Indivisible

by Kristen Heitzmann

  “The drug increases intoxication, causing imbalance and impaired speech. I don’t detect respiratory depression, and I wouldn’t from a half glass of doped wine.” She looked up. “It’s a good thing you stopped her finishing it. Even so, she may experience vomiting and insomnia. And she probably won’t remember this part of her night.”

  “So it is the date-rape drug.”

  Lauren seemed confident, as he was, but said, “The lab will tell for sure.”

  Tia’s eyes were burning embers. “Bob won’t get away with this, right?”

  Jonah shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”

  “You’re the chief of police.”

  “The DA brings charges.”

  “There are witnesses. There is evidence. Tell me—this time—you can do something.”

  “I already did.” He hadn’t seen her so shaken in years.

  She gripped Piper’s hand and murmured as the girl’s head lolled.

  Lauren gathered her things. “Seizure is possible, so I wouldn’t leave her alone. If she doesn’t wake up after eight hours, rouse her. If you can’t, get her to the hospital.”

  He nodded. “Thanks, Lauren.”

  She gave him a slow, knowing smile, then followed Jay out.

  When Jay and Lauren left, Tia stood up, hands to her hips. “Sarge’s nurse?”

  He spread his hands. “What?”

  “Were you two serious?”

  “We never got started.”

  “Did you want to?”

  “What is this?”

  “I saw that look between you.”

  “That look was her identifying the love of my life.”

  Tia’s whole body shook. Piper’s helplessness and the fear of what could have happened ripped through her protective layers to a vulnerability that terrified her. She felt as powerless, as defenseless as Piper. And there’d been heat in that look, whatever Jonah claimed it meant.

  “Liz. Lauren.” She huffed out her breath. “Nine years, a husband and four kids, yet I’m not convinced Reba’s over you.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t want to be hurt.” She pressed her hands to her face. “If these nine years have shown anything, it’s how much we can hurt each other.”

  “Yeah, it hurts.” His eyes went black as obsidian. “Because we love harder, we can also cut deeper. The happier—”

  “You think I’ll make you happy? I’m the other Manning, remember? The one you didn’t choose.”

  “I’ve been in love with you a long time, Tia.”

  She looked away, fighting what she saw in him.

  “Even Reba knew it. She had just been programmed to believe no one could prefer her renegade sister. And yeah, for a time I lost sight of it too.”

  “How can you say she knew? She was devastated.”

  “Yet she made a way for you to stay here with me.”

  Tears burned her eyes. “What? Why would she—”

  “You were the one they rejected. But did you ever think how it was to be her? Trapped in their smothering love.”

  Her unwilling mind filled with the thought of Reba still obeying Stella’s imperious commands, adored and … accursed? She’d almost seen it in Phoenix, almost realized.

  Jonah gripped her elbows. “She didn’t desert you, Ti. She set you free.”

  No. Please. Why wouldn’t he stop? Didn’t he know that would break her heart? For Reba to have given in the midst of her betrayal …

  Shaking, she slipped her arms free. “I need to be alone. I’ll take care of Piper.”

  Frustrated, Jonah left the house. He’d gone from hero to heel with one look, condemned for something that never happened but sure dredged up everything that had. Maybe they couldn’t get past it. Maybe there was so much water under the bridge, it had washed the bridge away.

  His Bronco roared to life. The desire for drink kicked in. He’d expected that, unfounded accusations a trigger every time. Yes, Lauren was attractive, and he had entertained thoughts of her. And resisted.

  That’s why it mattered. What use was fidelity without temptation? What good was resisting anything you didn’t want anyway? His throat cleaved. His palms sweated. He jammed the vehicle into gear. She wouldn’t hear him now. Not when the rest of what she’d said had weight.

  He’d chosen Reba over the one who had the power to lay him open. Never mind, Liz. His attraction to Tia was the fatal one. How much longer—

  His radio came alive with Sue’s voice. “All units alert. Caldwell’s on the move.”

  “Officer Donnelly, where are you reporting from?”

  Silence.

  “Answer my question, Sue.”

  “I’m tailing Caldwell. He made Beatty and Newly. He hasn’t made me.”

  “I want you to stand down, Sue. Back off now.”

  “I’m not going to lose him, Jonah.”

  “I put you on leave. Then I let you sit in. Now I’m ordering you to back off.”

  “I’m sorry, Chief. I can’t do that.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Fidelity is the sister of justice.

  —HORACE

  Every tendon tightened. He rechanneled his frustration. “What’s your location?”

  “Heading up Godfrey.”

  The only undesirable part of town, a street named for a notorious trapper who’d wiped out the beaver population for half a century, homes like warrens tucked into old pines with dirt roads and dumps of old rusty cans and appliances. Survivalists, whom he didn’t mind, and slobs, whom he did.

  They had patrolled there, but nearly every dwelling could conceivably house a meth lab. Now Sue was in pursuit of a dangerous man in a dangerous area. She was a good officer, a great one for talking down domestic disputes. Short, compact, swaggering—she loved it when guys thought they could disabuse her of a traffic ticket. But she had no experience with this kind of trouble.

  “Sue, listen to me. I promised Sam.”

  “I made him talk, Jonah. I made him give up what you needed to nail this slime. I did that.”

  “We did it. And there was no way we could know.”

  “He was just a scared man. I’m a cop.”

  “You’re a good cop, Sue. But this is not your collar. I need you out of the way.”

  “I’m not going to lose him.”

  Clenching the wheel, Jonah put out a call for all available officers. The sheriff came back with the news that the local office had been hit by flu. County support would have some miles to cover. Newly and Beatty checked in. No word from McCarthy or Moser. He gave the location. “Code two. I don’t want them scared off.”

  “Copy, Chief.”

  Then directly to Sue’s car. “I’ve got cover cars coming. Do not engage, do you copy?”

  “I’m staying back.”

  “If you see him, chances are he sees you.”

  “We may not get another chance.”

  Jonah gunned it through town to the fringe where she’d gone. He pulled the weapon belt from the lockbox between his seats. The second gun rested against the small of his back. Moser called in. He briefed him. “I’m code eleven on Godfrey.”

  The pavement ended. The trees pressed in. Night was darker in the warrens. He had his window open, listening. Crickets. Dogs. Distant hollering. A lot of silence in between.

  Sue came on. “Turning. No marker.”

  “Coordinates.”

  She gave them. He plugged his GPS. “Wait for backup.”

  “Negative. I’m keeping a visual.”

  Tension pulled his neck tendons taut. He raised his guys to confirm they’d heard. “Do not engage. You copy, Sue?”

  No answer.

  His heart pounded. But the rest of him grew calm. He understood physical threat, knew with every fiber how to resist the fear of whatever came. His father’s legacy. But the others were green. He clenched his jaw, then slowed his quickened breath. Lord. Protect my people.

  Branches rasped against the Bronco’s sides, moonlight c
atching in the overhang. He turned where Sue had said. Creeping along with no headlights, he caught a flash of taillights about two hundred yards ahead and almost hit a vehicle half off the road. Sue’s. He yawed off behind it, parked, and radioed his location, suggesting they look for an alternate route.

  He attached the weapon belt and pulled on his Kevlar vest, then disabled the dome light before opening the door. He crept as silently as the needle-strewn ground allowed. The Jeep was empty. Fists clenched, he moved forward, searching the trees.

  “Jonah.” Her whisper carried sharply from behind a half-buried stove. “Shack.”

  He nodded and squatted beside her. She was not in uniform. In her dark hoodie and ball cap she looked more like a high-school girl hoping to score dope than an officer of the law. No wonder Caldwell hadn’t picked her out.

  Jonah swallowed. “Where’s your vest?”

  “The station.” Her voice quivered. “But I’m armed.” She held the gun she’d never fired outside the range.

  She was not thinking as an officer. He jerked his chin. “Get back in the car.”

  She shook her head.

  Caldwell opened his door, the dome light illuminating the immediate area. They froze. As Caldwell leaned down and fiddled with something, Jonah removed his vest and slipped it over her. He’d confiscated Caldwell’s guns, but they may have been returned when charges were dropped.

  Caldwell climbed out. Sue clutched her revolver. Jonah pressed her arm down and jerked his chin once more to the vehicles behind them. She recognized the order but shook her head again.

  In one swift motion, he disarmed her. No clearer way to show he meant it.

  Her face twisted. The truck door closed, casting them in darkness. He pressed his mouth to her ear. “Get back to my car and direct the others to circle around.” If she disobeyed this, she was through.

  Her motion made Caldwell pause and search the darkness, but he moved on.

  Weapon drawn, Jonah crept closer and crouched. He needed backup, and he needed it now. Almost smothered in pines, the shack blended into the slope. The door opened when Caldwell approached. A large, bald Caucasian with an assault rifle searched the area, hindered, Jonah hoped, by the light behind him.

  Another man with a rifle came around the far side of the shed into the light cast from the doorway. Sean Bolton, a lowlife since his teens, probably strung out. The other guy looked unimpaired. Malcolm? Or Greggor himself? “What are you doing here?”

  “They pulled the morons off me. I need product.”

  “Greggor told you to keep away.”

  That made the bald one Malcolm.

  Caldwell said, “Come on, man. Let me talk to him.”

  Jonah heard a rustle. He reached down and clicked his radio button, got a return click, then two more. Either Moser or McCarthy had joined Beatty and Newly. He looked back at Caldwell. Thanks to Officer Donnelly, they had not only the lab but the operators—and no plan.

  Jonah sensed someone behind him. “Where’s your vest?” Moser breathed.

  Jonah shook his head. Sound carried too easily. He motioned Moser to the right, then caught a glimpse of someone flanking Sean on the far side of the shack. Newly?

  A voice spoke from inside. Malcolm raised his weapon.

  “No,” Caldwell dove and rolled at the same moment Jonah shouted, “Freeze!”

  Bullets sprayed.

  Jonah spun, feeling a punch. The door slammed, casting them into darkness for only seconds before return shots caused a whump of flame and an explosion that tossed him like a straw man. Landing hard on his spine, he lost his breath, then rolled to his knees. Choking on the caustic chemical smoke, heat crisping his skin, he charged the flaming, fleeing man who’d fallen out the window. He covered him to smother the flames.

  Not large enough to be Malcolm the shooter, and not Sean who’d been outside, he guessed he’d just extinguished Greggor. Jonah searched and cuffed him, stuffed a large-caliber handgun into his own waistband, then dragged him farther from the flaming shack. By the light of the blaze, he saw his rookie, Beatty, cuffing a wounded Caldwell.

  Distant sirens pierced the night. She must have called it in. He hoped they could contain the fire before acres of forest and half the town went up. Surrounding trees already held dripping pockets of flame. Coughing, Moser staggered up, a gash on his forehead.

  “Moser, you okay?”

  “I can’t raise Newly.”

  “I’ll find him. Take this one.”

  He ran to the far side of the blaze where he’d last seen Sean and Newly. Fire licked the forest floor. A dark figure lay beneath a log plank. Eyes stinging, Jonah heaved the plank aside and found Sean. No pulse, only blood all over his ragged throat and chest.

  He hollered, “Newly?”

  A groan from his left. “I think my leg’s broken.”

  Jonah hurried to where Newly had landed on a rusted car chassis. As the fire climbed up around them, he fitted his shoulder under Newly’s arm and hauled him up. Newly hollered, then stifled it.

  “We’ve got to get past the flames.” The smell of burnt grass and leaves joined the chemicals. The shack was burning like a torch, the meth gases a smorgasbord for the ravenous flames. Jonah hooked an elbow over his mouth and nose, blinking as he hauled Newly through the knee-high flames. “Don’t breathe it in.”

  Newly bobbed his head. Sirens shrilling, lights swirling, the first fire engine pulled through the narrow passage. While some of the crew uncoiled hose, Jonah directed Walsh to the torched Greggor, then hollered, “Got a body. Far side.” No sense looking for Malcolm. Only one had come out of the shack.

  Jonah eased Newly onto the big metal truck step and gripped the door handle, swaying. “Want to wait for an ambulance?”

  Newly shook his head, coughing. Jonah gathered himself and helped Newly to the Bronco, got him into the back, then motioned Sue out of the driver’s seat. She’d pulled her hood over her mouth and nose, but even at this distance, her eyes were running.

  Glancing to make sure her Jeep had access, he ordered, “Meet me at the station.”

  Jonah climbed behind the wheel. With his hand pressed to his side, he braced himself against the searing pain now making an appearance. He looked back at Newly. “Hold on.”

  “You hold on, Chief.” Newly grinned. “What a night.”

  When Piper whimpered, Tia took her hand.

  Piper’s eyes blinked open. “I don’t feel good.”

  “That’s because Bob drugged you.”

  A second’s delay. “What? With what?”

  “The date-rape drug.”

  “Unh.” Piper lurched up and rushed for the bathroom.

  Almost 2 a.m. Piper had been out five and a half hours. She came back and sank down beside Tia, rubbing her temples. “How do you know?”

  “Jonah saw him do it.”

  “Did he—”

  “Bob never got you out of the restaurant.” Thanks to Jonah. Remorse stabbed her. He had not deserved the things she’d said.

  Piper moaned. “I need to lie down.”

  “Do you want to go upstairs?”

  “I’m too woozy.”

  Tia settled her into the recliner. Two in the morning or not, she had to talk to him. She moved into the kitchen and phoned, surprised that it went to voice mail. On or off duty, even sleeping, he should answer. Unless he was out on a call.

  She tried the station, and a woman said, “Officer Donnelly.”

  “I’m looking for Jonah Westfall. This is Tia Manning.”

  “I’m sorry, Tia.” Sue Donnelly’s voice hitched. “Chief Westfall’s been shot.”

  Tia almost dropped the phone. Oh, please God.

  “They took him to Tri-County Hospital.”

  “Then he’s alive.” Her heart kick-started. “How bad is it?”

  “He got to the station and collapsed. They took him by helicopter.”

  Tia thanked her and hung up. She snatched her purse but didn’t rouse Piper, who’d fallen bac
k to sleep. He’d only been gone a few hours. Not gone. She trembled. Away. They’d been apart six hours. And he’d been shot? She stifled a sob.

  The road was too winding, the night too dark. The hospital looked like a movie set for M. Night Shyamalan, disturbing, fraught with impending storm. She ran through the automatic emergency doors, halting at the counter. She spoke through the small window. “Jonah Westfall?”

  She held her breath while the man checked his screen.

  “He’s in recovery.”

  She took her first full breath as the man directed her to the surgical waiting room. She ran for the elevators, ended up in the closed cafeteria, backtracked, and turned into the pass-through with the elevator bank.

  Adam Moser looked up when she approached. Taller than Jonah, he unfolded from the chair, a bandage taped on his arching forehead. “He’s out of surgery. Newly too, though I guess you’re here about the chief.”

  “Did they tell you anything?”

  “The bullet passed through the tissue in his side, nicked his colon, and broke a rib getting out. Barring complications, he should be okay.” He rubbed a knuckle into each bloodshot eye. “I guess if you’re here, I’ll go home to my wife.”

  When he’d gone, she found a nurse and asked, “Jonah Westfall?”

  “Are you family?”

  “I’m his …”

  “He’s in recovery. I’ll buzz you through.”

  She must have looked stunned. She was stunned. Jonah. So vital just hours before, then shot. She went through the wide wooden doors and saw him lying on one of the gurneys, eyes closed. He smelled like disinfectant and looked pale and fragile. Even as a battered kid, he’d never seemed breakable. Trembling, she drew close and pressed her hand to his face.

  His eyes flickered.

  “Jonah?”

  They opened slowly, streaked red and bleary like Adam Moser’s. “Hey.” His voice rasped.

  “Thank God.”

  “Good idea.”

  “What happened?”

  He blinked. “Later.”

  She gripped his hand between hers, tears filling her eyes. “Jonah, I’m so sorry!”

  His throat worked, but no words came.

  “We’re moving him to a room now,” an older nurse said. “Do you want to follow?”