a fierce, amazingly strong federal agent, but that was all she could ever be in their lives. The press had called his SOA team heroes for acting to save lives, but his own government had labeled him insubordinate for not obeying their command to stand down and ignore the tragedy unfolding at the embassy. Lucy was a government agent, and Bryce had learned the hard way that his government could not be trusted—therefore Lucy could not be trusted.
No matter how her eyes seemed to twinkle at him.
Bryce arrived at the hospital the next morning carrying a suitcase. “I stopped by the B&B and asked Mrs. Ferguson to pack you some clothes from your room. I hope that’s okay.”
It was more than okay. It was wonderful, and Lucy was grateful he’d thought of it. She slipped from the hospital gown into a pair of jeans and a blouse and was finally starting to feel like a person again. She stared at herself in the mirror and saw a stranger staring back at her. The big ugly bruise took up one side of her face, and a busted lip completed the look.
The beating had been severe, and it was a blessing she hadn’t sustained more than a mild concussion. Thinking about what might have been had been enough to keep her awake all night. Even now it made her stomach roll. She’d come to town to catch a killer, not to become his next victim.
“Thank you for the clothes,” she told Bryce as she emerged from the bathroom where she’d changed. Last night the police had confiscated her running shoes for evidence, but Mrs. Ferguson had remembered to include another pair in the bag. She slipped them on, grimacing at the action. Her entire body ached from her ordeal, and she noticed Bryce didn’t miss her grunts of pain.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t be staying here?” he asked her.
She waved off his concerns. “I’m fine. Just a little sore. Getting out and moving will certainly help.” That and the massive bottle of Tylenol she planned to keep with her at all times. The doctor had prescribed her painkillers, but she was hesitant to use them unless absolutely necessary. She wanted to be as alert as possible, and she’d tried to avoid strong painkillers ever since discovering Danny’s addiction to them.
Bryce helped her slip into her jacket, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulders seemed to take up all her space, yet his hands were gentle as he helped her. It was strange to her that ever since hearing his daughter tell her that she would be okay because her dad was a marine, she had felt safer whenever he was around.
She shook off those feelings. She’d come here for a purpose, and it wasn’t to cozy up to Bryce Tippitt. She couldn’t even think about such things, not after what she’d been through with Danny. She had to keep her head about her and not get lulled into a sense of comfort. For all she knew, Bryce knew his brother was guilty and was grasping at straws to pin his crimes on another man. It was essential that she maintain her objectivity.
“I think we should head to the floral shop first,” she said. She’d jotted down the name of the shop that bore the logo on the threatening note. “It was Busy Bee Flowers. Are you familiar with that shop?”
“Of course. I know right where it is.”
“Good. Let’s go then.”
She was glad to get out of the hospital and ready to stop feeling like such an invalid. Wearing normal clothes certainly helped, but working out the kinks in her joints would make her feel better too.
The hospital insisted on forcing her to use a wheelchair until they reached the front doors. She hated it—one more reason she was glad to get out of there.
“I’ve already driven my pickup to the front doors,” Bryce said as he wheeled her toward them. “A buddy of mine was able to replace the shattered back glass first thing this morning.” He stopped abruptly.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, glancing at the front doors. A group of people stood on the front stoop, blocking the path between the door and his truck. She spotted several cameras and knew they were the press. “What should we do?”
“We can find another way out, but I’ll have to get my truck sometime.”
“I can’t ignore them forever. Let’s just go through them. Let them have their photo op.”
He nodded and pushed her toward the door. Once it slid open, the group turned and started snapping photos. Microphones were pushed into her face, and people shouted questions at her.
She ignored them, keeping her head down as Bryce opened the passenger door to his truck and helped her inside, leaving the wheelchair on the sidewalk. She was grateful for his calm manner and the hand on her back to keep her steady. She’d thought she could handle this, but the flashes of light and the shouting were unbearable. She was thankful when he slammed the door shut. She covered her face as he walked around, climbed into the driver’s seat and took off.
It was all too reminiscent of the days after Danny’s death and the constant harassment by the press for a comment. She didn’t know what they’d expected her to say. Nothing she could have said would have changed anything or brought any of them back to life.
The drive to the flower shop gave her enough time to pull herself together. Once they arrived, Bryce walked around and helped her out. He kept his distance enough to give her some sense of dignity, but he didn’t stay so far away he couldn’t help her if she stumbled. She recognized that and appreciated it.
She stepped into the shop and was immediately hit with the scent of flowers. Her eyes began to water as her allergies kicked in. This was going to be a quick interview, or else they were going to have to go into the back room.
She pulled out her FBI credentials and showed them to the clerk on duty. “I’d like to ask you some questions about a delivery that was made to Whitten Medical Center last night.”
The woman behind the counter was in her forties with short hair and soft eyes. “Of course. I’m the owner, Charlotte Manchester. We had several deliveries there last night for the woman who escaped the serial killer. That was something special. That was you, wasn’t it? Everyone who came in was excited that finally someone can identify him. It’s what we’ve all been waiting for.”
Lucy smiled at her, thankful for her kind sentiments. She hated to tell her that she couldn’t identify him, that it had all happened so fast and that her attacker’s face was nothing more than a blur in her mind. So she wouldn’t tell her that. If the police wanted that information released, they would be the ones to do so. It wasn’t smart to let the killer know she couldn’t identify him, although it might take her out of his sights.
“That was me.” There was no point in denying it. Her face would be all over the news in a matter of hours after the show while leaving the hospital. Plus how many FBI agents would be in town looking like they’d just gone several rounds in the boxing ring? “I received several very nice bouquets. The one I’m interested in came with this note.” She pulled out a copy of the card Detective Ross had given her.
The woman read it and her face paled. “Oh my. That’s terrible.”
“Do you recall who wrote that?”
“No. Most of our orders were placed over the phone or online, but we did have several people walk in yesterday evening to purchase flowers.
