“No. Is he the one who shot at us?”
“We don’t think so. This guy was found dead in the stand of trees,” Rick told her.
“Dead? How? Who is he?”
Kevin noted the hands tremble, but she was doing a decent job of holding it together. Trouble was, it wasn’t going to get easier for her.
“We were hoping you’d recognize him. There was no identification on the body.”
“Let me see the picture again.”
Rick handed her his phone as she set down her glass. Some color faded from her cheeks, but Kevin didn’t note any other reaction to the photo.
“How did he die?” she asked again, retrieving her glass and taking a hefty sip.
“The coroner hasn’t given an official cause of death, but I’m pretty certain he was strangled,” Rick told her.
“So, there were two people out there? And you don’t believe this one fired the shot at us?”
“At you,” Troy pointed out.
River nodded. “I am sorry my presence put you in danger. It won’t happen again.”
Kevin noted the slackening of Troy’s jaw. Still, his friend didn’t acknowledge her apology.
“This man didn’t do any shooting. At least, not today,” Rick told her.
“How can you be certain?”
Troy snatched the phone from River’s hand. Kevin understood his intentions a minute too late. Troy had already scrolled to the next photo and shoved the phone at River. She went from pale to white. Rushing toward her, Kevin stopped in his tracks when those ice-blue eyes flashed up at him. Tossing the phone to the couch as if it had burned her fingers, she stumbled back toward the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, her hands trembled as she took another fortifying sip of the wine.
“Was that necessary?” Kevin couldn’t blame Troy for his hostility toward River. He adored his wife, but the action had been unlike him.
“Why?” River asked. “Why did he cut off the hands? Is someone sending me a message?”
“It’s possible, or someone is trying to make his identification difficult,” Rick said.
River set the glass aside, letting her head drop into her hands. Kevin could only imagine the memories running through her head. Her family had been slaughtered—stabbed and sliced with knives. The dismemberment of the victim hit all too close to her history. Her agony was so visible, it hurt to watch. Instinct almost brought him to his feet again, but common sense stopped him. She didn’t want his help. She chose to carry this weight alone. Why?
Kevin side-eyed his friends. They, too, were uncomfortable. Troy’s head hung low, studying his hands, avoiding the painful scene. Rick fiddled with his phone, giving River time to gather herself.
A deep breath, followed by a loud sigh, signaled River was ready to continue. She raised her head and focused on Rick.
“How can I help?”
The question and tone caught Kevin off guard. Gone was the anger and pain. The softness and concern he’d witnessed the last two days had returned. Interesting.
“You don’t recognize him?” Rick asked again.
“No. Not at all. If I ran into him somewhere, I don’t remember.” River hesitated. “And you don’t think the killer was sending me some kind of message? A warning of some sort?”
“You’d have to be alive to receive a message,” Rick asserted. “From what the guys have told me, the gunman was going for a head shot.”
Kevin didn’t know what to make of River’s expression. Resignation? Disappointment?
“Can you think of a reason why someone would want you dead?”
“No,” she answered Rick. “Well, maybe the Engleharts. I’m sure they would like a crack at me, but they’re locked up for the rest of their lives. Everything that’s happened in the past year or so has been meant to frighten me. If someone wanted me dead, I’ve been an easy target. This is something new.”
“Give me your version of what happened today.” In addition to recording the interview, Rick took out the small pad he kept in his pocket along with a pen. Kevin knew old habits die hard.
The events were related in a steady, disconnected voice, but she was anything but calm. Her fingers traced the sides of the wine tumbler. Her eyes no longer sparkled like ice on a sunny day. When she got to the part where Troy had slammed her to the ground, she stopped to thank him again. She finished relating the events up until she fell victim to the injection Kevin had given her.
“Does that dovetail with your end of things?” He looked to Kevin.
Kevin nodded, keeping his attention fixed on River. She’d remembered every detail. Is that how she remembered the scene that she came upon at fourteen years of age? Were the memories crisp and clear or had they begun to fade around the edges? If they had, today probably brought them back into focus.
“Troy?” Rick glanced at his friend.
“That covers it,” Troy answered the unspoken question.
“Can you think of anything else?” Rick asked River. “Anything? Anyone we should follow up with?
River’s brows knitted together as she gave the question more thought, then quietly shook her head. Kevin fought the urge to go to her. Why the hell would someone prefer to suffer alone when there were people willing to offer support?
“If we’re done,” Troy said, “I want to pick up Shayne.”
“We’re done,” Rick told him. “I’ll follow you over to Colt’s.”
“Give me a minute here,” Kevin said. “Then I’ll see you all over there.”
“Josie and Steve are ready to leave. They’ll need to get Cece to bed,” Rick reminded him from the door.
“I won’t be long.”
“She doesn’t want our help,” Troy reminded him. “She’s made herself clear.”
“I’ll be along in a minute,” Kevin reiterated, refusing to get pulled into an argument.
The door clicked shut. Silence claimed the room. River held her ground, wine glass still clutched in her hand.
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” River said, breaking the silence.
“I think you do. I brought my friends into this mess with your agreement. Granted, I pushed, but you accepted their help then threw dirt in their faces. I think you owe us an explanation.”
“It was a mistake.”
Kevin was done talking to her from across the room. He’d planned to corner her in the kitchen but stopped short of doing so. He did, however, block her exit from the small space. “Why?”
17
It had taken River a while to come down off her peak of temper after Kevin had left. He’d pushed. He’d wanted answers. He wanted the reason behind her sudden change in demeanor, and why she’d hurt his friends. She’d refused to be baited. She was a loner. It was safer for her and everyone else if she stayed that way. If she’d told him she feared for his safety and those in his close-knit group, they were the type to tell her to stop being a hero and would form a tighter circle around her. Insulting them seemed like the best way to be rid of all of them. They’d be fools to want to see her again after her performance. Her face burned at the way she’d treated Shayne. One day she’d apologize, assuming she got the chance.
He’d called her a coward.
Fuck him. River yanked the chair away from her workbench. Dropping into the seat, she picked up the small brush she used to add adhesive to the stones before setting them in place. Her hand shook, damn it. Why did his accusation get under her skin? He had no idea how hard it was to put one foot in front of the other each day—to push past the guilt of leaving her family to die.
Hadn’t she stared sheer evil in the face when she’d testified against those bastards? She’d tackled her nightmares by moving into the cabin where her family had been slaughtered. Who was he to accuse her of hiding? She kept to herself to avoid assholes like him who assumed they had the right to sit in judgement of her actions or reactions.
River’s ears burned and her skin flushed, anger replacing her earlier embarrassment. Swea
ring at her shaking hands, she threw the brush onto the bench. She wouldn’t work on the mask with an unsteady hand. The client was expecting perfection. They were paying for it.
Her eyes were drawn to the large photograph mounted on the wall above her workspace. She’d sketched the pictures the artist had used to carve the base of the birdbath. It had been easy to remember her father’s strong arms as they lifted Billy in the air or hugged her mom tight. River hadn’t needed photos to recreate the lithe limbs of her mother or the pudgy fingers of her little brother. The sketch had been done from memory. To this day, she didn’t question the way she chose to honor them. Her family had loved the land and the creatures that shared it. In River’s mind, the fountain offered life in place of death.
She missed her home and the family who had been gone half her life. How would she be different if they’d survived? Would her career choice have been different? Would she be married and have a gaggle of kids? Would she still be the target of a stalker? Which led her back to the question of whether the death of her family had anything to do with her current problems. She ran her fingers up the bridge of her nose and massaged her forehead. There were so many thoughts banging around, it hurt.
Opening the drawer by the computer, she pulled out her sketch pad. No work would be accomplished tonight, and experience told her sleep would be elusive. So, she did what had become a habit when she was anxious. She began to freestyle—drawing whatever came to mind.
Her pencil flew across the thick, white paper. The outline of the headless snake quickly—almost automatically—appeared. She filled in the details—the scales, the narrowing of the tail. She cut a sharp slash across the page where the head had been cut off. She ripped the page free of the pad. The head of the snake emerged on the next sheet. It rose from the drain of the kitchen sink—its mouth gaping wide, propped open with a broken toothpick. She filled the next page with the frightening, and sad, image of the dead rabbit tucked into her bed—as a child would do with a precious stuffed toy. An eviscerated raccoon followed, propped on the outdoor rocker. A bird, neck broken, strung up on the rafter of her front porch. The images tumbled out like individual frames from a movie until her pencil grew heavy and her hand cramped. Her final sketch showed the blade of the knife as she opened the door to the cabin.
River exhaled, dropping the pad and pencil onto the drafting table. She’d spent months fighting those memories, pushing them into the cracks and crevices of her mind, but tonight they’d refused to stay hidden. The stress of the evening and the process of bringing the images to light drained her. She rested her head on her arms then let the exhaustion consume her.
Kevin cursed as he made his way up the stairs to Colt’s home above the photography studio. River was the most stubborn, pig-headed woman he’d ever met. He didn’t understand why the hell he cared. She’d hurt his friends and, with the exception of Rick, was refusing all assistance. Rick would have been out the door with the rest of them had there been a second detective on Sanibel’s small police force. What the hell was it about her that drew him?
He tapped on the door twice before entering the home. He’d have been surprised if anyone could have heard his knock over Cece’s wailing. Apparently, the young lady was not happy and was making her displeasure known. Gib was doing his best to charm the baby—cooing, tickling and rocking her. The crying didn’t seem to bother him. He was thrilled he’d been given temporary childcare privileges.
The men hovered by the couch where the three women huddled together. Shayne was squeezed between Cat and Josie.
“I’m sorry, Shayne,” he said, approaching them.
“It’s not your fault. She blindsided me for a second,” she said, giving him a smile.
“I pushed her. I guess I pushed too hard.”
“What happened between you two?” Steve asked.
“Nothing that I didn’t think was mutual,” Kevin admitted.
“Apparently, it wasn’t,” Troy growled.
“Give it a rest,” Shayne told her husband, reaching for his hand. “We’ve all had our breaking points.” She glanced at the women at her side.
“We have,” Cat agreed. “And each of us handled it differently.”
“Lashing out may be her way of dealing with stress. She admitted she’s not used to crowds. We witnessed her reaction to us during our first get-together,” Shayne reminded him. “We all should have known better than to gang up on her. Regardless, I wish she’d accept our support.”
“Get her to change her mind,” Josie ordered Kevin as she took the crying baby from Gib’s arms.
“How? She’s closed up tighter than a drum,” Kevin responded.
“I bet I could get her to talk.” Gib volunteered, grinning.
“Leave her be for the time being. I’ll see her tomorrow. See if I can’t talk some sense into her.” Kevin scrubbed his face with his hand. “I can’t make sense of this. Do you guys see a pattern? Anything? You’re the investigators.”
“Don’t sell yourself short in that category,” Colt corrected him. “You investigate every time you work on a patient. You determine the cause of the injury and what they need, then you work to solve it. Medicine is a hell of a lot more meticulous than crime solving.”
“If it hadn’t been for your quick thinking and know-how, I wouldn’t be here. I would never have had this chance with Shayne.” Troy pulled his petite wife closer before laying a kiss on her hair.
Kevin hadn’t thought of it in those terms. His instincts kicked in when someone needed medical attention.
“I haven’t figured her out yet, let alone the shit that’s been happening to her,” he admitted.
“Because we don’t have much to work with right now,” Rick said. “The case didn’t go away because she got her back up. I can’t drop it because she’d be unhappy with us.”
“She was hoping for another detective, but I explained you’re it. She’ll cooperate.”
“I still have people in North Carolina to talk to,” Rick continued, “and I’m hoping we can identify our victim shortly. He may be the clue we need. There has to be a reason someone took the time to lop off his hands and remove all his identification—assuming he had some on him.”
“I’m still digging, too,” Josie added. Her voice was softer now that Cece had fallen asleep in her arms. “I’ll touch base with my sources again tomorrow. The police don’t always get the juicy tidbits reporters dig up and most of those don’t make the news.”
“I’ve got to get these ladies home.” Steve grabbed the diaper bag—and wasn’t it a sight to see his former Special Ops lieutenant hauling diapers instead of weapons of war?
“Sounds good,” Rick said.
“If I find out anything,” Josie added, “I’ll pass the info to Steve.”
As the family made their way toward the rear door, Kevin followed as far as the kitchen. He snagged a beer from the fridge, returning to the living room to join those who remained. Straddling one of the dining room chairs, the beer dangling between two of his fingers, he faced his friends.
“Okay,” he said. “Be honest. Give me your impressions.”
“Of what?” Colt asked. “River or the shitshow surrounding her?”
“Both. I feel like I’m in the middle of a dust storm and can’t see anything clearly. One minute she’s cautious but accepting. The next she’s tossing us out on our ear. She lives quietly on the island for almost a year and suddenly is attacked three times. Is she hiding something? Can we trust her? Should we even try?”
“You can’t see the forest because you’re too focused on the tree. Or in this case, River. You’re attracted to her,” Cat told him. “Everything else is in your periphery.”
“What do you mean?” Kevin raised his eyebrows at her blunt assessment.
“Kev, it’s how you’re built,” Troy explained. “You’ve always had the ability to block out the chaff while you dealt with the problem at hand. It’s what makes you a good medic.”
“She doe
sn’t need a medic. She needs someone to watch her back.”
“You can’t save everyone,” Colt reminded him, solemnly.
The room grew silent. Colt rarely spoke of his last mission to Afghanistan. He’d been their commander when the team was ambushed at a friendly village. Many of those in the village had died that day. Colt had taken on the responsibility of their deaths. The team couldn’t convince him otherwise. He’d left the Army and moved to Sanibel. Gib and Cat had worked some sort of magic. Between the two of them, their old commander was back.
“You couldn’t prevent the attacker from reaching her at the beach. You see that as a failure. You feel responsible,” Colt said. “You need to give yourself a break and her some room. It’s pretty obvious she’ll rebel if you don’t. She needs time to get used to having people around her who care.”
“Where’s her aunt?” Gib asked. “Where’s this friend of hers, Dan, while all this shit is going down?”
“She probably told them to stay away.” Kevin would bet she hadn’t told them much, if anything.
“Would you stay away?” Gib didn’t let up.
“Hell, no.” Kevin scanned the room. “And don’t tell me any of you would either.”
“You know better, but she’s not ready for an army to back her up,” Colt told him. “We’ll remain in the background, but we’ll be right behind you—assuming you can make any inroads after tonight.”
Kevin nodded. “Can you guys see something surrounding this mystery that I’m not?”
“We’re missing a lot of info.” Rick ran his thumb and index finger along his chin and jaw line. “Instinct tells me the mayhem at the cabin is connected to the murders of her family. The authorities initially tried to tie them together but dropped that line of investigation. I haven’t been able connect the two yet, but the way the animals were eviscerated was too close to the way her family was butchered.”
Run, River, Run Page 11
