“That doesn’t surprise me. The last time I had the misfortune of being with the jerk we almost came to blows.”
“So now he’s spreading around talk he’s going to file a report with the National Practitioners Data Bank and have your EMT license.”
Kim shrugged and zipped up her tote bag. “His mouth is as foul as his brain.”
“What’s he got against you, Kim?”
“You mean the complaint? Nothing I can think of. He must have invented something. So how do you know this? How do you know him?”
“I don’t. My friend Bill works with him. I hear he’s a pain-in-the-ass jerk, alright, but I wonder if he really could get you fouled up with the EMT Bureau?”
Her mind raced with the question as she threw her tote bag over her shoulder and turned to leave but the seeds of concern were swept away by a flood of anger as she remembered the malice in Wagner’s eyes and the assault of hateful words unleashed on her a month ago.
She turned back to Jerry. “It takes more than nasty words and lies,” she said. “It takes a whole army and fifty years of fighting to bring down people in my tribe, Latte. No worries.”
His blue eyes widened in surprise at the rarely-spoken reference to her Apache heritage. Amused, she patted his shoulder and went out to her Jeep.
She reached her home on County Avenue C, on the outskirts of the East Cocopah Indian Reservation, just after midnight. An isolated location for a home with no street lights and no other houses nearby, it felt right for her.
She welcomed the sound of gravel on the driveway crunching under her tires when she pulled up next to the house. The home had no attached garage, a fact she didn’t regret. She cherished the 1960's, cracker-box shaped house of brick and stone, happy she had found it. Her modest craftsman style home felt real and authentic. Before finding it she had rejected a score of newer homes with a two-car garage abutting the sidewalk, interior door leading directly to the kitchen. She had once told Allie, Modern architecture echoes the modern world’s obsession with food and cars. She secretly pitied homeowners who went from car to kitchen without ever enjoying the comforting ritual of unlocking their front door and entering their living room.
Her musing created a picture of a more typical home – with herself and two children in residence and a man, obviously a husband, who she suddenly realized bore a suspicious resemblance to Lon. She dismissed the image as absurd but thoughts of Lon remained. She had never felt such a strong physical attraction to any man and at the same time no man had earned her admiration and respect as quickly as he had.
She got out, locked the jeep and walked to her front door, listening for the usual soft chuffing of her dog. Zayd always conveyed his delight at her approach with the muffled combination of whine and bark but tonight she heard a low growl and then a sharp bark as she turned the key in the lock.
When she stepped over the threshold he didn’t welcome her in the usual way, a nose-guided inspection, his whole body wiggling as he sniffed her clothing, legs and feet, followed by a few wet kisses. Tonight he stood in the opened door looking past her into the dark. The hair on his shoulders and back stood on end.
• • •
Chapter Sixteen
“What’s up, Zayd?” she asked, as she ruffled the thick coat on his neck. “Coyotes again? We’ll scare them off when we go out.” She put her bag in the coat closet. “A quick drink of water for me and off we go.”
She finished her water, grabbed his leash and a flashlight from the table. She retrieved a single house key on a ring from pegs on the kitchen wall. During the day Kim never locked her door or put her dog on a leash to take a walk but at night she was more cautious. She hooked the leash onto his collar, opened the door and stepped onto the concrete apron which was dimly lit by one lamp on the brick exterior.
She turned and locked the door. Zayd growled again. Crack! Something whizzed past her face, something struck her cheek. She dropped into a crouch. The leash jerked from her right hand as Zayd bolted off the stoop into the darkness of the front yard. Crack! A second gunshot. Zayd yelped with pain. She stood. “Zayd, come!” she screamed. No response. She looked toward the road from where the shots had come. She saw the dark outline of a car. Then a flash of light on silver hubcaps, the squeal of tires and the roar of an engine as the car sped away. No headlights, no tail lights, registered in her mind, tightening the grip of fear in her chest.
“Zayd!” Her voice sounded in her ears like someone else’s, weak and breathy with panic. She had dropped the flashlight and the house key. Now she groped for the flashlight where it had rolled off onto the ground. She found it, pushed the switch. No light. She shook it. No light. Now she had to find the key. She looked down at the cement, turned in a circle, frantic. A glint of metal near her foot. She picked up the key but her fingers trembled so it took a few seconds to fit it into the lock. Finally the key turned. She pushed the door open hard; it bounced back against the door stop. She ran to the drawer in the kitchen for another flashlight.
She raced back outside with it and swept the light over the front yard, calling Zayd’s name. With each sweep her fear grew. Why didn’t he come? Would the narrow ray of light find him lying dead? No, the yard was empty. Not here! Where is he?
She ran to the road. The sound of the retreating car was distant, unwinding. She saw nothing until lights flared, far down the road. The driver had turned on his headlights. The vehicle was still virtually invisible; it must be black or dark blue, but the headlights revealed a patch of road. Red tail lights, mere specks in the darkness, revealed nothing. And then it was gone. For an instant she heard only silence. Then the chirp of cicadas and the distant hum of traffic on Highway 19 registered, the sounds infuriatingly neutral.
Zayd must have followed the car. She began to run down the road, calling and sweeping the light back and forth. Finally it caught the gleam of his eyes half a mile away. He was coming fast. He can run! she thought. He can run! He’s not hurt bad!
She stopped and blinked back tears of relief, waiting. When Zayd reached her she dropped to her knees and wrapped both arms around him, ruffled his coat and rubbed her cheek against his muzzle as he panted, tongue lolling, dripping, then wetting her face. “Why didn’t you come?” she said. “You never disobey like that.”
Pain in her knees from pebbles in the road finally reminded her to stand. “Let’s get into the house,” she said, as if he could understand every word. “I need to get a good look at you.” Like an anxious mother, she wasn’t sure if she felt more relieved he was alive or disappointed at his earlier disobedience. They walked back into the house, Zayd pressed so close against her his warm coat brushed her leg with every step.
She walked through the open door without fear until a flash of red in the wall mirror caught her eye. Blood! She swiped her cheek, felt a sharp pain and something hard in her flesh. A wooden splinter. It was almost as big around as a toothpick. She leaned closer to the mirror and picked it out. The wound welled up a drop of blood. She swiped it away, then caught sight of her other hand and her shirt. Smears of blood. Her breath caught and she made a sound she didn’t recognize, a noise full of shock and dismay.
Zayd backed away, confused by her alarm. She looked at him, his head tilted in question, and now in the light she saw the notch in the side of one ear, a jagged wound where the bullet had grazed him. There had been only two shots, but quickly she knelt and examined his neck, his back, his legs, looking for more injuries. There were none.
Assured he wasn’t seriously injured, the numbing effects of fear released its grip and she flared into anger. Her breathing quickened. Her hands became clenched fists and she cursed out loud. “Damn! Crap! The rotten, nasty, dog-killing son-of-a-bitch!”
The urge to punch the wall and kick the decorative door stop across the room was strong until she saw Zayd back away again, his ears up and eyes questioning. Of course he wondered if she was angry at him. She reached to give him a pat and stood there letting the rapid thudding
of her heart slow, catching her breath and calming herself, trying to push from her mind the sound of gunshots and the glimpsed outline of a retreating car.
No, she had to deal with it. It suddenly occurred to her that the dark car driven by a would-be assassin might circle back for another try. She retrieved her smart phone from her bag and dialed 911, while she led Zayd into the bathroom. She began to clean his ear.
The 911 operator answered within three rings. Kim put the phone on speaker. The operator’s voice sounded bored until Kim said “gunshots,” then it took on a more urgent tone. She demanded to know who, how, when and why, the same inquiries a good reporter would make. While she gave the details, Kim finished wiping down her dog then coated the raw edges of his wound with a wax-based antibiotic that stopped the slow ooze of blood. The 911 operator promised to have law enforcement there within minutes. Kim’s home lay outside the city limits, so the unit would be from the Sheriff’s Department, carrying the detective on duty and a deputy.
When Zayd had settled into his dog bed by the sofa Kim had time to wash her face and hands and change her blood-smeared shirt before the sound of a vehicle drew her to the front room window. Flashing lights – the patrol car. She gave Zayd the order to stay, then repeated it with her best ‘I’m serious’ expression, an indication of her new lack of confidence in his obedience.
The responding officers approached slowly. When she invited them in they stopped just inside the door to introduce themselves. The one who identified himself as the detective was older, near retirement age, she guessed, average height and probably Mexican in origin, although he spoke with no hint of accent. He looked lean and muscled beneath his short sleeve shirt, his face deeply creased around a thin-lipped mouth and brown eyes, which tilted down at the corners. His calm voice conveyed both reserve and confidence as he began to question her.
The other deputy was young and handsome, with dimples in his cheeks that she knew must have earned him a lot of grief from his peers. He was very deferential to the older man. She led them into the kitchen to sit at the table. The detective took notes while Kim told her story.
Finally he said, “Judging by the distance from the road to the house the shooter used a rifle. Where were you when you heard the shots?”
“Right out there on the porch.”
He fixed her with a questioning look. “What’s that on your cheek?”
She put her hand up to the tender spot. “Oh, I think a splinter hit me.”
He rose and went back to the front door with the deputy and Kim following. He stepped onto the concrete apron and began to inspect the door frame with his flashlight. His face changed only slightly when he spotted the spent bullet imbedded in the wood.
“He really was trying to kill you,” he said, looking at Kim for long, speculative seconds. “We need to get the crime scene tech out here to photograph this and pry it out. Tonight we can look for the shell casings. You’re sure there were only two shots?” Kim nodded. “You can go back in the house now.” With that, they pulled flashlights from of their utility belts and began to search.
She stood at the front room window and watched them methodically sweep the yard with lights larger and more powerful than the one she had used to look for Zayd. Soon she saw the detective pick up something with a gloved hand and place it in a bag, then he approached and knocked at the door.
“We’re going to leave now, but we’ll have patrol drive by again tonight as often as they can to make sure things are okay here. Tomorrow morning a Crime Scene tech will do his thing outside. You don’t need to be here for that.”
“Thank you. I’m grateful.” She extended her hand to both. The detective looked at her, his face softening around eyes and mouth. “No neighbors nearby,” he said. “Don’t you feel lonely or unsafe out here alone?”
“No. I like my privacy and silence is the best sound in the world.” He tilted his head a fraction of a degree as if unconvinced and turned to go. She watched them get into the patrol car and pull away then closed the door, locked it and wearily slumped against the wall. She let her chin fall to her chest while she reached back to rub her neck and shoulders. Wearily, she pulled off the band holding her long hair, leaned forward and shook it out, willing away the debilitating effects of fear and anger.
What now? The thought of going to bed, her usual routine at this hour, seemed ridiculous. She went to the kitchen for a glass of wine and sat down on the sofa to relax. She needed to de-stress, otherwise the events of the night might replay in her mind or worse, in her dreams. She reached over the sofa’s arm to touch the top of Zayd’s silky head with her finger tips, stroking him idly.
• • •
Chapter Seventeen
She might have closed her eyes for a few minutes when the sound of a car engine and then a single rap at the door made her start and drew Zayd from his comfortable bed. What now? But Zayd’s hackles didn’t raise and his tail began to wag slowly. Whoever it was, she had nothing to fear. She went to the antique oak door, wishing it had a peep hole. “Who is it?”
“It’s me. I heard about it.”
She felt a start of surprise and then a rush of pleasure. She opened the door and Lon Raney walked in. He wore faded jeans, a navy blue t-shirt frayed at the neck and loafers with no socks. His hair looked tousled. He must have been in bed. She glanced at the clock above the TV on the entertainment center. After two a.m. Of course he had been in bed.
Lon gave her a long, appraising look before he noticed the dog, who had gone back to his bed. “What happened to you, Dog?”
Zayd lifted his chin from the padded rim of the dog bed. One ear stood erect while the injured one drooped. He looked from Lon to Kim and, receiving no instruction or information, let his muzzle droop again.
“The guy shot him, that’s what happened.” Saying the words renewed her anger. She crossed her arms, gripping them so tightly her nails dug into the skin. She looked into Lon’s face, hoping to see understanding in his eyes. He put his hands on her upper arms and rubbed the red indentations lightly with his palms. “They told me you were alright,” he said. “Are you?” He touched the red spot on her cheek with one gentle forefinger.
Kim hesitated. She didn’t understand. Why didn’t she feel alarmed or angered by his touch? Because the sensation of his body so close to hers and the warmth of his hand felt comforting.
“I’m fine. But why did you come? The detective found a bullet casing and tomorrow the tech will be here to pry out the bullet. Nothing much for a crime scene man to do here tonight.”
“I’m a detective too, as you remember. But I didn’t come for that, I came for you. I came to see for myself you’re okay.”
“If there’s anything more to be found out there, Zayd’s nose will lead him right to it in the morning.”
He took her hand in his, saying nothing. Now she appraised him and while she did an unexpected internal shift took place. Without thinking she stepped forward to press her body against his.
For a split second nothing, while she sensed his shock. Then his arms pulled her closer. He wrapped her in safety and reassurance while his hands moved over her back, her arms, her waist, then cupped her bottom and pressed her closer.
Then they were apart. She couldn’t be sure if she had backed away or if he had released her. Now he held both her hands in his and immobilized her with his eyes.
“Kim, what are we doing?”
She smiled. “This might be where I question your skill as a detective.”
He refused to smile. “Kim, you know how I feel about you. I made it clear enough that day at Kofa, ass that I was. But you set the boundary and the time table. I don’t want to ruin things between us by chucking it all when you’re upset and might just need some comfort.”
She nodded. “You’ve got some good insights, Detective. Maybe I am feeling needy, but a relationship doesn’t work on a time table, it works on feelings, doesn’t it? How could it ruin things between us?”
In answer,
he embraced her again. She felt her need for his strength and pressed against him, felt his erection grow against her lower belly. She rubbed her cheek against the side of his neck.
His arms tightened around her back for a second, then his hands moved down to her waist and stopped. He groaned, a breathy growl. He inched back, hands still resting above her hips and said, “Wait. Before anything else, I need to hear what happened tonight. I don’t want to read it in the report. I want to hear it from you, before you forget anything.” He looked into her face and then down at her breasts. Her nipples were clearly outlined against her cotton t-shirt. His voice husky, he repeated, “…before you forget anything and before I forget everything.”
Her eyes lingered on his mouth. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let his scent of soap and clean skin envelop her. “You said you weren’t here as a detective. But okay. And when we’re done, you stay.”
“The night? If I stay the night…”
“Yes. Come and sit down.” They went to sit at opposite ends of the sofa. She began to describe what she was just now fully realizing had been an attempt to kill her, not just her dog.
It was fine until she described the sound of the gunshot. Without warning, a flashback invaded her, an intrusive memory of the first time a man tried to murder her after her own attempt to kill him. Desperate, she mentally pushed away the memory and the shame. She would not allow Lon to see her inner turmoil.
By the time she answered his last question the flashback was pushed away by her desire to feel his touch again. “Are we done now?”
He nodded. She stood, took a step toward her bedroom and glanced back at him, holding out her hand. He stood, grasped it and followed her in silence.
Her bedroom smelled of the sage and sweet-grass she burned every month in a cleansing and renewing ceremony. Tonight the room was lit by stripes of moonlight filtering through the blinds, laying across the bed in luminous streaks.
When she closed the door he embraced her from behind, his hands slipping up to her breasts, his lips on the back of her neck. His breath sent chills down her back and waves of desire up her torso.
Fatal Refuge: a Mystery/Thriller (The Arizona Thriller Trilogy Book 2) Page 9
