Blind Witness (25 page)

Britt only had an instant to make the decision. “No, she’s not like Aubrey.”

“She slept with you.”

“She’s my wife. Do you understand that? She is my wife.”

The room was so silent Britt could’ve sworn he heard his heartbeat, wondering if he made a mistake again.

“You’re lying again.”

“I’m not.”

“Then where’s her ring?”

“It’s in my pocket. I have it because she was in the hospital. Would you like to see it?” Britt turned to face him and slowly slid his hand in his pocket and drew out two rings. “Mine,” he slid one on his finger, “and Rachelle’s.” He pulled the last of the tape free, raised her hand and eased the ring into place, kissing it before he moved it for the man to see. “I never loved Ann, never had anything to do with her, but I do love Rachelle.”

The man shook his head, but Britt continued talking. “Rachelle helped me because she’s a good person and because she loves me. Are you going to make her suffer because Aubrey lied to you?”

The gun lowered until his arm hung limp.

“You need to let Rachelle go. She never lied. She is innocent. You have to protect the innocent.” When the man didn’t move, Britt raised Rachelle to her feet. She wasn’t steady. He had to hold her and the bomb that hung loosely at her hips. Britt wondered if he could get her out of it and if she could manage to walk out of the room. He needed to get her out of there then maybe he could do something about Isaac.

A light flashed on Isaac’s belt. He jerked, but instead of bringing up the gun, he raised the remote for the bomb. “You lied,” he cried as he pressed the button reactivating the countdown, at the same time Britt dove for him, impacting with him before he could bring the gun up. Britt went for the remote while slamming the man against the wall.

Pain slashed through Britt’s head as Isaac brought the gun down catching him in a glancing blow, but Britt held on, slamming the hand against the wall trying to break the grip on the remote. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the gun coming down again. He barely got a hand up to stop the next hit. Isaac pushed off the wall, lowering his head. Isaac ran into Britt connecting with his shoulder driving him back. Pain rocketed through Britt’s body and he went down. But keeping his hold, he brought the man down with him. It was luck that had him coming up on top. Britt slammed his fist into the man’s jaw, and Isaac went still.

Not waiting to see if Isaac was unconscious, Britt dove for the remote, only to find it broken. Glancing to Rachelle, she sagged against the corner of his desk. The counter was down to nineteen seconds. It took one second to reach her.

“Raise your hands.” She obeyed as he gripped the webbing, pulling it up her body, over her head. His first instinct was to throw her over his shoulder as he had done before, but with the time at fourteen seconds, he doubted they could get far enough away to be safe.

He dropped the bomb to the desk, not taking time to think if anyone might be below. He grabbed up the wheelchair and smashed it against the window. The cracks made by the bullets in the safety glass made it impossible for the window to withstand the hit, and the glass shattered out. In one fluid motion he released the wheelchair, swung back, snatched up the bomb and flung it out the window. The blast came seconds after it disappeared from sight. Britt didn’t care though. He had Rachelle in his arms, and that was all that was important.

He held her to him pressing his lips down her face, sometimes catching bandages, sometime skin. It didn’t matter, he had her.

He forgot about Isaac until he saw the movement. Britt shoved Rachelle behind him shielding her with his body as Isaac’s hand came up with the gun. Three shots echoed through the office, but this time, no blows impacted into his body.

Isaac’s form dropped like a marionette cut from its strings. The man in the doorway kept his gun trained on the man who had threatened everything Britt loved. Isaac didn’t move.

Britt’s attention went back to Rachelle. “It’s all over.” He kissed her again. “Let’s get this off.” He unwrapped the gauze from around her mouth then carefully removed the duct tape he found under it. He kissed her lips tenderly when he reached them.

“Britt,” she whispered against him, doing her own seeking of his lips for assurance.

“It’s over,” Britt said again. “It’s really over this time. The police have him.”

She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, just so happy to have you. I love you. I was afraid I would never get to tell you that again.” Though he couldn’t see them, the sound of tears was heavy in her voice.

“I know what you mean. I was afraid of the same thing.”

“I want to see you. I need to see you.” She reached up clawing at her bandages.

Britt caught her hands, bringing them to his lips, kissing them before laying her palms against his cheek, pressing her fingers there. “Patience, love.” He kissed her again. “Now is not the time, it’s too soon. We need to get you back to the hospital, see me this way for now.”

He helped her make the first motions with her fingers before she took over tracing each curve of his face. Her lips followed her fingers then her hands dropped to his chest and stopped.

“A vest, you’re wearing a vest. You really are all right.”

“A little bruised is all, thanks to Detective Todd.”

She pressed against him, placing a kiss over his heart. She clung to him a moment before she kissed him again. “Detective Todd,” she said out loud.

“Yes, Mrs.
Clairbourne.”

Britt knew the man wouldn’t question how she knew he was in the room though he hadn’t spoken to her.

“Thank you so much.”

“For what?”
The man was clearly confused.

“For watching over Britt when I couldn’t.” Rachelle pressed her lips to Britt’s once more. “Though, I hope to be able to do a better job of it in the near future.”

Rachelle’s face glowed with happiness, as she looked up at him. He had tried to make it the best Christmas for her ever, but she had made it for him. Each day was incredible with her. She opened his eyes with her delight of seeing things again, giving him an appreciation for things he had never known.

He laughed when he raised the lid of the box and removed the stuffed teddy bear. “It’s cute.” He looked at her delighted face. “But, I hope you don’t think he’ll take your place. It might be soft but I happen to like cuddling you.”

“Good.” She beamed back. “Then you’ll have to find someone else to give it to.”

It took him about two seconds to realize she what was talking about. His gaze dropped to her stomach, and she laughed out loud.

“You’re pregnant.” He reached for her.

The rest of the gifts were forgotten as they celebrated the special gift they had given each other.

I grew
up in a small town in Wyoming loving the outdoors, sports, art, and reading Hardy Boys books. After reading them all at least a half dozen times, I started writing my own stories.

Thirty years ago I married a wonderful, honorable man. I’m mother of five children and grandmother of six boys.
I love traveling. Through my husband’s work and vacations, I have visited much of the United States, all over Eastern Europe, Canada, Mexico, China, Thailand, Cambodia and Australia, giving me many intriguing locations and experiences for my stories.

I am a storyteller. I write the classic hero story because I think there’s a need for more heroes, love, and adventure in our lives. I’
m not out to change the world with my writing; I’m just hoping to make your day a little better.

Alysia S. Knight

If you enjoyed Blind Witness feel free to drop by Alysia’s website
www.alysiasknight.com
. She would love to hear from you.

Letting Love Win

Past to Die For

Temperature Rising

Kare For Me

C
oming soon:

Beauty and the Chief

This fairy tale gets mixed up. When the Beast can’t get women to love him, he kills them. Beauty, interior designer Jillian Taylor, becomes his next intended victim when, while running with her dog, she interrupts his ritual killing. Jillian catches the eye of another suitor, Police Chief Mark Richards, a man of honor, raising his son alone after being abandoned by a wife who loves show and status more than them. When Mark sees the truly good woman, under what he is afraid is all glamour, love begins to grow. The real question is will Mark be able to save Beauty from the Beast to make his own happily ever after come true?

“That’s my girl. Ready for your walk?” Jillian reached down trying to snap the leash on to the excited yellow lab’s collar. “Down,” she reprimanded with a smile, while dodging the wet tongue. “Sit. That’s a good girl.” She stroked the dog’s honey-white fur that was only a couple shades lighter than her own hair that hung in a pony tail halfway down her back.

The instant the door opened, the lab lunged forward. At ten months old, Abby wasn’t much of a puppy anymore. Her head reached Jillian’s thigh and, even though she still had the leanness of youth, it took quite a bit of Jillian’s strength to hold back the seventy-five pounds of four-legged muscle.

“Abby stay, sit,” Jillian ordered as she struggled to lock the door. Turning from the lighted porch, she peered into the misty darkness common to the Oregon coast this time of year. “Let’s make this fast tonight, we’re late.” Jillian suppressed a shudder, grateful for the soft comfort of her well-worn sweat suit.

Starting out on a slow jog, they made it through the gate and across the street to the park next to her condominium. Jillian smiled down at the dog keeping stride beside her. Getting Abby was one of the best decisions she’d ever made in her life. She needed the companionship, and Abby was a wonderful dog; smart and full of love. A little too lively and liked to chew on things, but she was still young. Their walks and runs were especially satisfying now they were no longer pulling matches. The thought was hardly through her head when Abby lunged forward; pulling Jillian off the path.

“Abby, heel,” Jillian commanded breathlessly, but for once, the dog totally ignored her, dragging her further over the slippery grass. “Abby!” The leash dug into her hand. To Jillian’s relief, Abby stopped, looking back at her owner a split second before returning her gaze to the fog.

Apprehension filled Jillian as she ran her hand over the dog’s rigid body. Suddenly, the night felt too black, too quiet.
Why am I out here this late?
“This isn’t smart, Jillian, you know better.” The words said aloud died in the fog.  She had always made it a practice never to go out running alone after dark, even with Abby, but tonight she’d worked late, trying to please a customer and then she had stopped at the store for milk, and her car wouldn’t start when she came out. Her brain was rambling she realized. She was frightened.

“Let’s head back. It’s been a long day.” Her words were down to a whisper, as a shiver ran through her body. Jillian gave a light tug on the leash. Abby turned to follow but only made it a few steps. A muffled whimpering snaked through the mist. Jillian’s arm was jerked again as Abby spun growling into the darkness. “Abby, what is it?” Her voice raised several octaves in fright, not knowing what the sound was, and that she had only heard Abby growl playfully before.

Abby’s leap came so fast that it pulled Jillian from her feet, ripping the leash from her hand. The park light glistened off the golden coat just before the dog disappeared between two trees. “Abby!” Jillian yelled. She was on her feet and after her dog without a thought. A branch appeared out of the mist striking Jillian across her face slowing her pace an instant before she stumbled into a small, secluded clearing.

Abby’s growl, joined by a muffled curse, caused Jillian to turn to her left. A scream broke from her lips at the same time an agonizing whine pierced the air. The mist-defused streetlights were some distance away, but there was still enough light to define the sharp, metal
edge of a knife before the dark figure turned to her. Jillian stumbled back into a picnic table. Going down, she hit the ground only a second before a monstrous hand snaked out, locking into her hair, hauling her back up.

Hot breath assaulted her face. Bulging skin and deformed features loomed at her. It took a second to realize that only the dark, wild eyes were real.

“Beauty.” The word was drug out in caressing syllables. “Scream, Beauty, scream.” The harsh words taunted her to the fact that she was indeed screaming. Jillian lashed out; her hand contacted with the spongy rubber of a grotesque mask. Sinking her fingers, she struggled and fought but couldn’t do any damage to the face beneath. A deep-throated laugh rumbled in her face. Jillian could feel the attacker’s excitement as he pulled her around by the hair and forced her down to the table, pinning her with his heavy body. “Love me, beauty, love me?”

“No!” Jillian’s denial erupted in a pained gasp.

With his savage hiss, she caught the sight of the knife coming at her.

“No!” Jillian kicked out the best she could, missing with her foot, but her knee connected with the soft tissue of his thigh. With a grunt, the hand holding the knife came down, but it was hard knuckles that connected with her cheek instead of cold sharp metal.

Lights flashed in front of Jillian’s eyes as she felt her body being jerked around like a rag doll. Jillian could no longer move to stop the assault. “Beauty,” the word rasped against her cheek then was cut off by a snarl then a deep-throated cry and another sharp whine, which in Jillian’s foggy mind turned into the wail of a siren. The falling motion ended with the impact to the ground.

Through the fog, the wail of the siren was joined by voices. Jillian struggled to move; her hand bumped into a soft fur covered object. She received a faint whimper.

“Abby,” Jillian’s whisper was flooded with tears. She sank her face into the golden coat ignoring the sticky wetness on her cheek, happy only to feel the damp tongue touch her fingers. Then the lights and voices seemed to be all around her.

Chapter Two

Police Chief Mark Richards hunched over the file lying open on his desk. In the last two months, it had become a nightly routine. Praying, if he looked long enough, he’d find some shred of evidence that would give them a direction to go, a place to look. But he knew the reports inside out, and there was nothing there, nothing at all to go on. The only similarity was a stab wound to the heart had killed the two women.

Leaning back in the chair, he pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. He should go home and get some rest. Mrs. Morris, his housekeeper, would’ve long since left his dinner in the fridge, where it would wait until he was ready for it to be warmed.  Jordan, his ten year old son, was having a late night to go to a movie with some friends. Mark smiled at the thought of his son, the best part of his life.

Pushing with one foot, he turned his chair to the window. The fog was thick tonight; a perfect scene for every old horror movie. Unfortunately, this was no movie. The villain was real and lurking in his city. Preying on young, beautiful women he was sworn to protect.

“Chief, we got lucky. It looks like he struck again.” The words came through the office door behind him.

A hiss broke Mark’s lips as he spun his chair toward the door to the burly officer and friend. “What do you mean, lucky?” Mark’s words were brusque. He didn’t ask what Samuels was referring to.

“The victim’s still alive, and we have a witness.” Mark was out of his chair, across the room and snagging his raincoat from the rack in one second flat.

Edward Samuels fell into step beside him, well used to working this way. “The call just came in from Roseland Park, not more than five minutes ago. They’re combing the area now.” Samuels continued giving details.

Roseland wasn’t even a mile from his own home, a quiet beautiful park. He’d taken Jordan there since he was first born.

Lights and policemen flooded the area as Mark pulled his car to a screeching halt. The single red flashing light on top of his car blended in with the myriad of others.  To one side, an ambulance was being closed up. The Chief of Detectives came towards them flipping through pages of a small notebook.

“Mark.”

“Andrew, what have we got?”

“A call came in. A lady heard screaming in the park. Luckily, we had a unit about three blocks away. Our suspect split. We have teams still searching the neighborhoods for him.”

“We know it was a man?” Mark cut in.

The police captain nodded. “The witness gave a partial; male, approximately six feet, wearing a baggy dark sweater or sweatshirt. The rest is kind of shaky. She’s pretty much in a state of shock.” He led the way over to the crime scene. “It appears our witness was out jogging with her dog and interrupted the killer. He then went after her and the dog got in the way. We have this.” He motioned to a rubber mask in an evidence bag. “Our witness managed to pull it off in the struggle. And, you ought to like this.” He held open a bag containing a knife with a six-inch long blade. Fresh blood marked the steel and the bag.

“Maybe it’s our turn to be lucky.” Mark turned towards the ambulance pulling away. “I want photos of every inch of the area, and it gone over more thoroughly then with a fine tooth comb.”

“Knew you would, it’s already in progress,” Detective Andrew Hamilton assured.

“Good, what can you tell me about the victims?”

“In the ambulance, we have a female, Caucasian, about twenty-two years old. Looks like he was following his MO, but either he was interrupted by the jogger and the dog or because possibly the girl struggled. He missed his mark. One stab wound to the chest. Paramedics are still trying to get her stable. They weren’t sure if it nicked the heart, but there appears to be blood in the lungs. Can’t give us odds on whether she’ll survive or not, but at least, she has a chance.”

“That’s more than any of the others have had so far,” Mark reminded grimly. “Do we have a name?”

“No ID as yet.”

“Her name is Sandra.” The voice was faint, unsteady.

Mark turned. “You know her?” Assessing the woman that stood before him wrapped in a blanket from a cruiser. She was slightly taller than average between five foot seven and five eight. Her hair was a mixture of gold and light blonde. At one time that night, it would have been pulled back into a ponytail, but now, the better part of it had been ripped free to tangle around her face. The floodlights glistened off the tears in her blue eyes, which were too bright with fear.

She winced slightly as she nodded her head, struggling to swallow. “Not well. She works at Delaney’s Market. We always spoke. She’s very nice. Was the employee of the month last month, had her picture in the newspaper. She saved a little boy in the store that was choking on a piece of candy. I don’t know her last name.”

Mark recognized the rambling tendencies as a sign of shock.

Detective Hamilton stepped forward. “Miss Taylor this is Police Chief Richards.” There was another slight grimace as she made a motion to nod her head. “Chief, Jillian Taylor.”

Mark stepped forward. The woman appeared unsteady on her feet. Close up, he noticed a faint redness on her left cheek. The suspect was probably right handed; he made a mental note. Mark didn’t notice the heavy silence in the air until it was broken with one of the officers calling Andrews’ attention.

“I’ll go with Hamilton.” Edward turned following after the detective. The woman’s eyes followed the two men in the direction of a picnic table and the large area corded off with yellow police tape. Noticeable shudders ran through her body as she hugged the blanket tighter around her.

“Why don’t we move over here?” Placing a hand on her elbow, he directed her towards a near police car. At Mark’s six foot two height, the woman at his side seemed small. Another shudder shook her; there was something so pulling about her.
He was tired.
Relieved when he reached the car, he opened the front door motioning for her to sit.

“Does the police chief always handle investigations?” The woman looked up at him.

“He does in this case. Besides, we’re not that big a city that I don’t get involved.” He forced a smile.
Reassurance was what she was seeking.
Sliding his hand in his pocket, he pushed the record button on the small tape recorder he placed there before leaving the car. Squatting down in front of her, he laced his fingers together. “Can you tell me what happened?” Fear deepened in her eyes, but with a deep breath, she nodded.
The lady has courage.

“I was taking my dog, Abby, for our nightly walk. Actually, we were jogging tonight. I was late getting home.”

“So you usually don’t go out this late?”

“No, normally it’s around six to six thirty.”

“All right, continue.” He kept his tone reassuring.

“Abby stopped and started to growl, and then she broke away, heading into the trees. I went after her. It was probably a foolish thing to do, but I didn’t think.”

Mark didn’t think either before reaching out laying his hand over hers, giving it a squeeze.

“There was a whine. I knew it was Abby’s this time.”

“This time?”

“There … there was a sound before … before Abby took off.”

“Okay, so you heard Abby’s whine. Was it close?”

She nodded, her eyes filling with tears, her breath becoming ragged. “I turned, Abby was on the ground. There was this big shadow, then it moved, and I could see a woman on the ground. Then the shadow was in front of me. It was so … it was gross. He grabbed the back of my head pulling me towards him.” Tears flooded the words now.