Hidden Shadows (The Shadow Series Book 1) (30 page)

Now Jenna was the animal. She sprang to life under Desiree, bucked, kicked, and squirmed, belted out a frustrated cry.

She thrashed her head from side to side, anything to catch Desiree off guard, unseat her from her advantage.

It was enough to fluster Desiree, to have her wrenching the knife from Jenna’s arm to resituate.

With the new slice of pain came a life-saving helping of glory; she clearly saw the front entrance . . . and Taryn was gone.

She’d been moved, helped, saved.
Ben! Ben! Thank you, God, for Ben!

And as she thought it, as she thought of him, he appeared, tackled and toppled Desiree as he plowed forward.

Desiree screamed, bellowed curses, incoherent rage, but she was the trapped one now, captured under Ben’s much, much larger body.

He reached for Jenna, face covered in alarm, in pain. “My God . . .” Pinned Desiree’s arms at the wrist with one hand as she tore at the air, tried to reach him. “Can you call nine-one-one?”

Filling her lungs with air, with life, Jenna almost wept, wanted to lie there forever, wrap herself up in Ben’s arms, grab her children tight and never let go, but Desiree’s screams became primal, her frenzy uncontrollable. "I will not fail! You will die! You will die! DIE, DIE, DIE.”

Jenna rolled onto her side, fought away the rising bile, refused to succumb to the faintness. She had to act, move, get help, save them.

Ben groped in his pocket, tossed a phone her way.

As she sat up, met his eyes with a flood of gratitude and love she noticed all at once how still Desiree had gone, how her body seemed stretched, splayed. Then she saw the fingers reach, expand, and grasp the hilt of the knife.

“Ben!” she screamed, as Desiree moved fast, went for the neck.

In movement too swift for Jenna to comprehend, Ben produced a gun and with one, quick strike—quicker than Desiree’s attempt—he plowed the butt into her temple. And she went limp.

With Jenna immediately following.

****

As patrol cars pulled in the drive and officers scrambled out, guns poised, Ben walked out of the garage, hands raised, and pointed inside. “She’s in there. Out cold.”

As half a dozen officers rushed by, Cooley stalked in, pegged Ben with a curious stare. He shrugged casually, “She was irrational, too tough to contain. Tried to stab me. She’s fine. Just got her with the butt of the gun. She'll be up again before too long.”

Cooley came to Jenna who huddled on the steps, and wrapped her in an unexpected hug. “I’m glad you’re okay. And you too," he gushed, patting Jacy and Dawson who squeezed beside their mother. Back to cop now, he lowered his voice to Jenna, “Ambulances are right behind us. How are you?”

“Scared. Shaky. Alive.” She smiled feebly, looked up at Ben who hauled Dawson in his arms. “Grateful."

“I imagine.” He acknowledged Ben with a glance, brought his steady blue eyes back to her. “We're sorry we weren’t here for the showdown, but very glad things turned out in your favor. How badly are you injured?”

“I’ll need stitches. We’ve stopped the bleeding well enough. I’m in pain. But the shock is helping, holding a lot of it back.”

Cooley made a sound of sober agreement. “We were already on our way when dispatch got to us. Eddie Gonzalez called, Leigh woke and named Molly as her shooter.”

Jenna brightened. “She’s awake?”

Cooley dropped his eyes, shook his head faintly. “Only for a moment.”

Jenna’s shoulders sank and her briefly revived spirit went with them.

Cooley placed a hand to her knee. “Not your fault. Can’t blame yourself for this one. Eddie said Leigh was a fighter. She took that last breath so she could tell who did this to her . . . it could’ve saved you. Honor her memory and be grateful.”

Jenna nodded solemnly, tried to let the admiration outweigh the grief. “I will.”

Cooley stood as a little hand tugged at his sleeve, turned to Dawson as he rose. “Yes?”

“We ran to the neighbor’s house while Ben got the bad lady.”

“That was very smart of you.”

Dawson squared his shoulders with pride. “A good Jedi I am.” He put his hands to his mouth, giggled. “That's what Yoda would say.”

Cooley smiled, took the cap from his head and placed it on Dawson’s. “I bet Yoda would tell me I better quit talking and do my job.”

His eyes drifted toward the drive as the ambulance sirens wailed, neared, then, with a tap to his forehead, he nodded at Jenna and made his way inside.

****

Ben, Jenna, Jacy, and Dawson stood on the front porch, watching the last of the rain peck the yard while the now silent ambulances and police cars pulled away.

Of the two ambulances, one held a dead body—there’d been no hope for poor Taryn—and one held her murderer. Desiree would be taken to a hospital, treated. But she’d live. Then she’d go to jail.

There were interviews coming, statements to be given, a trial most certainly. But for now, this was enough.

Her children were safe and unharmed. She was alive, here with her family.

Jenna’d been treated on scene, cleaned up, stitched up, given enough pain meds to get her through the hour or two she’d requested with her family. They’d eat, put the kids to bed, then she’d go on, get thoroughly checked.

The EMT’s had advised against it, but for just a while, she wanted this, needed this. The normalcy of a night in on a stormy evening. It wasn’t normal at all, of course. But it was here,
livable
, and that was something Jenna didn’t think she’d ever take for granted again.

They’d bypass the front entry, stay away from the freshly cleaned spot where Taryn had lain.

But they’d do it. They’d be together . . . the four of them.

She could make it through, would make it through,
had
made it through, with her family.

“No more of the bad woman,” Dawson shook his head.

“Nope.” Ben reached, rubbed a thumb over the bright hair.

“Will Molly go to jail?” Jacy asked, wrapping her hand in Jenna’s.

“Yes, baby, she will. It’s where she belongs.”

“I know.” And true to Jacy’s spirit, she voiced the wisdom and innocence Jenna loved so much. "And we belong here.”

Ben watched Jenna over the heads of her children, love, longing passing there. And he answered her girl in his deep, reassuring voice, “We do, Jacy. We absolutely do.”

As the red lights faded, disappeared, Jenna moved to Ben, put her hand in his. “Who wants spaghetti?”

And she smiled as three voices answered in unison, “Me!”

Turn the page for a preview of

Book Two in The Shadows Series,

Chasing Shadows

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.

ONE

She could not have been more shocked.

Not if Elvis had showed up, alive and singing one of her favorites. Not if the good Lord himself walked right through the door.

Not even if the baby she was currently pushing out was pronounced to be an alien child. (Which, considering the pain, she actually wouldn’t be surprised by that at all. She half expected her stomach to burst open like the iconic
Alien
scene any second now.)

There stood Joseph Aston. Her husband, Joseph.

Well, maybe her husband.

She hadn’t seen him in almost eight months, so who was to say?

But there he stood, pretty as you please, with a look of shock and astonishment on his face equal to her own, as she gave birth to their baby.

A baby he didn’t even know existed.

Or hadn’t known.

She cried out as another contraction hit, this time in a tumbling wave. When would this huge ball come out?

Good Lord, she knew there’d be pain, but not the unbearable, seething kind ripping its way through her body.

Misery and exhaustion took their place again, surpassed even the sharpest shock. Forced her to close her eyes and concentrate on the nurse by her bed counting, breathing, instructing her to push, push.

The voice was calm, steady, even sweet.

That made her want to kill the woman.

And kill whoever had talked her into this natural birth thing.

There was nothing natural about it.

“Heidi, don’t hold your breath. You have to breathe, now. Come on.”

“I am breathing!” Beginning to panic, Heidi jerked her head in the direction where the only two visitors she’d willingly allowed in the room gathered, gestured desperately to her sister-in-law.

Jenna released Ben’s hand, moved forward quickly to Heidi’s side.

But even in the moment of crisis, (and as the contraction and pushing ceased for one blessed moment) Heidi understood Jenna’s sheepish expression could only mean one thing: she was the culprit responsible for Joseph’s prodigal return.

Perfect. Jenna Gregor Aston had just earned herself a spot on Heidi’s growing hit list.

A contraction hit, spiked.

It was strong, grueling, gripping her insides.

“Dear Lord, help me! When is it coming?” Heidi screamed at the nurse, now wishing that soothing voice back. Praying for some equally soothing answer like,
Right now. It’ll all be over now. The baby’s out. See?

But to Heidi’s annoyance, the nurse only continued the calm instructions to breathe and push, breathe and push.

At the foot of the bed, her doctor said evenly, “Head’s coming, Heidi. Here we go.”

And all at once fire spread between her legs, a burning and tearing and immeasurable pressure unlike anything she knew existed.

She screamed.

She cursed.

She cried.

Her vision was blurry, watery, but she recognized Joseph rushing to her side.

Some still functioning part of her brain had the craving to shove him away, but she hadn’t the strength or the focus.

Her mission was as simple and as complex, as easy and as excruciating, as getting this child
out
of her body.

Joseph grabbed her hand, instructed her to hold on, squeeze if she needed.

And squeeze she did.

Until she felt bone underneath flesh. Until she could no longer feel her own fingers for their numbness.

Each time the tightening came that rippled over and through her swollen belly, she followed the voices of encouragement and direction to breathe and push and rest.

“Almost there, Heidi,” Dr. Blake said steadily. “You can do this. One more push and you’ll have a baby.”

She somehow managed to raise her head, watched glassy-eyed as her OB rolled back in his chair, dropped his head below her knees.

Her own head was light. She felt she needed a huge breath, a big dose of oxygen.

“I can’t,” she moaned. “I can't.”

“You can,” the familiar and long-gone voice said. “You are.”

And that man, that may or may not be hers, but was definitely this child’s father, leaned down and ever so gently kissed her forehead.

Just as another spasm of pain raked her.

She did what was instinctual. She pushed.

With all of her might. With every last breath and ounce of strength she possessed.

And out came her baby.

No . . . their baby.

A relief unlike anything she had ever known flooded her system.

She collapsed back into the curve of the bed. Let her spinning head rest, fall onto the pillow.

And then the cry. The beautiful, wailing sound of life.

The soft-spoken nurse was all excitement and glee now. “It’s a girl! A girl!”

A girl. A daughter. Her daughter.

She had intentionally waited all these months, not learned the sex of her baby for just this moment. So she could feel the fresh joy and excitement of her new gift.

And she had a daughter!

Now her head felt as if it would just float away.

Noises, voices, sounds of suction and patting and questions about cutting the cord and delivering the placenta floated in and out of her ears and through her hazy mind.

Time seemed to be dragging, lagging along.

Desperately wanting to see, touch, and feel what her agony had produced, what her love had created, she repeated over and over, “I want to see her, let me see her.”

“She’s coming, Heidi,” Dr. Blake reassured. “She's fine. Just a little meconium as she came out. I’m fixing you up, too. Hold tight. You’ve done great.”

Exhaustion threatened to swamp her, but adrenaline kept its pace, kept her heart pounding and head turning.