Ruin

by Jette Harris

  “No! Are you deaf? Call for backup!”

  “Are you on any medications you haven’t been taking?”

  “N…” She stopped herself before she could answer. She hadn’t taken her medications, not that it mattered. But the question made her realize how she must look: injured, covered in mud, possibly bloody, bewildered, screaming.

  She ached for those pills now.

  “Come over here with me. I’ll call you an ambulance.” He put a gentle hand on her arm. She twisted to search the woods as he led her to the back door of his patrol car. She thought she saw movement. He opened the door and she sat on the edge of the seat.

  “All the way in, please.”

  She slid back. Another patrol car chirped and pulled onto the curb behind them. Gearhart and King scowled at her through the window.

  “Oh, thank God.” Her police detail would understand the gravity of the situation. She struggled to climb back out, but Duke put a hand on her shoulder. She yelped and recoiled across the seat.

  “Morning!” Gearhart called. “What’s going on?”

  “I think she needs an ambulance. She just came out of the woods, screaming for help. I think she might be on something.”

  Gearhart’s face fell.

  “I’m not!” Heather screamed.

  Gearhart looked back at King and said something Heather didn’t catch.

  “He’s in the woods! He’s got Agent Remington in the woods!”

  They didn’t appear to understand her. King pulled out his cell phone and returned to the passenger seat of their car.

  “Go ahead and call that ambulance.” Gearhart passed Duke to lean into the back of the patrol car. “Jesus, girl, you’re a mess.”

  “He’s got Agent Remington!”

  Gearhart’s hand flew to his radio, but Duke was already broadcasting.

  “You need to call for backup! He’s—”

  A gunshot made her duck. Gearhart grabbed her legs and dragged her out. Shoving her against the wheel, he covered her with his body.

  “Shots fired! Get me more units! He’s shooting at us!”

  She could hear yelling, the beeping of a radio, more gunshots, hollow thunks. The car bucked, followed by the sound of air venting from the tires. Officer King screamed.

  A door slammed. An engine revved, tires squealed. The patrol car rocked and began to inch backward.

  “Son of a bitch!” Gearhart’s voice resonated within Heather’s skull. He stepped back from her, pulled his gun, and fired several times at the back window of the truck. Heather slapped her hands over her ears, her shoulder burning. The truck stopped. Everything went quiet. Keeping his gun trained on the driver’s window, Gearhart approached the door.

  Heather peered up with hope, her breath catching in her throat. It’s over. Holy sh—

  Gearhart’s head snapped back as a gunshot shattered the silence.

  “No!” Heather scrambled forward. Duke grabbed her and threw her back against the car. The pickup lurched forward, tires squealing again. She screamed and covered her face as it bounced over Officer Gearhart. The truck bed swung wide, throwing Duke across the road. Through her fingers, Heather watched helplessly Rhodes disappeared into the distance.

  “Motherfucker…”

  “Language.”

  Remington groaned again. The only thing as bad as waking up with the Phoenix still around was waking up next to Steyer. He opened his eyes. His head spun. When he sniffed, his nose and throat felt raw. Steyer stood by the hospital bed, hands in his pockets, face drawn. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

  “Where’s Heather?” Remington tried to push himself up, but his arm was caught in a sling. He tried to pitch his body up, but Steyer put a hand on his chest and pushed him back down. “Fuck.”

  “Heather’s still in surgery.”

  “Surgery?”

  “Her collarbone re-fractured and splintered.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Remington.” Steyer’s clear blue eyes locked with his.

  Remington could see, unclouded, the questions, the disappointment, the betrayal. He exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry.”

  Steyer dropped his eyes and shook his head. “I have to go. I have to explain to Chief Collins why one of his officers is dead and one is injured.”

  Remington’s breath caught in his throat.

  “I don’t know what happened; I just know the result… but I can guess.”

  “Ritchie…”

  “You should be discharged shortly. Clean up and meet me at the office.”

  “Wait—”

  “I can’t… deal with you right now, Remi.” His voice shook. Remington couldn’t tell if it was with anger or something else. “I’ll see you at the office.”

  Remington could not fathom why he was still alive. All he remembered was being pressed into the stream, drowning, choking on mud. He stood under the showerhead, hands over his face, struggling for more detail.

  Had he begged? He found a fleeting memory of pushing himself up at least once. Oh, God, how humiliating. At least whatever he had said must have been persuasive.

  He just couldn’t remember what it had been.

  “Are you sure you’re OK?” Wickes’s sudden voice made him flinch.

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take more than ten minutes in the shower.”

  “I keep finding mud everywhere.” He ran his hands through his hair and around his ear. Rust-colored streaks dissolved off his wet fingers.

  Wickes cracked the shower curtain with a soft smile. “Need some help?”

  “You’re not mad?”

  “Oh, I’m mad alright; You’ll get that later. For now, I’m just happy you’re alive.”

  As much as Remington wanted to bask in that happiness, he shook his head. “I need to get to Ritchie.”

  “I’ll be quick.”

  She shed her robe and let it fall to the floor. Remington stared at her taut, round belly as she stepped into the shower. My baby girl’s in there.

  His throat went tight as the memory hit him: Please, don’t. I need to meet my baby girl.

  Wickes frowned at the face he was making. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. There was no way he was about to share that with her. “I’m still just a bit in shock.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close for a kiss. He let himself get lost in it until she released him. “OK, cowboy, lean down so I can reach your scalp.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He knelt obediently and she ran her fingers through his hair. His mind returned to the stream in the woods.

  Please, don’t. I need to meet my baby girl.

  The Phoenix had paused and pulled him back up. Then everything went black. Why had those words been so persuasive? Had Heather guessed correctly that the Phoenix had a small daughter of his own?

  His stomach churned. He couldn’t imagine a loving father also being a rapist, although he had seen such men with his own eyes, questioned them himself.

  Does this mean Sam is safe?

  Not that the Phoenix would know she was the one carrying his baby, but it wouldn’t take too much for him to connect the dots…

  He raised a hand and slid it over the belly. It felt like a warm basketball under his outstretched fingers.

  “She’s been a good girl,” Wickes said. “I haven’t gotten sick all day.”

  “That’s a relief. At least something good’s happened.”

  “It’s hard to imagine it getting much worse.” She ran a hand over his sore, swollen shoulder.

  “Don’t curse me.”

  “Go home.”

  Remington looked back over his shoulder to see if anyone had followed him into the office who Steyer could be speaking to. A few officers stared at them with bewildered expressions, but no.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Pack your things. Leave any relevant material. I’m kicking you off the case.”

  “You can’t d
o that!” Of course he can, you asshole.

  “I just did.”

  “You’re just… just…” Remington was at a loss for words. They had fought before, disagreed and gone off to follow their own methods, even almost gotten each other killed a few times, but Steyer had never kicked him off a case.

  “Obviously, something about this case has compromised your judgment.”

  Glorious… Remington closed his eyes as the word rang unbidden through his mind. His face burned.

  “You almost died. And worse, you almost lost Heather! Think about that for a moment: What would she be going through this very moment had the Phoenix grabbed her before driving away?”

  A series of images flashed through Remington’s mind: rape, exploitation, mutilation, murder, all from previous cases he had investigated, all inflicted upon her.

  “Rape,” Steyer continued in a low voice. “Torture. Possibly even murder. If luck were on her side, she would be able to find an opportunity to end it quickly.”

  “Don’t…”

  “But it’s not, as we’ve seen quite a few—”

  “Stop!”

  “Leave.” Steyer slammed a file down on his desk and stood. “Take Sam with you. Fly home tonight. I cannot afford to have a loose cannon on my ship.”

  “It shouldn’t be your ship!” Remington yelled before he even had an opportunity to consider his meaning.

  Steyer’s eyes went wide. He leaned forward on his desk. “Excuse me?”

  “Heather was right: We should have set a trap. All of us, together. That’s where we failed; We felt the need to tip-toe behind your back, and it fucked us.”

  The older man’s face went slack.

  “You were done. This case was mine the moment you set that file on my desk.”

  Steyer threw his hands up. His pulled his badge off his belt and tossed it on the folder. Horror welled up in Remington’s chest.

  “Don’t…”

  Pulling his gun from its holster, Steyer cleared it and set it upon the desk as well.

  “Ritchie, that’s not… I didn’t…”

  “Don’t get yourself killed, son.” Steyer snapped his jacket off the back of his chair and stormed out.

  “Fuck!” Remington kicked a trashcan into the wall.

  Rhodes was too jumpy to pause and get ice. He locked his door and wedged a chair under the handle before sinking down onto the mattress with a sigh. His knee throbbed and was visibly swollen under his jeans. He pulled the stolen cellphones from his bag, removed the batteries, and opened the drawer to his bedside table. His Blackberry flashed at him. He dumped the phones in and pulled his own phone out with a sigh.

  2 MISSED CALLS

  HBIC

  “Shit.” He tapped the phone against his forehead as if he could beat a valid excuse into his brain. By now, DeCamp would have relayed his tale of woe to their supervisor. Hopefully, she had accepted it.

  She answered on the first ring. “This is Dr. Valdez.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “Can it.”

  (Oh, good, she’s not mad.)

  “First…” Her tone softened. “How’s your knee?”

  “Throbbing and swollen, but room service is on the way up with more ice.”

  “How was your care?”

  “The doctors here are competent, but… unsympathetic. They said that’s what I get for picking up boys in bars.”

  Valdez snorted.

  “Just another hard-learned lesson I intend to ignore.”

  “Todd.”

  (First name. Good sign.) He fell back with a sigh of relief.

  “Now, when are you returning?”

  “I’ll be picking up my new passport on Monday, and I’ll be back in my own bed by Wednesday… Thank God.” Nine hours to get to Spain, a few hours to hobble around taking pictures of Barcelona, thirteen hours to return under his real name with a layover in DC, then a nap before anyone was actually expecting him.

  A wave of homesickness washed over him at the thought of his own bed. He felt the urge to pack up and leave Heather Stokes and the Phoenix behind in Atlanta.

  “Will you be ready to work Friday night?”

  “Next Friday? Absolutely. I miss your face so much, I’m even willing to come in on Thursday.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Honest. No one can give the Look quite like you.”

  “Are you done?”

  “Let me check my notes. I’ve been preparing for this call.”

  “You could’ve called me, you know.”

  “I don’t generally call women. I’m not quite sure how it works.”

  “I’ll see you next Thursday.”

  “No, really, wasn’t I supposed to wait? Three days? Two weeks?”

  “It’s going to be a very long weekend for you. Make sure you rest up.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  “Good-bye, Dr. Adams.”

  “Take care, Dr. Valdez.”

  Rhodes hung up and stared down at the phone in his hand without even seeing it, paralyzed by indecision.

  FBI Special Agent Richard Steyer, retired, sat in his car in front of Tech’s house. He felt drained and disoriented; For the first time since he graduated from the academy, he didn’t know what to do. He glanced at every passing car, convinced the driver would be the Phoenix.

  And what if it is? What then?

  Citizen’s arrest is a real concept. The thought settled him a bit. You do know what to do. Now, do it.

  “We were wondering how long you were gonna sit there!” Tech’s voice came from the shadows of the front porch.

  “I had some things I needed to figure out.”

  “I take it you’re not here to tell use you’ve caught that bastard.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Tech and Kondorf sat on the porch swing in the dark, looking like a pair of stereotypical rednecks. They each held a piece of wood and a Swiss Army knife. Kondorf’s was short and thick, tip whittled to a sharp point. Tech’s was long and pliant. With the bark stripped off of it, it looked like a wicked switch.

  “Arming up?”

  “Yes, siree. Anyone comin’ after me or mine is gonna leave with a raw hide.”

  Steyer smiled. Tech had liked to form switches from any pliant branch or stalk he could find in the jungle. He once even formed a whip from leaves and enjoyed whipping the others when they made too much noise.

  “Lieutenant Kondorf, would you mind giving us the porch, please?”

  “Of course.” Kondorf stood and brushed the shavings off.

  “Oh, no.” Tech put a hand to his chest. “Ritchie, I thought you were a married man?”

  Steyer scoffed. “I am...” He waited for the door to close behind Kondorf. “But…” He sighed and sat heavily by his old friend’s side. “Tech, I wish I could say I came here for… fun and games…”

  Tech’s hand dropped to his knee. His face grew serious. “What is it?”

  “I have removed myself from the Phoenix investigation.”

  “What?”

  “And from the FBI altogether.”

  “Ritchie…”

  “I assume you heard that I was at my retirement ceremony when we heard about the abductions.”

  “I thought that was a… a figure of speech.”

  “Nope. I was giving my farewell address. Then Remington…” Steyer hooked his thumbs together, bend his fingers into claws, and flapped his hands like the wings of a bird. “I apologized and walked right out.”

  “What happened today, Ritchie, that’s not your fault.”

  “Oh, I know.”

  “It has my granddaughter written all over it.”

  “It’s not my fault, but it is my responsibility. And it’s possible that Heather was right. Now we’ll never know.”

  “Does this mean you’re heading home?”

  “Yep. The only decision that remains is whether to fly out tonight or tomorrow morning.”

  “Heather will be dev
astated.”

  “She’ll survive.” Steyer smiled and patted Tech’s leg. “She’s good at that. Must have learned it from you.”

  ****

  “I’m covered in triangles.” Heather sounded far younger than she had the several days Steyer had known her.

  “You’re what?” Byron laughed.

  Steyer breathed a sigh of relief as he listened outside the cracked bedroom door. They sounded happy, safe.

  “Triangles! Look! There’s one here, two on my leg, one over my ribcage, and right here on my face.”

  “I remember that one… but it’s not a triangle anymore.”

  “What?”

  “The third freckle was right… here. Right where your nose was broken. It’s gone now.”

  “No! That sonuvabitch stole my triangle!”

  Steyer chuckled and tapped on the door.

  “Come in!”

  Heather and Byron were sitting on the floor with their backs against the bed. Heather had her head on his shoulder. His head rested against hers, but he lifted it and pulled his arms and legs close to his body when Steyer stepped in.

  “Hiiii.” Heather’s pupils were the size of pennies and she wore a broad smile. She wore a purple hoodie about two sizes too big. Steyer would have suspected it was Byron’s had he not already known it had belonged to Zachariah Vlasov. Only her right arm was in the sleeve. Her left arm was strapped to her torso by a sling.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I dunno. They gave me a lot of drugs.”

  “I can see that. Now I know what you look like when you’re happy.” He nodded to Byron. “Officer Byron.”

  “It’s just Jamal now.”

  “Just Jamal,” Heather laughed. Byron didn’t get the reference, but it made Steyer’s smile slip.

  “Well, I guess I’m just Ritchie now.”

  “Ritchie Southerland?”

  Steyer coughed and cleared his throat. “Ritchie Steyer.” He gestured toward the desk chair. “Mind if I sit?”

  Heather reached across her body to point to the floor on her other side. Steyer eased himself down next to her. “Do you want to talk about what happened today?”

  He felt compelled to advise her he could not take a statement from an intoxicated person, but he shook his head. That wasn’t his job anymore. “I… Technically, this is a social call.”