Danger In The Deep. Karen Kirst

      “I can walk.”

      “I’ll be right beside you,” he promised.

      She turned to look at him, her brows forming a single line of surprise. Her lips parted, but no words escaped.

      Brady could guess what was on her mind. Why hadn’t he insisted they call an ambulance? He could’ve left her in the care of medical professionals and returned to his group. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he hadn’t even entertained that option.

      Helping her out of the truck, he stuck close as they made their way to the brightly lit emergency room entrance. The slam of a car door shot through the night, and Olivia jumped.

      “It’s okay,” he said, sliding his arm around her as he performed a quick scan of their surroundings.

      Her throat convulsed. “I can feel his breath on my neck. His hand on my back, shoving me over the edge.”

      “The police will find this guy, Olivia.”

      Her expression said she wasn’t convinced; her big, liquid eyes asked the question neither wanted to consider. What if they don’t?

      “You’re a fortunate young woman.” The ER doctor finished consulting his handheld tablet and gazed at her with bloodshot eyes. “You didn’t suffer head trauma or internal injuries. As soon as your discharge papers are ready, you can go home.”

      The prospect of her soft, cozy bed should’ve sounded ideal. Home wasn’t the same anymore, though. Not without Derek’s larger-than-life presence.

      A new thought, subtle and insidious, occurred to her. Her attacker knew where she worked. Did he know where she lived, too?

      Brady left the plastic chair to stand at her bedside. “What about her arm?”

      “The swelling needs to go down before the fracture can be addressed.” To Olivia, he said, “Your nurse will make an appointment to get your cast put on. The orthopedic clinic is closed during the weekend, so it will be Monday. We’ll give you a sling to keep your arm stable until then.”

      The doctor left, and Olivia was alone with Brady again. His austere expression hadn’t altered in the hours since their arrival, his laser-sharp gaze missing nothing. He’d remained by her side every minute, except for during the MRI, of course. The medical staff had barred him from entering the room. He hadn’t been happy about that. Despite their non-relationship, she was glad he’d stuck around. Brady kept her grounded whenever the memories pressed in and panic threatened.

      “Can I get you anything?”

      His blue-gray eyes assessed her with polite courtesy. This was his professional persona, crafted to hide his thoughts and emotions. She’d seen him drop the protective shield around only one person, and he was gone.

      When she didn’t respond, Brady shifted, his hip nudging the bed as he stretched out his hand. He came short of touching her, however. “What’s wrong?”

      “Nothing.” Everything.

      “You’re pale.”

      “I have a headache.” Unable to stand his shrewd inspection any longer, she shoved the blanket off and swung her legs over the side, forcing him to move back. Her bruised ankle protested. “Would you mind handing me my clothes? I’m leaving the moment she delivers the paperwork.”

      He did as she asked. “There’s a detective waiting to take your statement. If you’re not feeling up to it, I can send him away.”

      “How long has he been out there?”

      “He approached me during your MRI. I told him he’d have to wait.”

      She sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”

      A half hour later, the interview had drained the last of her stamina. She was sore from the crown of her head down to her toes, and the lingering pain in her arm made her nauseated.

      “That’s enough for now, Detective Shaw.” Brady opened the door to the hallway and delivered a pointed stare. “Olivia is overdue for some peace and quiet.”

      For once, she was grateful for the captain’s observation skills. The silver-haired detective nodded in understanding and gave her a business card. “Call me if you remember anything else.”

      “Will you let me know what you find on the security feeds?”

      “Absolutely. We’ll also dust for prints on your original air cylinders. That may take longer.”

      Brady waited in the hall while she changed back into her uniform. The pants were ripped at the knee and streaked with dirt. The fabric smelled dirty, almost metallic. The sick feeling grew. It took the last of her energy to block the day’s events. She wasn’t about to break down in front of Brady.

      He didn’t bombard her with questions during the ride to the Marine Corps Air Station, a small base situated on the New River a few miles from the larger base, Camp Lejeune. The air station was home to the School of Infantry and the helicopter and tilt-rotor Osprey squadrons. There were also family living quarters, a commissary and exchange, bowling alley, library and movie theater. It had been her home for eighteen months. Seven of those she’d shared with Derek. Sometimes it didn’t seem possible that he’d been gone nearly a year.

      They approached the main gate manned with three marines, and Brady entered the lane closest to the guard hut. As he flashed his military ID and offered a greeting, Olivia studied his face. The exhaustion he must be feeling didn’t show. There wasn’t a hint of stubble on his chiseled jaw. No shadows beneath his eyes. His blond hair, admittedly low-maintenance as short as it was, bore no evidence of his shark tank swim.

      She’d met him two years ago this month. Two years, and they hadn’t shared much more than shallow conversation. Now he was her self-appointed companion, an up close witness to her fear, pain and vulnerability.

      The darkness hid her grimace. Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow she’d feel stronger and better prepared to deal with the fact someone wanted her dead.

      The streets were damp from a recent rain and the sidewalks empty. In her cul-de-sac, Brady pulled the truck in to her driveway, killed the engine and stared out the windshield. Unlike the other two-story duplexes around them, hers didn’t pay homage to the autumn season with wreaths or pumpkins. The only personal touch was the Marine Corps sign above the garage door. He and Derek had nailed it up there together.

      Brady didn’t move. He didn’t appear to be breathing.

      She reached for the handle with her free hand. Her left arm was tucked safely into a sturdy black sling. “Thanks for the ride home. I’ll call someone to pick me up on their way to work in the morning.”

      He shook his head as if to shake off a stupor. “I’m not leaving.”

      Before she could ask exactly how long he planned to stay, he’d exited the vehicle and ushered her to the porch. Taking her key, he unlocked the door and entered first, flipping on lights and performing a sweep of her home.

      “Even if this guy has my address, he can’t get to me here.”

      He peeked into the half bath tucked beneath the stairs and dodged a collection of cardboard boxes packed with books. “Not necessarily. He could be military or have contacts that would grant him base access. Civilians staff the commissary and other businesses. They have access, too.”

      Why hadn’t she thought of that? Feeling light-headed, Olivia managed to reach the couch dominating the opposite wall and sink onto a broad cushion. She closed her eyes and waited for the dizziness to pass.

      A blanket whispered over her. She lifted her head and was surprised to see Brady so close, tucking the corners around her shoulders. His blue-gray eyes, which she associated with bleak winter skies, reflected concern. Shocking.