Stranded With The Suspect

She went to the bathroom, then returned to the bed to wait.

She didn’t have to wait long. She felt rather than heard a shift in the air as the door connecting her suite to the one next door eased open. A shadow filled the doorway, and then Daniel was beside her, kneeling on the bed, his lips brushing hers with a soft kiss. She reached up to put her arms around him, but he gently pushed her away.

He put his lips against her ear and spoke so softly that she had to strain to make out the words. “I couldn’t leave without you,” he said. “I risked everything to come back and be with you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” The answer was automatic, but not exactly truthful. Why would he risk capture to be with her? “It’s too dangerous for you here,” she whispered.

“Not with you by my side. You’ll protect me.” He brought his hand up to caress her shoulder, then moved toward her breast, going still when his fingers brushed the locket pendant. “What is this?” he asked, pulling it from beneath her gown, the chain tightening around her throat.

“It...it’s the necklace you told me you would give my baby,” she said. “I know I shouldn’t have taken it without permission, but I wanted it to help me feel close to you while we were so far apart.”

She braced herself against his anger, but instead, he kissed her cheek. “Bless you,” he said. “I knew you were my good luck charm.” He reached for her hand and she shied away, remembering when he had struck her not an hour before.

“It’s all right,” he said soothingly. “I would never let any harm come to you.”

This time she let him take her hand. As much as experience told her not to trust him, her memories of how good things had once been between them beguiled her into cooperating.

“Come on,” he urged. “We have to hurry.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“A safe place. I promise.”

The bed creaked as she shoved herself into a sitting position on the side, and stretched out her feet to find her shoes.

Metwater pulled her roughly up while she was still searching, and she made an involuntary cry of protest.

The bedroom door opened, spilling light into the room. Simon stood in the doorway. “Andi, are you all right?” he asked.

Before she could answer, Metwater clapped his hand over her mouth and pulled her tight against him. Something stung her throat and she gave another cry. Light flooded the room, and Metwater’s voice filled the silence. “Drop the gun, or I swear I’ll cut her throat and she’ll bleed to death right here.”

Chapter Five (#u275ac6f8-0169-5a07-8448-3e990ece577f)

Time slowed, every sense magnified as the two men faced off. The blade of the knife glinted in the glow of the crystal chandelier overhead. A single crimson jewel of blood slid down Andi’s pale neck. Simon focused on the strong beat of her pulse at the base of her throat, and his own heart matched its rhythm.

“Drop your gun,” Metwater ordered.

Simon crouched and laid the weapon on the carpet, Andi’s gaze fixed on him.

“The other one, too,” Metwater said. “In the ankle holster.”

Simon complied, then straightened. He glanced toward the connecting door, which stood partially open. He should have stationed Pogue or one of his men there.

“What are you looking at?” Metwater shifted and Andi gasped, a fresh bead of blood forming.

Simon looked into Metwater’s eyes. Gone was the handsome, arrogant man so assured of getting away with whatever he wanted. He didn’t have an army of followers and lawyers protecting him now. It was only him against Simon. Metwater had the woman and the knife, which he thought gave him the advantage.

Simon shifted his gaze back to the door. “Pogue, now!” he shouted, and dropped to the floor.

Metwater jerked toward the door. Andi’s scream bounced off the walls in the small room as Simon scooped up his Glock and fired. But in trying to make sure he didn’t hit the woman, he caught Metwater in the shoulder.

Not a killing shot. But enough to make him drop the knife. Simon aimed again as Metwater lurched from the bed toward the door.

Andi’s screams changed pitch, interspersed with sobbing. “I’m bleeding to death!”

If Simon pursued Metwater, he could probably catch him, but at what cost?

He moved toward the bed, where Andi sat, clutching her throat, the sheets and her gown stained crimson. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911 as he crossed the room. He identified himself and explained the situation as succinctly as possible.

“Yes, sir. I’m dispatching an ambulance. Please stay on the line.”

But he had already hung up and pocketed the phone. Andi stared at him, eyes huge in her pale face, hands clutched to her throat. She was still conscious—that was a good sign. “Let me take a look,” Simon said. He took both her hands in his and gently tugged them toward her lap.

She resisted. “It’s all right,” he said. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

She lowered her hands, and he studied the two six-inch long slashes where blood was already beginning to clot. Relief flooded him. “The cuts are shallow,” he said. “You’ll be sore, but you shouldn’t even have a scar once they heal.”

“But there’s so much blood.” She looked down at her hands.

“You have a lot of blood vessels in your head and neck,” he said. “But he didn’t sever any arteries. The ambulance is on its way to check you over and make sure everything is okay.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “He tried to kill me,” she said. “Why?”

He could go over the old arguments about why Metwater wanted her dead, but now wasn’t the time. “I won’t let him hurt you again,” he said.

“Where is he now?”

“He ran. But he won’t get far.”

“You shot him.” He couldn’t tell if the idea frightened or comforted her.

“I did. That will slow him down. He’ll have to get help, and when he does, we’ll bring him in.”

He had already gotten through to a supervisor at the Denver Police Department. He hoped this second attack would shock them into real action. They were sending over a senior officer, and soon every cop in the city would be looking for the man who had tried to kill a young woman at the Brown Palace. Simon would try to keep Andi’s name out of the news, but the information was bound to leak eventually.

Andi Matheson had been one of the beautiful people who had been a fixture at every prominent social function in Denver and DC. Her disappearance five months ago, and subsequent reports that she had become Daniel Metwater’s most devoted follower, had kept the interest in her alive. News that she had resurfaced—and that she had been almost killed by the man she had given up pretty much everything for—would be enough to send the media into a frenzy.

He pulled out his phone and called Pogue. “An ambulance and the Denver Police are on their way over,” he said. “Direct them to Ms. Daniels’s suite.”

“Is she okay? What happened?”

“Metwater came back. She’s frightened, but she’ll be okay.”

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. But he’s wounded and he’s got a knife.”

“I’ll let my men know.”