But it wasn’t coming from Xander. It was Fletcher.
He was staring down at his chest, his mouth open in shock. He was on his back, Thor on top of him, teeth still latched onto Fletcher’s sleeve.
Xander called Thor, but he didn’t move.
Sam scrambled over to Fletcher. The bullet had entered his neck and exited out the back, but nicked the carotid artery. Blood seeped from the wound at an alarming rate, staining the leaves and dirt with blood.
Xander grabbed Fletcher’s radio and starting screaming, “Officer down, Officer down,” while Sam put pressure on the wound.
She thought Thor was shot, he was so limp and heavy, but she realized Fletcher had the dog locked in his arm. She moved his hand. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You can let him go now. You’re going to be fine. Fletch, stay with me, come on, that’s good, stay with me.”
He relaxed his grip on the dog, and Thor stumbled to his feet. His snout had a graze, a small channel of red. Sam realized the trajectory of the bullet, coming down from the trees, would have been a head shot for Fletcher if Thor hadn’t knocked him down.
“Braver Hund!” she said, touching his snout. “You’re going to be fine. Now let me work.” Thor trotted to Xander while Sam assessed the full extent of Fletcher’s injury.
“Shit.”
Xander leaned over her. “What do you need, what do you need?”
“An operating room,” she said. “Sutures, and a thrombin bandage to help stop the bleeding. It’s just a nick, but it needs to be sutured immediately.”
Fletcher was groaning. She touched him on the shoulder and smiled down at him. “Come on, Fletch, ’tis but a flesh wound. You’re going to be fine.”
But her eyes didn’t look as calm as her voice sounded, and his were rolling in pain. He tried to talk, but she shook her head. “Shh. It’s okay. I’m going to fix you right up. Might hurt a bit. Be ready.”
Xander handed her the emergency medic kit he always carried. She ripped it open with her teeth, pulled out what she needed. She swiped Betadine over Fletcher’s neck, then used a scalpel to open the wound in his neck so she could ligate the hole in the artery. Fletcher grunted, and tried to roll away from the pain. “Hold him down,” she shouted at Xander, who moved to the other side of Fletcher’s head and put his knees on Fletcher’s opposite shoulder.
There were people coming toward them, shouting, and she heard the rotors of the Little Bird drawing closer, but she ignored it all and swept the thin sutures through and in and out until the blood stopped pulsing from his neck. She tied it off, slapped the thrombin field dressing on.
Fletcher had gone limp beneath her hands. She freaked for a moment, felt for his pulse, realized he’d conveniently passed out. She didn’t blame him. She felt a bit like passing out herself.
One of the medics knelt beside her, grilled her about what she’d done, said, “Well done,” when he heard. They trundled Fletcher onto a portable stretcher and carried him off to the helicopter, which took off into the air so fast it made her dizzy. Leaves and dirt and branches rained all over them, then settled as the helicopter rose farther into the sky.
Sam sat down hard, legs crossed in front of her. She wiped her hands on her jeans. Xander dropped in the dirt beside her. They were both breathing hard. Thor cuddled between them, licked Xander on the nose.
She buried her hands in his thick fur and laid her head on his flank.
“Braver Hund,” she whispered. “Braver Hund.”
And the shadows grew close, and rain began to fall.
MONDAY
“In faith there is enough light for those who want to believe and enough shadows to blind those who don’t.”
—Blaise Pascal
“Faith in the Mother is the only true path. Those who do not believe will not be chosen to move on, will not see my love in heaven.”
—Curtis Lott
Chapter
60
Fairfax County Hospital
LAST MONTH, IT had been Fletcher visiting Xander in the hospital. Now the tables were turned, and Sam and Xander waited outside Fletcher’s room. She heard him arguing with the doctor, and it made her heart leap with happiness.
Xander saw her smile, squeezed her hand with his left. His other arm was in a right-angled splint cast that went over his elbow. He’d ended up not needing the plate and screws she expected. Even Thor had gotten a few stitches. He was at the vet, relaxing after a quick knockout to sew his snout back up.
Everyone around her was so battered and bruised, it didn’t seem fair that she was unscathed.
The media were having an absolute field day, though they were being supportive of the FBI’s actions because Rachel Stevens had been found alive, unharmed, along with five other women of varying ages who had gone missing over the years. Every television station was running footage of the scene in front of the Stevens home, where Rachel had been restored to her parents. The national media were scrambling to get reporters in all the cities to speak to the parents of the girls who’d gone missing over the years.
The faces of those missing girls were being kept from the public while their families were told in private of their recovery. Three couldn’t wait to get home, but two had refused to go and insisted on staying with Eden.
The final count was five dead, all men. Four were guards protecting the perimeter, and the fifth was Adrian, down in the cave. Two women were still in critical condition with third-and fourth-degree burns, and thirteen more of various ages and injury had been treated and released.
Lauren had been hurt badly. Fletcher’s bullet caught her in the shoulder and she’d landed awkwardly when she fell from the tree, breaking both legs. She was being held in the prison ward of the hospital. She’d shot a police officer, and was going to be in jail for a long time.
Curtis Lott was telling all sorts of tales, magnanimously praising the FBI for their actions in freeing her people from the tyrannical clutches of the madman, Adrian. She claimed she was a peaceful preacher, only doing what was best for her flock.
Eventually a jury would decide her fate. After a night of interviews, she’d made her first appearance in federal court, and a bail hearing had been scheduled in three days’ time. Sam truly hoped she’d be kept behind bars. She couldn’t imagine this woman walking free, out on bail, but anything could happen.
Curtis Lott was a sudden anticelebrity, the object of scorn and derision and fascination across every news outlet in the country.
What was even more worrisome, while Xander was getting X-rayed and casted the previous night, Sam had gone to visit Kaylie, only to be told she’d checked herself out against doctor’s orders and was nowhere to be found.
Sam didn’t know if they would ever have all the answers she wanted. June Davidson was working on tracing every detail surrounding Doug Matcliff’s life in Lynchburg, but there were holes in his story, holes so big and deep it seemed unlikely they’d ever get the whole truth.
They needed time to unravel everything, to put all the pieces together, to have it all make sense. She knew one thing—she was going to be on her guard until Kaylie resurfaced.
The doctor huffed out of the room, followed by Fletcher, wearing clean clothes. She wondered for a minute how, then saw Jordan bringing up the rear, a hospital bag in her hand.
She saw Sam and waved. “Talk to him. He refuses to stay, refuses a wheelchair. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”
Fletcher turned and saw Sam and Xander sitting in the chairs outside his room. He went to Sam, pulled her to her feet and kissed her on the lips. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“You saved my life.” He slapped Xander on his good shoulder. “I’d hug you, too, if it wouldn’t hurt us both. Where’s Thor? I need to kiss that dog, too.”
“Jordan’s right, Fletch. You’re clearly o
ut of your mind. You need to stay,” Sam said. But she was grinning. He was okay. She’d saved him.
“We’re not done. This case isn’t finished. We need to get the rest wrapped before things fall apart. Let’s roll.”
He took two steps and his legs buckled. He started to go down. Sam and Jordan caught him, got him into the chair Sam had been sitting in. He was pale but began to laugh.
Sam touched the bandage on his neck. It was much bigger than her own. “Slow down there, cowboy.”
“Okay, maybe I need that wheelchair, after all.”
Jordan shook her head and went to get the nurse.
“You should stay another day, Fletch. Maybe I didn’t stitch you up tight enough. Your blood pressure could drop. You could throw a clot. It’s better for you to stay in bed, rest.”
“You did it all right and you know it. I trust you more than these yahoos. Nurse showed up in the middle of the night, woke me up and said it was time for my enema. She had the wrong freaking room. I just want out.”
“Okay. We’ll get you out. What did you mean, the case isn’t finished?”
“June Davidson called me. He hasn’t called you yet?”
Sam shook her head.
“You can stop fretting about why Doug Matcliff contacted you. It was Rolph Benedict. He sent the letter. He was under instructions to put the game into play if Doug ended up dead. I don’t think he knew he would be a target, as well.”
“Fletch, you aren’t talking sense. Slow down, breathe and explain.”
“All right. Davidson got into Benedict’s computer. Mac Picker wasn’t lying. He didn’t have Savage’s, or Matcliff’s, will on the firm’s computers.”
“So Doug Matcliff didn’t make a will?” Sam asked.
“He did, but Benedict did it for him. Privately. According to Benedict’s notes, Matcliff was sick. Leukemia. He didn’t have long, and he must have decided it was time to set things right.”
“So who killed him?”
“It must have been Adrian. There was a note in Matcliff’s file. It said, ‘I’m coming for you. Don’t make me kill you. Do the right thing.’”
Sam shook her head. “Adrian whispered something to me as he died. He said he didn’t kill Doug.”
“I don’t know what to believe. We’ll have to keep on it, try to solve the case.”
“But Doug knew he was going to be killed. He must have assumed Adrian was coming for him.”
“Someone certainly was.”
“Did Benedict’s notes say why he picked me, Fletch? Why not just go to the police, or the FBI?”
“Davidson said there was a copy of the article Washingtonian did after the subway murders in Benedict’s files. Your name was featured prominently. He admired and trusted you.”
“He didn’t even know me,” she said.
But Xander nodded. “He knew your character. Sometimes that’s all a man needs to make a judgment. And look. You did the right thing by Matcliff, like he knew you would.”
Jordan came back with the wheelchair, and a harried brunette nurse.
“You!” Fletcher said in mock horror.
The nurse blushed. “I said I was sorry.”
They all laughed, and followed Fletcher and the nurse out into the pickup area. They got him situated in the front seat of Jordan’s car.
“I’m taking you home,” Jordan said.
Fletcher shook his head, wincing a little as his bandages pulled. “I’m hungry. They haven’t fed me anything but Jell-O. Sam, Xander, meet us at the Hawk ’n’ Dove. I want a burger.”
“I want a nap,” Jordan said. “And I think you should have one, too.”
He smiled at her. “Food first. We need to decide the best way to take Mac Picker’s law firm down for good.”
* * *
Sam followed Jordan out of the hospital grounds, breathing a sigh of relief.
Xander put his good hand on her leg. “You okay?”
Sam picked up her phone, which she’d left in the car to charge. “I want to talk to Davidson myself.”
Davidson answered on the first ring.
“Dr. Owens. Good to hear from you. I left you a message earlier. Sorry if I was cryptic.”
“I didn’t get the message, June, I’m sorry. What was it?”
“Did Fletcher tell you about what I found on Benedict’s computer?”
“Yes. He said Benedict targeted me directly because of the Washingtonian article.”
“Yes, that’s right. We’ve been combing his house, his computer, his accounts. We’ve found a letter in Benedict’s things, addressed to you, marked private. He mailed it to himself from D.C. the night you met. Do you want me to send it to you?”
“Read it to me, would you?”
“Sure.”
She put the phone on speaker so Xander could hear, as well.
“Dear Dr. Owens,
If you’re reading this letter, I certainly hope you’ll forgive me. And if you have no idea what I’m about, allow me to explain. There is an illicit adoption ring being run out of the law offices where I work. All the partners are involved, and the Hoyles, as well. They house the children when they arrive in Lynchburg.
When I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s I knew it was time to leave trial law. I signed on as partner with Mac Picker, an old friend. One of the aspects of the firm was private adoptions. After the horrors I’ve seen, I was pleased to work on something loving, and happy.
The Stevenses were my first adoption. There were many more since, all of which I’ve documented at great length in my private files. I can’t tell you exactly when I became suspicious of the vast number of adoptions, but it was a few years after I joined the firm. I eventually began asking questions, and when no good answers were forthcoming, I did some digging myself.
Before I could figure it all out, Doug Matcliff came to me. He knew I was a partner in the firm. He also knew I was bound by attorney-client privilege not to share his story.
I must, in good conscience, break my vows and do just that.
Matcliff claimed he was dying, and wanted to come clean about his role in the adoption scheme. He wanted it to end, but didn’t know how. I don’t know if I believe he was sick. I do believe he was a man haunted, who was making some very serious decisions about his future.
And then he was dead, and I grew concerned for my own well-being.
I am writing this down in case something happens to me before I have a chance to set things right for Douglas, and with the firm. I hope it is enough to bring an end to the atrocities we’ve committed. We are both guilty. I hope, with this letter, we can at last be shriven.
Yours,
Rolph Benedict, Esquire”
Davidson stopped talking. Sam went silent for a moment. “Wow.”
“Exactly. There’s a lot of information here in his files, but I don’t know whether it’s going to hold up in court. We’ll try. I’m having the State’s Attorney General open an investigation to see if what he says is true. If there’s enough evidence, we’ll take it to the grand jury, get Mac Picker, his partners, Stacey Thompson and Tony Green, and everyone else involved indicted.”
“It’s true. And you may have to fight off the feds for jurisdiction.”
“I’m aware. Right now all we have is Benedict’s word. We’re going to need proof. Lots and lots of proof.”
“I hear you. I’ll get back to you, June. How’s Ellie Scarron?”
“She’s going to make it, thanks to you.”
“Good to hear. Thank you, June. We’ll be in touch.”
She hung up, looked at Xander.
“At least now we know,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “Now we know. He’s right, we need proof. The word of a dead man who clearly was com
promised by his disease will get them in the door, but Mac Picker’s smart. He won’t have this stuff lying around the office. We need another play. We need someone to talk.”
“I doubt Curtis Lott and Lauren will be willing to provide it. They’ve already said all they have to say until their trials.”
She smiled at him. “I think I have a better idea.”
Chapter
61
Lynchburg, Virginia
FLETCHER DROVE SAM to the Lynchburg law offices of Benedict, Picker, Green and Thompson, a look of concern etched on his face. “You think I’m crazy for doing this, don’t you?”
“Yep. It could backfire. They know you’ve been hanging out with the cops. They aren’t stupid. On the contrary, these people are so incredibly smart, they’ll make you immediately if you don’t handle this perfectly. If they see even a hint that you’re lying, they’ll kill you. You need to be convincing. More than convincing.”
“I understand your concern. I really do. But, Fletcher, you have to trust me. I have a lot of experience being this particular woman. Firsthand knowledge. I spent two years being her. People looked at me like I was addled in the brain because of what happened. Who knows, maybe they were right to think I was screwed up.”
“You were screwed up.”
She shot him a glance.
“Sorry. And I’m sorry for this, too. I gotta ask, sunshine, and don’t take this the wrong way, but three days ago you were shaking like a leaf on the floor of Matcliff’s cabin, rattled to the core because some stranger had singled you out. Are you absolutely sure you can do this?”
Sam was quiet for a minute. She allowed herself a moment to think back to the episode at the cabin. It seemed as if more than three days had passed. It felt like a lifetime.
Something had changed in her. The pervasive panic was gone. She didn’t feel it anymore, lurking around the edges of her mind like a stalking lion, ready to clamp its jaws around her thin, delicate leg, twist her down to the earth and rip out her throat.
She’d spent two years in a fog, barely able to function, to breathe, to think of her family without shutting down, forcing her hands under piping-hot water in punishment. Suddenly the need to punish herself was gone, and its absence was extraordinary.
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