by Gayle Wilson
It was obvious Ray would like to have argued the point. Luckily, the ease with which he’d just been manhandled convinced him not to.
“If you had anything—”
“He didn’t,” Eden interrupted. “If he had, do you honestly believe he would have come to us with that story? Why would he tell us about this place if he’s the one who built it? That makes no sense, and you know it, Ray.”
“So where is she?” Nolan’s challenge was addressed to Jake. “You claim you can see her, so where the hell is she now?”
“That’s enough, Ray,” Eden urged.
“Seems you can’t make him tell you all he knows, Chief. But there are people in this town who could. I guarantee you that.”
Eden ignored the muttered agreement from someone in the crowd of deputies and agents. “And I guarantee that you and those people better stick to what you know and let law enforcement do their job.”
“Then do it, damn it. Find my baby girl. Until you do, we got nothing else to talk about.”
Nolan stooped to pick up the baseball cap Jake’s choke hold had dislodged. Hat in hand, he stalked across the area roped off by yellow crime-scene tape. The officers watching parted to let him pass, but none of them spoke to him.
Eden turned to look at Jake, who was still watching Ray’s departure. “You did say you didn’t need protection. I guess I should have taken you at your word.”
His gaze came back to her. “I can’t blame him for what he thinks. I don’t know how to explain what I saw. I don’t understand it myself.”
“Whatever happened, you were right about this.”
“Somehow I don’t think many of them…” His eyes lifted to the men still gathered around the opening of the bunker he’d so accurately described. “I don’t think they buy that I saw this any way other than how we’re seeing it tonight.”
She couldn’t deny that. Dean had been in the office the first time Jake had told his story. And he remained unconvinced.
“Whether they buy it or not, we all need to begin looking for the second location. You need to make a sketch of what you saw. We can print it up and distribute it to the teams.”
“Would something like a sketch have helped you find this?” His disbelief was patent.
“We gave the teams instructions to look for something exactly like this. They might have overlooked the subtle signs that the ground had been disturbed here if we hadn’t done that.”
Jake’s gaze returned to the group gathered around the bunker. “It’s been nearly twenty-four hours.”
He meant since he’d had the flashback involving a second location. And they both knew that was an eternity in a kidnapping case.
She understood that Jake’s greatest fear was the same as hers. That he hadn’t had another flashback since because whatever connection had allowed them had now been broken. The most obvious reason for that would be…
She denied the thought, just as she had denied it for the past five days. “I know,” she comforted him. “But right now, we just don’t have anything else.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was well after midnight before the technicians were finished. Whatever their previous intentions, it seemed the agents wouldn’t be headed back to Jackson this morning.
Although Eden was no longer in charge of the examination of the bunker the searchers had discovered, she had wanted to be with the techs as they looked for anything that might give them a clue as to who’d dug the pit.
A pit that matched, in almost every detail, Jake Underwood’s description that first day. Yet, in the intervening hours, she had almost forgotten he’d come with her to the site.
When she reached the top of the wooden ladder, she immediately looked for him, but couldn’t find him among the few lingering onlookers. Her first thought was that he’d caught a ride home with someone else. Considering the opinion of most of the townspeople, and that included the men in her department, she realized how unlikely that would be.
As she headed toward her cruiser, she noted each knot of men she passed. Several people spoke to her, asking some variation of the question that was on everyone’s mind: Anything left behind in the bunker that might lead them to the kidnapper?
Jake was not among any of the groups. Although Ray Nolan looked up as she walked by, he didn’t speak, apparently still angered that she’d denied him permission to torture Jake into a confession.
But she was too tired to muster any charitable feelings, even for Raine’s father. And certainly not for any of the others who believed they could do a better job of handling this.
As she opened the door of the patrol car, the overhead light illuminated Jake sitting in the passenger seat, which had been tilted into a reclining position. She couldn’t tell if he’d been asleep, because he straightened at once, returning the seat to its upright position.
“I wondered where you’d gotten to,” she said, climbing into the driver’s seat.
“The good citizens of Waverly seemed less welcoming than usual.”
“I can imagine.”
Actually, she didn’t have to imagine. The animosity emanating from the crowd as Ray made his accusations had been thick enough to cut with a knife.
“Is this what you had in mind?” He held out the notepad she always kept in her car.
On the top sheet Jake had done the sketch she’d asked for. The quality of the pencil drawing was professional. Almost artistic. And, most important, highly detailed.
“More than I was hoping for, actually. I wasn’t sure from what you said about the scene whether you could produce anything that might be helpful.”
As the words came out of her mouth, she felt a frisson of unease. Not quite distrust, it was more like confusion.
Jake had seemed almost as vague about the particulars of the second location as he had been the first time he’d described the bunker. This drawing, however…
“It came back to me as I worked. Like not remembering the exposed roots until I got to the caves. When I started this—” he lifted the notebook to bring her attention back to it “—the picture was all there, waiting inside my head.”
“It’s very good.” It was. And if it was accurate, it might well lead them to where he had seen the child in the second flashback.
“They find anything?”
“What?” Her attention still on the sketch, for a moment she wasn’t sure what he meant.
“In the bunker. Was there anything there that might tell you who dug it?”
“They’ll collect everything that could do that, but…” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“You need to get some sleep.”
She laughed. “I need to do a lot of things.”
“Whatever they found tonight will have to be processed. There’s nothing you can do until that’s finished.”
“Ray didn’t seem to think.”
“His little girl is missing. He isn’t thinking at all right now.”
“I know. I’d be crazed. My father was. I’m not sure he ever recovered.”
She took the pad from his hand, laying it on the seat between them, and started the cruiser. She didn’t try to make conversation as she maneuvered between the cars belonging to the officers working the scene.
When they were once more out on the highway, she said what she had failed to say earlier. “By the way, thank you for defending me tonight.”
“Defending you?”
“When Ray shoved me. It wasn’t necessary, but…I appreciated it all the same.”
“I wanted to beat him to a pulp,” Jake said.
Doc Murphy had talked about the impulsiveness and anger-management issues that were so often a part of a brain injury. Beating Ray to a pulp certainly sounded like the latter.
“Then I also appreciate that you didn’t do it. I’m too tired to face the paperwork that would have necessitated.” She turned to smile at him, hoping her warning was subtle enough not to offend.
After all, despite that va
unted Southern chivalry people made so much of, it wasn’t often a man came to her rescue. She was the chief of police. She was supposed to be able to take care of herself.
“Your deputy said I needed to file charges against the guy this morning.”
“Dave Porter.” Once more she had forgotten about that. “You don’t have to, but we can’t hold him any longer unless you do. I think Dean arrested him on a public-disturbance charge. But as the damaged party, you’ll need to file the assault charges.”
“Is that what you want?”
“He seemed to be the ring leader of the attack,” she acknowledged. “It might be good to let him cool his heels a few more days. Mind you, I’m not an unbiased observer. Street fights require paperwork, too.”
“I’ll do it tomorrow. Will you be in the office?”
She glanced at him in surprise. “After they found that bunker? Every media outlet in the country will have someone down here. And most of them will want to talk to me. Too bad the department doesn’t have a PR person. I could use one right now.”
“No one else articulate enough to handle them?”
“If that’s a compliment, thanks. If it’s a kind way of suggesting I need to see if there’s anyone else, you’re probably right.”
“You’ve done a good job. Given the circumstances, it can’t have been easy.”
“It isn’t. Dean’s handled some of the requests for information or interviews, but he’d rather be out with the search teams. Or dealing with the FBI. And that’s good by me. They’re more comfortable with him.”
“Because you’re a woman.”
It hadn’t been a question, but she treated it as one. “I guess. They think they have to watch their language. You can almost see them mentally searching for an alternate way to say the things they normally say without thinking about them.”
“I’ve been in that situation myself.”
She glanced over to see if that hint of amusement she’d heard in his voice was reflected in his expression. As she did, he turned to meet her eyes.
Even in the dark interior of the car, she was jolted by what she saw in his. She quickly returned her gaze to the road, trying to decide if she’d really seen what she thought she had.
Except there wasn’t much that could be mistaken for that particular look. She eased a breath, thinking about the ramifications of allowing anything to happen between them. Half the town thought he was involved in Raine’s kidnapping. The other half thought he was just a guy who was a couple of cards short of a full deck. And while she didn’t think either of those assessments was accurate, what did she really know about Jake Underwood?
Even as she posed the question, she enumerated the answers. That he was a decorated veteran. Intelligent. Well mannered. From a good family. Something that still mattered probably more than it should down here.
And all of which had at one time or another been said about half of the most notorious serial killers. “You okay?”
Jake’s question interrupted that unwanted bit of introspection. No matter what she thought or felt about him, this was neither the time nor the place to get involved with anyone. Much less someone her town considered a prime suspect.
“If I don’t sleep soon, I’m going to make one of those mistakes you regret all your life.”
But it’s not going to be getting involved with a man I know virtually nothing about.
“You’re almost home.”
They were, she realized. Apparently, she’d been driving by rote, following the familiar roads without consciously thinking about any of them.
She concentrated on them now, aware once more, as the adrenaline from tonight’s find faded, of how exhausted she was. As she turned onto her street, her headlights picked up Jake’s truck, still parked in front of her house. She pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine.
It felt as if there was something more that should be said between them, but she was too drained to think what it might be. All she wanted was to get out of her clothes and crawl into bed.
The one where the taunting baby doll still rested its head on her pillow.
After all that had happened in the past few days, why would a doll in her bed feel like some kind of insurmountable problem? “I’m not sure I can do this,” she admitted. “The investigation?”
She didn’t look at Jake, knowing that, as experienced at reading people as he was, he would see through any pretense she might make, straight to her fear and weakness.
“Go inside,” she whispered finally. “Inside that house. Inside that room.”
He didn’t respond. After a few seconds, she heard him open his door and then close it, blessedly switching off the too-revealing overhead light.
Then her door opened and Jake put his hand under her elbow. “Come on.”
“I can’t.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll take care of it. Just get out of the car. That’s all you have to do. Get out and walk inside.”
“Not by myself?” she asked softly, hearing the pleading in her own voice.
“No, not by yourself.”
JAKE HAD SEEN IT before in combat. Too much stress. Too little sleep. The body protects itself by giving up, even as the mind refuses to acknowledge the breakdown.
He had thought about trying to get her into the shower before he put her to bed, but decided that was tempting fate. In more ways than one.
Instead, he left her in the hall while he retrieved the nightgown he’d noticed on the foot of her bed when she’d brought him in to see the doll. He put the gown into her hands and then guided her toward the bathroom with instructions to undress.
Then he walked back across the hall. He stood a moment looking down on the object in her bed, resisting the urge to open a window and throw it out. Instead, he pulled down the top sheet and the quilt, until he could see the entire surface of the bed.
There were no more surprises. Apparently, the bastard who’d left it had been satisfied with just the doll. Not that it hadn’t been effective.
The water began running across the hall, reminding him that he had only a couple of minutes to turn this horror show into a place where Eden could rest. He lifted the pillow under the plastic head, allowing the doll to slide onto the mattress. Then he removed the pillowcase, using that to pick up the doll, which he laid on the dresser.
In a matter of seconds, he had stripped the bed, piling the linens at its foot. He found clean sheets in the second place he looked, on the top shelf of her closet. He made the bed quickly, employing skills that had been drummed into him years ago in basic training.
Conscious that precious seconds were ticking away, he decided to take care of the doll before he replaced the quilt. As he gathered up the bedding, he heard the door across the hall open. Hurrying now, he carried the load of sheets in his arms to the dresser and dumped them on top of the doll.
When he turned, Eden was standing in the doorway. “That’s a very impressive hospital corner.”
“We prefer the term ‘army corner.’ I just need to replace the quilt.”
He picked it up off the floor and shook it out before he allowed it to settle over the clean sheets. He didn’t bother to tuck it in, but he did turn the covers down on the opposite side from where the doll had lain.
“Get in. I’ll be back in a minute to turn out the light.”
Without waiting to see if she obeyed, he picked up the sheets he’d removed from the bed, making sure they still concealed the doll. He walked across the hall and laid the pile on the bathroom counter.
He opened the medicine cabinet, making a quick survey of its contents. He selected a bottle of an OTC painkiller/sleep aid and poured two tablets into his palm.
When he returned to the bedroom, carrying the medication and a glass of water, only the bedside lamp that had been on the first time she’d brought him here was still burning.
Eden watched him cross the room. Her eyes widened as he held the tablets out on his palm. “What is that?”
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“Something to help you sleep.”
Her laugh was a breath of sound. “I don’t think I’ll need any help sleeping.”
“With these, you won’t dream.”
She hesitated, her eyes holding his. “I have to be at the department in the morning.”
“I know. I’ll wake you.”
After a second, she took the pills off his hand and put them into her mouth. He held out the glass, which she drank down as if she had realized only now that she was thirsty.
“You aren’t leaving.” Her eyes pled with him, even if her tone did not.
“I’ll be right here.” He took the glass out of her hand.
“And you’ll wake me in time.”
“I’ll wake you. Now go to sleep. You can’t afford any mistakes tomorrow, remember.”
She nodded and then watched again as he rounded the bed toward the lamp on the other side. He put his fingers on the switch, but before he turned it, he asked, “Did you keep your father’s research? The stuff he collected on the other kidnappings?”
“Of course.”
“Is it here?”
This time, as she nodded, a small crease had formed between her brows. Clearly, she was trying to figure out where he was going with this.
“I’d like to look at it. If that’s okay with you.”
“I told you. He didn’t find anything that matched—” She stopped, realizing what he intended to do. “You think another case like this one may be in there.”
“I think it’s worth a look. And since I’m going to be here…” He shrugged.
“They’re in the closet in his bedroom. I can help.” She began to push back the covers.
“Not tonight. Tonight you sleep. If I find anything I think might be relevant, you’ll be the first to know, I promise you.” As he said the last, he turned the switch, plunging the room into darkness.
It was time to go. Time to get out of her bedroom and to spend the night exactly as he’d told her he would.
And past time to disabuse himself of the notion that someone as put together as Eden Reddick could ever be interested in someone with as much baggage as he carried.
