by A Rosendale
“The antibiotics I gave you would have little effect on this scale of infection, even if you’d managed to keep them down. But, lucky for you, I brought along some powerful drugs.” He turned to gather supplies to start an IV.
“I’m not letting you hook me up to another IV,” Dirk said.
The doctor frowned. “Well, then we have two options. This particular drug is very thick and therefore very painful to inject intramuscularly, but we can do that. Or I can simply have Mr. Johnson’s man restrain you again.” He motioned to the wrist restraints still secured to the sides of the bed.
“There’s no option three where you just leave me alone?”
He smiled. “No. I get paid too much to keep you alive.” He turned to fiddle with something in his bag.
Dirk took a long shot and launched himself from the bed. He wrapped an arm around the doctor’s neck, plucked the fountain pen from the man’s shirt pocket, and pressed it to the jugular vein throbbing in his captive’s neck.
The doctor started to yell, but Dirk nicked his skin with the sharp pen point. A drop of dark red blood pooled, then ran down to soak into the collar of a blue Calvin Klein dress shirt. He swallowed hard and whispered instead, “He’ll never let you out of here, even with a hostage.”
Dirk ignored the words and nudged him toward the door, which the doctor had foolishly left unlocked, assuming his patient was too weak to escape. Heat rolled off Dirk and his head throbbed violently as they neared the end of a short hallway. Seated in chairs on either side of the hallway were Amelia and the black guardsman. They were startled to their feet at their captive’s approach.
The guard drew a pistol and leveled it at the doctor, unable to get a clear shot at Dirk.
“What now, Mr. Travers?” he demanded in a deep voice that resonated in the hall.
“Now…” Dizziness overcame him all of a sudden and he staggered into the wall.
The doctor took the momentary weakness to shove the pen from his neck and stumble away.
Dirk slid to the floor as the world spun around him. The fever was playing havoc with his mind. When he blinked, he could imagine he was in the backyard in Oregon watching the clouds with Cooper. Yet when he blinked again, he was staring up into an ebony face.
Rough hands yanked him to his feet. The next thing he knew he was back on the bed in sweat soaked clothes, heartbeat pounding in his ears and a painful throb vibrating through his skull.
“That was foolish, Mr. Travers,” the doctor was saying as he wiped blood from his neck with a black handkerchief.
Dirk became aware of pressure on his wrists and looked through fog-shrouded eyes to find his wrists encased in the restraints. He pulled weakly at them while the guard grinned, his white teeth fairly glowing in his dark face.
“This could have been easier,” the doctor muttered as he filled a large bore syringe with thick, milky gel from a glass vial. “I’m giving you the shot because you asked for it and…” He motioned to his neck. “I’d personally like to cause you some pain. But then I’m putting you on IV fluids. So what did your stunt really achieve?”
Dirk was still forming a reply when the thick needle was jammed into his shoulder. True to his word, the injection hurt. It felt like fire was spreading from the needle up and down his arm.
“You can go now,” the doctor told Amelia and the guard as he arranged the IV fluids.
They nodded and disappeared.
He grabbed Dirk’s collar and leaned close. “Don’t pull something like that with me again,” he growled. “I have the means to make this a very painful affair for you and still keep your heart beating. Do you understand?”
Dirk did his best to glare in reply, but it was a poor attempt.
Chapter 66
Ramsey looked up from his laptop and out the backdoor. Between the house and the creek, the boy was tossing a baseball into the sky, then catching it with his glove. The golden dog trotted happily at his side. He abandoned his writing, snapped the laptop closed, and went outside.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Cooper glanced at him in surprise before shrugging. “I don’t know,” he muttered vaguely and tossed the ball again.
“Where’s your mom?”
“In our room. She’s reading Dad’s book again.”
“Does that bother you?”
He shrugged again.
‘Turning into a true teenager,’ Ramsey thought to himself.
“She just reads it a lot. She used to read journals and stuff, or fun books, but she just reads his book now.”
“Well, in her defense, this time I told her to read it. Why do you think she reads it so much?”
Another shrug and toss of the ball. “I think it makes her feel like Dad is still here. I guess I can’t blame her. I just…”
“Just what?” he pressed. He leaned against a ponderosa with his hands in his pockets.
“I just wish I had something from Dad,” he answered quietly.
Ramsey frowned while the child kicked a pinecone towards the creek. “Hey, you want to play catch?” he suggested after a long silence.
“Really?” He brightened almost instantly.
“Sure.”
“I have another mitt in my baseball bag!” He bolted for the cabin without waiting for a reply. Bailey bounded alongside, tongue lolling happily.
* * *
Alma was an equal mix of drained and comforted when she left the bedroom. She went to the kitchen to refill her coffee mug, even though it was mid-afternoon. Her gaze was drawn outside by movement and happy barking. Ramsey and Cooper were down by the creek tossing a baseball back and forth. Bailey raced between them, hoping for a stray ball to sink his teeth into.
The unfamiliar curl of her lips made her realize she was smiling, genuinely smiling. The feeling drove home Dirk’s written words of love and comfort.
She sipped the coffee and watched them until sunset. When they finally trudged inside with cold fingers and muddy shoes, she had spaghetti on the table.
* * *
“Well?”
“From what I hear, the woman and kid are still there,” Nolan defended.
“Have you seen them?”
“Just the kid, briefly.”
“So Ramsey is still alive?”
“I just said that,” he said irritably.
“Go see the woman. I want her description.”
“Seriously? What threat is a girl?”
“Go find her. Call me.”
Chapter 67
That day’s activities were repeated much of the week. After breakfast, Alma and Cooper would abscond to the forest for shooting practice, leaving Ramsey to either read reports from around the state or work on his own writing. Then in the afternoon, Cooper and Ramsey would play catch with Bailey while Alma read inside. She’d found a handful of fiction novels in one of the boxes in the office. Ramsey encouraged her to read them at her leisure.
Late in the week, Ramsey allowed Alma and Cooper to complete their target practice with the 9mm, then he carried his rifle and shot gun into the woods to meet them.
“Whoa!” Cooper exclaimed.
“I think it’s time we take a look at these.”
Alma frowned.
Ramsey raised a hand. “You never know, Alma.”
She nodded reluctantly.
He gave both of them a short lecture on each gun. “Cooper, I think you should stick with the shotgun for now. The kick from that rifle is pretty vicious.”
“So you’re okay with my mom getting hurt, but not me?” Cooper teased sarcastically.
Ramsey scoffed. “As if. More like I know your mom can handle it and you…”
Cooper scowled good-naturedly at the jibe.
“Here.” He passed the shotgun to Cooper and showed him how to hold it. “Your aim with the 9-mill has been getting pretty good. This thing needs less precision. You get in the ballpark and you’ll hit something.”
Cooper aimed and fired. The loud boom surprised him, but he understood what Ram
sey meant. The entire branch he’d aimed at was riddled with buckshot. The FBI agent taught him how to reload the shells and let him take several shots while he showed Alma the rifle. When she was ready to shoot, Cooper stepped back and replaced the shotgun on the fallen trunk.
“Give it a go,” Ramsey said.
Alma pulled the trigger and nearly toppled over backwards.
Cooper laughed while asking if she was okay.
She nodded and racked another shell. Ramsey stepped up behind her. He reached around and adjusted her posture by physically moving her. Neither of them noticed the expression growing on Cooper’s face.
“There. Now try it.”
She shot again. The jolt was powerful, but not painful like the first one.
“Better?”
She nodded. “Thanks, Wyatt.” Racking another round, she aimed again. He touched her to adjust where the stock met her shoulder.
After another few shots, they packed up and headed back to the cabin with Cooper in the lead. They were almost within view of the cabin when a vehicle came bouncing down the driveway. They all three shared a suspicious frown and crept back towards the cabin.
“It’s just the sheriff,” Ramsey said when he could make out the Bronco. They emerged from the trees while Sheriff Barton climbed from the car and placed his trusty Stetson. “What brings you by?”
“Just checking on those tire treads.” Nolan’s eyes crawled over Ramsey’s company.
“I submitted my report earlier this week.”
Nolan frowned. “Hmm. Must have missed it.” He stepped up to Alma. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Sheriff Nolan Barton.”
Alma took his outstretched hand after a moment’s hesitation. “Sara Elliot,” she replied. “Thanks for keeping an eye on my uncle.”
‘Damn, she’s smooth,’ Ramsey thought to himself.
“My son, Michael.” Alma appreciated Cooper’s ability to follow her lead. He looked completely natural as he shook Nolan’s hand.
“Getting in some target practice?”
Ramsey nodded. “They live in the city. I thought they’d enjoy the experience.” He smiled pleasantly at Alma and Cooper. “Why don’t you two get cleaned up? I’ll be in shortly.” He watched Nolan’s stare follow Alma all the way inside. “Any word on the ‘madman’ crawling your county?”
Nolan shrugged. “He must have moved on. No more murders in the past week. How long will your niece be here?”
“We’ve already discussed this, Nolan. She’s not available,” Ramsey teased, hoping humor outweighed concern in his tone.
Nolan laughed. “I’m just curious. You’re used to being alone, right? Sick of the company yet?”
He shrugged. “No. I enjoy the interaction. She was my wife’s favorite niece. I guess she reminds me of her sometimes.” ‘Damn!’ he thought. ‘That wasn’t entirely untrue.’
“Where are they from?”
“New York,” he lied.
Nolan nodded slowly. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to go back through my emails to find your report. Sorry about that. Have a good night.”
Ramsey watched until the Bronco faded into the trees along the curving driveway. A familiar pressure in his stomach told him something was off, but he had no idea what it might be. Maybe he was just out of practice.
* * *
“Who’s Sara Elliot?” Ramsey asked at dinner. “That was a quick-witted alias.”
“That was my mother-in-law’s name.”
“I never met her,” Cooper objected. He’d been in a disagreeable mood all afternoon.
“She died before you were born. Right before you were born, actually.”
“Was she nice?”
Alma shrugged. “I didn’t know her very well. She wasn’t great to your dad, so we didn’t have much contact.”
“And Michael? Did you make that up?” Ramsey asked.
“One of Sara’s sons,” she answered.
“I have an uncle?” Cooper demanded.
“Not really.” She took a deep breath to explain Dirk’s complicated family history. “Your grandpa died a long time ago and your grandma remarried. So Dad had two step-brothers that he didn’t know very well.”
“What else don’t I know about Dad?” His tone was hurt.
“Cooper,” she started.
“What else don’t I know about you?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked wearily.
He shoved away from the table and stood between Ramsey and Alma. “Dad’s been dead three weeks and you’re already shacking up with a stranger!”
His proclamation brought an identical expression of confusion to their faces.
“What was that this morning, then? Wyatt, you seemed pretty friendly with my mom. Mom, you didn’t seem to mind!”
“What are you talking about?” Ramsey asked incredulously. He was thinking of Travers’s written words. He won’t understand. Be patient.
“Teaching,” he used finger quotes around the word, “my mom to shoot.”
Ramsey and Alma exchanged a look. They’d both obviously noticed the physical touch that morning, but neither had thought anything of it. It was true that Alma reminded him of his deceased wife, but there would never be a woman to replace her.
He couldn’t help the outright laugh that escaped his lips.
Cooper gaped at him.
“I’m sorry,” he scoffed. He took a deep breath to gather himself. “I’m sorry you felt like your mom and I had a secret agenda, Cooper.” He had to struggle not to laugh and noted a glitter of humor in Alma’s eyes too. “There’s nothing like that here.” He waved between them. “There will never be anyone who can replace my wife. I was being a friend and teaching your mom how to shoot a rifle, which can be tough. I’m sorry for whatever you thought was happening. That’s not a thing here, right, Alma?”
She smiled. “No. I appreciate your help learning to shoot. But there was nothing else to it, Coop. I promise. I still love Dad so much. I’ll never fall in love with another person.”
The boy frowned. “Swear?”
She smiled gently. “Swear.”
He glanced ashamedly at Ramsey. “Sorry, Wyatt.”
Ramsey clapped his shoulder good-naturedly. “It’s okay, bud. I get it. Your mom is a pretty great lady. I wouldn’t want to share her if she were my mom. And your dad was pretty awesome, too. You’re right to defend your parents.”
Cooper drew himself up. “Really?”
Ramsey nodded. “Of course! You should hold onto them as tight as you can.”
“Even Dad?” he asked meekly.
“Definitely! Your dad needs more defense now than ever. Everyone around you should know how incredible he was. Hell, I owe him my life and my career.”
“Really?”
“Really! He was a neat guy.”
Cooper beamed with the affirmation.
* * *
“It’s Barton.”
“Did you see them?”
“Yes. Ramsey says she’s her niece.”
“What does she look like?”
“You interested in wiping out his family now, too?”
“Just answer the question!”
Nolan rolled his eyes. “She’s pretty. Long, straight brown hair. Round face. Thin, but sculpted, you know?
“Her eyes?”
Nolan chuckled. “You’re lucky my wife makes me think of these things. Her eyes were gray. Name is Sara Elliot.”
Johnson laughed. He recalled the name. “The boy?”
“You just asked me to look at the girl.”
The silence on the line was cold.
“He had lighter colored hair. Thin, too. Sporty. Bright green eyes.”
Johnson’s smile practically transmitted through the phone line. “That’s just who I’m looking for. Take them all.”
“Kill them, like Ramsey?”
“Kill Ramsey, take the other two alive, preferably.”
“Preferably?”
Johnson shrugged. “Kill
them if necessary. I’d like the woman or the boy alive, but if they’re too much trouble, I’ll manage.”
“You want me to kill a woman and a child?” he asked incredulously.
“Only if it’s necessary. I’ll pay you extra for it, if that’s what you want. How’s another mill?”
Nolan nearly choked. “Uh, okay, sure. I’ll call you in the morning.”
Chapter 68
“You’ve got some color today,” Johnson cooed when he entered the room. While health had returned to his victim, life had steadily ebbed. If anything, Travers’s eyes were duller than ever. Just today the doctor had released the wrist restraints. He promised two more painful doses of antibiotics, but had been assured the guard would accompany him.
Dirk had moved from the bed to the couch, but no further. Amelia had managed to force him to eat bread and water. He stared out the window at sunset. Stretched lengthwise on the couch, he could see the dimming sky outside. The passing of time held no consequence for him.
Johnson sat on the edge of the armchair opposite him. Dirk chanced a glance at the dreadful man’s face and was pained to see a pleasurable smile on his face.
“Congratulations!” he announced brightly.
His brows furrowed in suspicion.
“I didn’t get the chance to congratulate you before now. It’s been, what, ten, twelve years? I feel like I should offer you a cigar! I can’t believe it! Dirk Travers, a father!”
He felt as if the bullet wound in his side had reopened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tried. He’d managed to dissuade this conversation before. Maybe Johnson was fishing.
But the smile on the man’s fat lips grew. “Oh, Dirk.” He moved to sit on the coffee table where he was within reach of his victim and patted his cheek gently. “You can’t possibly know how delighted I am to hear about your child.” He gripped him by the chin. “What an utter fool you are,” he growled.
Dirk swept the hand away with a weak gesture and sat up with a grunt to face Johnson. They were inches apart. “You sorry son of a bitch,” he said, his voice weak and gruff, but his green eyes dangerous. “You would kill a child to get back at me for an act I committed before he was even born?”
