Indigo Lake

by Jodi Thomas

  “Do that. Everything gone but the pictures on the staircase wall.”

  “It’ll cost you.”

  Blade smiled. “But you know someone who knows someone who can do it.”

  “Right.”

  Blade thought about how Dakota would be more likely to sell the place if it looked better. “Got someone who can do the porch repair, replace any rotting boards on windows and string new wiring?”

  “It’ll cost you.”

  Blade shrugged. He hadn’t spent much money over the years. He could afford to build a new place on Hamilton Acres, but he liked the idea of fixing the old home up. “And paint it outside and in?”

  “What color?” Jerry was writing down the list.

  “I don’t care. White, I guess.” He thought of calling Dakota to ask her opinion, but decided to wait and ask her in person.

  “I can do that. I’ll have this bridge finished tomorrow if it stops raining and we’ll start on the house.” Jerry looked happy to have the work.

  Blade pulled out five one-hundred-dollar bills. “This won’t pay for the supplies, but it will get you started. I’ll set up an account for you at the hardware store. If you need to find me...”

  Jerry grinned. “I know where you are, Deputy Hamilton. You’re helping the sheriff out. Working there is far more interesting than painting, but I’m happy to find this job. It’ll be another month before ranches are hiring for spring, and all of us here have bills to pay.”

  Blade nodded his thanks and turned to his truck. A slow rain dripped from low clouds just often enough to be bothersome. And probably slow down their progress.

  Jerry called after him. “If you wanna get that bike fixed, take it over to Theodor’s Salvage a few miles north of town. He’s got a guy named Lou over there who might fix it up but...”

  “I know, it will cost me.”

  “Tell Theodor that I sent you. He’ll give you a good price. He still owes me money on a welding job I did for him two years ago.”

  “Do you think he’s going to pay?”

  “Oh, sure. He will eventually. Until then he’s happy to do me a favor now and again.”

  Blade waved and climbed back into his truck. Small towns. He’d never lived in one and would probably never understand them, but it was interesting. He’d never heard of passing on favors.

  By the time he delivered his bike to Theodor, it was almost dark and his only change of clothes was soaked through to his skin. His boots were covered in mud.

  Lou at the salvage yard, or boneyard as he called it, was a wannabe biker. He almost cried when he saw what a state the Harley was in, and he asked Blade if he’d been an 81er. Translation: the eighth and the first letters of the alphabet, respectively, standing for Hell’s Angels.

  In truth, Blade wasn’t into the biker culture. He just loved the freedom of the ride, but he played along with Lou, knowing that his bike would be handled with loving hands.

  Blade laughed, thinking the guy who looked like he not only worked but slept at the salvage yard had ridden donor—that is, without a helmet—once too often.

  Blade set his helmet on the seat. “I’ll check back with you. If you do a test run, wear this.”

  “Don’t bother to call,” the mechanic said. “I’ll call the sheriff’s office when I know anything. It’ll take a few days to get parts.”

  “Good luck getting anything shipped.”

  Lou walked off, talking to the bike, not Blade.

  He tried Dakota’s cell as he drove back toward town. No answer. So, he parked in the county’s back lot and walked into the sheriff’s office, trying to shake off enough dirt to look presentable, but it was hopeless.

  The sheriff and Lucas were playing chess when he climbed up to the jail.

  Brigman frowned. “Don’t you have any clean clothes, Hamilton? You look like someone would arrest you for littering just for stepping outside.”

  “Nope,” Blade answered. “I only thought I was driving down for a night or two. When I found out I was staying, I ordered a few changes of clothes online, but FedEx can’t seem to find this town. I don’t have enough time off from my vacation job to drive anywhere to buy clothes.”

  Brigman shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like a problem for law enforcement. My uniforms wouldn’t fit you.”

  Lucas raised his gaze from the board. “Sheriff is right. You look like Crossroads’ first homeless man. Pick one of those jogging suits over there. My mother gets me a brown one every Christmas. I always leave them in a closet at their house. You’d think she’d get the hint that I’m not wearing them. If they fit me, they’ll probably fit you.”

  “Do you run?” Blade asked as he pulled one hanger down. It looked like something he wouldn’t wear even around the apartment, but at this point he felt too dirty and wet to be picky.

  “No. I swim when I have time to work out. It’s something I rarely got to do as a kid.” Lucas smiled. “Take the running shoes too. Your boots would look terrible with running pants.”

  Brigman stood. “If you guys are going to talk about fashion, I think I’ll head on home. I think Project Runway reruns might be on.”

  * * *

  BLADE STRIPPED OFF his wet clothes, used one of the fluffy towels in his open cell to dry off and pulled on the clean pants. “These feel great. Not my style, either, but they’ll do. They’re dry and clean. That’s all I need.”

  Lucas leaned against the bars. “You got some pretty mean scars there, Hamilton.”

  Blade never thought much about his scars. One, as wide as a tire track, ran across his back, and the other slid along his shoulder, a tiny river of twisted skin. He’d been burned a few times. Once from a falling tree and another time when he’d carried a firefighter out who’d been caught in a reburn. It was just part of the job, and he’d learned a long time ago to handle pain.

  “Just scars.” Blade wanted to change the subject. “What happened to Dice?” he asked as he tugged on the sweatshirt. Then he carefully hung his shoulder holster next to the cot he’d be sleeping in. His weapon likely wouldn’t be needed, but as a federal agent, he’d been trained to keep it near.

  “The old guy left on a date with Pearly, I think. Should be interesting.” Lucas smiled. “He said he’s heading back to the Bar W at dawn to continue searching for his friend, but I got the feeling he’s given up hope.”

  “You think LeRoy is out there somewhere on the land?”

  Lucas shook his head. “I’ve known those two old guys all my life. Dice is a real cowboy. Lives on a horse, loves the life, but LeRoy just found a place where he had a roof and food. I never got the feeling he even liked his job much. Every weekend he got drunk, and Dice was usually the one to haul him back to the ranch. My father probably would have fired him years ago, but Dice might have gone with him.”

  “So where is LeRoy?”

  Lucas shrugged. “He might have fallen off his horse and died out on the land, I guess. More likely he sold his horse to one of the cowhands leaving, caught a ride into town with someone, and he’s spending his last paycheck on whiskey. When his money runs out he’ll be looking for Dice to help him.”

  “Could he be the burned body we found?”

  Lucas shook his head. “Maybe. LeRoy had his hiding places to avoid work, but I remember hearing the cook say once that he was the last to leave the bunkhouse and the first to return. He’d hide out in his room, and with Dad gone there was no one to bother him if he slept in or drank too much. So, it doesn’t make sense that he’d be getting drunk in a barn.”

  “Dice seems to be the only one searching for him. I don’t think Collins cares one way or the other about his employees or the ranch.”

  “I think you’re right. My dad’s hinted at pretty dark rumors about what has been going on around the ranch. He told me that if it didn�
��t involve the cattle, it was best if he just didn’t see it. If any of the hands knew about the rumors besides my father, it’d be LeRoy and Dice.”

  Blade laced his new shoes, thinking that he had a lot in common with both old guys. He loved his job, but he had no one to report to other than a secretary at the main office. If he disappeared no one would probably bother to come looking for him, either. “I’ll pay you for the clothes or replace them.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll get the same thing next Christmas. My mother must search for weeks to find the same ugly brown jogging suit. She decided I looked best in brown and I don’t think she’s ever bought me another color. Once I got out on my own, I never bought anything but blue or black.”

  Blade stood and pulled the hood over his still-damp hair. “I left my cell in my jacket. I’ll lock you in and run down to get it before it starts raining again.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Lucas laughed. “Grab my cell too if you don’t mind. I left it in my old pickup out back. The door won’t lock and the phone is in the ashtray. If I had my cell, I could call my folks and tell them to stop calling everyone to keep coming up to check on me. They took off before they unpacked. Dad said it was about time for a vacation since he had no job and no home.”

  “You worried about them?”

  “No. I’m more worried about my BMW they borrowed. They said they planned to see how fast they could make it to the coast. They’re probably in Mexico City by now, reliving their honeymoon.”

  “What color is your pickup?”

  “Mud-colored rust.”

  Waving, Blade headed out, locking doors behind him.

  He thought cell phone access might not be standard procedure for inmates, but neither were home-cooked meals and a wardrobe. Lucas was no more a prisoner than he was, but for some reason he wanted to be here. He was either protecting someone or waiting out his time.

  Blade carefully locked both doors to the jail and then the front door to keep any visitors out. He jogged his way back to his rented Dodge Ram, which was parked behind the county offices.

  Rain hung in the air and the low clouds made the night seem darker than usual. The lot had a snaggletooth fence on two sides and barbed wire along the back. A collection of trash as tall as the fence had blown up in one corner, reminding him of a Christmas tree made of plastic bags and twisted cups.

  He was used to bright lights and city noises. The small town after dark suggested a great setting for a ghost town from a B-rated movie. Silent except for the slicing sound of cars flying past on the highway. Nothing moved behind the wire fence, where the landscape looked like it was no more than a silhouette portrait. Black on gray.

  His cell was in the left pocket of his leather jacket that had finally gotten too dirty to wear. He grabbed it, then climbed out of the rental and locked the Ram door. Blade looked around at the lot, a graveyard of wrecked or abandoned cars.

  Three old cars. A horse trailer and one old muddy pickup. It wasn’t locked. No need. A thief wouldn’t even bother to think there would be anything worth stealing inside.

  He grabbed the cell phone from the ashtray and walked slowly down the middle of the back lot. Twenty parking spaces. Four vehicles other than his. Only the sounds of the night, nothing more, but Blade felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. For a moment he sensed he wasn’t alone.

  He reached for his weapon and realized he’d left it upstairs.

  Another sound, no louder than a click of a twig.

  Just as he turned, he heard a crisp pop ring out and saw a flicker of light blink in the night.

  The sound had barely registered when fire plowed into his arm. Blade lurched, as if he could push away from the bullet that had hit him, and felt another blaze along his side.

  Movement shifted at the edge of the lot, and Blade thought he saw a shadow disappear behind a fence. Then silence. Only silence.

  As he inhaled one long breath, he studied his surroundings and weighed his chances. The back door was ten feet away, but it would be locked, and there was no one inside to answer his knock. The front door was maybe fifty or sixty feet away, and he’d be in light twice. Once at the corner of the building and once on the steps. If the shooter was watching, waiting, he would have two chances at a clear shot.

  Blade knew he had to be fast. He could feel blood dripping down his arm, and his side burned like liquid fire. He had no way of knowing how fast he was losing blood. There was no time to treat the wounds.

  His mother’s words echoed from his childhood. Ignore the pain. Shut up about it. She’d never offered comfort, no matter how bad the scrape. Caring wasn’t her thing and he’d learned young not to expect it.

  So he ignored all pain now. As he had in the army, he concentrated on one command. Focus!

  With his lungs full of air, he took off running, veering first right, then left, leaning low, keeping his head down.

  All he could hear was his running shoes crunching against the gravel. Run, run, run, his heart seemed to be pounding.

  In seconds he hit the front door of the county building and it opened. Blade swung around and locked the door, just as he thought he’d locked it when he’d left five minutes ago.

  That meant that someone, maybe even the shooter, could be in the building. Or, maybe Pearly or the sheriff was back?

  No lights on at her desk.

  No light from the sheriff’s office.

  What if the front lock had been picked in the few minutes between the time he had left, then returned? Someone could be inside, in the dark, waiting for another chance to shoot him.

  There was only one reason someone with a gun would want into the county office. Lucas! The almost-prisoner was in danger.

  Blade took the stairs three at a time as he pushed redial on his phone.

  When Dakota picked up on the first ring she said, “I got...”

  “Listen,” he shouted into the phone. “Call the sheriff and tell him to get back to his office as fast as possible. Tell him we’ve got a man down.”

  There was a pause and for a heartbeat he thought she’d hung up on him. “Now, Dakota.”

  “Will do,” she said, and the call went dead.

  He dropped the phone in his pocket, unlocked the first door on the third floor and stepped into the passageway room. With the door closed and locked behind him, he took a moment to breathe. If someone was in the building, they hadn’t made it this far.

  Before he opened the second door, he yelled, “Lucas, you all right?”

  “I thought I heard shots,” Lucas yelled back. “You hear them?”

  “I felt them,” he said between clenched teeth as he unlocked the next door. Blade took one step, then pitched Lucas the keys to the cells as he tumbled to the floor. “No!” was all he said as he fell.

  He could feel his heart pounding, but the room was drawing darker and darker around him. Lucas was yelling at him. Then the cell door clanked open. Lucas was above him, ordering him to stay awake, but the night was closing in and it didn’t matter if his eyes were open or shut. All was black.

  Blade’s last thought was that he’d heard men call for their mother when they were dying, but all he saw was Dakota’s face. “Come get me, Elf,” he whispered. But the words didn’t come out, they simply circled in his mind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  FOUR MINUTES LATER Dan Brigman hit the front door of the county office with what felt like half the town behind him. He’d called 9-1-1 as he’d run to his car. Pearly answered on the third ring. He barely gave her time to say hello, yelling, “Get the fire department and an ambulance headed toward my office. Now!”

  He’d dropped the phone in his shirt pocket and shot out of his drive. Sirens blaring, he’d hit ninety by the time he pulled onto the main road and didn’t slow down until he saw his office. As h
e ran up the steps, the fire truck that had only three blocks to travel was pulling up.

  “Stay here,” he yelled at the firemen. “Don’t let anyone in until I give the order. We may be dealing with an active shooter.” Dan had no idea what he would face. Dakota had said “man down,” and Blade was the only man he had working.

  “Will do, Sheriff,” Cap, a retired fire chief, who must have come from his home across the street, yelled from the crowd. “I’ll take care of things here.”

  Dan stepped inside. The lobby was dark and still, as if holding its breath. Dan was relieved when he found nothing waiting for him in the entryway. Still, not a single one of his muscles relaxed.

  He moved up the stairs, listening, alert.

  On the third landing, Dan turned and unlocked the first door to the jail cells. The key turned. Good sign. The jail was locked up tight.

  “Blade? Lucas?” No answer. “Blade!” Again, no answer.

  Weapon in hand, he slowly unlocked the second door. One inch. Two inches.

  The scene came into sight, into his comprehension, one slice at a time. Dan found exactly what he prayed he wouldn’t see.

  Trouble.

  His deputy was on the floor with blood everywhere. Lucas’s white shirt was also bloody, but from the way he was working on Blade, the prisoner wasn’t hurt. Blade’s shoulder holster was on the cell floor where the deputy slept, but his gun lay beside Lucas, within ready reach.

  For a second Dan thought Lucas Reyes had shot Blade Hamilton, but that didn’t make sense. Why would he be fighting so hard to save him? How could a man behind bars shoot an armed federal agent?

  There was no time to analyze. Dan went with his gut. He rushed to the landing and saw the two EMTs trying to fight their way around Cap. The retired fire chief was holding them back, waiting for Dan’s orders.

  “Let them up, Cap, but no one else.”

  “Will do.” Cap shoved them inside, yelling for them to pick up their feet and hurry.

  As they stormed up the stairs, carrying what looked like about a hundred pounds of gear, Dan ordered Cap to clear a path. “We got a man down. Call in a bird.”