“Does it matter? How is he and what happened?”
He studied her for a moment. “He’s okay, considering he should be dead.”
Leah blanched at those words. “What on earth happened?”
“We’re still trying to piece everything together. He was trying to stop a vehicle when a bobtail semi broadsided him on Foothill. His rig must have rolled five or six times before it came to a stop against a tree. Fire cut him out of the patrol unit.”
Shock rolled over Leah. “And he’s okay?”
“Yeah, concussion for sure, broken arm. He’s in X-ray now. Saint Tanner’s nickname might change to Miracle Man now.”
They both turned as the double doors opened again and Interim Chief Haun stepped out.
“Sapp—” He stopped when he saw Leah. Surprise crossed his features before he composed himself. “Sapp, coordinate with Forman. He’s following up on a guy who claims to have witnessed the crash. See if you two can pin him down.”
“Yes, sir.” He nodded to Leah and left the ER.
“Hello, Chief,” Leah said, not at all sure where Haun stood.
“Radcliff. I won’t ask how you found out about Tanner. They’ll be moving him to a room in a few minutes. X-rays and MRI were negative for anything more serious than a broken left arm and a lot of bruises. I’m telling you all this because I know you’ll be asking. I notified next of kin, but they are all out of the country, so I expect for the time being, Tanner will need friends.” He raised an eyebrow. “I assume you’re one of those?”
“Yes, Clint was very good to my father while I—I was away.”
Haun nodded. “I know he’s definitely been on your side during this mess. He’s headed to the third floor. I’m sending a rookie over to take first watch.”
“Watch?” Leah frowned. “I thought it was a traffic accident.”
“Traffic, yes, but it wasn’t an accident. Someone tried to kill Sergeant Tanner—I’m sure of it.”
CHAPTER 43
Clint felt much better when they took him off the backboard and removed the C-collar. They kept asking him all sorts of questions, monitoring his level of consciousness, they said. He tried not to complain too much when they cut off his uniform, but he was sore all over. Besides the broken arm, he got seven stitches in his head and a couple more for a cut on his jawline. The rest were bruises—bruised ribs, hip, he could have told them without having them look.
The firemen who cut him out of his SUV stopped by after his X-ray. They said the curtain air bags saved his life for sure. They considered him a miracle.
“Expected to find a dead cop,” one of them said. “So glad I was wrong.”
The doctor had ruled out any bleeding on the brain with the MRI, but he’d kept asking questions. Eventually Clint’s head began to clear and the questions began to make more sense. The doctor said while Clint had sustained a concussion, he appeared to be recovering. They wanted to keep him overnight, and Clint had argued against that. After all, he had a dog to take care of. It was a battle he lost. Now, while he waited for the painkillers to take complete effect, Clint tried to think of someone he could call to look in on the little guy.
After he’d been patched and cleaned up, Clint found his memory of what had happened returning. The semi that hit him—it was deliberate. There was no cross street there; it had shot out of a driveway. As his thoughts cleared further and he thought about the truck he was chasing at the time, he realized he’d most likely been set up.
But why? As he asked himself that question, the door to his room opened, and in walked Leah. It surprised him how glad he was to see her. Worry shrouded her features, and Clint tried to square his shoulders—not wanting his physical condition to be a cause for her knit brow.
“I would hate to see the other guy.” She smiled and the sight of it made Clint forget his aches and pains.
“He’s really messed up.” He tried a smile, but the tightness in his face reminded him of the stitches.
“Glad to see you’re okay.”
He tried to nod, but it hurt. “And I’m glad you’re here. They’re monitoring me because I had a concussion. Could probably tell them that my head is hard enough to survive even a semi.”
“True,” Leah said.
Whether it was her or the drugs, suddenly Clint felt a little giddy. “Hey, can I ask a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Can you go check on my dog?”
“Dog? You never mentioned a dog in your letters.”
“Just got him. The whole department is likely to be tied up on a manhunt. My house keys are in the bag at the end of my bed.” He rambled off his address. “He’s a little skittish—don’t take it personally.”
“What’s his name?”
“I haven’t picked one yet.” He explained how he’d come to possess the dog. “He was the only worthwhile bit of contraband I confiscated during the failed raid at Larkspur Farms.”
“Larkspur Farms?”
“Yeah, you know the place?”
“I sure do. I worked there one summer in high school. My mom thought physical labor would do me some good.”
“Did it?”
“I liked the work. I loved the Hubbards; they were very special people. I picked summer peaches and some early pears before I had to go back to school. They taught me a lot about farming and gardening. They sold the place a little while after I left for college. I wish they were still around.”
“I’m not sure who owns it now.”
A nurse came in and checked his vitals, then lowered Clint’s bed.
She faced Leah. “He needs to get some rest. We’ll be checking on him throughout the night. You can come back in the morning.”
“I will.” She said her goodbyes, took his keys, and left.
Clint tried to relax. The nurse gave him a sip of water and it helped the dryness in his mouth. She told him they were still monitoring his level of consciousness. His LOC was fine as far as he was concerned. Trying to figure out who would want to kill him and why kept his brain active and alert.
CHAPTER 44
The image of Clint’s battered face stayed with Leah. He looked as if he’d been in a bar brawl. She took solace in the fact that he was alert and talking. The urge to run a soothing hand over his forehead was strong. But when the nurse suggested she leave, she turned and left his room as requested. She looked at the keys in her hand, amazed he’d asked her to look after the dog. A thought came to mind: He didn’t ask Jenna to feed the pup.
Haun said Clint needed friends now, and Leah was glad to be able to step in. She knew from his letters that most of his family, at least close family, was overseas in various countries as missionaries. His aunt was the person Leah most wanted to meet, but she was in Singapore or somewhere thereabouts. Leah wondered if that was who Haun had notified. Clint hadn’t said—she should have asked.
An officer she didn’t recognize sat outside the room. Leah nodded to him, but his expression was hard, not welcoming at all. Leah turned away and walked toward the elevator. She pulled out her phone to call Henderson and thank her for letting her know about Clint.
She dialed before getting on the elevator.
“Radcliff,” Henderson answered.
“Thanks, Henderson, for letting me know about Clint.”
“Sure. He and your dad are tight. How is he doing? Did he say anything about what happened?”
“No, he didn’t. He’s doing okay. They’re keeping him overnight. Do you know any more?”
“A little. Accident invest is out at the scene now. Seems Clint tried to pull over a truck that we know now was stolen from Grants Pass. The semi that hit him was stolen from White City.”
“What is going on?” Frustration built as Leah tried to grasp why someone would do this to Clint. “That’s going to a lot of trouble. Why Clint?”
“I think it has to do with the smugglers he arrested a week ago. About the time you were in trial.”
“Yeah, he told me a little
about that, but it sounds as if they’d been released. Why try to kill him days later?”
“I’m just guessing. But someone sure went to a lot of trouble to try to kill him. Thank God they weren’t successful.”
“You said it.” Leah shivered as she ended the call.
She got on the elevator deep in thought, wondering about these smugglers Clint had arrested. Was that really behind the attempt on his life? It didn’t make sense. Smuggling was pervasive, sure, but to kill an officer because he made an arrest was a risky move for anyone and awfully personal. There had to be more to the story.
She remembered snatches of conversation she’d overheard when Brad was on the smuggler apprehension team. They’d thought at that time a lot of smuggling was taking place with the Russian Mafia trying to take control of the entire West Coast. There was a large community of Russians living in the Sacramento area, and often stopping a truck registered in that area would result in an arrest.
But something wasn’t right when Brad was on that team, she knew. In hindsight, there were other irregularities besides the payoff she’d seen Brad take. For one, Erik Forman was never really a supervisor. She’d heard Brad and others joke about that, calling him “Sleeper” behind his back. That team basically ran amok.
She was so involved in her own thought process as she stepped off the elevator and walked toward the exit that she almost didn’t see him. She looked up in time to nearly bump into Harden Draper.
“You have some nerve.” He was red-faced with anger, reminding Leah of a cartoon where the character has sparks flying off their visage. “Killing Brad wasn’t enough—you also had to ruin his reputation. Now you’re trying to ruin mine.”
She stepped back, a confrontation the last thing on her mind. Harden was a big man. Though now soft and much thinner than she remembered, he still towered over her.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“I didn’t come here to argue with you.”
“You should be sitting in a cold, dark prison cell. It’s a travesty of justice that you can even show your face in this town. I should have you arrested for violating my restraining order.” Both of his fists were clenched.
Leah stiffened and struggled with her own emotions—shock, fear, and a little shame. “This one is the last of the true-blue heroes,” he’d said of Brad one time they’d had dinner as a family. Harden always beamed over Brad. The memory hit her like a fist to the gut.
“I’m on my way out of a public place. You’ve accosted me.”
“Now you’re accusing me? How dare you. It’s not enough that you murdered my son.” Harden was borderline hysterical, and Leah could see several people watching.
She took another step back, but he moved closer, and for a minute she feared he was going to strike her. Yet as angry and hateful as Harden was, her own anger fizzled out and all Leah felt was profound sadness and pity. Brad had been born to him late in life and he’d loved his son so very much. If a son could be a father’s idol, Brad was that to Harden. He could never do wrong in his father’s eyes.
She said something she’d been wanting to say for a long time but there were always lawyers in the way.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Draper. I’m sorry I had to shoot Brad. If anything else had been possible at the time, believe me, I would have done it.”
Time seemed to stop. Harden’s face froze in fury, and it amazed Leah just how much Brad had looked like his father.
“Why, you—” He raised his hand and Leah tensed. “I’ll see you back in prison if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Is there a problem here?” Another voice broke Harden’s concentration.
The older man dropped his hand and turned to face the hospital security guard, a tall, thin man.
“Problem? Yes! This woman is violating a restraining order. I demand you arrest her right this minute.”
“I’m just here to keep the peace. And, sir, I saw you approach her, not the other way around. Maybe it’s time for the both of you to go your separate ways.”
Harden scoffed at the guard. “You’re not even a police officer.”
Heels clacking across the floor made Leah turn, and she saw Ivy Draper striding toward them.
“Here you are, Dad. I’ve been looking all over for you.” She gave Leah a dismissive glare and grabbed her father’s arm. A pretty woman with a nervous personality, she always reminded Leah of Jennifer Aniston.
As long as Leah had known Ivy, she’d been firmly under her father’s thumb. Sadly, she’d also been a bit under Brad’s thumb. A memory surfaced: Years ago, Ivy had been sweet on Grady Blanchard. Brad boasted about putting an end to the relationship, saying his sister was just not right for Grady. Becky claimed she simply swept Grady off his feet. Whatever the truth was, Leah felt sorry for Ivy. It didn’t seem as if she would ever have her own life.
Her father protested Ivy’s attempts to move him along. “This Radcliff woman just violated the restraining order,” he said.
“She did no such thing,” the guard spoke up before Leah could. “Probably be a good idea if you take your father home.”
“I resent that.” Harden puffed up again. “Like I’m a doddering old man.”
“It’s okay, Dad. We’ll get home and contact our attorney.”
Reluctantly Harden responded to his daughter’s tug and turned away.
“You’ll be hearing from our attorney,” Ivy threw over her shoulder.
Leah felt violated, and anger began to bubble up like acid.
“It’ll be all right, ma’am.”
“Uh, what?” Leah turned to see the security guard watching her. His face was vaguely familiar.
“This. You give ’em my name—I saw it all.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that. But that’s Harden Draper. He owns half this hospital. You might want to think twice before you step into this mess.”
The guard smiled. “He don’t scare me none. Name’s Haynes, Michael Haynes.”
Leah recognized the name. And in spite of the years, she remembered why she knew it and why he looked familiar.
“I know you. You were the witness on the Porter case.”
He tipped his head to her. “Amazed you remembered. Sad day, that . . . I know you did all’s you could for that poor girl.”
The image of the battered woman, still clear and bloody, flashed in her mind’s eye.
“If that were true, she’d still be alive.”
He shook his head. “Don’t do that to yourself. Alex was a sweet girl, but she never asked for help. People only get help when they ask for it.” His radio crackled. “I got to go. You’ll be okay?”
“Yes, I’m leaving.”
“Remember my name if you need a witness.”
She watched him walk toward the elevator.
“People only get help when they ask for it.” Truer words were never spoken.
CHAPTER 45
Clint’s house was in a secluded neighborhood in Table Rock. Leah had only gotten one call in the area that she remembered, and it had been a natural death. A man had a heart attack mowing his lawn. She guessed Clint probably picked the house because the neighborhood was quiet.
She parked in the driveway. The small Craftsman-style house looked as cheerful as possible in November, when everything in Oregon seemed to turn gray. The lawn was tidy, and Clint had banks of rosebushes on either side of the front door. Leah bet they were beautiful when they all bloomed. He hadn’t said much about the dog, except that it was skittish, so she opened the front door and entered carefully.
She stepped into a small living room, tastefully decorated, very masculine. Funny, she thought, when I walked into Brad’s house for the first time it reminded me of a dorm room. This place is cozy.
Leah remembered everything Clint had written about his family, and she gravitated toward the pictures on the mantel.
“Both sets of grandparents emigrated from eastern Europe. For some reason that made my parents want to be missionar
ies there. They ended up in Kyrgyzstan.”
He’d told her how he’d gotten the scar on his face and basically been banished from the mission field.
“I had to come home and live with my aunt GiGi. It turned out really okay. I love my aunt, and the move helped shape my future. It was with my aunt that I discovered being a cop was my calling.”
A younger version of Clint was standing between a smiling man and woman. The man had to be Clint’s father; the resemblance was striking. The woman had a kind but careworn face. From the picture it looked as though they were out in the country somewhere.
There were more pictures on the mantel, but Leah heard whimpering coming from another room and knew she needed to get on with the task at hand. She followed the sound and found that Clint had set up a kind of kennel in the laundry room. The source of the whimpering melted her heart. A small brown-and-white pup looked up at her with big, soulful eyes.
“Oh, you sweetheart.” Leah knelt down, surprised when the little dog tucked its tail between its legs and backed up. She baby-talked the dog, holding out her hand for him to sniff. Slowly, tentatively, the pup came forward. It took some time, but eventually Leah was able to pick the dog up and cuddle him. She carried him out to the backyard and set him down to do his business. Watching him sniff here and there, she wondered what kind of dog he was. Small like a beagle, but big paws . . . Maybe there was some Lab in there.
It was cold outside, and Leah ran her hands up and down her arms watching her breath in the frigid air. She was ready to go back inside when the dog trotted up to her, tail wagging.
“All finished, cutie?” She opened the back door and the dog bounced in ahead of her. He went back into the kennel enclosure, turned, and looked up at her expectantly. Leah looked around for his food. She found a bag of puppy chow in the cupboard and filled up the little dog’s bowl.
He ate with great enthusiasm, tail wagging furiously, and she chuckled as she watched. Faintly, the sound of traffic out on the street could be heard, a car door being opened. Leah didn’t think anything of it, enjoying this puppy moment. A few seconds later the crash of a window made both Leah and the dog jump. She turned toward the living room, wishing she had a gun. Then she heard the sound of tires squealing as a car sped away.
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