“I have, dammit. He doesn’t even want me, all he wants is the business.” She pressed her hands against her eyes and swore. “Listen for a minute. It’s stupid and wrong and like something out of the seventeenth century, I get all that, but it’s also the only solution that makes sense. I went over it again and again after I talked to him.”
“You listen to me.” Devon wanted to shake her until reason clicked on. “Tying yourself to someone who you say has threatened others is not right in any way. You can’t put yourself in danger like that.”
She flicked her hands to her sides, still clenched into fists. “I know it’s crazy, Devon. I know, but it feels as if it’s the only goddamn answer there is. I don’t want to do it, but . . . arghhh. I just want all this to go away, but it won’t stop.”
Alisha shoved past him, jerking away as he attempted to soothe her. Her feet slapped the wooden floorboards loudly as she stormed into the back of the house and slammed the bedroom door.
Devon dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated and furious and totally out of his depth.
There was no fucking way he would stand aside and allow her to offer herself up like some damn sacrifice. She’d admitted marrying Vincent was crazy. He’d give her a while to calm down before driving that point harder.
If not, he had no problem tying her to a chair to keep her safe. Or throwing her over his shoulder and hauling her down to the police station to let them know what she’d learned.
She was right about one thing. Suggesting that Vincent was involved in sabotage was a shocker at first. Even knowing in advance that the man was more than slightly unhinged, Devon had never, ever expected to hear such an accusation. Vincent’s obsession with Alisha wasn’t obvious at first, not until you started adding the details up. Little things showed it clearly, like the stupid ploy to buy out her residences from under her, but without that evidence it was hard to believe. Vincent would have skepticism on his side, which was the biggest bullshit Devon had ever faced.
The bedroom door creaked, and he glanced up to see Alisha cross the hallway. She stared, her face tight with frustration, before disappearing into the bathroom. The sound of running water clicked on.
His phone rang—Marcus’s tone. Devon yanked it out and answered it on the second ring, the issues with Vincent not forgotten but set aside for a moment. “Any news?”
His boss’s familiar growl came through, tired and restless. “There’s additional testing to be done, but preliminary reports are in. It’s not good, but it’s not the worst. His T10 was crushed.”
“Shit.” Devon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Chances of recovery?”
“That’s the good part. You guys stabilized him properly, and he got the fastest treatment possible. They had him in surgery already this morning. He’ll have therapy to deal with, but chances of walking again are higher than average.”
Devon leaned on the wall to stop the room from spinning, shoving the images of his father into a corner of his mind and focusing on the here and now. “You going to see him?”
“I’m already in Calgary. Becki and I will be back in a couple days. In the meantime we’re all on hiatus. I’ll call everyone else and let them know. Lifeline’s not taking any call-outs. I’ve got . . . I’ve got feelers out for a new paramedic for the team.”
A truth that was necessary but still sucked hugely, and also meant this wasn’t the time to mention Alisha’s threat to quit. “I’ll let Alisha know—she’s here with me. You need me to do anything at the shop?”
“No. It’s locked up tight. There’s more investigating to do in the next week, but my RCMP contact says he’s on top of it.” Marcus sighed. “We’ll get through this, Devon.”
Marcus didn’t know the half of it. “That’s my line to you,” Devon repeated. “Call if you need anything.”
They both hung up, and Devon paced the room again, searching for the words to go and knock some sense into Alisha even as he shared the news regarding Xavier.
He picked up his coat from where she’d thrown it toward the back of the couch, more to keep his hands busy than out of a need to clean up, and an envelope fell to the ground.
The unusual texture and unusual colouring screamed Vincent—it was the same kind of expensive envelope that had held the house offer he’d read earlier. Devon opened it and peeked inside. The plane ticket in Alisha’s name confirmed part of her report. Vincent really did think he could simply take over her life.
Fury swamped him, and Devon acted on instinct. He’d been patient, he’d waited, but it wasn’t time to wait any longer. He pulled on the coat and headed out the door.
Vincent wanted to make threats against the people closest to him? Devon would give him a few reasons to reconsider.
Alisha tilted her face into the shower and let the hot water cascade over her in the hopes of washing Vincent’s stench away. The reek of fear.
Devon was right. She had to go to the RCMP, but horror continued to tango in her veins.
The what ifs terrified her more than anything she’d faced in her years of rescue work. More than the panic attack in the cavern not so long ago, because not only did she feel out of control, but the chaos was deliberate. Humanly guided deceit.
A flash flood or rock slide could shatter lives. At Lifeline they fought that devastation—they brought people back safely more times than not. Man against nature followed rules she’d learned to combat during her time in school and training.
Vincent’s careless disregard for human life cut harder and deeper than the smash of a rock or the icy touch of hypothermia.
Nature wasn’t deliberately cruel. She was unpredictable and powerful. Most of the time she could not be tamed, but gentled. Vincent had stepped outside those boundaries, and Alisha wasn’t willing to play his games. Not anymore.
If she had to leave Lifeline for the safety of her teammates, she’d do so, but she wouldn’t marry Vincent. She’d go south, find somewhere to hide for a while until some proof was found of his involvement.
Devon was right. She needed to trust him, the way she’d trusted him with her life until now.
Going to the police was the only option. Even more urgent on the agenda, from the perspective of Vincent being more than slightly unhinged, was warning her teammates.
She clicked off the shower and hurried to dress, calling for Devon. She couldn’t find him anywhere. No note, no nothing.
When his phone went to voice mail she growled in frustration. Great. Now that she’d had time to see reason, he wasn’t there. It might be needy, but if she had to do this, she wanted him by her side.
Calling everyone on Lifeline individually wasn’t what she wanted, either. Too many explanations—too many questions. She opened her computer and composed a short e-mail.
Maybe it was melodramatic, but Vincent’s “I have the resources to make this happen,” had scared her more than she wanted to admit. She had no idea if her e-mail was being monitored. Was that even possible outside television?
The less she said the better at this point.
Potential danger. Please, stay home tonight. I’ll contact you ASAP. Rule #3
Lifeline’s rules—the ones plastered on the wall in HQ that guided all their training, rescues, and interactions. Rule three was Trust your team. They all understood what it meant. That she was calling on them to go without information and simply believe she was making the right decision based on information she had that they lacked.