Cain moved behind the gurney to stay out of the way but still remain close by. He brushed soot and ash from Sophie’s hair. When he noted the slow but steady rise and fall of her chest, he couldn’t hold back his emotions and he choked on a sob.
Thank you, God.
Sophie was alive.
Sounds bombarded Sophie’s ears. Men’s voices…loud but too far away for her to understand their words. Gushing water. Engines. The thunderous pounding of feet running past her. Equipment moving.
She tried to open her eyes but her lids wouldn’t budge.
She drew in a deep breath and then another before she realized she had a mask pressed against her face. She tried to lift her hand to feel the mask but her arms were strapped down.
Someone clasped her fingers in a firm, hard grasp.
“Sophie?” That one simple word was filled with worry and anguish.
She blinked. Once. Twice. Then forced her eyelids open.
Cain.
Streaks of black coated his face. His hair dripped with water, his T-shirt was drenched and plastered to his chest.
Where was her father? Had she imagined him? Had it been Cain who saved her life?
Sophie’s attempt to speak came out as nothing more than a harsh, guttural sound.
“Shh. Try not to talk.”
“That’s right, miss.” A second man dressed in a medical uniform moved into her peripheral vision. “You’ve damaged your throat. We won’t know how severely until you’re examined at the hospital.”
Sophie wiggled her fingers and a wave of relief washed over her that she wasn’t still paralyzed.
“Try to rest, Miss Gimmelli. Your father told us you’d been given a muscle paralytic,” the paramedic said. “We gave you a shot to counteract the symptoms but it’s going to take some time before it takes full effect.”
Her father? Then she hadn’t imagined it. He was alive.
She was able to turn her head and look in the direction of her cottage.
Gray smoke oozed off the smoldering embers that had once been her home.
The yard buzzed with activity. Fire trucks and police cars were parked haphazardly across what had been her lawn. Firemen trampled everywhere, including through the last remnants of her rose garden. One man talked on a handheld walkie-talkie as he passed. Some sifted through the ashes. Others busied themselves winding up lengths of hose.
“Hang in there, Miss Gimmelli. We’ll load you in the bus in a second.” The paramedic adjusted the IV he’d inserted into her left arm and then stepped a few feet away.
Sophie blinked against the flashing red lights of the ambulance. Her eyes shot to Cain and she tried, again, to speak.
“Dad…?” Unbearable pain seared the lining of her throat but at least she’d been able to produce an audible word.
“Shh, Sophie, please. Don’t talk.”
He must have seen the thousands of questions in her eyes because he stroked her hair and started to speak.
“Your dad’s okay. The paramedics are with him now. He’s got some first-and second-degree burns but he’ll be fine. As soon as they dress his wounds, you’ll both be on your way to the emergency room.”
Cain closed his eyes for a second. His lips barely moved and Sophie knew he was praying. When he opened his eyes, a wave of relief seemed to wash over him.
“It was the Lord, Sophie. Directing my path. Helping me find you before it was too late.” His words faltered as he relived the terror of the last few moments.
Cain lifted her hand and kissed her fingertips and chuckled. “It was a close call. Too close. Maybe someday we’ll look back on this and laugh because watching Sheriff Dalton try to pull your father out of the building…well, let’s just say it’s an image I won’t soon forget. Your father insisted on holding on to that treasure chest he carved for you. I thought Dalton was going to hit your dad over the head with it. Almost did, in fact. The box was in pieces but your dad just wouldn’t let it go.”
Sophie’s eyes glanced around the ground.
“Here it is.” Cain held up the remains of what once had been her treasure chest.
Sophie stared at the pieces of wood in Cain’s hands and blinked in surprise when she realized that there had been not one, but
two,
secret hiding places built into the box. But now, the box was empty—nothing remained but smashed, splintered pieces of wood.
Cain followed her gaze. “We were right, Sophie. Your dad did hide his evidence against the Mob in your treasure chest. You and I found the drawer built into the lid. What we didn’t suspect when we checked it out the first time was that he had built a second hiding place, a false bottom, into the chest.” Cain chuckled. “Your dad fought Dalton like a tiger to save it, too. He wasn’t about to let it go up in flames.”
Cain ran his palm over her head. “The evidence is intact, Sophie. It’s been turned over to the federal marshals and everything’s going to be okay.”
Everything’s going to be okay. That has to be Cain’s favorite expression because he says it over and over again.
Sophie closed her eyes and squeezed another breath of clean, pure oxygen into her lungs.
It is over. Finally, over.
Sophie darted her eyes around the yard and then looked back at Cain with a question in her eyes.
“Dalton?” he asked, probably knowing that he’d accounted to her for everyone else.
“He spotted someone running away. He and a couple of his men grabbed their rifles and took off a few minutes ago like foxes on a rabbit hunt.”
Two paramedics appeared again at her side. “Time to go, Miss Gimmelli. We need to get you to the hospital.” One of the men squatted down, released the latch on the gurney and raised it three feet from ground level when something zinged off the metal at the gurney’s wheel.
Less than a second later a second zing resulted in a bullet lodged in the ambulance’s open door.
There’d been two men following her in the black sedan. Sheriff Dalton was after one of them. But now…
She had to warn Cain. But before she could utter a sound, he’d already left.
Cain grabbed a pistol out of the glove compartment of his car and raced in the direction of the shots fired. As he ran into the woods, branches slapped his face and arms. The underbrush wrapped around his ankles and threatened to trip him with each step.
But he’d spent his childhood exploring the woods surrounding Promise and the experience served him well. He paused, staying low and perfectly still as he listened for what direction his opponent had gone. The man he tracked was crashing through the brush, moving haphazardly, sounding like an elephant on a rampage and making it very easy for Cain to locate him and follow.
He knew he should feel exhausted—totally spent both emotionally and physically—but anger pulsed through his body and pure adrenaline kept him moving forward, stealthily, cautiously, as he circled around and actually found himself ahead of the person he was tracking.
Cain watched the man approach. The shooter kept glancing over his shoulder as he stumbled and pushed his way through the brush.
Cain waited for him to draw closer. When the man was within easy firing range, Cain threw a rock, creating a loud echoing crack as it connected with a tree about twenty feet to their left.
The shooter spun toward the sound and fired three times in succession.
Cain stood up and fired once.
The man yelled, the impact spinning him around, and he fell to the ground clutching his shoulder.
Cain was on him in a minute, grabbing the weapon out of his hand and standing on his extended arm. The shooter tried to sit up but Cain placed the barrel of his weapon against his forehead. “Go ahead. Give me a reason to squeeze this trigger.”
The man lay back down, raising his other arm over his head.
More crashing through brush sounded in the woods. When Cain turned his head, Deputy Blake appeared on the scene, gun drawn. He gestured Cain away, forced the suspect on his stomach and handcuffed his hands behind his back.
“Good job. The sheriff has the other guy cuffed and sitting in the back of his patrol car.” Blake dragged the suspect to his feet and the three of them headed back in the direction they’d come.
Sheriff Dalton met them at the edge of the woods. He read the suspect his rights and guided him into the backseat of the squad car, where his partner, already handcuffed, waited.
Cain looked for Sophie and was just in time to see the taillights of the ambulance disappear in the distance.
EIGHTEEN
T
he nurse entered Sophie’s private hospital room—which didn’t seem private. There’d been a steady stream of staff and visitors. It was the twenty-four-hour police guard sitting outside her door screening everyone that entered that made Sophie skittish.
They’d caught the arsonists, hadn’t they? So why the police guard?
Cain had told her that the sheriff had arrested the suspected arsonist, who had tried to flee the scene, as well as the fellow that had shot at them. Knowing that he had always been afraid that he wouldn’t be able to trust his leg to do what he wanted in a crisis, it had held up just fine during the pursuit. Sophie smiled remembering the look on his face when he’d repeated the chase scene to his parents and Holly—indulging in a little well-deserved boasting during the tale.
The sheriff had the men in custody. The evidence had been turned over to the federal marshals. Tape recordings implicating individuals in his father’s crime family to loan sharking and murder. Copies of fraudulent accounts covering up their money laundering. It was over, wasn’t it? So why were there guards at her door?
Sophie couldn’t help the feeling of dread in her stomach that the worst was yet to come.
Nurse Crabtree approached the bed. The woman’s name never failed to get a smile out of Sophie. No one could be less like their name. She’d been nothing but kind, friendly and helpful—she’d even bent the rules and allowed Cain to stay well past the limited visiting hours. Last night when he had been standing by her bed to say good-night, Nurse Crabtree had grinned at Sophie, made a thumbs-up gesture behind Cain’s back and mouthed the words, “He’s a hunk.” Sophie had barely suppressed her laughter.
“Now, remember what I told you,” the nurse said as she approached the bed with a mirror and brush in her hand. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” She held the mirror against her chest. “I’m going to give you a quick peek and then I’ll go get your discharge papers. But I don’t want you getting yourself all upset. Everything you see…
everything
…will heal.”
Sophie, fully dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed, inhaled deeply. She must look even worse than she thought because Nurse Crabtree had spent the better part of the past fifteen minutes assuring her that it wasn’t that bad. What was that old saying about protesting too much?
“Your nose was broken. You needed several stitches when the doctor removed some deeply embedded wooden slivers from your left cheek. Your right cheek has a significant burn, which will probably require a skin graft, but we have two excellent plastic surgeons on staff.”
Plastic surgeons? Ohh, this was quickly going from bad to worse.
“Smoke inhalation caused some swelling, puffiness and even some discoloration in your face,” the nurse continued. “That will probably be what bothers you the most.” She patted her hand in an effort to reassure her. “But everything will heal and you’ll be good as new in no time.”
The nurse looked Sophie in the eye. “Ready?”
Sophie nodded.
But she wasn’t ready. She would never have been ready to see the monster mask that stared back at her. With trembling fingers she took the mirror from the nurse’s hand and brought it closer.
Two blackened, purplish eyes stared back at her. A wide, white bandage covered her nose. Her lips—cracked and horribly swollen—resembled a collagen procedure gone bad. And her skin. The nurse hadn’t been wrong about that. Sophie didn’t know which looked worse, the dark stitches running diagonally across her left cheek, the gauze covering the right side of her face or the nasty, mottled coloring of her skin. She barely recognized her own reflection.
Slowly, she raised her other hand and touched her hair—what she had left of it. Several sections of hair had been burned away leaving scattered bald spots across her scalp. What had once been shiny, long ebony strands of her hair had been broken off, many of the ends singed by the heat. Now lifeless, drab hair framed her face like a hanging tattered rag.
Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. Sophie blinked in surprise as she stared into the mirror and watched the liquid seep into the bandages on her face. She thought you had to be human to cry, but this couldn’t be a human face, could it?
The nurse placed a hand gently on her shoulder. She spoke softly and tried to comfort her. “I know it’s a shock…but it isn’t permanent.” She dabbed a tissue against Sophie’s eyes. “I promise. Each day the swelling will lessen. Hair grows back. Bandages come off.” She leaned over and made eye contact with her. “It could have been worse, Sophie. Try to remember that.”
The nurse’s words humbled her. She was right. God had spared her life. And none of her injuries were life threatening or permanent. She needed to give her human nature a kick in the pants and offer up some prayers of gratitude.
But her human nature was winning at the moment. She couldn’t stop her thoughts from flying to Cain. He’d spent most of the past twenty-four hours by her side. The entire time he’d never given her the slightest hint—not one wince or grimace or comment that he had been looking at a monster.
And Holly and Mrs. Garrison—they’d both come to visit. They’d been upbeat, positive, teasing.
Holly had even cracked one joke after another. “Just to see if those collagen lips of yours can move,” she’d said. “Can you imagine that some people pay thousands of dollars to beef those puppies up and you got them for free?”
Thinking about it, Sophie realized that mother and daughter were old pros at keeping the look of horror out of their eyes. They’d had to do it for over a year and a half during Cain’s rehabilitation.