Once again, she was baffled as to how a man with a debilitating injury could finesse his way up the broken stairway while holding a woman captive. Especially when she could hear Brewer hissing beneath his breath as he ascended the steps behind her. A few seconds in, a loud crack sounded from below, followed by the muffled thud of wood hitting the concrete floor beneath them.

  Bexley braced herself, praying Arnold hadn’t heard the noise. When no one came running, she whirled around to find her husband standing on the edge of a freshly broken step. Enough of them were missing then, making it impossible for him to finish the climb.

  Brewer shook his head with a look of warning etched into his beautiful brown eyes. “Please don’t,” he mouthed.

  “I love you,” she mouthed before clearing the final steps and heading down the hallway.

  There was no need to press her ear against the only closed door as she could hear everything through the thin walls.

  “Please, Arnie,” Twila pleaded. “There’s a better way to solve this. I understand I hurt you, and I can’t say I’m sorry enough. There are trained professionals at the VA who can help⁠—”

  “I don’t need help!” a low voice rumbled. “I only need you!”

  “We were different people back then,” Twila continued, her voice thick with tears. “I’m not the same girl you fell in love with. Holding me hostage and threatening to shoot us both isn’t going to solve anything. It’s time for you to move on.”

  “Move on?” the low voice sneered. “That’s not an option! I’ve spent decades searching for you, my little mouse! In that time, other women were forced to suffer because you remained hidden!”

  “What do you mean, ‘they were forced to suffer’? Arnie, who were they? What did you do to them?”

  “With every city I visited, every gallery I entered, and you weren’t there, my bitterness grew. I had to release my anger somehow…I had to take it out on someone before I went completely insane.”

  “What did you do?” Twila whispered.

  “I did what needed to be done.”

  “How many women did you hurt?”

  “I didn’t hurt them! I ended their pain of living in a hard and cruel world!”

  Bexley stiffened with the raw emotion projected in Arnold’s tone. If Twila didn’t find a way to calm him down, the situation would escalate. She lowered to her stomach with as much care as possible, hoping the change in position didn’t cause the floorboards to groan from her weight. Beneath the door, she could make out Twila’s legs and only part of her capturer’s. Twila was tied to a chair. Bexley couldn’t tell whether or not Arnie still had the gun in his hands.

  The way Twila’s gasp was stifled, Bexley imagined the woman doing it behind a hand held over her lips. “You mean…you killed them?”

  “Don’t worry, little mouse. They were respectfully laid to rest in the backyard of whatever home I inhabited at the time.”

  “You must realize I could never be with someone who murdered innocent women,” Twila told him in a tone that was still gentle despite the resolution of her words. “You need to turn yourself in, Arnie. Those women deserve justice.”

  Arnie released a strained chuckle. “You expect me to willingly choose to rot in jail now that I’ve found you?”

  “I expect you to do the right thing. The soldier I met at the bus station was a good man. Surely he’s still in there…somewhere.”

  “You never thought I was good enough for you.”

  “Of course I did!”

  “Not with this bum leg. That’s why you left, isn’t it? That’s why you wouldn’t marry me when I asked.”

  “It had nothing to do with you or your leg, you old fool. You seem perfectly healed now. Why do you still carry a cane around when you clearly don’t need it?”

  Bexley watched as a set of legs in a worn pair of khakis shuffled closer to Twila. “While we’re on the subject of ‘old fools,’” Arnold sneered, “who was that geezer with the earring lurking in your house?”

  “J.J. is a noble man…one who spent many years executing justice because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Are you saying you’ll settle down with that hippie?” Arnold asked, his voice thick with amusement. “After all these years of being a ‘free soul’ or whatever the hell you claimed to be, you will finally decide to become domesticated?”

  “I said no such thing.”

  When the man stalked the remaining distance to Twila and bent right in front of her, the silver glint of a pistol caught Bexley’s eye. Find a reason for him to set it down, she willed Twila.

  “Then what are you saying?” he snarled.

  Bexley held her breath and adjusted her position, hoping for a better vantage point.

  Twila inhaled sharply.

  Bexley’s pulse pounded against her temples as she held her breath. Was he holding the gun to Twila’s head?

  Had Twila seen Bexley’s shadow move beneath the door?

  “This conversation is going nowhere,” Twila informed him. “At least not until you set that deadly weapon down so we can act like civilized adults. Really, Arnold. You claimed you know me better than anyone. If that’s true, prove it. Stop using unnecessary force to make me answer your questions, and talk to me like a real man. Set that ridiculous thing on the table and look me in the eye while you speak.”

  Bexley briefly closed her eyes. Atta girl, Twila.

  For a moment, the legs clad in khaki twill didn’t move.

  Then, mercifully, they shuffled away from Twila, and the sound of heavy metal meeting wood broke the silence.

  Bexley quietly moved to her feet and tried the door handle. It was unlocked.

  “There!” Arnold barked. “You happy now?”

  In the next rapid heartbeat, Bexley turned the handle the rest of the way and barged inside. Arnold whirled around with a bewildered look. Bexley faltered, taken aback by the size of the man standing before her. He was far from weak and feeble for an elderly man. He was in excellent shape. Probably so he could overpower his victims, Bexley thought with a disgusted sneer.

  When the wail of multiple sirens pierced the air, Arnold hesitated.

  Bexley sprang forward.

  “No, Bexley!” Twila pleaded a moment too late.

  Bexley struck his neck with the palm of her hand, moving so quickly that he didn’t have time to react before she kneed him in the groin. She then lunged at the pistol, securing it only seconds before Arnold recovered and moved toward her.

  “Stop right there,” Bexley warned, releasing the safety and pointing the barrel at him. “Don’t move a muscle, or I’ll shoot.” As much as she loathed guns, she’d been trained to properly handle them and would discharge the weapon if it would save her life and Twila’s.

  She must’ve hesitated enough to reveal her aversion to the pistol because Arnold charged at her anyway.

  The pistol was knocked from her hand and slid across the floor beneath Twila.

  Arnold lunged again, using his entire body as a weapon. Twila screamed behind them as Bexley and Arnold landed in the hallway with Arnold on top. Fortunately, Brewer had spent countless hours teaching Bexley ways to defend herself without a weapon. Before giving Arnold another second to think, she violently twisted her hips to one side, knocking him over and spinning him around to his back so she was on top.

  His hands wrapped around her neck and began to squeeze. Bexley sputtered beneath the press of his thumbs.

  “Arnie, stop!” Twila cried. “Don’t you dare hurt her!”

  The old man was strong. Lucky for Bexley, he also seemed to underestimate the abilities of a woman her size. She lifted her shoulders and dropped her chin, shrinking the girth of his hold. She cupped one of his arms and reached back to pry his middle finger away from her shoulder until she felt it snap. The move elicited a howl of pain from Arnold, allowing her a chance to move away from him as he tended to his wounded digit.

  As she started back toward the pistol and Twila, a meaty hand wrapped around her ankle, sweeping her feet out beneath her and knocking her to the floor. With his wounded finger tucked against his chest, Arnold pulled himself up to stand, presumably to stomp on her. She recovered and started to spring to her feet.

  But she was two seconds too late.

  Arnold slammed into her at running speed before she could regain footing, propelling them into the air.

  The battered apartment building whirled around Bexley with the violence of a cheap carnival ride as she soared over the stairway and tumbled over the last few steps.

  Upon landing, she was sure her body was shattered into pieces. It definitely felt like it. She was utterly immobilized with pain.

  Fortunately, her buttocks and torso had taken the brunt of the fall, seemingly leaving her skull unharmed. With the sound of a deep, wet cough, she turned her head to see the murderer sputtering blood from his lips.

  A large chunk of a broken stair tread protruded from his chest.

  Their eyes met as he shuddered with his last breath.

  White-hot pain crackled through her chest when she tried to let out a relieved breath.

  It was over.

  Arnold Douglas would never hurt another woman.

  “Don’t move, Bexley,” she heard Deputy Danks say from nearby. “The EMTs are right outside. They’ll be here any second.”

  Brewer was suddenly kneeling at her side. Even though the outline of his face was nothing more than a blur, she recognized his masculine scent and the familiar weight of his unyielding presence. “I love you, my beautiful, frustratingly stubborn wife.” His voice was calm. Steady. “You’re going to be okay…I promise.”

  His fingers wrapping around hers were the last thing her brain registered before shutting down.

  18

  The mechanical whirl and beep of machines filled Bexley’s ears as she slowly regained consciousness. Her eyes flipped open to find a slender blonde with thick French braids in colorful scrubs hovering above her reclined body.

  The woman—presumably a nurse, considering Bexley was definitely in a hospital bed—smiled warmly. She was young and annoyingly chipper. “Welcome back, Mrs. Hawkins.”

  Bexley’s throat was too dry to form an audible response. Sensing her discomfort, the nurse handed over a glass of water containing a bendy straw. When Bexley bent upright to take a drink, excruciating pain gripped her chest like a vice. She also noticed her right arm was in a sling.

  “You’ll have to take it easy for a while,” the nurse told her. “You sprained your wrist, broke a few ribs, and sustained a considerable amount of internal bruising.” Sympathy radiated from her expression as she touched Bexley’s shoulder. “You suffered some other injuries as well. I’ll leave those for the doctor to explain. She’s finishing up with another patient and should be here soon.”

  Nodding slightly, Bexley brought the straw to her lips and sucked down the room-temperature liquid. After handing the glass back to the nurse, Bexley slowly lowered back down through gritted teeth. She closed her eyes, willing the throbbing pain in her ribs to subside. “My husband, Brewer…Twila…”

  “They’re both camped out in the waiting room along with half a dozen others your husband introduced as your friends and family. Your husband hasn’t left since you were first brought in. After the doctor speaks with you, I can send him back if you’d like.”

  Bexley gave her a minuscule nod. “Please.”

  The “others” would include her sister, Temperance, and Kiersten, but she didn’t have the energy to talk to them. At least not yet.

  “How’s your pain?” the nurse asked. “What would you give it on a scale of one to ten?”

  With a sharp pain pressing against her side, Bexley hissed through her teeth. “Are we talking the Richter scale? Because it feels like I was sucked into the earth’s atmosphere and spit back out.”

  “I’ll give you a little extra bump,” the nurse offered with a hint of amusement.

  “You’re an angel.”

  When Bexley opened her eyes again, a brunette 50-something woman in a white coat with bright green eyes and a no-nonsense haircut beamed down on her.

  Bexley wasn’t sure if she had drifted asleep or if the doctor entered the room mere seconds after the nurse left. Either way, she suspected the drip attached to her hand was supplying her with a liquid painkiller because she was starting to feel a little floaty.

  “I’m Dr. Becker. It’s an honor to meet the heroic investigator responsible for cleaning house in Papaya Springs. I only wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances.”

  “Let’s not be dramatic, Doc,” Bexley rasped. “What’s the verdict?”

  “You took quite the beating. Luckily, none of your injuries were either life-threatening or required surgery. After one of the sheriff’s deputies showed me pictures of the crime scene, I’d say it’s nothing short of a miracle your skull is still fully intact. However, you broke several ribs, and I suspect you bruised some as well. There could be bruising to other vital organs. I’d like to order an MRI to ensure we aren’t missing anything vital.”

  The doctor paused and crossed her arms with a thoughtful expression. “Mrs. Hawkins⁠—”

  “Please, call me Bexley.”

  “Bexley, when did you last have a menstrual period?”

  A sob lodged inside Bexley’s throat as she met the woman’s knowing gaze. “I’m not sure. Six or eight weeks? I suspected I was pregnant…until I started spotting earlier today.”

  “This was before you fell?”

  With tears blurring her vision, Bexley dipped her chin slowly. “It was maybe an hour or two before that.”

  “I suspect you may have suffered a miscarriage. I’d like to take another blood test in forty-eight hours to confirm.”

  “I understand.” Bexley blinked the tears away. She hadn’t been expecting that. Even though she hadn’t planned for a child, it still broke her heart to think of the life that she had lost.

  Brewer appeared in the doorway with a large bouquet of bright flowers. The heat of his loving gaze burned a hole through Bexley, sticking to her insides like napalm.

  “There’s my girl,” he rasped with the kind of glowing smile that had a way of curing anything that ailed Bexley—except for that time. Her ribs throbbed when she threw him a tiny wave. His eyes shifted to the doctor. “Should I come back?”

  “No, Mr. Hawkins, we’re basically finished here. I’d like to run a few more tests over the next couple of days to rule out any other issues I may have missed before she’s released. But at this point, as long as your wife takes it easy for the next six to eight weeks, she should heal nicely and be as good as new.” The doctor patted Bexley’s shoulder before she backed away. “She’s all yours.”

  Brewer grinned at the woman as she passed him on her way out. “Thanks, Doc.”

  Tucking a well of emotions away as deeply as she could muster, Bexley held out her hand stuck with the IV for Brewer to take. “Hey, handsome.”

  His fingers wrapped around hers. “How do you feel?”

  “Kinda like a serial killer threw me down a broken stairway.”

  He sucked on his lips for a moment, holding her gaze with an intensity that made her shiver. “I’m not going to lecture you because I would’ve done the same damn thing if I had been in your shoes and not too damn heavy to scale those steps. You’re no damsel, B. I get it. I just wish you understood how much you mean to me. If you hadn’t survived that fall⁠—”

  “We need to talk,” she blurted.

  “Not necessary.” His voice cracked a little as he continued. “The doctor told me everything while you were still passed out.” His fingers caressed the back of her hand. “Are you doing okay?”

  Wordlessly, she gave him a hesitant nod and a half-hearted smile. She didn’t trust herself to say anything without breaking down, and she suspected the pain in her ribs would become unbearable.

  Moisture in Brewer’s eyes shined beneath the neon lights when he set the bouquet on the table beside the bed. He tucked his free hand inside his jeans pocket, all at once looking like a lost little boy when he asked, “Is it alright if I kiss you?”

  She released a sound that could have qualified as a laugh or a sob. “I might break another rib crying if you don’t.”

  He removed his hand from his pocket and threaded it inside her hair as their lips met. For a blissful handful of moments, her strength was fully restored with the reminder of his fierce love. His lips caressed hers with the same mix of emotions knotting inside her gut. They had been through countless tragedies since they first met, and their bond was stronger than ever.

  They would survive this, too.

  Brewer left Bexley’s side long enough to give Twila and J.J. a turn. Their short time with her was emotionally draining as Twila was full of tears and apologies that Bexley refused to accept. Even J.J. shed a few tears, which was overwhelming in itself.

  Several hours later, after Brewer had gone home to check on Cap and Bexley had escaped the pain with another comfortable nap, a hesitant knock came from the doorway.

  It was somewhat jarring to see Deputy Danks wearing jean shorts and a well-worn band t-shirt with flip-flops. Bexley had worked with him on so many cases that she sometimes forgot he’d been a potential up-and-coming actor before they’d met with looks good enough to have launched him into stardom. If it weren’t for the way his dark hair was shorn down on the sides to military length, he could be mistaken as a PSC student strolling through campus.

  “Up for some company?” Deputy Danks asked, his chin held low as he smiled.

  “For Papaya Springs’s future star detective?” Bexley winked. “Always.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. After all, you did the heavy lifting on this case.” He shuffled inside and stopped alongside her bed to gently squeeze her shoulder. “Glad to see you alive and looking well, Bexley.”

  She clicked her tongue. “My makeup artist called in sick today. I must look atrocious.”