by Terry Odell
She wiped her mouth, not sure if she felt better, or whether she still had too much of the drug in her bloodstream. Judging from the way her thoughts still seemed to be slogging through a vat of thick brownie batter, she definitely had a fair amount.
She rounded the corner at the end of the alley, feeling like she’d run a marathon. She had no clue where she was. No purse. No phone.
Storefronts she didn’t recognize lined the street. Not Pine Hills, then. All closed. She looked at her watch. Eleven-ten. She wrapped her arms around herself against the chill night air. Tried to remember. It had been before ten when Lorna had shown up. Ashley had no idea how long she’d been in the car, how long she’d been pretending to be unconscious, but she had to be less than an hour from Pine Hills. Probably more like half an hour.
She looked left, then right. If she had a coin, she’d flip it. Surely there would be something open late on a Saturday night. Some sports bar. Anything. And if not, she’d hit a residential area and someone would still be up. Or she’d wake them.
Worst case scenario. She’d find someplace to wait until morning, when things would be open. Or would they? Tomorrow was Sunday. And she had to be home. Baking. Her grand opening was Monday. She’d walk all the way to Pine Hills if she had to.
If only she knew which way it was.
Chapter 32
Scott paced the detectives’ office, angry at himself for losing his professional edge, but unable to calm down enough to sit. They’d been able to read the plate and put out the BOLO on the beater from the parking lot. But so far, no reports of anyone spotting the damn thing. The owner, a man who had no connections—or none they could find—to either Lorna, Felicity, or Theodore Young lived in Salem. Detweiler was on the phone with the owner.
Scott’s leg started twitching, as if in sympathy to the jumping in his gut. He limped to a chair and rubbed the muscle.
“Thanks, sir, and sorry to bother you so late.” Detweiler hung up and faced them. “He sold it to a woman a few days ago. Cash. He says he’s reported the transfer of title to the DMV, but he has no idea where the woman went. Said her name was Mary Moone, but when I described our suspect, he said it could have been her.”
Kovak spread a map out on the desk and drew a circle. “This is our best guess on how far they got, traveling within the speed limit. They’re not going to be breaking any speed records. Too risky. They won’t want to be stopped.”
They. Kovak had avoided Scott’s eyes when he’d said it. Because there were no guarantees that it was a they in the car. Given her history, Lorna was much more likely to have dumped Ashley somewhere. Drugged? Dying? Dead?
Scott leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “We don’t have squat.”
“Every cop in the county has eyes out for the car,” Detweiler said.
“No known residence for Lorna Young?” Scott asked.
Detweiler shook his head. “According to Sarah, she told everyone she was leaving her husband. They took her to the Women’s Center for short-term shelter and counseling. The Center set her up at a safe house, but she never showed.”
Scott rotated Ashley’s phone in his hand, as if it were a connection to her. He scrolled through her menu, her contacts. He almost smiled when he saw she’d starred his name and number. At least she hadn’t erased him from her life completely. Yet.
He checked her call log for the third time, in case he’d missed a call to or from Lorna. This time he looked for a Mary Moone, too. No such luck. He’d checked all the numbers, and all were local residents. Bakeoff communication was his guess.
Ashley’s text message log was empty, as it had been the last three times he’d checked. Did she not get text messages, or had she simply deleted them?
Damn. It was after midnight. She’d been gone two hours. Why didn’t this part of the county have more traffic cams?
Detweiler shot him a look filled with enough sympathy to twist Scott’s insides. Kovak had told him about what had happened to Sarah, and sure, it was nice to know that Detweiler had been there, but right now, he needed action, not platitudes. Not that he could fault the detectives’ work. They’d done everything he’d have done.
At least they weren’t telling him to go home and get some rest, that they had everything under control.
Scott took a much-needed bathroom break, then wandered down to Dispatch where he felt closer to the action.
As he entered, the dispatcher was acknowledging the call. She swiveled her chair toward him. “Got a response on the BOLO. They’re bringing your suspect in.”
His mouth went dry. “Suspect? What about Ashley Eagan?”
She gave him a gaze filled with even more sympathy than Detweiler’s. “No, only one woman. Fit the description of your suspect, Lorna Young.”
“What did she say?” Scott kept his tone even. Shaking the dispatcher wasn’t going to get the answers any faster.
“Two things. Said her name was Mary Moone. And she wanted a lawyer.”
***
Ashley couldn’t decide which was heavier, her head or her legs. She was dimly aware that she was staggering, that the world was fading in and out, but she couldn’t seem to make her body parts obey the commands she knew her brain was trying to send them.
Stay awake. Keep moving. Breathe. She’d barely gone half a block when all three seemed impossible. Bright lights approached from the distance. Questions pelted her brain like so many raindrops.
A car? Lorna coming back? Should she hide or flag it down?
Closer. Too big for a car. Truck. Big truck. If she stood in the middle of the street, would it stop? Or would the driver not see her?
Unlike the storm of questions, there was no deluge of answers.
She stumbled into the street, making every attempt to wave her sluggish arms above her head. Relief swamped her when the truck slowed. Brakes hissed, and the truck came to a stop. She staggered toward the cab.
Strong arms helped her into the warmth. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
“Phone,” she said. Or hoped she did. A cell appeared in her hand. She stared at it, blinking. The speed dial and contact lists on her phone meant nothing on this one. What good was a phone if you didn’t know anyone’s number? She doubted she knew her own.
“Pine Hills. Police. Please.” Then everything went black.
Ashley opened her eyes and immediately squinted them shut against the blinding light coming from above. The odor of disinfectant engulfed her. She listened, sorting out the sounds. Hisses. Beeps. Names being called. Doctors’ names. Slowly, carefully, she opened her eyes again. She was in a bed. Surrounded by blue cloth walls. A middle-aged woman in pale blue scrubs frowned at her.
“You’re awake.”
Ashley tried to swallow, to get rid of the dryness in her mouth. “Where am I?” she managed to say.
“Cottonwood ER,” the woman said. “You’re lucky that truck driver brought you in.”
Slowly, the memories took shape. She tried to sit, but the woman pushed her back. “You’re not going anywhere until a doctor says so. And don’t mess with that IV.”
The woman yanked on the curtain surrounding the bed and swished away, closing it behind her. Ashley heard her mutter something that sounded like “damn junkies.”
“Wait.” Ashley tried to cry out, but her plea was little more than a hoarse croak.
She remembered nothing after asking the truck driver to take her to Pine Hills. Which, if she was in Cottonwood, he clearly hadn’t. Lorna. She had to warn the police about Lorna. She searched for some kind of call button. The background beeps got faster.
She couldn’t see anything beyond her curtained prison cell. Shadows moved, rubber-soled shoes squeaked, and people shouted things that reminded her of the medical television shows she used to watch. It was an emergency room, after all. And it was—she assumed—the wee hours between Saturday night and Sunday morning, probably a prime time for emergencies. She reflexively lifted her wrist to check her watch and
found the IV tubing the nurse had warned her not to touch.
No problem with that. She and needles didn’t get along well. Especially when they were sticking her.
The outside noises faded. A few moments later, the curtain swept aside. A man in scrubs stared at a clipboard as he approached her bed.
“I have to go,” Ashley said. “Or at least call the police. Please. There’s a killer out there.”
The man’s head jerked up. “What?”
“Please. You can examine me, or poke me, or do what you have to do, but please, first you have to call the police in Pine Hills.”
He stepped closer to the bed, and she took in the stubble on his jaw, his red-rimmed eyes. He looked more exhausted that she felt. And young. Could he possibly be a real doctor?
As if in answer, he gave her a bored smile. “I’m Doctor Pekarsky. Let’s have a look.” Seemingly ignoring her, he looked at the monitor by her bed and wrote something on his chart. He stuck a stethoscope on her chest, then wrote something else. Finally, he shoved the pen in his pocket. He gave her a stern stare. Not as nasty as the nurse’s, but clearly, he wasn’t pleased to be treating her. “You’re fortunate you got here in time for the Narcan to work.”
“Narcan?” Her head throbbed.
He tilted his head toward her IV. “Counteracts the drugs we found in your tox screen.” His stare turned into an indulgent smile. “Now, what were you saying about the police and a killer? It’s not unusual to imagine things when you’re taking drugs.”
“Drugs? The only drugs I’m taking are whatever you have in this IV, and whatever Lorna stuck in my coffee. She tried to kill me. With painkillers. Hers. Like she killed the others.”
“I’m sorry, Miss—?”
“Eagan. Ashley Eagan.” Only then did she realize she had no ID, nothing to say who she was. Or any of her credit cards. Or insurance cards. No wonder they thought she was an indigent junkie.
“I live in Pine Hills. I’m the proprietor of Confections by Ashley, which opens on Monday. I feel fine. Please, if you won’t call the police, give me a phone so I can call.”
This time, he looked at her as if he believed her. Thank goodness.
The curtain swished aside again. The doctor stepped toward the intruder. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to wait in the waiting room.”
“Like hell.” Scott pushed his way to her bedside. Carrying her purse. As if he always carried one. He glared at the doctor. “Unhook her from that machine, and get me whatever paperwork I need to get her out of here. I’m taking her home. Now.”
The doctor straightened, “Sir—”
“Do it.”
The doctor looked at the chart once again, scribbled something on it, and gave Scott a brusque nod. “Her vitals are stable. I have no reason to keep her. You can settle at the front desk.” He approached the IV.
Ashley averted her gaze, instead fixing her eyes on Scott. If she thought the doctor had looked exhausted, he had nothing on her neighbor. But beyond the exhaustion, she saw relief. Concern.
“You found me,” she said.
“You damn well made it hard enough, woman.” But there was no anger despite the gruffness of his tone.
“I was going to call. As soon as the doctor gave me a phone. The truck driver did, but I didn’t know anyone’s number and then I passed out—”
“Shh.” Scott put his fingers over her lips.
“All finished,” the doctor said. “I’ll order a wheelchair.” He gave Scott a look as emphatic as the one Scott had given him. “Hospital rules. No exceptions.”
Ashley braved a look at her arm, a simple Band-Aid where the IV had been. “My clothes?”
The doctor pointed toward the floor. Scott leaned down and pulled a large plastic bag from under her bed. Scott narrowed his eyes at the doctor. “Thank you.”
The doctor, apparently satisfied that he’d maintained a semblance of control over the situation, ducked through the curtain. Scott pulled her clothes out of the bag.
“Put these on. Fast. So I can take you home and get you out of them.” He leaned forward, bringing his lips to her ear, cradling her head in his hands. “If you ever scare me like that again, so help me—”
She pulled away. “Lorna. I don’t know her last name, but Sarah or Maggie will. She’s the killer. You have to find her.”
“Done. In custody. Now shut up and kiss me.”
So she did.
Chapter 33
It was mid-morning when Scott awoke, Ashley in his arms. She snuggled closer to him for a precious moment before pulling away. “I have to bake.”
“I know,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”
“What do you know about baking?”
He chuckled. “Nothing. But I can wash dishes. I’d like to be nearby.” After last night, the thought of her out of his sight sent chills through him.
She seemed to grasp his motive. “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to protect me.”
She’d explained everything Lorna had told her on the drive from Cottonwood to Pine Hills, and he’d relayed the information to Randy and Detective Kovak. He told them to handle it. Without him. If he wasn’t a cop, he might as well take advantage of luxuries like days off.
Scott worked his way to a sitting position. He wrapped his arm around her. Kissed the top of her head. “If you want the first shower, I’ll make the coffee.”
She shook her head. “It’s going to be a long time before I want another cup of coffee.”
“You were lucky, you know. If the truck driver had brought you all the way back here—” His voice hitched as he thought about what could have happened. Another death he should have prevented. He cleared his throat. “I’m—”
She twisted enough to meet his gaze. He busied himself with smoothing the blanket. He was creeping too close to that dreaded emotions territory.
“Hey, it’s over. I’m here, I’m fine.”
Okay, so she could read him. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Maybe it would be easier if she could pluck thoughts from his mind, taking away the dreaded talking step.
She took his hand. “I forgot to ask you last night. How did you find me?”
Ah, switching to a straightforward question. Smart woman. No emotions required. Just the facts. He could handle that. “After the truck driver dropped you at the ER, he called the station. Apparently, whatever you said to him made an impression.”
“I’m glad. It’s all so fuzzy, I’m not sure exactly what I told him.” She pulled the covers away. “I need to get going. My bakery is going to open tomorrow, on schedule, and there are things I have to do.”
“A few more minutes won’t hurt,” he said, staying her arm.
“Fine.” She captured his gaze with hers. “But if I’m going to be late, I want to know the rest of what happened. At the bank.”
He tensed beside her, then took several long, slow breaths. If he couldn’t talk to her, he knew she’d call it quits. Would that be so bad? Maybe they could just have sex when they needed it. Yeah, right. Ashley was definitely not like the Badge Bunnies he’d been with. This was Ashley. Losing her would be like losing a part of himself. Without her, he’d be trapped in his Dark Place forever. He closed his eyes. He could do this. Just another report.
“It seemed like forever,” he said.
“The article I read said it was five hours.”
“Five hours, five years. A lifetime. Each of the creeps insisted on having some fun beating on a cop. I don’t remember it all.” He snorted. “I suppose there’s something to be said for being knocked unconscious a couple of times.”
He tightened around her and made himself keep talking. “I was totally in the dark, both figuratively and literally. While I was in the closet, I heard gunshots. I kept praying it wasn’t the kids. Or worse, their mom and two of the other women who’d begged to be let go because they had kids. My only hope was that because SWAT hadn’t made a move, the shots weren’t killing people. That they were still gathering intel a
nd would do their job.” He sucked air. “I think it was being helpless that was the worst. When I was part of the group, I was a cop. Familiar territory. In the closet, I was—I don’t know what I was, other than paralyzed with fear.”
She stroked his chest. “Go on.”
“In the end, SWAT snipers took the creeps out.” He scrubbed a hand across his face. He’d said all he could. For now. And he prayed there’d be a later. “I’d rather not think about it anymore.” He braced himself for her rejection. Her insistence that he peel away more of the protective armor he’d worked so hard to construct.
“That’s okay,” she said. “I’m glad you could talk to me.”
All right, coward. Suck it up and ask her.
“Ashley—?”
“Yes?”
“You’ve helped me. A lot. I’d like to … do you think we could … you know … try things for a while? Together, I mean. I’m a wreck. Takes me an hour to get moving in the morning.”
She smiled. “I’ll have to be at work before you get up, anyway.”
Was she …? “I have nightmares.”
“After last night, I’ll bet I will too,” she said.
“I know it’s only been a week.”
“Nine days,” she said.
“I’m … I’m going to get counseling,” he said. “I finally figured out I can’t do it on my own. But with you … I don’t know. At the bank, I was trapped in a dark closet, and SWAT rescued me. Then, until I met you, I was trapped inside me. This time, you saved me. It’s kind of like now there’s an open door, and it’s light outside.”
He’d struggled to get the words out. But he’d done it. She turned to him and smiled, her eyes lighting up her face. “I think it’s time to make the doughnuts.”
***
