Chapter
Nineteen
Val
Rain pattered against the window. Heavy clouds blotted out the moon and stars. The hospital waiting room’s fluorescent lights reflected off the glass like a mirror.
Val stared into her own eyes.
She could still see Oneida, even in her own reflection, even when she closed her lids tight. Oneida’s strong frame had been destroyed, crumpled to the floor, her wavy, blond hair gone, her scalp an angry red. Her arms had been outstretched, her hands yellow-white, the skin charred in places, fingers no longer there.
Nothing was as bad as her hands.
Val could guess how it had played out. Oneida hit with bird shot. Oneida trying to protect the others, despite her wounds. Oneida with her hands raised, trying to fend off a monster.
He’d cut her. He’d burned her. And by the time Val had arrived, Oneida was unconscious, dying. Most of her clothing was charred, burned ash and large blue flowers.
“She loved that skirt.”
In the reflection, Val could see Lund look up from the floor tile he’d been studying. “Skirt?”
“The flowered one she wore today. I always thought it was hideous. But then, I’ve never been much of a fashion plate. No one knew that better than Oneida.”
“Oneida is tough, Val. Don’t count her out yet.”
Val nodded, trying to hold on to his words, to believe in them. She had no idea how long they’d been in the hospital, waiting, praying. Hospital time was different from real time. Some hours would fly, some seconds tick slower than days. All of it a morass of worry and fatigue and endless boredom that could swallow a person whole.
Val could hear Oneida now.
Why the lollygagging, Chief? I’ve already finished my job and half of yours.
Except that Val wasn’t chief anymore, and since it was the middle of the night, she was relegated to staring out the window or being a support person, two things at which she was utterly terrible.
Val glanced at her watch. Just after three A.M. “I should check on Cheyenne, see how she’s doing.”
“Last I saw her, she was asleep.”
“But that was hours ago.”
Lund shook his head. “Ten minutes. Maybe you should lie down, too, Val. Get some rest.”
“Not tired.”
“You look like you’re about to keel over.”
She felt it, too. But sleep seemed wrong. Not while Oneida was still in surgery, fighting for her life. Not while Grace was at the mercy of a man who had none.
Val turned back to the window. “I have to talk to Kasdorf.”
“The ferry. Shit.” In the reflection, Lund leaned forward. Elbows on knees, he cupped his head in his hands.
“Explosives seem right up his alley. And seeing that Hess was just at his farm…”
“You’re not talking to Kasdorf until morning,” Lund said.
Val sat on the window ledge, turning her back to the glass. “I can’t just stand around and do nothing. Now that I’m not police chief, maybe Kasdorf will be more forthcoming.”
Lund let his hands fall and looked up at her. “Val…”
“Don’t coddle. You promised.”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“Go on.”
“We’re talking about Kasdorf here. You really think he’s going to let us waltz onto his property at three A.M.? It would be suicide.”
“I can’t stay here and do nothing. And I can’t sleep.” Every time Val closed her eyes, she could see Oneida. Not the strong, bossy, endlessly efficient woman, but the burned, dying shell.
Val had to find Hess. Before he did the same thing to Grace. “I need help.”
“I’m here,” Lund said.
“I know. I’m just afraid the two of us aren’t going to be enough.”
“Who do you have in mind?”
“Jack.”
“Good idea,” Lund said, not moving.
“This will only take a minute.”
“Oh, I see. Alone. I’ll check on Cheyenne.”
Val pulled up her phone directory and entered the number. She could already feel the tears gathering behind her eyes, and as the phone rang, she focused on breathing. In and out. In and out.
It wasn’t that this call needed to be a secret from Lund. Not at all. But relating the story was going to be hard enough. Doing it while he was watching would surely make her cry.
“Daniels.”
“Hi, Jack.”
“What’s wrong?”
Any good cop, current or former, knew that a three o’clock phone call was never good news. Jack would always be a good cop, even if she’d traded her badge in for a private investigator’s license. “I need to ask you for another favor. A really big one this time…”
Lund
Lund’s head had been spinning since the ferry bombing, and it didn’t promise to let up anytime soon. He paced the hospital hallway. He’d already checked on Cheyenne and found her sleeping on the waiting room sofa, nestled in her husband’s lap. After that, Lund had visited the restroom, checked out the vending machine, and returned to the waiting room Val occupied only to hear the low tones of her voice.
Still on the phone.
Not that he minded. Calling Jack was a great idea. God knew they could use all the help they could get. Especially since it seemed Hess had gotten his hands on explosives.
Lund made his way to the nurses’ stand. At least there, he could overhear anything there was to overhear. Only one nurse was behind the desk. Back to Lund, she tapped away at the computer as if she didn’t notice he was there.
He drifted toward the smell of burned coffee and poured a cup. He’d worked hand in hand with law enforcement for a lot of years, and he had a feeling he knew what would happen next. The bombing put everything in a different light. Grace was no longer the only priority. Now the whole town was in danger. The whole county and those bordering. And with the LLPD unable to even cover shifts and the county sheriff reeling, as well, Grace could easily slip into second-thought status.
Probably what Hess intended.
For a moment, Lund stood at the coffeepot, breathing in the burned aroma. They really did need every bit of help they could get. Help unrelated to law enforcement. Help that was totally focused on searching for Grace.
Val would understand.
Lund pulled out his phone and punched in Harry McGlade’s number.
“Glad you called,” Harry said. “I was just thinking of you.”
“I need to ask you a favor.”
“First tell me what you’re wearing. Tell me slow. Is it the schoolgirl outfit?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Wait a sec… this isn’t Britney Spears, is it?”
Lund plowed ahead rather than get mired in Harry’s nonsense. “You know a guy named Tequila, right? Last name Abernathy? Short? Gymnast?”
“Why? Are you into diminutive sociopaths? Or are you into overly muscular thighs? Is that it? Are you popping a chubster right now?”
“Do you have Tequila’s number or not?”
“No. Wait, how do you know Tequila?”
Lund chose to keep it vague. “Through a woman.”
“Is it Jack? Why didn’t you call her at three A.M.?”
Because Val had beaten him to the punch. Besides, Lund didn’t know Jack would have Tequila’s number. He’d never heard her mention Tequila. “It wasn’t Jack.”
“Was her name Hammett? She’s also very muscular. I once saw her crack a walnut. Guess what body part she used?”
God, no. “It wasn’t Hammett.”
“Fleming?”
“No.”
“That leaves Chandler.”
Lund took a deep breath. He’d had feelings for Chandler. Crazy, exciting, and ultimately deeply conflicted feelings. Chandler was an amazing woman. Chandler was also dangerous. Ruthless. A woman who could kill without a second’s hesitation.
Exactly the type of help they needed no
w. “I heard on the news that she’s dead.”
McGlade didn’t answer.
“She’s not dead, is she?” Lund couldn’t help but smile. He’d always suspected. After what Chandler had done, the only way for her to disappear from the top of the FBI’s Most Wanted list was to die, so she conveniently did.
“I thought you were asking about Tequila.”
“Forget Tequila.”
“I wish I could. Those tantalizing muscular thighs haunt my dreams.”
Lund almost asked Harry if he ever had a serious conversation, or if it always devolved to a bad comedy routine. But he already knew the answer.
“Do you have a number for Chandler?” Lund asked, a temple of infinite patience.
“She isn’t going to answer. You have to leave a message. And you have to say the code word.”
“The number?”
McGlade rattled off the digits.
“And the code word?”
“Repeat after me: my.”
“My.”
“Dixie. Like whistlin’ dixie.”
“Dixie.”
“Wrecked. Like you wrecked your car.”
“Wrecked.”
“Good. Repeat it so I know you got it.”
“My dixie wrecked.”
McGlade started to laugh. “I knew it, you old horndog.”
Lund didn’t understand, so he went back over what he said. My dixie wrecked. My dick’s erect.
“That’s not the code word.”
“There is no code word. But tell her I said hello. She’s sweet on me.”
Lund ended the call, then stared at his phone for a full minute before punching in the number Harry had provided.
He listened to the rings. His throat tightened. His mouth felt dry.
The line picked up, and a tone sounded.
Lund cleared his throat. “This is Lund. I, uh, we are in trouble. When you get this, call.”
And just as he hung up, the door at the end of the hall opened, and three doctors wearing scrubs strode through.
Val
Val explained the situation to Jack with no more than a few silent tears, none evident in her voice. But despite her efforts to contain her emotion, she didn’t hide anything from Jack.
“I’m driving up,” Jack said before Val could even ask.
She let out a heavy breath. “Thank you.”
“We’ll find her, Val.”
“I know.”
Val had just gotten off the phone when a knock sounded. Not Lund. If he knocked, it would be a few short raps as he was peeking inside. This was a firm knock, then nothing. Definitely someone else—a doctor, a nurse—someone who could well be bearing bad news.
Val dashed her fingertips under her eyes, sweeping away any stray tears. “Come in.”
The door swung wide, and Pete Olson entered. A good, stoic Norwegian, Olson rarely showed emotion, and the circles under his reddened eyes hit Val with extra force.
“News about Oneida?” she asked, her voice breaking.
Olson shook his head. “Cheyenne’s husband said you were in here. Wanted to see you before I left.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Going back to the station. I’m not much good at sitting around.”
Val knew the feeling.
“I didn’t want the job this way, Val.”
“Not your fault.”
“I wasn’t sure I wanted it at all anymore.”
“I know.”
Less than a week ago, Pete had confessed he was taking a law course and toying with the idea of becoming a prosecutor.
“You’ll make a good chief, Pete. If I had the power to handpick my successor, you’d be it.”
“Means a lot.”
Val nodded, not trusting her voice.
“We can’t keep up with him, Val. We’re too short-handed, and we’re spread too thin. He walked right into the station, and no one was there to stop him.”
Val knew. She felt the same agony as she heard in Pete’s voice. How could they stop Hess when they couldn’t even protect their own station? How could the police protect anyone when they were the victims themselves?
“Find out anything about the bomb on the ferry?” Val asked.
“The FBI is on the scene.”
“Playing it close to the vest?”
“Worse. They’re making noises about labeling this a terrorist threat. Can you imagine? Like we need more panic and media attention. Like that will help us do our jobs.”
“I’m not going to miss the press conferences.”
“No shit.” Pete shook his head. “Dan Markum quit.”
“Really?” A fairly new officer, Markum had been on the job a couple of years now. Val wouldn’t have picked him as one to bow out.
“With Hess focused on the LLPD, I suppose I can’t blame him,” Pete said, but his expression heaped plenty of blame. “I wish I could go back in time. Kill the bastard the first time I saw his face.”
“We’ve had this conversation before.”
“Come on, Val. Jimmy Weiss? Chris Edgar? The Columbia County guys? And now hurting Oneida? And Grace? You have to want to kill him, too.”
Pete searched her eyes, as if trying to read her thoughts.
She looked away.
For a long time, neither one of them spoke. Olson broke the silence. “Why the resignation, Val? I don’t get it. Being a cop… it’s who you are.”
Val’s throat grew tight. “I resigned before Hess broke out of jail. Haselow just didn’t accept it until today.”
“Why did you do it?”
She’d blurted it to the EMTs. She might as well tell Olson before he found out from someone else. “My health.”
“Very funny.”
“It’s true.”
Olson frowned.
“I have MS, Pete. Multiple sclerosis.”
His mouth gaped. Catching himself, he closed it. He glanced around the room, as if looking for the punch line. Or a way out. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m on medication. Does a pretty good job of keeping the exacerbations in check, except when I’m under a lot of stress.”
It used to be impossible for her to talk about the disease, impossible to even think about it. Now with each person she told, she could feel herself accepting it. Not as a death sentence, the way she used to think of it, but just as a cold, hard fact.
Olson glanced at the crutch. “Your leg?”
“Leg, hand, vision sometimes. Fatigue. At least that’s mostly what it’s been so far.”
“Shit, Chief.”
Val thought about correcting him about the chief part but decided to let it pass. “It’s not going to stop me, Pete. None of it’s going to stop me.”
“Maybe it’s for the best.”
Val canted her head to the side, waiting for him to explain.
“Not the disease or anything. You not being a cop. I don’t trust the feds, Val. I’m afraid Grace is going to get lost in the middle of all this bombing and terrorist talk.”
Val nodded. She’d had that fear, too.
“Anything you need, you let me know.”
“Actually I do have something.”
“Name it.”
“Watch yourself.”
“Hess won’t come after me.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’m hoping he does.” He gave her a flat-lipped smile. “Really, anything you need. From me, from the PD, information, anything.”
“Thanks, Chief,” Val said.
Pete stared at her, and it took a moment for Val to see the glisten in his eyes.
“You’re going to be a great chief, Pete.”
He blinked and stared at the floor. “As long as I’m half as good as the last one, I figure I’ll be okay.”
A soft knock sounded and the door inched open.
Val swung her attention from Olson to Lund, and as soon as she saw the expression on his face, she knew why he’d come. “Oneida.”
Lund nodded.
“She’s…” Val’s throat closed. She didn’t have to say the word. She didn’t have to wait for his answer. She could feel it in her chest.
Oneida Perkins was gone. And the world was a much worse place.
“I’m so sorry,” Lund said, and he gathered Val into his arms.
Chapter
Twenty
Lund
Val pulled away and stared into Lund’s eyes. “You’re sure.”
“Cheyenne told me.” Lund would do just about anything to wipe the memory from his mind. Oneida’s only sibling was as strong as Oneida had been. To see her so devastated, to know that as soon as he left her, he’d have to deliver the news to Val, it was one of the worst moments of his life.
He still couldn’t believe it.
Oneida was more supernatural force than woman. She’d held the Lake Loyal PD together since before Val had moved to Lake Loyal. It was impossible to think of the department without her now.
Of course, Oneida was more than that to Val. To Val, she was family.
And to Olson.
The new chief of the LLPD stood abruptly and laid a hand on Val’s shoulder. “I… I gotta go. I’ll be at the station if you need me.”
For a second, Val looked as if she might hug her former sergeant. Then she seemed to reconsider. “Talk to you later.”
Olson left the waiting room, leaving the door open. The whir of a floor machine echoed down the vacant hall.
“Val?” Lund said in a low voice. “Let me get you out of here.”
Val nodded but remained still.
“We can go to my house. You can catch a little rest, and I’ll make you something to eat. You haven’t eaten all day.”
“She’s out there, Lund. Grace is still out there.”
Lund had the feeling she would say that. And he was sure that for Val, as for Olson, it was easier to keep moving rather than slow down and risk feeling. “It’s 3:30 in the morning.”
“I can’t just sit around.”
“Running yourself further into the ground isn’t going to do Grace any good. It isn’t going to bring Oneida back, and it isn’t going to make you feel better.”
“I don’t want to feel better.”
Lund let out a long sigh, despite himself. “Of course you don’t.”
Dead Too Soon: A Thriller (Val Ryker series Book 3) Page 12
