Baring her canines, Lila inched forward and leaned against the stall wall, blocking any escape attempt. “Thought I’d check in on you after our little escapade yesterday.”
“I hurt all over. Thank you for that, by the way. My old man sees all those bruises, he’s gonna think I got into a fight.”
“You only have yourself to blame.” She cocked her head. “Is he going to be mad if you were in a fight?”
“I’m a grown man. I don’t have to answer any of your questions. You saw me, so leave.” He went to put the earbud back in.
“Hold on there, Dillon. I also came because I need you to look at a picture.”
His gaze narrowed. “A picture of what?”
“A guy. We want to know if this was the man you saw in the car with Maya Wagner.”
Sighing, Dillon draped the earbud over his shoulder and leaned the shovel against the wall. “Fine.” He scratched the side of his nose, leaving a brown streak.
Lila pulled out her phone and unlocked it. “You like horses?”
“Yeah. Used to ride a lot.”
She glanced at him. “Why’d you stop?”
His face flushed and he looked away. Lila felt certain she wasn’t going to get an answer out of him. With his head lowered, he scuffed the toe of his boot into the exposed dirt floor. “My mom got real sick, and there wasn’t any time anymore.”
What she gathered was that he lost the joy of it after his mom died—the hurt little boy expression said it all—and riding horses was something Mom used to love to do.
Lila opened the up-close photo of the mystery man in the meth lab walk-in cooler. “A word of advice.”
His features scrunched.
“Start riding again. It’s what she would have wanted.”
He blinked at her, then shrugged. “You gonna show it to me?”
Turning the phone, she held it up. “Look familiar?”
His eyes widened. “Yeah. That’s the guy I saw.”
Well, that ruled out their John Doe being dead before Regan. This had been someone Maya Wagner knew well enough to get in the car with and leave the school. Maybe the sheriff would have better luck getting an ID on him from the Wagners.
“Thanks, Dillon. I’ll let you get back to work.”
When she stepped out into the cold morning, she glanced back and spotted Dillon watching her. She saluted him and left.
In the car, she shivered. “Brrr.”
“What did he say?”
“It’s the guy he saw in the car with Maya. Let’s hope the sheriff has some luck with the Wagners.” She adjusted the vent. “Start this baby up. I’m cold.”
Meyer backed out of the spot and drove down the lane. “I forgot to ask. Did you and Lundquist find any tracks from our mystery watcher?”
“Nothing to distinguish who it was and what they were driving. The path they chose was on purpose; it wouldn’t leave any trace behind.”
“Wish I knew who it could have been.”
“You and everyone out there last night.” Lila lifted her cup of sludge and grimaced. “Is there any place we can get better coffee? And use a restroom?”
“Close by?”
She gave Meyer a sidelong look. “Yes, close by.”
He grinned. “I’ll see what’s open on this side of town. There won’t be any good coffee.”
“I can wait for that.”
Meyer located a more respectable convenience store with a restroom inside.
She leaned down. “If they have good coffee, you want some?”
“I doubt it, but you can try.”
After dumping their trash in a bin, she hurried inside. A quick scan of the store and she found the restroom. Giving the cashier a wave, she bolted for the women’s. Business done, hands scrubbed up, she peeked at her reflection and winced. She looked like she’d taken a fast pitch to the face from a Cubs pitcher. Splashing some water against her cheeks, she dried her face and left the restroom.
She browsed the cooler section—they carried two flavors of frappuccino. Did Meyer like cold coffee? She peered around the shelves in the middle of the floor and saw the coffee counter.
Hot would warm them up.
Lila abandoned the frappuccinos. But was she willing to chance the quality of a real coffee?
A crack rent the air.
Lila’s hand dropped to her sidearm as she spun to the door, sliding her weapon from the holster.
“Oh my God!” the cashier screeched, ducking down.
Running to the door, she slammed through and burst into the lot. Her head on a swivel, she caught sight of the backend of a small white pickup and bolted out to the street to see if she could read the license. If the damn thing had one.
“Meyer?” she called out, still squinting at the vanishing truck.
No answer. She turned and stiffened.
Meyer’s window was down, and he was flung back against the backrest, mouth gaping like a fish out of water.
“Meyer!”
She holstered her sidearm as she ran to the car and ripped the door open. A to-go coffee cup fell out and hit the pavement, the lid popping off and spewing coffee all over Lila’s pant legs. Blood dribbled from his mouth.
Lila grasped his face. “Meyer! Look at me.”
Color leached from his features, and his eyes rolled. “Help,” he groaned and then coughed, blood sprayed from his mouth, hitting Lila in the face.
“Shit!” She fisted his coat and dragged him out of the car, grabbing his shoulder radio as she lowered him to the pavement. “Officer down!” she screamed. “Officer down! We are at a gas station on the north side of Juniper. Send medical!”
Letting the handset fall, she ripped his coat open, pausing as her fingers met liquid warmth. The lower half of his uniform top was soaked in blood. “Oh-God, oh-God!”
He’d been gut shot. The shooter had managed to avoid his Kevlar. Lila reared back, pressing her hands to her mouth. What did she do? If she didn’t do something, Brent was going to die.
Lila scrambled onto her feet and toppled inside the car, looking for anything to help stem the flow of blood. Where the hell was the first aid kit?
“Lila! What gas station?” Georgia’s voice penetrated her brain.
Falling out of the car, Lila grabbed up the radio. “I don’t know what street. We’re at . . .” She stared at the sign above her. “Casey’s?”
“Hang on. I know where that is.”
The radio slipped from her hands and cracked against the red-speckled pavement. Brent’s head rolled her way, and he pawed for her hand.
“It . . . hurts,” he slurred.
Squeezing her eyes shut cut off the wet heat building. Lila grasped his and squeezed. “I know.” God, she knew how bad it hurt. The fire ripping through her flesh. The hot gush of blood. God, the agony. Black ringing her vision. A voice echoing through her mind. She couldn’t remember everything, but she knew it had been Cecil, begging her to hold on. Not die.
Meyer coughed more blood. His body convulsed.
“Brent, help is coming.” She dragged his torso into her lap and clung to him. “Just don’t die.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Elizabeth and Rafe ensured the meth lab was locked down after DCI finished and left, then set up cameras to hopefully catch someone coming back here. But Elizabeth doubted anyone would return if their mysterious visitor had passed the word along that the lab was compromised.
“Now what?” Rafe asked as they walked back to their vehicles.
“Have you made any progress on looking into Ma?”
“Little. Neva’s death, getting Joel to agree to let us use the ATVs, and last night have eaten up my time.”
“Get on that. Today.” Elizabeth rubbed her eyes. “I’m going to check on Bentley and make sure Joel hasn’t decided to play house.”
“Then what?”
“Pay a visit to the Wagners.” She turned. “Rafe, I’m calmed down now, but you bringing Joel into this would have been a nice hea
ds-up.”
He grunted. “You were married to the man for how long? He was never going to stay out of it.”
“One day Joel’s going to learn he can’t be lord over all.” She grasped the SUV’s handle. “If I can, I’m going to catch a nap in my office after I talk to the Wagners.”
Rafe’s hand covered hers and stopped her from opening the door. “I don’t think you should drive.”
She faced him. “I can’t leave my vehicle here.”
“You’re in no shape to drive. Let me call Fitzgerald and Lundquist down here to pick it up.”
“Rafe, stop coddling me. It’s not going to look good to the voters if you have to bail me out. Like I can’t stand on my own two feet.”
“Ellie, no one will fault you if you’re exhausted, which you are. It’s been a trying week.”
She scowled. “This is crap Joel would pull on me. I’m not a weak woman in need of rescuing when things get rough.”
“No, but you are human. A human who is sleep deprived, and it will get you killed.”
She slapped the side of her fist against his chest. “Stop it. Now.”
As she went to repeat her beating, he grabbed her wrist and ceased her movements. “Stubbornness got nobody anywhere but hurt.”
“Speak for yourself,” she snapped.
The proximity to his body, his musky scent, and her weakened will was playing hell on her mind. What was it Marnie had told her yesterday? Time to screw Rafe.
What the hell.
Rolling up on the balls of her feet, Elizabeth smashed her lips into his. There was the barest hint of stiffening from him, more of shock than hesitation, and then Rafe returned the kiss with a ferocity Elizabeth craved. He backed her against the SUV and devoured her mouth.
From inside the cab her radio screeched. Elizabeth ignored it. By God, she was finally kissing Rafe and nothing was stopping her now.
Rafe’s radio squawked, and the voice penetrated their heavy panting.
“Officer down!”
Pushing Rafe off her body, Elizabeth ripped his radio from his shoulder. “Georgia?”
“It’s Brent, Ellie. Brent’s been hurt.”
Her legs wobbled, and she started to slide. Rafe’s strong hands caught her and stabilized her.
“Not Brent,” she whispered.
He took the radio. “Georgia, where?”
“An ambulance is on scene. Deputy Dayne is with him. I sent Lundquist to help her.” Georgia’s voice cracked. “Just go to the hospital.”
Rafe grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and dragged her to his Charger. “It’ll be all right.” He opened the door and ushered her inside. “He’ll make it,” he said before closing the door.
Elizabeth stared ahead, her brain playing over every moment she’d had with Brent.
He couldn’t die.
*
The Charger came to a squealing halt outside the hospital entrance. Elizabeth bailed from the car. Rafe left the car parked where it was, lights flashing, and followed her inside.
She’d made it halfway down the hall.
“Ellie!” Olivia rushed from a side hall toward Elizabeth.
“Olivia, what happened?”
Olivia latched on to Elizabeth’s arm and escorted her down the hall. “He was shot. I don’t know any more than that. I’ve got Lila in a room. She’s in shock.”
Elizabeth looked over her shoulder. Rafe was following. Assured he was near, she let Olivia lead her.
“Has anyone told Sophie?”
“Georgia is calling her. No doubt she will be here quickly.”
But would Pratt come as well? His not coming would be better for all involved.
Olivia took Elizabeth to the walk-in clinic and straight to a closed door. Pushing it open, she stepped in. “Lila, the sheriff is here.”
Lila lifted her head. Sucking air at the sight before her, Elizabeth hesitated. Dried blood war-painted her deputy’s face, stained her hands and clothing. Her eyes revealed the shattered woman inside.
“Is she hurt?” Elizabeth asked Olivia.
The doctor shook her head.
Elizabeth gestured for Rafe to remain outside. He nodded and took sentry. Sighing, she moved over to the exam table and sat next to Lila. She laid her hand over Lila’s shaking one, and stayed that way until the shaking stopped.
From her post by the sink, Olivia waited.
“Is he going to live?” Lila’s voice, small and raspy, was like shards of glass to Elizabeth.
She met Olivia’s troubled gaze. The doctor shrugged. When she wasn’t the one in the operating room, how would she know the outcome? Even in the best of circumstances, it was hard to know.
Elizabeth squeezed Lila’s hand. “Brent is a fighter. Dominic is the best surgeon we have.”
Slipping her hand free, Lila tucked it under her arm.
“Lila, what happened?”
Staring at the wall, the deputy remained locked up. Rafe’s warnings trickled through Elizabeth’s mind. Had Lila met her breaking point and this was the outcome? A shell of a police officer?
“I was in the gas station. I had to use the restroom. I was looking for coffee for us, and then I heard the shot.” She faltered but kept her gaze zeroed on the wall. “I ran outside.”
Lila squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head. She sat that way, taking deep breaths. Elizabeth feared she’d go light-headed and pass out. As she reached for Lila, the deputy’s head came up and her eyes flared open.
“It was a white Chevy pickup. It had a huge dent in the tailgate and looked like it should have been in the junkyard. There were two people in the cab. No license plate. Bald tires. Bits of a bumper sticker, red, blue, green. The bumper hung off the backend, like it was ready to drop off.”
Elizabeth gaped at the details rolling from Lila. Suddenly the woman’s head snapped in her direction. The shattered look that had met her entering the room was gone.
“We need a BOLO on that vehicle.”
“I’ll get it out as soon as I walk out of here. What else can you recall?”
Lila went on, everything spilling out in crisp, clinical detail. She spoke as if she were writing her report, detaching from the moment. Elizabeth sensed under Lila’s words, she was trying not to rehash the fear her own attack had left on her soul. Between this incident and her actions at Neva McKinnley’s house, Lila was trying to piece her life and her career back together.
It had been a good decision to add her to the department force.
Elizabeth gripped Lila’s shoulder. “You did good, Deputy Dayne.”
She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have left him alone in the car.”
“We can’t fight the call of nature. By what you’re describing, I don’t think the shooter would have stopped at Brent. Did he say who did it?”
Lila shook her head. “I was too worried about saving him to even ask.” She lifted her hands as if to rub her face, but halted, staring at the dried blood on them. “Why shoot him in the gut?” she whispered.
A knock on the door kept Elizabeth from answering.
Rafe poked his head in. “Lundquist is here.”
“Good. Rafe, we need a BOLO on a white Chevy pickup with a big dent in the tailgate, no plates, two armed suspects.”
“On it,” he said and disappeared.
Lundquist stepped into the doorway and entered when Elizabeth beckoned him forward. He too had streaks of blood on his uniform. “Sheriff, I’ve got the area around the shooting taped off and the car is on a wrecker headed for the department. DCI and the PD investigator are on the scene. I left Fitzgerald to stand watch.”
“Did you get a coffee cup that came out of the car?” Lila asked, her voice firm.
“I did, left it with the DCI team. I’m doubtful there will be any prints aside from Meyer’s, but we might get lucky.”
Lila stood suddenly. “I want to go over that car.”
“Whoa.” Elizabeth came up. “Deputy, you’ve had a shock. You need to take some time.”
“No. Don’t make me sit this one out. I owe that much to Brent.”
“I know that, and I respect it. But I really must insist.”
“Sheriff, if I don’t get back out there, that gives Brent’s shooter more of a chance to disappear. I’m done running.”
Her statement had more meaning than the other two would ever realize.
A smart sheriff would bench her deputy. Would tell her to rest and look at this with fresh eyes. But Elizabeth’s intuition warned if she did that, she’d have a rogue deputy on her hands, and that was not good.
“At least go home, clean up, and put on a fresh uniform. Lundquist will take you there and then to the department.”
“Thank you, Ellie,” Lila whispered.
“Go.”
The two left.
Olivia shook her head. “I hope you don’t come to regret that.”
“I have a lot of regrets in my life, but listening to my gut has never steered me wrong.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
There was blood on the driver’s side, but not as much as Lila expected. Blood droplets from Brent’s cough dotted the interior, but most of that had hit her in the face.
She swept her flashlight over the cab, scanning the passenger side. Looking for what? She didn’t have a clue. The surgeon had been given word that the bullet had not exited Brent’s body. Once they had the piece of shrapnel, they’d have a better idea of what type of gun was used.
Lila eased out of the squad car and straightened. She’d heard that shot. It was a crack. Loud enough to break the sound barrier. Small gun. Small caliber? A pistol.
“What?”
Lundquist’s question jolted her. She drew in a breath and shrugged. Backing from the open door, she closed it.
“Did you remember something?” he asked.
“Not really. Mulling over what I know.” She angled her body and lifted her gun arm. “I don’t think the shooter was inside the cab of the truck when they pulled the trigger.”
“Outside? Standing next to Brent?”
“Why else would he have the window down? And he had a cup of coffee. I dumped all the trash from our quick breakfast when I went into the gas station.”
The Killer in Me Page 21
