Dangerous Sanctuary

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Mary Alice knew,” he pointed out.

  “Why would she mention it?”

  “That’s a good question. I have dozens more, but we’re not going to get answers sitting here. We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “I think we should head back to Boston. Get to the field office and regroup there.”

  “Thanks for sharing your thoughts,” he commented, using his phone to find the nearest hospital and pulling up the directions to it.

  “But you’re going to ignore them?” she asked as he reached over and grabbed the ends of her seatbelt, snapping them into place.

  “Ignoring would mean a lack of acknowledgement. I’m acknowledging your thoughts, and I’m going with my own. The sooner your hands are treated, the sooner you can be back at work, and we need you there. The office hasn’t been the same without you in it.”

  That was true.

  All of it.

  He’d grown accustomed to walking into the office, hearing Honor humming quietly while she worked, her fingers tapping the keyboard as he raced from one case to another.

  He hadn’t realized how much that had become part of his routine until she’d disappeared for two weeks.

  “We can accomplish things a lot more quickly if we get to Boston as soon as possible. Plus, there’s a hospital there.”

  “And Wren is probably already on her way to us. We’ll end up passing her on the trip, and it’ll take a few more hours to connect. She’s expecting us to go to the nearest hospital. That’s what I’m planning to do.”

  “People die at hospitals,” she said almost absently as he pulled onto the road.

  “People die in lots of places,” he pointed out.

  “You have a bad habit of being right, Radley. I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

  “Why is being right a bad habit?”

  “It makes other people wrong,” she replied, and he laughed.

  Something he didn’t do as often as he probably should. The endless cases of evil and human avarice made him look at life seriously, view it through a lens of suspicion.

  Mackenzie had told him that when he was still in the military working as an MP—You’re no fun anymore. You’re too serious.

  Maybe.

  But life was serious business. At least, that’s what he’d told her.

  There had to be a place for fun in it, though.

  There had to be a time when laughter welled up and joy reigned and all the terrible things he’d seen and heard were overshadowed by happiness.

  “I don’t recall saying you were wrong,” he said, and she smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, her lips twitching in what might have been the beginning of laughter.

  “As I said, the mere act of you being right makes me wrong. But I’ll forgive you. If you lend me your phone so that I can call my grandmother.”

  “You know it’s one in the morning, right?” he said, fishing the phone out of his pocket and dropping it in her lap.

  “Dotty won’t mind,” she replied, fumbling to dial with her swollen burned fingers.

  He lifted the phone again. “What’s the number?”

  He dialed as she dictated, then turned the phone on speaker and dropped it in her lap again.

  The phone rang twice, and a woman’s voice filled the truck.

  “Hello?” she nearly shouted.

  “Dotty?” Honor responded. “It’s me.”

  “Who is ‘me’?”

  “Honor. Your granddaughter?” Honor said.

  “Honey! I don’t need to be reminded of our relationship. I didn’t recognize the phone number, and the fact that you called me Dotty... Shame on you for that and for not contacting me in weeks! I’ve been waiting for you to call. Where have you been?”

  “I was looking for—”

  “Mary Alice. I know that, but you were supposed to check in every few days. I haven’t heard from you once. Bennett said you’d called him and told him things were fine, but I just couldn’t believe that you’d call your uncle and not check in with me.”

  “I...didn’t have a phone. Things were a little crazy, and I lost track of time. But I’m fine. I just wanted to let you know that. Everything is okay, and I’ll be home soon.”

  “Very soon, I hope. The people you hired to help me out are great, but I miss you, dear. I miss our walks and watching you ride Bandit. And Wilbur. He’s put up such a fuss since you’ve been gone. Keeps going over to the neighbors to complain about the situation. Then, yesterday, one of the deacons came for a visit, and Wilbur went after him.”

  “Wilbur has never liked strangers, Grandmom. You know that. You need to sit him down and explain that deacons aren’t strangers. They’re friends.”

  “Stop trying to be funny, Honor. Wilbur and I both miss you terribly, and we need you home.”

  “I know, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll call you every day until I get back. I promise.”

  “You promised before and look what happened. I’ve aged twenty years worrying about you.”

  “That would put you at over a hu—”

  “Don’t even say it. Don’t you dare! I’m still claiming forty-nine years on all my health forms.”

  Honor chuckled, the sound as warm as a fire on a cold winter day. “Do you think they believe it? Considering that you actually have to provide your birthdate?”

  “Who cares what they believe? It’s me who has to have faith in my youthfulness. After all, I need to live long enough to see you married, and at the rate you’re going—”

  “How about we discuss my marital status when I get home, okay?”

  “If you get home,” Dotty responded darkly.

  “I’ll make sure she does, Ms. Dotty,” Radley said, cutting into their conversation as he merged back onto the state highway. The nearest hospital was in Hartford. That should be thirty miles straight up the road.

  “Who’s that?” Dotty shouted. “You didn’t tell me you were traveling with a gentleman friend, Honor.”

  “I’m Radley Tumberg. A coworker of hers.”

  “Did Wren send you? I did ask her to check on Honor.”

  “She did.”

  “Wonderful. So you’re bringing Honor home?”

  “Soon,” he said.

  “Nothing is soon enough when you’re my age. I could be dead before soon arrives.”

  “Gran, you just said you were forty-nine,” Honor reminded her, the laughter in her voice obvious.

  “I said I was putting that on my medical forms. But when you’re lying in bed, listening to the empty house and realizing how alone you are, you start to feel ancient. I’m sure you know that, Radley. Don’t you? I’m sure that if you had a grandmother—”

  “I do.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t let her house be sold out from under her or force her into a retirement home.”

  “I’d never do that,” Honor protested, all the amusement gone from her voice.

  “That’s not what Bennett said.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Only that you have discussed me moving out of this house.”

  “And into my apartment. We’d still be at the farm every weekend. You and I have discussed it. Remember?”

  “Of course, I remember. But whatever the plan, it won’t be the same as being in the house where I was a young bride and a mother.” Dotty sniffed, but Radley had a feeling her eyes were dry.

  “I’ll get her home to you as soon as I can manage it, Ms. Dotty. Hopefully, we’ll get a chance to meet then,” he said.

  “Yes. Well, it all depends on if I’m here or in some old people’s home. I wouldn’t want you to see me there. Sitting in a wheelchair, not in control of my faculties.”

  “Grandmom, stop exaggerating,” Honor said tiredly.

  Dotty must have he
ard the exhaustion in her voice. “Are you okay, sweetheart? You don’t sound like yourself.”

  “I’m fine. Just tired, and I still haven’t spoken to Mary Alice. Have her parents contacted you?”

  “Every day. Her mother is frantic, and I haven’t been able to tell them anything except that I’ll pray.”

  “When they call again, tell them that I’m heading back to Boston. Mary Alice is at a training seminar near there. I’ll contact them as soon as I get to town.”

  “All right, dear. You get some sleep, okay? I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Grandmom.” She disconnected and set the phone on the center console.

  “She’s quite a character,” Radley said.

  “She is that.”

  “Is Wilbur your grandfather?”

  She laughed quietly, leaning her head back against the seat, her hands palm up on her thighs. “He’s her pig. She adopted him from the local kill shelter. He’d been there for a couple of weeks, and she went in with a friend who was looking for a kitten. There he was. A tiny little thing, squealing loudly enough to wake the dead. They told her he was potbellied pig, would never be bigger than a small cat and could live in house. She didn’t want him euthanized, so she brought him home. He started growing and just kept on doing it. Now he weighs about two hundred pounds. When he feels ornery, he escapes his pen and goes to the neighbor’s property to dig through their trash.”

  “He sounds like a character, too.”

  He passed an entrance ramp and frowned as blue-and-white emergency lights cut on. A police car pulled in behind him, following closely enough that he knew it wasn’t trying to pass.

  He hadn’t been speeding. He hadn’t broken any laws.

  The fact that he was being pulled over anyway made him wary, but one of Wren’s cardinal rules was that they follow procedure and cooperate with all local authorities. He had his wallet. He had his ID. He had a gun.

  He had an obligation to pull over.

  He put on his blinker, pulled into the breakdown lane and coasted to a stop.

  “He’s not really stopping us, is he?” Honor asked, her gaze focused on the side mirror. The cruiser pulled in behind them. State police from the looks of it.

  “It looks like he is.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t like this, Radley.”

  “Neither do I,” he replied, but he rolled down his window, pulled out his ID and waited for the officer to get out of his car.

  SEVEN

  Even before her parents’ deaths, hospitals had never been Honor’s thing. She’d visited her grandfather when he was ill and remembered sitting in a vinyl-covered chair watching television as her parents talked quietly. She’d been young. Maybe six or seven. Even then, she’d realized that hospitals weren’t a place anyone would want to be. The day of the accident, she’d been pulled out of second period and brought to the principal’s office. Her uncle had been waiting there, grim-faced and stiff, dressed in the suit and tie he always wore to court. He’d told her about the accident, explained that her father was dead and that her mother was in the hospital.

  Just like that.

  No couching it with kind words or gentle phrases. No easing into it.

  Afterwards, when she’d been old enough to understand better, she’d realized that he’d been in shock. That he’d suddenly been entrusted with a responsibility no one should ever have. That he’d probably had no idea how to approach a child with such devastating news.

  At the time, though, she hadn’t believed him. Not until he’d driven her to the hospital and walked her into the ICU room where her mother lay. Dotty was standing near the bed, tears streaming down her face. She’d lost her son. She’d probably known she would lose her daughter-in-law, too.

  Honor had looked at her mother’s swollen and bruised face, and she’d finally understood that everything her uncle had told her was true.

  All these years later, she could still remember the way the room had smelled, she could still hear the quiet beep of machines, the soft hiss of the air being pumped into her mother’s lungs. She could still feel the shock and the grief.

  And she still hated hospitals.

  She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, bare feet dangling above the glossy floor. If she’d had her way, she’d have had the officer who’d pulled them over escort them to the state line rather than to the nearest hospital.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t had her way. She hadn’t had any say, either. Officer Damien Wallace had been contacted by Wren, asked to locate Radley’s vehicle and escort it to the nearest hospital.

  He’d complied and had seemed eager to hear what they had to say about Absalom Winslow and The Sanctuary. Apparently, this was the first complaint he’d received about the group, but he was suspicious of The Sanctuary’s secrecy, curious about what was being hidden there and hoping to make this the last complaint he had about the group.

  He liked order and peace.

  He liked knowing that people were safe in the area where he worked.

  He didn’t like having groups like Absalom’s making a home in Vermont.

  At least, that’s what he’d said before he’d gotten in his cruiser and led them to the hospital.

  That had been three hours ago. Since then, she’d been pumped full of painkillers, had her wounds cleaned and debrided, been admitted to the hospital and hooked to an IV that was pumping high-powered antibiotics into her system. She’d had blood taken and answered dozens of questions asked by at least three different police officers. She’d talked to her uncle, updated him on the situation, asked if he’d give her legal counsel if she needed it.

  Not that she’d thought she would, but she had stabbed Absalom with a hypodermic needle. If he’d died from the sedation, she might have to prove self-defense.

  Bennett had asked a few questions, told her that he’d contact the state police and instructed her to stay safe.

  Typical Bennett.

  She’d hung up, allowed the nurse to take her temperature for what seemed like the hundredth time, and then it had all been over. The noise. The chaos. People moving in and out of the room.

  She’d been left alone, her hands bandaged and nearly pain-free, a thick blanket tossed over her legs. Pillows behind her head, a muted television screen flickering silent sitcoms.

  She could have drifted off if she’d let herself, but she was waiting for Radley to walk into the room. He couldn’t be far. He’d been there when the attending physician had arrived to do the debriding. He’d asked Honor if she’d wanted him to stay, and when she’d said she didn’t, he’d told her he’d be right outside. She couldn’t imagine him taking off without letting her know. Unless the police had forced him to go to the station and give his statement there.

  Or maybe they’d asked him to return to the Sanctuary and identify the men who’d chased them through the woods.

  The thought was more alarming than she wanted it to be.

  The entire time she’d been dealing with doctors, nurses and the police, she’d imagined him outside in the hall. She’d thought they weren’t farther than a stone’s throw from one another. She’d figured that if there was trouble, they’d have each other’s back.

  Who was she kidding?

  She’d been counting on him having her back.

  She’d felt weak as a kitten when she’d arrived, foggy-headed and burning with fever. She’d barely known up from down and had flubbed her statement so badly that Officer Wallace had kindly asked if she’d prefer to give it after she’d been treated.

  She’d agreed, because she’d wanted to get things right.

  She’d wanted to be sure all the details were there.

  She’d wanted Absalom behind bars before he hurt anyone else.

  She scooted off the bed, dragging the IV pole
across the room. She’d been asked to change into a hospital gown, but she’d refused, kicking off her shoes and socks, and telling anyone who cared to listen that she was happy to stay in her damp clothes.

  In retrospect, it probably hadn’t been a reasonable choice, but she hadn’t cared about being reasonable. She’d cared about getting the treatment over with and leaving.

  She hated hospitals almost as much as she hated injustice, but she did hate injustice more. If Absalom wasn’t arrested and charged with something, no justice would be served.

  She frowned, grabbing her shoes and socks from a chair where a nurse had placed them and slipping them on. She felt tired, but better. Less feverish and not shivering with cold. The fact that her hands didn’t hurt helped, but she thought the IV drip was doing its job, the antibiotic killing off the bacteria that had invaded her blood.

  Twenty-four hours. Maybe forty-eight.

  That was how long the doctor had said she needed to stay.

  She planned on leaving as soon as she could get the IV out. First, though, she wanted to find Radley. She crossed the room, opened the door, stepped into the hall and straight into his broad chest.

  She knew it was him. Without looking at his face. Without him speaking a word. She knew the feel of his hands on her waist, the whisper of his breath in her hair.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked, his fingers warm through her shirt.

  “Looking for you.”

  “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

  “I can’t sleep until I know Absalom is behind bars.”

  “That might take longer than either of us hoped.”

  “Why?”

  “The state police have been to the compound. They had a search warrant and entered the premises. There was no sign of Absalom. They did arrest several men who were carrying firearms and itching for fights. At least three of them have previous felony convictions.”

  “Absalom sure knew how to pick his posse,” she said, frustrated and disappointed.

  “I guess if you’re looking for guys who will do anything you want, you find men who have already broken the law in just about every way imaginable. Auto theft. Drug running. Assault with a deadly weapon. Simple assault. Armed robbery.”