A Valentine Wish (Gates-Cameron 1)

“Briefly,” Mark said, frustration in his tone. “She took only enough time to assure me that you weren’t mortally injured before she sent Casey off to call you to the phone. I wish I knew what that woman has against me.”

“I doubt that it’s you, personally. I don’t think she wants to get too deeply involved with anyone.”

“She just needs time to get used to the idea, that’s all,” Mark said stubbornly. And then he changed the subject before Dean could comment. “Tell me what happened. All I know is that something fell on you and ripped your arm open.”

“I was tearing down the garden shed, when an old metal-framed potting bench fell from a loft above me. Had I not ducked at the last moment, my injuries would probably be worse than they are,” Dean explained, thinking that Anna could well have saved his life with her warning.

“What was a heavy potting bench doing up in the loft?”

“I wish I knew. It wasn’t there a couple of hours earlier. ”

There was a pause at the other end of the line. “You’re sure of that?”

“I’m sure of that,” Dean repeated grimly. “I looked that whole shed over before I started working on it. I had noticed the bench outside, behind the building.”

“I saw a man lift it into the loft,” Anna said quietly, appearing suddenly at Dean’s side. “The same man who pushed it onto you.”

Dean straightened abruptly, staring at her. “Who?” he mouthed, frustrated by knowing Mark would hear him if he spoke aloud.

She shrugged. “A man of maybe thirty years old. His clothes were shabby and his hair was too long. Both were dirty. He’d been watching you, and when you went inside to take your phone call, he moved the bench to the loft. He waited there for you to return. After he... attacked you, he climbed out the round window and jumped to the ground. I don’t know where he went after that. I was worried about you.”

Except for that one break, she spoke flatly, mechanically. Her eyes held all the turbulent feelings she’d tried to repress.

“Dean?” Mark prodded after a moment. “What—”

“Someone pushed the bench onto me,” Dean cut in, his own voice hardened by anger. “It was deliberate, Mark.”

“How do you know that?”

“I, er, caught a glimpse of him, up in the loft. Before I could react, I was pinned under the bench and he was gone.”

“But Cara said it was an accident. She didn’t mention a deliberate attack.”

“She doesn’t know. You’re the only one I’ve told.”

“For crying out loud, Dean, why? Why didn’t you call the cops? Chief Peavy would—oh, hell.”

Dean waited for Mark to reach the obvious conclusion.

It didn’t take long.

“The Peavys,” Dean confirmed. “Maybe I’ve gotten too close to the truth for comfort.”

“I’m coming over. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Okay, sure. Come on over. I’ll tell you what little I know. But don’t expect any more proof than I’ve offered you before. I still don’t have it. Not yet.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Still looking at Anna, Dean hung up the phone. “Tell me again,” he ordered her. “From the beginning.”

She repeated what she’d said earlier. She’d seen the man skulking behind bushes, watching Dean work. She’d watched him set up the attack.

“I tried to warn you,” she said, wringing her hands and avoiding his eyes. “I could see he was up to no good, and I wanted to let you know. But I...couldn’t.”

“Why not?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle. He could sense the extent of her distress.

“I don’t know. Maybe I panicked. Maybe I was trying too hard. But I—” Her voice cracked. He could hardly hear her next words. “He almost killed you.”