Savior in the Saddle (4 page)

“But you caught the two gunmen and the man who hired them. I read about it.”

“Yes, his name was Gavin Cunningham, and last week he committed suicide in prison. In his suicide note he indicated he hadn’t worked alone, that someone had helped him set up the entire maternity hostage situation.”

The breath rushed from her mouth. “Who helped him?”

“We’re not sure. That’s where we’re hoping you can fill us in.”

“I get it,” she said almost immediately. “You want me to resume my therapy so I can remember if the gunman who held me said anything about the identity of his boss.”

“Yeah.”

Among other things.

“But I might not remember,” she pointed out. “Or maybe the gunman didn’t say anything to me at all. I could be putting myself out there for no reason.”

“You wouldn’t be just putting yourself out there, Willa.” Brandon tried to keep his voice level and calm. “I’d be with you. You’d be in my protective custody.”

She rolled her eyes. “Let me guess—that wasn’t your idea. It was Lieutenant Duggan’s.”

Brandon evaded that. “Bo Duggan lost his wife during that hostage situation. She died after giving birth to their twins. He’s, well, eager to solve this case once and for all.”

She stayed quiet a moment. Then, she said, “No.”

“No?” Brandon challenged. Well, there went his calm and level voice.

“No,” she insisted. “I won’t go with you into protective custody. And I won’t work directly with Lieutenant Duggan, SAPD or even you.”

She pointed to her laptop. Don’t Trust the Cops was scrolling across the screen in bold white letters on black background.

She had a reason not to trust cops, or anyone else for that matter. But he had to get her past that because she had no choice. Willa had to trust him.

Even if he didn’t deserve that trust.

“I’ll restart my therapy on my own,” she continued. “I can’t take any memory-activating drugs because they might harm the baby, but maybe hypnosis will work if I try it again. I can do the hypnosis sessions here.”

Brandon shook his head. “No, you can’t.”

That got her back on her feet. “Now, just a darn minute. You might be my baby’s biological father and my former boyfriend, but that doesn’t give you any say in my life.”

He got to his feet as well. “This badge does.”

She pulled back her shoulders and looked as if he slapped her. “You’re pulling rank on me?”

“I don’t have a choice, Willa.” He’d practiced this on the drive over, but he didn’t think practice would make it sound any better than it had when he’d first said it. “We didn’t just get intel about another hostage situation. We learned from a deep-cover agent that an assassin has been hired.”

Her shoulders went back even further. “An assassin?”

He nodded and relied on the words he’d rehearsed. “An assassin hired to come after you.”

Oh, man. She didn’t just pale, every drop of color drained from her face. Willa slipped her PDA into the pocket of her sweater, sank back onto the sofa and buried her face in her hands.

Brandon went in for the kill. He had to tell her the final part of this covert briefing. The detail that would put her back in police custody.

And maybe right back in danger.

“That’s how we knew where to find you,” Brandon said, hating the sound of his own voice and the words coming out of his mouth.

Words that were unfortunately true.

“We got your address from the intelligence report that the Justice Department agent had intercepted from the assassin.” Brandon checked his watch, though he already knew time was running out. “If the intel is right, and we think it is, he plans to kill you tonight.”

Chapter Three

Willa was glad she was sitting down.

She didn’t speak—she couldn’t—and she didn’t look at Brandon. Instead, she forced herself to focus on what he’d just told her.

An assassin would come tonight to kill her.

Maybe.

The warning on her screen saver flashed in her head, and it was the reminder she needed to put this in perspective.

“Is it true?” she asked, with her eyes still turned away from Brandon. She wanted to listen for the inflection in his voice.

“It’s true, an assassin plans to kill you. We think because his boss doesn’t want to risk your memory recovering so you can tell the authorities his identity. But I’m going to protect you,” Brandon quickly added. “Because you’ll gather your things and come with me. I’ve already arranged a place for you.”

Her emotions were like a whirlwind inside her, but she thought he might be telling the truth about the assassin. There was some kind of danger anyway. Brandon definitely wasn’t lying about that.

Willa wasn’t naive enough to believe she’d be able to keep out a professional killer. All the security precautions she had already taken wouldn’t be enough, and the last thing she wanted was to go gun to gun with an assassin. The three-hour handgun course was her only training with a firearm, and she was betting the man coming after her would know how to kill with one shot.

She nodded, stood and rubbed her hands on the sides of her jeans. “Give me a minute, please. I need some time to gather my thoughts.”

And her things.

She had an emergency bag already packed and stashed beneath her bed, and she’d practiced climbing out the window. She could cut through the backyard and walk to the train station, which was only four blocks away. That’s one of the reasons she’d chosen this particular house to rent.

Willa headed for her bedroom, but she didn’t get far. Brandon was right behind her. She whirled around, not realizing he was so close, and she knocked right into him. The contact was a reminder of that kiss, and the fact that he was going to be a hard man to shake.

“I can’t let you escape,” he told her.

“Who said I’m trying to escape?” Willa tossed right back.

He gave her a flat look to indicate he knew what she had in mind. Probably did, too. He was a cop, after all.

“Lieutenant Duggan is watching the back of the house, so you wouldn’t get far anyway,” Brandon added. “Now, get your things so we can leave.”

Willa considered arguing with him, but he looked as stubborn as she was. Not a good DNA legacy to pass on to their daughter. A double dose of bullheadedness.

If
he was the baby’s father, that is.

She wasn’t convinced he’d told her the truth about that, either.

“I’ll get my things,” she agreed. But that was the only thing she was agreeing to do. She wasn’t going with them, and that meant she had to distract Brandon in some way so she could escape.

“What did you type about me on your PDA?” he asked, following her into the bedroom. There was barely enough space for one person, and she was quickly learning that Brandon had a way of monopolizing not just the room but all the air in it.

“Nothing,” she lied. And she grabbed the packed overnight bag, put it on the bed and tossed in the PDA. The bag already contained a change of clothes, toiletries, meds, cash, a fake ID that had cost her dearly and a flash drive with duplicate files that were on her computer.

She also had a gun in there.

Willa didn’t want to use it, but she would if it came down to protecting her baby.

Because she wanted to buy some time for that escape opportunity, Willa went through the dresser drawer and pretended to look for something to add to the bag. Maybe conversation would help, too. Besides, there was one thing she needed to verify, even though she wasn’t sure a chat with Brandon would give her that proof.

“Are you really my baby’s father?” she asked.

But he didn’t answer. He walked across the room and looked into the drawer to see what she was doing. He likely thought she had a gun and was maybe about to pull it on him. No gun. However, he took the tiny canister of pepper spray from the top of the dresser and cupped it in his hand.

Willa gave him a cynical smile. “You trust me about as much as I trust you. So answer my question. Are you really my baby’s father?”

He looked her straight in the eyes.

And nodded.

“The DNA test is real,” he said. “The child you’re carrying is mine.”

Everything inside her went still. Because that didn’t sound like a lie.

“We were in love?” she pressed.

“No,” he answered just as quickly.

That seemed to be the truth as well. Strange that he wouldn’t have said yes and then used that love confession to convince her to cooperate with him.

“All right.” For show, she took out several pairs of panties and shoved them into the bag. “So, we weren’t in love, and I wasn’t your one-night stand. What was I to you?”

“The same thing you are to me now.” He didn’t wait for her to respond to that puzzling answer. “Finish packing.”

She added a bra to the bag and stuffed in a flannel nightgown. Willa lifted the bag and put the strap over her like a messenger’s bag even though it was a tight fit over her belly. “I have to get some things from the bathroom. Prenatal vitamins,” she added, knowing he wouldn’t refuse to let her get those.

The bathroom window was small, but she knew she could squeeze through it. She’d have to hurry and hope that Lieutenant Duggan wasn’t keeping watch on that particular side of the house. All she needed was two minutes, and she could be out of there. Away from the assassin, and away from the cops—including, perhaps, her baby’s father.

And that gave her an idea.

With Brandon right on her heels, she went into the bathroom and took out a cotton swab from the medicine cabinet. It obviously wasn’t sterile, but she thought it would give her a clean enough sample. After all, labs got DNA from toothbrushes and baby bottles. Once she had his DNA extracted, she could have it compared to the baby’s amniotic fluid. Willa didn’t have the fluid itself, but she had her baby’s DNA profile in an online storage file that she could retrieve from any computer.

Of course, a comparison would take days. Maybe longer. Still, she would eventually know one way or another.

Her gut was already telling her the test was unnecessary, that Brandon was indeed her baby’s father. But her brain wanted to know why her gut trusted this man when it was clear that he wasn’t volunteering the whole truth.

“Open your mouth please.” She added the
please
hoping it would get him to cooperate.

He did. Brandon swabbed the inside of his left cheek and handed it back to her. “It’ll be a match,” he promised.

“We’ll see.”

He glanced at the swab. “You’ll want to put that in a plastic bag.” And he pulled a small evidence baggie from his jacket pocket.

Willa eyed him and the bag with suspicion, and instead of using his bag that might be contaminated with his DNA or something else, she headed to the kitchen and got a plastic sandwich bag. She sealed up the swab, put it in the overnight case and snapped her fingers.

“Prenatal vitamins,” she said as if remembering them. “I wouldn’t want to forget those.”

She took slow steps, trying to get the timing of this just right. She needed to get to the bathroom just ahead of Brandon so she could slam the door. Lock it.

And escape.

“I also have to use the bathroom,” she lied when she was a few steps away. “As in, actually
use
the bathroom. I don’t want an audience for that.”

She went inside and pushed the door so it would close.

Brandon caught it.

“I don’t want an audience,” she restated.

“And I don’t want you trying to escape. Don’t worry. I’ll close my eyes. But this door is staying partly open.”

Great. Just great. She hadn’t wanted to do this, but she was obviously going to have to give him a hit of the pepper spray. She reached into her bag to retrieve it, but he caught her wrist.

Then he grabbed the bag.

“I’ll hold this for you. It can’t be good for a pregnant woman to carry around this much weight.”

“It’s not that heavy.” Willa glared at him and kept a firm hold on her bag. “Why don’t you just back off?”

“Because I can’t. Forget about the personal connection we have because of the baby, forget about how you feel or don’t feel about me. Just remember, I’m a lawman, and I’m not going to stand by and let that assassin come after you.”

She had to tamp down her anger so she could try to reason with him. “The last two times I trusted a lawman, I was nearly killed. You know that. You’ve read the reports. I’ve done a lot better on my own.”

“But you’ve never come up against a hired gun like Martin Shore. He’s not someone you can get away from without help.”

For some reason having the name attached to the assassin made her heart pound even harder. “Martin Shore,” she repeated. “How did he even find me?”

“Apparently Shore’s boss has been trying to track you through neurologists all over the state. Nearly a dozen doctors have had their files hacked. Including Dr. Betterman, the OB you saw four weeks ago.”

She shook her head. “But I didn’t use my real name, and I paid him in cash.”

“You did, but in your hacked medical record, Dr. Betterman had written your diagnosis of post-traumatic amnesia and post-concussional neurosis resulting in short-term memory loss. He also listed your age, the date of the onset of the symptoms. And that you were in your third trimester of pregnancy and therefore couldn’t receive traditional medications.”

Oh, God.

There wouldn’t have been many patients who fit into all those categories.

Then, Willa remembered something. “I didn’t give the doctor my street address. He said he needed to mail me the results from my latest EEG, so I gave him the address of the rental box at a private mail facility all the way across town.”

Brandon nodded. “The clerk there was murdered about four hours ago. We’re pretty sure after he was tortured before he gave up your physical address to someone who wanted to find you. Because it was about an hour later when a deep-cover agent intercepted the intel about Shore being hired to kill you.”

Willa choked back another
Oh, God,
and the tears that threatened to follow. She wouldn’t cry. It would only waste time because she knew what she had to do.