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“You could be working with someone.”
“You’re right. I could. Can you hear those sirens? They’re awfully close. Why would there be help on the way if I was the killer? Did you call them?”
Her shoulders relaxed, and she eased the weapon down a bit. The sincere look in his eyes became more convincing than her resolve to shoot an intruder.
“At some point, you’re going to have to trust that what I’ve said is the truth. I’m here to keep you safe.”
Julia lowered the revolver. “Red daisies?”
“What?”
“Those were the best safe words you could come up with?”
Eli’s relieved smile solidified her impression that he couldn’t truly be nefarious. “I had to think of something on the spot that a killer wouldn’t say. It was the best I could do.”
She pointed the weapon to the floor. Her eyes darted to the side as a fist pounded her door.
Eli raised a calming hand. “That’s my partner on your case, Ben Murphy. Are we good here? Can I let him in?”
She motioned to her pajama pants. “I’m not entirely presentable.”
“Get dressed and then come down. There’s a lot we need to talk about.”
Julia backed away from the top of the stairs and closed her bedroom door behind her. She crossed the room to her closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a floral turtleneck. In the bathroom, she brushed through her wet hair. Her hands still trembled from the massive adrenaline release.
What she wanted back was the peaceful morning she’d planned. After three hard days as a nurse in the pediatric ER, especially after losing a child from drowning, she needed some quiet to recoup.
The gunfire shattered the solitude she so badly needed. Had the horrors she’d already survived come back to haunt her? What was it about Eli that tugged at the erased threads of her mind? There was something about him, his presence, which felt warm and homey—like hot chocolate on a cool autumn evening. In the wake of her parents’ death, it was a feeling she craved.
There was a three-month gap in her memory starting from the time of the attack until she entered rehab for a brain injury caused by a lack of oxygen at nearly being hung to death. From the subsequent brain swelling, Julia had been in a coma and on life support for a month. Then, according to her grandfather, she’d spent another two months in the hospital until she grew strong enough for a rehab facility. Her remarkable recovery had astonished doctors, who were convinced she would never be anything other than persistently vegetative.
Julia’s first memories were shrouded in a foggy sea where she relearned to eat, walk and speak. Even now, nearly two years after the incident, there were only fleeting moments when Julia could sense memories from those three months trying to break through the imprisonment of her brain injury.
Six months after her near murder, the Hangman’s trial started.
Julia didn’t follow the news threads about the trial. The prosecutor chose not to have her testify, as her fractured memory was of no use to his case. The forensic evidence the Hangman left behind was enough to seal his fate.
Even though her mind was healed, she had to convince everyone else she was all right. The Colorado State Board of Nursing insisted she complete additional testing and clinicals to ensure that she was competent enough to practice nursing.
Almost two years of her life given away to a criminal. For her own sanity, she had made a conscious choice to not make attempts to retrieve the lost time, suppressing her normally inquisitive nature to avoid everything on the internet about the man who tried to kill her—a doctor who had been a coworker.
Someone she had once called her friend.
Now that she had started back nursing in the pediatric ER, all she wanted to do was heal kids and stamp out disease—as they always said at work.
Had that been wise? Did her lack of knowledge about the Hangman and his crimes put her at a disadvantage now?
She quickly dressed. Running shoes seemed to be the best option for a day where she had already been shot at before nine o’clock in the morning. From the stairwell, male voices snarled like lions arguing over territory, but as soon as her feet hit the landing, they stopped.
Eli broke through the trio of uniformed officers and led her to her kitchen. He pulled a chair out for her. Another man, dressed in a charcoal-gray pinstriped suit, followed him.
“Julia, this is my partner, Ben Murphy. We’ll be working together on your case. He’s from the FBI.”
The FBI and the U.S. Marshals working together?
Ben reached his hand out to her. “I wish we could have had a calmer introduction.”
His hand enveloped hers. Strong grip. His black hair, longer and swept off to one side, stood in stark contrast to his emerald-green eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Ben.” She sat in the chair, pulling her hand from his.
Ben continued. “Since the Hangman’s case was under federal jurisdiction because of the Wyoming murder victim in his series, your death threat was forwarded to us by a local parole officer. However, FBI staffing issues provided an opportunity for us to work with the marshals, who are more skilled at protecting witnesses. We bring different assets to your case.”
“Tea?” Eli asked.
She nodded.
“Pumpkin spice creamer and two teaspoons of sugar?” Eli stated more than asked.
Her lips pursed. How did he know?
He went directly to the cups and pulled one from the cupboard. No riffling around the kitchen in a blind search.
Electrical currents pulsed through her chest. He knew where they would be.
How was this possible?
“I see you’re getting low on your stockpile.” Eli shook the container to emphasize his point and examined it closer. “No matter, it expired two months ago.” He pulled out the trash drawer and chucked it in.
He not only knew her but knew her home.
“Who are you?” Julia demanded.
He turned to her, cup and spoon in hand, stirring her concoction slowly. “Eli Cayne. Marshals—”
“No.” She held her hand up. “Who are you to me?”
He crossed the kitchen, set the cup down in front of her and turned to his cohort. “Can you give us ten minutes?” Ben handed him the manila folder. The one Eli claimed marked the end of her life.
Eli unbuttoned his suit jacket, and she noted dark patches on the broad expanse of his tailored shirt. Water from her hair, from when he had carried her up the stairs. Something about being held in this man’s arms had felt so strangely familiar. Comforting. Julia pushed the thought aside and watched as he lowered himself into the chair across from her. She gripped the cup between her hands to cut the fear-laden chill that set in her bones.
“I used to work for the Aurora Police Department. I was the lead detective on your case. I’ve only been with the marshals’ office for about a year and a half.”
How much did she want to know about their past? Had there been anything besides a professional relationship between them? Pins and needles rushed over her body. She felt light-headed. Fear rose within her. The daily battle to keep it at bay faltered.
Julia placed her palm on the envelope and slid it on the table between them. “Tell me about this. Tell me why you’re here.”
Eli pinched the flimsy metal clasp together, pushed the flap open and pulled out the documents. He fanned the pages out, turning them around so she could see them. “This is what we call a hit package. It’s typically put together by someone who wants to hire a hit man for murder. It has all the pertinent information of your comings and goings. Photos of your house. Your vehicle and its license plate. Your gym. Place of employment...”
His insistent litany became distant in her ears as she gathered up the pages. The details of her life laid out like a scrapbook for a killer. Her schedule. Where she went grocery-shopping. Where she volunteered. A picture of her grandfather and his assisted living center. Had her papa been put into danger because of her? Her throat tightened—her turtleneck like a gloved hand around her throat. As much as she loathed wearing it, the collar hid what she could not confront.
“Who is this person?” Her voice broke from clenched vocal cords.
Eli sighed. “At this point, there doesn’t seem to be an obvious candidate. Dr. Heller, who murdered several people and nearly killed you, is on death row. This is a copy. The original is in evidence. We’re examining it to see if it will give us clues as to who this person might be.”
“Where did it come from?”
“It was given anonymously to a local parole officer who then delivered it to the FBI. Can you look at these pictures of the other victims? We never found a strong tie between them and you other than a health-care background. Do you know any of these women?”
Julia glanced at the photos. Some did seem vaguely familiar, but none that she knew by name. She straightened the pages and handed them back to Eli. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I don’t know if you’re aware, but I suffered a brain injury as a result of the hanging. I have post-traumatic amnesia. Any memories from the time of my attack until I went into rehab are gone. The next months are fuzzy and...” She brushed the tears from her eyes. Why did something she couldn’t remember traumatize her so deeply?
Eli covered her hand with his. Familiar again, unnerving yet protective at the same time. How could one touch be all those things?
She cleared her throat and continued. “I was sick for a long time. I’ve just gotten things back to normal. If there is such a thing after what I lived through.”
“Julia, what’s important right now is to get you somewhere safe. When we do that, hopefully we’ll have time to figure this out.”
Hopefully? His words didn’t instill confidence. The threat was serious and even he didn’t conclusively sound as though he could keep her safe. Was he depending on her remembering something she couldn’t?
“What are you asking me to do?”
“I’m asking you to come with me. We’re placing you in protective custody until we find the person who wants to kill you.”
TWO (#ulink_f70e8844-bb3e-5f35-adb0-88c1e41b35b4)
Julia pulled two suitcases from underneath her bed and laid them open on top of her hope chest. In that chest were many things she treasured from people close to her who had died. Her mother’s journal. Her father’s old baseball glove. Patchwork quilts her grandmother had sewn for great-grandchildren she would never know. Eli slid the Bible toward him and placed his index finger on the highlighted text.
“‘Fear thou not, for I am with thee. Be not dismayed, for I am thy God. I will strengthen thee. Yea, I will help thee. Yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’ Isaiah 41:10.”
Julia stilled and watched him smooth his hand over the crinkled pages. It unnerved her to hear his voice read something so intimate. Was he reading the notes she scribbled in the margin? Her most closely held thoughts? Those pages were worn with overuse. How often had she read this verse to herself to change her heart?
To help her believe that God could provide peace from the fear and worry that plagued her.
How could she get the Bible back without seeming to be trying to hide something from him?
“Do you believe in God?” she asked, holding out her hand.
He closed the Bible gently and held it out for her. “I do, but I have to admit I’m a little jealous.”
She pulled the book from his hand. “Of me? Why?”
“You seem...intimate...with those words.”
Ben, who had been leaning against her door frame, walked to the center of her bedroom. “Julia, you can’t bring anything that could potentially disclose your location. No cell phone. Nothing electronic. No computer. E-reader. We can’t take any chances.”
Julia put the Bible at the bottom of her suitcase. “How many days do you think I’ll be gone? I need to notify the hospital. I need to tell my grandfather something so he won’t worry.”
Ben neared her. “You can’t say anything that might give a hint that you’re being put in protective custody. Tell your grandfather you’re leaving on vacation and won’t be available by phone for a few days.”
“But I call him every evening.”
“You can’t,” Ben insisted. “Not for a while. I know it seems harsh, but it’s as much for your safety as it is for his.”
Eli eased Ben away from her with a nudge to his shoulder.
“Julia, I don’t want you to worry about your grandfather,” Eli reassured her. “I’ll personally ensure his safety. The marshals’ office will have someone keep eyes on him, as well.”
“Is there any other close family we should be concerned about?” Ben asked.
Julia turned away and walked to her closet. She couldn’t bear saying it. That she was alone in the world. Her parents were dead. No siblings.
“Ben, let me worry about Julia’s extended family. Like you said, this is my area of expertise.”
Had Eli said that to protect her from having to talk about her lack of a family? Did he know all about her past?
“Also, we’ll need a cover story for the hospital,” Ben said. “Perhaps you could tell them your grandfather has had a medical emergency and you need to go on a leave of absence. You don’t know when you’ll be back.”
With several items of clothing in her hands, she turned back to face them. “You have no idea how long I’ll be gone?”
Eli was the one who met her gaze. “We’ll try and resolve this matter as soon as we can, but we can’t give you a time frame. I’m sorry.”
“Can I have a few minutes alone?”
Eli motioned Ben out of the room. “Let’s give her some space.”
“I need to make some calls,” Julia said.
Eli nodded and closed the door behind him.
Julia neared the window that looked out over her backyard. She didn’t want this to be her life—to be forced to run when she finally found some measure of peace and purpose again. But hadn’t that been what she was doing psychologically by not attempting to fill in the pieces of those missing months? This was just the physical expression of what she’d done mentally for a long time. She had struggled to let the past be the past. Now it pursued her, and she wasn’t prepared to handle what could happen. And what piece of the puzzle did Eli hold? How did he fit?
She picked up the phone. “Papa?”
“Dear Julia. It’s early for you to be calling.”
Her grandfather’s voice calmed her nerves. “Papa, I don’t want you to worry, but I won’t be able to call for a while.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“It’s not something I can talk about right now. Please, just know I’ll be in good hands.”
“Is everything all right? I don’t like how vague you’re being. It’s not like you to hide something from me.”
The tears fell freely. How her heart ached to not be able to disclose what was happening to the one man who’d given her everything. “It’s been a rough few days.”
“How so?”
“A child I took care of died. We couldn’t save him.”
