If You See Her (42 page)

Mabry was gingerly going through it. “It’s got Jolene Hollister’s license in it.”

Jolene Hollister
.

Jolene—the woman who bore a striking similarity to Ezra’s girlfriend.

Turning, Ezra stared at Joe Carson. His heart thudded inside his chest and blood roared in his ears. Too neat,
he thought. This wasn’t his case, hell, he was barely even a cop anymore. But none of this fit.

He stripped off his gloves and stood there, staring at Carson’s lifeless body. Then he slid a hand into his pocket, stroked the nubby velvet of the box there.

Ezra’s world didn’t start to realign until he saw her, standing on the porch, waiting for him. She was pale, her fingers buried in Puck’s fur, and she looked like she hadn’t slept at all.

She hadn’t ever looked more beautiful to him.

As he mounted the steps, she started toward him. He met her before she’d taken even three steps. Catching her in his arms, he buried his face against her neck, clutching her tight.

“Are you okay?” Her hand stroked up and down his back.

“I am now,” Ezra muttered. He wasn’t okay—not yet.

But he would be. Slowly, he breathed her in, then eased his grip, knowing he had to be crushing her. She rested a hand on his chest, just above his heart, as she slid the other one, cupped his cheek. “Law called. Told me he was at the hospital with Hope—that she’s okay. And …”

She bit her lip, catching the shuddering sob of a breath before it could escape.

“Nielson’s dead,” he said softly. “Son of a bitch shot him. But the sheriff probably saved Hope’s life.”

Hearing the growl of an engine, he looked up, watched as Carter Jennings parked his sedan and climbed out, weariness written all over his face. He started toward the Inn, giving Ezra a tight, strained smile.

“Hey,” Carter said, his voice heavy and rough.

Moments later, the door opened and Roz launched herself at her husband, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Ezra had brought Lena out here before going on the hunt for Hope, but now all he wanted was to get her out of here, back to her place
—their
place. So he could ask her the most important question of his life. Screw roses and champagne. He’d been reminded, again, just how fucking fragile things in life were. He wasn’t letting this chance slip by him.

Pushing his hand through Lena’s gleaming, dark red hair, he kissed her brow and murmured, “You ready to go home?”

Roz said, “Oh, you two don’t need to leave. Stay for the night. It’s late. And it’s been one hell of a day …”

“No.” Lena softened it with a smile but shook her head. “I need my bed, Roz. My bed, some wine …”

“Okay. Just … well. I’ll see you soon. Call you. Tomorrow, maybe. Or I guess later today,” she muttered. Then she sighed, leaning against her husband. “I can’t believe Dwight’s gone. That son of a bitch.”

In a blur, Ezra said good-bye, watched as Lena rounded up Puck and got him settled. He barely remembered the drive home, barely remembered following her to the house.

He couldn’t focus on anything, but her.

And the ring. And the question.

She’d barely gotten Puck’s leash off before it tore out of him. He couldn’t wait—couldn’t.

Pulling the ring out of his pocket, he came up behind her. Slid one arm around her waist. “Lena …”

She leaned back against him, a sigh slipping out of her. “It’s been one hell of a day, huh? And we were supposed to have some sort of fancy date tonight, weren’t we?”

“Fuck the date,” he muttered. He stroked his fingers down her left arm, caught her hand and lifted it. The somewhat practiced proposal was lost to him—he’d had the words, he knew he had. But now, they were lost.

Slipping the ring onto her finger, he whispered gruffly, “Marry me, Lena?”

A sob caught in her throat. “Wuh … what?”

He turned her around, his hands resting on her slender hips. “Marry me. That’s what the fancy date was for … I had this nice little evening planned, was going to wine you, dine you, maybe try to get you a little tipsy before I fucked your brains out. Then I was going to ask you to marry me. Everything exploded, though, with Hope and that Carson bastard … and I know I shouldn’t be doing this right now, I should wait, do it over, do it right, but I was thinking about how close Remy came to losing Hope, and it made me sick inside, thinking about what if it had been you and damn it, I’m screwing this up—”

Her mouth came against his, soft, cool and firm. “Ezra. Shut up.”

He shut up as her fingers curled over the back of his neck. The noise in his brain abated a little and when she pulled back, her lovely, ice-blue eyes resting on his face, he muttered, “Shit. I can do better than this. Just …”

“I don’t need better. It’s already perfect.” Tears gleamed in those lovely eyes and she lifted her hands, cupped his face. “I’ve got you, what more do I need? I love you … and hell, yes, I’ll marry you.”

“We’d like to keep her overnight.”

Panic shot through her.

Hope clutched Remy’s hand and tried not to let the doctor, or him, see it, though.

But no … no hospitals.

No …

Even though her head was aching, and even though it felt like it was stuffed full of cotton, she didn’t think she could handle being in there. Couldn’t. All she’d done was hit her damn head—she didn’t need to be hospitalized for a bump on her skull.

Remy rested a hand on the back of her neck, warm, comforting. He’d been at her side from the time she’d opened her eyes, and she knew he’d stay right there. When the deputies had tried to slip in earlier and talk to her, he’d told them in a brusque voice, “It can wait a few hours. Got it?”

And now here he was running interference for her. Again. She loved him for it … even though she knew she couldn’t let him keep doing it.

“If it’s just a concussion, why does she need to be kept overnight?” he asked.

The doctor gave him a polite smile, but focused his attention on Hope. “You live alone, Ms. Carson. You’ve got a concussion. The wound to your head is small and has stopped bleeding but we do need to monitor you. Might I add—this is the second concussion in a relatively short period of time. You can’t be alone for the next twenty-four hours.”

“She—”

Hope reached over and touched the back of his hand. He closed his mouth, then smiled and leaned in, nuzzled her hair. “You can stay with me … you know that.”

“Yeah. I know that.” Then she focused on the doctor. “I won’t be alone. I’ll go stay with Remy for a few days.”
Maybe the rest of my life …
It just might take that long to get over the fear still crowding her mind. Geez, between the fear and the residual panic and shock, it was a wonder there was any
room
for pain.

The doctor glanced at Remy, then cocked a brow. “She’ll have to be woken up. Regularly. You won’t get much sleep.”

Remy grimaced. “I won’t get much anyway, because if she doesn’t come home with me, I’m staying here. I’m not leaving her.”

Hope snuggled closer. His arms tightened around her.

The fear, the panic receded. Even the pain fell to a tolerable ache.

Now that she didn’t have to worry about staying here, and now that she had figured out what she was doing with herself, she was going to let Remy worry about the rest of it.

While she leaned against him and just enjoyed being alive …

Three hours later, after a hot shower to clean away the blood from her body, she was settled on Remy’s couch, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets she didn’t really need, but she didn’t have the heart to push them away after he’d done so much to get her comfortable.

When he came back with
another
pillow, she reached out and caught his hand. “Remy … stop. Sit. I’m fine.”

A look darkened his eyes. His face tightened. Then … it cleared and he smiled. “Sure. I’ll sit.”

“Yeah. You do that and tell me what that look was for.”

“What look?”

Hope narrowed her eyes. “Remy … I’m not going to break. Stop acting like I am. Stop hovering and just sit down and talk to me.”

He gave another tight, strained smile, went to sit—then he surged back up.

“Shit. You want me to fucking relax. Sit down and talk … like I almost didn’t lose you today, all because I didn’t listen to my gut. Damn it,” he snarled. Pacing the living room, his blue eyes almost black with fury, he looked everywhere but at her. “I knew something was seriously fucked up with him, but I didn’t listen to my instincts, and look what happened. Damn
it
.”

Hope eased the blankets away, watching as he continued to pace, barely even aware of her. He was too caught up in the storm of emotion, too lost in it.

She stood, bracing a hand on the arm of the couch as she waited to make sure her head wasn’t going to start spinning around. It wasn’t going to help either of them if she ended up flat on her face, she didn’t think. Once she was pretty sure she was steady, she started toward him.

She hadn’t taken more than two steps when he stopped.

He took a deep breath, shoved his hands through his hair. “You need to be off your feet, Hope. Shit, I’m sorry. You don’t need this.”

“I don’t think either of us need this—hell, what person needs this kind of crazy going on?” she asked softly and she kept going, right until she was close enough to slip her arms around his waist. She rested her head against his chest. “You can’t blame yourself, Remy. Hell, if
anybody
should have known better, it would be me, and I never thought he was so far gone that he’d run me off the road in broad daylight. Or grab me in broad daylight. Never thought he was that far gone.”

Remy sighed. “It’s worse than you realize, I think.” He paused and then added, “Nielson’s dead, Hope. Joe killed him.”

Shock reached up and wrapped an icy, brutal fist around her throat, even as grief punched her in her battered heart. “What …? No.” She shook her head, pushing away from him as she lifted her hands, pressing them to her face. The pain in her head became a raging, tormenting beast as she tried to think through the fog of memories.

Nielson—yeah. She remembered him showing up. Remembered Joe pointing his gun at her … firing. But he hadn’t hit her.

A moan rattled out of her chest and she whispered,

“Oh, no.”

He’d killed him. Joe had killed Nielson. Guilt reached up and grabbed her. “Shit. This is my fault …”

Remy sighed and came up behind her, wrapping her in his arms. “No. No, it’s not. If you don’t want me blaming myself for what happened to you, you can’t go blaming yourself for what happened to Nielson. He knew what he was doing, what the risks were—and he chose to go there without backup. For whatever reasons.”

“But if I’d stayed home—if I had—”

Pressing a kiss to her temple, Remy stared out the window. “He was crazy enough to kill a fellow cop, Hope. It was just a matter of time.” Then he sighed. “Just a matter of time before he would have tried something else. But it’s over now. You’re safe. He’s gone.”

Over
, he thought. In a lot of ways. Ezra had called while Hope was having a CT done, told him what they’d found in the cabin. He wasn’t entirely sure he was buying it … but if Joe had thought planting a dead woman’s body on Reilly’s property would scare Hope into running, making her that much easier to grab …

It made sense. Made a lot of sense.

Of course, Carson hadn’t taken into account that Hope was a lot stronger than he’d ever realized. Hadn’t taken into account how much she’d trusted Law.

The forensics team was already turning up his prints all over the place.

Maybe it was over. Maybe.

What mattered to him, though, was that Hope was safe.

The only person who would have wanted to torment her was her fucking ex. And he was on a slab, next to the cop who had died protecting her. Irony there—Remy hated one of them with a passion, and the other, he owed a debt he could never repay.

Blowing out a breath, he tightened his arms around
Hope and buried his face in her neck. “Man, I was so scared I was going to lose you. I just found you. Can’t handle losing you,” he whispered.

She sniffled. “Me, too.” She tipped her head back, peering up at him. “I was thinking about you. When … well …” She swallowed. “I was thinking about you. And I was thinking about us. And I wasn’t sorry. You made me happy … and I wanted to tell you that.”

“Hope …” He reached up, laid his hand on her cheek.

A wobbly smile curled her lips and she shrugged. “I can’t rush into anything. I just can’t. But you matter to me. So much. And … well … um. I think, no. Shit. I love you, Remy. Maybe that’s one thing I would have been sorry about—if he had killed me and I died before I had the chance to tell you.”

For the second time that day, the strength just drained out of him. Sagging to his knees in front of her, he pressed his face to her belly and wrapped his arms around her. “Hope …”

Her hand combed through his hair. “Remy?”

“Just gimme a minute,” he muttered and to his utter disgust, he realized he had tears stinging his eyes. Almost lost her. “Can’t think about that—you dying. Then you go and throw both of them in there together. Damn it, Hope. I love you. You … I can’t lose you. You mean too much. You’re everything.”

She sank down to her knees in front of him, curled her arms around his neck. “You didn’t lose me. I’m right here. Right here.” She rubbed her lips over his. “I love you.”

Stroking a hand up her back, he tried to convince himself of that. She was here. Right here. Need tore through him, but he throttled it down. Beat it back. Not right now. She was battered, suffering from a concussion, shaken, in shock.

Not right now.

Slowly, he came to his feet and pulled her into his arms, cradling her slight weight against his chest.

“We’re not doing this ever again,” he muttered. “Nothing like this. Ever.”

“That sounds like a good plan.” She turned her face against his neck. “I’m tired, Remy.”

“Then get some sleep.” He sank down on the couch, cradling her. “I’m right here. I’ll wake you in a few hours, baby.”

It didn’t take her long to drift to sleep, evidence of the wear and strain the day had put on her.