by Sandra Brown
To his sister, he said, “I can’t relocate right away.”
“You always do. Immediately.”
“Not this time.”
“What makes this time different?”
He couldn’t tell her or she would be even more worried and afraid than she was. If he told her about Emory, she would advise him to turn his back, walk away, leave it alone, and do so tonight, now. He didn’t want to hear it from Rebecca. He knew it already.
“I have to wrap up something here before moving on, that’s all.”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“No.”
“Does it have to do with Westboro?”
“No. This is something else.” Before she demanded to know information he wouldn’t share, he gave her the number of another burner phone. “Same rules. Call it only if you have to.”
“I will. Will you call me?”
“Sure.”
After a beat, she said, “You’re taking on more trouble, aren’t you?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Swear to God,” she said, “if I knew where you were, I would call Jack Connell right this minute and tell him.”
“No you wouldn’t.”
She blew out a gust of breath and, with defeat, said, “No, I wouldn’t. But he did say something about you today that I can’t get out of my head.”
“This ought to be good.”
“He said that it might actually be a relief to you if you were found.”
“A relief?”
“That was the word he used.”
“Then he’s full of shit. If he comes around again, tell him to fuck off.”
She laughed. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
Her laughter was a good note on which to end the call. Before either of them became maudlin, before they had to actually say good-bye, he disconnected. Then he removed the battery from the phone and ground the phone itself beneath his boot until it was broken into bits.
He knelt and swept all the pieces of the phone off the ground into his hand and dropped them in his coat pocket to dispose of later. Then he dug into his jeans pocket and took out the tiny silver trinket, the token that he’d kept as a tangible link to Emory, not realizing until today what vital importance it had.
Thoughtfully rubbing it between his fingers, he gave the hospital one last look, and, convinced that nothing untoward was likely to happen tonight, he started back toward where he’d left his truck. He had a lot of work to do tonight. Busy work. Tasks that should keep his mind off Emory.
But wouldn’t.
For four years, he’d lived with loneliness and had even reconciled himself to it.
But in only four days his tolerance for it had expired. It had begun to hurt.
Chapter 27
Emory sat bolt upright, gasping.
Wildly, she looked around, expecting to see the log walls, the lamp with the burlap shade, him.
But he wasn’t there, and this wasn’t the cabin, and the Floyd brothers weren’t about to barge through the door with a loaded shotgun.
She was in her hospital room, safe and secure.
So why was her heart racing? Why was she so oxygen-deprived that her hands and feet were tingling?
She recognized the classic symptoms of a panic attack, but for the life of her, she didn’t know what had brought it on. A bad dream? Deep-seated guilt from having lied to law enforcement officers?
Either would do it.
But she sensed the reason for her acute anxiety was something more imperative. She got out of bed and dragged the IV pole with her over to the door. Opening it only a crack, she stuck her head through and looked in both directions. The corridor was empty. No one lurking outside her room. None of the nursing staff in sight. Nothing threatening.
She backed into the room and closed the door.
She went into the bathroom to use the toilet and bathe her face with a damp cloth. The tile floor was cold against her bare feet. On her way back to the bed, she retrieved the bag containing her belongings from the closet and carried it with her to the bed. As she rummaged through it looking for her socks, she conceded that Jeff was right. Her running clothes did smell rather—
Suddenly prompted by intuition, she upended the bag and shook the contents into her lap, convinced that the answer to what had caused her panic attack was something within that bag.
She rifled through the articles rapidly, then more slowly, handling them individually, taking them into account one by one.
When realization struck, the shock was electrifying.
She sat for a moment trying to decide what to do, then, with trembling hands, she punched in a number on her cell phone, and waited anxiously for the call to be answered.
After several rings, a sleepy voice said, “Emory? Is everything okay?”
“Alice! I apologize for waking you.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I mean I’m not, or I wouldn’t be calling you at— What time is it?”
“Doesn’t matter. What’s wrong? You sound frantic.”
She forced herself to calm down and take deep breaths. “I need to ask you something, and I didn’t want to wait until morning.”
“I’m listening.”
“Today, when all of you were in my hospital room and I was describing the fall I took, and hitting my head, all that, did I mention breaking my sunglasses?”
“What?”
“Think back, Alice. Please. It’s important. Did I refer to breaking my sunglasses?”
“I don’t remember. Why?”
She swallowed with effort. “Because Jeff asked me earlier tonight who had repaired them. I told him that one of the nurses must have, when actually it was the man in the cabin.”
“Okay,” Alice said slowly, clearly mystified.
“How did Jeff know my glasses had broken when I fell?”
Alice took time to think it over. “You repeated your story several times throughout the afternoon. You must have mentioned the sunglasses at one time or another.”
She gnawed her lower lip. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you implying… What are you implying?”
“Just hear me out, please. Since our reunion this morning, Jeff has been like a different person. He’s hovered. He’s been protective, loving, even contrite. Not at all like him, as you know.”
“Emory—”
“I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to say that would be normal penitential behavior for a man who’s been having an affair.”
“That’s exactly what I was going to say. In light of your close call, he feels truly rotten and wants to atone for straying.”
“That makes sense, and I would agree, except that his coddling feels phony and forced. Like he’s putting on an act. I don’t feel comfortable around him. He’s made me very ill at ease. I know it sounds crazy.”
“It doesn’t sound crazy. It does, however, sound like it’s coming from someone who took a hard blow to the head. Did they give you a sedative tonight? It could be affecting—”
“This isn’t medication talking. I’m not delusional. I’m not hysterical.”
Alice’s silence on the other end indicated that perhaps she did sound hysterical. She rolled her lips inward to prevent herself from saying anything that would affirm it.
Alice said, “Let me be sure I understand. You’re suggesting that Jeff was there, that he had a hand in the injury that caused your concussion?”
“If he didn’t, how did he know about my sunglasses?”
Alice took a deep breath. “All right, say he did incapacitate you. Then what? He left you for this mountain man to kidnap? Do you think Jeff and he were in cahoots?”
“No. Impossible.”
“More impossible than what you’re alleging?”
“I’m not alleging anything. I’m just—” What was she doing?
“Have you told the two detectives about this?” Alice aske
d.
“Not yet.”
“You should.”
“I considered calling Sergeant Knight, but I wanted confirmation about the sunglasses first. I hoped you would tell me yes I definitely referenced them, or no I definitely did not.”
Softly Alice said, “You didn’t. Not in my hearing.”
Emory expelled her breath in a gust. “Thank you.”
“But how many times had you told the story before Neal and I arrived?”
“Several. Fragments of it anyway.”
“Can you absolutely swear that you didn’t at some point mention your sunglasses?”
When she looked back over the day, it was a jumble of incomplete impressions, as though someone had made a jigsaw puzzle of it, then tossed all the pieces into the air and let them fall.
She’d been suffering the impact of her reentry into normal life and concentrating so hard on not trapping herself in a lie, perhaps she had referred to her sunglasses and simply didn’t remember doing so.
“No,” she admitted softly. “I can’t absolutely swear to it.”
Alice waited several moments, then said, “I believe you took something Jeff said in passing and blew it out of proportion.”
“I’d like to think so. Truly I would. But I have such a strong gut feeling that something isn’t right.”
“May I offer a couple of explanations for why you feel that way?”
“Please.”
“You’ve been through an ordeal that packed a wallop, emotionally as well as physically. You suffered a brain injury, a mild one, but a brain injury nonetheless. You slept with a stranger. In terms of Emory Charbonneau’s comfort zone, that’s outside the stratosphere. Naturally, you’re feeling a bit fragile, insecure, even frightened.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Alice. But when have you known me to let my imagination run wild, or to go all aflutter in a crisis situation?”
“Never. But this was no ordinary crisis. This was your crisis.”
She sighed. “All right, that’s one explanation. You said you had a couple.”
“Guilt, perhaps?”
Emory thought about it. “I’m finding fault with Jeff to assuage my own guilt for sleeping with another man?”
“I’m no psychiatrist, but that kind of transference seems logical, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
She wasn’t. She had done the exact opposite by resolving not to blame Jeff for her adultery. “It’s not entirely unthinkable that Jeff was somehow involved. The detectives suspected him.”
“He was cleared.”
Yes, Emory thought, but only because I showed up alive.
Alice was saying, “Jeff isn’t the warmest individual, and, in fact, he can be a self-centered son of a bitch. But during one of our conversations while you were still missing, he told me he wanted to be an ideal husband to you, the kind that you deserve.” She paused, then added in a heartfelt whisper, “I swear to you, he couldn’t have harmed you.”
Panic attacks were sparked by traumatic events. Just as often they were brought on by imagined or manufactured terrors. Clearly Alice believed her suspicions were groundless. And perhaps they were. “I apologize for waking you up.”
“You know I’m here for you,” Alice said. “But I need to beg off. I have two scheduled C-sections tomorrow.”
Emory apologized for keeping her on the phone for so long.
Alice was still reluctant to hang up. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Thanks for listening.”
“We’ll talk again tomorrow. Get some rest. Things will look better in the morning.”
But in the morning, they didn’t.
She was dressed and waiting when Jeff arrived. He pushed through the door and exclaimed, “You look gorgeous!”
She forced herself to smile. “Hardly, but I made a few improvements.”
“That’s always been one of my favorite outfits.”
“It’s jeans and a sweater.”
“It’s you in jeans and a sweater.” He bent down and brushed his mouth across hers. “How did you sleep?”
She didn’t tell him about her panic attack or her conversation with Alice. But after it, while lying sleepless and agitated, she had made up her mind not to live in doubt and fear. She refused to harbor doubts about the man to whom she was married. She would ask him straight out how he knew about her sunglasses. She hoped he would have a logical explanation that would eliminate her misgivings and make her feel ridiculous for entertaining them even for an instant.
Briskly, he rubbed his palms together. “Got everything? Ready to roll?”
“As soon as they bring a wheelchair. You know, hospital rules. While we’re waiting, I want to ask about something that’s been nagging me.”
His smooth forehead furrowed. He took her hand and massaged the back of it with his thumb. “Judging by your expression, it’s something serious. What is it?”
Gathering her courage, she said, “Jeff—”
Her cell phone rang. Earlier she’d transferred it from her fanny pack to her handbag. She took it out, read the LED, and answered. “Sergeant Knight?”
Jeff dropped her hand, muttering a swear word.
“Hey, Dr. Charbonneau,” the detective said. “How’re you doin’ this morning?”
She was on the verge of blurting out You may have been right about Jeff after all. But instead, she said, “I’m feeling much better, thank you.”
“Glad to hear it. Is your husband with you?”
“He’s standing right here.”
“Good. That’s good. Listen, something’s come up. Me and Buddy Grange would like to drop by the hospital before y’all leave for home. Is now a good time?”
The nurse appeared in the doorway, pushing a wheelchair.
Emory held up an index finger, asking her to wait for a moment. “What’s come up, Sergeant Knight?”
“Rather not go into it over the phone.”
Jeff. They’d discovered something that implicated Jeff.
“We’d rather talk to y’all in person,” Knight said.
A bit breathless, she said, “No need for you to come to the hospital. We’ll come to you.”
Chapter 28
Knight and Grange walked them through a squad room that Jeff had described to her in disparaging detail. “I hoped never to see this place again,” he said to Emory under his breath. “He didn’t give you a hint as to what this is about?”
“Only that he didn’t want to discuss it over the phone.”
They followed the two detectives down a short hallway and into an interrogation room. “It’ll be quieter in here,” Knight said as he held a chair for her. “Jeff, you take that seat. Can I get y’all something to drink?”
They declined in unison.
Knight sat down across the small table from her. Grange propped himself against the wall, one hand in his pants pocket, the other holding a manila envelope against his thigh. He looked casual and relaxed.
Emory wasn’t deceived.
Knight began. “You got a good night’s rest?”
No, I had an epiphany. She hedged. “You know how it is in a hospital.”
“They wake you up to put you to sleep.”
“Something like that.”
“Can we please get to the reason we’re here?” Jeff said. “We have the drive to Atlanta ahead of us.” He looked impatient, like he would very much like to be anyplace other than here.
Knight grimaced. “We’ve inconvenienced you and then some, Jeff.”
“Inconvenienced? Try insulted.”
“Right.” Knight sighed. “And Grange and me have both told you we’re sorry. We say so again. Our apologies.” When Jeff didn’t respond, Knight went on. “Reason I called y’all this morning, reason I asked about your wife’s rest, I thought maybe something had been jostled loose during the night.”
“You make it sound like teeth
,” Jeff said.
Knight grinned with good humor. “I was thinking more along the lines of a memory that had slipped her mind yesterday. Thought something might’ve worked itself free overnight.”
Under the circumstances, the detective’s perception was extraordinary. She glanced nervously at Jeff before coming back to Knight. “The deputies who were going to retrace my route, have they discovered something?”
“Not yet. That map of yours ever turn up?”
“You have maps of the park,” she countered. “Probably much more detailed than mine, which I printed off the Internet. How could it possibly help?”
“Well, so we’ll be sure you didn’t take a detour or make a wrong turn. Because—here’s what’s so darn bedevilin’—nobody can pinpoint the spot of your mishap, whatever it was. Any idea how far you’d gone before it occurred?”
“I estimate that I’d been running for about an hour. I never reached my turnaround.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Yes.”
They looked doubtful, but she couldn’t tell if it was over her not reaching her turnaround or her inability to remember if she had. She shifted in the chair, which had probably been designed for discomfort. “Believe me, I want to know what happened up there as much as you do.”
Knight exchanged a look with Grange before coming back to her. “You’re sure you don’t have anything to add to what you told us yesterday?”
She would rather not bring up her sunglasses until after she learned what they had to share, the matter too sensitive to discuss over the phone.
“Nothing? Aw-right then.” Turning to his partner, Knight asked, “Is it ready?”
Grange pushed himself away from the wall. “All set.” A laptop sitting on the table had been turned away from her. Grange pivoted it until the monitor was facing her.
Jeff, who also had a vantage point to see the screen, said, “What the hell is this? Home movies?”
Knight said, “Kinda like that.”
“This was brought to our attention this morning.” Grange tapped the play icon in the center of the screen, and the video began.
The picture quality wasn’t good, it was dark and grainy, but Emory recognized the room instantly. Her stomach dropped. Behind her eardrums, her blood surged like water from a breaking dam.
