Beyond Risk

by Connie Mann

  She swallowed hard. “I was talking to Wyatt and didn’t see it happen. I should have.”

  “You can’t have your eyes everywhere at once, cher,” he said.

  She ignored him. “Troy popped up and yelled that he couldn’t find her, so I dove in after her. Paul dove down, too. The water’s so murky, I couldn’t see anything, so I was trying to find her by feel. I’d finally located her when something clamped down on my leg and tried to pull me downriver. I kicked until I got free, but by then, I was almost out of air. Brittany’s leg was caught under a log, and it felt like forever before I managed to pull her free. I got her to the surface, but she wasn’t breathing. As I tried to get her to shore, someone started shooting.” She swallowed hard. “You know the rest.”

  Hunter’s expression was intent. “You didn’t see anyone else down there?”

  She frowned. “You know how dark that water is.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Maybe I got trapped under a branch and it just felt like someone grabbed me.” She stopped, studied his face. “You don’t believe that.”

  “Neither do you, not after someone threatened you last night. I’m checking backgrounds of everyone who was on the river with you.” He paused. “Tell me about Travis.”

  “He’s a good kid, big-time into video games, socially awkward.”

  “He has a crush on you.”

  She grimaced. “I know. I spent some time gaming with him when I first came home, and he took it as more than it was.”

  “Would he try to hurt you?”

  “Travis?” She laughed. “No. I can’t picture that. He’s harmless.”

  Without warning, the laughter turned to tears. Hunter stopped, surprised. Charlee was not a crier. She turned her head, swiped at her cheeks, and fought to regain control.

  He refused to offer easy platitudes, but he could help her think, process. “What was Travis doing there? He wasn’t with your group.”

  Charlee cocked her head, blinked several times. “No, I thought he was working all day, since I would be gone with the group. But with Natalie there, maybe Dad let him go early.”

  “Did it strike you as odd, him showing up like that?”

  “Not any more than usual.”

  Hunter’s senses sharpened. “What does that mean?”

  Charlee shrugged. “He’s always watching me.”

  Hunter raised a brow. “That doesn’t make him odd; it makes him male, cher. You’re lovely to look at.”

  A blush raced over her cheeks, and she ducked her head.

  When he picked up his cell phone and started dialing, she asked, “Who are you calling?”

  “I’ll get someone to stay with you while I check on something.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I told you, I don’t need a babysitter. I’m fine.”

  “The doc said we should keep an eye on you for the next day or so. Make sure those stitches stay put and that sharp brain of yours didn’t get too banged around.”

  She folded her arms over her chest and drew his eyes to the way her snug T-shirt hugged her curves. Even with her bandaged head, her tough stance and hot body made it hard to look away. But he forced himself to meet her eyes.

  “If you’re going to keep acting like my family, we’re going to have a serious problem, Lieutenant.”

  He studied her implacable expression, weighed the risk, nodded. He wasn’t going far. “Okay. Get some rest. I’ll be back in a while.”

  Chapter 5

  He’d backed down, just like that. Instead of the fight she’d expected, Hunter had simply nodded and left. Confused, Charlee sank down on the couch and snuggled under a crocheted throw her mother had made years ago. The more she got to know him, the more she was drawn to him, and she wasn’t sure what to do with that.

  Right now, she had other, far more important things to think about. What happened on the river? If Tommy Jennings had sent the newspaper article, it wasn’t a huge stretch to imagine JJ and Nora’s grief-stricken father might have taken shots at them.

  But that didn’t explain who’d grabbed her underwater. Had the same person deliberately trapped Brittany under the log? And what about the threat last night? Was that Tommy?

  A chill started deep inside, and Charlee wrapped the afghan tighter around her middle, never mind the midnineties temps outside today. But the more she thought, the more her anger grew, until her fury burned white-hot. Grief-stricken father or not, nobody shot at children and got away with it.

  She slid the blanket off and slipped her feet into her flip-flops. Let Hunter conduct his official investigation. She’d start her own. She stood up too fast and grabbed the back of the sofa as pain banged in her skull like a steel drum. The doctor had told her to expect that for a day or two, but it was still annoying.

  She decided against more pain pills, since they made her drowsy. Instead, she slowly climbed into her Jeep. Out of habit, she’d grabbed her gun and slid it under the seat. Even though she wasn’t going far, since her cottage sat just on the far reaches of the Outpost property, she’d been carrying a gun long before she became an FWC officer. Dad had taught all his kids to shoot, making sure they could protect themselves from both four-legged and two-legged threats at any time.

  But before she did anything else, she had to stop and reassure her mother. Mama would have heard about what happened. Charlee didn’t want Mama seeing her like this but knew she’d worry more if Charlee didn’t show up.

  She parked behind her mother’s little sedan and then walked around the house to the big screened porch that overlooked the Ocklawaha River. She found her mother in her favorite wicker rocking chair, dozing.

  The screen door squeaked, and Mama woke with a start, then a lopsided smile broke over her face. Charlee’s heart clenched, as it always did, at seeing this once-active woman trapped in a body that struggled back to life inch by agonizing inch.

  Charlee placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, then sat in the rocker beside her. “Hey, Mama.”

  Her mother’s eyes widened, and she made a sound of alarm as she studied the bandage on the side of Charlee’s head. “Charlotte.”

  Charlee grinned. “Don’t worry. It’s not nearly as bad as some of Pete and Josh’s injuries.”

  Her mother’s right side was still weak, and words came slowly, often still garbled. She forced out one word. “Hurt?”

  “Nah. Not too bad. I’m a hardheaded Tanner, remember?”

  Alice sent her the “Mom look” that called her bluff.

  Charlee laughed and squeezed Mama’s good hand. “Okay, yes. It hurts a little bit, but I’ll be fine in a couple days. I just wanted to stop by and say hello, tell you not to worry.”

  “I. Always. Worry. I’m. A. Mother.”

  “I know, but you don’t need to.”

  Alice looked toward the river. “Miss kayaking with you, Charlotte.” Charlee had to blink rapidly. Before the stroke, Mama spent time on the river almost daily, hiked in the forest. Seeing her like this was agony.

  Charlee leaned over and hugged her gently. “Me, too. But we’ll get out there again. Before you know it.” Though after a year of therapy and hard work, Alice was still using a wheelchair. It discouraged her. Discouraged all of them.

  “Cupcakes soon?”

  Everything in Charlee’s heart wanted to say yes, let’s do that right now. But she had to get to Oliver’s cabin. “Cupcakes soon. Promise.”

  Alice lifted her good hand and cupped Charlee’s cheek. “Rest, sweet girl.”

  “I will. Love you, Mama.”

  “Love you more.”

  Charlee took a steadying breath as she hurried down the steps and climbed back into her Jeep. She drove past the office and the canoe/kayak pullout and kept going until she came to the row of small cabins that lined the perimeter of the camping area. She pulled up in front of Oliver’s cabin and found the do
or open, Hunter standing on the tiny porch. She parked next to his official F-150.

  He looked her up and down like she was a misbehaving five-year-old, arms folded over his chest. “I thought I told you to stay put.”

  She propped her hands on her hips. “And I told you to stop telling me what to do.”

  He shook his head, sighed. “What are you doing here, Charlee?”

  She swept a hand to indicate the now-empty space where Oliver’s car had been. “The same thing you are. Looking for Oliver. I need to ask him some questions.”

  “Which would be my job.” Hunter had his phone to his ear, but his eyes stayed on hers as he spoke into it. “Natalie, you have the phone number Oliver Dunn gave when he registered?” He propped the phone between his shoulder and ear and scribbled in a little notebook. Then he hung up, dialed the number, listened. “Hello, Oliver. This is Lieutenant Boudreau with FWC. Please call me at this number as soon as you get this message.”

  “Let me guess. It goes straight to voicemail.”

  “Right.”

  “Which could mean he has his phone turned off.”

  “Maybe. I told him not to leave town.” He indicated the cabin. “He’s cleared out.” He dialed again, asked whoever answered to track the GPS signal on Oliver’s phone.

  “Now what?” She tried to sound casual, but her head pounded hard enough that she leaned against the side of her Jeep to keep from swaying. Dang, this was annoying.

  Hunter glanced her way, then rolled his eyes. “I’ll follow you home.”

  So much for looking like she had it together.

  Charlee stayed upright until they were inside her cottage, then slowly lowered herself to the sofa, determined not to collapse and have Hunter call in her family.

  He went to the kitchen, came back and shook two pills into her hand, handed her a glass of water. He watched her, keys in hand, eyeing her with concern. “You’ll be okay for a while?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To work. I need to find the shooter. Your job is to rest.”

  Before she could protest, he leaned over and dropped a brotherly kiss on her forehead. Once he disappeared, Charlee fought to stay awake. She had to tell him something, but her thoughts were muddled. She was still struggling to figure it out when her eyes slid closed.

  * * *

  Hunter drove back to the scene, shaking his head at Charlee’s stubbornness. The woman didn’t quit, which impressed him more than it should. But he couldn’t think about her. Not now. He pulled up and found Pete and two members of the sheriff’s department crime scene unit combing the area inch by inch. He strode over to Pete, who straightened and crossed his arms in a belligerent stance.

  “Find anything new, Bulldog?” Hunter kept his tone level.

  “Not yet.”

  Hunter glanced around, saw the female tech look away, and motioned Pete out of earshot. “I’m going to assume you were planning to call me immediately with any new information. We both want answers, Pete. But you know FWC is lead on this case.”

  Pete exhaled and looked away, then locked eyes with Hunter. He saw worry there, and anger, both of which he understood.

  “Someone took shots at my sister, exactly one year after a kid died on her kayak trip.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidence, either. We’re going to find him. Together.”

  Pete looked away again, scrubbed the back of his neck, then pierced Hunter with a look. “Rick has been a good friend to our family, a good cop.”

  “No argument. But he made some bad choices.”

  Pete got right in his face. “For good reason. He needed that money. His kid is sick, Boudreau.”

  Hunter kept his gaze level. “I know. And I’m sorry to hear it. But that doesn’t make it okay to take a bribe.”

  Pete shifted uncomfortably, mumbled, “Extenuating circumstances.”

  “The brass didn’t see it that way.”

  “They wouldn’t have had to see anything if you’d kept your mouth shut.”

  Hunter studied his friend. “Come on, Pete. You know me better than that. I couldn’t ignore it, not when I saw it happen. Neither could you.”

  Pete glared, worked his jaw, then nodded once. “Right. Doesn’t mean I’d have wanted to turn him in, though.” He paused, jabbed a finger in Hunter’s face. “Josh should have gotten that promotion, not you.”

  Hunter met his gaze head-on. “Also not my decision.”

  “You going to tell me you didn’t want the job? Then you should have turned it down.”

  “I wanted it, and I worked hard to get it, though that wasn’t how I planned for things to go.” He paused, chose his words with care. “Don’t fight me on this, Pete. We both want to know what the hell happened, so we need to work together. And not just because we have to.”

  Pete rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, studied Hunter for a long moment, then nodded. “Let’s get to it, then.” He walked toward a cypress tree and pointed. “We recovered the first shell here.”

  Hunter followed him. It was a start.

  * * *

  Charlee woke with a crick in her neck and a growling stomach. When had she last eaten? Her tongue felt like it was wearing wool socks, so she downed a glass of water, then stood in front of her open fridge, hoping something edible would materialize. A jug of milk of dubious vintage, baby carrots, a jar of homemade pickles, plus a jar of grape jelly with about an inch left in the bottom. She slammed the door, winced, and opened the freezer, hoping for better luck. She found two leftover pizza slices, two scoops of vanilla ice cream, and a bag of frozen strawberries. She put the pizza in the oven and decided to grab a shower while it heated.

  She stayed under the spray so long, her fingers were pruned and her knees felt a little wobbly, but being clean was worth it. She tightened the belt on her short robe as she walked into her bedroom and stopped short as several things registered at once. Her bed was neatly made. Had she done that? She couldn’t remember, her eyes riveted to the ball cap in the middle of the bed.

  She swallowed hard. That was the memory she’d been trying to recall. She could have sworn she saw a ball cap exactly like that on the ground when she came to by the river yesterday. It looked just like the one JJ had been wearing a year ago.

  Was she having some sort of hallucination? She gripped the doorjamb and closed her eyes. Opened them again. Breathe, Charlee. Think.

  She squinted, focused all her energy on what she was seeing. No, the cap was definitely there. It was navy-blue, with some sort of logo embroidered on it.

  Charlee took a step into the small room, and her law-enforcement training kicked in. Someone had been here.

  The closet door stood open, so there was obviously no one hiding in there. Both windows were closed and locked. She’d grab her gun, check under the bed. Then get her phone, take a picture of the cap. Call Hunter. Probably.

  But before she could quietly ease away, she heard a noise. Some sort of clacking, like a baby’s rattle.

  Oh God. She knew that sound. And it terrified her.

  Chapter 6

  Charlee’s breath backed up in her lungs as a rattlesnake poked its head out from under the ball cap and stared straight at her, tongue flicking in and out, shaking its rattles. It was as thick around as her wrist and easily six feet long. She froze. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Nothing in this world scared her more than snakes. When she was six, Pete had dared her to run from one to keep her from following her brothers through the woods. Big mistake. She still had the scar on her ankle, and Pete still felt guilty. No matter how much she tried to talk herself out of it—and despite her FWC training—she’d never been able to get past her fear.

  She gripped the metal footboard in front of her. How was she going to get away?

  For now, she’d wait. She forced herself to take slow, even breaths
so she wouldn’t hyperventilate. In, out. In, out. The snake eyed her. She kept breathing, slowly, so very slowly. No sudden moves.

  She eventually brought her heart rate under control and deliberately eased her death grip on the bed frame. The snake looked around, seemed to calm down.

  She dropped her hand to her side and bumped the frame. The sound drew its attention and garnered another ominous rattle.

  Charlee froze again, swallowed hard. As long as the snake stayed where it was, things should be fine, right? Eventually, it’d give up and go to sleep or something, wouldn’t it? She tried to remember everything she’d learned, but her brain couldn’t seem to think beyond her terror. For now, she’d stand here “until Jesus came back,” as Mama always said.

  She didn’t know how long she waited, but it was long enough for her feet to ache from standing and her bladder to start clamoring for relief.

  The snake kept watching her, looking around.

  She heard a car out front, and her instant relief turned to panic. If someone knocked on the door, it would startle the snake. She cocked her head, listening, poised to run if she had to. There was a slight chance she could clear the doorway before the snake could strike.

  Nobody knocked. But the car didn’t leave, either. Maybe it was one of her brothers. They had keys to her place, though they hadn’t used them since she’d read them the riot act for barging in one night last year to check on her. She didn’t know who’d been more surprised, her brothers or Rick Abrams, who’d jumped off the couch, gun drawn, when they burst through the door. That had been the first and last time they’d let themselves in.

  She didn’t hear a key in the lock, no whispered call from a family member in case she’d been sleeping.

  Instead, she heard a footfall on the back porch and then Hunter’s face appeared in her bedroom window. He cupped his hands against the glass, looked around, then held up both palms in a “don’t move” gesture before he disappeared. Like she had any intention of moving an inch. She didn’t know what he planned to do, but just knowing he was outside took her panic down a notch.