“Good job,” she said, releasing him and taking off her pack.

He leaned against the mountainside and sat down, his eyes half closed, his breathing quick and shallow. She wondered if he were going into shock.

“What’s your name?” she whispered, joining him.

“My...name,” he said, his eyes drifting shut.

Voices echoed across the canyon. She plastered herself as close to the mountain wall as possible to stay out of sight. The stranger leaned against Bree’s shoulder. Concerned that the men above might be able to see his legs sticking out, she encouraged Blue Eyes to sit parallel to the mountain wall, hidden from view. She sat cross-legged, and eased him back to cradle his head in her lap.

She stroked his hairline, assessing his head wound, trying to block out the fear and panic of being discovered.

It was at that moment she realized neither her friends nor police would make it here in time to save them. A familiar knot of helplessness coiled in her stomach.

She was the only one she could depend on, the only one this wounded man could depend on.

No, that wasn’t totally true.

Our Father, which art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy name, she thought, reciting the Lord’s Prayer in her head to calm the anxiety threatening to take hold.

This all seemed so surreal, like she was watching someone else go through the motions of climbing out of a safe spot in a tree to help a stranger.

“I won’t...” the man whispered. “I won’t let them hurt you, Emily.”

“Shh,” she soothed. She needed him to stay quiet, yet she wondered if the pain from his arm wound or head injury was making him agitated.

“He’s here! I know he’s here!” a man’s voice echoed.

They were getting close.

The gravity of her situation suddenly hit her. The wounded man had been shot in a public park in the middle of the day. These men were brutal killers undeterred by anything or anyone.

Her mind started down that terrifying road, the one that led to panic, so she took a slow deep breath and counted to five. Then exhaled, also counting to five. This wasn’t just about Bree protecting herself anymore. This was about a wounded man being hunted like an animal.

With her free hand she fingered the silver locket she had bought with her first check as groundskeeper for Echo Mountain Resort. To Bree the dove engraved on the front not only represented the Holy Spirit, but also freedom, freedom to live her life without the cloak of fear clouding her mind, fear of being hurt, fear of making a mistake.

She hoped this wasn’t her biggest mistake, she thought, stroking the blue-eyed man’s hair to keep him calm.

“You can’t run forever!” a man threatened from above.

Bree stilled. Held her breath.

“He’s probably dead,” another man with a husky voice said.

“We need proof.”

“Forget it. We don’t have proper gear to go climbing down mountains.”

“Then we’ll get gear and come back.”

“Are you nuts?” the husky voice challenged. “By tomorrow his body will be torn apart by wild animals. Done.”

“He’s gonna want proof.”

“Wait, what’s this?”

Her breath caught in her throat. Had they found something that exposed Bree’s hiding place?

“Blood,” the husky-voiced man said.

“I told you I nailed him.”

“There, it leads over the side.”

“You think he’s down there?”

Bree closed her eyes and prayed they weren’t looking directly down at the plateau. She couldn’t be sure that she and Mr. Blue Eyes were completely hidden from view.

“Look down there.”

Bree’s mind cataloged everything she had in her backpack: water, snacks, compass, map, fire starter, extra clothes and first-aid kit. Wasn’t there something she could use to defend herself?

“I don’t see anything,” the husky voice said.

Blue Eyes groaned, gripping his injured arm.

“Shh,” she soothed as best she could, considering the terror filling her chest.

“Did you hear that?”

Silence rang in Bree’s ears. She waited. Patted the wounded man’s forehead, hoping her touch would soothe him, quiet him.

“You’re imagining things,” the husky voice said.

“I’m not imagining that blood.”

“He went over the edge and hit bottom.”

“Or he’s right down there.”

“Where?”

Bree stilled. They’d figured it out.

With unusual calm, she dug quietly in her pack, her hands searching for something, anything she could use as a weapon.

Rely on yourself and only yourself. That had been her mantra for at least six months following her breakup with Thomas. It had been an isolated existence, but good training for emergency situations.

Like this one.

“You want to go down there and check?” the husky voice said. “Go ahead. I didn’t hear anything.”

“Then you need to get your hearing checked.”

Bree’s fingers grazed across her snack bag and water bottle, then brushed across the canister of pepper spray she’d purchased after the mugging.

It was dumb luck that she’d forgotten to take it out of her backpack after moving back to the country. She slipped it out and put her finger on the button.

Calmed her breathing.

Prepared herself for the worst. Although she had martial arts training, this small area wasn’t the ideal space to spar with a violent man.

“You got rope?” a male voice said.

“It’s not that far,” Husky countered. “But I think you’re wasting your time.”

Bree’s pulse sped up. Her heart pounded against her chest.

She could do this. She could defend herself and Mr. Blue Eyes from his attackers.

You naive little country girl, Thomas’s words haunted her.

“Emily,” Blue Eyes whispered.

“I heard it,” Husky said. “Go get him.”

Bree held her breath and prayed.

TWO

With a shaky finger on the canister, Bree reminded herself to breathe. Would there be enough pepper spray to immobilize two men if they both came down?

I can do this. I am a strong woman.

The echo of barking dogs sparked relief in Bree’s chest. The SAR team was closing in on her location.

“Wait, listen. Dogs, a pack of them,” the husky-voiced guy said.

“Wild dogs?”

“No, idiot, search-and-rescue dogs. I saw their van at the trailhead. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“What about—”

“Forget it. Let’s go.”

A few minutes passed, silence ringing in Bree’s ears. The gunmen weren’t coming down to investigate; she and Blue Eyes were safe for the time being. Now, to make sure he didn’t lose too much blood while they waited to be rescued.

The thought snapped her into action. She radioed her position to Grace and dug in her pack for her first-aid kit.

“Grace, the victim will need medical assistance, over,” Bree said.

“What’s his condition, over?”

“Head injury and gunshot wound. I can deal with the head injury, over.”

She pulled out an antiseptic wipe and winced as she cleaned the man’s head wound. It was pretty bad and would probably need stitches. In the meantime she applied a butterfly bandage.

His eyes fluttered open. “Who...are you?”

“Breanna, but you can call me Bree.”

“Bree...anna,” he whispered and his eyes fluttered shut.

“Now comes the hard part,” she said to herself. His arm. She’d taken first-aid classes, sure, but a gunshot wound wasn’t exactly standard practice.

“Bree, this is Trevor. How’s his airway and breathing, over?”

“Seems okay. He’s in and out of consciousness. He suffered a head injury, but I’m more worried about the gunshot wound to his arm, over.”

“Apply pressure to slow the bleeding,” Trevor said. “If it’s a through-and-through apply it to both entry and exit wounds. If he goes into shock, cover him up if his skin’s cold or remove outer gear if he’s hot, over.”

“Thanks, over.”

“We’re a few minutes away. Hang in there, over.”

“I’m actually about five feet below the trail, over.”

“Copy that,” Trevor said.

Bree refocused on tending her patient. She pulled out two spare T-shirts and a scarf. She slid his jacket off, and ripped the material away from his wound, which wasn’t as bad as she’d originally thought. It looked as though the bullet had grazed the skin of his upper arm, but didn’t pass through his flesh. She wrapped one of the shirts around his arm and secured it with the scarf.

Rinsing blood from her hands with water and antiseptic, she caught herself humming, a coping mechanism she’d developed to stay calm. Only now did she realize what she’d done: saved a man’s life, and her own, from armed gunmen.

Up to this point she’d been going through the motions in a detached state, as if she were watching a movie. She’d felt this kind of detachment before. It had been a tool to numb herself to a brutal, violent scene. And there were plenty of those when she’d dated Thomas.

“No reason to think about that,” she said, shaking off the unpleasant memories.

Right now, at this moment in time, she was okay, the stranger was relatively okay, and help was close. She could fully freak out and process all this later when she got back to her cottage at the resort.

She pressed the back of her hand against the man’s cheek to determine if he was going into shock.

“You’re cold, all right.” She pulled a thermal blanket out of her pack and covered him up. “Hang in there, buddy. Help’s on the way.”

* * *

The most beautiful sound floated across his mind.

The sound of a woman humming.

She hummed a familiar Christmas song, only he couldn’t remember the title. He cracked open his eyes but all he could see through blurred vision was a bright mass of gold.

“Hey there,” she said.

He thought she smiled but couldn’t tell for sure. Her voice sounded throaty, yet feminine, and he wanted to hear more of it.

“I...” is all he could get out.

“You’re going to be okay.”

She was wrong, of course. He knew she was wrong, yet he couldn’t explain why. They were both in serious danger and had to get out of here.

“Trip...”

“I would have tripped too if I’d been chased by those goons,” she said.

“Have to...go.” He struggled to sit up but a firm hand pressed against his chest.

A firm, yet calming hand placed directly over his heart. “It’s okay. Those guys are gone. We’re safe and help is coming.”

He believed her. He didn’t know why. He was not the type of man to trust easily or believe strangers, especially not a woman.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

He blinked a few times, struggling to make her face come into focus.

“My name?” he said.

“I’m Bree, remember?”

He didn’t remember Bree, he didn’t remember much of anything.

“I can’t... Don’t remember.”

“Not even your name?”

He shook his head, exhaling a quick breath of panic.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

Her soft warm hand stroked his cheek in a soothing gesture. He closed his eyes, fighting to remember who he was, where he was from and why he was here with this woman.

“You’ve probably got a concussion. With a little time it will come back to you.” She ran her fingers down his hairline to his jaw. Once, twice. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.

But it wouldn’t be okay, not unless he... What? What was he supposed to do?

Blinking his eyes open, his gaze landed on her smile. His vision was clearing. That had to be a good sign, right? This view was definitely a good thing. A beautiful woman stared down at him, offering a warm and caring smile. She wasn’t glamorous like a cover model. She was adorable, a girl-next-door type of beautiful you read about in novels but wondered if they really existed.

“Your eyes look better,” she said, withdrawing her hand from his face.

He wanted to beg her to continue the nurturing gesture, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Begging a woman for anything felt wrong, and downright stupid.

“I can see you,” he said.

“That’s awesome. How’s the pain on a scale of one to ten?”

“Pain?”

“Your arm, your head?”

“Were we...hiking together?”

“No, I was out here for a search-and-rescue training mission and saw you fall.”

“I fell?”

“Yes.”

He struggled to remember why he’d come out here in the first place. His gaze drifted beyond the woman to the brilliant shades of green surrounding them. It was so peaceful out here, so serene.

“One to ten?” she prompted.

He redirected his attention to her. “What?”

“Your pain?”

“Seven?”

“There’s no wrong answer. Just be honest and it will all work out.”

Honest? Was she kidding?

“That bad, huh?” she said.

“What?”

“The pain. You made a face like someone shoved a lemon in your mouth.”

“Yeah, I guess it hurts,” he said, concerned that she was able to read him so easily.

“Well, it’ll probably get worse before it gets better. We’re going to have to lift you out of here and carry you down the trail to an ambulance.”

“No hospital.” He’d be an easy target for sure. But for whom?

“Sorry, Blue Eyes, but a gunshot wound warrants a trip to the E.R., and probably a meet-and-greet from the local police.”

“But—”

“Save your strength.”

She placed her hand against his chest again, this time gently patting him in a rhythm that soothed him into a state of relaxation. His eyes drifted shut.

* * *

Pain speared down his arm to his fingertips.

“Ah, God,” he breathed.

But God couldn’t help him, not after everything he’d done.

“Take it easy,” a woman’s stern voice said. “You’re hurting him.”

It was the blonde from before. What was her name again?

He opened his eyes. Struggled to focus. But everything seemed to bounce around him. The sky, the trees, the blonde beauty.

“Hey, Blue Eyes,” she said. “We’re almost there.”

He wanted to reach out but his arms were bound to a board of some kind. He must have looked panicked because she slid her hand into his and squeezed.

“We had to secure you to the litter so you’d remain as still as possible. We don’t want you losing any more blood than necessary. Okay?” She smiled.

“Okay,” he thought he said. Closed his eyes. Listened to the conversation around him.

“Why can’t they send a helo?” the woman said.

“No place to land up here. The ambulance is waiting,” a male voice answered.

“I’m afraid he’s losing too much blood.”

“His vitals are good.”

“Will they—”

“Bree, take a breath. He’s alive. You’re alive. All is well.”

* * *

Something pinched his arm. He opened his eyes. “What, ouch.”

“Hello, Mr. Smith,” a young female paramedic said. “I’ll call you Mr. Smith because we couldn’t find any identification and it seems more dignified than calling you Mr. Blue Eyes.” She sneered at the cute blonde woman standing on the other side of him.

Her name, he desperately needed to remember the blonde’s name.

“Are you allergic to any medications?” the paramedic asked.

“I don’t...think so.”

“Can you tell me what day it is?”

His gazed drifted past her to the lush forest in the distance. They were outside, surrounded by green. How did he get here again?

“Sir?”

He glanced at the paramedic, a twenty-something brunette with a tattoo of a butterfly on her neck. “It’s daytime.”

“Do you know what day it is?”

He glanced at the blonde beauty. She offered an encouraging smile. It didn’t help.

“How about your name?” the paramedic said.

“I told you he doesn’t remember,” the blonde said with an edge to her voice.

“Sir, do you know where you are?” the paramedic tried again.

“Mountains,” he gasped, hating the sound of his voice. Weak. Defeated.

“What city or state?” she asked, administering something into his IV.

“I... Washington?”

The blonde beauty offered a bright smile. He could look at those green eyes, that joyful smile all day long.

“Do you remember the trailhead or mountain you went climbing this morning?”

He glanced at the blonde. She started to mouth something.

“Bree!” the EMT scolded. “No cheating.”

“Sorry.” Bree put up her hands.

Bree, that’s right. A charming name.

“Okay, let’s get you into the ambulance.” The paramedic nodded at someone behind him. The stretcher shifted slightly, then he was lifted up into the ambulance.

“Bree,” he said, panicked. He reached out hoping to touch her again, feel her calming presence.

“It’s okay. I’ll meet you at the hospital,” she said.

He may not make it to the hospital. He didn’t know the brunette with the butterfly tattoo. He didn’t trust her.

“Bree.” He struggled to sit up.

“Easy there, Mr. Smith. You don’t want to pull out your IV.”

“Bree,” he croaked, desperate, trying to roll off the stretcher.

Suddenly she was beside him, holding his hand.

“Right there is fine,” the paramedic ordered Bree, then said to the driver, “Okay, Roscoe, let’s go.”

He turned his head to the left, needing to see Bree, look into her green eyes. Green like the forest. Her image started to blur again. He was losing focus, losing consciousness.

“I can’t... Bree...”

He closed his eyes, but felt her squeeze his hand.

“What’s happening to him?” she asked.

“It’s probably the pain meds,” the paramedic said.

“But he should stay conscious, shouldn’t he? Especially if he has a head injury?”

“Calm down, cuz. He’s stable. It’s all good.”

He was drifting in and out, picking up only pieces of conversation.

I couldn’t let him die.

Two gunmen?

He wasn’t with them; they were after him.

That was foolish.

I don’t care. He needed me.

You don’t even know him.

He squeezed her hand, struggling to stay connected, to stay conscious.

“It’s okay,” a woman whispered against his ear.

It was Bree’s voice. He’d know it anywhere.

He couldn’t remember his own name, where he’d been or how he’d ended up in an ambulance. Those three things should drive him to the brink of despair.

But they didn’t because Bree was here. He took a deep breath, clung to her hand and drifted.

* * *

“You’ve upset him,” Bree snapped at her cousin Maddie.

“Right, so it’s not the bullet wound or head injury that’s got him freaked out,” Maddie said, sarcastically. “Look, I shouldn’t have let you ride along in the first place, so stop busting my chops.”

“I’m worried about him.” She noted Mr. Blue Eyes’ skin looked pale.

“He’s not your problem.”

Bree ignored the comment and stroked the back of his hand.

“Bree?”

She glanced at her cousin, who frowned with concern.

“You didn’t see him, Maddie. He was so—” Bree glanced at the bruise forming around his head wound “—broken.”

Maddie reached over and touched Bree’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

With a nod, Bree glanced back at the stranger. They both knew Maddie’s words referred more to Bree’s terrible Thomas past than the current situation.

“He’s okay,” Maddie said, pausing as she unbuttoned his shirt. “Whoa.”

“What?”

“He’s got a lot of redness on his chest and stomach, like he was beaten up.”

They pulled up to the hospital.

“This is as far as you go, sorry,” Maddie said.

The back door opened. Two sheriff’s deputies stood there, along with Echo Mountain Police Chief Lew Washburn, and Wallace Falls Police Chief Charles Trainer, who Bree’s family fondly called Uncle Chuck.

Two officers and two police chiefs? Blue Eyes must be in big-time trouble.

“Bree,” he groaned, opening his eyes.

Maddie shot Bree a disapproving look.

“I’m here,” Bree said, squeezing his hand.

The other paramedic came around and helped Maddie lift the stretcher out of the ambulance. Blue Eyes didn’t release Bree’s hand.

Uncle Chuck approached. “Breanna, we need to—”

“I’ll be right back,” she interrupted.

She walked alongside the stretcher, offering words of comfort to Blue Eyes. “You’ll be okay. They’ll take care of you here.”

“Don’t leave.”

“I’ll stay close, promise.”

“You’ve got to let him go, Bree,” Maddie said as they wheeled him into the E.R.

Bree released his hand.

“No, Bree,” he gasped, and the look in his eyes nearly tore her apart inside. Pure and utter devastation coupled with fear. She’d seen that look...in the mirror.

She motioned for her cousin to stop the stretcher and Bree leaned close to the stranger. “I’ll be right outside. Let them fix you up so you can get out of here and do something fun.”

“With you?”

Bree shot a quick glance at Maddie and looked back at the stranger. “Sure.”

“You won’t leave me?”

“I won’t leave you.”

He released her hand and they wheeled him into the examining area. Bree automatically reached for her locket, praying for guidance. Had she done the right thing by making that promise? Of course she had, because it had calmed him down enough to release her and get much needed medical attention.

“Breanna?”

She turned to Uncle Chuck and Chief Washburn.

“Hey, hi, Uncle Chuck.” She gave him a hug. Chuck had been a friend for years and helped out after Dad had passed away.

They broke the hug and she nodded at Lew Washburn. “Hey, Chief.”

“Let’s sit down and you can give me your official statement.” Chief Washburn motioned her to the waiting area.

Breanna hesitated, not wanting to break her word to Blue Eyes.

“We’ll be close to the examining room,” Chief Washburn said.

With a nod, Breanna accompanied them to the waiting area, positioning herself so she could keep an eye on the door.

“Do you know the victim?” Uncle Chuck asked her.

“No.” Although she felt oddly connected to him in a way she couldn’t explain.

“Tell us what happened,” Chief Washburn said.

As Bree retold the story, she clicked into that distancing mode, the place where it felt as if she was talking about someone else.

“You jumped out of the tree to help him, knowing he was being pursued by two gunmen?” Uncle Chuck said.

She didn’t miss the disbelief in his voice, nor the disapproval.

“They would have killed him,” she said.

“They might have killed you,” he scolded.

His tone sparked shame through her body, but she pushed it aside. She would not feel ashamed for saving a man’s life.

“They were far enough away that I didn’t feel I was in immediate danger,” she said. “I thought I had enough time to help the man hide until authorities arrived.”

“When I tell your mother—”

“Please let me do it. I’ll call her as soon as we’re done.”

Bree surely didn’t want people tattling on her, although considering how many people had probably heard about the morning’s events, Bree suspected Mom already knew. Small towns were like that.

“What else can I tell you?” She directed her question to Chief Washburn.

“A description of the gunmen.”

She described what they looked like, trying to recall details from when she viewed them through the binoculars.

“One of the men said ‘he’s gonna want proof,’” Bree said.

“You were so close that you could hear what they were saying?” Uncle Chuck’s voice pitched.

“Uncle Chuck, I’ve been through a traumatic event. It’s just now hitting me how dangerous it was and you’re not helping.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m sorry.”

But it was natural for him to worry. He was protective of the McBride clan.

“Let’s all take a breath,” Chief Washburn said. “Breanna’s okay, but we have two gunmen on the loose and we need to involve as many law enforcement personnel as possible to track them down so no one else gets hurt.”

“They had accents,” Bree said.

“Foreign or...?” Chief Washburn asked.

“Midwest, Chicago. You know that nasal A sound?”

“Okay, that’s good.” The chief wrote something in his notepad. “As I understand it, there was no ID on the victim?”

“That’s right.”

“Did he tell you his name?” Chief Washburn asked.

“He doesn’t seem to remember it.”

“Convenient,” Uncle Chuck muttered.

“He’s got a nasty head wound,” she said defensively.

The E.R. doors opened to the outside and she spotted a familiar group of people: the SAR K9 team, along with Bree’s brother, Aiden, and their mom. So much for Bree calmly breaking the news to Mom about today’s events. Bree’s best friend, Billie, and her fiancé, Quinn, were also with the group.

Aiden marched up to Bree, who put out her hand in a stop gesture. “I’m fine, but I need another minute to give my statement.”

She didn’t miss Mom’s worried frown, or the angry twist of Aiden’s mouth. He’d better not be angry with her or she’d let him have it. Bree had been holding it in these past few hours, trying to remain calm and levelheaded for Blue Eyes. It wouldn’t take much for her to lose her cool, especially with family who she knew loved her no matter how cranky she got.

Bree finished describing the two men. Chief Washburn asked, “About the gunshot victim, any idea who he is or why he was assaulted?”

“No, sir. He didn’t say much, although he said a name, Emily, and that he’d keep her safe.”

The chief jotted something down. “Did he have a backpack?”

“No, sir. Maddie the EMT made a comment about his chest and torso looking red, too, like he’d been beaten up.”

“And he said nothing that would give us a clue what he was doing out on the trail?”

“No, sorry.”

“It seemed like he’s bonded with you,” Chief Washburn said.

Mom and Aiden were within earshot, but she didn’t care. “Yes, sir, I believe he has.”

“He trusts you?” Chief Washburn said.

“He’s scared. He can’t remember anything, even his name, and he’s in a strange hospital with multiple injuries. He needs to trust someone.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Chief Washburn said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Even though this could be a dangerous man?”

“We don’t know that.”

“Someone was shooting at him,” Uncle Chuck interjected.

“I know,” she said, glancing at him, “I was there, remember?”

Bree wasn’t usually a smarty-pants, but she was tired of people passing judgment on her. They’d passed judgment on her relationship with Thomas, which is one of the reasons she’d stayed silent about the emotional abuse for so long.

A few people had also given her a hard time about no longer doing hair when she’d moved back to town, instead choosing to be a groundskeeper, working for her brother who managed Echo Mountain Resort. Everyone seemed to have an opinion about Bree’s life. Some days she wished they’d all spend their energy worrying about themselves.

“I can’t make any sense out of your behavior today,” Chuck said.

“Why don’t you go check on Margaret?” Chief Washburn suggested to Uncle Chuck.

Chuck had obviously lost objectivity in regards to this situation because of how much he cared about Bree’s mom. It was the worst kept secret in town.

Chief Washburn closed his notebook. “I’m going to assign an officer to watch over the victim. I’m sure your family is going to encourage you to detach from this situation.”

“I can’t,” she said.

“Because?”

“I feel a connection to him.”

Chief Washburn studied her and waited for more.

“I know what it’s like to feel lost and vulnerable,” she said, “to feel so scared and there’s no one to help you. I’ve been there.”

“Well, truth is your connection to this man could be my best lead, but I won’t be responsible for stirring up trouble between you and your family. If you stick close to him and discover anything that might help with my investigation, please call me.” The chief handed her a business card with his office and cell numbers.

“Of course.”

He hesitated before standing. “Breanna, you are a remarkably brave woman.”

“Thank you, sir.”

She glanced past him at the group of family and friends in the waiting area. They probably wouldn’t call her brave or applaud her decision to help the stranger.

Bree had survived a violent event, yet had kept it together long enough to give her statement to police. She needed time alone to regroup, a few minutes to let the reality of her situation wash over her—but in private so she wouldn’t get emotional in front of her family.

“Hey, Chief, I need to use the washroom. Would you mind telling my family I’ll be right back?”

“Sure.”

Bree slipped away, hurried down the hall into the single-stall bathroom and locked the door.

She was okay; everything was fine. She studied her reflection in the mirror. The chief would circulate a description of the attackers, and Blue Eyes would get his memory back and help them figure out why someone had tried to kill him.

No matter what her family said, she knew in her heart she’d done the right thing by helping him. She wouldn’t allow her overly protective brother to make her feel guilty or ashamed by her actions.

Splashing cool water on her face, Bree considered the words she’d spoken to Blue Eyes. I’ll stay close, promise.

Maybe she shouldn’t have said that, but she desperately wanted him to get medical attention and it seemed as though promising to stay close was the only way to make that happen.

“Looks like I’m hanging around for a while,” she whispered to herself, because Bree didn’t break promises, even to strangers.

This should be fun, explaining to her family and friends why she was sticking close to a man she barely knew. Make that a man she didn’t know at all, heck, she didn’t even know his name.

She pulled her hair back, spread gloss on her dry lips and applied a little blush to look healthy, not exhausted. They’d be waiting and wanting details, a reason as to why she’d jump into the midst of gunfire. The only explanation she could offer was that it was the right thing to do.

“Don’t second-guess yourself,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. That behavior had gotten her into trouble before.

She grabbed her pack and left the bathroom. As she ambled down the hall, she took a deep breath and touched her necklace for strength.

Her family and friends were passionate about keeping her safe because they loved her.

Love, a complicated emotion.

She glanced up and noticed a man leave the E.R. examining room heading in her direction. Boy, it was busy tonight at the Echo County E.R.

She politely smiled at the man as he passed, and he nodded in return. Distracted by thoughts of defending herself from her family, it took a few seconds before she realized he looked familiar.

“I was about to come find you,” Aiden said, walking up to her.

In a flash it hit her: the man she just passed was one of the gunmen.

And he’d come out of the examining area where they’d taken Blue Eyes.

“No, no, no,” she muttered, shoving her brother aside.

“Bree?”

She rushed past him and flung open the doors to the examining area. The curtains were pulled back and all the beds were empty.

THREE

“Can I help you?” a nurse asked Bree from the corner of the room.

“A man was brought in, thirties, dark hair, blue eyes, slight beard.”

“Mr. Smith?”

“Yes, where is he?”

“They moved him.”

“Bree, what are you doing?” Aiden said, following her into the examining area.

She turned to him. “Is Chief Washburn still here?”

“Yes, he’s—”

“Go tell him I just saw one of the shooters.”

“He’s here? Are you sure?” Aiden’s face reddened.

“Yes, go.”

Bree turned back to the nurse and focused on speaking as calmly as possible as she fought the panic building in her chest. “Mr. Smith’s in danger. You need to tell the police where he’s been moved so they can protect him.”

“Sure, okay, let me check the computer.” She went to a terminal and tapped on the keyboard.

“Did anyone else ask about him?” Bree pressed.

“I don’t think so, but I just got here.”

Chief Washburn rushed into the examining area. “Where did you see him?”

“He passed me in the hallway just now,” Bree said.

“Description?”

“Black jacket, maroon shirt. It was the older one, in his sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a blue baseball cap with a red C on it.” Bree shook her head in frustration. “I smiled at him because I didn’t realize who he was at first.”

“That’s a good thing,” the chief said. “He won’t know we’re onto him, and he won’t suspect that you recognized him.”

The chief spoke into the radio on his shoulder, giving instructions to his officers. He glanced at the nurse, “Room number?”

“Still checking.”

“Are you done with my sister, Chief, because I’d like to take her home,” Aiden said.

“I can’t leave,” she said.

“Breanna—”

“They moved him to room 214 on the second floor.” The nurse interrupted Aiden.

“Closest stairs?” the chief said.

“Around the corner on the left,” the nurse said.

Bree started to go with him, but the chief blocked her. “Please stay with your family where it’s safe.”

“I have to make sure he’s okay.”

“That’s our job.” He nodded at Aiden. “Take her to the waiting area, but don’t leave the hospital.”

“Yes, sir.”

The chief spoke orders into his radio as he rushed out of the examining area. The doors closed behind him and Bree fingered her necklace.

“Hey,” Aiden said.

She glanced at him.

“Mom’s freaking out. You should probably...” He motioned toward the waiting area.

With a nod, she went to the door and pushed it open, facing her family and friends. Mom rushed to her and offered a loving hug, holding on as if she feared Bree might disappear. Understandable given Bree’s history. It had been almost two years since she had abruptly packed up and moved to the city on a quest for more excitement in her life. She had learned the hard way that excitement was overrated.

“I’m okay, Mom.” Bree broke the hug and squeezed Mom’s hands. “Really, I’m good.”

As the rest of the group started firing off questions, Bree put up her hand to silence them.

“I appreciate your support, especially you guys.” She nodded at the SAR K9 team members who’d come to the hospital: Grace, Trevor, Christopher and Luke.

“Bree, what happened?” Bree’s best friend, Billie, asked with worry in her eyes.

As Bree described the events of the past few hours, she watched her family and friends’ expressions change from disbelief to shock to concern.

“She did a brave thing,” Trevor offered.

“A potentially deadly brave thing,” Aiden said.

Tears welling in her eyes, Mom studied her daughter like she’d never seen her before.

Billie gave Bree a hug. “Quinn and I are headed to California on business tomorrow, but I think I should stay and keep you company.”

“No, don’t you dare stay back on my account. I’m fine.”

“That’s debatable,” Aiden muttered.

“What do you mean?” Mom said.

Aiden narrowed his eyes at Bree, probably expecting her to confess she’d developed an unhealthy and inappropriate connection to a stranger with a gunshot wound.

“I’m okay,” Bree confirmed. “No injuries.”

“Good, then we can go home,” Mom said, reaching out to take her hand.

“I can’t leave the hospital,” Bree said.

“Why not?” Mom asked.

“Here we go,” Aiden muttered.

“Chief Washburn asked me to stay, and even if he hadn’t, I want to be here for Mr. Smith when he wakes up.”

“Breanna—”

“Mom, he has no one, no friends, no family here at the hospital. He doesn’t even remember who he is. I was able to comfort him and he needs me.”

“You don’t even know him,” Aiden snapped.

“That doesn’t make his pain any less real,” Bree countered.

“This isn’t your responsibility.”

“No one should be so scared and alone.”

“Are we still talking about that guy or you?” Aiden accused.

“Aiden, that’s enough,” Mom said.

He planted his hands on his hips and glanced at the floor, shaking his head.

“Breanna is right. The stranger has no one.” Mom scanned the group of friends surrounding them. “We have the wonder of love and friendship.” Mom cracked a proud, gentle smile at Bree. “And the Lord would want us to share our gift.”

* * *

Surrounded by gray, floating in a mass of nothingness, he couldn’t be sure he heard the voice. Where was he again?

I’m going to kill you, slowly, painfully.

An inferno of panic exploded in his chest, the pressure causing him to gasp for air. He wanted to call out but could barely stay focused, much less shout for someone to help him.

I’ll beat you until you give it up, the voice threatened.

He struggled to form words, willing his vocal cords to kick into gear. If only he could get his mind to grab on to something other than the paralyzing anxiety coursing through him.

Then I’ll smother you with a pillow.

“Can I help you?” a woman’s voice said.

The blonde woman? Right, because he’d made her promise to stay close. No, please God, this couldn’t be her. If the man threatened to suffocate him with a pillow he’d surely have no problem hurting the woman.

The woman? Bree. That was her name.

“Bree,” he gasped, remembering her beautiful green eyes, her grounding smile.

A hand gripped his fingers and squeezed. “I’m here.”

No, she shouldn’t be here. His attacker was close, in the room, poised to smother and kill him. Which put Bree in the way because she was tending to him, holding his hand. He tried to pull away, wanting to let her go so she’d be safe.

“What is it?” she said.

He opened his eyes and she came into focus, her sparkling emerald eyes and heart-shaped face framed with golden hair.

“Danger,” he rasped.

“It’s okay. There’s no danger.”

“He said...was going to...kill me.”

“No one’s here but me.” She glanced above him. “And the nurse.”

He shifted his head to the side and spotted a brown-haired nurse fiddling with a machine beside his bed. She smiled down at him.

“See, you’re A-okay,” Bree said.

He turned back to Bree. “He was here.”

“In your room?”

He nodded.

She exchanged a glance with the nurse.

“I’ll go get the officer,” the nurse said.

He didn’t take his eyes off Bree. “Officer?”

“A police officer was assigned to your room last night because I saw one of the shooters.”

“In my room? You were here when he...?” His voice cracked before he could finish.

“It’s okay.” She stroked his arm with one hand while still holding onto him with her other. “He passed me in the hallway, that’s all.” She offered a tender smile. “Are you sure you saw him in here?”

“I heard him.”

“He threatened you?” she said.

He nodded.

“I’m so sorry.” She sighed. “That must have been terrifying.”

Not as terrifying as the thought of the guy hurting Bree.

He was suffering a major head injury all right. Why else would he be more concerned with this woman’s well-being than his mission? His mission, which was what again? He couldn’t remember. He wasn’t even sure how he’d ended up in the hospital.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, as if she sensed his anxiety.

“I don’t remember how I got here or, sorry, but I don’t remember how I know you.”

“You don’t remember being shot?”

He shook his head.

“Do you remember your name?”

“Scott.”

“Nice to meet you, Scott,” she said with a relieved smile.

He wondered why she cared so much about him.

A police officer marched up to his bedside. “Ma’am, I should be asking the questions.”

“Of course, sorry.” She didn’t move, still clinging to Scott’s hand.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” the officer said, and motioned for her to leave.

“I don’t, go ahead and ask your questions.”

The cop narrowed his eyes at her in frustration. “Breanna.”

“Ryan,” she challenged back.

The cop shook his head, figuring he’d lost this round, and refocused on Scott.

“Sir, I’m Officer McBride with the Echo Mountain P.D. I’ve been assigned to keep you in protective custody tonight. Would you mind answering some questions to help us with the investigation?”

“Very professional, A plus,” Bree teased.

Officer McBride glared at her.

“Sure,” Scott said, trying to shift up in bed.

Bree released his hand and adjusted his pillow behind his back. When she sat back down, he automatically reached for her hand, he wasn’t sure why, and she gave it willingly. That got another narrowing of eyes from Officer McBride.

“Let’s start with your name,” the cop asked, pulling out a small notebook.

“Scott, Scott...” He hesitated. A voice in his head warned that sharing his last name would put him in more danger. “I don’t know, Scott something.”

“Age?”

“Thirty-one.”

“Your occupation?”

“I’m...” He wracked his brain, searching for work or even family-related memories. “I’m a cop,” he said, but it didn’t feel right. “I think.”

“You’re not sure?”

“No sir.”

“Where do you live?”

“A big city. Detroit? Chicago?”

“What brought you to Echo Mountain?”

“I needed to...”

They would die. He needed to save them.

“I don’t remember.” He closed his eyes.

He felt Bree squeeze his hand in a supportive gesture, but he couldn’t look at her without feeling the shame of failure. Was she one of the people who would die because he couldn’t see this through to the end?

“Scott?” the cop said.

He opened his eyes.

“What do you remember?”

An image flashed across his mind of a teenager splayed on the ground clinging to a flashlight.

“I don’t...” He shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

“Anything could help.”

“It’s all jumbled.”

“Do you remember being chased in the mountains?”

“I think so.”

He remembered being chased but couldn’t be sure if it was a recent memory or a distant one.

“Why do you think those men were chasing you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t have any identification on you. Did they take it?”

“I guess.”

“You sustained trauma to the torso area. Do you remember them assaulting you?”

“I...” He caught glimpses, flashes of images.

“Scott, why did they shoot you?”

“Enough, Ryan,” Bree snapped. “You’re upsetting him.”

“It’s my job to get answers, Breanna.”

“Well, he’s obviously not up to giving you answers, so back off.”

“I’m calling the chief.” He turned and walked out.

“You do that,” she muttered.

It was like they were ten-year-olds fighting over the last peanut butter cookie. A rush of memories filled his thoughts. Scott cracked a smile. They reminded him of he and Emily when they were kids, always competing with one another.

“What’s so funny?” she challenged.

“You guys remind me of me and my sister.”

“Hey, you remembered something, that’s great.”

“Yeah, memories from twenty years ago,” he said. “So what’s the deal with you and the cop?”

“Ryan practically grew up at our house, so he’s more like a brother than a cousin. And one thing I do not need is another overly protective brother-type in my life.”

“It’s not their fault.”

She cocked her head in question.

“There’s something about you that makes us want to take care of you.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. I’ve taken karate and carry a wicked can of pepper spray in my bag, police grade.” She cocked her chin.

Yet he sensed trepidation behind her confident words.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“Sure.”

“Why are you here?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, of course not. I’m just trying to figure out how I got so lucky.”

“You were shot, sustained a concussion and bruised ribs. What’s so lucky about that?”

“The fact that a beautiful woman is sitting beside my bed.”

She blushed and glanced at their hands. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Sorry, it was meant to be a compliment.” Scott didn’t remember a lot, but he knew that most women appreciated compliments.

Wasn’t it obvious Bree wasn’t “most” women?

“How’s Mr. Smith?” a doctor said, coming into the room.

“Actually, he remembered his name,” Bree offered.

“Excellent.” The doctor extended his hand to Bree. “I’m Dr. Vann and you are who, his girlfriend?”

“No.” She blushed again. “Just a friend.”

She looked even more adorable when she blushed. Scott’s chest ached with wanting something he could never have—a gentle, nurturing woman like Bree in his life.

“Let’s take a look.” Dr. Vann flashed a penlight in Scott’s eyes and examined his head wound. “Head injuries are tricky. I suspect you’re suffering from retrograde amnesia, a condition where a patient forgets the events preceding and immediately following the head injury. The severity of the injury will affect how far back you can remember. Do you recall what happened leading up to your injury?” The doctor jotted something on a clipboard.

“No, sir,” Scott answered.

“What is the last thing you do remember?”

A memory sparked in his mind of he and his partner, Joe, interviewing a witness. “I remember a case I was working on.”

“And when was that?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you know why you’re in the hospital?” the doctor asked.

“Someone shot me.”

“So, you remember the shooting?”

“Not really.”

Dr. Vann glanced at Scott.

“I told him what happened,” Bree said.

“We should probably let him remember on his own,” the doctor said.

“Oh, okay, sorry.”

Scott did not want her feeling badly because of him and he knew the sooner he got out of here and away from Bree, the safer she’d be. “How long do I have to stay in the hospital?”

“Overnight to keep an eye on the head injury.” Dr. Vann glanced at a pager on his belt. “I’ll check in later. The best thing for the patient is rest.” The doctor nodded at Bree and left the room.

A phone vibrated in Bree’s pocket and she pulled it out, glanced at the text and frowned.

“You need to go,” Scott said. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not critical. It’s my brother pulling his boss card to get me away from,” she hesitated, “the hospital.”

“You mean away from me?” He cracked a half smile.

“Pretty much. Don’t take it personally. The perks of having an overprotective family.”

“Sounds nice.” And it did, especially since he’d grown up in a single parent household with a mom who had to work two jobs to support Scott and his sister. There had been no extended family, no protective adults to keep an eye on Scott and Emily.

He suddenly grew tired and couldn’t hold back a yawn.

“I should let you sleep,” she said.

“Okay,” he said, but he didn’t let go of her hand. His eyes drifted shut and his mind wandered, his imagination landing on a peaceful, majestic view of a valley from the top of a mountain.

And beside him stood the adorable Breanna with the enchanting smile.

* * *

Bree decided to spend the night at the hospital. Her family and friends followed Mom’s lead and supported Bree’s decision to help the stranger. Once the police determined the gunman was no longer in the hospital, Bree sent everyone home while she hovered at Scott’s bedside. She was even able to convince Aiden to feed and walk Bree’s dog, Fiona, but not without a lecture.

At first Bree wasn’t sure hospital staff would let her hang out all night, but Chief Washburn said it was okay and left 24-hour police protection outside Scott’s room. Bree felt safe and was where she needed to be—beside Scott’s bed.

When they’d come in to check his vitals he’d wake up with a panicked look, asking where he was and what had happened. Bree would tell him he was safe, everything was okay, and he’d drift back to sleep.

But morning came and Aiden demanded she show up at work by noon or find another job. It was an empty threat, of course, but she respected his position and did as ordered, leaving Scott alone. She hoped he’d sleep most of the day to give his body a chance to heal.

She didn’t like being away from Scott, but couldn’t rationalize blowing off an entire day of work to babysit a grown man, a stranger. Still, when she thought about the vulnerable look on his face she knew she’d get back to the hospital. She only wished it was earlier than eight in the evening.

Thanks to big brother Aiden, she had extra holiday lights to string along the split rail fence bordering Resort Drive. No surprise that he’d told the other part-timers to go home at three because he was watching his payroll numbers.

Truth was, he was doing his best to keep her busy and away from the hospital. Since Aiden was tied up with a guest when it was time for her to leave, she avoided lecture number seven, or was it seventeen?

Pulling into the hospital lot, she parked near an overhead light and glanced out her window before getting out of the car. She hoped tonight’s staff knew she was on the list of people allowed to come by after visiting hours.

As she marched across the lot, she started to wonder if everyone was justified in worrying about her attachment to Scott. She didn’t have the best track record with romantic relationships; make that a dismal track record.

But this wasn’t about romance, it was about helping someone in need, a man she felt a visceral connection to when she looked into his wary eyes.

She rode the elevator to the second floor and when she got out she noticed the absence of a police officer outside of Scott’s room. She fought the panic ringing in her ears. Perhaps Scott had remembered something and the officer on duty was in his room taking his statement.

Her pulse quickened as she stepped into the doorway. “Scott?”

The bed was empty.

“Can I help you?” a nurse said coming down the hall.

“Scott’s gone” was all Bree could get out.

“Are you a relative?”

“Where is he?”

“A police officer took him away.”

“Took him where?”

“I’m assuming to lockup. He was arrested.”

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