The Broken

by Shelley Coriell

  “Smokey’s alive, and my team will find him.”

  She lifted her arms in frustration and bewilderment. “You still believe. I don’t know how the hell you do it, but you still believe.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “In justice, Hayden. You still believe in justice. You still have hope.” Her arms dropped to her side. “Which makes you a fool.”

  Hayden let go of her arm and took a step back as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

  A not-so-small bolt of self-inflicted anger jabbed at her chest. Chalk one up for Kate Johnson. Another shot straight to the heart. But her own heart was in shreds. Smokey Joe, her best friend, was dead. She steadied herself by placing a hand on the kitchen table. She could admit that now, call him what he was, someone she cared about.

  Like Hayden. That’s why she didn’t want him heading out into the woods to hunt for a killer. “The Butcher’s creating a different, more daring order, Hayden. He could kill you.”

  “He won’t.”

  “How do you know? How do you know he won’t take you from me? Smokey’s gone. I can’t bear to lose you, too.”

  He tilted his head, as if confused.

  “Dammit, Hayden, for a guy who sees everything, you’re blind.” She closed the space between them and grabbed one of his hands. “I’m worried about losing you because I love you.”

  He settled his hand on the table, as if suddenly unsteady. “You what?”

  She blew out a long breath and forced herself to look him in the eye. “Despite your ego and obsession with work and controlling ways, I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  He didn’t turn away. Instead he squinted harder, as if he were trying to see into her soul. He opened his mouth but was saved from continuing the conversation when Evie and Hatch barreled through the cottage’s front door, followed by Lottie.

  “Jon MacGregor’s here,” Lottie said with a whoop. “He’s at the command center, and he has everyone hopping. Man, you boys sent from God don’t mess around.”

  Hatch rushed by them and sat at the table in front of Hayden’s computer. He started blasting away at the keys. Lottie hoofed down the hallway toward the room she’d been in last night, muttering something about needing more comfortable shoes.

  Evie motioned to Hayden. “Jon reminded everyone how crucial the first twenty-four hours are, and he’s escalating things. He wants you at the command center, pronto. I’ll stay with Kate.”

  As an excited tension filled the air, Kate watched Hayden’s lined face smooth. His head and heart were getting back on the job, and he was much steadier on his feet.

  After jotting notes, Hatch closed the computer and hopped up from the table. Lottie rushed into the kitchen, wearing a pair of Maeve’s boxy white tennis shoes. Hayden pushed back his sleeves and turned toward Kate. His gaze locked on hers, and he put a hand on either side of her face. And then he planted a hard kiss on her lips. In front of everyone. Hatch. Evie. Maeve. Lottie. She was fairly confident her heart skipped a half dozen beats.

  “Come on, Pretty Boy, stop swapping spit and get your ass in gear. Smokey’s out there, and we’re going to find him.”

  “We’ll talk later,” Hayden said with a serious nod.

  She sunk onto the kitchen chair, wondering what the hell had just happened between them.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Thursday, June 18, 12:45 p.m.

  Dorado Bay, Nevada

  Hayden took off at a run toward the command center. He needed to talk to Jon MacGregor, the SCIU’s missing person’s specialist, about Smokey Joe, but he was also getting away from Kate.

  Kate. Hotheaded, passionate Kate. She lingered on his lips. Stoked his fire. Called him a fool. She’d gotten under his skin and made him feel things he’d never felt. Anger. Heat. Yeah, a lot of heat. And something deeper. But now was not the time for deep. As promised, he’d talk to her later. About what she said. About what he didn’t. Yeah, he’d been a fool all right, but not for hanging on to hope that Smokey Joe was alive. But that was for later. After he found Smokey Joe and the Butcher.

  Hayden wasn’t paying Kate lip service when he said he believed Smokey was alive and that the Butcher had him. He was certain the Butcher would use Kate’s friend to trap her, and that trap would be much more enticing if it featured live bait.

  MacGregor, Hayden learned when he joined his teammate at the command center, was of a similar mindset. “Got a bird coming in from Reno and a mounted group from the south shore. I’ve expanded the search radius and have two boats at Mulveney’s Cove,” Jon said with a heat that matched the fire in his eyes. “I’m going to find Mr. Bernard and then help you nail the son of a bitch who took him.”

  MacGregor was the SCIU’s white knight, noble and tenacious, and damned good at what he did. His teammate had personally tracked down more than one hundred missing and endangered children. If anyone could find Smokey Joe, Jon could. He would.

  “Now tell me what you know about the Butcher,” his teammate said. “I know you’ve been in his head.”

  * * *

  Thursday, June 18, 1:05 p.m.

  Dorado Bay, Nevada

  Heat shimmered on the water, giving it the golden cast that led to its name. As a child, Kate had hunted for treasure in these cold waters. Now divers hunted for Smokey Joe’s body.

  Smokey’s dead body.

  She sat on a boulder overlooking Mulveney’s Cove, a uniformed Dorado Bay officer next to her and Evie at water’s edge. Kate shivered as she thought of six gray cinderblocks weighting Smokey to the bottom of the lake. But Hayden and Jon and more than two hundred searchers insisted Smokey Joe was alive. Were that many people right?

  The thought flashed briefly in her head, and she figured Hayden was getting to her in more ways than one. He was a man who believed in justice, one who would never give up hope. Her fingers traced her lips, lips he had touched with his, which promised he’d return so they could “talk.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to go there, wherever there was.

  She pressed her lips together and waited. Any minute now one of the six divers looking for Smokey would pop his head up and nod. And she’d cry a river of tears. No, a lake. Tears she hadn’t been able to cry for the brother she once loved, the father who loved and left, and the mother incapable of love. Because Smokey Joe was her family, and now he was gone.

  A loud harrumph sounded behind her, and she turned with a start. “What are you doing here?”

  “We’re here to help search.” Oliver Conlan, her grandfather, gave her a stiff nod and motioned to the three men standing next to him. “This is Clive Tyndale, piloted a VMO-6 chopper over the coastal waters of Korea. Next to him is Ron Whitfield, ran recon near Phuoc Vinh in Vietnam. And the baby here on left is Pastor Ike Iverson, saved a lot of souls in Saudi Arabia during Desert Storm.”

  Kate stared at the soldiers standing before her, wondering what she was supposed to say to them. Go home. Smokey’s dead.

  But Hayden kept insisting Smokey was alive, that the Butcher wouldn’t kill him until he got to her. She rubbed at the center of her forehead.

  “Where do you want us?” her grandfather asked. She noticed a hot fire in the cloudy blue of his eyes, just like the heat in the other three men’s eyes. The fire spoke of war and survivorship, something she was sure she’d see in her own eyes if she ever looked at her reflection.

  She pointed to Evie near the shore. “Ask her.”

  He nodded and turned, the three men following him, but before Oliver Conlan got too far, she called out, “What about you? Where did you fight?”

  Her grandfather turned, his chin inching up a fraction. “Bataan.”

  * * *

  Thursday, June 18, 7:40 p.m.

  Dorado Bay, Nevada

  “It’ll be dark in an hour.” Kate always welcomed the dark, the black cover of night that hid her scars. Tonight she despised it. “Most of the searchers will probably stop.”

  “I’m sure some will stay out all night,” Maeve sai
d. They sat at the kitchen table in the cottage looking at the uneaten casserole from one of their lakeside neighbors. “The divers didn’t find Smokey’s body in Mulveney’s Cove, so it’s possible he’s still out there, alive. Agent MacGregor is bringing in a helicopter with those big light beams.”

  Kate’s hands trembled, and she tucked them under her thighs.

  “I heard Pastor Iverson is holding a candlelight ceremony tonight,” Maeve went on. “Partly to honor the little boy who died and Jason, but also in hope for Smokey.”

  Maeve was trying to take the edge off the pain of losing her best friend, but it was there. Razor-sharp. Covered with blood.

  A picture of Smokey’s crimson-soaked pillow flashed through her head. “He’s dead, Maeve. No one could lose that much blood and still live.”

  “Evie said head wounds, even minor ones, bleed more easily than cuts on other parts of the body. It’s possible he survived the attack and is waiting out there for us to find him.”

  Kate’s vision blurred. She thought there were no more tears, but they came, and so did visions of Smokey Joe.

  Hey Katy-lady, let’s open a jewelry store. Make us buckets of money.

  I can teach you to shoot.

  Leave the cat with me. I can take care of her.

  Smokey was a tough man. He’d survived Vietnam and battled colon cancer and won. He was beyond tough. He was all she had.

  Within the past week she had learned that her mother and brother were dead. Her grandparents wanted nothing to do with her. And Hayden. She loved him, but he couldn’t return the feelings because half the time he didn’t even know how he felt. She was very much alone in this world, and for the first time in her life, the heaviness of that reality crushed her. Ellie rubbed against her ankle, and she scooped the cat into her lap.

  She pictured the candlelight ceremony that would take place in a few hours. She’d seen plenty in her “Justice for All” days. She’d stood shoulder-to-shoulder with mourning mothers and praying preachers and lovers who refused to give up on love, all carrying little white tongues of light meant to be tiny beacons of hope, lighting the way for the missing to come home.

  Can’t see a damn thing, lady. Why the hell would you show me anything?

  She laughed at the scratchy old voice. If the Butcher had him, Smokey was probably giving him hell, maybe even warning him that G-man and God himself were on his tail because Smokey would never give up. He believed safety pins could hold a man together long enough to get to a doctor. He believed a blind man could run a computer-based business.

  Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do!

  On feet that slowly picked up speed, she went into the dining room, where Hayden sat at the table, his laptop in front of him and a phone at his ear. He was working around the clock in his efforts to fix the world.

  She put down Ellie and held out her hand. “I need the keys to the rental car. I’m going into town.” He opened his mouth, but she held up her hand. “Just give me the keys.”

  He blinked once then stood. Hayden Reed had the amazing ability to read a person, because with one quick look at her, he realized there was no way she was backing down.

  They sped through the night to Dorado Bay’s downtown district and retail shops. “Where do you want me to stop?” Hayden asked when they reached the first stoplight.

  “Not sure. Head down Main.”

  “Do you know what you’re getting?”

  “Not exactly.”

  His jaw tightened and ticked.

  “Does the lack of direction bother you, Agent Reed?”

  His shoulders bounced in a shrug. “I’m getting used to it.”

  Two minutes later she pointed to a gift shop sandwiched between a bakery and a store that sold only white clothing. “There, that should work.”

  Hayden parked the car and followed her inside, but he didn’t say a word. He watched, an observer to his core. She knew he was also trying to figure out what the hell she was doing, but there was nothing logical, nothing reasonable about her actions right now. She made her purchase and hurried back to the car. “Home,” she said as she settled her bundle in her lap.

  They were both quiet on the drive back to the cottage. Nor did he say anything to her as she took her purchase to the back deck. She dragged one of the Adirondack chairs to the point where the two eaves butted together and a small overhead hook hung. To his credit, Hayden didn’t offer to help.

  She needed to do this on her own.

  She peeled back the tissue paper cushioning her purchase and, climbing onto the chair, hung the wind chime from the hook. The warm breeze slipped through the silver chimes, sending a soft call through the black night. Smokey Joe might not be able to see candlelight, but he had amazing ears.

  * * *

  Thursday, June 18, 10:55 p.m.

  Dorado Bay, Nevada

  “How’s your head, Lottie?” Kate asked.

  “My hard ol’ noggin’s fine.”

  “And your feet?”

  Lottie had started limping about an hour ago.

  “Still kicking.”

  Agent Jon MacGregor’s search for Smokey Joe continued. Hayden’s teammate and Chief Greenfield worked up a comprehensive search-and-rescue plan that now included more than two hundred searchers who believed they would find the old blind man. Alive.

  And count her among them.

  She walked next to Hayden, his hand in hers, and she marveled at the simple act. She’d never held a man’s hand before, not as a teen whose mother refused to let her date, not as a college coed who’d been slammed with a reputation for hotter and heavier things, and not in her broadcasting days, when she hadn’t had time for holding hands. The simplicity of the gesture had been lost on her until now.

  Hayden squeezed her hand, and she rolled her eyes, a part of her wondering how the hell he knew she was thinking about him and his damn hand, but she stopped wondering when she heard a series of shouts beyond the hill they crested.

  Hayden took off, dragging her with him. At the top of the hill stood a thick stand of pines, where more shouts were chiming. Hayden led her through the trees, guided by a host of bobbing lights.

  They stopped when they reached more than a dozen searchers gathered around a fallen log. Next to the log was a depression in the earth, and at one end, sticking out of the dirt, was half a human foot.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Thursday, June 18, 11 p.m.

  Dorado Bay, Nevada

  The shallow grave rested in a small stand of sugar pines. In less than two seconds Hayden knew that it did not house the remains of Joseph “Smokey Joe” Bernard.

  “It’s not him, Kate. The grave’s too old.” He took her trembling shoulders in his hands and tried to force her gaze from the partially unearthed body. He knew the minute Kate hung up the wind chime that she had a glimmer of hope, and he wouldn’t let that faint light die. “That grave has been there too long, months, maybe years.” He half expected her to argue, but she didn’t. She slumped against him, and her sorrow and relief washed over him, through him.

  “What do you make of it?” Lottie asked.

  Dorado Bay PD had marked off the area around the grave with tape. A police photographer finished taking pictures, and two officers with shovels gently pried the dirt away from the body. Hayden found the location of the grave particularly telling, as it was located in a dense wood past a hard-to-cross ravine. “If it weren’t for the intense manhunt for Smokey, that body would never have been found. Someone wanted that body hidden.”

  “But it looks like something got to it before us, probably a bear or a coyote.” Lottie wagged her head. “Wonder who it was?”

  Hayden stared at the foot, and at the leg slowly being revealed, but instead of flesh and bone, he saw a number. The Butcher had claimed nine bodies already. Was this number ten?

  Anger spiked at the wall of his chest. He didn’t even try to control it. He breathed it in, letting it move like oxygen through his veins.
<
br />   Chief Greenfield stood at the foot of the grave. Unlike his men’s faces, the chief’s face wasn’t touched by horror or sadness. A weary resignation lined his features.

  Hayden motioned for Lottie to keep an eye on Kate as he made his way to the chief. “Who is he?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Chief Greenfield said.

  “But you have a very educated guess.”

  The chief leaned back on the heels of his cowboy boots. “Eddie Williams. Fourteen-year-old kid who disappeared twelve months ago from Hope Academy. According to Kyl Watson, Eddie arrived at the academy in late spring and fled after his first full week. Watson reported it immediately. We searched for the boy, but we never found him. The mother was devastated, then angry. She blamed Eddie’s disappearance on the academy and said her son called her the third night he was there and complained about passing out when he’d been forced to drag a pallet of bricks for punishment.”

  “The mother did nothing?”

  “At the time, she told herself it was tough love, and that’s what her boy needed. She’s been beating up herself ever since.”

  The officers raised the body, partially wrapped in a blue tarp, from the ground, releasing the scent of rotting flesh and damp earth. One of the Dorado Bay detectives folded back the tarp, exposing a partially decomposed face. Hayden saw immediately that it wasn’t an old man or a full-grown woman. Teenage boy with buzzed red hair. The question now was, was this death Butcher-related?

  “Turn him over,” Hayden directed the officers.

  They rotated the corpse, and relief washed over Hayden. No puncture wound along the back of his neck.