“No. I’m going to search your pockets now. You got needles or anything in them that can hurt me?”
He leered. “Only one big thing, and I promise not to hurt you too bad with it.”
She stopped, fighting an urge to whack him on the back of the head. “You always talk to women like this, Silas?”
“Depends.”
“Let me give you a tip. It’s not a turn-on. Ever. It’s creepy. Maybe talking like this is the reason you live alone.” She started to check his back pockets.
“I’ll finish that.” Evan squatted next to Silas. “You get to enjoy my hands instead.”
Silas glared. “I said I wanted her to arrest me.”
“She did. The cuffs are on. Now you belong to me.” Evan did a quick, thorough search and stood, leaving Silas facedown in the grass. “I canceled the SWAT callout. Nice job.”
“I didn’t have the patience to wait. My niece is in the fucking hospital, and we’ve got more trucks to check on.”
“I’ve got something to show you,” Evan said. He held out his phone, showing a picture of a red truck. Its front end was smashed against a large lava rock in the center of a field. “A deputy spotted it within minutes.”
The red color was too dark. Silas wasn’t at Bree’s. Disappointment radiated through her.
“Guess this is the wrong one,” Evan said regretfully. “We’ll keep working down the list of trucks. At least we got a drunk off the road.”
“Dammit.” Time was slipping away. “I thought we were so close.”
“Maybe the next one will be our lucky strike.” Evan nodded at the house. “Now go delete your number from this jerk’s phone before you start getting nightly calls.”
“Getting a new number will be worth it.” Mercy strode toward the house. “Have a deputy take him in,” she said over her shoulder. “We’ll go find the next truck.” She pulled out her phone.
As soon as I check on Kaylie.
THIRTY-TWO
Sandy took her turn at Bree’s bedside.
Oh, Bree. She looks worse.
“Any changes?” Sandy asked Lucas as they both stared at his mother. The bruising was now a rainbow of colors, and her scabs were turning black.
“The surgeon is pleased with her fingers,” Lucas said. “Circulation is established, but the nerves could take a full year to regrow . . . if they do.”
“I’m happy for that,” Sandy whispered, brushing the hair from Bree’s forehead. “But she’ll remember what happened every time she sees the scars.”
Lucas studied her for a moment. “Where are your scars, Sandy?” he asked gently.
Sandy couldn’t look him in the eye. “Mine are hidden.”
Not hidden from me. She saw them every time she changed her clothes. They were her private little secrets.
Not secret anymore.
Lionel was behind bars, and everyone knew she had been a battered wife. My scars are hard-earned medals for survival—not something to hide. She slid up her sleeve, exposing her upper arm and the twisted tissue.
She met Lucas’s gaze. “It was a compound fracture.”
The big man shuddered. She understood. Bones weren’t meant to be seen; even broken bones were supposed to stay below the muscles, not ram their jagged edges through the skin. She lowered the sleeve.
“I’m sorry, Sandy.”
“It’s history. I learned to deal with it long ago, and your mother helped me ease into a new life in Eagle’s Nest. I’ll always be grateful for that.”
Silence filled the small room.
“I’ll be back at one for my lunch,” Lucas finally said. His struggle to leave was apparent on his face. “I feel like I’m about to miss something.”
“I’ll call you immediately with any change.”
He gave her a careful hug. “I’m not breakable, Lucas,” she said with a wry smile.
“If you say so.”
The air squeezed out of her lungs as she got what Bree called a Lucas rib crusher.
He left, and Sandy pulled up a chair close to the bed and took Bree’s hand. The undamaged one. “Hey, lady. How’s it going? I fed and watered the horses, and then let them out. You should have seen Cyrus run. He’s getting antsy. He needs you to take him for a long ride.”
Bree didn’t respond.
“Abby is going to get fat. She won’t tear around the pasture like Cyrus does. She just eats. I’ll have to take her out on my own pretty soon.”
Come on, Bree. A squeeze. A blink. Something. “I’d much rather we went riding together.”
Sandy sighed in the silence and considered her friend’s injuries. Bree’s damaged hand was heavily wrapped, making it look like the bulbous end of a chicken leg. Will she be able to ride with damaged fingers?
She snorted, knowing that would never stop someone as horse crazy as Bree.
“We’ll head up the same trail we took last time. Remember? It was a gorgeous day. You showed me the rock that looks like a horse’s head gazing out over the valley.” She squeezed Bree’s hand. “We’ll go back real soon, you hear me?”
Bree’s eyes opened, and Sandy froze. Bree stared directly at Sandy with terror in her gaze, and her cracked lips moved. As Sandy’s heart attempted to hammer its way out of her chest, she leaned closer to the patient. “What did you say, Bree? I couldn’t hear you.”
Bree’s words sounded like rustling leaves, but Sandy finally made them out. “Killed . . . him . . . buried . . . buried. Bury me,” she whispered.
Sandy’s stomach dropped. “You’re not dying, Bree. And no one is dead.” She pressed Bree’s hand to her own chest. “You’re going to be just fine,” she ordered. “The doctor fixed your fingers, and your bruises will go away.”
Bree continued to stare at Sandy in dread as she mouthed the same words over and over.
It feels as if she’s staring through me. Who does she see?
“Sorry . . . ,” Bree whispered. “Sorry . . . dead. Buried.”
“Bree. You’re not going to die! You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you again.” Sandy searched for the CALL button and hit it. “Everyone will be so happy you’re awake. Lucas just left, but I’m going to call him right now.” She kept talking, afraid Bree would drift away if she stopped. The woman gripped her hand like a lifeline. “Bree, honey, you can relax. Are you in pain? Do you need more medication?”
“Lucas?” she croaked with a new fear in her eyes.
“Lucas is safe.”
Bree’s lips stopped moving, and her eyelids fell closed. The grip on Sandy’s hand eased.
“Bree?” Sandy touched an unharmed spot on Bree’s cheek. “Bree. Open your eyes again for me.”
“What’s going on?” Sandy’s favorite efficient nurse bustled in, wearing purple scrubs and running shoes. The deputy on guard stood in the doorway, his face hopeful.
“She opened her eyes and talked to me!”
“That’s great!” The nurse leaned close to Bree. “Hey, Bree. Sandy claims you talked to her, is that true?” she cajoled as she checked Bree’s pulse and started the automatic blood pressure cuff. “Wake up for me again, would you?”
The two of them watched Bree’s closed eyes and waited. Sandy swore her heartbeat was louder than the machinery in the room.
Nothing.
It was as if it had never happened.
“She was terrified she was dying.” Sandy wanted to weep. “She kept saying ‘buried.’ Do you think she’s in pain?”
“Hmmmm,” the nurse said noncommittally. “I’ll mention it to her doctor.” Satisfied with Bree’s vitals, she straightened the sheets and laid a caring hand on her patient’s shoulder. “Keep talking to her,” the nurse said kindly, smiling at Sandy. “Keep reassuring her she is safe. No doubt she’s very traumatized.” She frowned. “I’ve seen patients open their eyes and even speak, but then fall right back into their unconscious state. Sometimes that is the best medicine as the brain tries to process the trauma.”
“Lucas missed it.” But would Lucas ha
ve wanted to see his mother like that?
Sandy decided it was best he hadn’t. She still struggled to catch her breath after the sight of Bree’s fear.
Lowering herself into her chair, Sandy kept a grip on Bree’s hand and stared at the battered face as the nurse left.
Buried.
Had Bree been more concerned than she let on about the threatening notes? Had she wanted someone to know her final wishes?
A shudder shot up Sandy’s spine.
Had Bree expected to be murdered?
Why?
Sandy had spent a decade looking over her shoulder, always waiting for Lionel to jump out of the dark. But she’d never felt the need to express her last wishes to someone.
I really should make a will.
The gentle hum and beeps of the equipment were reassuring, and Sandy relaxed into the chair. As long as the machines were calm, everything was all right with Bree.
But something in her head is tormenting her.
Understandable after the torture she’d endured.
But the distress was there before the torture.
Sandy leaned forward, rested her arms on the metal rails of Bree’s hospital bed, and started to think.
I can figure this out.
Truman pulled open the door to Leaky’s Tavern, stepped inside, and paused as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He’d shown the digitally aged images of Trevor Whipple and Nathan May in every shop in town and come up empty.
Over and over people studied the pictures, frowned, shook their heads, and then handed them back with a “Sorry, Chief.”
Currently Truman was on the hunt for Nick Walker, Rose’s fiancé. At one time or another, every man within several miles had passed through Nick’s business, and Truman knew he could find Nick at Leaky’s for lunch.
He spotted Nick in a booth near the back, a club sandwich in hand and a gigantic soda on the table in front of him. A bar like Leaky’s was an unlikely lunch spot for a man on the job, unless that man knew about the awesomeness that was the Leaky turkey club.
Truman knew.
His stomach growled.
A few other people sat at the bar, their eyes glued to a basketball game. Nick was the only customer at a table. Truman slid into the booth across from him, and Nick wiped his mouth. “Hey, Truman.”
“Rose holding up after last night?”
“Yeah, but she calls the hospital nurses’ station every hour to check on Kaylie. What’s the latest?”
“Stable. Doctors are optimistic.” That’s such a relief to say. Truman had repeated the same phrase multiple times that day. Everyone cared deeply about the young, peppy owner of the Coffee Café. It made him proud to be a part of this town.
“Catch the asshole that shot her?”
“They will. Deschutes County, Bend PD, and the FBI are all over it.” Truman itched to be on the hunt, but it wasn’t his jurisdiction. He couldn’t sit still, so with renewed vigor he’d thrown himself into finding who’d attacked Bree Ingram.
“Good.” Nick took a drink of his soda.
“Rose definitely has the flu?”
“Yep. Doc started her on some medication as soon as she went in.” Nick looked glum. “She didn’t want to take anything, but he said there’s more risk to the baby from the fever than the drugs, and Rose is also at risk for getting something worse. He said something about changes in a pregnant woman’s immune system that makes them more prone to bad shit.”
“That sounds awful.” Pregnant women were a mystery to him. Perplexing changes happened in their bodies.
“They say it’s a good thing she’s in her last trimester. Just need to keep her hydrated, eating consistently, and her fever down.” He scowled. “And no more late-night stressful visits to hospitals. She was exhausted when we got home.”
“I know how persuasive Mercy can be when she wants to do something. I assume Rose is the same way. There’s no changing their minds.”
“Exactly.” Nick took a fierce bite of his sandwich. “You here for lunch?” he asked after he chewed and swallowed.
“No. I wanted to show you these.” Truman laid out the images one by one. “Recognize anyone?”
Nick picked one up and wrinkled his forehead. “Why are they so weird looking?”
“They’re computer generated.”
“Oh.” He carefully studied each one, continuing to make quick work of his sandwich. “Help yourself to some fries.” He pushed his plate closer to Truman.
Leaky’s fries were a close second to the club. Crisp outsides, tender insides, and tossed with a secret spice recipe. Mercy claimed the secret was cumin and chili powder, but hers tasted nothing like Leaky’s. Truman took a few from Nick’s plate and flavor exploded in his mouth.
He must have made a noise, because Nick looked up from a page and grinned. “Good, huh?”
Truman could only nod.
Nick sat back in the booth. “I don’t recognize these guys, but I keep coming back to this one.” He tapped the overweight Nathan May. The same photo that felt familiar to Truman. “Don’t know where or how, but I’ve met him. I think.” Nick looked less than positive.
“I had the same type of reaction.”
“Hmph,” Nick said with his mouth full. “Did you try Ina?”
“I’m headed there next.”
“She knows everyone.”
“She can’t get around like she used to.”
“Doesn’t stop her,” Nick said. “One of my guys sprained an ankle at home. Ina called to tell me he’d been hurt before my guy did. And he lives a half mile away from her. Don’t know how she knew.”
“I think she has a network of spies.”
Nick solemnly agreed, his eyes serious.
“I’ll let you finish your lunch. Thanks for the fries.” Truman shoved himself out of the booth.
Nick lifted a hand and focused on his food.
Truman walked the four blocks to Ina Smythe’s little house, taking the time to check in with his office. Eagle’s Nest was eerily quiet, and not a single car passed him. Odd for a lunch hour. It felt as if the entire town were waiting for news on Kaylie Kilpatrick before it could return to normal.
My visit with Ina should get that gossip train moving.
He opened the little white gate and ducked under the low arch. At her front door, he knocked, knowing she wasn’t fond of doorbells.
A moment later the door was open, and she happily ushered him in, her cane thumping. She guided him to the kitchen table, where she had a pot of coffee and a plate of cookies ready. Truman sat and recognized Kaylie’s triple chocolate cookies.
His gut churned, and he lost his appetite.
Ina tipped her head to one side, her sharp gaze on Truman. “Yes, those are from her place. I buy them by the dozen, and Pearl usually delivers them every Monday.”
Truman struggled to speak; his mind was blank.
“She’s a good kid. Mercy has done a wonderful job, considering what Kaylie went through.”
“The doctors are optimistic. She’s stable.” His fallback statement.
Ina’s face lit up. “Good! I’m so glad to hear it. They won’t tell me anything when I call the hospital. They just quote privacy laws. Sheesh. How’s a person supposed to check up on a neighbor?” She poured coffee in his mug. “Good thing they answer my questions about Bree since she’s family, or they’d have the wrath of Ina coming down on them. Now. You said you had some pictures to show me. Where are they?”
Always gets right to the point.
Truman handed her the small stack and reluctantly took a cookie. He stared at it for a moment and then dunked it in his coffee the way Kaylie had urged him to do the first time he’d tried one. He took a bite. Still delicious. A subtle wave of peace came over him as he chewed and watched Ina. He didn’t know if it was the cookie or being in Ina’s home. He and his uncle Jefferson had sat at this table for dozens of meals during his high school summers. Only later did he figure out that Ina and Jefferson had a thi
ng.
Good memories.
Ina set the images aside, except for one.
Truman stretched his neck to look. In his head he’d started to call the image Fat Nathan.
“This one,” Ina said slowly. “I can’t say who it is, but it’s familiar.” She scowled. “It’s old. My memory of this man must be from a long time ago. I see him in my head as young.”
“Any idea how long? Were you married at the time?” he prompted, trying to help her associate the memory with something else.
“Which marriage?” she snorted gleefully.
Only Ina could have four marriages and never suffer from malicious town gossip. Gossip stopped and started with her.
“Good point.”
She carefully laid the image on the table, her face thoughtful. “Let me stew over it a bit. My memory needs a kickstart every now and then.”
Truman cleared his throat. “I understand the latest news on Bree is positive.”
“Did you hear she woke up and spoke today?”
“No!” Truman’s mind raced, and he forced himself to stay in his seat instead of rushing to interview her at the hospital. “Did she say who beat her?”
Ina’s face fell. “No. She mentioned Lucas, but the rest made no sense. Sandy told me she asked to be buried.” Ina shook her head. “That poor girl. She must have thought she was dead. After saying that, she fell unconscious again. Sandy said it didn’t last more than fifteen seconds.”
“It’s a good sign.”
“Agreed. I ordered Sandy to ask the name of the son of a bitch who hurt her so we can catch him.” Her eyes were ferocious. “I want two minutes with a sharp knife and his fingers . . . Make that a dull knife.”
Truman had to smile. This was the Ina he’d always known. “I’ll see what I can do. What can you tell me about Bree when your son, Hollis, met her?”
“Hmmm.” Her gaze went distant. “She was always a pretty little thing. Hollis was instantly crazy for her.”
“Do you know how they met?”
“No . . . Maybe they met at the college in Bend. She was attending full-time, and he’d take a class here and there. He didn’t live with me then.” She chortled. “I always told Hollis she was too good for him. She got her teaching certificate in record time. That girl was driven. She knew exactly what she wanted to do with her life.”
A Merciful Fate Page 25
