In a Killer’s Sights

by Sandra Robbins

  Gwen caught it and punched in the number. Dean listened as she relayed the message he’d given her. When she finished speaking, she was silent for a moment and then spoke into the phone again. “Thank you. We’ve just left the ranch, but we should be there shortly.”

  Dean glanced in the rearview mirror and could see Gwen disconnecting the call. “What did the operator say?”

  “That she’d alert the hospital and have Sheriff Whitman there waiting for us.”

  A low moan drifted from the backseat, and Dean glanced over his shoulder quickly, then looked back at the road. “How’s he doing?”

  Gwen’s sob answered his question. “I don’t know. He’s drifting in and out of consciousness. And the bleeding has increased. Please hurry, Dean.”

  Dean grimaced, pressed his foot on the accelerator and honked as he swerved around a car that had to be doing no more than twenty-five miles an hour. Surely the driver would realize from the flashing hazard lights and the speed he was driving that they had an emergency. Emmett had lost a lot of blood, and every minute counted right now. Dean had to get to the hospital before his friend bled to death.

  He couldn’t lose Emmett, too.

  * * *

  When Dean screeched to a stop at the emergency room entrance, Gwen was relieved to see a team of nurses waiting for them beside a gurney. She jumped out of the truck the moment it came to a halt and moved out of the way so a husky male nurse could reach inside. He lifted Emmett as if he weighed nothing and pulled him out of the backseat. With the other nurses helping, Emmett was on a gurney and being wheeled through the sliding doors at the ambulance bay before Dean had time to get out of the truck.

  Dean stopped at the back and stared after them for a moment before he turned to Gwen, who was waiting for him. She started to hold out her hand, but when she glanced down, she thought better of it. Emmett’s blood covered her.

  “Let’s go inside, Dean,” she said. “I need to wash up.”

  He nodded, and together they walked through the entrance. She stopped just inside and looked around the waiting room. It was about half filled, with several people waiting for help. Pain flickered across the faces of some, while others sat slumped in chairs, their bored gazes fixed on the television that blared out the latest episode of a reality show.

  Gwen had never liked hospitals. Not the antiseptic smell, the quiet halls with closed doors, the occasional wail of pain that could be heard or the figures in scrubs who bustled about, dispensing care to those in need. Perhaps her aversion stemmed from her memories of the night her father had died in a car crash. Even so, she needed to put that out of her mind and concentrate on matters at hand.

  Her gaze dropped to her hands again, and her stomach churned. Glancing around, she spotted the sign for a restroom. “I need to get cleaned up,” she repeated and headed toward it.

  She pushed through the door, hurried to the sink and turned on the hot water. A container of liquid soap hung on the wall, and she lathered her hands and began to scrub. A red stream trickled from her hands as she rinsed, lathered again and scrubbed some more. She had no idea how long it took to wash away the evidence of what had happened at Rattlesnake Creek, but she finally decided she had done all she could at this point.

  She pulled a paper towel from the dispenser, dried her wet skin and dropped the used towel in the trash can. Holding her hands up, she examined them for any trace of blood. When she didn’t see any, she closed her eyes and felt the tears begin to trickle down her face. She might have washed the blood away, but the memory was another matter.

  The terror she had experienced in the forest next to that creek wasn’t something she could wash away so easily. In her mind she could still hear the bullets striking the trees and the ground around them, and the voice that had taunted her. Who was he, and why did he want to use Emmett and her to hurt Dean?

  Closing her eyes, she leaned against the sink. After a few minutes she shook her head and straightened her spine. She couldn’t hide in the restroom all night like a scared little girl. The sheriff should be here anytime now, and she needed to tell him what had happened.

  She took a shaky breath and pulled another paper towel from the dispenser. When she’d wet it, she washed her face in an effort to soothe her red-streaked eyes and to rinse away the smudges on her cheeks, then pulled Dean’s cell phone from her pocket and cleaned it. She glanced down at her jeans and shirt and swallowed the bile that flowed into her mouth at the bloodstains she saw.

  There was nothing she could do about that now. She opened the door and walked back out to the waiting room. Dean leaned on the wall opposite the bathroom door, and he straightened when he spotted her.

  “Here’s your cell phone,” she said and held it toward him.

  He reached for it, then let his gaze rake her bloodstained clothes. The muscle in his jaw flexed as he slipped the device in his jeans pocket. He took a step closer. “You’re all right, aren’t you? You didn’t get nicked by a bullet?”

  His voice vibrated with concern, and her pulse quickened. For a moment all she wanted was to have him put his arm around her and kiss her hair as he had at Rattlesnake Creek. But she couldn’t allow that to happen again.

  “I’m not injured, Dean. I guess I’m not over my scare yet. I thought we were going to die. And we would have if you and your employees hadn’t arrived.”

  He reached for her hand and held it between both of his. She didn’t want to look down, but couldn’t resist the urge. She’d been shocked yesterday when she saw that he still wore his wedding ring. She laid her free hand on top of his and rubbed the gold band that she had picked out before their wedding. Suddenly she felt as if the breath had been sucked out of her at the feeling of tremendous loss that swept through her.

  She’d had the feeling many times in the past few years, but being here with Dean now made her aware of what they had once had and how it had come to a sad end. Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked.

  “Gwen,” he whispered, “if anything had happened to you...”

  “Dean!” a voice called out, and they turned to see Ben Whitman coming toward them.

  Gwen pulled her hand free and Dean sucked in a big gulp of air before he glanced at his friend. “Ben, thanks for coming. We’ve had some trouble out at the ranch, and I think it’s related to what happened yesterday.”

  Ben nodded and pointed along the hallway. “There’s a room down there that the hospital staff lets us use when we need to talk with someone in private. Let’s go.”

  “Let me tell the receptionist where we will be. I want to know what the doctor says about Emmett’s condition as soon as he knows anything.”

  Dean had no sooner finished speaking than the doors to the treatment area opened and a young man in scrubs walked toward them. He stopped beside Dean. “Mr. Harwell, I’m Dr. Owens. Your friend is doing fine. He’s lost a lot of blood from the wound in his shoulder, but his vital signs are strong right now. We’re on our way to surgery with him to remove the bullet. He’s awake and talking, but he won’t be for long. He wanted me to tell you not to worry.” The doctor turned to Gwen. “And he wanted me to thank you for saving his life. In fact, he said he thought he might call you Annie from now on, after the famous Annie Oakley.”

  Gwen and Dean both laughed, but she sobered quickly. “He’s really going to be all right, Dr. Owens?”

  “He should be fine. I’ll let you know as soon as he’s out of surgery.”

  “We’ll be in the conference room down the hall, Doc,” Ben said.

  “Good. I’ll come there when I know anything.”

  They watched as he reentered the treatment area, and then they walked down the hallway to the conference room. When they were settled around the long mahogany table, Ben pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket and looked at Dean. “Now tell me what happened today.”

 
“I only know the ending of the attack. Gwen was the one there from the start.”

  The sheriff shifted his attention to her. “All right, Miss Anderson. Suppose you tell me what happened out there.”

  Gwen took a calming breath. “Well, it started out as a simple trail ride. Emmett and I left the barn around ten this morning to head up to Crystal Falls. I wanted to scout out some locations for the TV documentary I’m doing.”

  For the next few minutes she related the events that had unfolded on their journey. When she got to the part about how she’d been running low on bullets, and the way the shooter had jeered at her from the creek, her breath hitched in her chest.

  She shuddered and crossed her arms over her stomach. “His voice sounded so evil. And his words were those of a madman set on vengeance.”

  Ben quit writing for a moment and frowned. “Vengeance? What did he say?”

  She closed her eyes, and it was as if she was back in that forest with a killer coming closer and closer. She had to force herself to answer. “He said, ‘You got away yesterday, but you won’t today. Won’t Dean be surprised when he finds the bodies of his foreman and wife?’”

  Ben’s eyebrows arched. “Wife? How did he know that you were Dean’s wife?”

  “I don’t know. I wondered the same thing. Then I realized he’d killed Dean’s grandfather, and now he wants to kill his foreman and ex-wife. The only thing that makes sense is that the killer is really after...”

  “Me!” Dean exclaimed. He jumped to his feet and kicked his chair backward, then strode to the far end of the room and stood for a moment, his hands propped on his hips as he stared at the wall. Finally, he turned back to Gwen.

  “This is all my fault. Someone hates me and is taking it out on those I care about. First my grandfather and now you and Emmett.”

  Gwen pushed herself up from her chair and hurried over to Dean. She wrapped her fingers around his upper arms and gripped him tightly. “No, Dean. This is not your fault. You can’t help it if some crazy person wants to kill innocent people.”

  Ben stood in turn and cleared his throat. “Now hold on, you two. We don’t need to go jumping to any conclusions just yet about what this killer is after. It could be that he has some reason to want to hurt you, Dean, but then, our shooter might be someone who followed Gwen here. Maybe your grandfather happened on him yesterday on that mountain trail and something happened that caused the guy to kill him.”

  Dean cast a skeptical glance at his friend. “That’s a far-out theory, Ben.”

  “Well, I’ve done this job long enough to know that you can’t rule out anything. Now think, Gwen. Is there anyone who could have followed you here?”

  She shook her head. “No. There’s no one.”

  “Yes, there is,” Dean said. “Mark Dyson.”

  Ben jerked his attention to Dean. “Who’s Mark Dyson?”

  “A lawyer from Knoxville. He bumped into Gwen at her motel and has been going out of his way to be friendly since then. I discovered this morning that he’s lead counsel for a company that Gwen’s documentary is about to expose for endangering the environment.”

  “Mark Dyson,” Ben murmured as he wrote the name down. “Where can we find him?”

  Gwen started to protest, but something told her not to. They needed to let Ben follow every lead if they were to catch this killer. “He’s staying at the Mountain View Motel.”

  Ben pulled his phone from his pocket, turned his back to them and punched in a number. “Martha,” he said. “This is Ben. Tell Deputy Bridges to go to the Mountain View Motel and check out a guy named Mark Dyson. I want to know where he was all day and what he was doing. I want Bridges on this now, top priority, and he’s to call me as soon as he knows anything.”

  Ben disconnected the call and turned back to them. “He’ll check this out right away.”

  “So what shall we do while we wait?” Gwen asked.

  The sheriff turned to Dean. “I need to know the rest of the story. What happened after you arrived at the creek?”

  Dean nodded and began to relate how hard he and his ranch hands had ridden to get to Gwen and Emmett, how he’d exchanged fire with the shooter before he disappeared into the forest, and how they’d got Emmett back to the barn as quickly as possible.

  “Then we loaded him up and brought him here,” Dean stated.

  As Gwen listened, she could hear Dean’s respect and affection for Emmett in his words, and she knew he was deeply worried about his friend. She studied his handsome profile as he spoke and began to realize that he was not only the best-looking man she’d ever known, but he was also once again the good, kind man she had married.

  Somewhere during their time together they had lost each other. She’d become obsessed with succeeding in her job, and he’d turned to alcohol to drown the torment his own job had caused. Maybe there was something she could have done to help him. Had she been so focused on her own needs that she had let those of her husband go unnoticed?

  As she sat here listening to him, she realized he was happy now. He was free of the addiction that had once ruled his life and seemed fully determined that it would never consume him again. That thought made her happier than anything had in years, and she found herself wishing there was some way that she, Dean and Maggie could be a family. But she didn’t think that would ever be possible. Just telling him about Maggie would be enough to alienate him forever.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of Ben’s cell phone. “Hello?” he said.

  She and Dean both scooted to the edge of their chairs and waited as he nodded and listened to what the caller was saying. After a few minutes he exhaled. “Okay. Thanks for checking this out. I’ll see you at the station later.”

  “What did he say?” Dean asked the minute Ben completed the call.

  “Bridges said that he talked with Mark Dyson. The man teed off at the Hurricane Mills Golf Club at ten o’clock this morning and was there until midafternoon. He provided the names of three men he was with. My deputy has talked to all three, and they have corroborated his alibi. So it looks like he’s not our shooter.”

  Dean’s shoulders hunched, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “So that means I’m definitely the one the killer’s after, not Gwen.”

  Ben shook his head. “We don’t know for sure yet, pal. Give us time to work on this.”

  Dean stared into space for a moment before he turned to Gwen and sighed. “Okay, but in the meantime, there’s only one thing to do now.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “You have to leave. Go back home. The next time this guy may not miss.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and she wrapped her hands around his upper arms. “Go home? No. I’m not going to leave you alone at a time like this.”

  Dean shook her hands free and gritted his teeth. “You left me alone five years ago, and you’ve been quick to point out that nothing has changed since then. I don’t need you here to pretend to care what happens to me. So I want you on the first plane out of Knoxville bound for New York tomorrow.”

  His words felt like a stinging slap, and tears pooled in her eyes as she recoiled from the anger in his. She couldn’t believe the things he was saying. “Dean, please. I don’t want to leave yet.”

  “That doesn’t matter. When we get back to the ranch, I want you to pack your bags and be ready to go in the morning. This isn’t your home, Gwen. You need to get back to New York and get on with your life there.”

  With that, Dean stormed through the door and into the hallway. She fought the urge to run after him, to make him explain why he was so angry with her. Ever since she’d arrived at the ranch, Dean had thrown subtle hints that he wished they could get back together. Her uncertainty over whether she could trust him again, mingled with her guilt over how she’d deceived him, had kept her from returning
his interest. Maybe she’d played her part too well, and now he was through with her.

  Whatever had changed his mind, she wasn’t welcome at Little Pigeon Ranch anymore. If that was the case, she’d be on that plane tomorrow and would never come back to the only place that had ever seemed like home to her.

  EIGHT

  An hour later Dean hadn’t returned, and there had been no word from the doctor. Gwen stopped pacing back and forth in the conference room and shook her head. “Why haven’t we heard anything? Do you think something could have gone wrong?”

  Ben frowned. “Waiting’s hard, I know. I do it all the time with families of crime victims. The doctor said he’ll let us know, and he will. In the meantime, how about some coffee? I’ll be glad to go to the dining room and get us some.”

  Gwen looked down at her watch and frowned. She hadn’t realized it had got so late. As if to remind her that she hadn’t eaten lunch, her stomach growled. “Coffee sounds great,” she said. “Could you get a snack of some kind to go with it? I don’t have any money with me, but I’ll repay you later.”

  He gave a lopsided grin and waved his hand in dismissal. “No need to do that. I’ll be glad to get you something. Be back in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff Whitman.”

  He grinned again. “Ben.”

  Gwen studied the chiseled features of the man she’d met yesterday, and the tension she’d felt in her body ever since that first shot was fired at Rattlesnake Creek seemed to disappear at the kindness of his smile. Her rigid muscles relaxed, and she took a slow step toward him. “Do you really wait with all the crime victims’ families who are brought here, or just special ones?”

  His face turned red, and he shrugged. “Maybe not all of them, but you’re different.”

  She frowned. “Why am I different?”

  “I met Dean the first day he came to school here, right after his grandparents brought him home with them. He’s been my friend ever since. I was away in the army when you two got married, and I never was home when you visited. But we kept up with each other. When he came back here five years ago, he wasn’t the man I remembered.”