over his cases and did so by keeping his deputies in the dark about evidence and interviews. It’s a terrible way to run a department.”
“You won’t hear any argument from me on that point.” Bennett rubbed the back of his neck, fighting his exhaustion and frustration. “So right now, the best lead we have are the bullets embedded in my truck.”
“Yep. If we’re lucky, the killer used that gun in a prior crime. I’ll have the vehicle towed to the evidence shed.”
“Thanks.” Bennett would have to use his personal vehicle for the next few days. “Keep me updated on what you find out.”
“Will do.” She tucked the notepad and pen into her pocket. “Stay safe in the meantime, Bennett. Whoever is behind this isn’t playing around. He failed tonight, and that’s liable to make him angry. I’m worried about what he’ll do next.”
“So am I, Claire. So am I.”
Emilia winced as the doctor secured the bandage to her arm. The wound hadn’t needed stitches, but it was deep enough to be painful. She would be sore tomorrow.
The doctor’s gaze shifted from the bandage to the scar streaking down her forearm. Heat flooded Emilia’s cheeks, and she braced herself for questions, but the doctor merely stepped back. Emilia breathed a sigh of relief. It was silly. The scars were nothing to be ashamed of, but she hated them all the same.
The doctor collected a tablet and electronic pen from the counter. “Change the dressing tomorrow and follow up with your regular physician if you run a fever. Someone will be in momentarily with your discharge papers.”
“Thanks. Could you send in the Texas Ranger standing outside the door?”
“Sure thing.”
The doctor left. The sound of voices filtered into the room. Emilia tugged on the sleeve of her sweater, covering the bandage and her scars seconds before Bennett walked in. His hair was mussed as if he’d been running his hands through it and worry clouded his eyes.
“How many stitches?” Bennett asked.
Emilia hopped off the exam table. “No stitches, just some butterfly closures. We didn’t have to come to the emergency room after all.” She flashed him a smile and winked. “A stop by the pharmacy would’ve done the job.”
He rolled his eyes. “Your arm would fall off and you’d call it a flesh wound and ask to drive by the pharmacy.”
She laughed. His comment wasn’t far from the truth.
Bennett’s expression grew serious. “Emilia, I’m sorry. I should’ve been paying better attention—”
“Don’t even start down that road, Bennett Knox. You saved my life tonight. If anyone should apologize in this situation, it’s me.” Emilia placed a hand on his arm. His shirt was soft under her palm and the warmth of his skin seeped through the fabric. “I’m sorry for my behavior over the last year. After Derrick’s attack, I just wanted to move on with my life. I blocked out anything that reminded me of what happened and our friendship got caught up in the mess. It was wrong.”
“There’s no rule book for how you’re supposed to behave after escaping from a deranged serial killer.” Bennett locked eyes with her, his expression sympathetic. “I never blamed you, Emilia. And I always considered us friends.”
A sense of relief washed over Emilia. Her apology to Bennett was long overdue and having his forgiveness and understanding lifted a weight from her shoulders. She gave into the urge to step forward and hug him. “Thank you, Bennett.”
He hugged her back. Bennett’s embrace was gentle and comforting. It struck Emilia how safe she felt within the circle of his arms. She laid her head on his strong chest. The warm scent of his cologne and the sound of his heartbeat under her ear soothed her tattered emotions.
A knock came on the exam room door, breaking the moment. Emilia slipped from Bennett’s arms. “Come in.”
A man in scrubs entered. His blond hair was slicked back from his face and he carried a clipboard. “Okay, Ms. Sanchez, I have your discharge…” His mouth dropped open. “Emilia?”
Emilia studied the man’s face. He was in his thirties with the trim figure of a swimmer. His nose was crooked, as if it’d been broken a time or two, and a faint scar crossed the corner of his mouth. Nothing about him seemed familiar.
“I’m sorry, have we met?” she asked.
“It was a long time ago.” He smiled, flashing uneven teeth. “Henry Stillman.”
The name rang a distinct bell in her mind, but Emilia still couldn’t place him. Confusion must have shown in her expression because