Cabin 12

by Freya Barker

  Already a Colorado State Patrol unit is redirecting traffic back the way they came, to make room for emergency vehicles. I can see why when we drive up to the scene. The entire width of the road is blocked off.

  “Let’s go see what we’ve got,” Ryan says, already halfway out of the rig.

  IT TAKES TWO AND A half hours before enough stone is cleared for us to get to the crushed cars.

  Three deceased in the rear of the van, while the driver along with all three occupants in the other vehicle were pulled out alive, but barely. The most critical patient was airlifted, and the others were stabilized and loaded up.

  I look out the small window in the back of the rig, to the devastation on the road, as Ryan drives off. It’s a miracle anyone lived through that.

  Our patient—a middle-aged woman with a crushed leg, and a variety of other injuries, including a nasty head injury that almost scalped her—starts coming to when we drive into the ambulance bay. It’s at least another hour before we’ve handed over her care and filled out all necessary reports.

  “I’ve got to head back to the ER,” Ryan says, as we’re coming out of our respective locker rooms. “Beth’s mom fell down her basement stairs and was just brought in by ambulance. Beth’s following behind with the kids in the car.”

  “Oh no. Is there something I can do?”

  “Yes. Go home. You’re swaying on your feet.”

  “You sure?”

  Ryan tilts his head and looks at me mockingly. “Positive. Go home, get rest, we’ve had a heavy couple of days.” That has to be the understatement of the year.

  I wave, watching him climb up the stairs as I head outside. The small garden courtyard with waterfall on my way to the parking lot is empty, and for a moment, I’m tempted to enjoy the peace and quiet after another chaotic day, but I’m so tired, I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep on one of the benches.

  It’s poorly lit on the far end where the employee parking is, and when I get to my car, I have to use my cell to find my keys in my bag. No sooner do I pull them triumphantly from my favorite Michael Kors tote, when they slip through my fingers and bounce off the pavement, under my car.

  Exasperated, exhausted, and near tears from frustration, I let out a barely controlled cry, before going down on my knees. I don’t even want to think about the shit I’m running my hand over in my efforts to find the damn keys, but I’m praying I still have some disinfectant wipes left in my car. Gross.

  My torso is half stuck under the chassis when my fingers finally locate them. I’m just backing out when a scrape on the ground behind me has me freeze.

  “A view straight from my fantasies.”

  At the sound of the familiar voice, I shoot straight up. Not a good idea, given that I’m still halfway under the car. I hit my head so hard that tears burn my eyes.

  “Fuck!”

  “I’ve imagined that a time or two as well.”

  I scurry out from under the car to find Dr. LimpDick hovering over me, a smirk on his smarmy face. I bat at his hand when he reaches to help me up.

  By the time I scramble to my feet, my head pounding already, I’ve had it up to here and let my temper fly.

  “That’s it! I’ve had a long fucking day and I really don’t need this. I’ve put up with your crap for the sake of keeping the peace at work, but I’m done. You—” I stab a pointy finger in his chest for emphasis, “—are a little hard of hearing, so I’ll repeat again. I am not interested in you, will never be interested in you, but your inflated ego just won’t fucking give up! Your come-ons and innuendos are not sexy—they revolt me. Leave me the fuck alone, or I’ll be filing sexual harassment charges.”

  Had I been paying more attention to his reaction, I might’ve recognized the moment I pushed too far. As it is, from the rage I see in his eyes, I’m in a whole new world of trouble.

  “Try me,” he hisses between clenched teeth, sticking his face in mine. “I can promise you won’t get very far. I suggest you check out the hospital’s board of directors. I have friends in very fucking high places.”

  “Everything okay here?”

  The glare from a flashlight momentarily blinds me, as one of the hospital security guards comes walking toward us. Scott immediately turns around, stepping away to create some distance, and I blow out a relieved breath.

  “Fine,” the fine doctor responds, “just helping her find her keys.”

  I’m tempted to give my own version of events when the guard beams a bright smile—not at me—but at the man beside me.

  “Ah, Dr. Lipczyk, I didn’t recognize you.”

  “No worries, Hank. How’s your wife?”

  With them exchanging pleasantries, I quickly open my door and slide behind the wheel, starting the car. Both of the men automatically step out of the way, and I give them a little wave as I back out and take off. The shaking of my hands is making it hard to shift gears.

  I’m not looking forward to coming home to my dark empty house. I don’t want to go home, I need to settle down first. The lights of the Walmart parking lot beckon. With a surprising number of cars still in front of the store, there are sure to be people milling around inside; human contact plus a pint of Ben & Jerry’s is what I need right now. It’s a sad state of affairs if you stop at Walmart when you feel alone.

  I park my car and am about to get out when my phone pings with the arrival of a message.

  Jasper: Are you home?

  Me: At Walmart.

  Immediately the phone rings.

  “Why are you at Walmart this time of night?” Jasper’s voice, even clearly annoyed, is like a warm blanket. Safe and secure.

  “Getting ice cream.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes now.” I’m getting a little annoyed myself. “I had the day from hell, just finished my shift, and I need ice cream. Something wrong with that?”

  “Whoa, I thought your shift ended at three?”

  “It almost did, but we got called out to a horrendous accident. Anyway, I’m too exhausted to explain.”

  “The tractor trailer up on Highway 550? Heard about that.”

  “That would be the one. Anyway, I’m beat, I want my ice cream, and then I just want to go home.”

  “Go,” he says softly, the warm sound causing a lump to form in my throat. “Get your ice cream. I’ll see you soon.”

  Feeling better than I did five minutes ago, I toss my phone in my tote and drag my ass into Walmart.

  Ten minutes after that, I climb in my car—not one but two pints of Ben & Jerry’s, and a bottle of Pinot Grigio richer—and drive home.

  “What are you doing here?” I find myself asking once again, when I find Jasper sitting on my porch steps. I walk toward him as he slowly unfolds his long legs and stands up.

  “Just want to make sure your place is secure,” he answers with a shrug.

  “You planning to do this every night?”

  He shrugs again before holding out his hand for the keys. “The shooter could still be in the area, we don’t know.”

  Right. With a pang of guilt, I realize I’d almost forgotten about that. I drop my keys in his hand, but this time when he opens the door, I follow him inside. Shooter or no shooter, I’m not about to let my Ben & Jerry’s melt.

  In the kitchen, I pop one pint in the fridge, and stick a spoon in the second one, while Jasper does the rounds of my house.

  “All clear.” He comes out of the short hallway to my bedroom a minute later, just as I’ve shoved my first spoon of ice cream in my mouth and am having something just shy of an orgasmic experience. “Good?” He grins as I try to swallow down the ice cream all at once, giving myself brain freeze.

  “Mmmm. Want some?” I offer, more out of politeness than anything else. I don’t really want to share a single bite.

  Jasper just shakes his head, as suddenly his eyes narrow on my face.

  “What the fuck is that?” he asks, pointing at the side of my face. He takes the tub from my hands, sets it on the counter,
and steps in close—his fingers on my chin—tilting my head this way and that.

  “What?”

  “You’re fucking bleeding. What happened?”

  “I banged my head. Must’ve been harder than I thought.” My hand automatically reaches up to probe my scalp.

  “Don’t touch it, you’ll just get dirt in it. Where’s your first aid kit?”

  I direct him to the vanity cupboard in the bathroom, realizing a little too late it’s also where I store my tampons and pads. I could run after him and get the kit myself, but decide to shove another spoonful of Peanut Butter Cup ice cream in my mouth instead.

  I’m still groaning in bliss when he walks back into the kitchen, shaking his head.

  “Sit.”

  I obediently do as he says and quietly let him do his thing while I gorge myself.

  “Ouch,” I complain, when he almost rips out a clump of hair by the roots. “I like my hair where it is.”

  “You’re distracting me,” he accuses, clearly annoyed, although for the life of me I can’t figure out why. I’ve been sitting still the entire time.

  “I’m not doing a damn thing,” I protest.

  “Do you have to make those sounds when you eat?”

  “I’m just enjoying my well-deserved treat, is there a law against that? Besides, why are you doing this all of a sudden?”

  “Do what all of a sudden?”

  “Looking out for me. Making sure I get in okay. Checking up on me during the day. In all the time we’ve known each other, you’ve never done anything like that. Now you’re here for the second night in a row.”

  He steps into my field of vision, and I tilt back to look up into his face.

  “Your brother—” he starts.

  “I call bullshit,” I counter, cutting him off. “You keep bringing up my brother when you need an excuse for either coming or leaving. What is it?”

  For a long time he just looks down at me, clear conflict playing out behind his eyes, when finally his hands come up, cup my face, and he leans in for a kiss that has me clasp onto his wrists to stay upright. Holy shit, the man can kiss.

  “I better go,” he whispers against my lips, before pressing a final kiss to my forehead, and making for the door.

  Shut down again.

  I WAKE UP FEELING LIKE death warmed over.

  My stomach is sloshing with one and a half pint of Ben & Jerry’s and the full bottle of Pinot Grigio I comforted myself with last night. I don’t know which is worse, the nausea or the throbbing headache that has me see stars.

  A ping indicates a message, and I slap my hand on the nightstand a few times until I find my phone.

  Jasper: Hope you slept OK.

  His abrupt departure last night still rattles me, and I’m not in the mood to entertain his mixed messages, so I type:

  Fuck off.

  I trust that’s clear enough.

  CHAPTER 7

  JASPER

  “Why is it I have to find out from my wife’s friend what’s going on back home?”

  I grin when I hear Damian’s voice on the line. It’s been a shit week so far, with dick all to show for it. Other than the report of a burned out, black Honda found in a canyon off the 213 about twenty minutes south of town yesterday, that is. Two hikers ran across it when they followed a trail down into the canyon over the weekend. They made a report of a torched car, but somehow it was overlooked in the manhunt for the shooter. Yesterday a unit went to take a look and discovered the car matched the description of the shooter’s vehicle. Hadn’t been easy to get the damn thing out either, they called in CBI and it took them most of the day to hoist it out. The car is currently sitting in the forensics lab.

  The only other piece of concrete evidence, a tire tread in the parking lot at the scene, which can be used to match the prints found at the top of the canyon to confirm this is the car, but that doesn’t really get us any further.

  “Maybe because you’re on your honeymoon and should be focusing on your wife, and not on work?”

  “A cop was shot, Jasper. That’s a major incident.”

  “Well aware of that, and I’ve offered the PD our full support, but so far it’s a single incident, with little else to show in terms of evidence. Besides, I thought you trusted me?”

  “It’s not about that,” he backtracks.

  “Like hell it’s not. Trusting me is knowing that if we really needed you here, I would not hesitate for a second to call you in. So far, I’ve kept David abreast of everything. You have a little over a week left, just enjoy it.”

  “Fine. Just one thing,” he concedes. “Can you see how Bella is doing? I don’t like the idea of her alone, without anyone checking in from time to time.”

  I grimace; if only he knew how close the tabs are I’ve been keeping.

  “Will do. Say hi to Kerry. I’ll see you next week.”

  I put the phone down on my desk and try to focus back on the encrypted files up on my computer screen, when Luna walks in.

  “Nothing,” she announces when I look at her questioningly. “We’ve been knocking on doors for days, but no one knows anything or remembers seeing anything.”

  “What about shooting ranges, gun shops?” I ask.

  “Blackfoot’s been looking into those and I’m not about to ruffle his feathers,” she says, sitting down at her desk. “They’re ruffled enough as it is. You know, I’m thinking our guy is either local, or was passing through. This may have been an isolated incident.”

  “I’d like to believe that, but what little we have points to someone who knew what he was doing. Not a random incident. Ballistics is suggesting he’s using a silencer, based on their findings, which explains why no one reported hearing shots fired. He left no shells at the scene. He scoped out a remote location to dump and destroy his car. Somehow he either got back to town, or hitched a ride into New Mexico. I doubt he walked back. That’s a fair distance. Someone has to have seen something.”

  “We’d have to call on the public. Talk to the media.”

  Luna voices what I’ve been suggesting to Blackfoot these past few days. So far he’s held off. He has his reasons. If the dead officer was a random victim, it’s highly probable the shooter is scanning media closely to glean any information on the investigation, it may even have been his motivation to kill—notoriety. If Officer Belker was specifically targeted, it would indicate a personal connection, and from what I understand, that is still being looked into. All good points, but it’s frustrating to sit and wait for information to filter in before any action can be taken.

  “Have you had any luck?” Luna asks, opening up her laptop.

  I shake my head. “Nope. Nothing popping up on social media.”

  I’m limited to general fishing expeditions for certain keywords that might relate to the shooting. Believe it or not, there are idiots out there who commit a crime and then boast about it on their social media accounts. Some even post pictures. I had a feeling this guy would not be that dumb.

  It’s a massive job filtering through all that information. I’ve limited myself to local IP addresses only, but that still is a substantial number of accounts to scan. Especially when you have no other information that can help you narrow it down.

  The only good thing about the tedious work is that it’s sucking up all my time. It’s been a good distraction from Bella, whom I haven’t seen or talked to since I walked out of her house last week. Actually, since she told me to fuck off via text the next morning.

  A grin spreads over my lips at the memory. Little does she know that brand of attitude only cranks up my interest. And now her brother wants me to actively look in on her, giving me an excuse and permission.

  For once, luck is on my side.

  “I don’t even wanna know,” Luna says, scrutinizing me over the top of her screen with a look of distaste. “That kind of shit-eating grin only spells trouble.”

  She has no idea how true that statement is.

  Bella

 
; It’s always a drag to transition from one shift to another the first few days. Especially going from day shift to nights.

  After my late-night pity party last Thursday, I’d called in sick the next morning, and spent Friday hugging the toilet. I had a sneaky suspicion by afternoon, it wasn’t just due to the hangover I’d given myself. The nausea and throbbing head were persistent, and I’d spiked a decent fever somewhere along the line as well.

  I was miserable all weekend, unable to keep much of anything down. Monday was a little better, and yesterday I thought myself well enough to head back into work for our first night shift.

  “Hey, I haven’t seen you in a while,” Joanne, one of the emergency room nurses comments when I step out of the shower. “New shift tonight?”

  “Started yesterday,” I share, grabbing another towel to wrap around my hair.

  “I’m just starting tonight. Not looking forward to it,” she complains, putting on her scrubs. “The first time since coming back from maternity leave that they have me on the night shift.”

  “I hear you,” I offer sympathetically. Joanne is a nice girl, one of the first ones to introduce herself when I started here. “It always takes a few days to get into the routine.”

  “Ugh. Tell my little one that. She won’t care her mommy has to sleep. I’m lucky my mom is close by to help out during the day.”

  “For sure.”

  I grab the blow-dryer from my locker to try and get the worst of the moisture out before tying it back.

  “Here, want me to put it in a quick braid?” she asks, looking at my reflection in the mirror. “Now that I have a girl, I’ll need the practice. I haven’t had long hair myself since I was twelve.”

  “Have at it. Anything to speed things along. Ryan is waiting for me.”

  I close my eyes when she takes the brush from my hands and starts running it through my hair. My mom, or one of my sisters, would do this for me all the time growing up. It’s comforting. Even though I don’t really know Joanne well, the small gesture of kindness makes me wonder if it isn’t time for me to be a little more socially active.