Blood Stains

by Sharon Sala

  As she shopped, Tom Jack drove his black, low-slung classic Camaro in her wake. And when she left her last stop and started toward Becky Clemmons’ house, he slid the Camaro into the stream of traffic only a couple of cars behind her.

  When she turned north off of Memorial and then into the neighborhood where Becky’s house was located, he turned with her, taking care to stay at least a full block behind. Then he watched as, windshield wipers working overtime, she pulled up into the double-wide driveway to Becky’s house.

  Maria noticed immediately that the other woman’s car wasn’t under the carport, which meant she was still getting her hair done. Maria grabbed her purchases and headed for the front door as the rain pelted down. Thankful for the covered porch, she dropped her things long enough to locate Becky’s key, then let herself in the house and locked the door.

  She felt like an interloper being in this house alone, but Becky had been adamant that Maria was family, and that she could come and go as she pleased.

  After a quick trip to the bathroom, she settled in to her task.

  Outside, satisfied that the rain would provide him cover, Tom Jack pulled up closer, then got out and ran toward her car, everything he needed tucked under his arm.

  Within a few seconds, he had disappeared beneath her car.

  The rain continued to pour.

  Thunder rumbled, followed by the occasional shaft of lightning.

  A minute or so later, he rolled out from under the vehicle, leaped the curb, jumped in the Camaro and sped away. Then, just to make sure he’d been unobserved, he drove around the block and parked at the far end, waiting to see if someone came out or the police showed up. When fifteen minutes had passed and nothing had changed except the increasing rainfall, he put the car in gear and drove away.

  Sixteen

  T he boxes were packed, the labels printed. All Maria had to do was get them to a UPS shipping office.

  “By the time you drive clear across town, I think it will be too late,” Becky said. “Why don’t you just leave them here and come back tomorrow? It will surely have quit raining, and it will be easier to load and unload them then.”

  Maria swept her hair behind her ear, then moved her head from side to side, easing the crick in her neck. The packing had been more exhausting than she’d imagined, mostly because she’d gone over each object a second time, as if discovering it all over again.

  “You sure? It will mean one more night with a mess in your living room,” she said.

  Becky grinned. “So? It’s not like I’ve got a social life anymore. I’m going to bed soon, and I’ll be up and at work before the sun comes up. It can’t possibly be in my way.”

  “Okay. You talked me into it,” Maria said, then glanced out the window. “Looks like the rain is about to let up. It’s still sprinkling, but nothing like it was before.”

  “You sure you won’t stay for dinner?” Becky asked.

  “Bodie’s taking me out to eat.”

  Becky grinned. “That detective has certainly caught your attention, hasn’t he?”

  Maria shrugged. “Can you blame me? Where I grew up, every other man I know is a cowboy or has something to do with ranching. Bodie may be a homicide detective, but he stands out for me with that hat and boots.”

  Becky laughed. “And he’s pretty, besides.”

  “I admit he’s far from ugly. But it’s his heart that gets to me.”

  “Okay, have a good time with your cowboy cop, and if there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. And remember what I said. When you get sick of that hotel room, pack up your stuff and come stay here.”

  Tears burned the back of Maria’s throat.

  “Thank you. I see why my mother thought so much of you,” she said, and gave the older woman a swift kiss on the cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Have fun this evening,” Becky said.

  Maria smiled and waved as she headed out the door, only to be met with blowing drizzle. She jumped off the steps, hitting the remote control as she ran so that the door would be unlocked when she got there.

  Then the world exploded.

  It was just after five when Bodie and Dave arrived back at headquarters. They were on their way into the precinct to write up their report when Bodie’s phone rang. When he saw it was from Becky, he stopped in the stairwell, waved Dave on and answered.

  “Detective Scott.”

  All he could hear were sirens, and Becky screaming words that made no sense at him over and over.

  “What? What? Becky! Slow down! I can’t understand you! What happened? Why am I hearing sirens?”

  When Dave heard Bodie’s side of the conversation, he stopped on the stairs and turned around, watching intently.

  At the other end of the line, Becky Clemmons took a breath, then made herself focus when all she wanted to do was scream.

  “I said…Maria’s hurt…bad! The paramedics are with her now. She was just leaving my house on her way to the car when it blew up. Oh, God, oh, God… Bodie, it was a bomb. Someone tried to kill her!”

  Bodie’s legs went out from under him. He grabbed onto the stair railing to keep from falling.

  “Oh, Jesus…no,” he whispered, and then adrenaline spiked as he shifted into cop mode. “Where are they taking her?”

  “Saint Francis.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  He disconnected, then looked up the stairwell at Dave.

  “Tell Carver someone just tried to kill Maria Slade.”

  Dave already knew that Bodie had a thing for the woman. He’d teased him more than once about fraternizing with someone connected to a case, but he hadn’t seen this coming.

  “Oh, no…man, I’m sorry. How? What happened?”

  “Car bomb. I’m on my way to Saint Francis now.”

  “Yeah, go, go…I’ll do the report and tell the L.T. Call me when you know something more.”

  But Bodie was already down the stairs and out the door. And all the way to the hospital, all he could think about was that they hadn’t had enough time. He wanted more. He needed more. Like a lifetime. The only thing he could do was pray that she survived.

  Maria came to in the ambulance. The pain in her body and head was so intense that she woke up with a scream.

  The EMT working on her quickly began talking, trying to get through to her enough to calm her down.

  “Maria. Maria! It’s okay. You’re in an ambulance. There was an explosion, and you were injured.”

  “Hurts…” she mumbled, then started pushing at his hands and what felt like wire holding her down.

  The EMT grabbed her hands to keep her from pulling out her IVs.

  “Yes, ma’am, we’re on the way to Saint Francis Hospital. Lie still. You need to lie still.”

  Enough of what he was saying soaked in, but before she could talk, she passed out again.

  The next time she came to, she was in a room. People were moving all around her, and she could hear a man issuing orders but couldn’t focus enough on what he was saying to figure out where she was. The last thing she heard was “We’re losing her,” and then everything went black.

  Becky was sitting in a chair in the E.R. when Bodie rushed in. He took one look at the tears on her face and his stomach dropped. God. Please don’t let her be dead.

  “Becky!”

  She looked up, the horror of what she’d seen still etched on her face.

  “This is déjà vu hell. I watched Sally die in a pool of her own blood. Then…seeing Maria on her back like that… Blood…so much blood kept coming, and then the rain would dilute it and wash it away. Oh, my God.” She covered her face with her hands.

  Bodie sat down beside her. “Is she dead?” Even as he was saying the words, he wanted to scream.

  Becky gasped, then looked up. “No! No! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to think that. I don’t know how she is. They wouldn’t let me see her.”

  He jammed his Stetson tighter onto his head. “I’ll be
back.”

  He strode toward the E.R. with his badge in his hand. The first person who challenged his presence got a close-up view in their face.

  “Where’s the car bomb victim? Where’s Maria Slade?”

  The nurse pointed. “They’re working on her in there, but you need to—”

  He pushed past her and then hurried across the hall, moving as fast as he could without running, then slipped into the room unnoticed.

  They’d cut off her clothes. Two nurses were picking tiny bits of glass from one side of her body, while another was slipping an oxygen cannula onto her nose. He stepped aside as a portable X-ray machine was wheeled into the room. It was a living nightmare. He began silently praying, making deals with God while his anger at whoever had done this grew into full-blown rage.

  By the time they were finished, almost an hour had passed. She had six staples in her scalp, two stitches in one leg and four in an arm. They were waiting for X-ray readings on her ribs and monitoring the inevitable concussion.

  A doctor started out of the room, and Bodie stopped him. He flashed the badge again, then asked, before he could be ordered out, “Is she going to live?”

  “Yes, barring any unexpected complications. There’s no internal bleeding. We’re waiting on X-rays to determine if she has any broken ribs, which I’m expecting, due to the amount of bruising.”

  The room was spinning, but Bodie held on to the fact that she was alive. Right now, he would ask for nothing else.

  “Where are you taking her?” he asked.

  “I’m putting her in ICU for the night, just to be safe,” the doctor added. “If she wakes up and there are no surprises, she could be moved to a regular room in the morning.”

  Bodie started counting off his rules.

  “There will be a guard posted at the door to ICU. She is not to have any visitors except for the names I’ll leave with the nurse. She is the only witness in a murder investigation, and we have reason to believe this was an attempt to permanently silence her.”

  The doctor’s eyes widened.

  “Uh…yes, of course. I’ll inform ICU.”

  “Can I talk to her?” Bodie asked.

  “She’s not conscious, and we’re moving her shortly.”

  “I’ll be standing guard until you do.”

  The doctor nodded. “Make sure you coordinate the guard situation with the RN in ICU.”

  “I want the names of the nurses and doctors who’ll be on duty tonight.”

  The doctor frowned. “What for? Our staff is above reproach.”

  “Do you know their financial status? Are any of them nearing bankruptcy? Does someone have a gambling habit that’s got him in a deep hole?”

  “Well, I’m sure I don’t know, but—”

  “We’re talking murder. And for some people, the need for money can rot every principle known to man. I’ve already got one death to investigate. I don’t want two.”

  The doctor’s nostrils flared. It was the only sign he gave of his displeasure, but he nodded.

  “You’ll have your information, but you don’t interfere with my nurses or the other patients, either. Understood?”

  “You understand this…I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Maria Slade alive.”

  Sam Vincent had just hauled the buckshot-riddled and blood-soaked easy chair out the front door onto the porch. First chance he got, he was hauling it to the city dump. He’d never used that chair anyway and didn’t have much company. No need stressing out about getting it replaced.

  He looked around as he started inside, then remembered Pooch was dead, which saddened him deeply. Pooch had been family, and he didn’t have enough family left to afford to lose any more.

  The new door squeaked as he went back inside, which sent him straight to the cabinet to get some WD-40 for the hinges. The bloodstain on the hardwood floor was another thing he would have to deal with. He wasn’t sure if it would come out. If not, well…he didn’t have a problem looking at it for the next twenty or so years. A good reminder not to drop his guard ever again.

  He was squirting down the last squeaky hinge when his phone began to ring. One more squirt of WD-40 and then he dug it out of his pocket.

  “Hello?”

  “Sammy…”

  Becky was crying. The sound sent a shiver of fear straight through him.

  “What’s wrong, sugar? Tell me, Beck. What happened?”

  “Mary…she’s in the hospital. Someone put a bomb in her car, and it went off just as she stepped off my front porch.”

  Sam stepped backward, feeling for a chair, but couldn’t find one, then slid to the floor, his legs shaking so bad they wouldn’t hold his weight.

  “Is she dead?”

  “No.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Thank God. How bad is she?”

  “Stitches and cuts from flying glass. Concussion. Might have some broken ribs. She’s in ICU in Saint Francis.”

  “They got a guard on her?”

  “Yes. Detective Scott…I think he’s in love with her…. He nearly lost it. He’s raised hell all over this hospital. Got doctors pissed and nurses afraid to go into her room.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I couldn’t keep Sally alive. This is my second chance to make things right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m coming to the hospital, and I’m not letting Mary out of my sight until that damned killer is either locked up or six feet under.”

  The line went dead in Becky’s ear.

  Despite the fact that no one was allowed in ICU out side of visiting hours, Bodie was in a chair beside Maria’s bed. He watched everyone who tended her with a hard, steely gaze, impervious to intermittent attempts to make him leave. A hospital security guard had arrived early on and been met with Bodie’s badge and an angry look, a clear signal that Homicide Detective trumped Security Guard and he was making too much noise.

  The guard left.

  Bodie didn’t.

  Time passed.

  Suddenly a nurse was tapping him on the shoulder.

  “Detective…Robert Tate is on the phone. I’ve informed him of Miss Slade’s condition, but when he found out you were here, he asked to talk to you.”

  “Robert Tate? Who’s Robert Tate?”

  “The man listed on Miss Slade’s wallet card as the person to notify in case of an emergency.”

  He got up from the chair, glanced down at Maria, then at the machines they’d hooked up to her. Satisfied that nothing had changed, he followed the woman back to the nurses’ station and picked up the phone.

  “This is Detective Scott.”

  “Detective…I’m Bud Tate. What the hell happened?”

  Ah. Bud was a name he knew. “Someone put a bomb in her car. We think when she hit the remote to unlock her door, it triggered the bomb. Thank God she wasn’t in the car when it detonated. The doctor said her injuries will heal. I’m here to make sure she doesn’t incur any more.”

  Bud felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t quit pacing and couldn’t think what to do next.

  “I can be there sometime tomorrow—not sure what time.”

  “Mr. Tate, she hasn’t awakened yet. I won’t leave her side until she does, and at no time will she be unguarded. You and I don’t know each other, but if I have my way, one of these days we will. Of course you can come if you want, but don’t think she won’t be taken care of. I assure you, I will see to that.”

  Despite his panic, Bud managed a grin.

  “The hell you say.”

  Bodie sighed. “Yeah. If you’ll give me your number, I’ll call you the minute she wakes up, then you can talk to her anytime after she’s moved out of ICU.”

  Bud swiped a hand over his face, torn between the desire to board the first available flight to Tulsa and the overwhelming duties he was dealing with on the ranch on his own.

  “Has she remembere
d anything? Last time I spoke to her, she was really down, afraid she would never remember.”

  “Bits and pieces, but nothing vital yet.”

  “Tell her I called.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Maybe you oughta start calling me Bud.”

  Bodie managed a grin. “Yeah, maybe so. What’s your number?”

  Bud gave him the numbers for the house phone and his cell phone.

  “Stay in touch and take care of her. She’s like my sister.”

  “Will do,” Bodie said, then hung up and walked straight back to Maria’s side.

  He had strict instructions not to talk, because it would disturb the other patients, and he would honor that. But it didn’t stop him from leaning over her bed and whispering in her ear.

  “It’s me, baby. Bud called. Becky’s saying prayers. Everyone loves you…including me.”

  Then he brushed a kiss across her forehead and returned to his seat against the wall, so he could see everyone coming and going.

  Franklin Sheets had driven twenty miles outside of Tulsa to a farm pond on the Bailey homestead. Tom Jack was the last living member of his family and resided in what was left of the old farmhouse with no regard for upkeep. Franklin knew the other man’s demand for him to bring payment all the way out here was his way of controlling a man he didn’t like. He also knew that what Bailey didn’t know was that his target wasn’t dead.

  Franklin got out at the specified location, so mad he couldn’t swallow his own spit. He was screaming and waving his arms like a madman.

  “You fuck-up! What part of ‘I want her gone’ did you not understand?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Tom Jack asked.

  “She’s alive. And according to the doctors, going to recover. The guard around her is tighter than a virgin’s ass.”

  Tom Jack shook his head, trying to bluster his way through this debacle.

  “Look. I planted a bomb that would put a hole in the side of a building. No way she lived through that.”

  “She wasn’t in the car when it went off,” Franklin snapped.

  “But—”

  “Apparently it went off prematurely. You fucked up!”

  Tom Jack paled. “I don’t see—”

  Franklin pulled a handgun from his jacket pocket and fired point-blank.