SHATTERED

by Alice Sharpe

  “Would he tell us?”

  “Probably not, but even knowing he has something might help and maybe Gallant would share. It’s someplace to start.”

  They left the room soon after that, pleased to see the weather system that had appeared so threatening the night before had barely dusted the streets with snow. Both of them were on the quiet side. In an abstract way, Sarah recognized the care with which Nate checked the cars behind them, the pedestrians on the street, his eyes constantly scanning everyone and everything as though he was looking for a killer.

  Perhaps that was because he was.

  * * *

  IT WAS OBVIOUS to Nate that Mayor George Bliss lived in a style befitting his family’s wealth, from the locked rod-iron gates at the head of the curving driveway to the white mansion visible inside the fenced grounds. An American flag, beautiful against the grayish sky, waved above the roof. A call box sat next to the gate complete with a video monitor, which Nate got out of the truck and activated.

  A decisive voice he recognized from a phone call made a couple of days before responded. The image showed a balding man with a prominent, thin nose. “Yes?”

  “I’m here to see Mayor Bliss,” Nate said.

  The man looked annoyed as he said, “You media people have been told over and over again that the mayor isn’t giving statements right now.”

  “I’m not with the media,” Nate said, giving his name. “And you are?”

  “The mayor’s secretary, William Tucker. I’m sorry, sir, but I was just leaving. If you’ll try again tomorrow—”

  Nate tried out a smile. “Mr. Tucker, I need to ask Mayor Bliss a couple of quick questions.”

  The man’s irritated frown curved a little. “Are you the Nate Matthews who was at the mall last Labor Day?”

  “That’s me.”

  “I see. Nevertheless, the message is the same. The mayor is indisposed.”

  “In what way?”

  “Sir, in deference to the high regard in which the mayor holds you and your friends, I will tell you what I haven’t divulged to the media. Mayor Bliss is not presently in Shatterhorn.”

  “Can you tell me where he is?”

  For a moment, it appeared a challenging glint flared in the man’s eyes. “He flew out this morning for Helena. I’m not supposed to advertise that information, so please don’t share it. The mayor and Mr. Netters were good friends. This horrible...event...has hit him hard.”

  “May I ask what he’s doing in Helena?”

  “He’s attending a Presidents’ Day celebration to show support for the governor. He agreed to go just last night.”

  Presidents’ Day. “Okay. Well, thanks for your time.”

  “Come back tomorrow morning,” the man said curtly. “I’ll make sure the mayor is expecting you.”

  Nate got back in the truck and faced Sarah, who had leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes. She looked delicate and beaten, her face a little black-and-blue, her lips pale. He swallowed a knot as she opened her eyes and met his gaze. “Well?”

  “Bliss isn’t here,” he told her, his voice choked. What was he doing with this woman? She was hurt; she should be home in bed. If he truly cared for her, would he keep dragging her into danger? Wouldn’t he insist she go back to Reno or Virginia, where it was safe, instead of subjecting her to this awful series of violent situations that just never seemed to stop?

  Because it was suddenly very clear to him that the situation with her mother, while volatile, had never put Sarah’s life in imminent danger. He and Mike had brought the violence, and it was still following Nate around like a very cruel shadow. Sarah was a victim every bit as much as her father, and all Nate had done was replace her needy mother with his own needs. True to form, Sarah had followed that misguided sense of loyalty that seemed inherent to her soul and almost died because of it. Again.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m going to take you back to the motel, where I hope you’ll lock yourself in the room and not answer the door unless it’s for food you ordered yourself.”

  Her eyes widened. “Where are you going?”

  He told her about Helena as he started the truck. “Do you know where it is?”

  “A couple of hours driving, far less by plane,” she said.

  “What about the roads? If the storm dumped snow, they could be impassable.” Unbidden, he pictured Alex lost in those mountains, freezing, hurt.

  “No, they should be fine. It’s not a bad drive.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you going to Helena?”

  “To see the mayor.”

  “But why? The chances you’ll even be able to get close to him seem remote, and you said he’ll be back by tonight.”

  “Tonight I’m going up to that B-Strong camp.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to get a feel for the place, because tomorrow I need to drive to Blunt Falls to see what I can do to help find Alex.”

  She was quiet for a second. “I can’t leave tomorrow. I have to take care of moving the coins and contacting a lawyer.”

  “I know,” he agreed. “And your mother wants you back in Reno.”

  She looked down at her hands, then at him. “What are you really saying, Nate?”

  He paused for a second, measuring his words. “I’m saying maybe it’s time we each took care of business. You have your family. I have this.”

  “Do you?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why can’t you let the police take care of it?”

  “That’s not the way I work.”

  “You’re beginning to sound like my father.”

  His mouth opened, but no words came out. He wasn’t even sure what they were fighting about, only that her accusation hurt like salt rubbed in an open wound. After several seconds of tense stillness, he muttered, “When you’ve been in law enforcement as long as I have, you get a sixth sense about things.”

  “You’re talking about a gut feeling,” she said. “What is your gut telling you?”

  “That the mayor is in danger.”

  “From Jason?”

  “I’m not sure. But he and Stewart were both in Jason’s father’s office yesterday, and Jason is hiding something. I can guarantee you that. It’s worth a drive to Helena and that’s why I have to go. But there’s no reason for you to tag along.”

  “No need for me to tag along?” she repeated, obviously annoyed. “Well, it’s not that easy. This isn’t just about you, Nate.”

  “I didn’t say it was.”

  “Didn’t you? I’m going, too.”

  “Sarah—”

  “Don’t you know by now that there is no point arguing with me?”

  “That’s kind of scary, isn’t it?”

  “I’m usually pretty reasonable,” she objected, her voice dry.

  “No, I mean it’s kind of scary that I know that about you.” He glanced at her as he said this and his expression struck her as uneasy.

  “I see your point,” she said softly. “But isn’t it kind of nice, too?”

  “Yeah,” he said, but it came with a quick turn of his head and, after that, utter silence.

  * * *

  SARAH CLOSED HER EYES, drifting in and out of restless slumber. Nate had the heat turned up and that felt good, because everything hurt more today than it had the day before.

  Why was he acting so odd? How had he gone from the lover of the night before to this hard-to-read, all-too-typical guy? Was it her fault? And why had she insisted on accompanying him when it was clear he’d rather she didn’t? In the back of her mind, she asked herself a question: Was it possible she’d made the error of mistaking sex for genuine feeling? Mistaking passion for compassion?

  Or was Nate rediscovering his old self,
the cop under his skin, and with that, his swagger? And if that were true, perhaps it was also possible he was beginning to reexamine his severed relationship with his fiancée. Perhaps letting her go now seemed a huge mistake he needed to rectify.

  She dug in her purse when they stopped for gas and Nate got out to stretch his legs. The whole stack of Johnny’s letters came out and with it, a much folded and unfolded piece of paper she recognized as having been wrapped around the storage-garage key. She was about to stuff it back in her handbag when she saw writing on one side.

  “What’s that?” Nate asked as he climbed back in behind the wheel of the rental.

  “A name. Morris Denton, with Seattle written under it followed by a question mark. What do you suppose that means?”

  “Is that the missing page from the notebook?”

  “It looks like it. It was wrapped around the key I found in Dad’s safe. I’m so stupid. I should have recognized it, but this is the first time I really looked at it.” She handed the paper to Nate.

  “I have no idea why he’d include Seattle unless Denton is from there or was going there. We’ll get Gallant to check on it tonight.” He gestured at the letters still in her lap. “What are those?”

  She looked him in the eyes. “Johnny wrote me these before we were married.”

  “That’s what you went to the garage to get,” he said.

  “Yes. I wanted to read them again.”

  “You really loved him, didn’t you?” he asked her.

  She nodded. “I really did. I’m funny that way. When I give my heart, I give my heart.”

  “I’m sorry I pried,” he said, starting the truck, and from the tone of his voice, it was clear the letters held little interest for him. Sarah took a deep breath and thanked her lucky stars. If he’d asked why they were important to her, she would have told him, and now was not the time—not when things had gotten so strange between them. She stuffed the letters back in her purse right as a road sign announced Helena just ahead.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The town of Helena was home to a small college, which considerably boosted its wintertime population. And on this chilly Monday afternoon, the one-way street leading into town was jammed with traffic. Even the sidewalks were crowded, and everyone moved in the same direction toward the center of town.

  “This is Union Street,” Sarah announced as they crawled along. “It leads to Memorial Plaza, and if I remember correctly from the one and only time I’ve ever been here, there’s a big old statue of George Washington right smack in the middle. I never put the two together before.”

  “Washington Memorial,” Nate whispered, his gut sending signals again. “This is it. Something is going to happen here.” He stopped for a group of people who were crossing the street and added, “Where is everybody going?”

  “Judging from the red-white-and-blue banners, I’d say a parade or something. Look, the road is blocked off up ahead.”

  Nate followed behind a trolley until he saw a sign directing him to a makeshift parking lot and pulled out of the traffic. “We’d better walk from here,” he said as he turned off the engine. “Are you up to it? Maybe you should stay in the truck.”

  “Why do you keep trying to get rid of me?” she snapped. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “I don’t want you to get killed,” he grumbled as he slipped Mike’s old leather notebook into the breast pocket of his jacket. He wasn’t proud of the childish way his emotions were getting the best of him. If something happened to her that he could prevent and he somehow missed the mark, like he had on Labor Day with those kids, he’d never forgive himself. He’d never make it back to anything approaching normal. For both their sakes, he wanted to park her in a steel vault until this was over.

  “I’m a big girl, Nate,” she said as she took his hand, clenching it in hers and tugging slightly for effect. He stopped to look down at her, but the crowd swept them up and they moved with everyone else toward the town square.

  Helena’s elevation was lower than Shatterhorn’s, hence the pavement was clear of snow and nearly empty. As they staked out a piece of curbside real estate, a chill wind carried the sound of an approaching brass band. Across the road, Nate could see the grassy square and the top of Washington’s head. His pulse raced as he looked for anything amiss.

  Within minutes, everyone seemed to turn in unison to watch the distant corner with murmurs of expectation. As the music grew louder, two brown quarter horses made the turn, their riders carrying the state and national flags.

  The crowd cheered as the horses, followed by the Helena High School Tigers band, pranced by. A float complete with three young women draped in period clothes topped with fur coats, as well as two guys dressed as Abraham Lincoln and George Washington, came after the band. The girls waved like prom queens while the guys looked embarrassed and cold. A dozen or so kids riding decorated bikes and so bundled in parkas their own mothers probably couldn’t tell them apart followed the float. A half dozen brave girls in brief uniforms twirling batons preceded the next float, which featured a seated woman hand sewing the Stars and Stripes—à la Betsy Ross—onto a huge flag. Every so often she reached into a sack and threw a handful of candy to the kids.

  Nate grew increasingly anxious. This was exactly the kind of venue these “random” shooters had been choosing—crowded, everyday Americana events, complete with families and celebration, as though the whole point was to underscore that no one was safe, not at school or in a library or on a beach. He looked back at the parade as an open car drove by. Two men were seated in the backseat, and by the banners affixed to the door, Nate figured out one was the mayor of Helena and the other was the governor of Nevada. Nate was kind of surprised Bliss wasn’t in the car with them.

  He tore his gaze away from the men and went back to scanning the crowd. A few minutes later, his heart leaped into his throat as he recognized a face in among the strangers.

  He grabbed Sarah’s arm, propelling her forward with him lest he lose sight of his target. “Go get the police.”

  “Why?”

  He tore his gaze away from the opposite side of the street. “I just saw Jason Netters. I have to follow him.” Nate began walking again, aware Sarah was close behind. He apologized to an older woman as he sidled past her, moving faster than the parade now, out in front of the horses in an effort not to lose sight of Jason.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  He glanced down at her again. “Go find help,” he pleaded. “Tell them anything you can think of to get this crowd dispersed. I have to keep up with Jason.”

  “Where’s he going? Can you tell?”

  “It looks like he’s headed to the end of the parade route.”

  He ran off, not pausing to look back. He had to find Jason and stop him before it was too late.

  * * *

  SARAH LOOKED AROUND desperately for someone in a uniform, and when she finally spotted an officer working crowd control, she hurried to speak to him, her leg throbbing in protest.

  The man was several inches taller than she was, and the noise of the crowd drowned out her voice. Plus, he was involved in another situation and was only paying her cursory attention. When he turned the opposite direction to control a horde of little kids, she grabbed his arm, and he turned to face her, annoyed now that she’d interfered with him.

  “A guy wanted for questioning in the shooting death of a man in Shatterhorn this morning has been sighted on his way to the end of the parade,” she explained breathlessly. “Is there a gathering down there?”

  “Yeah,” he said, shooing the kids back.

  “Get on your radio and tell the others to be alert. There’s reason to suspect this person is armed and might be getting ready to fire into the crowd.”

  “Are you serious?” he asked.

  “Dead serious
.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Jason Netters. About eighteen, blond, medium sized.”

  “That describes two-thirds of this town,” he said, but he was fingering his radio as he spoke. “And who are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter who I am. Please, do something. I have to go.”

  * * *

  A CONGESTED BARRICADE at the end of the sidewalk directing pedestrians to cross the street and continue down toward a park Nate could see through the trees caused him to lose sight of Jason. He crossed with everyone else, keeping his gaze peeled for a glimpse of the boy, but Jason wasn’t a big guy and he wasn’t particularly distinctive.

  Wait—he’d been wearing a green camouflage-type coat. Those were hardly rare in rural Nevada, but at least it gave Nate something to be on the lookout for.

  Checking the street, he saw the parade was now making its way to the park, where bleachers were beginning to fill with people. He, along with two dozen others, got stuck behind the last float, and by the time Nate made it to the park, the car with the dignitaries had come to a halt. The governor and Helena’s mayor were in the process of climbing up to a platform where a podium had been situated. There was no sign of Mayor Bliss, which seemed odd. The band launched into another march song and people cheered. The noise and confusion made concentrating that much harder. Where was Jason?

  He caught a glimpse of the back of a head covered with straw-colored hair and took off after him. Three minutes later, he touched the guy’s shoulder. A man spun around and raised his eyebrows. He was ten years too old. “Something wrong, pal?” he asked.

  “Sorry,” Nate said. He made his way back to the bandstand and climbed up three or four levels. Since the park sat on a slight incline from the town, it gave a panoramic view of things. Nate scanned the almost deserted streets and saw nothing and no one suspicious. Turning his head, he caught traffic and a glimpse of movement headed toward a freeway underpass not too far away. He kept staring until two figures emerged from some deep shadows and came briefly into view before disappearing again.