Her Christmas Protector. Geri Krotow
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she hear the recrimination in his voice? His resentment that she’d been able to leave Silver Valley without a backward glance? And come back with apparently no regrets?
“I didn’t realize you were a vet, too. The marines...you probably saw a lot in a short time.”
“More than I care to ever see again, yes,” he said. “Unfortunately, it can be a war zone here, too, depending on the timing of a heroin shipment and the availability of officers to combat the dealers. Still, I do love Silver Valley.”
“You always did. Love it here.” Images of them hiking for hours on the Appalachian Trail, or spending time down at Spring Creek, floated across her memory. It had been simpler before they’d each gone on to become the adults that sat in this car.
Not going there.
“You once did, too.”
“I’ve missed Silver Valley since I left.” Her words were succinct, quiet in the closed car.
“You have an odd way of showing it.”
“Not everyone has as clean a slate as you do, Bryce.”
Anger at himself made him want to pull over and call in someone else to finish driving her home. What the heck was he thinking, going all nuts on her when she’d suffered such a grave injury? It wasn’t physically grave—her bruises would heal—but psychologically, mentally, it didn’t get much worse than surviving an attempted murder.
She would be dead if not for her preparedness and Kevlar vest.
“I don’t know what you mean by a ‘clean slate.’ Is my life simple? Yes, for the most part. I’m happy here. It’s my hometown. But I’ve had my share of challenges. It’s life, Zora. Life happens.”
“You sound like you’ve had some challenges since...since...”
“Since you left?”
* * *
“I’m fine, Mom. I just need a day or two to catch my breath.”
“She needs to take it easy for at least a week.” Bryce spoke from across the room, at the dining table where he and Anna Krasny sat, assessing her health as if she weren’t within earshot. Zora couldn’t have sat at the table if she’d wanted to. She rested against several pillows on her overstuffed chair-and-a-half.
“Zora, you’re not fine. Not when some crazy person shot at you last night!” Anna would take out the assailant herself, given the chance. Zora loved her mother’s fierce protective streak. “There are at least two police cars parked on your street,” Anna went on. “If SVPD thinks you need protection, you must be in danger.”
“Mom, stop.”
Silence blanketed the room but Zora felt her mother’s anxiety. The unspoken fear.
They’ve come back for you. For revenge.
“It was taken care of years ago, Mom.”
“They didn’t catch everyone, Zora. And you know some of their prison sentences are up...”
Yes, she knew.
“May I ask what you’re talking about?” Bryce.
“Surely you told him, Zora, didn’t you? In high school? You were best friends—I assumed, I mean...” Her mom was flustered and Zora wanted to punch Bryce. Not for any particular reason, just because he was there and it was easier to be pissed off at him than have to deal with the reality of her situation.
That someone who had nothing to do with the Female Preacher Killer had shot her.
“Told me what, Zora?” Bryce modulated his voice like the professional he was. Cool, clean, with no hint of the anger Zora knew he must be feeling. She doubted he knew about the Trail Hikers, and the fact that she wasn’t willing to tell him anything didn’t help.
“Nothing. Mom’s just overreacting. You’re watching too much NCIS again, Mom.”
Anna got the hint and sipped her coffee, but worry was etched in the tired lines around her eyes.
Zora tried to shoot Bryce a “shut the hell up” look but judging from his unwavering stare, it wasn’t going to work. Not permanently anyway.
“We haven’t had time to catch up, but now that I know Zora’s back we’ll have plenty of time to talk. Right, Zora?” he said.
A spark lit in her mother’s eyes and Zora wished she had a little more energy. Not a lot, just enough to slap that grin off Bryce’s too-handsome face.
He knew she was concerned about her mother, knew she wasn’t going to do anything to upset her.
Butternut laid her head on Zora’s lap, her tail thumping on the wide-plank pine flooring.
“You’re such a lady, Butternut, girl.” She stroked the shepherd’s long pointy ears and marveled for the millionth time since she’d rescued her at how intuitive Butternut was.
“It’s impressive how she doesn’t even try to jump on you.” Bryce walked across the room and sat on the small sofa across from her. Butternut’s gaze followed him but otherwise she made no movement toward Bryce.
“She’s always been empathic. I picked her out of a litter of five at the animal shelter. They were rescued from a puppy mill.” Puppy mills were a dark side of their bucolic surroundings in central Pennsylvania. “I wish I could have taken all of her brothers and sisters, but she was the one who showed the most interest in me.”
Bryce stretched his long legs in front of him and leaned back into the sofa.
“You must have a lot of paperwork from last night.” She stroked Butternut and kept her focus on the dog. Looking at Bryce required more emotional stamina than her injury and pain meds afforded her at the moment.
“No, the officers on the scene recorded everything. I finished my report while you were still in the ER.”
Of course he had.
“Any idea who the shooter was?”
“No. We didn’t come up with anything from the description you gave us of the suspicious vendor, unfortunately.”
“He wasn’t a normal spectator.” She’d bet he was definitely involved, even if only posing as a decoy to see how the law enforcement agents would act last night.
“Maybe not, but he didn’t show a weapon. He could be any crackpot.”
“Zora, I’ll be in the guest room. Bryce, call me when you leave, will you?” Anna wasn’t interested in police business.
“Mom, you don’t have to leave.”
“No, I do. I need a quick catnap, and you need to have some privacy to discuss your work.” Anna left the room, taking her mug with her.
Bryce waited until they heard the guest bedroom door click shut before he looked at Zora again.
“Last chance,” he said. “Want to give me a clue as to who you think wants you dead?”
* * *
He knew he was pressing it to expect Zora to spill her guts so soon after the shooting. But a killer was on the loose—Zora’s aching chest had to take a backseat.
“How can we be sure it wasn’t the same guy I saw at the football game?”
“We can’t. But neither you nor I saw anyone tailing you back here. The fact that you were shot, when you live here as Zora and not Chaplain Hammermill, tells me it could be more personal.” He knew not to ask her who she worked for and why she’d been the one sent to pose as a female minister. Superintendent Todd had been explicit in his orders for Bryce to mind his own business.
“No one wants to kill me. The only work I’ve ever done has been