by Becky Flade
“Ask me yourself.”
Henley and Aidan jumped to their feet. Chair legs screeched against the plank floorboards; Aidan’s toppled. Henley screamed. Her cup crashed to the ground and shattered. A young man stood in the doorway with a gun trained on Henley.
“Hello, Mother.”
• • •
Carter’s cell phone rang again. He was stuck on the phone at Henley’s desk with a complaining citizen, and his cell was across the room in his drawer. It had been going off for several minutes, and Doug hadn’t understood Carter’s signal to answer it.
“Look, Mrs. Henderson. I’m sorry Mr. Bickle’s dog peed on your rosebushes, but there isn’t anything I can do about that. I’ve got to go.” He hung up.
“Man, I can’t believe you did that. I bet she’s furious.” Doug stared at him in slack-jawed awe as Carter crossed to his desk.
“She’ll get over it. The dog pees on Bickle’s side of the fence. Some urine gets through the slats and splashes her precious rosebushes. I swear she must get down on her knees and sniff those damn flowers.” He ripped the drawer open and snatched up his cell. It was Jeff.
“Maybe she set up a security camera.” Carter ignored Doug’s suggestion as he swiped his finger across the phone’s screen.
“What have you got?” Carter demanded.
“Serious fucking trouble.” The connection was awful, and there was an overlap of voices in the background. Or was that buzzing in his ears he heard?
Chills raced up Carter’s spine. He checked his gun. Full magazine. He rummaged in the open drawer for the key to the gun cabinet.
“That boy? The one you wanted me to look into? He’s wanted for murder. Jonah Becker took a baseball bat to his sleeping father. He spent three days living in the house with the corpse. People saw him going in and out; he talked to the neighbors, said his dad had the flu. When no one had seen Jonah for a day or two, the lady next door took over soup. She found the body. There’s been a warrant on Becker since. He’s been on the run almost as long as your lady. I’m sending a picture of Becker to your phone now.”
“Thanks, Jeff. I owe you.”
“Consider us square. Carter? You should know, Dr. Lyons said Becker’s obsession with Elliott is oedipal.”
The call disconnected. Carter beat himself in the forehead with the phone. Ignoring Doug’s blatant curiosity, he dialed Henley’s number. She didn’t answer. He tried his house line. No answer. While redialing Henley’s cell, he walked to the door and stepped out, perusing the cars parked in the lot. There were only three vehicles, and that didn’t include her Grand Prix. Her voicemail picked up: “You’ve reached Henley. Please leave a message.”
He checked the time. Past eleven. They were having lunch at one. She wouldn’t be at the diner yet. He left a quick message asking Henley to call him immediately. And tried his number again.
“Doug, run down to the general and see if Henley’s car is parked out front.”
“What’s going on, Sheriff?”
“We have a solid lead in our arson case, but he’s a fugitive wanted for murder in Cleveland.”
“Wow. This is just like on Cops.”
“Did you seriously say that, Deputy?”
“Sorry, that was inappropriate. Henley’s not answering?”
“No, she’s not. And the reason for that could be as simple as she is in the shower or outside with the dog. Or driving. Regardless, she needs to know what we do. And I’ve got a bad feeling.”
Doug nodded. His stride to the door held more swagger than usual. Later, Carter promised himself, over lunch, he’d tell Henley about the young deputy’s poorly timed enthusiasm, and they’d laugh. But right now he wanted to kick the young man in the ass and make him hurry.
“Why does she need to know?” Doug asked.
“He’s a former patient.”
Carter dialed another number, and it was picked up on the first ring.
“He’s there to apologize and talk things through. Don’t start,” Maggie lit into him without saying hello.
“Explain.”
“Aidan went to say he was sorry to Henley. And to talk about the tragedy. He’s at the lake house with her now. If you were there, with the two of you throwing your bravados at one another and possibly punches, things could get worse.”
“I have every right to be angry at him, Maggie. He hurt her and not just her feelings—he left marks on her.” Every time Carter thought of the fingertip bruises on her skin, he wanted to strangle the man he called brother.
“I’m not trying to tell you not to be mad, dammit. The two of you have to work that out between you. But he needs to work this out with Henley sans interference from you. Or me.” She added, after a slight pause, her voice sad, “She doesn’t have anything to fear from him, Carter.”
“I’m sorry, but I think that’s debatable right now. And he’s not the reason I called.” He gave her the same explanation he’d handed Doug. “When did you last talk to Aidan?”
“He texted me about a half hour, maybe forty-five minutes ago saying he was at your place with Henley and they were having coffee.”
“Call him.”
“Carter . . . ”
“Call him. Tell him what I told you and to stay with her until I get there.”
“You think it’s dangerous.”
“I don’t know what to think.” Doug returned, and shook his head when Carter caught his eye. “Call or text when you connect with Aidan.”
He disconnected while she replied. He didn’t have the patience to sit through whatever it was Maggie thought she needed to say. He could be overreacting, he knew that, but something didn’t feel right. If Henley and Aidan were sitting over a cup of coffee making amends, why wasn’t anyone answering his calls? No, something was wrong.
“Doug, call Billy and Steve. Don’t panic them; just get them in here. They’re going to cover the station while you and I go check things out at my house.” Carter crossed to the gun cabinet and unlocked it for the first time since he’d taken the job. He listened with half an ear to Doug’s quiet, authoritative voice requesting the two part-time deputies come into the office. Doug would make a fine lawman eventually.
Carter’s cell phone rang, and he pounced on it. “Hello.”
“He’s not answering. Your landline keeps ringing, and both their cells went straight to voicemail. What should I do?”
“Stay where you are, Maggie. Keep Tala indoors with you. Keep yourself calm. Stay near the phone.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going over there.” He disconnected. He tossed his cell to Doug, stuffed a radio in his belt, and strode out the door, shotgun in hand.
• • •
“Jonah? What are you doing here?” Henley’s body shook with fear as her mind struggled to make sense of the scene unfolding in Carter’s kitchen. How could she have been so wrong? She’d managed to calm Dublin, and the dog growled in muted tones while Jonah held the gun on Aidan. She used the respite to assess the man holding them hostage. The grief-stricken seventeen-year-old boy she’d treated bore only a physical resemblance to the man threatening her. None of the innocence she had wanted to heal remained. The gun was testament to that. His arm didn’t waver as he aimed it at her.
“A son should cleave to his mother.”
“I’m not your mother, Jonah,” she corrected. “Your mother was Elizabeth Becker. A pediatric trauma nurse at Hillcrest Hospital who died of cancer six year ago, remember?”
“That was not my mother!” he shouted. She could sense Aidan’s movement as he inched closer to Jonah. Jonah swung the gun toward Aidan. “Don’t.”
“Hey,” she called. “Hey. There’s no need for the gun. We can sit and talk. I’ll get another mug.”
“You’re a liar.”
“I’m not lying. Elizabeth and Marcus Becker are your parents. Come on, now, put the gun away and let’s talk.”
“They weren’t my biological parents. You know that
. Stop saying they were.”
“You’re right. Elizabeth didn’t carry you, and Marcus didn’t sire you. But they are your parents in every way that matters, Jonah. She loved you, and he does. How long have you been in Trappers’ Cove? Did you slash my tires, burn down the cabin? Why would you do those things?”
“I had to, don’t you see?” He stepped toward her, and she caught the shift in Aidan’s stance. “You’ve never stopped for more than a few days at a time. I couldn’t have you settling down here. Not with that sheriff. The police are after us, Mother,” he whispered. He took another step toward her, and Aidan shifted his weight.
“Oh, no. What have you done?” Henley’s cell phone bleated. She didn’t need to see the screen to know it was Carter. The cordless phone on the kitchen wall rang. Jonah backed up, pulling Aidan back into his range of view. The phones made him nervous.
“You.” He pointed to Aidan with the gun. “Take the battery out of her phone. And yours. I will shoot her if you try anything funny.”
Aidan did as he was told, but he was clearly unhappy about it. He threw the two batteries on the ground at Jonah’s feet. With the barrel of the gun, Jonah directed Aidan where to stand. It was clear he didn’t want them close enough to touch or talk in whispers. Then Jonah backpedaled to the phone on the wall, the only other phone in the house, and pulled out the cord while keeping them in plain view.
“That’s better. It won’t be noisy now.”
“You realize that was the sheriff on the phone, and now he’s going to check on her, in person?” Aidan offered. “You should leave now, son.”
“Don’t call me son!” Jonah screamed, his face bright red and his body shaking.
Dublin’s low growls of warning heightened to aggressive barking. The hairs on the dog’s nape stood up, and he bared his teeth at the threat. Dublin would attack. The precious dog would never let Jonah take or hurt her. He had become an extension of Carter.
“Make him stop or I will.” Spittle flew from the corner of Jonah’s mouth as his eyes raced between her, Aidan, and Dublin. He’s realized he’s outnumbered. This is going to escalate.
“Put away the gun and talk to me; he’ll relax. He’s trying to protect me.” She wrapped her fingers in the dog’s ruff. She couldn’t take her eyes off Jonah now. Not for a second.
“No. No. No. Your friend was right; the sheriff is on his way. You and I are leaving.” He charged her. Dublin leapt from her grasp, his jaws spread wide. The gun discharged. The noise was deafening, masking her scream. Her ears rang, and her nose burned from the acrid smoke of gunpowder. Henley threw herself over Dublin’s prone body. Warm blood soaked through her thin summer shirt. The dog’s whimpers reassured her that he was hurt but alive.
She heard rustling above her, grunts, a swish as the air in the room shifted. A second gunshot wrenched a sob from her chest. Her eyes closed instinctively. She ordered herself to look. When she did, she watched, in horror, as Aidan fell to the floor.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Carter decelerated and put the Jeep in neutral, letting it coast to a stop near Aidan’s truck. Henley’s Grand Prix sat where she had parked Saturday morning. Coverage had just arrived at the office, so Doug would be here in about ten minutes. Carter should have waited, but he wasn’t. He grabbed the shotgun, checked that it was loaded. Checked that he had extra rounds. He double-checked his Ruger and the spare magazine. He slid from the driver’s seat and approached the house. Ten feet from the front step, he could clearly see the front door was ajar.
He had to fight the urge to run. My woman’s in there. He leaned against the building and took a deep, calming breath. Can’t be her man right now. I’ll get her killed. I have to be a cop. Please let her be in there drinking coffee with Aidan, he prayed, and locked away his fear. When he breached the door, cold calculation drove him. The living room was clear. He heard a moan. He followed the sound.
Swinging his dominant arm through the archway Ruger-first, Carter slid into the kitchen. He checked right, left, and the perimeter of the room. Two chairs were overturned. Burning coffee assailed his nose. Two cell phone batteries lay in a puddle of blood. Aidan lay bleeding on the floor, at least one gunshot wound in the thigh, his arms secured behind him with what looked from this angle like a zip tie. Dublin sprawled about six feet away. From initial assessment, the dog was in a more serious condition.
“Aidan.” Carter lowered the nose of the pistol to face the floor and approached his friend, going to his knee beside him. “What happened? Where’s Henley?”
“He took her. Son of a bitch, he took her. I’m sorry, I tried to stop him.”
Carter used the utility knife he carried, the one Justin had given him on the day they’d graduated the police academy, to free Aidan’s hands. Aidan had lost a fair amount of blood, and there wasn’t an exit wound in his leg, but Carter thought he’d be okay as long as he could slow the bleeding. There wasn’t time for a tourniquet. Carter rolled him. He grabbed a chair and pulled it close.
Aidan grimaced when Carter lifted the wounded leg and rested it across the seat of the chair. He took an audible breath and looked Carter in the eye. “I think Dublin is dying, man.”
“Give me a second.” Carter grabbed his radio and called out instructions to Doug. He switched to the office transponder’s channel and gave orders to the two deputies there. “Okay, they’re sending for Dr. Tucker and the closest vet. Is she hurt?”
“She wasn’t when he took her. But her hands are restrained like mine were.”
Carter absorbed the information, filed it away. “Which way did they go?”
“Out the back door.”
Carter reached for his back pocket. He wanted to show Aidan the picture of Becker. His pocket was empty. “Shit, shit. I left my phone at the office, trying to convince myself I was overreacting. I have a picture of the guy on my phone.”
“His name is Jonah. Henley called him Jonah.” Aidan grabbed his hand. “He called her Mother. Is he Jacob Ashlock’s son?”
“I don’t know. That’s not important right now.”
“It’ll be important to her if you kill her son, whether you do it to save her life or not. You prepared to lose her forever to keep her alive?”
Hell yes he was. Losing her because she walked away would slice him into pieces, but that would be nothing compared to what finding her dead body would do to him. Resolutely, he met Aidan’s eye. “Yeah, if I have to, I can do that.”
“I’m coming with you. I’ll kill him; she can hate me. Fuck poetic justice—it’ll be a goddamn tragic sonnet.”
“You’re loopy, man. You’ve lost too much blood. You’ll slow me down and get us all killed. Help is on the way for you.” He wrapped his hand around the back of Aidan’s. “I don’t want Dublin dying alone on the floor. Stay with him.”
“He tried to save her.” The man turned his face away to hide his tears. Carter would hold his grief until he had his woman back. He had almost lost Henley because he hadn’t reached the Jeep in time; then he’d sat consoling Tala. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again. As much as it pained him to leave the dog behind—the dog that had saved him—he had to find Henley. If he lost them both . . .
Carter bent over Dublin, ran his hand over the familiar fur, and whispered goodbye.
Then he retrieved his gun. Aidan’s bleeding had slowed to a trickle. Carter nodded, satisfied, and then stood. He hadn’t passed anyone on the road. That meant Becker was towing a bound prisoner on foot. “Aidan? Did you hear an engine turn over, like a boat engine?”
“No boat, no car. They left on foot. Foot! She’s barefoot. Cut herself on a broken mug.”
“Thanks, man, that’s helpful.”
“Be careful, Carter.”
He didn’t answer and slipped out the back door. A partial bloody footprint stained the walk outside his door only inches from where he stood. He put his fingers to it. It was still sticky, but it wasn’t wet. She had passed this way and not long ago. He stood and wa
ited for a shot or a shout. He heard neither. She wasn’t within sight of the house. Or she was dead.
No, she’s not dead. I’d know if she were. Shut it down. No time for fear.
He scanned from left to right. Aidan would’ve heard a boat start up; the dock was too close for him to have missed it. Not enough time had passed for a strong oarsman to row a boat beyond the available horizon. It was left toward the marsh or right toward town. With his gun braced and his eyes roaming, Carter turned left.
• • •
“Stop crying.” Jonah yanked her arm. Henley stumbled and fell. “I mean it. Stop crying.” He pulled her to a standing position with the arm he’d been using to drag her. She felt a pop in her shoulder. The pain scalded. She screamed.
“Shut up. Shut up.” He pulled on her injured arm. The edges of her vision grayed. She shook it off, gritted her teeth, and struggled to stand. She couldn’t fall again. She wouldn’t. But she could not help the tears that streamed down her face. It was her sorrow, her grief, her guilt, her pain, combined with every torment she absorbed from Jonah’s fractured ID and tormented ego. He had not removed his hand from her skin since pulling her from Carter’s.
“I am sorry about the dog, but I had to do it. He would’ve bitten me. You can understand that. You’re logical. And the guy . . . well, he used that poor dog’s fate as a distraction and tried to take the gun away. That’s his fault. You see,” he continued, a pleading whine tainting his words, “Mother, you can’t be mad at me.”
“I don’t care how you rationalize what you’ve done. And I’m not your mother.” Her patience waned. No matter what his intentions, this wasn’t going to end well. She refused to play into his delusions. Henley felt his fragile grip on reality. Unrestrained violence flowed through him. He reminded her so much of Jacob. She hadn’t been able to help Jacob. The only way she’d survive was to lead Jonah back to the truth. It was the only way to salvage what was left of him. She silently prayed it wasn’t too late. For them both.
