by Debra Webb
Chapter Nine
Bree stood at the kitchen sink, the coffee she held getting cold.
She stared at nothing in particular. Her son’s swing set in the backyard…the picnic table they used so much during the summer months.
In a few minutes it would be time to wake her son to get ready for school. For now she continued to stand there feeling empty and so tired.
Sleep had been impossible. Her sister had brought Peter home around ten-thirty. She’d wanted to talk and to comfort Bree, but Bree hadn’t been able to talk. Her emotions had been too raw.
Tabitha had finally, reluctantly gone home. But she’d left Bree with one piece of advice. “Remember, after every storm comes the calm.”
Bree wasn’t so sure about that this time.
This was like a massive earthquake that had hit, ripping open her life and tossing every aspect this way and that. An earthquake she had known for years was coming and still she hadn’t been prepared.
Patrick was hurt and angry. She could understand that. He had no intention of being left out of his son’s life again. And she understood that, as well. But because of the way he’d found out—no, that wasn’t right. Because of what she had done, deceiving him for all these years, their relationship would be strained. He would never trust her again. How could she blame him?
There was absolutely no way to make this right.
Fear and uncertainty had prompted her to make the wrong decision. Selfishness and the feeling of being in too deep to turn back had kept her making those same decisions.
Now everyone would pay the price.
Her cell vibrated and she pulled it from its holster. Dispatch.
“Hunter.”
“Detective Hunter, the sheriff’s department called. Sheriff Martinez needs you to meet him ASAP.”
God, had there been another murder? Bree’s first thought was that something had happened to Agent Ben Parrish. He seemed to be high on everyone’s suspect list at the moment. If Parrish was somehow involved with the bad guys in this case, she imagined his colleagues at the Bureau were the least of his worries.
“Give me the location.” Bree grabbed the pen and pad on the counter and jotted down the directions. “Thanks. I’m on my way.”
Bree stared at the location. Pretty much a deserted canyon area. Images from the desolate place where Grainger’s body had been found filtered through her mind. Don’t let it be another murder.
She tucked her phone away and glanced at the clock—6:15 a.m. She would need to get Peter up a few minutes early. Tabitha or Layla would have to take him to school. Bree didn’t know what she would do without her family’s support. She couldn’t fathom how single moms with no network of family or friends survived.
Patrick wouldn’t have asked her to meet him like this unless it was important. She supposed he had dispatch call her because he hadn’t wanted to speak directly to her. Not that she could blame him. She’d had her reasons for making the decisions she had made. He had his reasons for reacting the way he was now. They were only human and they would both have to come to terms with those feelings.
Bree called her sister who promised to be there in fifteen minutes. Thankfully Tabitha had always been an early riser.
Setting her coffee aside, Bree summoned her missing-in-action courage and pushed away all the uncertainty and niggling fears. It was time to stop whining and fretting about it and face the music. She had a job to do and a life to live.
That was the thing. Agent Grainger had lost her life way too early. She’d been so young. Bree wasn’t about to take another moment of hers for granted. This thing with Patrick would work out in time.
Meanwhile she should get her son up and moving. She never liked to leave without giving him a hug and telling him she loved him.
For a moment she stood at the door to his bedroom and watched him sleep. So trusting, so peaceful. His little world was about to change. But it would be for the better. He wanted a father in his life. Now he would have a good one.
One who might never forgive Bree, but Patrick would be an outstanding father.
Further proof she had made the wrong decisions.
Enough. No looking back, only forward.
“Peter.” She shook him gently. “Time to get ready for school.”
His eyes opened and he frowned. “Not yet.”
“Yes, yet,” Bree scolded. “Your aunt Tabitha will be here soon and you need to be up and dressed.
Peter frowned. “Do you have to go to work early?”
Bree nodded. “I have to meet the sheriff and I can’t be late.”
“Okay.” Peter got up and dragged himself across the hall to the bathroom.
Bree went back to the kitchen to make his favorite breakfast. Toast and cereal. He preferred picking out his own clothes for the day. Like his father, Peter had very strong ideas about his likes and dislikes.
Five minutes later Tabitha arrived.
Bree was all set to say good morning and get going but Tabitha waylaid her. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Bree glanced at the clock. “Make it fast. I really have to go.”
“Yesterday after Layla picked Peter up from school they came by here for a couple of hours so he could work on his science project.”
The project was due next week. Her son was required to do it all on his own, no help from parents. Bree had no idea what exactly he was doing on his computer but he assured her it was almost finished.
“Did something happen?” Bree didn’t like the new kind of worry she saw in her sister’s eyes. Bree’s problems seemed to be piling up on her sister and that wasn’t fair. How would she ever repay Tabitha for all that she’d done?
“Sort of. Layla said it had happened a couple of times before.” Tabitha shrugged. “Last week, I think. But last night was different. The phone rang three different times in the space of two hours.”
“What do you mean the phone rang? Who called?”
“That’s just it, whoever it was kept hanging up when Layla said hello. It was weird. She didn’t mention it to me until last night.”
“I’ll look into it.” Bree’s instincts warned that it was the same person who was watching her. Who’d left her that warning. She couldn’t play off this situation any longer. She had to start taking it a lot more seriously.
“One more thing, Bree.”
“Tabitha, honey, I really gotta go.”
“I know. I know.” Tabitha put her hand on Bree’s arm. “Just remember that Patrick is a good man. A really good man. He’ll get over his anger and come to terms with the decisions you made.”
Bree could only hope.
“Besides—” Tabitha smiled “—Peter is going to be thrilled to have a daddy who’s a sheriff. That’s pretty cool for a boy, you know.”
“That’s true.” Bree hugged her sister. “Okay, I gotta go. Otherwise the sheriff is going to be mad at me for being late. We don’t need to add fuel to the fire.”
“Go,” Tabitha urged.
Bree called bye to her son and had made it to the porch, hit the button on the remote to unlock the SUV’s doors and realized she had better make a bathroom run before heading out. There were no bathrooms in the canyons.
Back in the house, Bree did her business, washed her hands and checked her reflection. She felt calmer now. She could do this. Patrick wasn’t a bear. He was a good guy. A man she had once loved…still loved on some level.
This would all work out…eventually.
Bree repeated her goodbyes as she passed through the living room and out the door.
Patrick would be waiting…and maybe another body.
PATRICK PACED the distance between his SUV and the road entering the canyon one more time.
Why had Bree wanted him to meet her here?
If a crime had been committed there was no indication. No official vehicles. No Bree. No victim.
If she wanted to talk to him she’d picked a hell of a place. They certainly wouldn
’t be interrupted.
He set his hands on his hips and did a three-sixty survey of the canyon. They would definitely have privacy.
There had to be a mistake. He fished his cell phone from his jacket pocket. It was damned chilly to be meeting outside like this for anything other than official business.
He’d just entered Bree’s cell number and gotten the no service message when a cloud of dust appeared in the distance.
Now he would find out what was going on. Patrick put his phone away and waited for Bree to reach his position and park.
She climbed out of the SUV, her gaze colliding with his. “What’s going on?”
A frown worried his brow. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Bree stopped a few steps away, turned all the way around to survey their surroundings. “What do you mean?” She searched his face. “You asked me to meet you here.”
Wait. “No. You asked me to meet you here.”
What the hell was going on?
Patrick took another long look around. The craggy cliffs that surrounded the canyon had snow hanging on the tops. Sprigs of desert grass managed to survive here and there. A couple of old mine shafts were boarded up. One had been vandalized with spray paint and a couple of the boards serving as a barrier to the opening were missing. “I think we’ve been set up.”
“By who?”
Patrick rubbed his hand over his jaw, his instincts moving to the next level. “I don’t think we’re deep enough into the Grainger case for it to be about that.” Sherman Watts crossed his mind. This could be his way of getting even.
No, that couldn’t be right. That weasel would likely still be in jail this morning. Unless one of his buddies had gotten him released. Funny thing was, Watts didn’t really have any friends. Not real friends. He had drinking and gambling buddies. Certainly none had the means to post bail.
“I’m calling dispatch to find out what’s going on here,” Bree said, reaching for her cell phone.
“No service,” Patrick warned.
The rear door of Bree’s borrowed SUV opened. Patrick’s hand was on the butt of his weapon in a heartbeat.
Bree whirled around, her own hand going to her weapon as well.
“Where are we?” Bree’s son, Peter, bailed out of the backseat. “I never been here before.”
“Peter!” Bree rushed to her son and crouched down to his level. “What were you doing hiding in there? Your aunt Tabitha will be worried sick. You have to go to school.”
Bree stood, reached for her cell. Huffed a breath of frustration when she saw that Patrick was right, no service. Bree shook her head. “Tabitha will be scared to death.”
Patrick’s gaze settled on the boy. His heart started to pound. The child looked like a carbon copy of him at that age.
“Peter.” Bree shook her head. “You shouldn’t have sneaked off from your aunt Tabitha.” She stared at the cell phone in her hand as if she’d forgotten what she was supposed to do next. “I…I need to call dispatch and find out what’s going on.” But she couldn’t…no damned service.
Patrick looked from her to the boy. He couldn’t stop staring at him. He was—
“Are you my daddy?”
The impact of the question slammed Patrick square in the chest. He looked from the boy to Bree. What was he supposed to say?
Bree looked as terrified and confused as Patrick.
A snap, then a far too familiar ring echoed through the canyon.
Rifle shot.
“Get down!”
Bree was already flying to the ground, her body shielding her son as she took him down with her.
Patrick hit the dirt.
The next shot sent a puff of dust into the air not two feet from his head.
He’d hoped the first shot was a mistake.
But that wasn’t the case.
Someone was shooting at them.
Chapter Ten
Bree tried to roll, with Peter in tow, toward her vehicle. A bullet pinged into the side of her SUV.
Peter wailed. “Mommy!”
Damn. Bree’s heart threatened to burst from her chest. She had to do something.
“Head for the rocks,” Patrick shouted. “I’ll cover you.”
“Come on, baby,” Bree urged, her throat so dry she could hardly speak. “Crawl with Mommy.”
Ensuring Peter stayed beneath her, Bree moved onto all fours and started the slow, treacherous journey toward the base of the mountain. Patrick returned fire. The thundering sounds echoing over and over before fading into the distance.
God, she had to hurry. When he had to reload…
Bree made it to the first pile of boulders.
Thank God.
She pulled Peter into her arms and huddled behind the rock mass.
One second, then two of silence sent a new rush of adrenaline searing through her veins.
Patrick. He’d had to stop firing to reload.
The distinct rifle bursts pierced the air.
She couldn’t just sit here. She had to do something.
First, call for backup. Instinctively, she reached for her phone. Wouldn’t help. “Damn!”
Okay, okay, think. She had to make sure Peter was safe and then she had to give Patrick backup. Shots from his .40 caliber service weapon popped loudly in punctuation of her reasoning.
Bree surveyed the area behind their hiding place. The base of the mountain. Cracks and crevices. Wait. An old mine shaft. It was boarded up but some of the boards were missing. She visually measured the distance. They could make it.
“Peter, listen to me.”
Her son was sobbing. His body shook with fear.
“It’s okay, sweetie. We’re gonna keep you safe. Now listen to me, okay? It’s really important.”
Watery blue eyes peered up at her.
“You see that hole over there between the boards?” She pointed to the spot.
Peter nodded. “A cave?”
“Sort of.” Gold and silver mining had been rampant in these mountains and canyons during the nineteenth century. Peter had learned about those in school but he was scared right now and not thinking clearly.
“I’m going to hide you in there so I can help the sheriff, okay?”
Peter didn’t look to sure of that. “You can’t stay with me?”
“I have to help, son.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
Bree peeked beyond the enormous boulder that protected them from the shooter’s view. Patrick had rolled close to his SUV. He couldn’t possibly have any more clips handy. There was always one in the weapon and another on the utility belt.
She had to do something. Fast.
“Come on, baby.” Bree pulled her son close. “Let’s get you to a safe place.”
Bree decided on a route that took the most advantage of every boulder and rock between their position and the opening she needed to reach.
“When I start moving,” Bree instructed her son, “you stay under Mommy like before.” He was getting to be a big boy. But she could shield his body fairly well even if it did make moving difficult. “Remember not to stop unless I stop.”
She got a shaky nod in reply.
Bree got into position. “Let’s go.”
Moving together, they half crawled, half scooted across the cool dirt and rocks. The rifle shots were interspersed between Patrick’s louder blasts. If the shooter was still aiming for Patrick that meant he hadn’t noticed their movements.
Please, God, let Patrick keep him occupied.
A thud hit the dirt right on her heels. She didn’t have to look back to know she and Peter were now targets.
“Faster, baby,” she urged as her arms and legs frantically worked to propel them forward.
The last dive for the opening between the boards was accompanied by two pings into the rock right next to the opening.
Damned close.
She urged Peter deep into the darkness.
“It’s dark, Mommy.”
&nbs
p; “Keep going. It’ll be all right.”
When she felt they were a safe distance inside, she reached for the flashlight on her belt. “You can hold this but don’t turn it on unless you absolutely have to. And turn it that way.” She wrapped his shaking hands around the flashlight and pointed it away from the opening they’d entered.
She collapsed on her butt. Her arms and legs were trembling.
They were okay.
For now.
Patrick.
She had to make sure he was okay.
“Stay right here, sweetie,” she implored. “I’m gonna check on the sheriff.”
“No.” Peter grabbed her jacket. “Don’t go back out there.”
Bree hugged her son, fought the tears. “I have to help, baby. You know that. It’s my job.”
When Peter had calmed a bit, she gave him another tight hug. “Stay right here. Be very quiet. And I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Okay.” His voice was thin and high-pitched. He was scared to death.
Bree made her way back to the opening. Though she couldn’t see much of anything she was pretty sure this was a shaft that had been used in the early, primitive mining days. Which could mean it wasn’t the safest place to hide. But right now she had no choice.
She paused in the shadows near the opening. Listened. Patrick’s .40 caliber popped off another round. He was close. He must have sought cover nearer to her location.
Another rifle ping landed near the rocks where she and Peter had first taken refuge. The shooter was coming closer. He likely knew Patrick would soon be out of ammo.
“Patrick!” Normally she wouldn’t call out and give her location away, but the shooter already knew exactly where she was.
“Stay where you are!” Patrick commanded.
Could she throw a clip hard enough to reach his position? Bree chewed her lower lip, tried to gauge the distance.
Maybe.
“I’m going to toss you my extra clip,” she called out to him.
A ping zapped the edge of the opening. She jerked her head back.
“Stay back!” Patrick shouted, his voice gruff.
Bree ignored his warning. She grabbed the clip from her belt, waited for the next rifle shot.
