Page 6 of Shielding Serena

Around him the sky was beginning to go light, the mountains turning a brilliant morning orange.

The fact neither Serena nor her assistant Gena had turned on the lights was beyond odd. It was alarming. Both women had to be at it early to put together the pastries and the breakfast menu. If Serena had missed her alarm, Gena would have awoken her.

Dread slithered down his spine. He reached into the glovebox for his flashlight as the front door opened. A man dressed in all black stepped out, his face covered in a balaclava.

Instead of the flashlight he grabbed his Glock, and slid out of the truck, trying for stealth in what was left of the darkness. But the intruder either sensed or saw him, and after a quick look in Walker’s direction, broke into a run, heading for the alley that ran behind the old house.

Walker had a split second to make a decision, and in that moment, he chose Serena. As much as the warrior in him wanted to chase the intruder, he had to ensure Serena was all right. There was nothing in him that would allow her to come to harm.

He sprinted to the door and burst through.

“Serena?” he shouted. A fear he’d never known iced his veins when he saw her at the base of the staircase, crumpled into an unmoving heap. He ran to her and placed his weapon and phone on the floor, dialing 911 as he checked for a pulse.

Thank fuck he found one, and it was strong. His relief was short lived as he really looked at her.

She was unconscious, with an ugly wound on her forehead that was bleeding freely, as head wounds tended to do, but didn’t appear to be harmed in any other way. He whipped out a handkerchief and pressed it against the wound.

“911, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher asked, her voice clipped and professional.

Walker gave her the address and the fact he’d seen an assailant leave but wasn’t sure if the man had been armed. “Serena Blackstone is the patient. She’s unconscious with a head wound, but no other visible signs of injury. Pulse is normal from what I can tell.”

The dispatcher gave him the usual song and dance about staying on the line, and that an ambulance and police were on the way, but his attention was split between Serena and the front door.

He’d been careless, barreling through like that. Her assailant could return at any moment to finish the job. Walker doubted the attacker would, but kept his weapon close, in case. And as he waited, watching through the front window, one hand near his Glock and the other resting on his handkerchief, he cataloged what he’d seen so he could tell the cops.

The assailant had been medium height, with an athletic build. Caucasian from the flash of skin he’d seen where his sweatshirt hadn’t quite met the tops of his black gloves. He’d moved like someone who knew what he was doing.

A Yavapai County Sheriff’s SUV was the first vehicle in the parking lot, coming screeching to a halt. Even in the dawning day he recognized Garrett as he stepped out of the truck.

“We’re in here,” Walker shouted through the open door. “Perp is gone.”

Garrett popped his head in, did a quick assessment. “Where?”

“Down the alley. Five nine-ish, Caucasian, wearing a balaclava, black hoodie, jeans and gloves. Hiking or work boots, I think. I haven’t cleared the rest of the house.”

Garrett disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared, and seconds later a fire engine pulled into the parking lot, followed by an ambulance and a sheriff’s department cruiser.

The deputy was first through the door, his weapon drawn. Walker gave him a quick sitrep and asked that medical be brought in, since he was pretty sure the man who’d assaulted her was long gone. The deputy nodded, spoke into his shoulder mic, and moved off to clear the rest of the house.

Within moments firefighters and two EMTs crowded through the entryway, and another sheriff’s cruiser and a big truck joined the fray. Apparently there wasn’t much going on in Rimrock Creek or Cottonwood this early in the morning.

Serena started to come around, and he leaned over her as the men approached.

“Hey, darlin’,” he murmured, removed the makeshift bandage and cupped her face. The bleeding had almost stopped.

Her eyes were unfocused for a bit too long for Walker’s comfort, but then they cleared. “Walker? What are you doing here so early? How did you get in?” Her gaze flicked over his shoulder to the men crowding her parlor.

Walker ran a thumb over her cheek and her attention shifted back to him. “Looks like you got conked on the head. You okay? You seeing double, anything like that?” He would turn her over to medical professionals, but first he needed to know she was all right. Or at least as all right as she could be.

She shook her head, her silky hair brushing the back of his hand. “Two of you would be more than the world could handle,” she joked, and he knew she was coming back to herself.

The wound on her temple was red and raw against her pale skin, and an edge of fury he thought he’d banished years ago roared through him. He tamped it down. He needed to be calm for her, needed to be her port in this storm.

When she made motions to sit up, Walker dropped his hand to her shoulder. “Why don’t you wait for the paramedics to look you over before you start doing morning calisthenics?”

“I think I’m okay. Just fuzzy on how I got down here on the floor.” She paused and he could see the wheels truly begin to spin in her brain. Saw the moment when she remembered what had happened.

One of the EMTs dropped his bags and crouched next to them. “Hey Serena,” he drawled in a decidedly Georgia accent. “What’s doin’?”