Deadly River Pursuit

by Heather Woodhaven

  Zach dropped them off at Henry’s truck, still at Petillant Creek, and turned around to go back to pick up the search and rescue crew.

  Nora finally spoke. “I admire your courage.”

  “What?” Henry pulled his chin back, surprised at the change. “For what?”

  She averted her eyes. “I know you hate the rapids. You practically turned green when we first got in the boat. Does it still hurt?” She gestured to his leg.

  “Only occasionally. I feel like an old man when I can predict a storm before the weatherman.”

  Her smile warmed his insides in a way nothing else had for years. “You don’t think I could’ve imagined it, do you?”

  He squeezed his hands tighter around the steering wheel and focused on the road. “Do you?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “A jacket in the wind doesn’t make a person imagine being shot at.”

  He braked hard and twisted to face her. “Nora, you never said anything about getting shot at!”

  “I did, too!” She opened her mouth wide and her eyes darted side to side as if she was rewinding her thoughts. “I told the dispatcher that I was afraid the shooter was still coming after me.”

  Henry rubbed his forehead, trying not to let his frustration boil over. Nora had stopped talking to him, stopped sharing her thoughts, months before their breakup, so maybe she hadn’t been more forthcoming because he was the one on the case. To be fair, she was also the type of person to not detail all of her symptoms to a doctor because “he’s the professional.” She likely thought her statement was being ignored at the crime scene, especially after Perry’s rant. And, sadly, this kind of slip was a consequence of having three separate law enforcement agencies working a scene. Details slid through the cracks. “Is it possible you didn’t tell Dispatch that the man actually shot at you?”

  She bit her lip and stared ahead for a second. “I’m sorry. It all happened so fast.”

  The light was fading. “I’ll call Perry, and we’ll return to the scene in the morning.” He focused on the road and merged onto the paved highway where he could increase his speed, though he had to slow down for all the sharp curves around the foothills. “Someone will be sent from the sheriff’s office to look through Dexter’s things and ask more questions. It might be later tonight or first thing in the morning, but it will be soon.”

  She nodded. “I figured. I have his family contact information somewhere.”

  “One of the deputies will likely contact them,” he said.

  “I feel like I should reach out, too.” Her voice wavered. “I can’t help but think about Tommy Sorenson’s death.” Her shoulders sagged, and she turned to look out the window.

  He was thinking the same thing, but they weren’t at the place to talk like the best friends they used to be. “I need to take your official statement once we get to the lodge, if you’re up for it.”

  “I’ve already told you everything I know.”

  “We missed that the shooter tried to kill you, so clearly we have more to discuss.” Henry hated to admit it, but for her safety, it might be better for another officer to interview her anyway. She might be more free with her testimony. He pulled into the parking lot.

  Nora blew out a slow breath. “Okay. Dexter told the shooter that if anything happened to him, the guy wouldn’t get his stuff. Then the shooter said it was his turn to talk, and shot him.” She continued to stare out the window. “I think I’d really like to call it a night. Maybe I’ll remember more details tomorrow.” Her voice trembled.

  It was as if he’d been punched in the gut. He was desperate to help, to comfort, to fix it. He started to reach for her hand and stopped himself. He’d been down this path before and couldn’t fall for her again. “Thanks again for getting us to the scene fast. A deputy will be by tonight or first thing in the morning. Make sure you lock up.”

  She glanced at him and her eyes looked red, as if holding back tears. She waved goodbye and disappeared into the rafting office without a word.

  Henry sat in the parking lot for a moment to organize his swirling thoughts.

  Nora had been a witness to a murder. There was no question in his mind. Someone had shot at her, which meant the shooter was still at large. His mouth went dry. Nora would be pretty easy to find. No matter their history, he couldn’t stand by and let her be in danger. He shifted the truck into Drive and sped off. There was a lot to do if he had any hope of keeping her safe.

  THREE

  Nora flipped on the office light and the small portable heater. In the summer, they lifted the wall, much like a garage door, for guests to come in and out as they pleased, but in the spring, the office resembled a private cabin. She stared at the filing cabinet, the bane of her existence. Her aunt wasn’t ready to go paperless and had been the one to hand over Dexter’s application. The police would likely need it for his next-of-kin information. She opened the desk drawer where she kept the cabinet key.

  The front door swung open. Bobby Olson stepped inside, his tanned skin complementing the neon-orange shirt that read Eat, Sleep, Raft, Repeat. His hair looked permanently windswept and sun-bleached, hanging just past his chin line. A little over fifty-five years old, Bobby was their oldest and most experienced guide, returning every season. During the winter months, he moved to Chile to raft the rivers there. He was never without a story and a joke, which made him a favorite among the clientele.

  A line between his eyebrows appeared that she’d never seen on him before. “Are you okay?”

  She averted eye contact. “You heard already.”

  “That you found Dexter? Yeah.” He nodded. “It’s already all over town. I won’t speak ill of the dead. Even if I didn’t like him, it’s still tragic.” He shook his head. “Suicide was hard to believe, though. It’s a shock.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep quiet. That’s what everyone wanted from her. To stay quiet because murder could cause panic and hurt the fragile economy, but she’d never promised to hold her peace. If she couldn’t tell Bobby, then who was left? She had no confidante or friend nearby anymore. Maybe if she talked, the horrible strain in her throat would go away.

  “This stays between us, Bobby. I saw someone shoot Dexter. When I took the police back to the crime scene, it had been set up to look like a suicide. It was made to appear as if I’d just seen things. But the gunman shot at me, too, when I saw him. I couldn’t have imagined that, right?”

  “Of course not.” Bobby’s eyes practically popped before he pulled his chin back and regained his relaxed demeanor. “Of all the imaginative people I’ve ever met, you are not one of them.”

  “Thanks—” She replayed his words. “Maybe?”

  He winked and smiled. “What I mean is you are as reliable as a person gets. You get done what needs done without much thought to what you want. You’re not prone to starry-eyed dreams, and you don’t imagine gunmen shooting at you.” He crossed his arms at his chest. “So, I’m going to ask again. Are you okay?”

  Her confidence grew as Bobby spoke. “Yes. I’m not looking forward to reliving it all when the police come by, but yes. I’m okay.” She noticed his frown had returned. Bobby was in charge of training the new guides while her aunt was gone, and today should’ve been a day entirely in the classroom, going over basic first aid. The recruits trained for a week during their respective spring breaks then began working weekends until summer break. “Is there something you wanted to tell me?”

  “I figured you should probably be aware that Frank is trying to steal your employees again.”

  She threw her head back and groaned. Of course he was. Why couldn’t Bobby have been her uncle instead? No wonder Aunt Linda needed some time away after the divorce. She knew how Frank Milner worked, quick to take advantage of new circumstances. But finding quality employees—usually college students—became a tougher challenge each year. “Let me gu
ess. He expressed concern that our employees would have a hard time staying here what with memories of Dexter.”

  “He offered them a place without reminders.” Bobby nodded. “So far, no one has taken him up on it.” He sighed. “But no one’s heard it’s murder yet, and that might change things. Police can’t keep that under wraps for long. Have you called your aunt yet?”

  “Not yet.” In fact, she couldn’t imagine doing so. “This might upset her. I think I’ve got it under control.”

  His shoulders drooped. “It’s not your job to keep everyone happy, Nora. Linda is a strong woman. She started this business before you came along, you know. I think she can handle it.” Bobby tilted his head. “Did I see Henry drop you off? Is he concerned the shooter might come after you?”

  “He didn’t say anything.” Her spine straightened. The shooter coming after her had never entered her mind until now. The unprocessed emotions around Henry and the murder would be her undoing if she didn’t stop thinking about them.

  Her computer dinged with an email from Wonder Travel Magazine. Condolences and possible reschedule? How did the magazine already know about Dexter’s death? This was too much.

  “You’ve had a rough day. We can talk later.” Bobby put one hand on the door handle. “Do yourself a favor and take it easy tonight. I’ve got tonight under control.” He slipped outside and gathered the guides to make dinner at the back edge of the property. The first wave of trainees would learn how to make the most scrumptious meals over a fire. Not even the promise of Bobby’s BBQ chicken could entice her, though.

  She’d save the email for tomorrow when she could hopefully handle it and made her way to her room, eager to be alone. The employee lodge was like a one-floor coed dormitory. Centered by the main entrance, the female section of rooms were on the left and the male section on the right.

  She couldn’t resist walking past Dexter’s room once even though the door was locked as she expected. Her room was located closest to the front door. Larger than the other accommodations provided to the guides, her place resembled a miniature apartment with a living room the size of a walk-in closet, a private bathroom that compared to those sized for RVs, and a kitchenette. She’d been sharing the space since she was fifteen with her younger sister, until Maya left.

  Aunt Linda had lived in the one-room apartment above the camping office until she’d met and married Frank and moved into a giant house in the foothills that overlooked the town and river. It had been an unusual arrangement for a teenager compared to the homes her friends had lived in, but Nora’s life had been anything but normal.

  Once dry and warm in her coziest set of flannel pajamas, she slept fitfully. She woke multiple times in the night, remembering the sound of the bullets and the way the sand stung her ankles as she’d run away. On the fifth time the nightmare reoccurred, she’d had enough of the tossing and turning. She sat up and glanced at her phone. Four in the morning.

  A thud sounded from somewhere in the dormitory. Odd. She saw a sliver of light flash from under her door.

  She slid into her slippers, grabbed her phone and key lanyard and made her way to the door. Occasionally guides got locked out of their room while using the restroom and she would be called upon to get the master key. Since she was already up, she’d rather be the one to take care of it rather than have someone waking Bobby. He always did a final safety check and locked up the place, so he would’ve been up late. She opened her door a crack.

  The hallway was pitch black except for the patches of moonlight, broken up by the trees, streaming in through the glass on the front door like a night-light. She took a step into the hallway, squinting. Another thud followed by a scrape. She shuffled down the hallway, irritation growing. She may have already been awake, but if the guide didn’t stop making noise, he might wake the others. Light from under one of the doors in the men’s section caught her attention. Her mouth went dry. Wasn’t that Dexter’s room?

  The light extinguished, and the door opened. Every muscle tensed as she faced the silhouette stepping out of the room. In the darkness all she could make out was a man’s form, but she couldn’t get her eyes to widen enough. It appeared he had no face.

  She clicked the button on the side of her phone and the light from the screen illuminated her feet as she began to lift her arm. “Who are—?”

  The figure sprang at her, slamming her backward. Her shoulders felt the brunt of the attack, as if two bowling balls had been launched at her. She stumbled back so quickly, her feet left the slippers behind. The forceful push proved too intense to keep her balance. She dropped, twisting her right arm back to catch herself.

  Her elbow hit the carpeted hallway first before her back slammed against the floor followed by her head. Pain radiated through her bones as the breath rushed out of her lungs. The phone flew from her hand and spun down the hallway. Standing above her, the man raised his arm. Something was in his hand. Was he holding a gun?

  * * *

  Henry stepped out of his truck, fighting against the desire to stop and stretch. He’d already spent more hours than he’d like in the front seat of his truck, and his spine had lodged a formal complaint. He’d nodded off and woken many times, but he thought he’d just seen the strobe of a flashlight from the men’s side of the employee lodging. It was possible one of the college kids was sneaking back in through a window, like some of the guys had done to avoid curfew when he’d spent his time guiding. Given that Nora had witnessed a shooter, he needed to know she was okay. A quick look through the front window should be enough. He strode to the front door.

  He spotted a shadowed figure standing over Nora. The man dropped into a lunge with the gun raised in the air, reaching for Nora’s neck as if he was going to smack her hard with the weapon. “No!”

  Henry pulled at the front door, willing to shoot out the front door window to get inside, but the door swung open easily. The man spun and rushed at Henry. “Drop your weapon,” Henry shouted, reaching for his holster. The figure barreled right into his stomach, using the gun to hit Henry’s elbow.

  Henry’s eyes rolled back as he growled, absorbing the pain of the hard impact on a sensitive joint. He blinked rapidly as the man ran past him into the night.

  “Nora,” he croaked. “Are you okay?”

  “Go.” Her voice shook but sounded strong enough. He pushed off on his heel, sprinting after the man who’d run into the space between the rafting office and lodging. Henry’s arm throbbed but he grit his teeth and all-out sprinted.

  The man, dressed in a dark turtleneck and pants, looked over his shoulder, only his eyes visible behind the ski mask. Twenty feet away. The man took a sharp turn into the campfire area. Henry pumped his legs faster and hurdled over one of the logs used as a bench. The man disappeared into the tree line. Henry grabbed his flashlight with his left hand and searched the trees.

  Five frustrating minutes passed and he couldn’t find any sign of the man. Nothing. He balled up his fists and stomped the ground. He’d be foolish to run into the forest without any backup or visibility with a gunman on the loose.

  He took out his phone and called Dispatch as he jogged back to the lodge. Several rooms now had lights on as well as the hallway. The front door had been left open and Bobby Olson, a guide Henry knew as being a friend to Nora’s family, stepped onto the threshold. “Are you okay? Nora said the man hit you with his gun.”

  “I wasn’t shot, so I’ll be fine.” Nora might still need an ambulance. “Where’s Nora?”

  Her door opened and she appeared, wearing a pair of green-and-purple-plaid pajamas.

  “I’m fine.” She placed an ice pack on the back of her head. She looked pointedly at Bobby. “I really am. Could you tell the guides everything is okay and turn off the hallway light so they can get a little more sleep? It’s not quite time to start breakfast.”

  “Sheriff’s been contacted,” Henry said. “Do you need
an ambulance?”

  “No, I just hit the floor hard. I think it might’ve been much worse if you hadn’t showed up.” She smiled shyly. “Thank you.” She spun around, stepping inside her room in the direction he remembered was the kitchen. She stepped back out with another ice pack, arm outstretched. “Do you need an ambulance?”

  Bobby looked between them both and nodded. “Looks like the two of you have each other’s backs. G’night.” He sauntered off.

  Henry accepted the ice pack and placed it on his already swelling elbow. “I’ll be fine.”

  The hallway light went off, leaving them bathed with only the light from Nora’s room and the lights from the shared bathrooms, which Bobby had decided to leave on. “The front door was open.”

  “I figured that out when you came in. Bobby is sure he locked it, though, and I believe him. He’s my right-hand man.” Her eyes widened. “Why were you here?”

  He shrugged. “In the area. I think it’s time I took a look in Dexter’s room. Can you show me which one?”

  The sound of crunching gravel drew their attention through the front door in time to see Deputy Zach O’Brien park. Henry propped open the door and beckoned for Zach to come inside.

  Nora groaned. “Why’d it have to be him?”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “Is he going to try to tell me Dexter’s death was a suicide?”

  “His wife is taking over Frank’s bistro in town. Restaurants are always a risky business, but I’m sure you can understand the deputy’s fear about the tourist season being diminished in some way.”

  “Oh.”

  Her eyes were downcast, and he wondered if she was thinking about Maya. A few years ago, it had been her sister who was supposed to take over the bistro. “Any, uh, word from your sister?” He told himself he was asking to keep her mind off the intruder.

  “No. She said her reputation was ruined here forever.” The steely tone returned to her voice, and he knew she still blamed him for her sister leaving town. “I get a text or email occasionally on holidays,” she added softly.