The Broken

by Shelley Coriell

  The ripples in the water stretched farther and farther. “Yeah, it’s okay to be angry, because that means something deeper is going on. You’re hurt or sad, probably a little of both. Feelings are okay. They prove you’re human.” And lately, Hayden had felt very human.

  * * *

  Friday, June 19, 8:30 p.m.

  Dorado Bay, Nevada

  Robyn Banks tore off the check for $1,000 and handed it to the birdlike woman at the door of the Conlan mansion. The woman from Hope Academy took the check and smiled, although she wouldn’t be smiling tomorrow when she tried to cash it. That little piece of paper would bounce higher than the gold balloons floating in the cathedral ceilings of Oliver and Ava Conlan’s front entryway.

  “Do you need a mask?” The woman pointed to the array of feathered, sequined, and bejeweled face coverings.

  Robyn hadn’t thought to bring one. She’d left her home in Reno focused only on finding her husband, who’d crawled out of his hole of despair to go after Katrina Erickson. “Yes, I’ll take the red one.” The crimson mask sported a single red plume jutting jauntily from the right side.

  Robyn slipped the red silk confection over her face and entered the ballroom, where hundreds of masked partygoers mingled. A string quartet played in the corner, and waiters in black pants, white shirts, and various animal masks threaded through the guests with sparkling flutes of champagne and artfully arranged finger foods.

  One of the waiters offered her a glass of bubbling liquid, but she declined. How easy it would be to get stinking drunk right now, which she guessed was the case with Mike. She searched the masked faces, trying to spot the tottering, drunken fool, because she knew he’d be here in search of Katrina.

  Funny, how everything kept coming back to Katrina.

  When Robyn arrived home from her final day at KTTL with a bag of chocolate peppermints and the grand idea of leaving with Mike and starting a new life, she’d discovered that he’d left without her. And he must have started off the journey already pickled, for she’d found an empty fifth of scotch next to his wallet and his cell phone. The last text he’d sent had been to Katrina to agree to meet her at 9 p.m. at the Hope Academy fundraiser.

  What a stupid, stupid fool. Her husband was on the hunt for Katrina Erickson, but she had to stop him before someone found out who he really was. Her fingers wrapped around her purse, home to her 9mm handgun.

  * * *

  “Do you see Kyl Watson?” Kate asked as she and Hayden found a quiet spot in the corner of the Conlans’ bustling ballroom. She and Hayden had walked the floor for the past hour, Hayden taking a mental inventory of the guests, but it was hard with so many masks. Her own mask, the white one with the one-winged angel, scratched her nose, but that single angel gave her hope that Smokey Joe was still alive.

  “I don’t think Watson is here yet,” Hayden said. “But Dr. Trowbridge is. He’s the one in the mask with the silver glitter.”

  The short man with the Clark Kent build ground his hands together behind his back. “Looks a bit uncomfortable, doesn’t he?” Kate noted.

  “Kyl Watson is the people man, the one who connects to the boys, the staff, and the donors. Dr. Trowbridge, on the other hand, is the head, the brain responsible for working out programming to turn troubled boys into productive members of society. He hates stuff like this, and if the academy weren’t on the brink of closing, he wouldn’t be here.”

  A tall blond man wearing a gold sequined mask with three purple jester points in stiff velvet flashed her miles of brilliant white teeth. “Was that Hatch?” she asked.

  “Yep. Evie is by the musicians. She’s wearing the red-sequined mask with the devil horns.”

  “Do you recognize anyone else?”

  Hayden pointed out the mayor, the publisher of the local paper, Pastor Ike Iverson, and two casino owners who had vacation homes on Dorado Bay. “Anyone who’s anyone in this town is here tonight. I spotted Chief Greenfield earlier following Dr. Trowbridge.”

  Knowing that the chief and Hayden’s teammates hovered nearby gave her comfort, as did the fact that Parker Lord and another half dozen agents were stationed at the neighbors’ properties while Chief Greenfield’s men were manning roadblocks.

  Outside, a steady rain started to fall, and the wind rattled the glass panes of the tightly closed patio doors. The long-awaited storm had landed and broken the back of the heat wave.

  A waiter with a green dragon mask strolled by with a tray of steaming appetizers. “Shrimp?” he asked.

  Both she and Hayden shook their heads, and she forced a deep breath to calm her heaving stomach. “The Butcher’s here, Hayden, I feel it.”

  Hayden’s gray eyes shone through the simple black satin mask he wore. “Me too.”

  * * *

  He set the empty shrimp tray on the kitchen counter and picked up a new tray, this one piled with sparkling champagne flutes. Before he balanced it on his left hand, he slipped a tiny piece of paper under the glass in the second row, third from the right.

  “Are you sure you can carry those?” the headwaiter asked. “I noticed you limping as you walked the room with the shrimp.”

  “I’m fine.” Thanks to all that earth moving he did for Smokey’s underground prison, his leg was bothering him again. But other than that, he was very, very fine. Tonight the heavens would toast him, for he would finally put an end to Katrina Erickson.

  “Okay, get out there. The toast is in five minutes.”

  Lightning fired the sky as he adjusted the green dragon mask. The lights flickered off, but it didn’t matter. A flame flickered within, burning hotter, burning brighter.

  The lights flicked back on. It was time.

  He wound his way through the crowd, occasionally handing out glasses of champagne, but he made sure no one took the glass in the second row, third from the right. That alone was for Katrina.

  He spotted her next to the ever-diligent Agent Reed, who would not leave Katrina’s side tonight—he smiled—well, not without good reason. Reed was good, and few could match the FBI agent in wits and strength. He for one would never try to take on Hayden Reed, for he knew his physical limitations. That in itself was a strength that would serve him well tonight.

  No, there was but one person in the room tonight who was stronger than Hayden Reed. The beautiful woman in the green mermaidlike dress with pearls woven through her hair. Katrina Erickson was stronger than all of them. She had the power, and thanks to one of her “Justice for All” reports, she knew his secret. It was right there on one of Agent Reed’s carefully constructed spreadsheets, but no one had been smart enough to follow the trail to him.

  As he drew nearer, the heat flicked higher, hissing and curling at the back of his throat. It would be a shame to see her dead because, like Agent Reed, she was a good one, not a weak, sniveling whore like his mother and the eight prostitutes he’d killed. Katrina was beautiful, smart, and strong, and he would use all that against Agent Reed.

  “For the toast,” he said, handing agent Reed a glass of champagne. “And for you, madam.” He handed Katrina the glass from the second row, third from the right.

  * * *

  A small slip of paper slid into her hand. It had been under her champagne glass. Her head snapped up, and she searched for the waiter with the dragon mask who’d handed it to her, but he’d vanished.

  The storm rattled the windows, and the lights flickered again. The room fell into darkness. Some partygoers gasped. Seconds later, the lights flashed back on.

  “Attention everyone,” her grandmother said. The older woman stood at a podium at the front of the room with Dr. Trowbridge and the Hope Academy board. “I’d like to welcome you all…”

  But Kate didn’t hear anymore. She took the note and unfolded it. Meet me at the boathouse in ten minutes. If you’re late, Smokey Joe dies. If you bring G-man or any of his friends, Smokey Joe dies.

  Smokey! He was alive. This note proved it. How else would the Butcher know G-man was Smokey’s pet n
ame for Hayden? With this note the Butcher finally reached out to her.

  But she wouldn’t be meeting him alone. All her life, she’d been on her own, until now, when she’d finally found a man she could count on. Hayden would come up with a plan to free Smokey, trap the Butcher, and stop global warming all in one swift move.

  An insane laugh bubbled in her throat. She wasn’t alone, she wasn’t running anymore, and they were about to find Smokey Joe. She tugged at Hayden’s arm, but he was oddly still, focused on the patio door. She tugged again, but he held up his hand.

  The door swung open. Wind and rain poured in. Someone at the back of the room screamed. A boy stumbled through the doors, his face lined with terror and his Hope Academy T-shirt covered in blood.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Friday, June 19, 9:20 p.m.

  Dorado Bay, Nevada

  Hayden saw everything at once.

  Kate’s grandmother dropped her champagne glass. Dr. Trowbridge turned from the podium and bolted toward the door. Hatch whipped off his jester mask and took off after the doctor. The blood-covered Hope Academy boy slumped to the floor in front the patio doors. Evie ran toward him. And beside him, Kate swayed.

  He slung his arm around her to keep her from collapsing to the ground, and he knew she was wondering if that blood belonged to Smokey Joe. Was this it? Was the Butcher making his move? Had he made his move? Hayden needed to talk to that blood-covered boy. He ran a frantic gaze about the room and spotted Kate’s grandfather elbowing his way through the crowd.

  “I’ll take her. You see to the boy,” Oliver Conlan said. Hayden hesitated, his gaze locking with Kate’s grandfather’s just long enough to see what he needed to see.

  He moved Kate into her grandfather’s arms and pointed at Kate’s grandmother, who’d left the podium and made her way through the stunned crowd. “Get Parker on the phone and get him in here. And you,” he nodded to Kate’s grandfather. “Don’t let her out of your sight.” Kate was in good hands. Love was the fiercest of protectors.

  He ran to Evie and knelt over the boy, who lay in a puddle of rainwater pinked by blood.

  The kid stared at the slick red coating his hands as he moaned, “Too much blood, too much blood.”

  Hayden grasped the boy’s shoulders. “Are you hurt?”

  The boy’s chin trembled. “No, not me. The blood, it’s…it’s Mr. Watson’s. I found Mr. Watson.”

  “Is Mr. Watson hurt? Has he hurt someone? Where is he?”

  “I got a c…c…call telling me to check the loft in the barn, and I found him, d…d…dead. Someone shot him. Blew off the back of his head.” The boy shook from head to toe. “Blood and brains, oh God, it was everywhere.”

  Hayden gripped the boy’s shoulders. “Someone called you and told you to check the barn? Who?”

  “I…I…I don’t know. Blood, too much blood. Too much!” The kid let out another moan and broke into body-wrenching sobs.

  Hayden moved his hand to the boy’s head and rested his fingers in his hair. “See if you can track down Chief Greenfield,” Hayden said to Evie. “I don’t know where the hell he is, but he was here earlier, and as soon as you can, get to that barn.”

  “You think the Butcher made the tip-off call?”

  “Yes.” Because this was all part of the Butcher’s plan. Hayden could see it now. The Butcher was trying to create chaos, and in that chaos, he’d make a move. He turned to check on Kate, who still stood between her grandparents, two eagle-eyed bookends.

  “Where are you going?” Evie asked.

  “To find out why Dr. Trowbridge felt the need to flee.”

  Hayden made his way through the packed ballroom, now buzzing with hushed and not-so-hushed voices. He didn’t need to go far in his hunt for Trowbridge. He was sprawled in the Conlans’ drive with Hatch’s knee in his back.

  Hatch yanked Hope Academy’s doctor to his feet and got in his bone-white face. “Talk, asshole.”

  * * *

  Kate tried to take off after Hayden, but her grandparents closed in on her, so close she could barely breathe. Her hand fisted around the note from the waiter. Hayden needed to know the Butcher had made contact with her. She looked for Hatch or Evie, but Evie had just left the ballroom with the bloody boy, and Hatch had disappeared after Dr. Trowbridge.

  She had no idea what was going on, but she didn’t care. She cared about Smokey and finding Hayden so they could go to the boathouse. She rushed in the direction of Hayden, but her grandfather grabbed her arm.

  “You’re staying here.” Her grandfather’s eyes narrowed.

  “I need to go after Hayden.”

  “You’re not leaving this room.”

  “But—”

  “Hayden’s orders.”

  The old man, who’d never stood by her in the past, was standing strong now. Damn him. But her anger fizzled when she saw the worry in the old man’s eyes, even more intense than when he and his fellow soldiers were searching for Smokey Joe. Hayden was right. Her grandparents cared.

  “Look,” she said, “one of the waiters slipped this note to me. The Butcher has Smokey and wants to meet me at boathouse.” She looked at her watch. “I’m supposed to be there right now. I need Hayden.”

  Her grandfather looked at the note, his great white bushy eyebrows dipping with a frown. “You will stay here. I’ll find Hayden.”

  Fighting words teetered on her tongue, but she didn’t have time to fight. Smokey didn’t have time for her to fight. “Fine. I’ll stay, but get Hayden. Now.”

  Her grandfather bulldozed through the ballroom crowd, and her grandmother moved closer, slipping her arm about Kate’s waist. The touch sent way too many feelings through her, but she didn’t have time for feelings. She closed her eyes and tried to picture Smokey. Was he frightened? Fighting? Tired? Hurt? Giving the Butcher hell?

  Her frantic gaze shot around the room again. Why had Hayden left her? Her grandmother’s hand tightened on her waist. What if her grandfather couldn’t find Hayden in time? What if…Oh, God, she didn’t have time for what-ifs.

  Kate headed for the patio door, but her grandmother stopped her with a surprisingly hard jerk. “I’ve lost my daughter and my grandson this week, and I’m not going to lose you, too.” Her grandmother looked ready to take on an army of dragons. “If you take one more step, I’ll have half a dozen of these guys on you in seconds.”

  Kate’s mouth fell open. Where had this warrior been two decades ago when she’d had to face one pink dragon on her own? But she didn’t have time to ask questions. Think, she told herself as her eyelids slammed shut. What would Hayden do? Or Hatch or Evie or Parker Lord?

  Her eyes flew open. “It’s important to take care of those you love, right?” She was surprised at the catch in her voice.

  Her grandmother’s artfully stretched face didn’t budge, but the air around them quivered. “Yes.”

  Okay. Now. For Smokey Joe. She threw her arms around the older woman and gave her a hug. Two arms. Her arms. The touch moved her more than she wanted to contemplate, but she didn’t focus on it. Hugs had the power to stop wars. They also had the power to momentarily stun lonely, guilt-ridden grandmothers.

  “I have to go to Smokey. Tell Hayden to hurry. And go find Parker Lord and Chief Greenfield. Tell them all I’ll be at the boathouse.”

  * * *

  Friday, June 19, 9:30 p.m.

  Dorado Bay, Nevada

  More than ten thousand drummer boys banged on the inside of Lottie’s skull, and her feet were killing her. She was a sorry piece tonight, but not half as sorry as the Butcher would be when she got her hands on him.

  She banged again on Louella Bollinger’s front door. Louella was the sixty-seven-year-old president of the Bluelake Golden Girls Dance Line. She was also the proud owner of one butt-ugly pair of size eight and a half wide orthotic shoes that matched the prints found in Shayna Thomas’s backyard.

  While she was out flashing that sketch of the “woman” Shayna Thomas’s stalker s
aw, Detective Traynor had called with the news that Louella Bollinger, who lived on the west shore of Dorado Bay, had a prescription filled for the shoes. Coincidence? Hell, no. Although it was highly unlikely that sixty-seven-year-old Louella was at Shayna Thomas’s house in a pink dress, Lottie sure as hell wanted to know who had access to that woman’s shoe tree.

  She and the Dorado Bay police officer Hayden assigned to babysit her stood on Louella’s front porch, banging on the door.

  “I’m coooooming,” a voice from within the house crooned. The door opened to a tall, slim woman with rhinestone-studded cat-eye glasses and snow-white hair.

  “Mrs. Bollinger, I’m Lottie King of the Colorado Springs Police Department, and I’m following up a lead on one of the Broadcaster Butcher slayings. We’ve learned a suspect at one of the crime scenes was wearing orthotic shoes that match a pair prescribed to you.” She held up a picture of the black, chunky shoes. “Do you own a pair of these?”

  The woman shook her head, the rhinestone chain of her glasses tinkling against the eyeglass frame. “Heavens no. I wouldn’t be caught dead in those.” The woman waggled her foot, which was encased in a pair of Via Spiga pumps, candy-apple red with double tassels.

  “You’ve never had an orthotic shoe prescribed to you?”

  “Never.” She pointed her toe and kicked, her foot coming to within an inch of Lottie’s nose. “These hoofers are in great shape.”

  Lottie walked away wondering who the hell faked Louella Bollinger’s prescription.

  * * *

  As Kate ducked into the rain-soaked night, sirens wailed and lights flashed near the front of her grandparents’ mansion. Good. The police had arrived, and Parker Lord and his people were probably storming the front door, too. It was all good.

  And any minute Hayden would join her. Her grandfather should have found him by now. She had to trust them, believe that good would conquer evil, that they’d come through for her, that she didn’t need to do everything on her own.