The Christmas Target

“Did you ever think it was?”

“No,” he replied, pushing the chair out into the hallway.

There was too much noise there, too many lights—her head spun with all of it. She had to see Beatrice, though, and then she needed to talk to the sheriff. She didn’t have time to give in to pain or to lie in bed feeling sorry for herself.

Someone had attacked her.

She had to hold on to that, had to keep it in the front of her mind so that she stayed focused on the goal—find the guy, figure out his agenda.

Maybe he’d been a vagrant, wandering through the woods, startled by a woman suddenly appearing.

Maybe, but it didn’t feel right. The entire thing felt too coincidental.

“Have you spoken with the sheriff?” she asked as Chance wheeled her into the elevator. “I know you said that they didn’t find the perp, but I’m wondering if they found anything else.”

“They traced the guy to an old logging road that runs through the woods behind your property. They’ve cast tread marks that he probably left behind. Other than that, they’ve come up empty.”

“That’s not the news I wanted.”

“I know.”

“Maybe he was a vagrant.” She tossed the theory out, because Chance was as likely to see the strengths and weaknesses in it as she was. More likely. He wasn’t concussed, and he wasn’t sitting in a wheelchair with bandages on his head.

“Someone just moving through who was squatting out in the woods and panicked when you showed up?”

“It’s possible, right?”

“Anything is possible, Stell. That doesn’t make it likely. Right now, I don’t have enough information to speculate, but if I were going to guess, I’d guess the attack wasn’t random.” The elevator door opened, and he wheeled her out.

“You’ve got a reason for that. Care to explain?”

“You said there were two perpetrators.”

“Possibly two,” she corrected.

“I’ve never known you to make a mistake. If you say there might have been two, it’s because there probably were. If that’s the case, a squatter who panicked seems unlikely.”

“Squatters don’t always live alone.”

“It sounds like you want to believe the attack was random.”

“Don’t you?”

“I want to believe the truth. For right now, I’m keeping an open mind. Sheriff Brighton is still on the scene with half a dozen men. He said he’ll stop by the hospital when he’s finished. We’ll know more then.”

“Did they—”

“Stella, this isn’t your case. It’s not your mission. You are the victim, and you’ve got to let the local police handle the investigation.”

“I plan to, but I’d like to talk to Cooper—”

“You and the sheriff are on a first-name basis?”

“We went to school together. I want to talk to him.”

“You’ll have plenty of opportunities to do that. After you rest. The doctor said three or four days in bed.”

She snorted, then wished she hadn’t. Pain shot through her skull and her ears rang.

Up ahead, double wide doors opened into the ICU unit. Several nurses sat at a desk there.

Stella scanned their faces, trying to see if she knew any of them. She volunteered at the hospital once a week. It kept her sane, helped her focus on something besides her own problems and her own sorrow. She probably knew half the nurses who worked there, but her vision was too blurry, everything dancing and swaying as she tried to focus.

“Stella!” one of them cried, rushing around the counter and running toward her.

Not a nurse. A volunteer.

The uniform came into focus. The name tag. The pretty brunette. Karen Woods. A nursing student at the local college and the person who stayed with Beatrice when Stella had to be away from home for more than a few hours.

She should have recognized her immediately.

She probably would have if the world had been standing still.

“Are you okay?” Karen had reached her side and was leaning toward her, the smell of her perfume mixing with antiseptic and floor cleaner and making Stella’s head swim. “I was working on the pediatric floor and heard Beatrice had been admitted. What happened?”

“She—”

“Tell you what,” Chance interrupted. “How about we hash it all out after Stella sees her grandmother?”

Karen frowned. “Of course. I was just so relieved to see her, I wasn’t thinking. I was going to visit Beatrice, but there’s a guy outside the door who says she can’t have visitors. I told the nurses, but they said you want him there, Stella.”

“I do,” she responded, the words echoing hollowly in her ears. She felt light-headed and sick, and she wanted to grab Chance’s hand, hold on tight so she didn’t float away.

“Why? Are you worried that Beatrice wandered off? Do you think she’s getting worse? I heard she left the house without a coat or shoes.” Karen’s words came in quick staccato beats that slammed into Stella’s head and made her want to close her eyes.

She liked Karen.

The young woman was smart and helpful, and she’d been wonderful with Beatrice, but right at the moment, Stella wanted to tell her to go away.

She needed to think.

She couldn’t do that with someone talking nonstop, asking questions she had no answers for.

“Karen,” she began, but Chance’s hand settled on her shoulder, his thumb sliding against her neck, and she lost what she was going to say. Felt herself just give it over to him, because he was there, and he could handle it and she was more than willing to let him.

She’d think about what that meant later.

When she wasn’t so tired, so scared, so concerned.