Viking Vengeance

by Maggie Foster

  She threw her gear back into her bag, picked up the rifle, checked to make sure it was empty, then stowed the weapon in its carrying case. After which, she turned her attention to Jim, inspecting his arm, padding it with gauze, and wrapping a bandage around it.

  Jim unclenched his teeth with difficulty. She shouldn’t be here. What if Charlie hadn’t abandoned the pistol, had turned it on her? How was he supposed to keep her safe if she refused to obey him?

  “I believe I told you to stay with the car.” He could hear his voice shake.

  She met his eyes. “You did.” She packed up the medical gear. “Can you stand?”

  He nodded and allowed her to help him to his feet, finding his legs rubbery from the adrenaline. She handed him the medical bag.

  “Let’s get going,” she said, “before the rest of them decide they prefer human flesh to wolf à la carte.”

  She threaded a rope through the grommets in two corners of the tarp and fashioned loops long enough to go around a torso. She slipped one over her own shoulder and settled the rest of the gear in place, then waited for Jim to do the same. When they were both in harness, they started the long, arduous task of hauling Charlie and all their gear back to the SUV.

  * * *

  Chapter 26

  Saturday Morning

  I-90 to Albany

  Jim’s arm hurt and he kept bumping it as he hauled. He wanted to abandon the gear, and maybe Charlie as well, but the sight of Ginny, grim-mouthed and dogged, kept him going. It took them an hour to get back to the SUV.

  “I’ll drive,” Ginny announced. Jim didn’t bother to argue.

  Back out on the Parkway, he had an opportunity to look around. Each of the bridges was labeled with someone’s name, then the word ‘kill’.

  He was certainly in the mood to kill something. Someone, maybe, if it had been in his nature to do so. Charlie had precipitated this whole mess. If he’d driven straight on to Albany, or waked Jim when he was unsure what to do next, Jim’s arm wouldn’t be throbbing.

  He deserved the pain, of course. Charlie wasn’t the only one at fault. Sleeping in the back while the confessed murderer ran off into the night!

  And what about Ginny? What if one of the wolves had attacked her? Or she had fallen and hurt herself? Didn’t she understand the danger? What was Jim supposed to do then?

  It took a while, but he finally calmed down enough to pay attention to something other than his anger. When he did, he found himself watching Ginny drive. It was yet another moment of disconnect.

  Here was the ICU nurse turned marksman, calmly killing, and yet, not calm. Her eyes had an intensity in them that reminded him of a patient he’d had years ago, a woman so desperate to save her child that she’d thrown herself in front of a speeding car. Both mother and child had died that day.

  They followed I-90 north until it intersected US 20, then northeast on NY Hwy 4 until they spotted the first sign for the Albany Homestead. Jim was glad to see the gates. Both he and Charlie needed a doctor.

  * * *

  Saturday Noon

  Beverwyck Homestead

  “Oh my dears! Come right in. We heard you’d had some trouble on the road. I’m so glad to see you safely here. They call me Mother Gordon.”

  Ginny looked at the trim woman with the elegant hands and eloquent dark eyes and felt the label out of place.

  “I’m so sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Gordon, but we need emergency medical care.”

  The Matron picked up the phone and in less than ten minutes they found themselves escorted into an elevator very similar to the one back home, and from there into an underground medical facility. The staff had apparently just arrived. Some were still wearing coats, others were turning on lights and equipment.

  Ginny watched as the triage nurse looked first at Jim’s arm, sending him off to have the wound cleaned by a very efficient looking woman with an iodine scrub brush, then at Charlie’s leg.

  Ginny stayed with Charlie. They stripped him and went over him carefully, deciding the fracture would have to be reduced under conscious sedation and could not be casted until the swelling went down. The good news was that he had all his pulses and no evidence of frostbite. Ginny answered questions as well as she could, then sat still for an examination of herself.

  When they were done with her, she asked and was shown to a room and found her overnight bag there. She showered and changed clothes, then put together a collection of soiled clothing and located the laundry. She had all of Charlie’s things and her own, but Jim was still wearing some of his. She had his outerwear, though, and got to work on it.

  It was the same over-sized parka she had found for him in Dallas. There was blood on it. Most of it had to be the wolf’s; she had put three slugs into the animal before killing it. But some of it was Jim’s.

  Blood was always hard to get out, especially if it had been allowed to set, but she knew a trick or two and managed to remove most of the stains. All the damaged clothing was due to be discarded in Halifax anyway. When they got there, if they did, he could buy another jacket.

  The next step was mending. She had to ask again, but the Matron was fully prepared both for the task and for Ginny’s need to do it herself. She worked swiftly, focusing on the needle, trying not to think. It should not have been necessary to stitch up either his sleeve or his arm.

  She was seated in front of the fireplace, a bright table lamp illuminating her work, when Jim found her.

  “I have a favor to ask,” he said.

  She didn’t raise her eyes from her sewing. “How may I assist you?”

  “I want to shower.”

  Ginny nodded, not even surprised. Bathing patients was a routine part of her job. She gathered up her sewing and followed him upstairs.

  She wrapped his bandaged arm in plastic, noticing he had bruises where the wolf had landed on him, and several long scratches across his shoulder and upper chest.

  “How did the wolf get all the way to your skin?”

  “I didn’t have my parka zipped. The claws went straight through my shirt, but the loose fabric also kept the wolf from getting a good grip on my arm, so I can’t complain.”

  She helped him wash the blood, mud, and forest debris off the places he couldn’t reach, then cleaned the scratches and applied a topical antiseptic ointment.

  They had exchanged hardly a word during this process and only those that were necessary to get the job done. She helped him get dressed again, then picked up the sewing and dirty laundry and turned to leave.

  “Ginny, wait, please.”

  He took the clothes out of her arms and dropped them on the floor then steered her over to the sofa and sat down next to her. Ginny fixed her eyes on the carpet, determined to stay calm.

  He took a deep breath. “I have been behaving like a prize fool. First I got my ego bruised because you have a head on your shoulders, which I already knew. Then I told you to stay behind when we both knew I would need your help. Then I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘thank you’ for dealing with that wolf. Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course.” She said the words easily. They meant nothing. Well, she meant she forgave him, but it didn’t fix the underlying problem. She waited for the other shoe to drop.

  “But you and I need to talk about following orders.”

  And there it was.

  “I had a good reason for telling you to stay behind. Charlie had my pistol and I had no idea how desperate he might be. If he was going to shoot at me, I didn’t want there to be a chance he might hit you.”

  Ginny understood. He didn’t want the distraction of having to worry about her, where she was, what she was doing. The solution for that, though, was to trust her.

  “My job is to protect you. I can’t do that if you won’t cooperate.”

  One part of her wanted to argue. He had been in no condition to protect himself, much less her. Another part admitted he might have been able to save himself. His own weapon was in his belt. All he had to do w
as get to it. While fighting off the wolf with his bare hands?

  “I need for you to trust me, Ginny.”

  Trust him? What she ought to do was wash her hands of him. If he was too proud to accept her help, then why should she offer it? Let him make his own mistakes. Even if they killed him? Angus wouldn’t appreciate that.

  The moment she saw that wolf, its teeth in Jim's arm, she’d known what she had to do. It would have been easier on him if she could have fired from cover, but she couldn’t hide and be sure of killing the wolf.

  She’d had no choice, but he had. He could accept her help without rancor, or he could consider her actions a challenge to his authority. He’d chosen the latter. She rose to go.

  “Wait, Ginny. You understand, don’t you?” He reached for her, but she took a step back.

  “I understand perfectly.” She met his eyes. “May I go?”

  He nodded. She picked up the laundry and left.

  * * *

  Saturday Afternoon

  Dallas, TX

  “Ma’am? I was asked to give you this.” The officer handed over a sheaf of papers.

  “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  Detective Tran took the new reports and glanced through them. The weekend had been quiet, so far, for which she was grateful. The visit with Monroe’s in-laws had shaken her faith and she wanted to go over the evidence again. Not that you could call it evidence, really. It was more an absence of evidence.

  The credit card receipts and phone records had all corroborated the assertion that Mr. Monroe was in Waco from Saturday through Wednesday evening. He’d gassed up his car in Waco, then driven home, where he was seen with two of the Scots, who had been found and questioned.

  They reported bringing food and finding Mr. Monroe sitting alone in the house with no lights on, the food in the refrigerator spoiled, and messages on the phone unanswered.

  Tran flipped to the relevant section in her folder. She scanned the medical record, finding the entry she was looking for. Monroe had told the psychiatrist he’d gone to see his in-laws to say goodbye.

  He’d been booked into a local hotel and it was those records she had been going over today. Summarized, Monroe appeared on security cameras in the hallway at the hotel for the times he was alleged to have been there. The new reports dealt with the room access, which was via computer card. There was nothing to suggest he had done anything other than come and go as expected.

  No alibi was unbreakable, but this one seemed pretty solid. Was she wrong?

  She reached for her computer and modified the search area to include hospitals and morgues within a two hundred mile radius from Dallas. She should also send officers to all of the homeless shelters, especially in the neighborhood of Lake Lavon. Someone might have seen something.

  If he hadn’t actually drowned (and they might still find his body), he might have taken himself off somewhere, trusting the carrion to dispose of his remains. Texas could be a vast and lonely place.

  She sighed to herself, put the files back together, then headed home. As much as she hated to admit it, the truth was they might never find out what happened to Charles Monroe.

  * * *

  Chapter 27

  Saturday Evening

  Beverwyck Homestead

  Jim watched Ginny go, then stretched out on the bed to think. She had submitted, hadn’t argued with him or challenged him, or in any way tried to defend her actions. So why wasn’t he happy? Because she wasn’t.

  He shifted restlessly on the bedclothes. This was not a vacation. He had a job to do and she knew it. She needed to listen to him, so they could deliver Charlie safely to Halifax. He couldn’t do that if she kept ignoring him, defying him.

  Jim frowned to himself. She should not have assumed she was included in the search party. Why had she done that? Did she know something Jim didn’t? About Charlie, maybe?

  Jim stared at the far wall. It was at least possible.

  She had said she hadn’t known Charlie before his family was killed. Except, she’d danced with him every Friday night for over a year. Jim had seen how the dancers worked together, had tried to emulate their easy partnerships, had hoped, he and Ginny would be such a pair, faultlessly in synch with one another.

  She had sat down across the picnic table from Charlie, in his line of fire, in spite of his emotional state, and gambled her life that he would not shoot her. If he wouldn’t pull the trigger on her then, maybe she believed he wouldn’t pull the trigger on her now.

  That still left accident, of course. Charlie might have been aiming for Jim and hit Ginny by mistake. Jim wasn’t wrong about the danger. Except, Charlie left the .45 in the backpack. That didn’t look like a man bent on shooting his way out of custody, or committing suicide, either.

  Ginny had gone to the Laird and pleaded for Charlie and Charlie knew it. Maybe she had counted on his feeling an obligation to her, enough of one to allow them to finish the journey.

  She had shopped for him, cooked for him, and talked privately with him in Dallas and Charlottesville, and Jim didn’t know what they had discussed on those occasions.

  He stared at his analysis. It made a cogent argument for Ginny going after Charlie, to see if she could find out why he ran, and try to talk him into coming back. Ginny, not Jim.

  He grew very still. She could have pointed that out to him, but hadn’t. She had held her tongue and let him work it out for himself, which argued a subtly of mind he hadn’t expected from her. More like something Angus would do.

  Which reminded him, he owed Himself a call. He reached for the phone and dialed his grandfather’s number.

  “Jim! I was beginnin’ tae wonder.”

  “I apologize for not getting back to you sooner. We’ve had a lot going on here.”

  “Tell me, lad.”

  Jim took a deep breath then dove in. He left out nothing, telling his grandfather about Charlie’s escape and recapture, about having to be rescued by Ginny, about his mishandling of the whole affair. When he was through, there was a silence on the other end of the line, then his grandfather’s voice.

  “What does th’ doctor say aboot the wolf bite?”

  “That it should heal cleanly. He put in a couple of stitches and put me on antibiotics and pain killers.”

  “And Charlie?”

  “He’s in traction. They want to reduce the swelling before they put the cast on.”

  “And Ginny?”

  Jim hesitated. “She’s unhappy with me.”

  “Aye? Why is that?”

  “I was a bit sharp with her about not following my instructions.”

  “Tis a guid thing she ignored ye.”

  Jim threw his undamaged arm out in exasperation. “She put herself in harm’s way. Didn’t you tell her not to do that again?”

  “Aye, I did, but I dinna forbid her tae rescue my grandson frae hisself, if needed.”

  “I didn’t need rescuing!”

  “Are ye sure aboot that?”

  Jim took a deep breath. “No. I’m not sure, and I’m not sure it wouldn’t have been better if she’d gone after Charlie by herself, but he had my gun and a reason to shoot anyone who came looking for him.”

  “Ye’ve no forgotten she’s a qualified marksman?”

  “I haven’t forgotten. I just wasn’t sure she’d shoot Charlie, even if she needed to.”

  “Th’ lass’ll do what she must. Ye can trust her common sense.”

  Jim snorted. “If she had any common sense, she’d have stayed home.”

  “She’s followin’ my instructions.”

  Jim caught his breath. “What instructions?”

  “I couldna come wi’ ye myself so I sent her.”

  Jim’s jaw dropped. “You planted a spy on me?”

  “Nay, lad. She’s there tae help ye, if ye’ll let her.”

  “Let her? I can’t stop her!”

  “Dinna underrate th’ lass, Jim. I’ve kent her fra her birth. She’s more capable than most men I’ve known.
A true Viking throwback, like yer mither was.”

  Jim was caught off guard. “Wait, whose mother?”

  “Yours, lad. She’s brave and strong and clever, like Tibbie. ‘Tis a shame they never met.”

  Jim found himself speechless.

  “And now, if ye’ve nothin’ further tae complain o’ where Ginny is concerned, there’s th’ other matter tae discuss.”

  Jim pulled himself together. “The police.”

  “Detective Tran ha’ been busy. She talk’d wi’ th’ staff at th’ hospital, then interviewed Ginny’s mither, and a neighbor who saw ye packin’ and described th’ van.”

  “Okay. What else?”

  “She ha’ searched Charlie’s hoose an’ seized all manner o’ stuff an’ sent it tae th’ crime lab.”

  Jim nodded. They had expected that.

  “She went tae interview Charlie’s in-laws.”

  Jim’s brow furrowed. “Why’d she do that?”

  “Because Charlie’s credit card receipts show a visit tae Waco startin’ on Saturday and finishing on Wednesday, which covers th’ time th’ drunk was killed and stashed in th’ boat.”

  Jim let that sink in. “He has an alibi.”

  “Aye! And she’s tryin’ tae break it.”

  “Does she know about the Homesteads, that we’re staying at them?”

  “Sinia Forbes told Detective Tran ye hadna made hotel reservations as ye didna know where or how far ye were going each day.”

  “So she doesn’t know where to look.”

  “No yet, but tha’ woman is nae fool.”

  Jim nodded. “I’m hoping we can get back on the road tomorrow. With luck we’ll be on the border by midmorning the day after.”

  “Call me frae Bangor.”

  “I will.”

  “And ye might just consider givin’ Miss Ginny th’ benefit o’ th’ doubt afore ye go handin’ doon orders and expectin’ tae be obeyed.”

  Jim put the phone away feeling chastened. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what Ginny could do. It was just that he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her hurt again. So, in his haste to protect her, he’d made it clear he didn’t think she was smart enough to stay out of the line of fire. Put that way, he could understand her anger.