by Rebecca Deel
Comprehension flashed in his eyes. “Madison.” He tightened his grip. “That’s not Nick.”
She froze, unable to move, afraid if she breathed, her hope and heart would shatter. “It isn’t?” she whispered. “Then who?”
“Bates.”
A weird mixture of shock and relief rolled over her like a tidal wave. Bates was dead. No more notes, no more fried roses, no more cell phone handcuffed to her wrist. She blinked. If Bates lay on the path, then where was Nick? She fought to keep breakfast from decorating Ethan’s shoes. “Where’s Nick?” she whispered.
“At the hospital.”
“Hospital? What happened?”
“Head wound,” he said. Ignoring her gasp, Ethan turned her around and nudged her toward the hovering policeman. “Hernandez, take Ms. Ryder to the hospital, then report back to me.”
At his icy tone, Madison glanced sidelong at her sister’s future husband and shuddered. Would Hernandez still be in uniform at day’s end?
“Give me your keys. An officer will bring your car later.”
She shook her head. She could drive herself now that she knew Nick didn’t leave the trail in a body bag. She’d make it out of Ethan’s sight before her legs collapsed. Hernandez would remain silent. She’d bribe or blackmail him.
He raised an eyebrow and held out his hand.
She rolled her eyes. Men. She dug the keys from her pocket and slapped them into his hand, pretending not to notice the trembling which jingled her keys. She hated admitting he was right. If she drove as fast as her pulse pounded in her throat, she’d give Tony Stewart serious competition for the checkered flag.
After Hernandez and Madison left, Ethan turned back to the crime scene and body. No defensive wounds. Once the coroner arrived, an ambulance would transport the body to Knoxville. Otter Creek’s budget didn’t allow for a medical examiner.
“Ethan, over here,” Rod called from the bushes. His red hair gleamed in the bright sunlight. “A .40 caliber casing.” He rose.
“Process the casing and weapon; see what pops.”
Rod nodded. Rustling noises from deeper in the trees and brush broke the silence. The noises grew louder as someone or something drew closer.
Almost as one, Ethan and Rod drew their weapons, fanned out, and faced the oncoming intruder in a ready stance.
A caramel-colored shaggy head burst through the bushes, eyes like a doe, surrounded by long, curly eyelashes. The elongated neck preceded a large one-hump body carried on long thin legs with powerful muscles and large, saucer feet.
Both men relaxed, secured their weapons. Rod said, “I don’t believe it.”
Ethan stared as the one-humped camel cruised into the clearing. “Why is a camel stomping through my crime scene?” He approached the large brown-haired creature, hands on his hips.
“Don’t get too close. She might bite or spit.”
“She?” Ethan frowned over his shoulder.
The camel lumbered past Ethan to Rod and nuzzled his head. “Ow!” Rod pushed the camel’s face away from his ear. “Hey, knock it off, Bonnie.”
“Acquainted with this camel?”
Rod sighed and gave an ineffective push at the amorous beast’s head. “Belongs to Lawrence. Bought two, Bonnie and Clyde. I met Bonnie Tuesday night when she escaped from the cow pasture and wandered by Bates’ car.”
“Farmers don’t use camels. Why did he buy them?”
“The tough old bird has a weak spot.” Rod chuckled and rubbed Bonnie’s soft nose and small hairy ears. “Name’s Isabella. When she turned four, Bella became obsessed with camels, begged her grandfather to buy her a couple.”
“Why buy two?”
“So they wouldn’t be lonely, of course,” Rod said with a shrug, as if that bit of logic explained it all.
Of course. Ethan rubbed the back of his neck. He shouldn’t have asked. “Rod, get Bonnie out of our crime scene.”
Rod stared at him, a blank expression on his face. “How?”
“You’re the camel expert. Try walking out of here and calling to her. She follows you around like a lovesick puppy.”
He scowled. “Why can’t you lead her away?”
“She’s not sweet on me.” Ethan grinned.
Bonnie swung her head around and studied him, then turned and ruffled Rod’s hair with her breath. Rod muttered under his breath about hazard camel pay, but coaxed Bonnie from the clearing with one last mutinous glance over his shoulder.
Nick looked down as the nurse slipped the blood pressure cuff over his arm and wished he hadn’t. He felt as if Godzilla had used his head for soccer practice. He gritted his teeth and squelched the moan hovering in his throat as the nurse checked his blood pressure and pulse. He knew they were both strong because every heartbeat throbbed at the top of his head.
She unwrapped the cuff. “Looks good.” She gathered her equipment, her uniform crackling. He sat in the emergency room, legs dangling from the bed. Just thinking about laying down hurt.
A commotion out in the hall caught his attention. In slow motion, he turned his head toward the door. A sudden movement would end with him face down on the floor. The door opened and Madison burst into the room, her face pale, eyes wild with fear.
“Nick!” She lunged into his open arms.
He wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace, surprised to feel her shaking. “Hey, I’m all right,” he whispered. She tightened her grasp, as if afraid to let go.
Not that he minded. Nice to know he meant more to her than she volunteered last night. He hadn’t seen Madison this upset since the night Luke and the baby died. “Baby, I’m fine.” She buried her head tighter against him.
The nurse slipped out of the room as Madison eased her chokehold. She mumbled something against his neck. Nick tilted his head. “What?”
She took a deep, shuddering breath and said, “I saw the body. I thought it was you.”
Body? He stared at her tear-streaked face, stunned. She’d seen a body? That explained the panic-stricken behavior. “What are you talking about? Whose body?” Nick pulled back, grimaced as another wave of pain shot through his head.
“Bates is dead.”
Shock reverberated through him. He remembered Bates coming at him, then nothing. Someone or something had hit him on the back of the head. He had stitches to prove it. So what happened after he blacked out? Uneasiness twisted in his gut. And where was his gun? As soon as he regained consciousness, he had checked his holster and questioned the doctor stitching him up. The doc had shrugged and resumed his work.
A curl of ice formed in Nick’s stomach. Dreading the answer, he asked, “What happened to him?”
“Somebody shot him.”
Nick closed his eyes. Oh, yeah. This was bad. A checkered history with the victim, being seen with him right before he was killed, and a missing weapon all added up to a slam-dunk case.
Rod glared at the animal rumpling his hair with her nose. Unaffected by his frustration, Bonnie shifted her attention and nibbled on his ear. “When did Lawrence say he’d come?”
“Any time now.” Ethan glanced up from his sketch of the crime scene with a grin.
“Glad you think this is amusing,” Rod said, rubbing the side of his head. “If Bonnie keeps this up, I won’t have any hair to nuzzle. She already pulled out a fistful.”
“I guess there’s no accounting for camel taste.”
Rod frowned. He looked past the police chief and noted the red pickup turning into the parking lot. “That’s Lawrence.”
The truck stopped beside their vehicles and Lawrence slid out of his truck, clad in denim overalls and a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that.” His face flushed a deep red. “Bonnie learned how to open the gate.”
Ethan shook the farmer’s hand. “No trailer? How will you get her back home?”
“She don’t like trailers, and Bonnie can be real stubborn about doing something she don’t like.” He smiled, the skin under his eyes sporting crosshatch lines. “A lot l
ike her mistress, Isabella. I’ll tie Bonnie to the back of the truck and drive home slow. If that don’t work, I brought her favorite treat. I’ll walk home with her and send a couple of the hands back to get my truck.”
“What does she eat?” Rod asked.
“Oh, most crunchy things. Vegetables, fruit, bushes, grass, some tree leaves.” He patted the camel. “Favorite treat’s potato chips.” He tied Bonnie to the back bumper of his truck and set off with a wave out the window at the two policemen. The camel lumbered from the parking lot, tail twitching.
Rod shook his head. “Guess we’ll keep potato chips as standard cruiser equipment until Bonnie stays in the pasture.”
Ethan flipped open his ringing cell phone. “Blackhawk.”
Rod finished storing his gear. Sounded like the ballistics expert. When Ethan ended the call, he shut the hatchback of his SUV with a thud. “What’s the word?”
“Ballistics report on the sniper rifle confirms it’s the same weapon used to shoot Nick.” He opened the driver’s side door. “I’m going to the hospital.”
“No, Mom. You don’t need to come. I’ll call if he’s admitted.” Madison pressed the phone closer to her ear. Between the television and low-level murmuring from other people in the waiting room, she missed some of her mother’s words. “Yes, ma’am. I will.” As she ended the call, the glass double-doors swung open and Ethan crossed the room toward her.
“How are you holding up?”
Her lips curved. “I’m fine.”
“And Nick?”
“Doctor’s with him now. He has a concussion and needed stitches. Nick doesn’t want to stay overnight for observation.”
Ethan dropped a set of keys in her hand. “Jackson likes your Jeep.”
She laughed, glad to have something normal to concentrate on, something not tied so deep into her emotions. It still rankled that she fell apart as soon as she saw Nick. “Have you told Serena about the Jeep yet?”
He chuckled. “She’s already wondering how much cooking equipment and groceries she can fit in it.”
“Madison.”
She turned and smiled into the warm hazel eyes of John Anderson. “What’s the verdict, Doc?” His hair gleamed so white, some of the older women around town begged him to tell which hair color he used.
“Mr. Santana’s stubborn, but he’s being taken to a room as we speak. He can go home tomorrow morning if nothing changes during the night.” He grinned at Ethan. “By the way, how’s your aunt? Made herself scarce since the cast came off her leg.”
“Working hard on her next novel. I won’t see her much until she turns in the final manuscript in a few weeks.” Ethan massaged the back of his neck. “Doc, I need to ask Nick a few questions. Think he’s up to it?”
Anderson laughed. “I’d recommend a full suit of body armor. He’s in a lousy mood. We also gave him some pain meds for the headache. Might make him drowsy.” Anderson turned his head, listened to a page over the hospital intercom. “Got to run,” he said and hurried away with a wave.
Madison learned Nick’s room number from the nurse station, rode the elevator to the third floor, and knocked on the door. The ill-tempered growl brought a smile to her lips. She peeked around the door frame. “Is it safe to beard the lion in his den?”
“Ha, ha.” Nick frowned at her, a hand pressed to the top of his head. “Leave the door open. Feels like a nuclear bomb’s exploding in my head when I raise my voice.”
She walked to the foot of his bed and studied his pale face. His headache must be intense. “Ethan wants to talk to you.”
Nick gave a careful nod. He lowered his hand to the sheet which covered the lower half of his body, and tugged it higher over his blue-and-white hospital garb. Madison pushed the door open wider and waved the police chief inside. “Need anything before I go out in the hall, Nick?”
“Stay,” he said, his gaze fixed on Ethan’s somber face.
She sat in the chair closest to Nick’s bedside. What was going on? Tension thick enough to choke John Wayne’s horse filled the room.
Ethan settled his large frame into a chair at the foot of Nick’s bed. “Glad your injuries aren’t serious.” He folded his hands across his stomach. “What happened at the trail, Nick?” Though he appeared relaxed, Madison knew Ethan wouldn’t miss anything.
“Bates called, asked for a meeting. He denied responsibility for the things happening to Madison. He saw someone behind me and clammed up. Next thing I remember is waking up in the ER.”
“You didn’t see who hit you?”
“No.” He stared at the police chief’s solemn face. “Where’s my gun?” His voice was soft.
His gun was missing? Madison bit her lip, afraid to show much reaction. She didn’t want to give Ethan an excuse to toss her out.
“We confiscated your weapon.” Ethan’s dark eyes glittered. “Fired it recently?”
“No.”
“A round’s missing from your clip.”
Horror shot through her. In a whirlpool of insight, she understood why Nick acted edgy in the ER. He suspected how this might play out. Nick murdered Bates? Ludicrous.
“I didn’t shoot him,” he said, his face a blank mask. “I didn’t have proof, just suspicions, circumstantial evidence. If Madison’s life was at stake, I would have pulled the trigger, but I’d be man enough to tell you.”
“Then you won’t mind if we do a GSR test.”
“Knock yourself out.”
Gunshot residue. Madison sat up straighter. The GSR test would show if Nick fired a gun in the last few hours. That would clear him.
“Did Bates mention the sniper rifle?”
“Denied knowledge of how it got in his trunk.”
“You believed him?”
“Not about the rifle.” Nick moved one shoulder. “Seemed truthful about the rest of it, though.”
“Got the report back from the TBI on that rifle. It’s the same weapon, Nick. Did Bates admit trying to kill you with it?”
Madison clapped her hand to her mouth. Oh, man. This did not look good. Should Nick answer all these questions without a lawyer?
“I accused him of it, made him angry. That’s when he started to come after me and someone struck me from behind.”
Ethan watched them both in silence, then said, “Who is John Castigian?”
Nick blinked. “I don’t . . .” His eyes lit. “I arrested him for first degree murder a few months before Luke died.”
“You and Luke worked the case together?”
Nick shook his head, winced. “He was on vacation in Las Vegas with Madison.” He frowned. “Cut-and-dried case. Wrapped up the investigation in three days. Why?”
“Sniper rifle belongs to him.”
Nick rubbed his jaw with an unsteady hand. He scrambled to grasp all the wispy threads from the information overload, but the pain meds destroyed his concentration and marched him toward sleep. He had never stumbled across Castigian’s name while investigating Luke’s death.
“We’ve got a problem, Nick,” Ethan said, his words clipped.
“Yeah, I know.” He closed his eyes, fought the drowsiness washing over him. “Means, motive, opportunity.” Nick forced his eyelids up. “Will I leave the hospital in cuffs?”
“Will I need them?”
Nick shook his head and slid his hand, palm up, toward Madison. Her hand gripped his with surprising strength. “Need a favor, Ethan.” His words slurred.
“Name it.”
He surrendered and closed his heavy eyelids. “Keep Madison safe.”
“I don’t understand why he’s still worried about me.” Madison glanced over her shoulder at her sleeping friend. She and Ethan stood at the window of Nick’s hospital room and watched Otter Creek’s equivalent of the lunch rush. “Bates is dead. I’m not in danger anymore.” When Ethan didn’t respond, she edged closer. “Right?”
“Maybe.”
“He can’t hurt me now.”
Ethan turned from the window. “Bat
es can’t,” he said. “If he was the stalker, then you’re safe.”
Madison’s jaw tightened. “You think it was someone else?”
“Things don’t add up.”
Anger flared deep inside her. “Well, I know it’s not Nick.”
“Do you?”
A soft knock on the door forestalled the response which sprang to her lips. Rod Kelter carried a black case into the room.
He inclined his head in Nick’s direction. “Need to do the GSR test.”
Ethan nodded.
Still fuming, Madison folded her arms across her chest and turned her back on them. Nick wasn’t her stalker. The idea belonged on the Twilight Zone. When the dead flowers and notes appeared a couple of years ago, Nick and other cops on C detail rotated watching the house each night.
Even if Nick sent the first three dead roses this time, he couldn’t have delivered the roses the night of the fire. He’d been with her all day Wednesday.
She swung around to point that out to Ethan when she noticed Rod hold up a cotton swab and spray it with liquid. The detective swiped Nick’s hands. “When will we know?” she said.
“A few days.” Rod labeled the glass tubes and stored the sample in his case.
“If the results come back negative, it will prove he didn’t do it.” Madison smiled.
“Not if he washed his hands,” Ethan said in a soft voice.
Her smile melted away. “He couldn’t stand without help.” When Ethan remained silent, Madison frowned and flopped into a chair beside Nick.
“Where’s Josh?” Ethan asked.
She glared at him. “I left him sleeping at Mom’s. He’s Nick’s guard? Afraid he’ll bolt in the middle of the night?”
Rod’s eyebrows shot up at her outburst. “See you at the station, Ethan.” He grabbed his case and walked out.
Madison’s cheeks burned. How could Ethan treat him like a criminal, a flight risk? Nick was injured. She also knew his character. His word meant something, and he promised Ethan wouldn’t need handcuffs. Running would be alien to him. He never backed down from a fight if the cause was just. With the evidence stacked against him, Nick’s freedom dangled on a gossamer thread.
