Probably in another circumstance I would have shot her, just pulled the trigger and been done with it. But the truth was, my heart was broken for her. Don’t misunderstand; I was beyond pissed about what she’d done to me, and it would probably take a year of therapy before I forgave her, but despite that, I could see her as the broken, abused, and wounded person she was. I knew well the circumstances that had caused her to become what she was, and I thought if any number of things had been different in my life, it could have been me torturing people in kitchens instead of her. I didn’t harbor any illusions about there being any hope for helping put Desirae Dillon right again, but I didn’t think it was fair to just write her off, either.
I raised my right arm to knock her arms away as I ducked to the left. Still holding the gun in my right hand, I brought the gun butt down against her skull as she flew past. I turned around, keeping her in front of me, and she stumbled. Losing her balance, she fell to the floor. The carving knife bounced out of her hand, but she’d held on to the cleaver. I was only mildly surprised to see the blow to the head had not knocked her out.
She struggled to her hands and knees then pushed to her feet, gripping the cleaver so tightly her knuckles were white. She swayed in place slightly then charged forward again, the cleaver raised high above her head. The blood from her nose had run down over her mouth, chin, neck, and chest. This only enhanced her deranged look.
She lunged at me, swinging the cleaver. I deflected her arm and knocked her backward. I kicked her again, my heel sinking into her abdomen, just below her ribs. She doubled over, banding her arms around her middle, trying to suck in a breath.
I knocked the cleaver out of her hand. She’d barely sucked in her first breath when she was reaching for it again. Her hand closed over the handle an instant before my foot came down on it. Holding it there, I raised my other foot and brought it down against her elbow, forcing the joint in an unnatural direction. She cried out; it was a tortured, strangled sound that gave me the chills.
“Just stop now, Desirae,” I said, panting. I was exhausted. Who knew torture could really take it out of you? “Stop.”
Her left arm was hanging useless at her side when she straightened up. She charged me again, weapons forgotten. I moved to the left to avoid her, but she anticipated my reaction. Then it was too late to avoid her. She barreled into me, and we went down. She swung and clawed and kicked like a wild animal, snapping her teeth at me. I could see nothing rational, nothing human left in her dark eyes.
I thought about the gun in my hand and was tempted to use it. Too tempted.
“Don’t you get it?” I snapped. “I’m trying not to kill you!”
To avoid temptation, I tossed the gun away. It clattered to the floor near the bedroom door.
For several moments, everything was confused. I felt lost in a whirlwind of arms and legs, mine and Desirae’s. There was a lot of grunting and growling from her, a lot of swearing from me. Then somehow she got behind me. She wrapped her right arm around my neck and squeezed for all she was worth, jerking back. She flopped onto her back, pulling me over on top of her. Then her legs were around mine, further pinning me to her. Already I could feel the lack of oxygen affecting my brain.
I wrapped one hand around her arm, pulling against her choke hold, then shifted slightly to the left and swung my elbow back. It connected with her ribs forcefully, but her hold didn’t slacken. I shifted again and swung for all I was worth. This time Desirae cried out in pain and jerked us to the right. I put my right arm down instinctively to break the fall and felt something cold and metallic. I reached for it with my hand, discovering it was the skewer. It must have fallen out of my pocket in the struggle.
In a last-ditch move, I grabbed it up and brought it down into what I guessed to be her belly. Her grip slackened, but she didn’t release me. Pulling at her arm with all my strength, I raised the skewer and stabbed her again. Her arm relaxed enough then that I was able to pull it away. I grabbed the skewer and rolled off of her. At the same time, the bedroom door burst open.
22
Half a dozen cops came charging in, pointing guns and yelling. Ellmann was among them. They were all wearing Kevlar vests and looked prepared for battle. Seeing me, Ellmann froze, and I swear he paled several shades. I imagine I looked pretty bad.
The other cops raced forward, guns on both me and Desirae. They were yelling at us to stay where we were and for me to drop my weapon. I was on my knees as they rushed forward, one eye still on Desirae. I dropped the skewer and raised my hands.
While a few of them dealt with Desirae and me, the others cleared the bathroom and closets. Someone secured both knives and my gun. One of the uniformed officers, while watching me closely lest I grab it up and stab him with it, came forward and took the skewer.
Ellmann had holstered his weapon and walked toward me as the officers pulled Desirae to her feet. A pair of them walked her out of the room, reading her rights aloud. The officer in front of me offered me his hand. I looked up at Frye.
“You look like shit, Zoe,” he said.
“You know,” I said, leaning heavily on him as he pulled me up from the floor, “you really only ever see me in crisis. I actually clean up pretty well.”
He laughed and waved off the other officers who had lingered as if waiting for the word to arrest me.
Ellmann was standing with his hands on his hips. His cop face was in place, and I couldn’t read anything in him. Given that his hair was standing up, I guessed he’d had a stressful night, too.
“You be all right?” Frye asked.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Ambulance outside,” he said. “I’d have them come get you, but you’d have to be unconscious to agree to that.”
It was my turn to laugh. Then I clutched at the pain in my left side where the skewer had gone through.
“Oh! Don’t make me laugh.”
Frye released my hand then waved the others out of the room. One of them was carrying my gun. I made a mental note to get it back. It was one of my favorites.
I managed to remain standing upright without aid for all of a minute. Then my legs felt weak, and I couldn’t quite keep them under me. As I started to fall, Ellmann stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me. He caught me and lowered me to my knees, kneeling in front of me. I looked up into his face. Now he was having a hard time keeping the cop face on. He looked terrified and traumatized.
“Oh, shit,” I said, remembering the worry I’d had about leaving Natalie with Danielle. “Where’s Natalie? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” he said softly. “Scared more than anything. Even Priscilla is okay.”
“Oh, thank God. Ellmann, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know they were following me. I never would have taken Natalie around with me. I should have known, I should have seen them, I should have figured it out. I’m sorry.”
I was talking really fast, rambling really, but Ellmann didn’t handle it well when waiters talked to Natalie a little too long while taking her order; imagine what he thought of me putting his sister in a seriously life-threatening situation. I was horrified to think about what happened to Natalie, and what would have happened to her had anything been different. But I was just as horrified to think what might happen to my relationship with Ellmann because of it.
“Shh,” he whispered.
He raised his left hand and cupped my cheek, brushing his thumb over the puncture mark Desirae had made. I looked up at him again. I saw there were tears in his eyes, and his face had whitened even more.
“Whoa, hey,” I said, reaching for his face. But I saw my hands were covered in blood. I grabbed his shoulders instead. “You said Natalie’s fine. What’s wrong?”
“I saw that kitchen,” he said, his voice a tight whisper.
Oh. I’d also seen that kitchen. And I’d seen two others Desirae had visited. It made me want to cry, too. It must have been that much worse knowing it had been his sister bleeding all over.
�
�I’m sorry,” I said again. “You know, some of that blood must have been Priscilla’s. And mine. Not all of it was Natalie’s. In fact, I’d say most of it wasn’t.”
He shook his head. I was trying to make him feel better, but it didn’t seem to be working.
“I thought …” He swallowed and took a breath. “I thought you were dead.” A couple of tears spilled over his lashes. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
Seeing a man as big and strong and tough and capable as Ellmann crying was more than most people would be able to stand. Knowing he was crying because of me made it impossible. Suddenly tears were pouring down my face, and I was sobbing.
Ellmann pulled me to him and held me tight. I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him hold me, sobbing like a baby. I was pretty sure he cried a little bit too, but he never made any noise. All in all, a very manly episode of crying, in case anyone asks.
After several minutes, we wiped our faces, and Ellmann pulled me to my feet. He had an arm around my waist, steadying me. I moved with a serious limp, but I walked out on my own.
When we made it to the porch, Ellmann raised his hand and waved the two EMTs—a man and a woman—over. They pushed the gurney from the ambulance parked near the guest house across the pavement to the main house. I pretty much collapsed onto it. They strapped me in then wheeled me to the ambulance, Ellmann right beside me.
I could see a second ambulance near the first, and there was a lot of activity in the back of it. The EMTs loaded me into the back, and Ellmann looked over at the other ambulance. I guessed that one held Natalie. He was torn.
“Go,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
He looked back to me.
“Really, go. We’re both going to the same hospital anyway. I’ll see you there.”
He raised a finger and pointed it at me. “You better not do anything stupid, like die,” he said. Then he turned to the EMTs. “And you better make sure that doesn’t happen.”
But Desirae had not intended to kill me—at least not yet. Everything she’d done had been designed only to cause pain. The EMTs assured Ellmann my wounds were not fatal, and he went to see about his sister.
The EMTs worked together in the back for several minutes. The female started an IV while the male concentrated on wrapping the wounds that were still bleeding. Then a face appeared in the open ambulance doors.
“How are you feeling?” Danielle Dillon asked.
“I’ve been better. Turns out, torture doesn’t really agree with me.”
She chuckled softly.
The male got out and announced they were ready to leave.
“Oh, may I?” Danielle asked, pointing inside.
“Up to you, Zoe,” the EMT guy said. “What do you say?”
I had given up pretty much any hope of bringing Danielle in on time, but I guess I wanted to keep her in sight for a while longer. Plus, I’d sort of come to like her.
“Sure,” I said.
She climbed up and sat on the bench seat beside me. The female sat in the jump seat at the head of the gurney and was busy making notes on a clipboard.
“What were you doing here?” I asked her. “Why did you come here?”
“I heard you were looking for me,” she said. “I actually went to your house. The front door was opened, and it looked like someone had gone through looking for something. It didn’t take long to figure out where you were.”
“Why come to see me? Surely you know why I was looking for you.”
She nodded. “My grandmother told me. But she also said you were different. You told her you wanted to help me, and she believed you. I was considering that when I heard about Jerry Vandreen. A bit of digging told me that was you. I, uh …” She shrugged. “I felt like maybe I owed you, because of what you did for my son, and for those other children. And, I’m ready to stop running, anyway. I want my life back. I want my son back.”
“Jerry Vandreen won’t be hurting anyone for a while.”
“I know,” she said, reaching out and squeezing my hand. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that. I tried to do the same thing, but I’ve never been any good at fighting.”
“That’s why you went to see Vandreen that day,” I said.
She nodded. “Yeah. I brought a bat, but he managed to get it away from me.”
My turn to squeeze her hand. “It’s okay to not be any good at fighting.”
She held my hand for a beat and then nodded. “Anyway, when I figured out my sister had you, I knew I had to do something. You’d done so much for me, and I know well what she’s capable of.”
So did I. “I’m really sorry about your grandmother,” I said softly.
She nodded and wiped at her eyes. “Thank you. Me too.”
“She could have killed you,” I said after a beat. “You took a big risk. We’re more than even.”
“No, I knew she wouldn’t kill me. I have something they want.”
A couple pieces fell together in my head. “So that’s what this is all about.”
“Yeah.”
“You know, I should arrest you.”
“I know.” She glanced at her watch. “You still have four hours.”
“I’ll probably be in the ER that long. I’ll never track you down again in time.”
“I was serious, I’m ready to stop running. After a doctor checks you out, you can take me to jail.”
I sighed. Talking about Vandreen reminded me of my pending charges and possible arrest warrant. “Great. We can share a cell.”
__________
EMS rolled me into the ER and deposited me in a room with two other patients, the treatment areas separated by curtains. Danielle stayed with me, settling into a chair beside my bed after adjusting my pillow and blanket. An EMT dressed in olive green scrubs embroidered with a Poudre Valley Hospital logo came in, hooked me up to a vital signs monitor, and looked over my injuries, applying fresh gauze to my collarbone. He introduced himself as Tanner, and I knew who he was. I’d heard a few stories about him from my friend Sadie.
A few minutes later, Mercedes Salois stepped around the curtain, planting herself at the end of my bed with her hands on her hips. Sadie is tall, thin, naturally blonde, and blue eyed, and she wore the requisite black embroidered scrubs meant to distinguish her as a nurse. She’s what they call a knockout or a head-turner. And she has the personality to match. Why she was still single, I couldn’t understand.
“Did you get shot again?” she said in a faint Southern drawl by way of greeting.
“No, don’t be silly. Tortured this time.”
“Oh, so you’re mixing things up.”
“You know, I like to keep it real.”
She gave me a long once-over. “Looks like it was a little too real.”
I winced slightly at the worry I saw faintly creasing her eyesbrows.
“Maybe a little,” I agreed softly.
“I’m Sadie.” She walked over and stuck her hand out to Danielle.
“Dani. Nice to meet you.”
“Zoe drag you into trouble with her?” Sadie asked, but it was out of simple curiosity, not judgment or contempt.
Dillon shook her head. “No. It was the other way around, I think.”
“Actually,” I said. “I’m pretty sure Dani saved my life tonight.”
Sadie looked over at her. “Thank you. Sometimes I worry about her.”
Dillon nodded. “It was the least I could do.”
Then Sadie turned back to me, examining my wounds. “You were just in the hospital, or don’t you remember? You’re still recovering from those injuries.”
We chatted while she conducted her assessments, and charted the information in the computer mounted on the wall beside the bed. When she was through, she looked me over once more, her gaze glancing from my collarbone to my belly to my leg, and shook her head. She told me I’d better have a damn good story. I assured her I did.
Then she walked over and peeked around the curtain, listening a
moment. All I heard was one of my neighbors talking incessantly, probably to a husband who’d long since learned to tune her out. We’d only been neighbors a few minutes and already I was learning.
Apparently satisfied, Sadie pulled the curtain shut and walked over to the bedside. She leaned down and spoke softly into my ear.
“We need to talk,” she said. “Soon.”
Something was wrong. Sadie didn’t typically have a flare for the dramatic. I looked at her as she stood upright then nodded.
Smiling again, Sadie walked over to Danielle and offered her hand. “It was nice meeting you,” she said sincerely. “Thank you for helping her out tonight.”
Danielle nodded. “Happy to,” she said. “Really.”
After a while, I heard one of my neighbors being discharged. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the chatty one. Then a doctor came in and evaluated me. He pronounced me fit aside from a few flesh wounds. He stitched the laceration along my collarbone, the punctures in my abdomen, leg, and forearm, and the largest of the four cuts on my leg, then he had Tanner come back and wash the others. Ellmann returned as Tanner was beginning to apply clean dressings.
Ellmann glanced at Danielle sitting beside me, and I caught a glimpse of his surprise. He played it off as he nodded to her and stopped beside the bed, taking my hand.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“I’m good. The doctor says they’re just flesh wounds. I’m to rest, have my stitches out in seven days, and seek PT for my leg and forearm. How’s Natalie?”
He sighed. “She’s fine. She’s being treated for two lacerations, and then she’ll be released. Priscilla’s okay, too, but they want to keep her overnight for observation. Most of the blood in the kitchen was hers, apparently.”
Catherine Nelson - Zoe Grey 02 - The Trouble with Theft Page 27
