And then we sat there, me and Blake, both of us with our secrets, sipping away our stress. We didn’t talk and we didn’t have to. This tea, this quiet, this now—it was enough.
Once I was finished, I rose.
“I should get going, back to my walk.”
He nodded and put his cup down.
“One minute.”
Anxiety flowed through me as he searched the cupboards.
What could he be getting? What if his lucky appearance really was too good to be true?
When he placed a can with a bear on it in front of me, I almost laughed out loud in relief.
“It’s bear repellent pepper spray,” he said, eyeing me curiously, “for the next time I’m not there to save you.”
“Thank you, for everything.”
He nodded and gestured to the door. “Good luck.”
With one foot out the door, I stopped.
There was a man walking toward the cabin. He was wearing a blue uniform. A police officer. A few steps from the door, he saw me and stopped.
“Are you Claire Bell?” he asked.
“Yes. What’s this about?”
He flashed a police badge. “I’ll have to ask you to follow me to my cruiser for further questioning.”
Fear coiled within me. Why did I have a bad feeling about this so-called police officer? The man’s mouth was set in a firm line, and behind me, Blake was watching without expression. They both expected me to go with him. I had no choice.
The policeman started walking, and I followed him. I threw one last look at Blake and gave a timid little wave, trying to make myself as sure as he looked.
“Hey, hang on a sec,” he called.
I stopped.
Blake strode over to the officer.
“Can’t remember the police ever coming out this far into the woods.”
The man didn’t respond.
“Can I see your badge?” Blake asked.
“Of course,” the policeman said, handing it over.
After a minute of staring at the convincing-looking gold thing, Blake returned it.
He was still scrutinizing the police officer as he asked, “What is Claire wanted for?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, the man said, “Information about a murder and the whereabouts of her husband, Angelo Monti.”
“And what squad are you from?” Blake fired back.
“Aspen Unit 4. I was called by my guy back in Denver—said someone matching her description was seen headed this way.”
Blake nodded and shrugged. “Okay.”
I gave a small smile of thanks as the man turned away.
Next thing I knew, Blake had his arms locked around the man and was taking a gun out of his waistband.
“Hey!” the man yelled, grabbing for it.
Blake shoved him back, inspected the short black thing, and said, seemingly to himself, “Hi-Point 9mm.” He looked up at the man. “Cops don’t use Hi-Points.”
“How do you know?” the man returned.
Ignoring him, Blake turned to me.
“What’s going on here? Who is this guy—ah!”
Blake fell to his knees, a knife jutting out of his back.
CHAPTER FIVE
I ran from the man.
Pulling the knife out of his back and whirling around, Blake sucker punched the man in the gut.
“Stay back,” Blake cautioned me as the man went down with an “ouf!”
As he scrambled up, Blake kicked him in the chest, and the man collapsed onto the ground. Blake grabbed his shirt by the collar and lifted him, his feet kicking, into the air.
He growled, “Who sent you?”
“M-my boss,” the man gasped, his feet still flailing under him.
Blake dropped him. The man collapsed in a puddle of limbs and dirt and then scrambled up and away.
Blake lunged after him.
“I promise I won’t come back—no matter how much he pays me!” the man cried.
Just as Blake was about to sprint after him, I put my hand on his back. “Blake, you can’t. Your shoulder.”
Even as I spoke, the patch of red on the back of his shirt grew.
He shrugged. “I guess you’re right, though I don’t really feel it much.” He took off his shirt and turned his head to me. “How does it look?”
I tore my attention away from his broad shoulders and muscled back and directed it to the small wound that was dribbling out blood by his right shoulder.
“It’s not very deep, but it’ll need to be bandaged.”
“Second cupboard to the left,” Blake said.
I hurried inside obediently, and opened the second cupboard to the left, retrieved some gauze and tape, then hurried back.