Leave No Trace

by Sara Driscoll

  She froze for a second in the doorway, just staring at him, alive and breathing, and then she moved. Sitting down gingerly on the side of the bed, she cupped his face in her hands, leaned down, and kissed him, long and slow. When she finally pulled away, she touched her forehead to his, closed her eyes, and simply breathed him in. After a moment, she sat up and let out a shaky breath. “You know, you haven’t done good things for my rep as a rock-solid FBI handler today.”

  He stroked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with his free hand. “No?”

  Her laugh had a sharp edge to it. “Not even kind of. I’m normally a very calm person. Apparently today, standing outside that house, waiting for them to find you while you slowly ran out of air, we found the red line of that calm.”

  His gaze went sharp. “You were there? At the scene?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought someone had called you and you’d come straight here.” His expression softened as he searched her face, reading new meaning into the lines of stress and exhaustion that had to be etched around her eyes and mouth. “How did you know about the call? I didn’t know you were back in town.”

  “I guess you never got my message that I was coming back. Brian and I flew into DC late this afternoon. When I couldn’t get in contact, I turned on your radio as I drove to the Hoover Building. I heard the Mayday come in.” He grimaced, but she kept going. “And then I drove right to the incident because I needed to know you were safe.”

  He gripped her hand. “I’m so sorry. When I gave you that radio, it was to reassure you when I was out on a call. I never meant for you to listen in on something like this as it happened.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for. You and I, we know what we got into with each other. Neither of us have the easiest of jobs. Today was your turn to scare the life out of me instead of the other way around, which is how it usually goes.” Her voice dropped and took on a husky edge. “Chuck and I both thought we’d lost you for a few minutes there.” She met his eyes. “I don’t want to experience those minutes again. It was like Deuce all over, only much, much worse.”

  He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and tugged her down to him for a kiss that held an unspoken promise. A few moments later, Meg jerked away when a cold, wet nose poked between them. She pulled away laughing, the tender moment broken by seventy pounds of black Lab.

  “Apparently I wasn’t the only one who was worried.” She patted the edge of the bed. “Hawk, stand.”

  Hawk stood up on his rear legs, his front feet braced on the edge of the bed as he leaned in to lick at Webb’s face. Webb laughed and rubbed the Labrador’s neck. “Good boy, Hawk. Good boy.”

  “Okay, Hawk, down,” Meg said.

  The dog obediently dropped down to the floor and then went to lie down against the wall, as if reassured that all was well now and he could rest.

  Webb reached toward Meg’s cheek, hesitating a fraction of an inch away from her skin, then shifted slightly and touched her temple, well clear of the irritation. “What happened to your face?”

  Meg let out an exhausted chuckle. “It feels like this happened weeks ago, not six hours ago. There I was thinking ‘poor me,’ and then a house fell on you.”

  “It looks painful. And your eyes . . .”

  “Pepper spray. Brian, Hawk, Lacey, and I had a moment today with a mama black bear and her two cubs.”

  “You know you’re supposed to spray the bear, right? Not yourself?” The quirk at the corner of his mouth told her he was trying to lighten the mood.

  “Yeah, I tried for that. You use a can of bear deterrent on the top of a mountain in a stiff forty-mile-per-hour breeze and see how much blows back at you.” When he winced, she continued. “Luckily more hit the bear than me and she and the cubs took off.” She raised two fingers and pressed them gently to her raw cheek. “It’s getting better. I could barely touch it four hours ago. Should be gone by morning. And the swelling around my eyes is coming down. They probably look worse than they feel at this point. Brian did a good job of flushing as much of it out of my eyes as he could right afterward. We kept going, but we never had a chance of catching the suspect.”

  “And then you came back to town, hurt, irritated, and discouraged, only to land in the middle of my crisis. God, Meg, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. I’m just having a pity party for one, which is absolutely ridiculous and probably has more to do with being tired and hungry and my stinging eyes than anything else. We’ve had this case for less than a day.”

  “You’ve barely started.”

  “Right. But if these deaths continue, we can’t do the searches from DC. We need to be there. We’re losing too much time not being on-site.” She shook her head. “Why am I telling you this while you’re lying in a hospital bed hooked up to an IV?”

  “Because it frustrates you. Like me, you don’t like to lose. And when you start at the back of the pack, how do you make it to the front by the end of the race?”

  “That’s it exactly.”

  “Brian and the dogs are okay?”

  “Yes. We taught them a trick for that kind of situation because we do a lot of wilderness searches and running into a bear is always a risk.” Sitting up straighter, she looked down at her dog. “Hawk, peekaboo.”

  The dog immediately rolled to his side and hooked one paw and wrist over his closed eyes, partially covering his face.

  “Good boy.” She twisted back toward Webb. “I gave them that command just before I sprayed the bear. Had enough time to tell Brian to cover his eyes. But I was in front and had the can of spray out and had to look where I was shooting.”

  “Until you couldn’t see.”

  “Until I couldn’t see,” she confirmed. “But enough about me. None of that compares to what you went through today.” She leaned in to brush her fingertips lightly over the very edge of the bandage on his forehead. “I couldn’t miss the blood when they brought you out. Did you need stitches?”

  “Just a couple. The padding on the headband in my helmet is a little worn so when all that weight landed on it, it cut into my skin. It’s nothing.”

  “It was enough that you needed stitches. It bled quite a bit.”

  “That’s a head injury for you.”

  “Sounds like you need a new headband.”

  “I’m going to need a whole new helmet after that. It saved my skull from cracking like an egg, but it’s lost all integrity after a hit carrying that kind of force.”

  “What’s with the sling? We were concerned you bashed your head in. We didn’t think there were any other injuries when the ceiling collapsed.”

  Webb’s brows drew together as his eyes went flinty. “That goddamned house.”

  “It sounded bad.”

  “Unbelievably bad. Whoever lived there kept every last item that ever came into their hands. And every one of them was flammable. It was a nightmare. Was I the only casualty? The docs said no one else came in from that fire, but . . .”

  “No one else was hurt.”

  His whole body relaxed in relief. “Good. My guys were probably fifteen feet behind me, wrestling with the line around all the junk. In some ways, that junk saved them. I had about a half second of warning the ceiling was going, and just managed to get my left arm over my head before it all came down on me.”

  “It all came down is about right. It wasn’t just the ceiling; it was everything the owner had hoarded and stored on the top floor. It’s why it took so long to dig you out. As I understand it, you came perilously close to running out of air.” She ran her fingers lightly over his left arm. “So you wrenched your shoulder to protect your head? Not that it worked perfectly. You were out cold from what I hear. You know what that sounds like? That sounds like a concussion.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

  “You would know.” He winked at her. “Sure gave me a hell of a headache, though.”

  “You had a ceiling and likely hundreds of pounds of debris fall on you. What
did you expect? What’s the damage on the shoulder?”

  “Strained rotator cuff. They did an MRI to confirm it wasn’t a tear, and it’s not, thank God. This is bad enough.”

  “How? It sounds like you got off lightly, considering how it could have gone down.”

  “I’m not disagreeing there. But this is going to put me on the disabled list for three or four weeks. It’s not a terrible injury, but in a position where perfect fitness and brute strength might be the only thing to save your own or your buddy’s life, I can’t return to active duty until I check out. So it’s going to be a few weeks of rest, ice, exercises, and physical therapy before I get the all clear to go back on shift.”

  “Which will drive you crazy by the end of it, but I’ll take it. When I think of what might have happened . . . well, I’ll take you being grouchy, bored, and irritable, because I’ll have you. Which reminds me . . .”

  When she paused, Webb gave her a little push. “Of?”

  “That text you sent. About the new place. When you’re cleared to be up and about, let’s go see it. I don’t want to waste any more time. We’ll make it work.”

  He just gave a slight shake of his head.

  “What? Isn’t that what you want?”

  “Of course it’s what I want, but not at the extent of ‘making it work.’ This is going to be our place, so I don’t want either of us to settle. We need to both love it. And—” He cut off at a knock on the door.

  The same nurse stood in the doorway. “Lieutenant Webb, are you up to visitors?”

  Webb glanced at Meg, who nodded. “Sure.”

  “Uh . . . A lot of visitors?”

  Webb grinned. “Definitely.”

  The nurse turned and waved to someone down the hallway. In the next moment, the doorway was filled with firefighters, Smaill leading the charge, a look of such relief on his face it warmed Meg’s heart. These men and women, the hardworking members of Engine Company 2, had been as terrified as she that they’d lost their brother-in-arms.

  Meg gave Webb’s arm a squeeze and rose from the mattress to stand at the head of the bed, Hawk at her side. But he caught her hand, holding it, keeping her close, marking them as a unit to the members of his company. One by one, the firefighters trooped in to see him, to laugh and poke fun, using humor as always to manage the daily risk and stress of their working lives. But each of them also made a point of including her in their conversations. Because she was one of them now.

  Smaill was the last to leave, having drawn up chairs for both himself and Meg.

  “When are they letting you out of this hellhole?” Smaill asked.

  “This isn’t a hellhole. That house this afternoon, that was the hellhole,” Webb replied. “And hopefully soon.”

  “Then you’re headed home?”

  Meg held up an index finger an inch from Webb’s lips before he could form an answer. “No, he is not.”

  Webb quirked an eyebrow. “I’m not?”

  “No, you’re coming back with me to my place. Where we can make sure you don’t overdo it.”

  “We?”

  “Cara and I. She’s pretty good at concussion watch now.”

  “She had enough practice with you.” Meg sent Webb a dirty look, making him laugh, and then he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the fingers of his free hand to his temple. “Don’t do that.”

  “Don’t be stubborn.”

  “Deal. At least for now.”

  Smaill laughed. “You two are a pair.”

  “What gave it away?” Webb asked dryly. “The tendency toward matching concussions?”

  “That’s definitely part of it.” He stood and gripped Webb’s forearm. “I have to get going, but I’ll check in on you tomorrow. You take it easy. That’s an order.” As the inferior officer, Smaill’s words carried no official weight but the weight of friendship.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Smaill grinned and slipped out with a final wave.

  Meg leaned forward and took Webb’s hand, being careful not to foul his IV line.

  He frowned down at it. “I don’t need it anymore. I should pop it out.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Meg covered the needle with her hand. “Paramedics make terrible patients.”

  “That’s firefighter/paramedic to you. And yeah, we do. We know too much and question every decision made by everyone else.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight. We’re doing this by the book. The doctor says rest, you rest. He says exercise, you exercise.”

  “Yes, sir, General, sir.”

  “You’re funny.” She shook her head at him, but then her expression sobered. “I’m not willing to take any chances. Maybe next week, or next month. But not today. I’ve hit my limit for today.”

  “Then we do it by the book.” He held out his right hand, pinkie finger extended.

  Meg eyed it. “What are you? Twelve?”

  “This is a very serious thing. Pinkie swear with me.”

  She laughed and linked pinkies with him. Then he rolled her hand over and pulled it up to kiss the back before holding her fingers against his cheek.

  Another crisis averted.

  They’d be all right.

  CHAPTER 7

  New Echota & the Trail of Tears: On December 29, 1835, US government officials and about 500 Cherokee Indians claiming to represent their 16,000-member tribe, met at New Echota, Georgia, and signed a treaty that led to the forced removal of Cherokee from their southeastern homelands to Indian Territory west of the Mississippi River. Although the majority of Cherokee opposed the treaty negotiated by Cherokee leader Major Ridge, and Principal Chief John Ross wrote a letter to Congress protesting it, the US Senate ratified the document in March 1836 by one vote. In 1838–1839, the US government forcibly removed the Cherokee from their lands in North Carolina, driving them on the infamous Trail of Tears to the Indian Territory of present-day Oklahoma. A small number of Cherokee successfully resisted removal, however, by claiming North Carolina citizenship and by maintaining the right to remain on lands they owned. These people and their descendants were recognized in 1868 by the federal government as the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians. In retaliation, Major Ridge, his son John, and Elias Boudinot were executed by other Cherokee in 1839 for violating the Cherokee Blood Law.

  Monday, April 8, 9:41 PM

  Jennings residence

  Arlington, Virginia

  “Hawk, in you go. That’s a good boy.” Meg held open the front door, letting Hawk precede her before turning to Webb. “Let me give you a hand.”

  “Going up one step? I think I can manage.”

  “You can’t fool me. You’re not as steady as you’re trying to make it look.” Ignoring his directive, she wrapped an arm around his waist as he stepped into the house, and swallowed a comment when his free hand shot out to steady himself on the wall.

  “I seem to recall you running around a warship graveyard and a Civil War historical site while you were concussed.” Webb’s tone was surly.

  “That was two days later, not hours after I got my bell rung.”

  “That’s also because her sister’s life was in danger, and nothing and no one was going to hold her back.” Meg’s sister, Cara, a near carbon copy of Meg’s own black Irish fair skin, ice-blue eyes, and straight, dark hair, came out of the kitchen, trailed by tall, blond Clay McCord. McCord’s bouncy golden retriever, Cody, and Cara’s mini blue-nose pit bull, Saki, followed behind. Cara stopped dead when she saw her sister, her welcoming smile melting away as her eyes went wide.

  “We knew about him, but what happened to you?” McCord blurted, his blue eyes locked on her bloodshot, puffy eyes and reddened cheeks.

  “I had a one-on-one with a mama bear that wasn’t completely successful.” Meg pinned McCord with a flat stare as she gave a head jerk toward Webb. “Don’t stand there gawking. Give me a hand.”

  “I can still walk,” Webb protested.

  “Suck it up, man.” McCord stepped around Cody, who clearly thou
ght Webb was the most interesting scent to enter the house in a long time. “Cody, shift it. You’re in the way. Go wait over there with Saki. Maybe you can learn some manners from her example.” He shooed Meg out of the way, then pulled Webb’s right arm over his shoulders to steady him. “When the lady says march, just shut up and ask which direction.” He gave Webb a sideways glance. “You look like hell.”

  “I feel like hell,” Webb muttered.

  “We heard that,” Cara said. She laid a gentle hand on the wrist protruding from his sling and took a long moment to search his expression for any sign of pain. “When Meg was running around Maryland with a concussion, she had you and your medical experience with her in case anything went wrong. You don’t have that. You’re stuck with us.”

  “I’ll take that any day.” Webb’s attention was caught by Blink, Cara’s brindle greyhound, the shyest of the dogs, as he peered around the corner at them. “Hey, Blink, it’s me.” He wiggled his fingers at the dog. “Come here and say hello.”

  Blink immediately retreated, disappearing from view, the sound of his nails tapping on the kitchen floor growing quieter as he fled.

  “Just when I thought I was actually making progress with him.”

  “Don’t be offended. He might have taken one look at my face and run for the hills,” Meg said. “Or maybe it’s because you don’t have a piece of bacon in your hand.” She watched the men shuffle down the hallway. “McCord, take him down to my bedroom. He needs to rest.”

  Webb stopped dead, forcing McCord to follow suit. “I am not going to bed. I’m not five. I’m also not tired.”

  “Not to mention you were resting all that time you were unconscious,” McCord quipped.

  “Not helping,” Webb growled in an undertone.

  His eyes sparkling with humor, McCord turned his gaze up to the ceiling and mimed whistling a tune.