Wyoming Winter Rescue
Автор
Juno Rushdan
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Chapter One
“Nash, don’t bother coming.” Lourdes Lynn Delgado cradled her cell phone between her ear and shoulder as she locked her computer screen and grabbed her purse. “There’s nothing left to say. Besides, I’m already leaving the office.” She should’ve left an hour ago.
“I’m sorry I’m running late, Lynn.”
To her, Lourdes was her grandmother, so almost everyone called Lynn by her middle name, which she preferred since she was the namesake of someone still living. Although her family affectionately called her Lola for as long as she could remember. For some reason, Nash had never taken to it.
“Running late is ten minutes. Not sixty.” Nonetheless, here she was with a grumbling stomach at 8:00 p.m., waiting on him. Like an idiot.
“I got hung up at work,” Nash said, “and before you say it, yes, as usual.”
He was an FBI agent, saving lives and stopping bad guys. She admired him for it, but his tardiness only scratched the surface of a much deeper problem in their relationship.
“Wait for me.” The entreaty in his voice tugged at her, but she braced against it, refusing to get sucked back in. “I’ll be there in five minutes,” he said, which she’d learned meant twenty. “Wait, okay? We need to talk.”
She didn’t believe it. He wasn’t going to shed the military stoicism from his former army ranger days any time soon and suddenly open up.
“You haven’t changed.” Lynn turned off her office lights. “What we need is a clean break.”
As a psychotherapist she knew that seeing one another after a breakup while being attracted to each other and still having feelings wasn’t advisable. Studies suggested time apart was best. Six months without any interaction. Without speaking on the phone. Without letting the good memories cloud judgment and convince her that separating was a mistake.
Lynn stepped into the hallway. “I’m leaving now.” She locked her office door. “Don’t come to my house, either. We’re done.” Saying the words out loud made her heart ache. She’d once envisioned building a life with him, but if they were wrong for each other, it was better to end things now before they got in any deeper. “It’s for the best. Good night.”
After she disconnected, she put her phone in her purse and turned to leave.
Movement at the end of the hall stopped her cold. The cozy waiting room near the front door was dimly lit by one lamp and the plugged-in glowing jack-o’-lantern on the side table. She hesitated a minute but didn’t see anyone, didn’t hear anything. With Halloween coming up and all the horror movies she’d been watching, her subconscious was probably playing tricks on her.
Yet the warning hairs on the nape of her neck rose. “Hello.”
Maybe it was her colleague, Dr. Richard Jennings, whose practice she had joined last year. Or perhaps one of his clients. She couldn’t recall if he’d mentioned any late appointments.
Lynn strode down the hall, treading lightly on the carpet until she could see the entire waiting room and the front door.
She saw something. Or rather someone. Standing in the corner, in the shadows.
A woman?
No...a man. Definitely a man.
“Rich, is that you?” Even as she asked the question, she could now tell it wasn’t. The height and build were wrong. Too short, too slim to be Rich.
The man stepped into the light.
It was Andy Crombie. One of her clients she’d been concerned about since their last session.
Lynn tamped down her rising fear. “Andy? What are you doing here? It’s very late and we don’t have an appointment.” She stepped closer. “Is everything okay?”
Shaking his head, he burrowed his hands in his pockets. His shaggy black hair was disheveled, with inky strands clinging to his pale face. His brown eyes were watery, his nose swollen and red, his beard shabby. He was wearing a dirty, stained T-shirt and a ragged jacket.
“No,” Andy said, with another sharp shake of his head, his voice hoarse. “Everything’s not okay.” His hand slipped from his pocket. Metal glinted in the amber light.
He had a gun.
Lynn stiffened, but her mind was racing. She’d gone through a course to prepare for a situation like this. Ninety percent of the scenarios from her training hadn’t ended well. That was the reason she had decided to stop treating severe psychological pathologies and hadn’t opened a practice alone.
She shifted her stance to an angle, allowing her a glimpse of Rich’s office without turning her back on Andy. Rich might still be there. If so, the door would be unlocked. She hoped.
It was closer than hers, only a few feet away.
As long as Andy kept the gun lowered, down by his side, she might be able to make it.
Slowly, very slowly, Lynn raised her palms. “Stay calm.” Her tone was steady and soft despite the fact that her nerves were pinging. “Whatever the problem is, we can find a solution. We can get through this. Together.” She crept backward, inch by inch. “But having a gun pointed at me makes me very uncomfortable. Can you put the gun away so we can work through this peacefully?”
He rubbed the side of his face and yanked at his hair. “No.”
A knot of tension tightened in her stomach. “Okay, okay. How about putting the gun on the floor or the side table next to you so no one gets hurt by accident.”
“I said no,” he spat through gritted teeth.
Lynn drew in a strained breath. “Then talk to me. Tell me what the problem is.”
“The problem is you.” Andy lifted the automatic weapon.
Lynn’s heart dropped as a sickening dread washed over her. She stared at the muzzle of the gun.
Silver.
Lethal.
Aimed dead center at her chest.
A scream started in the back of her throat, but Rich wouldn’t be able to hear her. The therapy rooms were soundproofed to safeguard the privacy of their clients. As well as to keep outside noise from disrupting a patient’s train of thought.
Lynn swallowed back any useless cries for help. “You don’t want to hurt me.” She took another small step. Another and another. “You don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“But I do. I really do,” he said, jabbing the gun in her direction. “I want to hurt you, the way you hurt me.”
Heart thudding, she licked her lips. Don’t panic. Do not panic! “What’s wrong, Andy?”
His gaze roamed while he pinched his lips together. Tears welled in his eyes. The gun shook in his hand. But he didn’t answer.
“Please tell me what’s wrong.” Lynn eased her back up to the door. “I want to help you.” She reached for the knob.
“Liar.” Andy’s gaze flickered up and homed in on her. “It’s all your fault.” He cocked the hammer of the gun.
Oh, no.
Lynn twisted the doorknob, hopeful it was unlocked.
The cool metal in her hand turned, and scant relief whispered through her. She ducked inside the office, closed the door and engaged the lock.
Spinning around, she faced Rich and his client, Cindy Morris.
Rich’s hand fell from Cindy’s cheek, and the two of them jumped apart on the sofa like a couple of teenagers caught making out.
Wide-eyed and flushed, Rich hopped to his feet. “Sorry. Uh, I thought you’d already left. We were just, uh...”
Lynn glanced past Cindy, who lowered her head and was adjusting her blouse, and she hustled around behind Rich’s desk. She pressed the red panic button that would notify the police. Both offices had one in case of emergencies.
“What are you doing in here?” Rich asked, his tone sliding from apologetic to indignant. “How dare you barge in on a counseling session.”
“Andy Crombie is here.”
“At this hour?” Rich’s puffed-up chest deflated, and he rubbed his trim powder-white beard. For a man in his late fifties, he looked a decade older. “I thought you decided to stop seeing him and referred him to a different therapist.”
“He’s got a gun.”
“What?” Rich blanched.
Cindy bolted up from the sofa and ran to him. The young woman, half his age, grabbed Rich’s arm and clung to his side. “Do you think it’s loaded?”
Lynn grimaced at the question. “I didn’t ask.” The odds weren’t in their favor. When did anyone in the Cowboy State deliberately carry an unloaded firearm?
A gunshot cracked, blasting a hole in the door as bullet-split wood fractured the air.
Cindy shrieked.
Rich dragged her behind the desk beside Lynn, where the three of them huddled together.
The cops would be there soon. They had to be. And Nash was on the way.
Where was he?
Then she remembered their conversation. Telling him not to come because it was pointless.
She gritted her teeth in bitter regret.
Two more rounds were fired into the wood jamb.
“He’s going to make it inside before the police get here,” Rich said. “We’ve got to buy time, do anything to stall him, so he doesn’t kill us all.”
Time was something they didn’t have. It would take the sheriff’s department seven to ten minutes to respond.
Another bullet hit the metal doorknob. The shrill sound echoed through Lynn, reverberating down to her bones.
The guts of the latch rattled when Andy kicked the door. On a second kick, the frame splintered, and the door burst open.
Andy stormed inside the office, brandishing the weapon. “You’re a liar! If you wanted to help me, you wouldn’t have gotten rid of me!” He swung the gun in Lynn’s direction.
She cringed, her spine pressed to the wall, grabbing her purse tight against her stomach. Through the soft leather of her handbag, she felt the hard outline of the Ruger LCR .38 revolver that Nash had given her.
The compact gun was simple to operate. She didn’t have to think about anything, not even racking a slide. There was no safety, and it had a hammerless design. She’d regarded it as a hazard that could do more harm than good, but when her FBI agent boyfriend prodded her to carry it, she hadn’t argued. But she doubted she could ever bring herself to use it.
“Why did you pawn me off on that psychiatrist?” Andy asked, drawing closer.
“I’m sorry.” Tightening her grip on her purse with one hand, Lynn slid the other inside. “You need specialized treatment. I thought with his expertise that he’d be a better match for you.”
“A better match?” Andy’s voice was a fierce whisper. “I thought you cared about me.”
“I do.” Lynn nodded as her fingers skimmed the cold steel of the Ruger. “Very much.” She gripped the handle. “I’m deeply invested in all my clients.” It was true. She had struggled with the referral, worried it might affect the progress that had been made. She didn’t want him to feel emotionally stranded. And right now, Andy needed her help more than ever. She let go of the gun. They just had to buy time. “I only want what’s best for you.”
“Liar!” Andy’s face twisted in anger. The gun shook in his hand as he leveled it at her chest. “I hate you for lying.”
This wasn’t happening. Not to her.
“She isn’t lying,” Rich said. “Don’t blame Dr. Delgado. No one is to blame.” He stepped forward with his hands at his sides, palms facing forward in a nonthreatening manner.
Cindy clawed at Rich’s sleeve, urging him not to move any farther. “What are you doing?” she asked in a frantic whisper, staying behind him. “Don’t be a hero.”
“It wasn’t an easy decision for Dr. Delgado,” Rich said. “She consulted me about your case. There were many factors to take into consideration. Her top concern was always your well-being. I advised her to refer you to—”
Pivoting, Andy swung the gun at Rich and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot was like a thunderclap in Lynn’s soul. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor.
Time slowed. It was as if everything was happening at a distance. Someone else’s living nightmare that she was being forced to watch.
Rich was writhing on the carpet, gasping for air. Blood pooled on the carpet beside him.
Screaming, Cindy dropped to her knees, lowered her face to the floor and covered her head with her hands.
Everything inside Lynn went numb. She was disconnected, reeling in disbelief.
Rich’s legs stopped twitching. He was no longer moving.
Oh God. Is he dead?
“I was warned not to trust you,” Andy said. “I should’ve listened.” He stalked around the desk.
Lynn couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She looked up, her gaze not making it to his face, locked on the sight of the pistol in his hand. Pressure built in her chest. Her ears filled with the roar of white noise as Andy lowered the gun, pointing it straight at her head.
