Body Search

by Jessica Andersen

  Trask followed her to the door and bellowed, “Hazel? Hazel, get back in here!” When she just kept marching and passed beneath the flickering neon, he cursed. “I’m going after her.” Halfway out the door, he turned back. “Keep your woman and the boy safe, Dale. We’ll meet again in the morning to make a plan. If Roberts is behind this, we need to stop him before anyone else is hurt.”

  It wasn’t exactly an apology, but it was close. Dale must have thought the same thing, because he murmured, “That’s the first time he’s called me by name since that night.”

  Tansy touched his arm, and this time he didn’t move away. “He’s right, we should rest.” She didn’t want to talk about Dale’s uncle, or about the flash of vulnerability she’d seen on both their faces. She didn’t want to talk about the danger, or the deaths they hadn’t been able to prevent.

  Most of all, Tansy didn’t want to talk about Hazel’s outburst, or the sad, unflinching parallels between them, two women irrevocably drawn to men who couldn’t be bothered to love them.

  “And he’s also right that we need to stay safe tonight.” Dale nudged the door shut with his toe and shot the bolt, locking the two adults and the sleeping boy into the small, intimate room. “Why don’t you get some sleep and I’ll take the first watch.”

  “Okay. I’ll just…” Feeling the small room close in on her, Tansy gestured to the bathroom and escaped, feeling a hot blush burn her cheeks. She shouldn’t be so foolish. She’d sworn off Dale, hadn’t she? So why was it suddenly almost unbearable for her to be trapped in a shabby hotel room with him for the night?

  Because, she realized, this was likely one of the last nights they’d ever spend together. And because of the barriers she’d seen stripped from his soul, one by one, over the past few days. At Boston General, Dale was the social loner, always surrounded by friends he never let close. Here, he had discovered his family, and didn’t seem sure whether he wanted them or not.

  It was stupid for her to hope that he’d learn to love his family. That he’d learn to love her.

  But Whitmore women, as well as being foolish in love, were also incurable optimists. The pathologies went hand in hand.

  “Well, not this time,” Tansy muttered. She ignored the beckoning shower and splashed cold water on her face, hoping to dampen the heat that had climbed the moment Dale locked them in together. “You can do this,” she told herself, “you can be strong.”

  Out in the main room, she found him crouched over the pile of battered, salt-encrusted cases they’d pulled from the harbor. Willing her voice steady, she said, “Most everything beyond the chromatograph was a write-off, and I’m not even sure we’d get another reading out of it.”

  “Yeah, but this might work.” Dale leaned to one side, and she saw the contents of the open case. A huge shiver crawled down her neck at the sight of the shotgun every HFH team was required to carry. Most teams left the weapon on the plane rather than taking it along, knowing that in the places HFH visited, guns often brought more harm than good.

  Every now and then, though, HFH doctors had been forced to defend their work or their persons. Hurting to heal.

  Dale racked a shell into the chamber, and Tansy shuddered. But she didn’t ask whether the precaution was necessary.

  “Do you think it’ll fire?” she asked, perching on the spare bed, the one Eddie wasn’t using, and feeling the mattress give beneath her. The softness reminded her just how tired she was, just how little sleep they’d gotten in the past few days.

  “It looks like it stayed dry,” he replied, but he didn’t sound certain. “I guess we can test fire it out over the water in the morning.” He stood and faced her, his eyes unreadable. “Until then…”

  She nodded. “Until then, we’ll keep it close and hope we don’t need it.”

  There was a long pause, and their eyes locked. Heat flared between them. Dale swallowed hard and reached out a hand to touch her cheek. His finger traced along the curve of her jaw, and Tansy felt something rise into her throat. She wasn’t sure if it was a scream or a sob or a prayer—she just knew she couldn’t handle this, couldn’t handle him, and that she was in danger of losing hold of her resolve.

  Then he quickly backed away, fetching up against the door frame. “Get some sleep.”

  The order was sharp, the husky quality of his voice anything but. Helpless against the feelings, the memories and the knowledge it would soon be over, Tansy held out a hand. “Dale—”

  He flicked the wall switch, plunging the room into complete darkness broken only by the faint neon light that oozed through the cracks between the plywood sheets. After a moment, Tansy’s eyes adjusted, and she could pick out the angle of Dale’s cheek, the plane of his jaw. As though he could feel her watching him, he turned and stared toward the bed. “Go to sleep, Tans. I’ll keep watch.”

  After a moment, he returned his attention to the sliver of the parking lot visible through the crack.

  “Do you see anything?” she asked quietly, grateful for the darkness and the opportunity to stare at him unobserved. She felt, more than saw, the gun at his side. It seemed to radiate mechanical malevolence and safety at the same time, and it surprised Tansy to find its presence eased her.

  He shook his head, and his hair was illuminated in shades of red, then blue and yellow as it caught different shafts of reflected neon. “No, nothing.” Roberts had gone to his room just after dark, and none of them had seen or heard from the man since. It was a relief to know where he was, but it gave Tansy the sense of an evil, waiting presence just on the other side of the motel’s paper-thin wall. She shivered slightly and lay down on her side, still watching Dale.

  He would keep her safe, she knew, or die trying. That was the sort of man he was.

  Too bad he didn’t trust the fact.

  After a long moment, he spoke again. “Looks like the wind is dying down. Maybe the storm is going to miss us.”

  “Maybe,” she answered.

  But she knew neither of them believed it.

  FINALLY, AFTER WHAT FELT like days, but was only forty minutes by the faint glow of Dale’s watch, Tansy fell asleep. He could sense it in the subtle softening of the tension that hung in the room, and he heard it in that last sweet gasp she always gave right before succumbing to oblivion. His Tansy, stubborn to the end, fought sleep as if it was her enemy, only falling when there was no other option.

  Except she wasn’t “his Tansy” anymore. He’d seen it in her eyes, the final understanding they weren’t meant to be together, the final acceptance that they were too different, too unsuited for each other.

  It hurt.

  All his life, he’d held himself away, closed himself off, unwilling to suffer the damn tortures that had changed Trask and made him less than whole. But somehow, though Dale had guarded himself before he’d even known what he was guarding against, she’d sneaked inside. She’d breached the defenses he’d built around his heart and she’d made herself a home there, safe and secure.

  Until this. Until she’d seen the lies and the deceptions and the ugly, unhappy place he’d come from. Then, finally, she’d pulled away as he’d known all along she would. What they’d had was over. He felt its death right beside the pain. And even feeling it, he was unable to stop himself from crossing the room and sitting in the stiff chair beside her bed. He couldn’t stop himself from sliding the safety of the hated shotgun, laying the weapon across his lap and groping for her hand in the darkness.

  He needed to sit like this for a moment, and feel the peace she’d always brought to his soul. He needed to let his breathing match hers and his heartbeat slow until it kept pace with the pulse that surged just beneath his fingertips.

  In the darkness, knowing he’d hear if anyone tried to sneak into the little room, Dale let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes. He stroked his thumb across the softest part of her wrist.

  And fell asleep with the memory of her wrapped around his heart like a soft, warm, healing blanket.r />
  IT WAS STILL DARK WHEN he felt the tug at his sleeve, but the darkness was broken now by gleams of gray light spearing between the plywood boards. Dale came awake with a jolt and grabbed for the shotgun before he realized the door was still closed.

  The bolt was still on.

  The tug came again.

  “Excuse me, Unc’Dale? Have you seen my rock?”

  He fumbled for the bedside lamp and clicked it on, only to find little Eddie, swaying on his feet, blinking owlishly into the yellow light less than a foot away from the loaded shotgun.

  “Hey!” Dale shot to his feet and staggered with sudden light-headedness. He reached out a hand when Eddie stumbled backward in surprise. “Sorry, kid. Here.” He plunked the boy in the chair. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

  He used the bathroom and put the shotgun high atop the cheap medicine cabinet, way back where the kid couldn’t reach. By the time he returned to the main room, Tansy was awake. He tried to steel himself against the desperate kick of his heart when her voice, low and husky with sleep, asked the little boy how he was feeling.

  But his strength to resist her was failing.

  “Okay,” Eddie replied in a small voice. “Tired.” He looked from Tansy to Dale and back. “Have you seen my rock? I had it with me before…at the river…” His lower lip trembled slightly. “It was in my pocket. I was gonna give it to Ma, and now I can’t find it.”

  Foreboding streaked through Dale like lightning.

  “Is this what you’re looking for, honey? It fell out of your pocket when your pa brought you in.” Tansy fished around in the pocket of her borrowed jeans and pulled out a rock.

  A dull, ugly, purple rock.

  Unease crystallized to certainty in that instant. Dale kept his tone level and his words even. “Can I see that?” He held out his hand, aware that he hadn’t hidden his reaction from Tansy, who stared at him, curiosity and wariness battling for dominance in her eyes.

  “What is it?” she asked, also careful to keep her voice nonthreatening in front of the small boy. “Dale? What is it?”

  “It’s probably nothing,” he said, but he knew it was a lie. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his rock. Held the two up side by side in the sickly yellow light of the motel lamp.

  They were identical in color and texture, though Dale’s was slightly larger and had sharper edges. If he had to guess, he’d say the child’s rock had been worn smooth by water.

  His, on the other hand, had come from the source.

  “Eddie, did you find this rock in the same river where you found the ring?” he asked quietly, aware of Tansy’s quick flash of understanding.

  The boy nodded, his eyes fastened on the two rocks. “Uh-huh. Where’d you get yours?”

  “From my mother,” Dale said quietly. “But I don’t know where she found it.” He felt Tansy’s hand on his shoulder, and reached up to cover it with his own, just then needing the comfort more than he needed the distance. “Why don’t we—”

  A heavy fist pounded on the motel door. Dale shot to his feet, thinking of trip wires and a burn ing house. “Tansy, take Eddie into the bathroom with you. The shotgun is on top of the medicine cabinet.”

  “But Dale—”

  “Just do it, please! I don’t have time to argue.”

  Then he heard Trask’s voice over the pounding. “Dale, Tansy, open up!”

  “Damn it!” Dale yanked open the door and found Hazel, Trask and Mickey outside in the gray light of a cloudy midmorning. “You scared the—” he glanced back at Eddie’s round eyes “—stuffing out of us.” He stepped back into the room. “But I’m glad you’re here. We have something to show you.”

  “So do we,” Trask retorted. “In Unit 1.” The older man grabbed Dale by the sleeve and tugged him outside. Tansy followed, and Mickey stayed behind in the room with his son.

  Dale closed his fist over the dull purple rocks, which burned his skin, though they were cool and smooth. The stones were a link between the current outbreak and the past murders. But what did it mean?

  Then Trask stopped outside a half-open door. Dale peered past him and cursed roundly.

  Tansy peeked around them both and let out a low moan. “He’s gone.”

  The motel room was identical to the others, save for the glaring absence of boards on the windows and the signs of a hasty exit. The bed was torn apart, the mattress slightly askew, as though Roberts had hidden something beneath it. There were no suitcases or signs that he was coming back. His cologne, fruity and vaguely feminine, hung in the air like a ghost.

  Dale shook his head. “Where the hell could he go? There’s a hurricane coming.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Dale spun toward the new voice even as he recognized Churchill’s cultured tones.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The storm has changed track.” Churchill gestured at the sky, which was an unhealthy shade of yellow-gray. “They say it may miss us completely.” He looked from one to the other of them. “Why? What have you discovered?”

  Dale crossed his arms and felt the tension hammer at his temples. “Plenty.”

  They had discovered that the deaths were linked. Their prime suspect had disappeared while they were sleeping. What sort of investigators did that make them?

  Tired ones, Dale admitted. Tired, frustrated investigators whose normal specialty was infected vectors and disease spread, not poisonings and purple rocks. He looked at Tansy, exhausted and beautiful, and his heart shuddered at what he’d gotten her into. He glanced at Trask and felt the familiar resentment, then at Hazel, who looked too old, too worn to be coping with a dying island. Finally, his eyes settled on Churchill, who had saved him so many years ago, when Dale’s grief and teenage anger could so easily have taken him in a different direction.

  These, Dale thought, were his connections. His family.

  The thought warmed him.

  It terrified him.

  But rather than giving in to either of the emotions, he spread a level look among them and gestured to the room where Eddie waited with his father. “I think it’s time we sat down and made a plan.”

  AFTER BRINGING CHURCHILL up to speed, Dale questioned Eddie about the rock. He knelt down to the boy’s level, aware that Trask had a calming hand on the kid’s shoulder.

  Dale tried not to resent the gesture, knowing there was a time he would’ve given anything for just such kindness from his uncle. But that time was long past. He didn’t need anything from Trask. Didn’t need anything from anyone, except knowledge that would help him understand what had happened to his parents fifteen years earlier.

  And what was happening now on Lobster Island.

  “Eddie? Where did you get this rock?”

  The kid’s lower lip wobbled and he looked to his father for support. Mickey nodded. “Go ahead and tell him, son. Was it the same place you found the ring?”

  “Yessir,” Eddie whispered, staring at his bare feet as though he’d done something wrong. “I know you said not to go out looking by myself, but I ’membered something.”

  Dale leaned closer, aware of Tansy standing above him, aware of the twin rocks clutched in his fist. “What did you remember, Eddie?”

  “I ’membered that the river was near the ghost tree. That was how I found it again.”

  “Do you know where this tree is?” Hazel quietly asked Trask. Since their arrival, the older couple had been quiet, speaking only to the others, not to each other. The tension between them added a subtle, angry layer to the uneasy atmosphere within the small room.

  The older man nodded. “On the south claw, in the dense thickety area where most people don’t go. Rumor says the tree was once used for a hanging. Not too many kids bother with it nowadays because the path is so overgrown.”

  “Teenagers used to go up there to neck,” Dale observed, staring down at the rocks.

  “Miranda and her boyfriend,” Tansy said, and her voice shivered through Dale and left the fine hairs on his arms standing
at attention. “Maybe they saw something there…”

  “Like what?” Dale demanded. “It’s just an old, ugly tree next to a river. What is there to see?”

  “Maybe not a ‘what,’ but a ‘who,’” Churchill murmured. Seated on the edge of the spare bed, his clothing and posture perfect, he could just as well have been presiding over a board meeting.

  It didn’t take the touch of embroidery at the cuffs and collar of his imported shirt for Dale to realize exactly who he’d been modeling himself after all these years.

  And how badly he’d failed. Churchill was classy. Dale had merely pretended to be.

  “You think they saw Roberts near the river?” Tansy asked. “Why would he be there?”

  “It’s the main source of fresh water for the island,” Trask answered. “If it’s true that the outbreak was a deliberate thing…”

  Dale’s guts froze as the implications sank in. “God,” Tansy said, echoing his thoughts, “he could poison the entire island.”

  “But why?” Mickey asked.

  Dale opened his hand and looked at the two ugly purple rocks. “The night she died, my mother told me she knew how she was going to pay for my college education. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but lately I’ve been wondering. What if she found something here on the island? Something valuable?”

  Galvanized by a sudden need to know, he strode to the bathroom, pulled down the shotgun and racked it hard enough to make the others flinch. “Come on. Outside.”

  A thick, age-softened concrete wall provided a safe backdrop, and Dale felt only a momentary twinge when he leaned down and placed his lucky rock on a brick beside the wall. When he’d retreated a safe distance and waved the others well back, he murmured, “Sorry, Mama.” Then he aimed the shotgun in the general direction of the stone, slightly off center, and pulled the trigger.

  The blast gouged a chunk out of the wall and shattered the brick into nasty slinging shards that the others ducked. Dale felt a piece kick off his shin, but he barely flinched. His attention was centered on the purple rock, which had bounded twenty feet away to lie, seemingly intact, in the middle of the motel parking lot.