And I chanced a glance up.
I was going to look back down when I saw nothing.
Except as I was thinking I’d seen nothing, I realized I saw something, and my head stayed up.
We had a direct view out the two French doors that led to a front porch that ran along the front of the cabin.
Doors that had a view to the lake.
Doors that had a view to my place.
And the view to my place showed me David was lying on my deck.
Not moving.
Fifty
Both My Girls
It was no consolation, the changes I saw at the sheriff’s department when they took us there.
Change one:
I noted a female deputy in uniform.
Change two:
I noticed two Black officers.
Change three:
When we were in what was now Harry’s office, the detritus of Dern’s tenure had been entirely cleared.
No standing coatrack covered in personal items like this was his home away from home.
The gunrack filled with assault rifles had been removed.
There was the desk. Two chairs in front. Both were new, attractive but utilitarian, and free of any Andy Griffith feel.
There was also a new addition of a small, round conference table with four chairs in the top corner of the room, making the statement that the man who now used that office respected his colleagues and sought their input.
A credenza behind the desk had been added. That had a framed picture of a very pretty woman who was perhaps in her twenties. She was smiling happily at the camera. Beside and just behind that, another picture of Harry with his arm slung around an older man who was likely his father, and another man his age, who was probably his brother. They were standing by a picnic table.
Where the gunrack had been, now hung a large, and rather gorgeous painting of our misty lake.
His desk was not entirely neat, but it wasn’t untidy.
He worked there.
This wasn’t a veritable throne room, it was a place to do business.
Important business.
Polly brought us vanilla malts from the Double D, which Pete had sent over.
We did not drink them.
Celeste cried.
Twice.
I held her when she did and silently raged.
Hours later, Jace walked in.
He was wearing his father’s face.
Neutral.
“David’s out of surgery. He’s still with us. He’s critical,” he stated. “We’re going home.”
Celeste deflated.
He held his sister’s hand, and I walked like C3PO at their sides to his Ram.
I made Celeste sit in the front with her brother.
I sat in the back.
Jace drove.
His mood was wet and stormy, and it beat through the cab like a hurricane.
Even if my mood matched it, for Celeste, I tried to cut through it.
“Harry’s wife is very pretty.”
“Harry’s wife died a year after he married her when she broke her neck after her horse threw her,” Jace replied.
The picture of the pretty girl smiling happily at the man behind the camera formed distinct in my mind.
Thus, the hard face.
I shut my mouth.
Jace took us home.
The curtains were pulled, and Megan was fussing.
Dan sat at the kitchen bar with a gun holstered on his hip.
There was a lasagna staying warm in the oven, frozen garlic knots laying out on a cookie sheet, lined up to go in, and a dressed Caesar salad waiting for croutons in the fridge.
Some Mexican casserole extravaganza was cooling on the counter, ready for refrigeration or freezing, depending on our appetites and how long it took us to consume the lasagna.
I was thinking freezer.
I was sitting cross-legged on the couch, Celeste was lying on her side, her head on my thigh.
I was running my fingers through her hair.
That was when Bohannan and the boys walked in from the back deck.
Megan drifted to her man, and he curled his arm around her hips.
We all watched Jess lock the door behind him.
That was not a good sign.
Bohannan glanced at Megan and dipped his chin to Dan.
Then he looked at Celeste and me.
She’d sat up and was now plastered to my side.
And we were both looking at her father.
He switched his focus to me.
“Your guy is our guy. Robertson saw him.”
Celeste took my hand.
I held tight.
“He got away, but we know who we’re looking for and we know he’s an excellent shot. We also know he’s got resources. He got David with a long-range tactical rifle. They don’t come cheap.”
I refused to shift my attention to the closed drapes.
“We ran out of daylight and we’re runnin’ out of steam. Both lead to mistakes. We caught his trail. We followed it. But if we all keep stumbling around in the dark, we might fuck it up. What he did today, he didn’t have time to cover his tracks. A fresh team has been dispatched, and they’re still on it. And no, he did not vanish into thin air when he took Alice. Leland missed it, but once he got his ass out there, Harry didn’t. What he had was time to plot his escape. Having that time, that was what he did. In part, literally covering his tracks. He diffused the dogs because he spent time in those woods. His scent was everywhere, except on the path to Alice. That was a straight line. One path out, then, when they picked up his scattered scent, they didn’t know which path to follow. At this time, Alice had sustained a serious concussion because he’d dealt a blow to her head. He was carrying her, and my guess, she was unconscious, and he’d wrapped her in a blanket that was scented with him. She wasn’t leaving a trace.”
He held my gaze.
And said, “Today, he left a trace.”
He seemed to want something from me, so I nodded and asked, “Is there reason people don’t know this and instead think he has preternatural powers?”
“Specifics of a case are rarely released. But in this instance, that was held back for him. Yes, it scares people. No, I don’t like that. And yes, that gives him what he needs. But it also can build complacency. If he thinks he’s got the upper hand, if he thinks he was outsmarting Leland, and then outsmarting me, he might give that to me.”
I hated that he got to further scare people.
But what Bohannan said made sense.
“Are you saying he knew Alice and her friends were going to be out there?”
“I’m saying he lured Alice and her friends out there.”
Holy God.
“The girls said that?” I asked.
“It was a game, instigated by Alice.”
“He got to her beforehand,” I whispered.
“He got to her beforehand,” Bohannan confirmed.
“Behind my boathouse, he disappeared,” I reminded him.
Bohannan said nothing.
Oh God.
“Did you keep that from me too?” I demanded.
“No,” he finally answered. “That time, he disappeared, and it was concerning.”
Concerning?
“So he does have preternatural powers,” I stated drily.
“No, Larue. And he never did. What he has are skills. And he proved that today by making that difficult of a shot across the fucking lake.”
On that, I had nothing further.
“This is a ploy to rattle you,” Bohannan shared.
I was wrong.
I did have something.
“He shot David.”
“He’s trying to rattle you.”
I bolted off the couch, piked toward him and screamed, “He shot David.”
“He’s feeding his need, Larue. He’s got sniper skills, and that means not a soul in Misted Pines is safe. And many people who live in these mountains k
now guns, they know what that shot means, so they know that.”
“So he meant to leave David alive?”
A hesitation.
God! This was torture!
Finally, he answered, “No, he meant to scare the shit out of you, Celeste too, and make me give chase. He meant for David to bleed out. He had no idea you’d see him and have it together enough to call 911. If David laid on your deck maybe two minutes longer, that would have happened. You saved David’s life today, sweetheart.”
It should, but it didn’t make me feel even an iota better.
“He’s the puppet master, Bohannan.”
“He’s rattling you.”
“Because he’s god!” I shrieked.
“And you’re rattling me.”
I shut up.
Because I’d never heard that tone from him.
Even when he threw the coffee mug across the kitchen.
That was when I felt it.
His tone, bearing down on the room as sure as if the ceiling had come disengaged and it was slowly falling, intent to crush us.
This was wrath, what I heard, what I was feeling.
This was end-of-days shit.
Bohannan did not like David being shot, for starters.
But it was more, and it wasn’t just all the other stuff this guy was doing that he did not like.
Bohannan did not like me sad or scared or hurting.
He didn’t like it at all.
And it would be the end of days if I didn’t get myself together.
“I’m just worried about David,” I said softly.
“I know you are. We all are,” Bohannan replied, and the tone was leaking out.
“Is Robyn okay?” I asked.
He glanced at Jace.
Jace peeled off, pulling out his phone.
Bohannan looked back to me. “We’ll find out.”
“Don’t burn down the woods just to catch this guy,” I begged.
He studied me, his gaze flicking down to Celeste, then he lifted his hands, palms up in front of him and said, “Both my girls.”
We flew to him, and pressed into him, and he wrapped his arms around us so tight, my ribs started aching.
He’d been so cool.
So calm.
So collected.
It dawned on me only then that she and I were on our bellies in a cabin, and he was out hunting. We were playthings, and he was embroiled in a literal death match that a madman was currently winning.
All of this just because he was good at his job of trying to help people.
His day and the last few months had been a hundred times worse than anything we were experiencing.
So, yes.
I needed to keep myself together.
I had my cheek resting on his collarbone, facing Celeste, who was doing the same.
We locked eyes.
We shared a promise.
And Bohannan held on.
Fifty-One
Red Poof
“This is a disaster.”
Will scowled at Kimmy (nothing to be alarmed about, Will had been scowling since he escorted Celeste home after school—another no vote to having his woman in the line of fire).
Celeste glanced at me, and her lips tipped up.
I stopped pouring chocolate fudge into a prepared pan and turned my attention from Celeste to Kimmy, who was standing in front of our Christmas tree.
“Why?” I asked.
She whirled on me. “I gave you detailed instructions.”
“Kimmy—”
“You mixed and matched!” she accused.
“Bohannan and the kids have favorite ornaments,” I pointed out.
And Bohannan was, indeed, a part of that. He had favorite Christmas ornaments. He had some of his mom’s from when he was growing up, and even some from his grandparents.
And they were on that tree.
“This,” she waved an offended hand at the tree, “obliterates my vision. Your house, gingerbread men and gingham ribbon. It’s smaller. More rustic. It screams gingerbread men and gingham ribbon. The family seat must be about splendor and majesty.” She counted them out by grabbing fingers. “Gold and cream and silver and subtle hints of glitter.” She planted both hands on her hips. “You didn’t even use the velvet ribbon I gave you.”
I failed to mention, since I needed all-new holiday decorations for my house, I’d hit up Kimmy (something which, it would turn out, was mostly for David’s edification, since I was never there, and now I was glad, because at least he’d had Christmas cheer around him where he worked in the days leading up to him being shot—it was a very thin silver lining, but I was clinging to it).
She’d made this her mission, and as was her Christmas wont, gone a little overboard.
Incidentally she “gave” me nothing.
I’d bought it all, and Kimmy didn’t sell Christmas cheap.
And FYI, it was Monday afternoon, the day after David had been shot, and Bohannan was gone before I got up.
He left a note that told me we’d have “presence,” Celeste was covered while she went to school, but she’d be coming right back home, we weren’t to leave the house otherwise, and I learned it was definitely an x that marked the spot before he scrawled his name.
So he left me with a kiss.
Kimmy got through the deputy at the gate because she’d caused so much of a ruckus, he’d called Bohannan who had let her in.
Now Kimmy was causing another ruckus.
“They already had decorations that they like,” I pointed out.
“Do I care?” she asked.
“I did the best I could to incorporate everyone’s vision.”
“You failed.”
“I—”
I stopped talking as my attention shot to Will.
This was because Will shot to his feet.
He was staring out the window.
I turned to look out the window.
And I saw Deputy Dickerson hauling ass across the clearing.
“Delly,” Celeste whispered.
Will took off toward the front door.
“Will!” she shouted.
“Come here, right now, both of you,” I ordered Kimmy and Celeste. When neither of them moved, I screeched, “Come here right now. Both of you!”
They came.
I snatched up my Taser and hustled us into the windowless hall.
We waited there, me standing in front of both of them, facing the great room, Taser up, finger on the trigger.
“Fuck you, where is he?” we heard shouted from outside. Then a repeat of, “Fuck YOU! WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?”
“Huh,” Kimmy said.
I turned to her.
She was glaring down the hall.
“I think I’ll be needing to kick some ass now.” She declared before she pushed forward with an, “Excuse me.”
“Kimmy, don’t,” I snapped.
She marched into the great room and disappeared right, heading toward the front door.
“Get your hands off me! Get your goddamned hands off me!” Silence and, “So busy gettin’ your rocks off with a TV star, you can’t catch a killer, and my boy’s caught in the crossfire!”
I looked to Celeste.
“Mr. Ashbrook,” she whispered.
David’s shitty dad.
We crept into the great room, and standing at the side, stacked on top of each other, like two of the Scooby Doo gang, we peered out the front window.
A man my age was stomach to the pine needles, kicking and fighting, Dickerson’s knee to his back. The deputy had one of the man’s arms in his grip. He and another officer were struggling to get his second hand behind his back to cuff him. Will was crouched, holding down his thighs.
“Yeah. Mr. Ashbrook,” Celeste confirmed.
“Get off me! Get the fuck OFF ME!” he shouted.
They got him cuffed and then did that cop move where they jerked him to his feet using his arms.
No sooner was he uprigh
t than Kimmy moved in and smacked him across the face.
I gasped.
Celeste snorted.
He shook his head in surprise.
She smacked him again.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
She started wagging a finger in his face, saying something we couldn’t hear.
She ended this smacking him again.
I choked back a laugh.
On a giggle, Celeste asked, “Why don’t the police stop her smacking him?”
They got down to doing that, hauling him toward the cruiser in the front drive.
“And maybe you might wanna love your son when he’s NOT in intensive care, asshole!” Kimmy shouted after them.
“Take it to Castro!” Ashbrook shouted back.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten and DON’T YOU THINK CADE BOHANNAN CAN’T BRING JOHN KENNEDY’S KILLER TO JUSTICE. If anyone can do it, HE CAN!”
“Oh my God, is that really a thing with her?” I whispered.
“Dad thinks she’s just happy she’s got an ex-FBI guy around whose ear she can bend. And I guess my grandma was really nice to her when she was growing up. Dad says she didn’t have it too good, and Grandma was some good in all that bad. He says she might just want a connection with a part of Grandma. They don’t have anything in common, so she’s making up a connection.”
This further explained Bohannan’s patience with her.
And Jess’s care.
“Well, he’d be able to figure that out,” I replied.
Ashbrook was being folded into the cruiser and Kimmy was stomping back to the house.
We pulled away from the window and watched her walk in.
“What’re you fools doin’ at the window?” she demanded.
“Watching the Kimmy Show,” I told her. “The crowd was surprised when a woman wearing a Rudolf face sweater complete with stitched-on red poof for a nose smacked the bad guy three times.”
“He’s a jackass,” she said, shuffled aside for Will to get in, then looked him up and down. “Done good, kid.”
“Thanks, Ms. Milford,” he replied.
Next in came Deputy Dickerson, though he only swung his torso around the door.
“Sorry, folks. He jumped the gate,” he explained.
“Shoulda shot him in the back, Wade,” Kimmy decreed.
“I prefer handcuffs and conversations with judges,” I put in my vote.
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