He needed to get into the house. He ran to the garage, grabbed the latch and tried to pull the door up. Locked. He banged on it, the old metal rattling. The car kept idling, the house still and silent.
Roman raced around the side of the house and let himself into the backyard through the gate. Finding the side door to the garage, he tried the handle. It didn’t budge. He yanked his wallet out of his back pocket and pried out a credit card, his hands numb from cold and moving too slowly. Pressing his shoulder against the old wood door, he worked the credit card into the groove while jiggling the knob. The lock mechanism slid free, but a dead bolt held the door in place.
The door was solid and heavy, and would take time to kick in. He’d try the back door to the house first. He darted around the corner and tried the same method there. This time the trick worked. The knob turned, the dead bolt not secured. Roman rushed into the house, flipping on lights as he went.
“Ella?” he called, moving quickly through the kitchen. His shoe crunched something on the floor, but he didn’t see anything. He ran down the hall toward the garage, throwing the door open and flipping on the light.
He saw her immediately, slumped low in the front seat of a navy BMW.
No!
He ran to the driver’s side, yanking the door latch—knowing it would be locked. “Ella!” he yelled, banging on the window. She was unresponsive, reclined in the driver’s seat with the car still running.
They think I did it.
Did what?
Shot myself.
Roman rushed over to the toolbox and rifled around for a hammer. Grabbing it, he ran to the back-passenger door and cracked the window in one strike. Reaching through broken glass, he unlocked the car.
How long had she been in there? Even after locking up Shield and stopping for gas, he couldn’t have lost more than fifteen minutes. He chanted a prayer that he wasn’t too late. That, instead, he’d arrived just in time. But when he pulled the door open and reached in for Ella, she was lifeless, her eyes closed, her skin pale.
Just like he’d found his sister in her dorm room more than six years ago, murdered. But, no. Brooklyn had been cold to the touch, her skin bluish. Ella was still warm, though she didn’t appear to be breathing. And lying in her open palm was a syringe.
Ella, a drug user? Roman couldn’t rectify the thought in his mind, but if she’d overdosed on something, she didn’t have much time. He reached over her and shut off the car, pocketing the keys before pulling Ella easily into his arms and rushing her into the house and away from the carbon monoxide.
In the living room, he set Ella on the couch and yanked out his cell phone, dialing 9-1-1.
“Nine-one-one. Where is your emergency?”
Roman placed a hand near Ella’s mouth, felt warm air. Still breathing, but too slow. He quickly rattled off the address. “I need an ambulance.”
He continued to answer the woman’s scripted questions even as he scanned Ella’s form on the couch, looking for any other signs of injury. Nothing. His gaze caught on the right side of her head. Her hair parted unnaturally there, revealing a red scar that would take a long time to heal.
Roman sank to his knees, his hands coming up to hold hers. Had she done this to herself? He found it hard to believe, especially after what she’d told him earlier. But it had been years since he’d seen her. People changed. His heart tore at the memory of the girl he used to know. She’d been a dreamer, always looking ahead to her next goal. Always brushing off failure when it came. But then Brooklyn died, Ella’s best friend since childhood and roommate in college.
At first, they had shared their grief. But one night, with one string of poorly chosen words, their relationship had shattered. He’d said things he hadn’t meant. He’d been careless with his words. He’d hurt Ella, practically blaming her for his sister’s death. Roman had always been ashamed, truth be told.
Ella had gone into a deep depression and the move to Colorado had seemed like her chance to break free from the darkness. What had happened to her since they’d last seen each other? Had she sunk into an even deeper depression? Started abusing drugs she would readily have available to her as a veterinarian? He turned each arm over, looking for track marks, but her skin was smooth and pale, marked only by a light spattering of freckles.
Had someone been following her as she’d suspected? Someone who wanted to make her murder look like a suicide? That seemed like a stretch. But if Ella was merely suicidal, why come to Roman for help?
The ambulance sounded in the distance and Roman unlocked the front door, leaving it open a crack. Then he remembered the syringe in the car. The doctors may need it to find out what Ella had injected herself with.
He hurried back to the garage and plucked the empty syringe from the car, then returned to the living room. A heavy sadness settled on his shoulders at the realization that the Ella he used to know might be gone forever. He crouched down again, placing a hand along her cheek. He’d missed her for years and now that she was back, she wasn’t really back at all.
“You’re going to be okay,” he whispered. The words were both a self-assurance and a prayer. Ambulance lights blinked into the living room through the sheer curtains and voices sounded in the yard.
Someone rapped loudly at the cracked door.
“In here!” Roman called out, and the door pushed open, two uniformed medics rushing into the room.
“Found her locked in her car in the garage, engine running,” Roman explained. He pointed to the syringe he’d set on the end table. “The syringe was in her hand.”
The pair approached Ella quickly, one securing the syringe in a Ziploc bag while the other opened a black supply case and began an assessment. The team was efficient, and in minutes they were loading Ella onto a stretcher.
“You following us or riding with her?” one of the medics asked as they started for the front door.
“I’ll be right there,” Roman said. He hurried through the kitchen and locked the back door before circling back to the living room. Spotting Ella’s purse, he grabbed it and then locked the front door on his way out, pocketing the keys.
The paramedics had just finished getting Ella situated as Roman jogged up to the ambulance. He climbed in and sat alongside Ella as the siren blared and the vehicle pulled out swiftly. Slipping a hand over Ella’s, Roman did the only thing he could do. He prayed.
He’d learned long ago that life was beyond his control. When his sister was killed, he’d seen the worst of humanity. He’d faced a choice then. A choice to turn away from God or to draw even closer.
Drawing closer had been the only thing that had made sense, and it was the only way he’d eventually been able to process his sister’s murder to try to bring something good from it. Shield Protection couldn’t ever bring Brooklyn back, but it could help keep others from meeting the same fate.
His eyes opened and settled on Ella’s pale face. He prayed she’d survive tonight and that God would restore her both physically and emotionally. And he made the decision right then that he would come alongside her—something he wished he’d done years ago.
Instead grief had torn them apart and what they’d had together was long gone. But Roman could still be the friend she needed until she was healthy again.
* * *
Darkness surrounded her. Where was she? Ella took a few cautious steps, arms out in front of her. She couldn’t even see her hands. No light.
Her footsteps echoed.
Or was that someone else?
She froze, holding her breath, straining to hear over the pounding of her heart.