Until Autumn Falls Page 22

  “Two men?” Tripp’s head felt disconnected from his body. Hilary didn’t stand a chance against two of Dante’s men. “And you didn’t see them come in?”

  “They could’ve used one of our outside entrances. We’re still checking the video surveillance from fifteen minutes ago.”

  “It’s only been fifteen minutes?” He’d just barely missed them.

  “The call to nine-one-one was logged fifteen minutes ago, yes.” He sighed, his eyes filled with worry. “Millie said Hilary was yelling down the hall about going to the hotel. The police called me, and I activated my security detail, but they haven’t seen anything at any of the entrances. So they got here before we could mobilize.”

  Tripp spun back toward the doors. “Or they didn’t come here.” He turned toward Dylan. “What if they’re not here?”

  “There are other hotels in this town.”

  “Just two. And a bed and breakfast.” Everything spiraled away from Tripp, got really small, and then rushed back at him, growing larger and larger. His knees hit the ground, and Dylan’s fingers wrapped around his arm.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go tell the chief.”

  Tripp walked without telling his legs to do it. He let Dylan tell the chief about the room, about the theory that maybe Hilary wasn’t at this hotel.

  “Let’s check the room you’ve identified. I’ll send officers to the two other hotels.”

  “I’ll call Steffanie,” Tripp said, jumping back to the present from the waterlogged place his mind had become. He took two steps away and dialed. When Steffanie answered, Tripp said, “Hey, have you seen two men around your place with Hilary?”

  “No,” she said. “Millie already texted me. Sorry, Tripp.”

  Tripp said he was sorry too and hung up. He wished he were back with his family so they could coordinate their rescue efforts.

  “Not the bed and breakfast.” He rejoined the chief and Dylan, every passing second cutting off more oxygen.

  His phone buzzed and he yanked it from his pocket. Maybe it was Hilary—a ridiculous notion because she didn’t have her phone. The number was unlisted, but he swiped on the call anyway. Since she’d called him from a secure line in Connecticut, he answered whoever called.

  “Hello?”

  “Tripp, it’s Hilary. I have maybe ten seconds until Ethan gets back.”

  “Where are you?”

  “The wharf. A shop down from yours.”

  “Where’s the other guy?” He signaled the police chief and said, “The wharf. We have to get to the wharf.” He hurried around the cruiser and got in while Chief Harrison picked up his radio and peeled out of the parking lot.

  “He’s uh….” Hilary sobbed. “Ethan’s back. He’ll see what I’ve done. Please hurry.” The line went dead, and Tripp felt like throwing his phone out the window.

  “She said a shop down from mine. I don’t know which direction. She—something’s happened to the other guy.”

  “I’ll call in an ambulance. How did she sound?”

  “Alive,” Tripp said, his voice hollow and hopeless. Please let her be alive when we find her, he prayed. Please.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Hilary’s feet bled, making it impossible for her to hide without leaving a trail. It was dark in the warehouse, and Ethan hadn’t found her yet. But when he did, she knew her feet wouldn’t be the only part of her body that would be bleeding.

  She knew when he found Henry, because he cursed and then made a phone call. “Not dead,” he said, and relief flowed through Hilary with the force of a tsunami. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. She just wanted these guys to leave her alone. She’d asked. Begged. Cried.

  When she’d asked, “What does Dante want anyway? Isn’t he still in jail?”

  “You don’t get to be free when he isn’t,” Ethan had said.

  “Yes, I do!” she’d shouted. “You should leave town before the police find you. Leave town, and leave me alone, or you’ll wish you had.”

  He’d laughed at that. Laughed and left to make a phone call, supposedly to his boss. Henry had made small talk while he pulled a blade from inside his suit coat. Apparently he was the errand boy while Ethan avoided the dirtier dealings of his gang.

  But Hilary hadn’t made Henry’s job easy. She knew where to place a kick to incapacitate a man, and she knew how to use a knife to produce a lot of blood. She hadn’t used the blade, only the hilt, but head wounds were bleeders.

  She rubbed her hands down her dress again, glad to be rid of the knife but cursing herself for flinging it away too soon. Another faint smear of red appeared on the clothes. Millie would be so upset. The thought sent Hilary careening toward the edge of sanity, and she sucked in a breath to contain it. Ethan was still here. Still functional, and possibly still armed.

  She needed to get out of the warehouse, and fast. But this one wasn’t like Tripp’s, and it didn’t have a huge door on the side of it that was used to wheel boats out of. And it didn’t have a back exit that she could see. Her fingers scrabbled along the wall as she inched along. She kept her balance low, and a flare of hope ignited when she touched a piece of wood. She ran her fingertips along it, thinking it to be a broomstick or a dowel. She gripped it tight, glad when it came as she lifted.

  She didn’t know where Tripp was, how far from the wharf when she’d called. She wasn’t sure if Ethan would be smart enough to check Henry’s phone and see that she’d made a ten-second call.

  Something fell to the floor on her right, and she froze. When the metal on cement clanging stopped, Ethan said, “I know you’re still here, Jilly. I can hear you breathing.”

  Hilary held her breath and moved away from his voice. The door she’d been pushed through stood directly across from her. The room beyond cast a swath of sunlight into the warehouse, but it didn’t extend far enough to see all the obstacles between her and freedom.

  She looked away from the light and cursed herself for staring at it for so long. Her eyes needed more time to adjust, but she kept moving. She cut the corner when she could see there was nothing in her way.

  Someone filled the doorway, and her heart galloped so hard she thought sure Ethan would be able to hear it.

  “Hilary?”

  Tripp.

  Her stomach fell to her shoeless feet. She thought he’d come in blazing with all six police cruisers in Redwood Bay, the officers first, weapons drawn, bright floodlights filling the space.

  Ethan said nothing, but Hilary knew he hadn’t left. There was no exit. A scuffle to her right, where Ethan had been stalking her around the room. She pressed her back into the wall and willed Tripp to leave.

  He didn’t. He reached to his side and in the next moment, fluorescent lights filled the space. Hilary didn’t wait. She sprinted toward him. “Go!” she screamed.

  Relief crossed his features for half a second, then he focused on something beyond her. Before she could take another step, she crashed to the floor, meaty hands on her ankles. She kicked, meeting soft and hard at the same time.

  She screamed again, flailing in the dress, kicking for all she was worth. She swung the broomstick, sickened with the sound it made when it hit Ethan’s skull. She raised it again as she scooted backward; swung it again.

  “Hilary.” Tripp’s arms came around her and lifted her off the ground. “He’s out cold. Come on.”

  She dropped the broomstick and flinched at the clattering sound. Sobs rose through her in waves and she couldn’t contain them. Tripp picked her all the way up and hauled her out of the door, away from the two bleeding men who’d come to kill her.

  “In there,” he said to Chief Harrison who burst through the door as Tripp headed for it. “They’re both down.”

  Chief Harrison’s gaze swept Hilary. “She’s got a lot of blood on her.”

  She couldn’t vocalize that she was fine. Besides her feet, she hadn’t been injured. But she couldn’t speak.

  “Paramedics out front?” Tripp asked, his step not s
lowing.

  “Yes.”

  He took her outside, the ocean breeze clearing her head a little bit. “I ruined Millie’s dress.”

  “I’ll pay her to make a new one.” Tripp’s lips touched her forehead. “Tell me what’s hurt.”

  “My feet.” She clung to him, both arms around his neck.

  “What else?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Hilary.”

  Though it couldn’t even be noon yet, she felt worn out, withered, weak. “Just my feet,” she whispered.

  He arrived at the ambulance and said, “She says it’s her feet.” He set her on the stretcher that had been set up and stepped back so the two paramedics could examine her.

  “I’m tired,” she complained.

  “Shock,” one of them said. She looked at him, his voice familiar. She knew him. Had seen him around town. Why couldn’t she remember his name? She stared at the ground where her left food dripped blood every few seconds.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  Even when the paramedic she should know cleaned and bandaged her foot, she heard the dripping, saw the blood falling.

  She heard voices around her, but they spoke in other languages, one she couldn’t understand. Tripp picked her up again and started toward the north parking lot. She let her head loll against his shoulder, let him put her in his truck, let him drive.

  He made her swallow some pills and he took her dress off. “You want pajamas?” He pulled open her drawer and pushed something aside.

  She shook her head and crawled into bed.

  “No, no.” Tripp hauled her back out. “We need to wash up first.” He took her into the bathroom and set her on the counter. He lovingly washed her hands and arms, as well as up her legs. “Okay, baby. Now it’s time for bed.”

  She stared at him, tears pooling in her eyes. “What’s going to happen now?”

  “You’re going to sleep,” he said. “And I’m going to lie next to you.”

  “I mean with those guys.”

  “They’ll be gone by morning,” Tripp said.

  “More will come.”

  “No, they won’t.” He laid her in bed and pulled the covers over her. He crawled in next to her, placing his head on her stomach and one hand on her shoulder. “They thought they were getting a weak, scared woman. You gave them something different.”

  “He’ll never give up.” Her eyes drifted closed as she played with his hair.

  “Don’t think about it right now.”

  Hilary couldn’t think about anything right now, and she succumbed to the blissful nothingness of sleep.

  * * * *

  “I can do it.” Hilary scooted to the edge of the couch and prepared to stand.

  Tripp beat her to it, which caused a snip of annoyance to cut through her. “I got it.” He was in the kitchen by the time she stood, removing the cookies from the oven. “These look a little doughy still.”

  She hobbled after him and smacked him on his bicep. “I said I could do it.”

  He put the cookie sheet on the stovetop and stepped back, half a smile riding his lips. “Okay. Sorry.”

  She checked the cookies and slid them back in the oven for another minute. She leaned against the counter to give some relief to her still-healing feet. Tripp hadn’t left her side for more time than it took to shower, or to drive to Lucy’s to pick up lunch, or to run to the grocery store for a list of items she needed to make her favorite comfort foods.

  He swept her off her feet and said, “Back to the couch.”

  She squealed, her annoyance gone with his playful tone and careful touch. He set her back in her favorite corner of the couch and handed her the remote control. “Find us another one of those romances that make you want to kiss me.”

  She tried to smack him again, but he danced away from her with a chuckle. A few minutes later, he rejoined her on the couch with a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies and two tall glasses of milk.

  The movie started, and she bit into a cookie. “You really think they won’t come back?”

  “No, Hil.” He stroked her hair and took a cookie from the plate. She’d asked him several times a day, whenever the worry crept into her mind. Every time she did, he told her they wouldn’t come back. How he knew, how he could sound and be so confident, she didn’t know. In the soft spots before she fell asleep, she saw the flash of the blade as Henry drew it from his coat. She smelled the acidic scent of his blood. She heard the horrific sound of her broomstick hitting Ethan’s head.

  When she woke trembling, Tripp was there to hold her tight, keep her pieces from spilling all over.

  When she had to testify, Tripp sat in the first row.

  When Ethan and Henry were sentenced, he held her hand.

  When she wanted to expend her anxiety with twelve-minute love-making sprints, he complied. Fall drew nearer and nearer, and the amber gem she wore on her finger got heavier and heavier. The what-ifs she kept silent built up. What if, next time, Tripp got injured? Because of her?

  Sometimes she woke silently and watched him sleeping next to her. With the lines of his face slack, he seemed vulnerable and very, very human. In those moments, she had to hold herself close to him so she wouldn’t pack a bag and disappear into the night.

  When Dylan called at the beginning of August, claiming a package had arrived for her, Tripp drove her to the hotel. Though they could probably communicate openly now, she’d wanted to maintain the distance between her and Miami. Her parents—especially her mom—had been disappointed, but Hilary had worked too hard to find somewhere safe to exist to compromise it now.

  Trip went right in and straight to Dylan’s office. He wasn’t there, and Hilary couldn’t sit. She paced until he entered, an envelope in his hand.

  “It was in a soap delivery. It has your name on it.” He extended it toward her and she saw her father’s handwriting. Her heart stuttered and skipped and the paper felt like sandpaper though it looked normal.

  “Thank you,” she said through a tight throat. She glanced at Tripp, who wore his stoic mask. The one she couldn’t see through.

  “Open it, baby.” He sat in the only chair and gestured her forward. She perched in his lap, her nerves buzzing like someone had zapped them with electricity.

  Trying to summon her bravery, she slipped her thumb under the flap. But she’d lost so much confidence since the warehouse, and she wasn’t sure how to get it back. “Just a letter,” she muttered. “Do it, Hilary.”

  The fact that she called herself Hilary—didn’t even think Jilly—convinced her that maybe she was still strong enough to handle whatever the envelope held.

  Two sheets of paper sat inside, and she removed them. “Printouts,” she said, scanning as she opened the folded papers. The headline screamed about the arrest of two known drug ring leaders in Redwood Bay, and how they’d been sent back to Miami, where federal officials had slapped additional charges on them.

  “They’re in jail in Miami,” she said. “Both Ethan and Henry.” Her heart beat so shallowly, she wondered if she might pass out. Her father had written a note at the top of the page, and she read it out loud. “I went to see Dante in prison. I showed him pictures of what you did to his men and told him if he sent anyone after you ever again, he would be next. He said he never wanted to see any of us again. I took that to mean he won’t be sending anyone to find you again.”

  She choked on the last word, relief filling her so fast it spilled out of her eyes in the form of tears. She lowered the paper and looked at Tripp. “Do you think that’s true?” Could she go visit her family in Miami now? Could she stop looking over her shoulder, wondering who Dante would send next?

  He gathered her close. “Yes, baby. I think that’s true.”

  “So I can live my life?” She peered at him. “I’m free?”

  He smiled gently down at her. “Yes, Hilary. You’re free.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Tripp held Hilary close, the scent of her skin driving him wil
d. She’d been a shell of the woman he loved after he’d brought her home from Fisher’s Island. Surviving another attack had further removed her from him. It was the most frustrating summer of his life, watching her withdraw further and further inside herself.

  “How was it?” he asked.

  She stepped back and straightened her skirt, a slow smile spreading her lips. “Good.” She reached for his hand and tugged him toward the exit. “I believe you said you’d take me to lunch after my appointment.”

  “That’s all I get?” he asked as they stepped into the autumn wind. “One word? Good?”

  She paused at the edge of the sidewalk and glared at him. He adored it, because it meant she’d returned. That she didn’t want him to boss her around. That she wasn’t wrapped up inside her brain. “If I wanted you to know all the things happening in my head, I wouldn’t need to go see Doctor Terry.”

  He studied the parking lot in front of him, going for nonchalance and not really achieving it. “What if I want to know all the things in your head?”

  Her fingers tightened around his. “I know you do, Tripp.” She sighed and gazed out in the same direction as him. “I know you do.” She stepped off the curb and tugged on his arm. He went with her, because he’d go anywhere with her.

  “I think I’d like lunch in Arcata today.” She giggled and skipped ahead of him, the cheerful Hilary he’d fallen for last summer finally back. Maybe he didn’t need to know what lived in her head. As long as she had someone to talk to about it, as long as she was getting better, both emotionally, mentally, and physically.

  Her phone buzzed as she buckled her seatbelt. “It’s Millie.” She glanced at Tripp. “Can we swing by her shop before lunch? She says my wedding dress is done!”

  Tripp put his hand on her thigh. “Of course, baby.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You sure you still want to marry me?” Just like she’d asked him for weeks if anyone else would come back to Redwood Bay, he seemed to need constant reassurance that she wanted to be his wife.