Finding nothing suspicious, he switched off the light and stood listening to the night. He could hear the distant putter of an outboard motor somewhere on the lake, but the boat seemed to be moving away from the cabin. He waited for another moment before heading back inside to search each room.
A closed suitcase rested on the bed, but smaller personal items like Dr. Nance’s wallet, phone and keys were nowhere to be found. Either they’d been confiscated as evidence or they had fallen into the water when the boat capsized. Or someone besides the police had taken them. Adam made fast work of the tidy closet and chest of drawers, and then returned to the main area of the cabin.
A well-worn recliner was positioned near the fireplace so that in the winter Dr. Nance could enjoy a crackling blaze while admiring the sunset. The side table was piled high with books and magazines. A small desk occupied the opposite side of the room. Adam quickly went through the drawers and then searched the kitchen cupboards. He even checked the refrigerator and freezer before returning to Dr. Nance’s recliner. After glancing at the address label on one of the magazines, he thumbed through the pages and then scanned the book titles. The reading material varied, everything from fishing magazines to crime thrillers to World War II nonfiction. Even among that eclectic collection, one of the titles leaped out at him: The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha.
There was nothing strange about a man who enjoyed classic literature. Dr. Nance appeared to have been a voracious and curious reader. But that particular title stopped Adam cold as his mind raced back to their last conversation. If you get here and decide I’m just a delusional old coot tilting at windmills...
Maybe he was reaching, Adam thought. Maybe he was the one tilting at windmills, but he’d never been a big believer in coincidences. Had Dr. Nance used that particular phrase for a reason? Had he deliberately left the book in plain sight at the cabin?
Adam sat down in the recliner and flipped through the pages, then carefully examined the binding. It took several minutes of searching before he found the tiny rolled piece of paper that had been slipped up into the spine of the book where the stitching had come loose. He used a pen to carefully fish it out. The note contained a handwritten number in blue ink: 47.
He flipped to page forty-seven and read the text. If there was a clue hidden within the dialogue about knight-errantry, it was lost on Adam.
Reaching for his phone, he snapped a shot of the note, then rerolled the paper and returned it to the spine of the book. He took another quick survey of the cabin before he doused the flashlight and went out the same way he’d come in. He was still at the top of the steps when he spotted a boat gliding across the lake without lights or an engine.
Clouds smothered all but a faint shimmer of moonlight. The night was very dark and yet there was no mistaking the movement of the boat or the distant splash of water against oars. He could just make out the silhouette of the rower as he bent to his task. For a moment, Adam thought the small craft might drift right up to the spot where he’d left his grandmother’s boat, but instead the prow turned toward the dock, making it impossible for Adam to descend the steps without being seen.
Retreating back into the cabin, he purposefully left the latches unlocked and then hid behind the bedroom door, positioning himself so that he could peer out into the other room. A few minutes went by before a figure wearing a black hoodie appeared on the deck.
A face pressed against the glass, but Adam couldn’t make out his features. The man looked to be taller than average with a muscular build. He lifted his hand and shone a flashlight beam into the space before trying the latches. Adam sank back from the opening. The light went out, and a moment later, he heard the hinges squeak as the doors opened, and then footsteps thudded across the wooden floor.
The intruder’s movements were efficient but unhurried as he made his way around the cabin, searching through the desk and side table drawers, then turning his attention to the bathroom and finally the bedroom. Adam had never shied away from confrontation, but at the moment, he was far more interested in finding out what the intruder might be after. He dropped to the floor and rolled silently under the bed.
The man entered the room and moved around the space, opening drawers and the closet door and then pausing beside the bed while Adam held his breath. The intruder lingered as though sensing a presence. Adam braced for an attack. Already the adrenaline was starting to pump. But the man turned and went back into the main room. The footsteps receded, the French doors clicked shut and he was gone.
Adam slid from underneath the bed and glanced into the other room, scouting all the shadowy corners before locking the doors and easing across the deck. He paused once again to scan the area, but the man in black had vanished.
Keeping to the shadows, Adam slipped down the steps far enough to see the dock. The boat was still tied off. The intruder hadn’t gone far.
Whether Adam heard a slight noise, he saw something out of the corner of his eye, or his instincts were that highly attuned to the night, he didn’t know, but he immediately ducked. A bullet whizzed past his cheek, exploding the bark of a pine tree to his right as the crack of gunfire echoed out over the water.
For one stunned moment, Adam was back in Dallas, back on that porch with the sound of gunfire ringing in his ears. He hadn’t worn body armor that day. It was supposed to be a routine arrest. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all out of the ordinary. Just as this should have been a routine search of Dr. Nance’s cabin. No one else was supposed to be here.
For what seemed an eternity, Adam hunkered on the steps, partially concealed by the overgrown vegetation and the encroaching shadows. He told himself to move, take cover, and yet he remained captive to a deadly paralysis. He could see the shooter out of the corner of his eye. The man hovered at the top of the stairs as if waiting to see if he’d hit his mark. He came down the steps slowly at first and then in a rush, surprisingly fleet of foot for someone his size.
Adam reacted on instinct just as he had after the Dallas shooting. That day, he’d bled profusely from his wounds as he crawled to the corner of the house seeking cover. He didn’t remember anything else. He’d never even heard the sirens.
Tonight, there were no sirens. No sound at all once the echo of gunfire had died away over the water. The humid night seemed to close in on him as he crouched in the bushes and waited. He drew a breath and then another, settling his nerves before maneuvering into a position where he could glimpse the stairs. The footsteps had gone silent. He could imagine the shooter pausing to listen for a snapping twig or a hitched breath. Anything that would give away his quarry’s position.
The cloudy sky worked in Adam’s favor now. He couldn’t see the shooter from his vantage, but neither could the shooter see him. Questions lurked at the back of his mind. Who was this guy and what had he been looking for in Dr. Nance’s cabin? Adam pushed the queries aside and concentrated on what he did know. He was unarmed, so surprise was his best weapon.
A wooden step creaked and then another as the shooter descended cautiously. The notion crossed Adam’s mind that he should try to make a quiet getaway. He was outsized and unarmed; just slip away into the night. But another creak and he was on his feet, endorphins surging. He lunged, tackling the man around the knees, and he heard the satisfying thud of the gun hitting a wooden step as they crashed to the ground. The shooter’s fingers closed around Adam’s throat as Adam’s thumbs dug into the man’s eyes. Neither gave ground. On and on they fought as they tumbled down the steps toward the dock.
Adam’s head cracked against one of the metal cleats bolted into the wood. Blood and white-hot pain temporarily blinded him. Dazed, he wiped his eyes as he staggered to his feet. His opponent was hardly more than a hulking shadow in the dark. He lowered his head like a bull and slammed into Adam. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs and toppled him backward into the lake.
Surfacing, he caug
ht his breath on a gasp, almost expecting his opponent to jump into the water to try to finish him off. A million thoughts rushed through his head as the adrenaline continued to pump. He shook water from his eyes and ears and searched the darkness. Footsteps pounded up the steps. The assailant had gone back for his gun.
Adam tried to hitch himself up on the dock, but a volley of shots forced him back into the lake. The man came running down the steps, peppering the water with bullets. Adam pushed away from the dock and dived, swimming out into deeper water for cover. He stayed under until his lungs screamed for air, and when he surfaced, he heard the putter of a small outboard, which had been silent earlier. He treaded water until a spotlight caught him in the eyes. The boat was almost upon him before he once again dived for the murky bottom and swam out toward the middle of the lake.
The night was pitch-black above and beneath the surface. Disoriented, Adam hung suspended as he tried to get his bearings. Once upon a time, he’d been able to hold his breath for a very long time, but that was before he’d taken two bullets in the chest. He surfaced a third time, gasping for air as he searched for the boat. His head throbbed; his lungs burned. For weeks, he’d been intensifying his workouts, fooling himself into thinking he was fully recovered. His muscles now told him otherwise. He was already fatigued.
The outboard rumbled off into the distance. He waited until the sound had disappeared into the night and then he rolled over on his back and floated. He couldn’t stay out on the lake forever. Already the adrenaline was giving way to a dangerous lethargy. Setting out toward the bank, he measured his strokes and controlled his breathing until he could stand up in knee-deep water. Exhausted, he sloshed back toward the dock. He’d lost his phone somewhere along the way. He imagined it at the bottom of the lake, along with the photograph of Dr. Nance’s mysterious note.
He still had no idea of the significance of that number. He couldn’t begin to guess what Dr. Nance may have stumbled upon.
What he did know was that someone had been willing to put a bullet in him tonight.
Chapter Six
A storm blew in after midnight, and a loud clap of thunder awakened Nikki with a start. She fluffed her pillow and pulled the covers up to her chin, but she couldn’t fall back asleep.
Rolling to her back, she watched shadows dance across the ceiling, hoping the hypnotic motion would lull her back under. She only grew more and more anxious. Finally, she kicked off the quilt and rose to wander restlessly through the house. After pouring herself a glass of water, she went out to the back porch, where she could watch the storm through the screen door.
The wind chimes clanked in the gusts and the rain deepened the scent of roses and wet grass. In the flare of a lightning strike, Nikki could have sworn she saw a tall man dressed in dark clothing standing just inside the back gate.
She straightened with a gasp, her heart flailing against her rib cage as she peered through the darkness. For a split second only, she thought about going out to investigate, but a voice that sounded suspiciously like her grandmother’s froze her in place. Girl, are you stupid or just plain crazy? Don’t go out there alone. He could be an ax murderer, for all you know. Go inside and call the police.
But the figure she’d spotted in one lightning strike vanished in the next, leaving Nikki to wonder if she’d seen nothing more than a small tree that grew along the fence. She stood behind the latched screen door and scanned the yard until her pulse finally settled and she managed to convince herself the lightning and her imagination had conjured the intruder. No one had been in her yard earlier. No one was out there now. Go back to bed.
She closed the wooden door and turned the dead bolt, then checked all the windows on the porch before padding back off to bed. Climbing under the covers, she lay wide-awake as the flickers of lightning gradually grew dimmer and thunder faded in the distance. She was just growing drowsy when she heard a car start up down the street.
Nasty night to be out so late, she thought. The vehicle seemed to slow as it approached her house.
She got up and glanced out the window. A truck lumbered by, splashing water to the curb. The back was enclosed like a delivery vehicle of some sort, but who would be getting a package at this hour?
Nikki told herself the driver was just being cautious in the storm. He hadn’t intentionally slowed for her house. She really was letting her imagination get the better of her. No one had been in the backyard watching her house. No one had waited behind the garden gate for her lights to go out. She’d summoned the boogeymen of her childhood so she wouldn’t have to succumb to her grief. But it was coming. Sooner or later, she would have to deal with another loss.
She snuggled deeper under the covers and closed her eyes on a shiver.
When she awakened again it was to sunshine streaming across her face. Birds chirped in the tree outside her bedroom window and she could hear the normal, everyday sound of traffic on the street. Relieved to have another bad night behind her, she crawled out of bed, showered and dressed in her usual uniform of jeans, sneakers and T-shirt. Then she headed to the lab, where she changed into scrubs, lab coat, goggles and mask.
Dr. Ramirez came in a few minutes later, and they began the autopsy on Dr. Nance’s remains. Nikki tried to distance herself from the process as she assisted in examining, removing and weighing the internal organs and in collecting blood and tissue samples. The procedure took little more than two hours. Only when the Y-shaped incision had been stitched did she step out into the hallway for a moment to catch her breath and steady her emotions.
As she feared, the preliminary findings were inconclusive. She delivered the results later that day to Sheriff Brannon in person.
He motioned her to a chair across from his desk while he took a moment to scan the report. “Says here the findings are consistent with drowning.”
Nikki nodded. “We found froth in the mouth, nostrils and trachea, and that, along with the elevated lung weight and pleural effusions, would suggest death by drowning. We’re waiting for some of the other test results before we reach a consensus. The toxicology screen could take a couple of weeks. Once everything is in, Dr. Ramirez will provide a more detailed analysis in his final report.”
Tom got up and closed his office door. “You’re satisfied with these findings?”
“If you mean as coroner, am I ready to rule the death an accidental drowning? No, not yet. I still want to know why and how he ended up at the lake when he was supposed to be at a conference in Houston. Something doesn’t feel right to me, Tom. Despite that, I find it hard to believe anyone would want to harm Dr. Nance. What would be the motive?”
“Motive will sometimes surprise you.” Tom sat back down and picked up the report. “I haven’t been able to track down the conference coordinator to confirm a cancellation, but we did find Dr. Nance’s Jeep at the cabin. The house was locked up. Dessie Dupre gave us a key to get in. No sign of a forced entry or struggle inside. We found his closed suitcase on the bed and his wallet, car fob and phone on the nightstand. There was cash in the wallet, along with his driver’s license, credit cards and insurance information. He cleaned out his pockets but didn’t take time to unpack before going out in the boat.”
“But why?” Nikki fell silent as she pondered the possibilities. Something occurred to her. “Did you find his journal at the cabin?”
Tom glanced up. “He kept a journal?”
“For as long as I’ve known him. He’s the one who persuaded me to journal when I was younger. I kept one faithfully for years, but it got to be too much work.” And too dangerous. Nikki paused, thinking about her secret hiding place at the Ruins and wondering again who may have stumbled upon her confession. “Anyway, if we can find his notes, maybe some of our questions will be answered.”
“I’ll run by his house later and see if Dessie knows anything about it. She may have remembered something else, too, since we last talked. What a
bout his medical history? Anything there?”
“We had his records sent over before the autopsy. He had a physical last year. Other than mild hypertension, he was in good health for a man his age.”
“So that brings us back to his mental state.”
Nikki winced. She hated thinking about Dr. Nance out on the lake, perhaps lost and confused. Or in a moment of clarity, contemplating what might lie ahead of him. She tried to shake off a creeping despair. “As I said before, he seemed fine when I saw him last week.”
Tom glanced up. “You also said you were in a hurry to get back to work and may have missed something.”
“Your point?”
He leaned back in his chair. “I spoke to Dr. Wingate this morning. She told me there’d been some problems at the clinic lately.”
Nikki frowned. “What kind of problems?”
“Memory issues. Forgotten appointments, duplicated tests. He even mixed up two prescriptions. The mistake was caught in time, but when Dr. Wingate brought the error to his attention, he couldn’t remember writing either prescription. After that incident, she said he began referring most of his patients to her. He planned to phase out his practice altogether when he returned from the conference in Houston.”
“That’s strange,” Nikki said. “He never said anything to me about retiring.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to worry you. Or maybe he just needed time to process the idea before he made an announcement.”
“Why go to a medical conference if he planned to retire?”
“To see old friends, maybe. Who knows? Maybe that’s why he changed his mind and went to the lake instead.” Tom paused thoughtfully. “How well do you know Dr. Wingate?”
A Desperate Search Page 7
