by Cari Hunter
“None of that is going to happen,” Alex told her, though her tone held little assurance. “We’ll find some way to stop it all before then.”
Sarah couldn’t imagine how stressful it must have been for Alex to have kept this knowledge bottled up in an effort to protect her. She felt like she had scraped the surface off a fresh wound and then rubbed salt into it just for spite. She laid her hand on top of Alex’s. “Hope for the best but prepare for the worst, then?”
Alex nodded mutely.
“Okay, so we better get started and find me a bloody good lawyer.” Sarah tried to sound positive, but the facade slipped as she put a hand into her pocket for her cell phone and remembered that Quinn had taken it at the meeting that morning. When she thought of strangers searching through her photographs or personal messages, it made her want to smash something hard and heavy, preferably on Quinn’s head.
“We can use my phone.” Alex was watching her carefully. “If you’re gonna break something, make sure it’s something we don’t need, okay?”
Shielding her eyes from the sun, Sarah looked at her. “Am I really that easy to read?”
“You do tend to wear your heart on your sleeve,” Alex said. “It’s one of the things I love most about you.”
“Maybe you should write me a character reference.”
“Naw, I’d only make the judge blush. Stay out here if you want. I have a couple of people to try before I resort to Google.”
“Okay.”
As the screen door closed, Sarah slipped off her sneakers and walked onto the lawn. The sun was slowly evaporating the downpour of the previous night and the grass was still damp beneath her feet. She sat on it regardless, hugging Tilly close when she pushed into her arms.
“Look after Alex, you hear me?” she said, feeling the words catch in her throat. “She’s going to need you, so no more playing silly buggers with the chickens or chasing Bandit around.”
Tilly snuffled Sarah’s hair and gave her face a lick; while she hadn’t understood a word Sarah said, she seemed to have picked up on the seriousness of her tone. They sat together on the grass, watching the chickens scrap over the apple core. It was as effective a distraction as any.
*
Sarah shut down the Internet browser on Alex’s cell phone and watched her and Tilly making their way back toward the cabin. The light had altered in the time they had been gone, the shadows lengthening and wisps of cloud flushing a rosy pink as the sun dipped below the trees. The first time Alex had set out, Sarah had gone with her, only to find the search teams still busy on the track, making it impossible for them to do anything but return to the cabin. Even with dusk encroaching, Alex had insisted on going again to see if the search had finished, and Sarah, aware how agonizing waiting and inactivity were for her, hadn’t tried to stop her.
Sarah had used the half hour to soak in a hot bath, indulging in such luxuries while she still could. Although Alex had refused to speak any further about the likelihood of her being arrested and denied bail, Sarah was forcing herself to come to terms with it. It was only as she shaved her legs that she had realized she was getting prepared, that she didn’t know whether prison showers came with shaving gel and razors. Suddenly sick with fear, she had made herself focus on the lines she was leaving in the white foam, trying to make them even and neat. Engrossing herself in the task had been just about enough to stop her from getting out of the tub and barring the bathroom door.
“Hey.” She waved from the porch bench as Alex came within earshot. “Any luck?”
Alex made a “so-so” gesture. “They’ve packed up and gone for the night but left some of their gear behind, so I guess they’re not quite done yet. Hopefully, they’ll finish up tomorrow.”
“Come sit with me?”
Alex nodded, her tread tired and heavy on the steps.
“Actually, I’ve got a better idea,” Sarah said, standing and holding out her hand. “Come to bed with me.”
*
Sarah was wearing Alex’s favorite nightshirt: white and pale blue stripes with buttons all the way down to where it ended mid-thigh. She sat cross-legged on the bed as Alex painstakingly unfastened each button and opened the material wide. Alex, in contrast, hadn’t bothered to wear anything. She pulled Sarah onto her lap, reveling in the sensation of their bare skin pressing together as Sarah leaned in and kissed her. She gently touched her tongue to Sarah’s as her hands stroked across Sarah’s face, her eyebrows, the curve of her cheekbones, before finally stilling to cup her jaw.
Deepening their kiss, she felt Sarah dip her hand between their bodies. There was a slight roughness from the dressing on one of Sarah’s fingers and then nothing but soft skin as Sarah entered her. She traced her hands across Sarah’s breasts, making her moan and shift with impatience.
“Please,” Sarah whispered, “please.” She hummed contentedly when Alex eased her fingers inside her and they fell into a rhythm that was so familiar it made them both smile.
Alex closed her eyes, desperately trying to commit everything to memory.
“Alex,” Sarah said. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
Alex did as she asked.
“I promise you won’t forget this,” Sarah told her, holding her gaze steadily. She raised her free hand to brush her fingers against Alex’s cheek. “Whatever happens, love, we’ll be okay.”
Chapter Nine
“Your man Emerson is so clean he squeaks.”
Even through the crackles on the phone line, there was no mistaking the defeat in Castillo’s voice, as if he had expected Emerson to have so many skeletons in his closet that it would leave Quinn no option but to consider him a viable suspect and consequently shift the focus away from Sarah.
Having allowed herself to entertain the same hope, Alex took the news like a physical blow, rocking back in her chair. “Shit,” she muttered. Then, unable to stop herself, “What the fuck do we do now?”
“My hands are tied here,” Castillo said. “I’m still waiting on word from the surveillance teams, and I have no jurisdiction in Avery. If I start requesting forensic reports and case files, I’m only going to get Quinn pissed at me, and I don’t think he likes me much as it is.”
“He spoke to you?”
“Briefly, yesterday. I sent him all the declassified intel I have on the Cascades and the wider investigation into Nicholas Deakin, but I got the impression he considers his case against Sarah solid enough to make any other potential leads a pretty low priority.”
“It’s all circumstantial,” Alex said. Her phone beeped once, indicating a call waiting, but she didn’t recognize the number on the screen so she ignored it. “Everything he has on her, it’s bullshit.”
“I know, but when your town is baying for blood and there’s a media circus demanding action, circumstantial is going to be sufficient for a warrant.”
“And then what?” Alex snapped.
“And then you stop feeling sorry for yourself and start acting like a cop.”
“Ouch.” His rebuke stung, but in a strange way, she appreciated his bluntness.
“Yeah.” He dragged the word out as if remorseful, but he didn’t apologize. “Look, the only thing that flagged up on Emerson is his ownership of a second property. It’s a small apartment in Ruby. Might just be a rental, but on a cop’s salary it’s a little odd.”
She reached for a pen. “Be worth checking. You got the address?” She scribbled down the details, recognizing the area as quiet and well heeled, bordering the river on the western outskirts of town.
“Once the pressure is off of Quinn,” Castillo continued, “that’ll be the time he’ll start looking at alternatives, if he has any doubts at all that he can secure a conviction against Sarah.”
“I’d like to think he has doubts. But he’s stubborn and proud, not to mention mad at me, so at the moment he’d be happy to just lock her up and throw away the key.”
“How is she?” Castillo asked.
Alex swapped the phone t
o her other ear and opened the study door a crack. She could hear Sarah in the kitchen, whisking something while cooing at one of the cats. “She’s braver than I am. She’s been baking all morning. She won’t say anything, but she’s making sure I have meals for when she’s not here.” Her voice cracked and she hurriedly wiped her eyes in case Sarah came in and saw her crying. “I fucking hate this,” she whispered.
The sound of tires spinning hard and fast over the gravel on the driveway drowned out his reply. She stood and pried open a slat on the blinds, even though she didn’t want to look, even though she knew what would be out there. It was too soon. The search party had been back in the woods at daybreak and still not completed their work, and she hadn’t had the chance to do anything with Castillo’s information yet.
She heard Sarah shout for her before her eyes could focus in the sun’s glare; all she saw was blurry shadows opening and then slamming white doors on white cars. Someone had left their strobes on, blinking an urgent blue and red alert, and she wondered whom exactly the idiot was trying to warn: the chickens?
“Jesus Christ, I have to go,” she said, suddenly remembering Castillo on the other end of the phone. “Quinn’s here.”
She hung up as the banging started. It wasn’t a polite knock, more a demand to comply.
“Alex?” Sarah was in the living room, out of sight of the porch door. She looked pale, but when Alex got closer, she realized there was flour smeared all over Sarah’s face, and she couldn’t help but smile.
“C’mere,” she said, and used her sleeve to wipe the flour away.
“I made you a fruit cake,” Sarah told her.
“Yeah?” Unsure whether to laugh or sob, Alex opted for the former, and then jumped as someone loudly commanded that they open the door.
She kissed Sarah’s forehead, took her hand, and walked with her into the kitchen. The room smelled of rich casserole and something flavored with basil, with an underlying sweetness from the cake. Taking deep breaths, she forced her leaden fingers to work the locks. As soon as the door swung open, Quinn stepped across the threshold and put his hand on Sarah’s upper arm, firmly separating her from Alex and telling her that she was under arrest for the murder of Lyssa Mardell. Three other officers crowded onto the porch, scaring the cats, who scurried beneath the bench. One of the officers held Tilly’s collar as she barked furiously.
“You have the right to remain silent.” The officer reciting the Miranda worked most of his patrols in Ruby, and at a barbecue the previous summer he had taught Alex the best way to grill a moose burger. Now he couldn’t look her in the eye. “You have the right to talk to an attorney and have him present with you while you are being questioned.”
Quinn was still gripping Sarah’s arm, and he used it to turn her so that she faced Alex. He cuffed her hands behind her, making her flinch as the metal dug into her bandaged wrists. She cut off Alex’s protest with a sharp shake of her head.
“Do you understand these rights as I have given them to you?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice clear and remarkably calm. “I understand.”
Quinn jerked her arm and she allowed him to march her over to the first car. She didn’t try to say good-bye to Alex; she seemed determined not to give Quinn the satisfaction of making a scene. He pushed her into the rear seat and shut the door.
Struggling to keep Tilly quiet, Alex watched Sarah lean forward as she tried to find a comfortable position in the handcuffs. Then Sarah looked across at her. There were no dramatic signals or mouthed declarations, just the loose stones grinding beneath the tires and Sarah’s gaze holding Alex’s until the car turned and took her away.
*
Someone had tipped off the press, who in turn had tipped off everyone in the vicinity of Main Street. Both patrol cars were forced to approach the police station at a crawl, inching through the gathered townsfolk as camera bulbs flashed and people jostled for a better viewpoint.
Sarah shrank back in her seat, pressing her sore wrists against the warm leather, but there was no way for her to avoid the prying eyes and pointing fingers. Emerson’s presence in the station parking lot and the three officers in the convoy seemed to be Quinn’s only concessions to crowd control. When the cars stopped, the officers spread themselves thinly along the sidewalk, trying to persuade people to remain within their ineffective cordon, while Emerson opened Sarah’s door and reached in to guide her out.
“Keep your head down,” he warned her, but she was shaking so hard she could barely walk, and her awkward progress made it impossible to avoid seeing the faces around her.
She recognized many of them, having spoken to them on the street or taught their children at the lake. It was difficult now to reconcile those amiable encounters with the seething mob surrounding her. A hand was suddenly raised, a dark object clutched in its fist, and Emerson reacted quickly, turning his back to shelter her as the rock hurtled toward them. It landed harmlessly on the sidewalk, shattering into smaller fragments. Someone cheered the effort regardless of its failure, while several others whooped and yelled for him to try again. As if that had been their cue, more officers streamed out of the station to surround Sarah.
“Better late than never,” Emerson spat to no one in particular, all but running with Sarah to cover the remaining few yards. She heard a sequence of locks click as the doors were secured behind them. He stopped at the front desk and turned to her. “You okay?”
Something in his tone made her answer honestly. “No. Not really.”
Before he could respond, an officer strode across to them, carrying a thick file of paperwork. “Quinn wants her processed ASAP,” he said without preamble.
Emerson narrowed his eyes. “Where’s he at?”
“He stayed outside to give a statement to the press. He wants me to take her to booking.” The officer brandished the paperwork to prove his claim, as if he were afraid Emerson would rob him of the opportunity to play his part in such a major case. He had already closed a hand around Sarah’s cuffs.
Emerson outranked him, but he stepped back, deferring to Quinn’s order. “I’ll send Esther to chaperone,” he said curtly, already reaching for the phone on the desk.
Without waiting to hear the outcome of the call, the officer steered Sarah beyond a sign marked “Authorized Personnel Only.” The corridor he took her into was empty, but he kept a tight hold on her until he needed both hands to swipe his keycard and enter a code on a security pad. The door in front of them opened automatically and strip lighting flickered on as he pushed her forward. It illuminated a dirty white floor and three evenly spaced security doors of thick metal. Each door had a small hinged viewing hatch cut into the metal and each was slightly ajar. Despite taking shallow breaths, Sarah couldn’t shut out the stink of vomit and badly drained toilets.
The sharp, rhythmic tap of heels against the tiles announced Esther’s entrance. The officer acknowledged her approach with a grunt and a scowl. “Don’t get in the way,” he said.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She wasn’t looking at him; her attention was entirely focused on Sarah. Although they had never met in person, Esther always seemed to be on dispatch whenever Sarah had a callout, and it had become something of a running joke. Her expression was pained as she walked closer.
“Does she really need the cuffs?” she said.
The officer’s cheeks flushed, and Sarah suspected he would have left them on if Esther hadn’t mentioned them.
“Turn around,” he told Sarah.
She did as instructed. There was a rattle of keys and then the metal fell away from her wrists, allowing her to bring her arms stiffly forward.
Esther frowned at the fresh blood seeping through the dressings. “Do you want me to call a doctor?” she asked Sarah.
“No, thank you,” Sarah said, profoundly grateful for her concern. “I’m fine.”
Impatient to reassert his authority over the proceedings, the officer positioned her with her arms outstretched at her sides and beg
an a thorough search. As he worked his hands around her body, she stared straight ahead, trying not to think of the last men who had done this to her, trying not to think of anything at all. By the time he had finished, she was sweating and swallowing convulsively against the bile rising in her throat. He ignored her, scribbling notes onto his paperwork. There wasn’t much to document; she had emptied her pockets when she had gotten dressed that morning.
Another DNA swab from her mouth was added to her file. Then, even though her fingertips still bore the ink-stain from the prints taken on the night of Lyssa’s murder, the officer repeated that process too, seemingly determined to place a tick into every box. On his order, she removed the laces from her sneakers and took off her single piece of jewelry: her wedding ring. It was the first time she had been without it since the day of the ceremony. He sealed it in a plastic bag and tossed it into a tray on the desk.
“Move over here.”
She followed him across to a blank wall, where she was made to hold a board showing her name and a number as he took a series of photographs. When he was satisfied with the quality of his shots, he told Esther she could return to her desk. With the processing completed, she had no grounds to argue; she left the room, touching Sarah’s arm as she went.
Sarah watched the door shut, her pulse pounding against her breastbone. She noticed there was no light flashing on the camera above her head, and wondered who had turned it off and when.
The officer was also watching the door. He waited until the locks reset and then used Sarah’s collar to drag her across to the closest wall. Pressing her face up against it, his knee digging into her buttocks, he refastened the cuffs around her wrists and ratcheted them down tightly. Aware that any show of resistance on her part would only give him the excuse he was looking for, she held herself rigid as he spoke directly in her ear.
