Page 56 of Criminology of a Character

“The doctor will answer those questions, but she’s here and stable,” Bel said. “I’ll help you find him.”

“Thank you,” husband and wife said in unison, and when Mrs. Bristol refused to release Bel’s hand, she guided the couple up to their daughter’s room. She held back as the doctor confirmed the parent’s identities and then explained the specifics of Sarah’s condition, but she watched from the doorway as the family reunited. Sarah had begged for her mom in that attic, and tears spilled down Bel’s cheeks as a mother pulled her lost daughter into her arms. It was a heart-wrenchingly beautiful scene, and everything she’d endured became worth it. The sleepless nights, the stress, the shootout. She would do it all again to watch a girl realize her mom had come for her, to watch parents who expected to bury their only child find her alive and safe. When her job became too heavy, too dark and overwhelming, Bel sometimes wondered why she put herself through this hell, but watching Mrs. Bristol kiss Sarah reminded her that sometimes good won, and when it did, it possessed more magic than the most powerful spell.

As if sensing their audience, Mrs. Bristol glanced at her over her daughter’s head. She didn’t speak, but Bel understood her all the same. She nodded at the woman and left the family to rejoice in private.

Jogging down to the main reception for the second time that evening, Bel finally exited the hospital and aimed toward her car. Tomorrow would be another long day, but seeing the Bristols had lightened her mood, and she practically floated across the pavement until a familiar presence slipped over her skin. The parking lot grew darker, the shadows closing in on her as the hair on the back of her neck rose, and she barely had time to brace herself before a massive shape surged from the blackness.

“Isobel Emerson, don’t you ever do that to me again,” Eamon growled as he scooped her off the ground and pulled her against his chest with a curse that settled against her bones. His voice was so full of fear, of desperation and longing, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as tightly as she wound her arms around his neck.

“I’m okay,” she said as he claimed her mouth, kissing her as if he’d been suffocating for days and she was his only oxygen. “I wasn’t hurt.”

“But you were shot at.” He moved across the ground until her back bumped his truck, and he hoisted her onto the hood. “That monster tried to take your life, and I wasn’t there to protect you. I wasn’t even in town, and I spent the entire drive home panicking that you wouldn’t be here when I arrived.”

“Eamon.” She grabbed his face and forced him to meet her gaze. “I called you. You heard my voice. You knew I was safe.”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s irrational, but it didn’t matter. I needed to see you to know for sure. I…” he trailed off as his head collapsed against her chest. “I love you so much that it hurts all the time. I guess that’s what happens to a heart when it spends decades filled with only hate, and then centuries with indifference. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, and to hear some serial killer tried to shoot you… It makes me sick.”

“I didn’t handle it much better,” Bel said, threading her fingers through his hair as he kissed her collarbone. “Griffin was shot. It’s a flesh wound, but still. All I could think about was your back after that IED. But we’re okay, and we saved Sarah. I just escorted her parents to her room, and it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Eamon, I wish you’d been there because she begged for her mom when I found her, and helping return her to her mother is a feeling I’ll never forget. It was terrifying, but I would do it again to save even one more girl.”

“This is why I’m so hopelessly in love with you.” He pressed his lips against hers, the kiss turning molten as their emotions fueled their connection. “You are the best of us.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t argue, Detective. It’s the truth.”

“Yes, sir.” She tugged his hair, and he groaned as he gripped her thighs, forcing them open as he settled between her legs. The atmosphere shifted as he inhaled her every moan, and for the briefest of seconds, she forgot where she was as his kiss consumed her.

“Take me home, Mr. Stone,” she gasped, pulling away to regain control of her overheated body. “It’s cold, and this is a very public parking lot, but you started something I expect you to finish.” She kissed him seductively, and Eamon bit her lip, letting his sharp canines drag over her skin.

“Yes, Detective.” He scooped her off his truck’s hood and walked her to her car. “I’ll follow you, but don’t go too fast. I need you to get home in one piece.”

“I’ll be safe.” She kissed him one last time, wondering for half a second how irresponsible it would be to climb into the back seat with him. “But I might drive a little fast.” She pinched her fingers to illustrate her point, but he captured them in a love bite.

“You enjoy making me crazy.” He grabbed her seatbelt and pulled it over her body.

“So crazy.” She nipped his ear as he buckled the belt into place, and the moment he moved out of the way, she slammed the door and started her engine. She was alive. She’d survived, and she’d saved that girl. Life pulsed through her veins, and all she wanted was to go home and celebrate with the man she was dangerously close to saying three words to.

“Haveyou gone through his computer yet?” Bel asked as she settled behind the tech’s desk. Despite almost dying by a one-man firing squad, seeing Sarah reunited with her parents had ignited a sense of euphoria in Bel’s chest, and she’d celebrated being alive by spending the night in Eamon’s arms. His fear of losing her collided with her relief, and neither of them found sleep until the early morning hours. Their night had been desperate and passionate. Primal and raw and honest, but their urgency faded with the darkness, leaving only peace in its wake. Eamon had made her a full breakfast, and combined with a shower, the homemade cappuccino, and plenty of dog kisses, she felt almost ready to step into Griffin’s shoes and tackle the mountain of work awaiting her.

“Yes, I have. Frost had some security measures, but nothing we couldn’t handle,” the tech said. “He probably assumed his other precautions would keep us from ever finding this computer.”

“If that tree hadn’t fallen, they would have,” Bel said.

“There isn’t much on here, but his internet history shows he visited the electric company’s customer site. He’d accessed Walker’s accounts regularly, so while it isn’t concrete proof that he killed Walker, it convinced me.”

“Me too,” she agreed. “But Frost is dead, and we need to cover ourselves and prove he’s The Matchstick Girl Killer.”

“Which we won’t have any problems doing with those photos and Rohypnol stores,” he said. “I found something else interesting. It’s not evidence, but it might help explain things.”

“Show me.” She grabbed a chair from an unoccupied desk and pulled it closer.

“I found this article. Dates back twenty years, but he’d had a scanned version hidden in his files.” The tech opened up the news clipping. “It’s short, and you can read it for yourself if you want, but to sum it up, a group of photojournalists were unexpectedly stranded in a blizzard. The remote location made rescue impossible, and they froze to death.”

“That’s horrible,” Bel said. “Was Frost the reporter who wrote the piece?”

“No, he isn’t mentioned at all,” he said. “It’s an oddly sparse article, but he kept this for a reason. There’s more to the story. I’m certain of it, and I think Frost was involved somehow.”

“And it birthed the desire to murder by hypothermia.”

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