Covert Christmas. Hope White

      “Breanna is right. The stranger has no one.” Mom scanned the group of friends surrounding them. “We have the wonder of love and friendship.” Mom cracked a proud, gentle smile at Bree. “And the Lord would want us to share our gift.”

      * * *

      Surrounded by gray, floating in a mass of nothingness, he couldn’t be sure he heard the voice. Where was he again?

      I’m going to kill you, slowly, painfully.

      An inferno of panic exploded in his chest, the pressure causing him to gasp for air. He wanted to call out but could barely stay focused, much less shout for someone to help him.

      I’ll beat you until you give it up, the voice threatened.

      He struggled to form words, willing his vocal cords to kick into gear. If only he could get his mind to grab on to something other than the paralyzing anxiety coursing through him.

      Then I’ll smother you with a pillow.

      “Can I help you?” a woman’s voice said.

      The blonde woman? Right, because he’d made her promise to stay close. No, please God, this couldn’t be her. If the man threatened to suffocate him with a pillow he’d surely have no problem hurting the woman.

      The woman? Bree. That was her name.

      “Bree,” he gasped, remembering her beautiful green eyes, her grounding smile.

      A hand gripped his fingers and squeezed. “I’m here.”

      No, she shouldn’t be here. His attacker was close, in the room, poised to smother and kill him. Which put Bree in the way because she was tending to him, holding his hand. He tried to pull away, wanting to let her go so she’d be safe.

      “What is it?” she said.

      He opened his eyes and she came into focus, her sparkling emerald eyes and heart-shaped face framed with golden hair.

      “Danger,” he rasped.

      “It’s okay. There’s no danger.”

      “He said...was going to...kill me.”

      “No one’s here but me.” She glanced above him. “And the nurse.”

      He shifted his head to the side and spotted a brown-haired nurse fiddling with a machine beside his bed. She smiled down at him.

      “See, you’re A-okay,” Bree said.

      He turned back to Bree. “He was here.”

      “In your room?”

      He nodded.

      She exchanged a glance with the nurse.

      “I’ll go get the officer,” the nurse said.

      He didn’t take his eyes off Bree. “Officer?”

      “A police officer was assigned to your room last night because I saw one of the shooters.”

      “In my room? You were here when he...?” His voice cracked before he could finish.

      “It’s okay.” She stroked his arm with one hand while still holding onto him with her other. “He passed me in the hallway, that’s all.” She offered a tender smile. “Are you sure you saw him in here?”

      “I heard him.”

      “He threatened you?” she said.

      He nodded.

      “I’m so sorry.” She sighed. “That must have been terrifying.”

      Not as terrifying as the thought of the guy hurting Bree.

      He was suffering a major head injury all right. Why else would he be more concerned with this woman’s well-being than his mission? His mission, which was what again? He couldn’t remember. He wasn’t even sure how he’d ended up in the hospital.

      “What’s wrong?” she asked, as if she sensed his anxiety.

      “I don’t remember how I got here or, sorry, but I don’t remember how I know you.”

      “You don’t remember being shot?”

      He shook his head.

      “Do you remember your name?”

      “Scott.”

      “Nice to meet you, Scott,” she said with a relieved smile.

      He wondered why she cared so much about him.

      A police officer marched up to his bedside. “Ma’am, I should be asking the questions.”

      “Of course, sorry.” She didn’t move, still clinging to Scott’s hand.

      “If you wouldn’t mind,” the officer said, and motioned for her to leave.

      “I don’t, go ahead and ask your questions.”

      The cop narrowed his eyes at her in frustration. “Breanna.”

      “Ryan,” she challenged back.

      The cop shook his head, figuring he’d lost this round, and refocused on Scott.

      “Sir, I’m Officer McBride with the Echo Mountain P.D. I’ve been assigned to keep you in protective custody tonight. Would you mind answering some questions to help us with the investigation?”

      “Very professional, A plus,” Bree teased.

      Officer McBride glared at her.

      “Sure,” Scott said, trying to shift up in bed.

      Bree released his hand and adjusted his pillow behind his back. When she sat back down, he automatically reached for her hand, he wasn’t sure why, and she gave it willingly. That got another narrowing of eyes from Officer McBride.

      “Let’s start with your name,” the cop asked, pulling out a small notebook.

      “Scott, Scott...” He hesitated. A voice in his head warned that sharing his last name would put him in more danger. “I don’t know, Scott something.”

      “Age?”

      “Thirty-one.”

      “Your occupation?”

      “I’m...” He wracked his brain, searching for work or even family-related memories. “I’m a cop,” he said, but it didn’t feel right. “I think.”

      “You’re not sure?”

      “No sir.”

      “Where do you live?”

      “A big city. Detroit? Chicago?”

      “What brought you to Echo Mountain?”

      “I needed to...”

      They would die. He needed to save them.

      “I don’t remember.” He closed his eyes.

      He felt Bree squeeze his hand in a supportive gesture, but he couldn’t look at her without feeling the shame of failure. Was she one of the people who would die because he couldn’t see this through to the end?

      “Scott?” the cop said.

      He opened his eyes.

      “What do you remember?”

      An image flashed across his mind of a teenager splayed on the ground clinging to a flashlight.

      “I don’t...” He shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

      “Anything could help.”

      “It’s all jumbled.”

      “Do you remember being chased in the mountains?”

      “I think so.”

      He remembered