“So he’s not come out the coma.”
She shook her head. “Prognosis is not good.”
“And the staff?”
Mia laughed. “Well, Mathilda’s busy lording it over everyone. She says she knew you were an imposter right from the get-go, and that they should have listened to her. But all of them—staff and family—were deeply rocked by news of Drucker’s involvement. Everyone’s still living right on a razor’s edge because there’s still a killer among them.”
Jagger laced his fingers with Mia’s. “Thank you for staying, Mia.” He hesitated before asking the next question burning into his mind.
“Are you still going to leave?”
She was silent awhile, then she met his gaze. “Will you tell me, Jagger, what it was that broke you out there in Afghanistan? While you were unconscious, I read more of the news coverage of the event.” She flushed slightly. “Okay, I confess, I read everything about you that I could possibly lay my hands on, including a lot of the pieces you wrote yourself.” She paused. “You’re a damn fine journalist, you know that. You helped a lot of people over the years. You went into places where human beings were crushed by oppressive regimes. You gave them voices. You presented all the faces of war, sometimes controversially so. You didn’t take sides—you let your stories and the situations speak for themselves. What went so wrong in Afghanistan?”
“The boy,” he said simply.
Mia watched his face intently. “You mean the suicide bomber who killed Cpl. Lance Russell?”
“Not a suicide bomber—he was a goddamn kid, Mia. He was nine or ten years old.”
“That’s what you saw when he approached strapped with explosives. A child?” There was no judgment in her voice, so why was he feeling defensive suddenly?
He looked up at the ceiling, avoiding the scrutiny in her eyes. “I saw a kid who should have been in school. A child who needed a mother. A child who should be playing ball with friends. Instead, he was an insurgent’s pawn. A little human weapon sent out like a homing device, and I let him come right into the bunker.” Jagger’s eyes filled and his throat choked. “I had a rifle. Cpl. Russell had been injured and he couldn’t move. Everyone else was dead. The smell in that place...” He cleared his throat. “Russell scooted his weapon over to me, across the dirt. He told me to fire, to shoot to kill.
“I looked down that rifle scope and I saw the boy’s eyes so clearly it was as if he was right in front me, looking into me. Big, liquid-brown eyes with dark lashes. His face was so young, so innocent. He was scared.” Jagger inhaled deeply. “And at that moment he wasn’t Afghan, or insurgent, or a suicide bomber...just a human kid with skinny brown legs and a tattered robe.”
Jagger blew out a big breath of air.
“I...I couldn’t think. I was in the country as a journalist. And as a journalist I was ethically compelled to observe and report the news, not to make news. It’s an ethic that goes to the very foundation of my beliefs in the profession, and I’d lived by it for years—to remain as objective as humanly possible, to bring the true story home. And here was a child who was being murdered by the people who controlled him. A victim.” Jagger swallowed. “I froze. I could not shoot that victim—that child—in cold blood. I could not cross that journalistic line. I’m not a soldier, Mia. I am not sanctioned to kill. It was murder.”
“Defense, Jagger, it would have been self-defense.”
He tightened his mouth, and nodded. “Yeah, that’s what Mrs. Lance Russell said when I went to visit her. That’s what letters to the editor said, and comments on Twitter and Facebook.” Jagger was quiet a long time. “But they weren’t there. They never had to look into the kid’s eyes.”
“So he came into the bunker.”
“He got close enough to self-detonate.”
“The tattoo on your chest, that’s in honor of Lance Russell?”
“Right across my heart. So I’ll never forget what I did to him.”
Death before Dishonor.
“You felt dishonored.”
He looked away from her eyes for a moment. Then he gave a soft snort. “Guilt. Shame. Yes, dishonor. You name it. I wanted to die.”
“If you were faced with that again, would you shoot him? The boy?”
He moistened his lips, feeling drained suddenly. “I don’t know, Mia. Maybe. It’s why I’m done. I can’t go back. I don’t know if I can be objective anymore.”
She stroked the tattoo on his arm, and he felt her love, her care. Jagger didn’t even know right now if he deserved that.
“So you just kept walking those highways, until you saw the TV news about the kidnapping, and you learned about the Cole Colton mystery?”
He met her eyes. “It resonated with me. It was personal, and I was desperate for something to grab on to.” He paused. “Can you understand, Mia? Can you forgive me?”
“You need to forgive yourself, Jagger. You need to let the burden of guilt and shame go.” She paused, looking down at his tattoo under her hand.
“What was this one for?” she asked as she stroked her finger along the eagle.
“For my country.”
She looked up into his eyes and he saw love. He saw forgiveness. And it nearly broke his heart.
“You didn’t answer me,” he said, voice thick. “Have you still got that red Chevy Impala packed—are you still leaving?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“Thank you for waiting.” It was all he could manage.
“What will you do now, Jagger?”
He didn’t reply until he was certain he could control his voice, be able to hold back the emotion simmering dangerously close to the surface.
“My plan,” he said quietly, “was to take you away from here. Take you home where I could meet your mother and your friends. Then maybe head into Montana, fish the streams. Perhaps go farther north, over the border, into Canada.”
Her eyes went wide, and she stared at him, her lip beginning to quiver.
“What do you say, Mia?”
She bit down on her lip, then smiled sadly and squeezed his hand. “You should get some rest, Jagger. They’re going to want to give you another scan in a few minutes, just to be sure everything’s still okay in that head of yours.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll come back later.”
She bent down to kiss him softly on his lips.
But he curled his fingers tightly, not letting her go. “I want you in my life, Mia. I want you in my life forever. I want to give you those things Brad wouldn’t—home, children. Marriage.”
Blood drained from her face and nerves flickered through her eyes. “Jagger. You need rest.”
“No. I need you. I need time to get to know you better, and to show you I mean what I say. And I need to take you away from that ranch. It’s not safe.”
“Jagger.” She sighed heavily and her eyes swam with emotion. “It won’t work. You’ll get well again. You’ll run the Colton story, write your book. The next freelance assignment will come up, and...you’ll hunger for it. You’ll start missing it, that adrenaline, that risk. That punch that comes from nailing a big story that no one else could. And that’s fine. But not for me. I don’t want that life. I don’t want my mother’s life—”
“You didn’t hear me, did you?” His voice was ragged now, rough. “That life is not for me anymore, Mia. I told you, and I meant what I said. I’ve axed the Colton story. I’m going to buy back the contracts. It’s over. Cole can get his justice from
Peters now. Because the only story I want out of this now is our story. You and me.”
Mia swallowed and nerves chased through her eyes. Then her cheeks flushed and Jagger caught the glimmer of exhilaration before she quickly tamped it down.
“It’s the medication talking, Jagger, the shock—”
Desperation surged through him.
“No, it’s not. I wanted to say these things the other night. I mean every damn word.”
A nurse popped her head in the door.
“Mr. McKnight, we’re going to be around in two minutes for your scan.”
“Wait, wait. Nurse, don’t go, I need you to do something for me. Please.”
She frowned.
Jagger gripped Mia’s hand tighter and he turned to her. “You said Horace Black was an ordained minister.”
“Yes, why?”
“Nurse, will you call the Dead River Ranch, get them to find Horace Black? Tell him to get his ministerial butt over to the hospital stat. I have a woman to marry!”
Her eyes went round and wide. She shot a glance at Mia.
Mia’s jaw dropped. Then a flare of panic and excitement chased through her features.
“Jagger, no! You can’t. This is not the time—”
“Goddamit, Nurse, I’m not going to be able to keep this woman here by force much longer, please fetch the minister!”
“Mia.” He turned to her, gripping her hand as tight as he could, desperation pumping through him. “I promise, the ring will be beautiful, and it will come later. And I promise, no one is ever going to jilt you at the altar again. I’m going to prove to you right now that I’m a man of my word. I love you. I want you in my life. Marry me. Say yes.”
Tears began to stream down her face. She opened her mouth, but was unable to speak, overwhelmed.
“Jagger...” Her voice caught, and she gave a sob, then a smile.
“And don’t try telling me that I’m wrong for you, Mia. We both know how to run away from things that scare us. You get that same adrenaline rush, that same life-death kick out of E.R. nursing that I get from nailing a story. You said so yourself. You told me about that rush you got when you could fix someone, save their lives. And at the end of the day, the satisfaction that you conquered something, it’s what made your job, your life worthwhile. We’re cut from the same cloth, Mia. It’s all about perspective. And if there’s love, we will find a way to face the challenges, all of them.”
Mia kissed him, her tears wetting his face. She smoothed hair back from his brow, and fear entered Jagger’s heart.
“You’re going to say no,” he whispered.
She nodded and cupped the side of his face with her hand, looking right into his eyes.
“I won’t marry you,” she whispered. “Not like this.”
A small spark of hope lit somewhere deep beneath his fear. He held on to it.
“Like how, then?” he whispered.
“We’ll go west,” she said, voice soft and husky. “You can meet my family and my old friends. I’ll show you where I come from. And then we’ll go to Montana, like you said. Maybe farther north over that border. We’ll ski and hike. We’ll fish and explore the mountains. Get to know each other. You’ll get well and strong again. Then...then if we still feel the same way, come spring, if you still love me—we do it. Okay? We find a little chapel in the mountains and we marry.”
Emotion glittered in his eyes and a tear escaped down the side of his cheek. Mia leaned forward and kissed it away. “Is that promise enough for you, Jagger McKnight?”
He drew her down and held her against his body, and he thought his heart would burst. “Yeah,” he whispered into her hair. “That’s promise enough—more than I really can ask for.”
And in all honesty, Jagger couldn’t ask for more than a chance at love. But he had it, a second chance. And so did she. The road ahead was shimmering and full of promise.
When she stood back, she was crying and smiling through her tears.
Jagger said a silent prayer in memory of Cole Colton, wherever he was. He’d brought them together.
* * *
Five days later, Jagger and Mia were back in the Dead River P.D. station, this time sitting in the glassed-in office now belonging to police chief Harry Peters.
“I’m up to speed with the Desiree Beale case,” Chief Peters was saying. “And to rule out the possibility, we ran ballistics for the bullet that killed Beale against Drucker’s weapon and against the bullets fired into the infirmary. There was no match. It was a different gun. No match to the bullet that killed Faye Frick, either.”
Mia put a piece of paper on Peters’s desk and slid it across to him. “Here’s the list I told you about, the one we compiled of ranch employees and residents of Dead who either were around when Cole was abducted or who might have links to the case.”
Peters took the list, scanned it. “Thank you. We’ll be working through this list systematically.”
“And this is my file,” Jagger said, setting a fat manila folder on the man’s desk. “As promised. Everything I’ve dug up to date on the Coltons is in there. Including a transcript of my conversation with Chief Novak from the Jackson P.D. and a transcript of my chat the diner owner, Marnie Sayers, who used to work with Desiree before she bought the diner from Faye Donner. Also in there are my theories about Faye Frick and Faye Donner. And about Jethro Colton’s prior criminal activities and friendship with an ex-con, now deceased, named Mitch Radizeski.”
The chief glanced up at Jagger. “You’re dropping the story?”
Jagger reached for Mia’s hand under the desk, squeezed. “Yeah. We’ve got new stories to chase.”
The chief flicked his gaze to Mia before returning his attention to Jagger. He smiled. “I’ll be happy to do an interview once this is over.”
“No—that story is dead, at least from my point of view. I’ve already paid back the advance. Get justice for Cole, Chief Peters. Nail the right people, that’s resolution enough for me.”
“What about Jenny Burke?” Mia said. “Any leads there?”
The chief rubbed his brow. “Everything Drucker had on file about that case is suspect. We’re having to go back and start from scratch. I sent my two new officers to go over the scene again with a fine-tooth comb. They found another slug, 9 mm, lodged in the wall paneling that the earlier investigation missed—possibly conveniently so. And after going through the pathologist reports again, it appears Burke might have tried to fight off her attacker. She has possible defensive bruising on her right arm. She could have tried to hit the weapon away with her arm, causing the first bullet to fly wild and lodge in the paneling. The second slug is what probably hit her in the face and killed her.”
“So she looked right into the face of her attacker—she saw it coming,” Mia said.
“Very possible.” The chief stood, and Jagger and Mia followed suit. He held out his hand. “Your help has been invaluable Mr. McKnight, Ms. Sanders.” He shook each of their hands in turn, a big forceful grip, a calm confidence about him.
“Justice will be done. For Cole. And I vow to do everything in my power to get to the bottom of these murders. Whoever planted that baby blanket on you knows what happened and is trying desperately to keep the past buried.”
As they walked out into the sunshine Mia said, “I believe him, you know. I believe Peters will leave no stone unturned.”
Jagger hooked his arm around Mia’s shoulders, drew her close
and kissed her cheek.
“What was that for?” she asked glancing up at him with a smile.
“Just because. And yes, I believe Peters, too.”
* * *
The following afternoon, Jagger was feeling like a kid on Christmas morning as he turned off the road and drove through the ornate brass gates under the arch declaring he’d entered Dead River Ranch. Dust billowed behind him as he made his way down the quarter-mile avenue toward the big house.
He hit a number on his new cell phone as he neared the mansion. Mia answered on the second ring.
“You all packed?” he asked.
“I’ve been packed for nearly three weeks, McKnight, ever since the day you were shot! Where on earth are you?”
“Go outside.” He hung up.
He’d gotten a ride into Laramie early that morning with one of the ranch hands. At a car dealership he’d found a good deal on a Ford truck, extended cab, along with a camper to go on top. The rig was in mint condition, and the camper came with everything from pots and pans to cutlery.
He drew the new rig to a halt outside the employee entrance and laid on the horn.
Mia came running out, then stalled in surprise, her hand going to her mouth and her eyes lighting up as blue as the sky behind her. She rushed up to the truck as Jagger opened the door and hopped out with a grin.
“So, what do you think?” he said, holding his right arm out with flourish. “Our new gypsy mobile.”
She laughed, a sound of utter happiness and delight, and it warmed his chest.
She walked slowly around the rig.
“Are you serious? This is ours? When did you get this?” She was like a kid herself as she pranced around the truck and camper again. “Jagger, it’s perfect! Tell me where you got it.”
“Laramie, this morning. Comes fully equipped. The couple who owned it before hardly used it.”
She stilled, something serious creeping into her eyes. “Are you okay to do this? I mean...with the big advance you had to repay and—”
The Missing Colton Page 25