by Sharon Sala
* * *
Sunset was only minutes away as Lainey walked back from the pasture with the feed bucket, leaving Dandy out in the pasture eating. There were no other animals on the property now except her horse. He was a big gray grullo with a feisty attitude, and there was a time in her life when that had fit who she was, but no more. Her body was still weak from the cancer treatments, and she had gotten so thin that her endurance was nil. But she was cancer-free, and every day she woke up was a good day and a chance to get stronger.
When she was almost back at the barn, Dandy nickered.
She turned to look, but he already had his head back down in the feeder. She smiled.
“Good night to you, too, big guy!” she yelled.
Dandy looked up, nickered again and then resumed his meal.
Now that her last chore for the day was over, Lainey was left with nothing to deter her thoughts from going back to Sam.
There was a time when he’d been the reason she drew breath. Then life had interrupted their love affair and she’d had to figure out how to live without him. She’d thought she was doing okay until the phone call from Dallas, and now all she could think about was seeing Sam again, if for no other reason than to tell him to go to hell.
She latched the door to the granary and started toward the house. The sun was gone now. She was going up the back steps when she heard a long, high-pitched scream that made her shudder. After one quick glance back, she leaped up the steps and hurried into the house. There was a panther somewhere on the mountain, and she hoped he stayed there. Dandy was too old to fight off a big cat like that now.
After locking up the house, she washed up and began making herself some supper, trying not to think about Sam coming home with a broken heart. She did not want to feel sorry for him. She needed to stay mad and hurt and everything in between. She had to, or she would likely get her heart broken all over again.
* * *
Sunset had come and gone. Once Sam reached Knoxville, Tennessee, he took 81 North. The dark pavement in front of his headlights all looked the same, even though he’d already left one state and driven into another.
Two hours had passed since he’d last talked to Trey. He kept thinking Trina should be out of surgery by now, but he’d heard nothing, and Trey had promised to call.
Traffic was heavy. At least a dozen eighteen-wheelers had passed him during those hours, along with the constant barrage of other traffic. Now, though, traffic was beginning to slow down, and he couldn’t figure out why until he topped a hill and saw a cadre of flashing lights on the highway below. He tapped the brakes to accommodate the slower pace, and as he did, caught a flash of headlights coming over the hill behind him at a breakneck pace.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as the lights popped up in his mirror. There was no way that driver would be able to brake in time to keep from hitting him. He was bracing himself for impact when, at the last moment, the car swerved and went airborne into the center median.
Sam glanced over his shoulder as it went flying past him in the dark. It was rolling in midair when it hit and continued to roll after impact, the headlights bouncing up and down in the darkness. When the car finally stopped, it was upside down.
Sam slammed on the brakes and pulled off onto the shoulder. He left the lights on in his SUV as he grabbed his flashlight and jumped out. Other witnesses to the wreck were also stopping and running toward it.
He darted into the grassy median. The car had rolled a good fifty yards away. The beam of his flashlight was not meant to illuminate this much, and he could barely see where he was going, plus he was beginning to smell gas. It must be spilling out.
A man ran up behind him as they neared the wreck.
“I just called 911,” the stranger said. “I saw the whole thing. He was flying when he came over that hill.”
Sam stopped at the wreck and got down on his knees before flashing the light throughout the interior. Not only was it empty, but the windshield was gone.
Sam stood abruptly. “It’s empty. The driver was thrown out. Spread out and start looking.”
By now a half-dozen others had joined them, and most of them had flashlights, too. They quickly spaced themselves out and began backtracking in a wide perimeter away from the wreck.
As they were searching, Sam began to hear more sirens and turned to look. One of the patrol cars was coming back up with his lights flashing.
Sam kept moving slowly, sweeping the grassy median with his flashlight as he walked. The first thing he found was a duffel bag, and then a few yards farther he found a red-and-black tennis shoe. The duffel bag was from a college in Tennessee, and the shoe was a popular one with the younger crowd. His heart sank.
“Over here!” someone yelled.
He turned and ran.
The driver was lying facedown on the missing windshield, and when Sam saw him, for a split second the night and the people around him disappeared and he thought he was hearing the whup whup whup from the rotors of a chopper and watching blood running out of his buddy’s head and seeping into the sand at his feet. The heat of the desert wind was in his face as the flashing lights from the highway patrol car momentarily blinded him. It was the lights that yanked him out of the flashback.
“He’s dead!” the man yelled, waving at the patrolman who was coming their way.
As Sam dropped down on one knee to check the body for a pulse, the man said again, “He’s dead. I done checked.”
Sam was numb. The driver was in his early twenties, and the man was right. He was dead.
A crowd was gathering around the body, and they were all talking at once, wanting to tell their version of what they’d seen to the highway patrolman.
Sam glanced down at the boy one last time, and then turned around and walked back to his SUV. He tossed the flashlight onto the seat beside him, grabbed a canister of hand wipes and began pulling out the sheets to clean his hands, and then he kept pulling them out and wiping and pulling them out and wiping until he realized he was crying. He took a slow, shaky breath as he threw the canister on the floor, then wadded up the hand wipes and put them in a trash bag.
“Jesus wept,” he said softly, and then closed his eyes, but the sight was still burned into his brain, and the moment he spoke the words, he remembered a scene from his childhood and the scolding his mother had given him for what he’d said.
Do not use the Lord’s name in vain, Samuel Wade.
I didn’t curse, Mama. That’s a Bible verse. Daddy said it’s the shortest verse in the Bible.
Well, your daddy is right, but so am I. Don’t say that again unless you’re on your knees saying prayers.
Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, Mama.
Sam rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He wasn’t on his knees, but he needed to be.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” he said softly. “Sorry for everything.”
He could almost feel her hand on the back of his neck.
It’s okay, Sammy. When you know better, you do better.
He put the car in gear and slowly pulled back onto the interstate. For some strange reason, home seemed even farther away.
* * *
Trey and Lee were alone in the waiting room. Dallas had gone home because the livestock needed tending. He’d put out a couple of round bales of hay for their cattle early this morning, so they wouldn’t have to be tended to for a couple of days, but Dallas’s hens had to be fed and watered, and the eggs had to be gathered, no matter what else was wrong with their world.
They were still in the waiting room when Trey’s phone rang. He saw it was Dallas and answered quickly.
“Hey, honey. Everything all right?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m getting ready to drive back into town. Is Trina still in surgery?”
“Yes, but don
’t drive back. I was watching the weather earlier, and there’s a heavy thunderstorm predicted for this area. I don’t want you out on the roads in that.”
“But, Trey, I don’t want you there by yourself.”
“I’m not alone. Lee’s here. I’ll let you know the minute she’s out of surgery. Just stay home. At least I’ll know one of you is safe.”
Dallas heard the weariness in his voice and knew if she pushed the issue and went to the hospital anyway, it would be at his expense, so she finally agreed.
“I’ll stay home. Just know how much I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too,” Trey said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
He disconnected and then settled back in his chair. Lee was dozing sitting up. They didn’t have anything much to say to each other and even less to the people who stared at them as they passed the waiting room.
Five hours after Trina went into surgery, the surgeon came into the waiting room looking for her family.
Trey stood abruptly, while Lee eased up from the sofa where he’d been sitting. They were both afraid to hear the verdict.
“Are you here for Trina Jakes?” the doctor asked.
“Yes,” they said in unison.
“I’m Dr. Lowell. I operated on her. She came through the surgery and is in ICU.”
Lee dropped back onto the sofa and started to cry. Just the news that she was still alive was what he’d been praying for.
Trey wanted details and got them as the doctor continued.
“Her condition is critical. The bullet missed her heart by centimeters, shattered a couple of ribs and punctured a lung. It took a while to remove all the bone fragments. I pulled a couple out of one kidney and one from her liver. The bullet also nicked part of her spine on exit, but the spinal cord is intact. She lost a lot of blood, and for the time being I’ve put her into a drug-induced coma.”
“Dear Lord,” Trey muttered, and then the cop part of him kicked in. “Did she regain consciousness at any time before she was moved to ICU?”
“No, and as serious as her injuries were, that was to be expected.”
“When can I see her?” Lee asked.
“Check the visiting times in ICU, and discourage anyone but immediate family,” Dr. Lowell said.
Trey had his own comment to make.
“Just so you know, I need a no-visitor hold put on her chart, and there will be a guard stationed outside her room. She’s the only living witness to the latest of three murders, and the killer isn’t going to want her to wake up.”
Dr. Lowell grimaced. “Yes, so I was told. I’ll make sure that’s taken care of.”
“On behalf of our family, we thank you,” Trey said.
Lee pulled himself together to add his thanks. “Yes, Dr. Lowell. Thank you for saving her.”
Lowell nodded. “It wasn’t all me. I had a good team with me in the OR. I’ll be checking on her on a regular basis, so I’m sure we’ll speak again,” he said, and left the waiting room.
Now that Trey knew what he had to work with, he moved into action.
“I need to make some calls and get a guard rotation set up here.”
“I’m going to find ICU,” Lee said. “I’ll text you the visiting times.”
Trey nodded. “I’m not leaving the area. I just need a little privacy to make those calls.”
Lee went one way and Trey the other as they left the waiting room. Trey sent a text to Dallas on the way down in the elevator, then waited to call Sam until he was in a more private place. He was on his way out to his cruiser when he realized the predicted rain was imminent.
Thunder rolled as he made a run for the car, followed by a shaft of lightning that momentarily lit up the sky a few miles away.
He unlocked the car and slid into the seat. The silence was brief. There was traffic on the police radio, but from what he could hear, Dwight Thomas, their night dispatcher, had everything in hand.
He thought about Sam, and then shifted focus to the need for security on Trina. He didn’t have enough officers in Mystic to keep someone on guard day and night. He was trying to remember the security service Mack Jackson had used a few months ago for his fiancée, Lissa, when she was being stalked by the janitor where she worked, and looked to see if he still had Mack’s number in his contacts. He did, so he hit the call button, and then wiped a shaky hand across his face as he listened to Mack’s phone ring.
Three
Trey’s heart was so heavy he could hardly breathe, and yet he had to stay focused. When Mack picked up on the third ring, Trey braced himself to say what had to be said.
“Hello.”
Trey cleared his throat. “Mack, this is Trey. I know it’s late. I hope I didn’t call at a bad time.”
“No, not at all,” Mack said.
“I was wondering if you could give me a contact number for the security guard you used for Lissa.”
“Sure, his name is Cain Embry. I don’t have it on me, but I’ll find it and text it to you in a few minutes, okay?”
“Yes, I would appreciate it.”
“Is something going on? Something related to the murders?” Mack asked.
“Yes,” Trey said, and then his voice broke. He had to clear his throat again and start over to get it all said. “Yes, something happened. Mom is dead, and Trina just came out of surgery. We still don’t know if she’ll make it or not. They were shot on their way home from the memorial service.”
Trey heard a gasp and then a groan, followed by a couple of anxious whispers, and guessed Mack was telling Lissa.
“Dear Lord! I don’t know what to say except that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Mack said.
Trey stared out across the parking lot.
“Yeah, me, too,” he said. “I keep thinking about that little speech I made at the church, wondering if I pushed the killer into it.”
The shock of what Mack was feeling echoed in his voice.
“Hell no, you didn’t push the bastard into anything. For one thing, he already killed twice before. Without a clue as to why this was happening, you’ve been helpless to stop anything. I’m finally coming to accept that they were all doomed from the start. Did Trina say anything? Do you have a lead?”
“No, she was unconscious when I found her. That’s why I need the guards. If she pulls through, she might be able to finger the killer. I can only imagine how freaked out he must be, knowing she’s still breathing.”
“Is there anything I can do? Do you need help—”
“You’re helping by getting me the number. I’ll be watching for the text. I’ve got to call Sam. He’s on his way home. He doesn’t know Trina made it through surgery yet.”
“Believe me, Trey, I know everything you’re going through right now. Just know Lissa and I will keep you in our prayers.”
“I know you do, and thanks,” Trey said and disconnected. While he was waiting for Mack’s text, he called Dallas to let her know Trina had made it through surgery, then made the same call to Sam.
* * *
Sam’s eyes were burning, and his shoulders ached. He’d been driving in rain for over an hour, which was making it twice as difficult to see the highway. When his cell phone finally rang he almost jumped out of his skin. Then he saw it was from Trey and put it on speaker so he could keep both hands on the wheel.
“Please give me some good news.”
“Trina made it through the surgery. She’s in ICU. I’ll give you details when you get here. Right now I’m waiting on a phone number so I can get twenty-four-hour security on her.”
“Thank the Lord,” Sam muttered. “I can help with security when I get there,” he added.
“I know, but I’m selfish enough to want you with me. I have a couple of ideas as to where to take the investiga
tion but I’m waiting on you to get here to implement them. Where are you?” Trey asked.
Sam sighed.
“Somewhere in Tennessee. I’m north of Knoxville, and that’s all I know for sure. It’s raining pretty hard right now. Difficult to see road signs.”
Trey frowned. “Be careful. Stop and sleep over somewhere if you need to.”
“Yeah, I watched one young man die tonight. I don’t want to be next.”
“What? Are you okay?” Trey asked.
“Yes. It was a wreck. I saw it, but I wasn’t in it.”
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Yeah, so am I, for a whole lot of reasons. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow. That’s all I know for sure. Keep me posted on any change in her condition.”
“I will. Be safe. Oh...hey, I just got a text. It’ll be the info I’ve been waiting on. I’ll talk to you later,” Trey said and hung up.
Sam heard the click in his ear and disconnected, too, thinking to himself how his little brother had grown up while he wasn’t looking.
He drove for a few moments more, peering past the frantic swiping of the windshield wipers while the relief of knowing his sister was still alive sank in.
“Thank You, God. Now please help me get home.”
* * *
The killer couldn’t rest. He needed to know if Trina Jakes was still breathing, but he didn’t want anyone else to know he was calling. He got out of bed, moving quietly through the house to his study as he called the hospital, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, as the phone began to ring.
“Webster Memorial Hospital.”
“I’m calling to check on Trina Jakes’ condition.”
There was a pause, and then the operator said, “She’s in ICU. I’ll ring the nurses’ desk.”
“Thank you,” he said, and waited.
“ICU.”
“Hello. I’m checking on the condition of Trina Jakes and the visiting times.”
“She’s in critical condition and can’t have visitors.”
“But we go to church with her and we wanted to—”