Protecting Tanner Hollow, page 29
part #1 of Tanner Hollow Series
Knees. Thighs.
The beam swept to the place where she should have been and a curse slipped from him.
He hit the bottom step.
Claire’s nerves tightened. Move! her mind screamed at him.
If he turned the light toward her, she was dead—or at least in a fight for her life.
But the light stayed on the spot where she should have been as though keeping it there would make her appear. He took two or three steps forward. Claire edged behind him, trying to breathe without making a sound. With a roar, he rushed forward, swinging the light back and forth. “Claire!”
His bellow sent her hooking around the end of the wooden banister and pounding up the stairs.
She burst through the top door and into a kitchen from the 1970s.
“Come back here!”
The kitchen door to her left held a padlock. Not going out that way. He was right behind her. Still gripping her homemade weapon, she spun right and bolted into the foyer. Another padlocked door. Bars on the window. Panicked, she darted into the sunroom.
“You can’t get away, Claire.”
The female voice stopped her, and she turned to see a woman in her fifties. Salt-and-pepper hair was pulled into a ponytail. Blue eyes gleamed behind black-framed glasses.
“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
Gilly huffed to an enraged stop next to the woman. He lifted his weapon and she placed a hand on his arm. “Let me answer her questions,” she said without taking her gaze from Claire.
“I’m ready for her to be dead.” His eyes spat his mammoth-sized anger.
“It’s okay, Hank. A couple more minutes won’t matter. And I have to admit, I’m not opposed to watching her suffer a bit.” She narrowed her eyes. “You want to know why we’re doing this? Because Amanda Gilmore was my best friend and you killed her.”
Amanda Gilmore. The name was familiar.
The woman scoffed. “You don’t even know who I’m talking about.”
It clicked. “Amanda Gilmore,” Claire said, “mother and wife, age fifty-one, poisoned her husband bit by bit until he finally died. She received life in prison.”
Surprise flickered. “So you do remember.”
“It was an open-and-shut case.”
“For you maybe, but not for us, the people she loved and had to leave. Not for her children who were free of that monster but now had no mother.”
“There was no evidence of abuse that the defense attorney could find.” The details were becoming sharper.
“That’s because he wasn’t looking in the right places.” And the places he had looked had shown Amanda to be the abuser, not the abused.
“Look . . .” She held her left hand up as though in surrender while her right hand stayed curled around the weapon. “All I do is gather and follow the evidence—and sometimes I don’t even gather it. I have no control over what goes on in court or behind a closed jury door. I just present my findings, that’s all.”
“Well, it shouldn’t be all! Your findings sent an innocent woman to prison. She said so!”
“She confessed!” Wait. “Who said so? What are you talking about?”
“It’s your fault!” With a roar, Gilly charged her. Claire brought her hands up to block him, belatedly remembering the homemade knife. She felt it sink deep into his belly even as he slammed into her, his forward momentum carrying them through the glass window behind her.
She hit the ground hard. The breath left her. Blood soaked her.
The woman’s screams echoed around them.
Derek heard the screams coming from the backyard and changed his course, motioning for Linc and Allie to go to the right while he and Nolan bolted to the left.
Derek rounded the side of the house. “Police! Show your hands! Show your hands now!”
Nolan added his orders, and together, they rushed the two on the ground.
While local officers and Nolan cuffed the woman and the bleeding man, Derek raced to check on Claire. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Gasping, she let him haul her to her feet.
A sharp crack from the tree line jammed his pulse for a split second. “Shooter!”
Derek grabbed Claire and pulled her back to the ground. Another shot sounded. Derek saw Hank Gilmore hit the ground, the right side of his face missing.
“Who’s shooting?”
“Shooter’s in the trees!”
“Stay down! Stay down!”
Voices and orders merged as one. Bodies moved, weapons turned in the direction of the gunshots.
Claire pushed to her feet and took off.
“Claire!”
She didn’t stop but aimed herself toward the shooter.
Another crack sounded. When Claire didn’t fall, Derek swiveled around in time to see the woman—Mrs. Stevenson?—jerk, then lie still on the ground where she’d been pulled by the officer. Shouted orders, bodies diving for cover, and screams to hold fire.
“Claire, get down!”
She dove for the ground. All Derek could see was that the shooter was hitting whatever he was aiming at. Any moment, he expected that to be Claire.
He put on a burst of speed in time to see the figure disappear around the nearest tree. He reached Claire and she waved him off. “I’m fine. We have to stop her.”
Her?
She shot to her feet. “I don’t know what’s going on, but she’s not getting away.”
Derek stayed with Claire, dodging trees and keeping his eyes open, his weapon ready, until he was finally able to yank her to a stop. “Claire,” he yelled. “I need you to stop and stay put. Let me do what I’m trained for.” She glared up at him, but beneath the laser look, he could see the fear. And determination.
And finally, her resignation. She gave a short nod and hunkered down behind the tree. While he’d been talking, he’d been scanning the area. Looking for any sign the shooter was still moving. But everything had gone quiet. No sounds, no movement, not even a hint of a breeze whispering through the leaves.
The chill in the crisp winter air seeped into his bones. The cold came from more than just the weather, pressing in, freezing his very spirit.
It was time for this to end. He called Nolan and let him know the situation. “Stay back, but circle around. Create a barrier this person has to cross to get off the property.”
“10-4. And Derek?”
“Yeah?”
“The woman’s dead and so is Hank Gilmore.”
“Thanks.”
He was sorry for it, but they’d chosen their paths.
As had the person still out there. Armed and ready to put a bullet in anyone who got too close.
Crouching next to Claire, Derek waited.
Claire stayed still. So still that if he hadn’t known she was behind him, he would be oblivious to her presence. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure she was really still there.
She was. Clasping her hands in front of her as though in prayer.
Prayer was good.
A flash of movement just ahead snagged his attention. A deer? Or a killer?
“All right,” he said, “I’m going to get this person. Please don’t move. I need to know exactly where you are so I don’t shoot you by accident. Got it?” A faint nod answered him. “Good.” He locked his gaze on hers. “I’ll be back. Trust me, okay?”
She leaned in and kissed his lips. A short, quick peck. “Be careful.”
“Absolutely.”
Nine
Claire watched him go, heart pounding, blood rushing. She wanted to follow, but she’d promised to stay put. Derek was right. He was trained for this kind of thing. All she would do was get in the way and get herself shot. Or get him shot.
So she’d keep her back against the tree and do her best to be his lookout.
Another thing he was right about. This needed to end today. Constantly looking over her shoulder had gotten old very fast.
She could see him just ahead, his dark head tucked low.
Please, please, be careful.
A flash of movement behind him. “Derek! Duck!”
The gunshot sounded and the figure spun to fire off another round in Claire’s general direction. She scuttled to another tree, hoping she’d stayed low enough that the shooter hadn’t seen her move.
A loud crash, a grunt, and a scream came from Derek’s direction. Heart thudding, Claire pushed to her feet in time to see him wrestling with the woman on the ground.
“Stop! You’re ruining everything!”
Derek didn’t bother to answer as he worked to keep the weapon aimed away from him.
Do something! Frantic to help, Claire let her gaze roam the ground. There. She snatched the heaviest branch she could spot nearby and raced over to bring it down on the woman’s head.
The masked woman went still. Stunned, but still conscious. Derek yanked the gun from her fingers, tossed it aside, then pulled the mask from her head.
Claire gasped. “Tara Scholtz?”
“It should have been me! Not you! It should have been me!” Fiery green eyes glared up at her. Tara jerked against Derek’s hold, but his grip held fast.
“What should have been—” Claire stopped, gaped. “The supervisor’s position? That’s what this is all about? That’s what you killed people for?” Claire heard the screech in her last question but couldn’t seem to help it.
“I was next in line.” Tara’s shoulders heaved. Spittle flew from her lips. “I was there the longest after Franklin. When he turned it down, I should have been next to be offered the position.” She gave another keening cry and flailed unsuccessfully in Derek’s grasp. “Let me go!”
He flipped her over and placed a knee in the middle of her back. With effort, he managed to grab her arms and pull them behind her back. “Calm down,” Derek said. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Linc and Allie hurried over to them, and Linc handed Derek a set of handcuffs. Derek expertly applied them to Tara’s wrists while reciting her rights.
When he fell silent, Tara began to scream. “I’ll have your badge! I’ll have you all up on charges of police brutality! I’ll have you—”
“Shut up!” Claire yelled at her. “Shut up, shut up!”
The screams broke off and Tara stared. They all stared, but Claire wanted answers and Tara’s drama was on her last nerve.
“What do you mean he turned it down?” she asked calmly as though they were seated at the dinner table.
“Just what I said,” Tara said, lowering her voice to a bearable decibel level. “He didn’t want the job because it would require more hours and more time away from home. His daughter is a single mother whose son is constantly getting in trouble. He turned it down because he said it wasn’t the right time for him. That’s because it was my time! It should have been mine! Mine! You hear me? Mine!”
She sounded like a tantrum-throwing three-year-old instead of a fortysome-year-old professional. That and the cuffs she wore made her seem much less terrifying.
“But . . . I don’t understand. What did Gilly and that woman have to do with anything? Why did you shoot the woman?”
“That was Jane Stevenson,” Derek said. “She was Amanda Gilmore’s best friend. My guess is she didn’t want the woman talking. Tara shot her and then ran, hoping to get away in the confusion.” He glared at Tara. “At least that’s my theory.”
Claire’s mental lightbulb flickered. “Mrs. Stevenson blamed me for Mrs. Gilmore going to prison, that’s clear, but I’m still confused. How did everyone get connected like this? With Tara especially?”
“It was me, of course,” Tara boasted. She seemed to have accepted that it was all over for her and was willing to talk. She scoffed. “I’m a lot smarter than Franklin or anyone else wanted to give me credit for. I overheard Franklin recommend you for the job. I was stunned, hurt, furious.”
“So you decided to have me killed?”
“I knew there had to be a way to get rid of you without it looking like I had anything to do with it. I simply searched your court cases until I found one that I could use.”
“So you could manipulate the emotions of those involved,” Derek said.
Tara sighed and a tear slipped down her cheek. “It was a truly brilliant plan.”
“So, you what?” Claire said. “Called them up and said, ‘Hey, your mom’s imprisonment and death were Claire Montgomery’s fault. Let’s plan to kill her and get revenge’?” She stomped a foot. “Who says yes to that kind of insanity?”
For a moment Tara simply stared at her. No one moved, no one breathed. She hadn’t asked for a lawyer after Derek had read her rights.
Tara huffed a laugh. “Insanity? If it had worked, no one would have any reason to connect your death to me. Or to the deaths of the two sad people who just couldn’t go on any longer without their beloved Amanda Gilmore.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Derek said. He pulled her to her feet and passed her off to Nolan, who gripped her bicep. “I’ll fill out any paperwork you need from me in a little bit. I want to get Claire home—or someplace comfortable anyway.”
“Home sounds good,” Claire said. “I need to take a look at what’s left of my house and pack a few boxes.”
“And we need to say thanks to Levi. His description of the car is really the thing that enabled us to find you so quickly.”
“Levi. Yes. I need to make a stop on the way home then.”
“For a dinosaur?”
She smiled. “Yes. And one other thing.”
“All right. I’m driving?”
“Might be a good idea since Gilly didn’t let me bring my car.”
He scowled and led the way to his truck. “How did you know it was a woman shooting?”
She climbed in and buckled up before rubbing her head. “It was something they said. Something like my findings had sent an innocent woman to prison. And then Mrs. Stevenson said, ‘She said so.’ I knew it was a woman, I just didn’t know who.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded and swallowed. “Did I kill Gilly? I know I stabbed him, but did I kill him?”
“No. Tara did.”
“Oh.” She sighed. “I didn’t want to kill him. I didn’t even mean to stab him, but he just . . .”
He took her cold hand in his warm one. Then pulled her into a hug. And she released the tears.
Derek held her. “Cry it out, Claire, it’s okay. It’s normal.” He knew from experience that her emotions were all over the place right now.
She sniffed and swiped her tears. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” he said softly. “I’ve shed a few tears myself after the intensity of a job.”
“You?”
He shrugged. “It’s a healthy release. I just make sure I don’t do it in front of any of the guys.”
She let out a short chuckle. “Yeah, I can see how you might not want to do that.” She paused. “Although I’m sure they’ve shed a few of their own.”
“They have.” He squeezed her fingers. “Ready to go?”
She blew out a low sigh. “Ready.”
He put the truck in drive and pulled away from the scene. “I have a question for you.”
“Okay.”
“You know what two weeks from now is, right?”
“Um . . . no?”
No? He gaped. “Really? Two weeks. From now. As in from today.”
“What’s today? Thursday?” She frowned. “What am I missing?”
“It’s Thanksgiving! The all-time best holiday of the year in the South.”
“You look absolutely scandalized that I didn’t know that.”
“Well . . . yeah.” Who didn’t know that?
She gave a small laugh. “And what makes Thanksgiving rank so high on the list?”
“Because in November in Columbia, there’s always a chance you’ll get a perfectly amazing weather day.”
“Which means?”
“Football, baby, football!”
Claire lifted a brow. “You say that with such reverence. Why do you need good weather to watch football from the couch?”
“Watch—” Clearly, he had some work to do. “No, my dear. I come from a very large family. We don’t watch football, we play it.”
“Where?”
“In the backyard!”
“And if it rains or snows?”
“Bite your tongue.”
“No, seriously,” she said, turning in the seat, curiosity animating her lovely features.
He pulled in a breath to slow his suddenly racing pulse. “Ah, well, if it rains or something, then we play Phase Ten.”
“What is that?”
Derek shook his head. “I’m flabbergasted, utterly flummoxed. We obviously need to talk.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re coming home with me for Thanksgiving, and the more you know about the St. John family, the better armed you’ll be. And the better armed you are, the less likely you are to run away.”
“Coming home with you? Run away?”
“Yes. You haven’t really lived if you haven’t experienced a St. John Thanksgiving. Or Christmas for that matter.” A pause. “Of course, Easter isn’t so bad and neither is Mother’s Day or Father’s—” He shook his head. “Never mind. Back to Thanksgiving.”
For the next hour, in between stops to ensure she had the appropriate gifts for Levi, Derek told her everything he could think of that would prepare her for his family.
Finally, he pulled to a stop in front of her home—and the noisy chaos of reconstruction. Hammers pounded, a SKILSAW whirred, and a country music station blared from a portable radio. She turned wide eyes on him. “What in the world?”
Bart Wells slipped out from the back of the house and shoved a hammer into the tool belt around his waist. Claire stepped out of the car and faced the man.
He stared at her a moment, then a smile slipped across his face.
Ten
Claire blinked. Wait. A smile? “Bart?”
He shrugged. “I own a construction business. Thought I’d be neighborly and put your house back together.” A flicker of unease flashed in his gray eyes. “I hope you don’t mind. The insurance company was already out here so . . .” Another shrug. “I mean, I know it’s a rental and there’s the rental insurance, but I also knew you’d feel responsible and want it fixed for your landlord—who gave me permission to do it. I mean, I didn’t know how much the deductible was so I figured if I could save that for you—okay, I’m going to shut up now.”
