The Broken

by Shelley Coriell

  Maeve made a clucking sound. “How do you feel about him?”

  Like I want to tumble every hair on his head and tear off his custom-made suits and shirts until he’s standing in front of me as naked as Michelangelo’s David. A warm wash crept up her neck.

  “Not something you want to talk about to his mother-in-law, hmmmm? You don’t need to. I can see it. I’m happy for him and for you.”

  “This thing between us, Maeve, it’s nothing serious.”

  “I think Hayden could do with a little less serious in his life, don’t you?”

  With the tip of her toe, Kate made circles in the water, rippling the blue glass surface. “Has he always been so intense, so hell-bent on fixing the world and all of its problems?”

  “For as long as I’ve known him. I think that’s why he married Marissa. He wanted to take care of her, and she definitely needed to be taken care of.”

  “I’m sorry about the accident. This must be a difficult time for you.”

  “It is, but having your friend Joseph around helps, and, of course, there’s Hayden. He took care of the funeral, insurance, and all the details of death. Despite everything they went through, he remained a devoted husband right to the end.”

  “Husband?” Kate’s toes stilled. “I thought you said their marriage ended years ago.”

  “It did. For the last seven years Marissa had been living in a long-term care facility for patients with mental disorders, and during all of those years, she was unresponsive. But Hayden, he tried. For seven years he tried to reach her. He worked with doctors and medications and alternative therapists. Last month he decided to do what I’d been begging him to do for years. He decided to get a divorce. He finally gave up hope.”

  * * *

  Wednesday, June 17, 5 p.m.

  Dorado Bay, Nevada

  Lottie was too tired to swear. She slipped the sketch back in the plastic sheath and left the Boathouse.

  She’d been in Dorado Bay two days, flashing the sketch that Berkley Rowe from Parker Lord’s team made of the woman Stalker Boy had seen in Shayna Thomas’s bedroom. The town had ten thousand summer residents, and she had pressed the flesh with at least a quarter of them. The latest batch included the happy hour revelers in the Boathouse Bar and Grill. None of the bar-goers recognized the woman, but a few commented that she looked “familiar.”

  Lottie’s sore feet pounded the paved path that curved around this portion of the lake. She could still hear the laughter and clinking of glasses from the raucous people in the bar. She wouldn’t be relaxing anytime soon, not with the Butcher killing nine-year-old babies. Lord give that little boy’s grandma strength. And Lord give her strength to keep walking this lake with Berkley Rowe’s sketch. Right now this sketch, which Stalker Boy said was a dead ringer, was the key to finding the Butcher. The woman in the pink dress, seen by both the stalker and the boy across the street, was either the killer or knew the killer.

  Speaking of killers, her navy blue satin wedges were biting into the swollen flesh of her feet. She probably should think about switching to more practical shoes.

  To her right, milky white beach sand stretched along the path all the way to the next restaurant about one hundred yards up the lake, perfect therapy for a pair of tired, old bare feet. She rested her hand against a pine tree for balance, lifted her right foot, and unfastened the skinny strap on her right shoe.

  Her toes dug into the warm, silky sand. Maybe the doc was right. Maybe she should toss out every shoe over three inches high. And maybe she should start exercising and lay off the homemade candy. She wanted to see every one of her grandbabies get their doctorates.

  She heaved her torso toward her left shoe and unfastened the strap. Her fingers froze. Behind her was a pair of clunky black shoes. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something bright and silvery slice the air. She lunged to the right, but not before a blade struck her back. Pain engulfed her torso. She fell, her head slamming into one of the tree trunks.

  Chapter Twenty

  Wednesday, June 17, 6:15 p.m.

  Dorado Bay, Nevada

  For the first time since Hayden had met her one week ago, Sergeant Lottie King looked old, like a grandmother of seven and a seasoned cop who’d seen too many bad guys doing too many bad things over too many years. She lay in exam room three of the Bayside Medical Center, one bandage over her right temple and another across her neck and shoulder. Her feet were bare.

  “Damn, I’m glad you’re here, Pretty Boy,” she said when he stepped into the doorway of the exam room. Her mouth dipped into a snarl, and she jabbed a finger at the door. “Time to get back to work.” She swung her legs over the side of the table, but the movement must have made her dizzy, for her cocoa-colored skin paled, and she swooned.

  Dr. Gray settled her back on the crinkly paper. “I’ve already advised Sergeant King that she should go to a hospital in Reno for further observation, as we’re not equipped here for overnight stays.” He gave the woman on the table a stern look. “But she politely declined.”

  Probably with a few well-chosen expletives, Hayden thought. “Exactly what happened?” he asked the doctor. He’d been on his way back to the cottage after spending the day at Hope Academy and Mulveney’s Cove when he received the call from Hatch that Lottie had been attacked while visiting bars along the lake with Berkley’s sketch.

  Dr. Gray picked up the chart at the foot of the exam table. “Sergeant King received a single laceration to the deltoid, four inches, but I’m not too worried about that. She’s a strong woman.” He winked at Lottie, but she refused to look at him, her arms knotted across her chest. The doctor’s face grew serious. “I’m a little more concerned about the concussion. She’ll need supervision tonight, someone to watch for vomiting and make sure she stays hydrated. She took a hard fall.”

  Hayden’s chest tightened. No, every part of his body tightened, including his fists. The Butcher got to Lottie, a police officer with superior reflexes and years of training. How was their unsub doing it?

  Hayden jammed his hand in his pocket.

  Take it slow. Observe. Analyze. Evaluate. Begin by studying the victim. Comb through the crime scene. Interview witnesses.

  There won’t be any witness.

  Get out of my head!

  He must have said something because the doctor took a step toward him. “Are you okay, Agent Reed?”

  He unclenched his fist. “I’m fine.”

  Dr. Gray took out a pad of paper and scribbled something on it before handing it to Hayden. “Here’s a scrip for a painkiller. Have her take it as needed.” He turned to Lottie. “And you, Sergeant King, bed rest for a minimum of twenty-four hours, and then limited work, understand?”

  Lottie glared. After the doctor left, Hayden handed Lottie her shoes. “He was right behind me. You hear that, Pretty Boy? That butchering SOB was right behind me, and he got away. I want to get my hands around his prick and pull till his eyes bulge out.”

  “You’re sure it was him?” Hayden asked. This was a bold move, an attack in the middle of the day at a public place. “The Butcher isn’t bold.” He was a coward and weak and pathetic, but the Butcher was getting desperate, and desperate people did desperate things.

  “I’m sure it was him,” Lottie said. “His shoes were dead ringers for the ones the orthotic shoe man back in Colorado Springs showed me.”

  “Give me the details.”

  Lottie slipped her shoe on and fumbled with the thin strap. “I’d spent the afternoon flashing the picture of the woman in the pink dress, showed it to hundreds of folks. I figure the Butcher must have wanted to shut me down.”

  “Because you’re onto something.” He brushed aside her hands and buckled her shoe.

  “Ya think? So I bend over to take off my shoe, and while I’m there, I see those ugly orthotic shoes. Then out of the corner of my eye, I see a knife. I get my fat ass out of the way, but not before he gets a piece of me. I probably would have gotten him, too, but I fell and
cracked my damn head.”

  “Did you pass out?”

  “I must have for a few minutes because when I came to, he was gone, and a cocktail waitress on her way to work was kneeling beside me. She helped me to the bar, where I called Chief Greenfield.”

  “You keep saying he. Are you certain it was a man behind you?”

  Lottie’s pasty face faded to a lighter shade of gray. “Damn this aching head. I forgot to tell you about the dress.”

  “The person who attacked you was wearing a dress?”

  “Not a pink one. It was green, with yellow flowers. One of them granny dresses, but the dress isn’t important. The legs are. They were hairy and thick. I swear there was nothing girly about the legs I saw.”

  Finally, a puzzle piece he’d been searching for. “We’re chasing one person. Not two. A master of disguise.” He could see it now. The Butcher dresses up as a woman, gains entrance to the victims’ homes, perhaps with a story about a broken-down car or a lost dog. Once inside he pulls the knife on them from behind and immobilizes them. Then he kills.

  The images in Hayden’s mind grew crisper and clearer.

  * * *

  Wednesday, June 17, 7:35 p.m.

  Dorado Bay, Nevada

  Kate frowned at the scraggly orange and black pile of fur and bones in her lap. She’d come out to the porch to get away from all the people inside—Lottie, back from the medical center; Smokey and Maeve; Hatch and Evie; and Hayden, especially Hayden—but Jason’s cat, Ellie, was determined Kate wouldn’t be alone. The cat had slinked out from under the porch, eyed her for ten minutes, then stomped her way onto the porch swing next to Kate. Ellie now rested in her lap, buzzing out a purr that sounded like a chainsaw with carburetor issues.

  As she stroked the cat, Kate watched the blood-red sun sinking in the sky and knew Hayden would soon demand she come inside. And when Hayden demanded…She shook her head and stared out at the peaks of the Carson Range, which tonight were gray-green sentinels against the red-gold sky.

  Inside the cottage a steady stream of voices continued to chatter and laugh. Kate ran her fingers through the cat’s matted hair and wondered if she would ever be able to sit in a room full of people without feeling like such an outsider. Although, to her credit, she had made serious headway the past few days. She held real conversations with Evie, Hatch, and Maeve. But not Hayden.

  She ran her knuckles over Ellie’s head, and the cat purred louder. Damn Hayden for not telling her about Marissa, and damn her for feeling hurt over it. After all, neither one of them wanted anything serious, and their fling would end as soon as the Butcher was found, but she deserved to know that he was married up until three weeks ago.

  A crack of light slipped through the front door, followed by the one person she didn’t want to see.

  “What’s that?” Hayden shut the door quietly behind him.

  She continued to stroke Ellie, refusing to look at him. “My cat.”

  “You own a cat now.”

  “Ellie seems to have come to that conclusion.”

  Hayden sat on the swing, and she inched to the far side, Ellie grumbling but not moving out of her lap.

  “You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Hayden said.

  An exasperated puff fell from her lips. “I’m not. You’ve been parked two feet from me at the window for the past thirty minutes.”

  “You saw me?”

  “No, Hayden, I felt you.” She dug both hands into Ellie’s fur and kneaded. “Of course I saw you. You rarely leave my side.”

  He laid a hand on her leg, which she didn’t realize had been shaking. “I told you I’d keep you safe.”

  She pushed away his hand. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Being nice. I’m trying to be really pissed off at you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…” She struggled for words, not because she didn’t know them, but because there were too many racing through her head. Because I want to know why you didn’t tell me you were married, why you tried so hard, so long, to make your marriage work, and why the hell I care?

  Hayden slid closer. “What’s wrong, Kate?”

  “Stop it!”

  A rush of air spilled over his lips. “What am I doing now?”

  A half growl, half laugh rumbled in her throat. “Being Hayden. Taking care of the world with utmost efficiency and aplomb.” He opened his mouth but she waved him off. “And I’m having problems with it because I have problems. Period.”

  In the cottage behind them, laughter erupted. He turned toward the graying mountains. “I’m sorry. I should have made other arrangements for everyone.”

  “Yeah, there are a lot of things you should have done.” And before she could stop herself, she added, “Like tell me you never divorced Marissa.”

  There. The words hung suspended between them, tight and electrified.

  His jaw hardened.

  “We both know there’s nothing serious between us,” she said, “just sex. And we know it’s not going anywhere. You have your job, and I have…I have places to go.” Her feet kicked at the porch floor. The swing creaked and swayed. “But I deserved to know that you never divorced your wife.”

  His gaze remained straight ahead, stonelike. “It’s complicated.”

  “Well, there’s a new one. Life is complicated. Yeah, Hayden, I know a little about how complicated life can be, and you know that because you know everything about me. But I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know your favorite color or if you’re a dog or cat person. I don’t know anything about your family or why you stayed in a marriage that was broken beyond repair.”

  Hayden ran his hand along the crisp pleat of his trousers. “Marissa lived in a mental institution for the past seven years.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his chin on his knuckled hands. “She’d been diagnosed as bipolar in her teens. Maeve and her husband got her therapy and on meds and tried to help her have a normal life. Marissa did, in part, but there were some rough times.”

  Hayden’s words continued to come out slowly, as if he were pulling them from a place he didn’t visit often. “Marissa and I met in college, and I knew relatively soon that she suffered from a mental illness, but I saw her anyway. She was an artist and very much a free spirit. I told myself that we balanced each other. We got serious, and Maeve tried to talk me out of marriage, but I loved the color Marissa brought to my life, and I wanted to help her be whole and happy.”

  Hayden’s voice trailed off, and she couldn’t help but add, “Out to save the world.”

  “Out to save one soul.” He started the swing swaying. “Ours wasn’t a typical marriage, but we did okay. She stayed on her medication, and in the beginning we avoided high-stress situations. Marissa was a painter. She worked mostly on textiles, specializing in silks. Quite a few galleries were displaying her work, and she was starting to get regular commissions, but for all her artistic talent, she continued to have dark moments, always coinciding with the times I left for training or an extended investigation.” The exquisite fabric of his custom jacket bunched along his wide shoulders.

  “My work was hard on her,” he continued. “I worked long hours and brought my job home. It killed her. Almost.” His knotted hands dipped. “She tried to kill herself three times. All three times happened while I was away for work. The last time…”

  The night grew silent, and even Ellie stopped purring, but Kate didn’t think Hayden noticed. He wasn’t here, not all of him. As for her, she was very much here, watching this new and different side of Hayden. She placed her hand on his knee.

  “The last time…” Kate prompted, not because she wanted to know, but because she sensed that he needed to tell her.

  “The last time she tried to kill herself, Marissa slit her wrists, and with her own blood, made handprints all over our bedroom. Hundreds of red handprints.” He lowered his eyelids, and Kate knew undoubtedly he’d seen the image thousands of times. “And in her
own blood, she signed it and addressed it to me. It was her final piece of art.”

  The mountain air grew thinner. Hayden visibly struggled for breath. It was obvious he had never forgiven himself. She reached for him. He stood.

  “After her last suicide attempt, Marissa’s parents and I decided she needed full-time care. She lived in the home for seven years. She didn’t recognize Maeve, her doctors, or me. She sat and stared out the window, except for three weeks ago, when I told her I was going to put in motion plans for a divorce. Even though she didn’t communicate, I thought she needed to know. Apparently she understood. An hour after I left she stole the car keys from a staff member and drove off a cliff. The authorities ruled it suicide.”

  Kate could feel his anguish and guilt, something he probably hadn’t shown to anyone, including Maeve, Hatch, or his other teammates. And beyond the guilt, she saw something even more telling. A loss of hope, a hard concept for a man like Hayden to stomach. And so hard for her to see, because Hayden was a man who believed justice would always prevail. At heart, he was a man of hope.

  She put down Ellie and joined him at the railing. “Hayden, I’m so sorry, for both you and Marissa.”

  She reached out to him, but he turned and motioned her back toward the front door. “Time to go inside.”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Kate,” he said to the door. “It’s getting dark. There’s a killer on the loose, and you need to get inside.”

  “I will.” Before he could move, she slipped her arms around his waist. With surprising ease, she turned him to face her. “But first, this.”

  She locked her hands behind his neck and pulled him toward her. He didn’t resist. There was nothing slow, nothing gentle, as their lips collided and tongues tangled. This kiss was very much about the here and now. It consumed her, pushing away sorrows of the past and fears of the future. Hayden must have felt it too, for he leaned his backside against the railing and pulled her to him.

  “Feel better?” Kate asked when they finally came up for air.

  “I feel something,” Hayden muttered between a laugh and a sigh.