Battle Tested. Laura ScottЧитать онлайн книгу.
He wasn’t Eagle, her protective Doberman, but he was obviously well trained in offering comfort.
Hearing footsteps pounding in the stairwell, she quickly lifted her head and struggled to her feet. She slipped off her shoulder bag and wrapped the strap around her hand, the only thing she could use as a weapon in the event Boyd was coming back to finish the job.
The stairwell door opened revealing a tall, muscular man with wavy, sandy-brown hair. His expression was full of concern as he approached. “Sure you’re all right?”
She nodded, her shoulders slumping in relief. “Yes. Did you see him? The man who attacked me?”
Her rescuer shook his head, his emerald green eyes heavy with remorse. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t get a good look at him. Other than general statistics like medium height and build. He had a ski mask covering his head, so I can’t even tell you his hair color.”
Boyd Sullivan was medium height and build. Then again so were half the men on base.
But only Boyd Sullivan had sent her a red rose.
“Thank you.” She drew in a deep breath, hoping to calm her racing heart. “I’m First Lieutenant Vanessa Gomez. I’m one of the ICU nurses here. I’m not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t chosen that moment to come down this hallway.”
“Captain Isaac Goddard,” he said, introducing himself. “I’m glad I was here to help. Do you think this is related to Boyd Sullivan?”
Vanessa grimaced, gingerly palpating her tender neck. No doubt she’d have bruises tomorrow. “Unfortunately, yes. I believe my attacker is the Red Rose Killer.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Isaac’s expression turned grim.
“Me, too.” Although she still didn’t understand Boyd’s motive for wanting her dead after she’d gone out of her way to help him.
“You need to call this in to the Security Forces, specifically to my buddy Captain Blackwood,” Isaac said. “There were rumors that Boyd was seen recently on base, but this attack on you proves it.”
She nodded and dug in her bag for her cell phone. She powered it up, her fingers still trembling from the aftermath of her attack. Vanessa sometimes turned her cell phone off when she was working in the intensive care unit. Obviously, she should have turned it on the moment she’d left the ICU, although the attack had been so unexpected, she doubted the phone would have been any help.
She shivered and punched in Justin Blackwood’s number. She had his contact information from the ad hoc investigative team that had been put together months ago when Boyd had first sent roses identifying his next targets. As she waited for him to pick up, she marveled at how Tango stood right between her and Isaac, as if willing to protect both of them.
Justin didn’t answer so she left him a brief message about her attack and the likelihood that Boyd had found her, and she asked him to return the call.
“Call the cops,” Isaac said. “They need to take your statement.”
“I’d prefer to speak directly to Justin.” Vanessa glanced up and down the empty hallway. “It’s not as if there are any clues here for them to find. He was wearing gloves, so there’s no point in dusting for prints.”
He looked as if he wanted to argue, but asked, “Where are you headed?”
“Home.” She slipped her phone into her bag. “What about you?”
He shrugged. “I was going to stop by and see if Lieutenant Colonel Flintman was around, but that can wait. Right now, I think it’s best if I walk you home.”
Normally Vanessa considered herself a strong, independent woman, more than capable of taking care of herself. She’d needed to be strong, especially for her younger brother, Aiden, who was having a rough time since returning to base four weeks ago after his latest six-month deployment. But this vicious attack at the hospital, a place she considered her second home and immune to this type of violence, had put a serious dent in her confidence. “I’d appreciate that, thanks.”
“No problem.” Isaac fell into step beside her. Tango stayed at Isaac’s left side, and she wondered about the dog’s role in Isaac’s life.
She could guess, considering Isaac had been heading to Lieutenant Colonel Flintman’s office. She’d left the doctor a message earlier that afternoon about her concern about Tyraxal. The kindly psychiatrist might have some information related to the medication, so she hoped he returned her call, soon.
Isaac might be seeing Lieutenant Colonel Flintman for the same reason Aiden did.
Not that it was any of her business.
They stood for a moment waiting for the elevator, and Isaac must have picked up on her curiosity because he gestured to the dog. “I don’t think I introduced my therapy dog, Tango.”
She belatedly noticed that Isaac sported a pair of gold wings on his collar indicating he was a pilot. She smiled at the animal. “Tango is an amazing dog, so calm and reassuring. He’s obviously good at his job.”
Isaac shrugged. “Yeah, he’s a great dog, but while I appreciate having him around, my top priority is to bring home Beacon, the dog who saved my life in Afghanistan. Beacon belonged to my closest friend, and I’ve been working day and night to get him back. After all this time, he’s finally due to arrive tomorrow.”
Instinctively, she reached out to place her hand on his arm. “I heard about your efforts to bring Beacon home, and I’m so glad it’s finally happening.”
“Me, too.” He covered her hand on his arm briefly and she found herself liking the warmth of his skin. Then he moved away when the elevator arrived, breaking the connection. He held his hand over the electronic eye until she was safely inside, then stepped in behind her.
She told herself her reaction to Isaac was nothing more than misplaced gratitude for the way he’d saved her life with his impeccable timing. Yet she couldn’t help sending him a sidelong glance, appreciating his sandy-brown hair, chiseled features, clean-cut square jaw and bright green eyes. She glanced away, telling herself to knock it off.
Outside, the October air smelled of pine trees and morning glories. She loved autumn in east Texas; it was her favorite time of year.
“Lead the way,” Isaac said, when they reached the street in front of the hospital.
“I live in a small two-bedroom house about eight blocks from here,” she said, turning left and taking the road that went past the church and veterinary clinic. “My younger brother, Aiden, has been staying with me since his return from combat four weeks ago. He’s on medical leave, suffering badly from PTSD, and I’m at a loss as to how to help him.”
Isaac didn’t say anything for a long moment, then he finally spoke. “I’m working through my own issues, so I understand what he’s dealing with.” Isaac glanced at her, his eyes shadowed by the darkness. “I hope you realize he has a long road to recovery ahead of him.”
“I understand,” Vanessa said softly. “He’s doing everything right so far, attending therapy sessions with Lieutenant Colonel Flintman and taking his medication as ordered. Aiden is also on the list to get a therapy dog of his own, but the first attempt didn’t go well, and a second one hasn’t been made available to him yet.”
“I’ll talk to him, if you think it may help,” Isaac offered.
Vanessa was humbled by his willingness to put himself out there on behalf of a stranger. “Thank you, Captain. I’d be grateful for anything you can offer.”
“Sounds good. Maybe you can introduce me tonight, if he’s around. And please, call me Isaac.”
“If you’ll call me Vanessa,” she said with a smile. Despite her recent attack, she experienced a surge of hope. She was so grateful for Isaac’s willingness to help her brother, she could have hugged him, but managed to restrain