The top of Niall’s apron-clad body almost fills the space above the Dutch door. “Welcome home. How is Emma?”
Like bookends, Cynthia and Fran appear, one on each side of Niall.
“The surgeon removed the bullet from Emma. She has a collapsed lung and a few broken ribs, but they assured me she has a good prognosis. When I left, she was still in recovery. I’m just going home to shave, then I’ll head back.”
“Her parents will be so glad to hear that news,” Fran says.
“Have you heard from Libby?” Mick asks. “Do you know when they expect to arrive at the hospital?”
Niall wipes his hands on the front of his apron. “She called about ten minutes ago. You must have just missed each other.”
Rubbing a hand over his face, Mick says, “I’m glad to have a chance to shave before I meet Emma’s parents.”
“You are looking a little scruffy,” Niall teases. “Almost as bad as Hemingway.”
“What’s the word on Jason?” Cynthia asks.
“He died. He had a heart attack when he was in recovery. This morning, Joe Bingham, Sean Rafferty, an FBI agent, and I went to the hospital morgue where I identified Alex Berndt, who we know used the alias, Jason Hughes. It’s now a joint federal–Bellingham law enforcement investigation.”
“Why did the FBI get involved?” Niall asks.
“Cynthia was right about the towels in the suitcase. It turns out there are ten unsolved rapes and murders. The trail is geographically disparate. Each one took place in a different state.”
“Crossing state lines, is that the reason for the FBI?” Fran asks.
“That, and because there are over three almost-identical killings, it makes the murderer a serial killer.”
Niall takes in a long breath, then blows it out, giving himself a moment to calm down. “It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that he was here as our guest. Emma is a fortunate young woman.”
“Yes, she is,” Mick says. “I’m so grateful she’s still alive. One of the things Agent Rafferty told Bingham and me this morning is that rape isn’t about sex. It’s about power and control and humiliation. He also said that serial killers leave certain trademarks. Some they’re aware of. Others they’re not. In this case, the killer—quite possibly Alex Berndt—was methodical, and his methods were informed by his knowledge of anatomy.”
“What do you mean?” Fran asks.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know. But I will say this. They’re getting Berndt’s DNA right now to match against the DNA they collected from the victims.”
Niall shakes the dishtowel. “Enough about that. I know you’re anxious to shave and get back to the hospital. Would you like a quick cup of coffee and a bite to eat before we head out?”
“Yes, please.” Mick smiles. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
Dr. Zimmerman is passing by when Mick, Niall, Cynthia, and Fran step off the elevator on the fourth floor. “You’re just the person I’m looking for,” she says to Mick. Taking him by the arm she leads him down the corridor—like ducklings, the others following behind. “Emma’s parents are here. They filled her surgical team in on her condition—Transverse myelitis. That’s where I come in. It’s one of my areas of practice.”
Stopping outside a closed door, she looks into Mick’s eyes. “This is Emma’s room.” She leans in and whispers conspiratorially. “We’re breaking the rules a bit with the number of visitors she has, but then we all break the rules now and then, don’t we?” she says, pointedly. “I’ll leave you now, but I would like to speak with you later.”
After patting him on the arm, she turns and walks down the hallway.
Am I in some kind of trouble? Mick wonders, as he watches her white lab coat disappear around a corner.
When he pushes the door open, the first thing Mick sees is Emma. She seems heartbreakingly frail amid the array of tubes, racks, and monitors. Because of the incision in her back, she’s propped up in a medical unit that keeps pressure off the dressing. He feels a rush of joy so big it almost stuns him. He realizes his heart is pounding.
Niall, Cynthia, and Fran slip around him into the room. They join the others around the bed.
The second thing Mick notices is that all of the original people surrounding Emma—Libby, Bingham, Rafferty, and a man and woman he suspects are Emma’s parents—are looking at him.
“What?” he asks.
They continue to stare.
In his mind, he quickly goes through a mental checklist. He looks down, his zipper’s closed. He reaches up, his hair is combed. He wipes the front of his teeth with his finger.
They continue to stare.
“What?” he asks again.
“We understand that congratulations are in order,” his sister, Libby, says.
In unison, Niall, Cynthia, and Fran turn to him incredulously, and say, “What?”
Mick feels a flush creep across his cheeks. His ears get hot. Grimacing, he says, “No wonder Dr. Zimmerman wants to speak with me later. I am in trouble.”
Looking directly at Emma now, he says, “I realize that it’s probably too early to ask you to marry me, but it’s not too early to tell you that I love you, that I’m in love with you, and that I want to be part of your life.”
Turning to her parents, he says, “Mr. and Mrs. Benton, your daughter means the world to me.”
“Well, that took a lot of guts,” Joe says.
“I’d rather be in a firefight,” Rafferty says.
Niall starts clapping, and the rest chime in.
Eyes glistening, Emma beckons Mick over. “I love you, too,” she manages to whisper.
With a no-nonsense look from Dr. Timms as he checks on Emma, the visitors in her room dwindle down to three—Mick, Rafferty, and Bingham.
Rafferty flashes his badge at the doctor, and says, “The moment we get a statement from Ms. Benton, we’ll leave.” Nodding toward Joe, he says, “This is a joint task force effort, FBI and BPD—Bellingham Police Department.” Suppressing a smile, he turns to Mick. “And this is Sean McPherson, Ms. Benton’s fiancé.”
Joe coughs.
Emma’s
