Sirens grew louder as red-and-blue strobe lights bounced across the walls. The man sprinted out of sight. Seconds later, she heard the kitchen door, leading into the backyard, bang closed.
Grasping the newel post, she pulled herself to her feet and raced to Chloe, who lay crumpled on her side like a discarded rag doll. A pool of blood seeped out from under her head.
Chloe’s breathing was shallow. Grace bent and checked for a pulse. Weak. Placing her hands on either side of Chloe’s neck, she pressed in gently with her fingers and ran them up the length of the neck to the base of the head. It did not appear to be broken. Carefully, tilting her sister’s head, Grace examined the wound. A bump had already appeared, in the center of which was a gash about two inches long. It didn’t seem very deep, but would require stitches.
Grabbing a chunky, knit cardigan off the hook near the door, she knelt beside her sister and applied pressure to the wound. “Hang in there, sis. Help is on the way.”
Childhood memories swarmed her as Dad’s constant reminder echoed in her mind. Amazing Grace, as the big sister, it’s your job to take care of Chloe.
Footsteps sounded on the porch. An officer entered the house, gun at the ready. “Are there more intruders?”
Her head snapped in his direction. Hazel eyes pierced hers. Grace’s breath caught. She hadn’t expected him to respond.
“Grace. How many intruders?” Chief Evan Bradshaw’s question came out harsher than he intended, but he needed to assess the situation and was barely holding himself back from rushing to her side.
She shook her head. “Only one. He went out the back.”
“We saw him. Johnson took off after him.” Evan holstered his weapon. “How badly is she hurt?”
“Head wound. Her pulse is weak. Possible internal injuries. Won’t know for sure until she has some scans.” Grace’s voice cracked, and he knew she was struggling to keep her composure.
“Where’s the ambulance?” Desperation echoed in her voice. Blue eyes pleaded with him, tears pooling.
Evan clenched his hands at his sides, fighting the urge to pull her into a hug, the way he would have when they were younger.
Instead, he knelt beside her, taking a quick assessment. Grace held a cloth of some sort against Chloe’s head. There was a lot of blood, but he knew that wasn’t uncommon for head wounds. “She’ll be okay, Gracie. I promise.”
Now, why had he said that? Who was he to make promises? He’d learned a long time ago he couldn’t stop death. Losing his unborn daughter and his wife three months apart had taught him that.
Chloe’s pale face stood out in stark contrast against the bloodstained rug. He watched for the rise and fall of her chest, as he had his now six-year-old son, Camden, when he was an infant. Chloe’s breathing was almost imperceptible, but it was steady.
“What’s taking the ambulance so long?” Grace wiped her face, silent tears flowing freely now. “I can’t lose her.”
From the moment they’d met in sixth grade until high school graduation, Evan and Grace had been inseparable. During that time, he had only seen her cry twice. The first time in seventh grade when her cat, Mitzi, died. The second, the summer before their sophomore year of high school when her mom died from cancer. Her crying now meant she’d started to lose hope that Chloe would survive.
He needed to keep Grace busy so her mind didn’t wander down the what-if trail. “Go find a blanket. We need to keep her warm until the ambulance arrives.”
Her eyes widened. “Shock. Why didn’t I think of that?” Tilting Chloe’s head so the floor would hold the cloth in place, she crossed the foyer into the living room.
While she did as he asked, Evan used his phone to snap a few photos of Chloe’s position. Two of his officers were en route. They’d take additional shots of the perimeter and interior of the house.
Grace returned with a fuzzy, paisley-print throw. She draped it across her sister’s body then ran her bloodstained hands along the length of Chloe’s arms and legs. “Nothing appears to be broken, but we won’t know for sure until she has X-rays.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“We were on video chat.” Her voice shook.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then her lips moved in silent prayer, something he hadn’t done in a long time. He guessed it was some comfort that she could cling to her faith when in distress.
“Take your time.”
She met his eyes; her gaze steady, tears gone. “He told me calling nine-one-one wouldn’t do any good. Help would arrive too late.”
“Who told you?”
“The man who did this. Before he disconnected the call.”
Evan’s gut tightened. The attacker had seen Grace. He wished he could spare her the questions but knew he couldn’t. “Did you see his face?”
“Not then...but when he pushed Chloe over the banister, she pulled off his ski mask.” Grace nodded to the black fabric in Chloe’s outstretched hand.
How had he missed seeing this important piece of evidence?
Get your head into the game, Bradshaw. Don’t let Grace’s presence throw you. You’re not a lovesick teen any longer.
Turning back to her, he asked, “Did you recognize the attacker?”
“No.”
She shivered, and once again, he clenched his hands. Why did he think he had to touch her to comfort her? He’d always strove to be compassionate to victims and witnesses, but he’d never wanted to embrace one before. The way he did her. Could the instinct simply be a muscle memory?
“He knew me.” Her whisper was barely audible.
Evan’s gut tightened. “What did you say?”
“Chloe’s attacker knew me. He called me Amazing Grace.”
Dr. Porter had been the only one to call his daughter Amazing Grace. Even Evan had never called her by that nickname, respecting the bond she had with her dad.
“He said I was next,” she whispered.
Evan bit back
