Mountain Witness. Lena Diaz
The pressure on her shoulder tightened painfully, making her wince. She tensed, fully expecting to feel the bite of the knife sliding between her ribs at any moment. Most people would have read the tension between her and Alan and realized they were intruding. But her neighbor seemed oblivious, his hand still in the air, waiting for Alan to take it.
She could have sworn Alan said “stupid redneck” beneath his breath before he released her shoulder and reached around her to shake the other man’s hand.
As soon as Chris’s much larger hand closed around Alan’s, he gave a mighty, sideways yank, ripping Alan away from Julie. Alan roared with rage and slashed at Chris with the knife. Chris twisted sideways, the blade narrowly missing his stomach. He grabbed Alan’s left wrist, both men twisting and grunting with their hands joined crosswise in front of them.
“Get back,” Chris yelled at Julie, twisting sideways again.
She jumped out of the way, pressing her hand against her throat. The two men grappled like a couple of grizzly bears. Alan was shorter, but both men rippled with muscles, their biceps bulging as they strained against each other. Chris’s extra height seemed to be a handicap, though. He was bent over at an impossible angle. And his hold on Alan’s knife hand appeared to be slipping.
“Julie, run!”
Chris yanked Alan again. Alan countered by ducking down, trying to pull Chris off balance.
Julie couldn’t seem to make her feet move. She was frozen, her throat so tight no sound would come out.
“I’m a cop,” Chris bit out as he and Alan jerked and shoved at each other. “Drop the knife and we can work this out. No one needs to get hurt.”
“Work it out?” Alan spit between clenched teeth. “You’re the intruder. I can kill you and no one will even question me.”
Chris risked a quick glance at Julie. “Go. Get out of here!”
She stepped back, ready to do what he’d said. But then she stopped. The room seemed to shimmer in front of her, and she was back in her bedroom five months ago. All she could see was blood, its coppery scent filling the air. It was everywhere. The floors were slippery with it. Her hands, sticky.
No. Don’t think about the past. Stay in the present.
She blinked and brought the room back into focus.
“Please.” She stepped forward. “Please.” Another step. She stared at Alan, willing him to look at her. “Don’t do this.”
Something in her voice must have captured Alan’s attention. His head swiveled toward her. Bloodlust shone in his eyes. Julie knew the exact moment when he took the bait.
He gave Chris a mighty shove backward, catching him off guard. Chris stumbled, his hold on Alan broken. Julie tried to scramble back, but Alan was already lunging at her with the knife. She brought her arms up and turned her head, bracing herself.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Alan dropped to the floor, inches away from her, unmoving. She stared at him in shock, not quite sure what had happened. Then blood began running in rivulets across the worn, uneven floor, reaching out from beneath his body like accusing fingers, pointing at her. She stumbled backward, a sob catching in her throat.
A piercing scream echoed through the room. And suddenly she was clasped tightly against Chris’s chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her. He turned, blocking her view of the body lying on the floor. The screaming stopped, and she was mortified to realize that she was the one who’d been screaming.
“It’s okay.” One of his hands gently rubbed her back as the other cradled her against him. “He can’t hurt you now.”
He can’t hurt me now. He can’t hurt me now. She drew in a shaky breath.
Sirens wailed in the distance. How could there be sirens? She hadn’t called anyone, never had a chance to call when Alan had burst into the house. But her neighbor had come inside. Chris? And he’d...shot... Alan? Yes. Those had been gunshots she’d heard. She shivered again.
“The police are on their way,” he continued, speaking in a low, soothing tone. “I called them when I saw him through the window holding the knife.”
The police. He’d seen Alan threatening her. Wait, wasn’t he the police?
“I don’t... I don’t understand,” she whispered. “What happened? Who are you?”
He gently pushed her back, his hands holding her upper arms. “I’m Christopher Downing, a detective and SWAT officer from the Destiny Police Department. I called for backup before I came in here.” He scanned her from head to toe, as if searching for injuries. “Are you okay? Did he cut you?”
She blinked, her jumbled thoughts starting to come together again. “N-no. I mean, yes, he did. My back. But it’s not—”
He carefully turned her around.
His fingers touched her cuts through her shirt, making them sting. She sucked in a breath.
“Sorry.” He turned her to face him again. “There isn’t much blood. You probably won’t need stitches. Did he hurt you, in any other way?”
She frowned, trying to understand what he meant. Then she got it. He was asking whether she’d been sexually assaulted. Heat crept up her neck.
“No, he didn’t...ah...do...anything else.” She pulled away, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.
The sirens had stopped. Red-and-blue lights flashed through the front windows. She was vaguely aware of a door opening, footsteps echoing on the hardwood. Chris guided her to the couch and she sat down, her gaze automatically going to the body on the floor. Deep voices spoke in quiet tones. Another voice, a woman’s, said something in reply.
Blood. There was so much blood. How could one person bleed that much?
She wrapped her arms around her middle.
The couch dipped beside her. A policewoman. She was dressed in black body armor. Bright white letters across the front of her vest read SWAT.
“Hello, Ms. Webb.” The woman’s voice was kind, gentle. “I’m Officer Donna Waters.” She waved her hands at her uniform, the gun strapped at her waist. “Don’t let this gear bother you. We came prepared for a possible hostage situation.” She patted Julie’s hand. “An ambulance is on the way to take you to the hospital to get checked out. But you’re safe now. You’re going to be okay.”
The woman’s words seeped slowly into her brain as if through a thick fog. “Hospital? No. No, no, no. I’m not hurt. I don’t want to go to a hospital.”
“Ms. Webb?”
The now-familiar masculine voice had her turning her head. Chris Downing, the man who’d risked his own life for her, knelt on the floor, his expression full of compassion and concern.
“We’ll take your statement after you’ve seen a doctor. Is there anyone I can call—”
“Is he dead?”
Her question seemed to startle him, but he quickly smoothed out his expression. “I’m afraid so, yes. Do you want me to—”
She grabbed his hands in hers and stared into his eyes. Could she trust him? Would he tell her the truth?
He frowned. “Ms. Webb—”
“Are you sure? Are you absolutely positive that he’s dead?”
He had to think she was crazy. But she’d been here before. She’d been the woman sitting on the couch while the policeman told her that he was dead. And then he...wasn’t. And then...and then. She shuddered.
“Is he dead?” She held her breath, waiting for his reply.
He exchanged a look with the female officer before answering.