June understood where he was going. “And I might have landed in it as well.”
“Another reason I didn’t want you to wash your hands.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s done. But I don’t want to miss another chance. Can you ask April to pick up a change of clothes from your house and meet us at NorthCrest Medical?”
“Why do I need to go to NorthCrest?”
Ray shifted to stand squarely over both feet, then began counting off his reasoning. “A. Because you’re covered in blood, possibly from more than one person. I want you on their records if something…untoward shows up in the blood work.”
“You mean HIV.”
“And hepatitis C. It’s a precaution.”
“I don’t have any open—”
“B. Once the adrenaline subsides, you may find that you’re really hurt somewhere. If you fell like you described, you hit pretty hard.”
“Okay.”
“And C. I’m not letting you out of my sight again until I get you to the station for a complete statement and someone is assigned to watch your house tonight.”
June sat a bit straighter. “Watch my house? You think I’m in danger?”
Ray hesitated. “Depends on whether they believe you saw them leave.”
“But I didn’t—”
“You interrupted the search of the study. They have no idea what you saw. And you’re still my material witness. Don’t argue.”
She stood up, stepping closer and tilting her head back to look up at his face. “What about my car? It has a tricky transmission.”
“Everyone in the county knows your car has a tricky transmission. We’ll leave it here for now. I’ll send it home later with a guy who’s good with a manual.”
“You have to let it warm up at least ten minutes. Then make sure you put it in First before shifting to Reverse or it won’t go anywhere. It has that 435-horsepower, big-block engine. You don’t do it right, you’ll leave half its innards sitting in the road.”
“You should have that fixed.”
“Yeah, but then it wouldn’t be June’s emerald-green 1968 Corvette with the tricky transmission.”
“Notoriety isn’t always a good thing.”
“No such thing as bad publicity.”
“Nothing good about being stranded on the side of the road.”
“Not a bad way to meet new folks in a county like this.”
“June.” He took a step closer until they were toe to toe.
“What?”
“Get it fixed.”
“So you won’t worry about me?”
Ray’s mouth tightened to a thin line, but his eyes glistened a bit. June wasn’t sure if he was going to laugh or yell.
He yelled. But he never took his eyes off hers. “Rivers!”
Daniel came to his side and Ray stepped back from June. “Please call your wife and ask her to bring a change of clothes for June to NorthCrest. We’ll be there in thirty minutes. Radio the station and the hospital that we’re on our way.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And ask Carter to clear that crowd back from the house.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ray held out his hand. “June, I need your keys.”
“They’re in the ignition.”
Ray’s eyes narrowed. “You left the keys in a Corvette?”
“Everybody in the county knows my car, as you just said. Would you steal it?”
Ray didn’t argue with her reasoning. “Considering what one of your favorite Sunday school country boys would do if they saw anyone but you driving it? No.”
Ray took June by the arm to escort her out. She paused at the door, looking out at the faces of the crowd that had grown even larger. “This could get ugly,” she whispered.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“I don’t suppose you could tell them—”
“Not yet.”
“Maybe I could just tell them that I only found—”
“June, don’t talk.”
June nodded, then took a deep breath. It’s not like I haven’t made this walk before. She pushed open the door and stepped out on the porch.
The murmurings started immediately, and June cringed as the words hit her ears. It was as if she’d betrayed them all. Ray walked beside her, waving back those who got too close.
By the time he closed the car door, shutting out the voices, tears traced down June’s cheeks, grief building again within her, composure slipping away.
Ray yanked open the driver’s door. He fastened his seat belt, then touched her arm gently. “We’ll get through this, I promise.”
“The glass house a pastor lives in doesn’t just vanish when he dies.” She twisted toward him, grief boiling over. “You have no idea what it’s like! What this brings back. How this makes me—” Her voice broke, and she wiped away tears in furious frustration.
“It brings back JR. Your dad. And your arrest.”
June squeezed her eyes shut. “How did you—?” She stopped, pressing her lips together. Of course he knows. He’s the sheriff. She took a deep breath to staunch the tears.
Ray looked her over carefully. “Just so you know, June, no matter what we do, these people out here are going to think you’re being treated with favoritism because you’re Daniel’s sister-in-law and JR’s widow.” He paused, easing the cruiser through the cluster of cars in the yard. “And my friend.”
June faced forward, looking down at her lap again. “Friend.”
“Friend,” Ray repeated. “Your choice, if I remember. Now fasten your seat belt.” He pulled out of the parsonage driveway and headed toward Highway 49, which would take them into Springfield.
For the next ten minutes, neither of them spoke. June stared out her window as Ray focused on maneuvering Highway 49’s hills and curves, and her thoughts turned to prayers. Lord, we’re going to need You more than ever. You were there when JR died. Please, guide us now. Help us have strength, understanding…and a little common sense wouldn’t hurt, either.
She looked down at her fingers, twisting them around each other. The truth was, this also felt as if she were betraying JR as well. She and JR had worked hard to transform her from a parolee to an elegant preacher’s wife. She’d studied etiquette and taken design classes. She’d practiced walking with grace in three-inch heels until her back hurt and her shoulders cramped. She’d read the Bible until she knew almost every book by heart. They’d never hidden her past from the church, but some of the folks within had never forgiven her or forgotten that they had a felon for a preacher’s wife. Only the fact that she’d never once slipped up, maintaining her elegance and class, had kept her in their good graces.
Now that JR no longer stood as her protector, the rumor mill would run out of control.
God, You’ve forgiven me. Why can’t they? Because of my disagreements with David?
David. Despite her quarrels with him, she had cared about David Gallagher, cared that he succeeded in the church she and her husband had built. For the past three years, she’d supported him, even though she’d pulled back from her activities in the church following JR’s death. In fact, until this business about Hunter had come up between them, she’d thought they were friends. But she’d begun to feel as if he was turning the people in the church against her over Hunter Bridges. And today had probably sealed her fate with them.
Their comments had upset her, but now that she thought about it, the same people who whispered behind their hands today were the same ones who always had. That would never change, guilty or innocent, no matter how good or bad her behavior. In every church, there are folks who dislike the pastor’s wife, even if they love the pastor. That was the way of the world. But June had always refused to “court” them. She preferred being straightforward and honest, even if it came with a few bumps.
Or hurt someone.
She turned to look at Ray. Since JR’s death, June hadn’t considered dating. Ray had always been good to her, checking on her,
making a few repairs around the house. But he’d never so much as suggested anything more. Until about six weeks ago, when he changed where he sat every Sunday at church.
He’d moved from the balcony to sit in her pew, five rows from the front. Even in a large church like Gospel Immanuel, everyone notices when the county sheriff starts sitting with the former preacher’s wife. By the end of that first service, the rumor mill had already ground out its first tidbits. So she’d made it clear quickly: they were just friends. Nothing more.
She’d made it clear despite any feelings she had to the contrary, feelings she wasn’t even ready to admit to herself, yet.
Ray had agreed. But he hadn’t gone back to the balcony. And the man who was considered the best Bell County sheriff in its history had taken some hits to his reputation and authority. All because he’d chosen her as his friend.
She studied him now. His eyes, shadowed by physical pain, seemed to gaze into some far distance.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Ray blinked twice, as if she’d interrupted a major train of thought. “What?”
“By saying we were just friends.”
He kept his eyes on the road as he slowly smiled. “June. All the best relationships start as friends.”
Now it was her turn to blink in confusion. “Relationsh—”
An explosive pop cut off her words, and the cruiser jerked suddenly to the left, into oncoming traffic. June’s seat belt wrenched her back against the seat, locking into place as Ray hit the brakes. He wrestled the car back to the right lane and slowed, the left front tire thudding heavily on the pavement.
He eased the car off onto the shoulder, out of all traffic, and turned on the blue lights on the roof. Letting out a long sigh, he looked at June.
“You okay?”
She nodded. “Although I didn’t really need a second adrenaline rush today.”
“No doubt.” Ray reached for the radio and reported to the dispatcher what had happened, along with their location.
June looked around, realizing that while they weren’t far from Springfield, they were still surrounded by farm country. Her window overlooked a steep embankment that led down to a stream. Beyond the stream the land rose and fell in the typical undulating nature of this part of Tennessee, and rows of soybeans fluttered in a light breeze.
As he replaced the radio, he reached for the door handle. “Stay put. I’ll check on the tire.”
At that moment, the window above Ray’s hand cracked, and the radio exploded into tiny pieces as a bullet tore into it. Ray’s shouts to get out of the car sounded muffled, until June realized they were being drowned out by her own frantic screams. Ray released her belt, pushing her toward the passenger door. June jerked on the handle and scrambled out just as the windshield in front of them spiderwebbed into a thousand shards.
June bent to squat down against the car but she fell, slamming into the door. Ray tried to hold on to her, but his grip slipped. Terror washed over her as she began to slide down the embankment.
FOUR
June’s head cracked against a rock on the edge of the ravine and she went silent as she tumbled over. Scrambling but still trying to hold on to the car door, Ray frantically snatched at her arm but missed, and she slid away into the ravine. Ray let go of the door, dropping out of the line of fire and sliding down the rock-lined slope. He stumbled on the rock bed at the bottom, twisting his right ankle and hitting the ground hard. The rocks had punctured deep gashes in his right arm, but he clambered to June’s side, calling her name and checking her pulse.
June, limp, pale and unconscious, had a deep cut on her forehead and abrasions on her right cheek and arms. Blood streamed down her face and Ray pulled his shirt open and ripped away part of his undershirt, pressing it hard against her forehead. Her pulse felt thready and uneven, and Ray yanked his cell phone from his pocket.
As he called into the station for backup and an ambulance, Ray drew in several deep gulps of air to steady his voice—and his nerves. Flipping the phone shut, he pressed the cloth against June’s face again, then turned his attention up the ravine’s bank. Using the cruiser for cover, he climbed the embankment slowly, ignoring the increased throbbing in his head and arm.
Peering around the rear tire, Ray spotted the assailant on the foliage-covered hillside that rose steeply away from the other side of the road. The yellow-white late-morning sunlight glinted off the grille of an SUV—and a rifle barrel. About ten yards below the rise of the hill, and camouflaged by thick brush, the sniper still sat, apparently waiting to make sure they had not survived.
“How did you get here so fast?” Ray muttered under his breath as he pulled his pistol from its holster. Bracing his arms, Ray took careful aim and fired three times.
The rifle went airborne with the first shot, and the assailant—a slender, wiry white man with dark, shaggy hair—scrambled after it. Ray could hear the raw, explosive words that burst from the gunman. The second and third shots shattered one headlight and the grille on the SUV and, Ray hoped, the radiator.
The assailant clawed the SUV’s door open and slammed the vehicle into Reverse as Ray fired again, aiming for but missing the windshield. The SUV roared away as sirens filled the air, and Ray lowered his gun, sliding back down into the ravine toward June.
Pressing the cloth against her head again, Ray checked her pulse. Weak, and her breathing was shallow and slow. All his training, all his knowledge, fought desperately with his urge to gather her up in his arms and clutch her to his chest.
Instead, Ray clenched one fist at his side and waited for the sirens to close in, for the first responders who could truly rescue this woman. And in his mind he made plans for the man who’d tried to kill her.
“Where is she?” Ray winced as Fran Woodard cut his sleeve and peeled the cloth away from the gash on his left forearm, and the demanding tone in his voice lessened. “Who’s seeing her?”
As a nurse, Fran had been taking care of Bell County’s law enforcement officers since long before Ray had been on the force. Her hands were always firm but gentle, and her straightforward manner kept any attitude in line. She’d already cleaned and rebandaged the gunshot wound on the side of his head, and now she used a dampened gauze pad to loosen a bit of cloth stuck to his arm by clotted blood.
Ray sat on the bed in the E.R., his arm resting on one end of a rolling table, Fran’s tray of supplies on the other. She picked up a cleansing antiseptic to use on the gash. “We’re seeing too much of you boys lately. You need to be more careful.” Fran clucked her tongue at him. “Stop fretting and sit still. Dr. Collins is in with her right now. The X-rays are back.”
“Is she still unconscious?”
“Last I heard, she was awake and being stubborn about treatment.”
Ray’s quick grin shifted to a grimace as Fran began to clean the wound. “That’s a good sign.”
Fran shrugged. “Maybe. She needs to rest, not resist.”
“Not June’s style.”
“Yeah, well, she won’t have much choice if Dr. Collins decides to keep her overnight. That was quite a knock on her head.”
Ray took a deep breath and steeled himself as Fran reached for tweezers.
“Hold still. You’ve just got a couple of pieces of gravel embedded.”
Ray didn’t want to close his eyes, even against the pain. Every time he did, he replayed the scenes from the shootings. “How did he get there so fast?” Ray muttered.
Fran cut her eyes toward him briefly, then focused again on the cut, pulling free the last bit of gravel. “I don’t think I’m the one to ask.”
In spite of it all, Ray almost grinned. Instead, only the corner of his mouth jerked. “Thanks, Fran.”
She paused, watching him for a moment.
“What?”
“Do you think he was shooting at you or June?”
Ray scowled. “Why?”
Fran shrugged one shoulder again. “It’s a little unnerving to know someone�
��s out there randomly shooting at folks. I mean, it’s easy to assume that it was because of Pastor Gallagher’s murder, but was it really?”
Ray’s eyes narrowed. “Fran, for all our sakes, let’s hope it’s connected. I’d hate to think we’ve got two nut-cases running around in Bell County.”
Fran stood. “You’re going to need four or five stitches in this arm, so sit tight. Dr. Collins will be over here in a few. Do not go wandering around looking for June. Even if she is nearby.” She winked at him, then left the room.
Ray twisted his forearm, tipping the gauze onto the tray where his arm rested. His muscles still twitched from the pain. Much of the blood had clotted, but a few places still glistened red from the cleansing of it. It was only three inches long, but deep in the center. Scrapes surrounded the primary wound, and a bruise had started to form.
Ray looked up at the room. How he hated being in the hospital. It reminded him of pain and loss—nothing good, that was for sure. The last time he’d been stuck in the hospital was with Anne, when she was dying of cancer. He’d done everything he could since his wife’s death to avoid the place. But now it was June who brought him here—how strange.
He stretched his fingers out, then made a fist, grateful that the tendons remained unscathed. He repeated the action, imagining his grip closing on the man who’d shot at June….
“Don’t you dare undo all my work.” Fran’s scolding drowned out the greeting of Dr. Collins, who followed the nurse into the room.
Ray focused on the doctor, whose busy night in the E.R. showed in the shadows around his eyes. “How’s June?”
Nick Collins plucked a pair of latex gloves out of a box on the wall and stretched them over his hands. “Obstinate. She’s not thrilled about being kept overnight.”
“You’re keeping her for observation only?”
Nick nodded, then peered over his glasses at the tray Fran had prepped. “They’re moving her to her room. Go see her when we’re done here. Hopefully, you can save the second-shift nurses some grief.”
June’s head throbbed, and every time she moved it, a new wave of vertigo slammed into her, making the room spin.
House of Secrets Page 3
