Finding Claire Fletcher (45 page)

Connor and I both stood struck dumb by the scene. Time slowed, stretching the mere seconds passing into hours. It was an eternity before Connor lurched toward Tiffany to disarm her. I watched as if the entire thing was taking place on television. Connor grabbed both of Tiffany's hands, which held the knife. Her unbridled fury gave her more strength than her thin body had. She pulled back, and Connor toppled over, falling onto the ground with her. Tiffany's skin was slick with blood. Connor struggled to control her hands. They wriggled away from Reynard, locked in battle, their bodies making a steeple with both their arms extended over their heads toward the knife.

I looked at Reynard. Even the pale of his face was fading. One of his hands covered his chest. He stared straight up at the ceiling. There was nothing in his eyes. Still, his lips worked uselessly. He would die before help arrived.

I watched him take his last breath. Connor finally took possession of the knife Tiffany had used to attack Reynard. He subdued her using an armlock, his knee pressed into the center of her back. He looked around for something to tie her up with, but without the knife, she ceased to struggle.

Reynard's bloody form settled into death. I gazed, riveted by the sight I had longed for, wished for, prayed to see for years. His features drooped, pale and unrecognizable in the way Miranda Simon’s were after he choked her. Nothing in his face changed, it was just masked in an odd, pale stillness.

I waited for the rush of feeling—euphoria, relief, righteous satisfaction—but nothing came. The minutes went by, but the part of me that was rational and driven remained muted. My limbs were paralyzed. I tried to focus on the details of his brutal death, but my gaze was undeterred from the enormity of it.

Finally, Connor said, “The girl.”

“In the back,” Tiffany said flatly.

I raced, flying through the two rooms at the rear of the cabin, finding nothing. Out the backdoor and down two stone steps. I froze, scanning the trees beyond the cabin until the doors in my peripheral vision registered.

They were flush against the cabin, in the ground. An outside entrance to the cellar, I thought. I tossed the gun aside and dropped to my knees. When I pried the doors open and descended the short flight of steps, I saw that it was closer to a crawl space than a cellar. There was no light. I had to crouch low to move through it. I called Emily’s name, searching blindly until my foot thudded against something soft.

I felt for her, finding her shoulders and hooking my arms beneath hers. Her limbs hung loosely, swinging as I hauled her back to the double doors. Her feet, which I saw were bare once we got closer to the light, dangled and dragged along the dirt floor.

“It’s going to be okay now,” I mumbled, pulling her carelessly up the steps and dropping her softly on the grass outside.

Her pulse was thready, but it was there.

The feeling I had waited for inside the cabin surged through me, but it had nothing to do with Reynard being dead. Tears of relief sprang to my eyes. Emily was dirty, bloodied, and bruised. Her clothes were torn. A particularly ghastly wound seeped greenish pus along the length of her right forearm.

But she was alive. I had pulled her from the darkness with my own hands.

I cupped her chin in my hand and said her name. When I got no response, I slapped her cheeks lightly, but her head pitched back and forth limply.

I pulled her upper half onto my lap and held her until the police and medics arrived. Connor handed Tiffany over to the state police. He helped me into the back of the ambulance as they loaded Emily on a gurney.

“I'm going to stay here and give a statement. I'll meet you two at the hospital in a couple of hours,” Connor said.

I looked into his eyes. There were things I wanted to say to him. Awkwardly, he leaned into the back of the ambulance and kissed me lightly. A thrill chilled my body, but it held no fear. I opened my mouth to say something to him—anything—but he shook his head.

When he smiled, it brought more tears to my eyes. “Later,” he said. “We have time.”

“Are you ready go home?” Brianna asked as she breezed into our hotel room. “I’m sick of this place and if I don’t get back soon, my boss is going to fire me.”

I laughed as I packed our things into the suitcase Brianna had brought with her. “Yes” I said. “I’m ready.”

The FBI had taken me to San Diego so that they could question me in their field office. Connor accompanied me, and my parents drove down with Brianna to stay with me while the various law enforcement agencies who had been looking for both Reynard and Emily Hartman sorted out mine and Connor’s stories.

“Where are mom and dad?” she asked. She plopped onto the bed and flipped on the television. Coverage of Emily Hartman’s recovery and Johnson’s murder could still be found on just about every channel.

“They went shopping,” I said. I sat in the chair next to the bed and watched as she flipped from channel to channel.

“Shopping? They went shopping? I thought we were supposed to leave in a half hour.”

“They should be back soon,” I said.

“Any news on Emily?” Brianna asked, turning the television off.

I smiled. “She’ll be fine.”

Emily was a fighter. Johnson had had to beat her pretty badly in order to subdue her. The gash in her arm was infected, she had a major concussion, and she was severely dehydrated. But she was alive, and she had been reunited with her family.

The phone on the other side of Brianna's bed jangled noisily. She picked it up but immediately frowned. With a noisy sigh, she thrust the receiver in my direction. “It's your boyfriend,” she said.

“Bree,” I hissed. I pointed to the receiver, which she could have at least covered so Connor didn't hear her. She rolled her eyes and handed me the phone.

“Where are you?” I asked Connor.

“I’m still at the FBI field office. I just called to say goodbye.”

My stomach went into free-fall. It had not occurred to me that with Johnson dead and my case closed, there was no reason for Connor and I to see one another again. “What?” I croaked.

“I called to say goodbye,” he repeated. “I have to stay here a few more days. I thought you said you guys were leaving today.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, we’re packing now.”

“Well, have a safe trip. Remember to wear a hat and sunglasses. The press is even worse than they were before you rescued Emily Hartman. Just be—“

“Connor,” I said, cutting him off. “Will I see you again? When we get home?”

He chuckled, and I pictured his easy smile. Warmth spread throughout my body. “Yes,” he said. “You will definitely see me again. You know, I meant what I said in that cabin.”

My brow furrowed. The tense moments in the cabin were somewhat of a blur. “What you said?” I prompted.

“I know you need time after all that’s happened, but I
will
wait for you, Claire.”

“Oh.”

I glanced at Brianna who was frozen in place, leaning over her suitcase. She craned her neck toward me in an attempt to hear Connor’s side of the conversation as well as mine. Her intense stare sent a flush from my collar to my scalp. I looked away from her but couldn’t keep the corners of my mouth from twitching.

“I told you,” Connor added. “You’re stuck with me.”

The smile tickling my face burst forth. I felt dizzy and giddy with relief. I squeezed the receiver harder and sank onto the bed. From the corner of my eye, I saw that Brianna was trying unsuccessfully to suppress her own smile.

“Claire? You there?”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, I’m here.”

“So I’ll see you in Sacramento?”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, you will.”

The girl I used to be looks back at me from the full-length mirror affixed to her bedroom door. She studies me from head to toe as I turn several times, trying with limited success to get a good look at my rear to make sure the dress I'm wearing fits well. Tonight is my first date with Connor. There are butterflies in my stomach, and even though my mother and Brianna helped me pick out the dress I'm wearing, I've checked myself in the mirror at least twenty times.

After returning from San Diego, Connor became a fixture at my home, attending family dinners, helping my dad fix the place up, and letting Tom help with his financial planning. We hadn’t spent much time alone together, and by the time Connor worked up the nerve to ask me on a real date, I felt ready to have him all to myself.

I slide on a pair of sandals and go downstairs. My father smiles at me. “You look beautiful, honey,” he says. He kisses my cheek, and a sudden warmth joins the butterflies in my belly.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

In the kitchen my mother and Brianna are drinking coffee and having a heated discussion over something mundane, like our grandmother's lasagna recipe. They fall silent as I enter. Brianna whistles in appreciation.

“Twirl around for us, darling,” my mother says.

I roll my eyes and clutch my purse to my side self-consciously but twirl nevertheless.

“You're gorgeous,” my mother says.

“Where is Connor taking you?” Brianna asks.

“It's a surprise.”

My mother sighs. “Ahh, I always loved the beginning parts of a relationship. Your father was very romantic when he courted me.”

Brianna laughs. “Courted you? Mom, you're not that old.” Then she frowns. “Although I think he may be courting you again.”

My mother nods. “I think you're right.”

Brianna turns back to me. “You're still moving in with me next month, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, you can help me study for the LSATs.”

My mother’s eyebrows shoot up, and she smiles approvingly. “You’re finally going to go to law school?”

“I’m going to try,” Brianna answers. She looks back at me and winks. “Besides, we might need to leave these two lovebirds alone.”

I laugh, and my mother hands me an envelope. “This came in the mail,” she explains. She and my sister exchange a knowing smile. The return address belongs to one of the veterinarian schools I applied to after getting my GED. I hold my breath and tear open the envelope.

As I stare in shock at the letter, Brianna says, “The thick envelope gives it away every time.”

I am so dumbfounded, I forget to smile. We hear a knock at the front door. My father calls, “I'll get it.”

Moments later, Connor and my father join us in the kitchen. I look up from the acceptance letter, and my breath catches in my throat. Connor looks more handsome than I've ever seen him. Instead of the suits he wears to work each day, he’s donned khakis and a short-sleeved polo shirt that clings to the firm musculature of his chest and arms. He hands me a bouquet of flowers.

A small worry line creases his forehead as he watches me. Brianna winks at him. “She got in,” she explains.

Connor grins. “I knew it,” he says.

Still, I cannot speak. “Well, we're going to the perfect place to celebrate,” Connor says.

Somehow, I am ushered from the kitchen outside and down the front walk to Connor's car. My family hugs and kisses me goodbye for the evening. As Connor opens the passenger's side door for me, I catch a glimpse of the girl I used to be in the reflection from the window. She smiles at me.

With every day that passes, I see her more and more. I want to stop and watch her, but I don't. Her eyes tell me not to—her eyes tell me that one day I'll look in the mirror and see only myself, and that woman will be beautiful and not broken.