by Rita Herron
Ian aimed his weapon at the coach. “Let her go, Dad.”
A slight tremble rippled through Gleason. Beth forced herself to stay calm. “I know you’ve been through hell, but—”
“I want answers,” he growled. “To clear my name. You can do that.”
“Then drop the knife,” Beth murmured.
His grip on her loosened slightly, and Beth took advantage of the moment and jabbed him in the stomach with her elbow. He grunted, and she stomped on his instep. He’d aged fifteen years and gained weight, but he snatched her arm as she tried to escape.
They rolled and fought for the knife.
Beth kneed him in the groin, then shoved him backward. He lost the knife, then crawled after it.
Ian fired at the ground. “Don’t move, Dad.”
Beth spun around and pushed to her feet. Coach Gleason froze, a feral gleam in his eyes. “You want to shoot me, Ian, go ahead. But I’m not going back to prison.”
“We have to do this the right way,” Ian said. “Go through the courts. A girl is missing now—”
“I never laid a hand on any teenage girl.”
“What about Kelly Cousins? Were you involved with her?” Beth asked.
The coach barked a sarcastic laugh. “I never touched her,” Coach said vehemently. “I swear, Ian. She talked to me about her depression. Perhaps she developed a crush on me, but I wouldn’t have let it go anywhere. For God’s sake, she was a kid. And I loved your mother.”
“Then why run and hide out after the flood?” Ian asked.
“Because I tried to get an appeal and it was denied,” he said. “I figured if anyone had to prove my innocence, it was me. I couldn’t do that behind bars.”
Indecision flickered in Ian’s eyes. Beth’s heart hurt for him. The coach had been the only father Ian had ever known.
“The only way to clear you is to go back,” Beth said.
He shook his head, a wildness in his eyes born of fear and desperation. He’d been wronged by the law and his wife, and suffered God knows what in prison, then had been hiding out in these mountains for years.
She had to make this easy for Ian.
She aimed her gun at the man. “Coach Gleason, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent—”
“I won’t go back to jail!” He started toward her, and Ian shouted a warning.
“Stop,” Beth cried.
But he didn’t seem to hear.
He charged her, and Beth reacted on instinct.
She fired a bullet into his chest. The coach grunted, his eyes widening in shock as he pressed his hand to the wound. Blood oozed between his fingers as he dropped to his knees.
Every nerve in Tandy Pooler Benton’s body clenched like a fist.
She’d heard that sheriff from podunk Graveyard Falls talking to her husband, Jim. And then that woman, Beth Fields.
She wasn’t stupid. She’d read the paper.
That lady was JJ Jones. She’d gone missing fifteen years ago. Supposedly she had no memory of her abductor’s face or name.
For now.
What if she remembered?
Tandy had to do everything she could to protect her husband. That was what good wives did.
After all, she’d been on her way to full whoredom before Jim saved her sorry soul.
Not a day went by that he didn’t remind her of that, too.
She hated it when he reminded her, but God wanted you to be humble, and she was about as humble as a body could get.
Jim had taken her in when she was a street girl, just a runaway, and he’d prayed over her night and day. Had exorcised the demons from her with his rituals and teachings and lessons—those lessons hurt, but sinners had to be punished.
She rubbed the scars on her arms. They were old, but sometimes she could see the blood dripping from the cuts.
Bloodletting was a practice as old as the hills. It enabled the ill and afflicted to purge themselves of poisonous toxins and the evil within. Snake handling was the best way to weed out the weak. Normally Jim used that at the revivals, but with all the publicity in town over that graveyard of bones, he’d decided to skip it this time.
Jim was the wise one. The chosen one. Just like his daddy.
He’d made her respectable. Married her when she’d thought no nice man would take her for a wife.
Sure, she had to do things for him. Feed his body and sate his fleshly desires. Fulfill his every need.
But that’s what a wife was supposed to do.
She couldn’t let these damned police mess things up.
Like a good, obedient servant, she’d keep her mouth shut.
The door to the trailer where she and Jim were staying for the revival screeched open, and her husband strode in, wiping at his forehead with a handkerchief. “Did you talk to those cops?” he bellowed.
“No,” Tandy said, her insides quivering.
He slid one hand around her wrist and gripped it so hard she winced. “You didn’t mention the girls?”
Tandy shook her head vehemently. “No, I swear. I . . . love you, Jim. I know you believe what you’re doing is right.”
His gray eyes pierced her. “Are you saying you don’t think it is?”
Fear crawled through Tandy. “That’s not what I mean. You save lives, Jim—I’m grateful to be part of that.” The last girl’s screams had torn her stomach in knots though. Tandy did her best to drown out the sound.
Nothing kept the screams quiet, though.
But she dared not cross her husband. She knew what would happen if she did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ian’s hand jerked as he lowered his gun and rushed toward his father. He couldn’t believe he’d finally found him.
And now he might lose him all over again.
Threatening Beth had been a mistake, though.
Blood gushed from his father’s chest. His face was turning gray, his eyes drifting shut. Ian’s world blurred.
He heard Beth’s voice behind him. She was on the phone. “This is Special Agent Beth Fields. I need an ambulance. A man has been shot.” Her voice faded as she recited the address. Ian dragged out a handkerchief to press against his father’s wound to slow the bleeding.
People must have heard the gunshot, and a crowd began to gather. Beth took charge, securing the area and asking everyone to stay back. Voices rumbled through the crowd, people shouting questions at once.
“Who is he?”
“What happened?”
“Is he dead?”
“He’s going to be all right,” Beth said, although she couldn’t know that. She was simply trying to appease the crowd.
His father was losing blood too fast. He coughed and tried to speak, but his words came out garbled.
“Someone get some paper towels from the bathroom,” Beth ordered.
His father tugged at Ian’s arm. “Didn’t kill anyone, I swear.”
Emotions flooded Ian. A man shoved a handful of paper towels toward him, and Ian pressed them on top of the handkerchief and added pressure.
“I know, Dad, that’s what I tried to tell you. Some of the bodies—” His father passed out before Ian could finish.
Beth touched his shoulder, but he jerked away. A siren wailed in the distance, the sound growing louder as the ambulance got closer.
“Dad, hang in there,” Ian said. “We’re going to get you to the hospital. Then we’ll clear your name.”
But his father lay limp, unresponsive. An apology flickered in Beth’s eyes, but he didn’t have time to deal with it.
The ambulance screeched to a stop in the parking lot by the building, and two medics retrieved a stretcher and rushed toward them.
The crowd parted. He waved the medics to his father’s side, then stepped away to give them room to check his vitals. They padded the wound with blood stoppers, then lifted him onto the stretcher and rushed back to the ambulance.
Ian followed. “I’m going with you.”
The medic
started to argue, but Ian flashed his badge. “This man is a wanted criminal. I have to escort him.”
More importantly, he wanted to be close by in case his father tried to talk.
Bits and pieces of the past played behind Beth’s eyes. The coach promising to help her years ago. Offering to talk to the social worker.
He’d given her a card with his phone number on it and encouraged her to call him.
But she’d been too embarrassed because he’d guessed what was going on in the Otters’ house.
May’s face flashed again, and Beth struggled to recall that night, to see past her to the driver. But his face was cast in a dark shadow.
Voices jarred her back to reality. The medics were moving with the coach, Ian following.
She ordered the crowd to disperse, then caught Ian just as he was climbing into the ambulance.
“I’ll go, too.” She reached for the door to join him, but Ian shook his head.
“You’ve done enough, Beth.”
Bitterness darkened his eyes as he shoved the keys to his SUV in her hand. Then he shut the ambulance door in her face.
A second later, the medic started the engine, flipped on the siren, and raced away.
Beth jogged toward Ian’s police vehicle, fired up the engine, and followed the ambulance, praying that Coach Gleason didn’t die.
Ian would never forgive her if he did.
Ian gripped his father’s hand as the ambulance sped toward the hospital. The medics started an IV and oxygen, but his blood pressure was dropping, his pulse weak.
Dammit, he couldn’t die.
Not when they had a chance to be father and son again.
The ambulance bounced over a rut in the road, and his father groaned. Ian glanced at the medic. “You think he’ll make it?”
The young man shrugged. “He’s lost a lot of blood. Depends on internal injuries, if the bullet hit a major artery.”
Ian scrubbed a hand through his hair, the scene between his father and Beth bothering him. Would his father have hurt Beth if she hadn’t shot him?
The ambulance swerved into the parking lot and squealed to a stop. Beth swung into the ER parking lot behind them and parked.
A flurry of nurses and doctors greeted them at the ER entrance. The medic cited his father’s vitals, and the medical staff shouted orders and directions as they ran inside. Chaos ensued as they pushed him into a triage room. Ian tried to go inside with him, but a male nurse blocked his way.
“Sorry, sir, you need to wait outside.”
“He’s my father,” Ian said. “And he’s in my custody.”
“He’s not going anywhere until after surgery,” the nurse said. “Let us do our jobs.”
Ian bit back a response. He wanted—no, he needed—to talk to his father again.
But the nurse pointed toward the waiting room, and Ian had to concede.
Frustration knotted Ian’s insides as he walked back to the waiting room. Beth rushed in just as he pulled his phone from his pocket to call his mother.
She had a right to know his dad was alive.
Beth approached him, but the image of her firing that gun into his father’s chest made him rush toward the coffee machine.
If she’d remembered who’d abducted her, his father would have been cleared. He wouldn’t be a fugitive. And he wouldn’t be in a damn hospital fighting for his life.
On some level, he realized he was being irrational, but he couldn’t help himself. His family had been destroyed by JJ’s case.
The phone rang three, four times. Then a male voice answered. “Woods residence.”
“Bernie, it’s Ian. I need to speak to Mom.”
“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“You mean you don’t want her to talk to me.”
“It’s my job as her husband to protect her,” Bernie said.
Ian clenched the phone so hard his fingers went numb. “She doesn’t need protection from me. I’m her son, and I’m tired of you coming between us.”
“Your mother’s found peace in the church,” Bernie said. “I’d think you would want that.”
“I do, that’s the reason I’m calling. I have proof that my father is innocent. She needs to know that.”
“Leave her alone, Ian.” The phone went dead.
Ian cursed. Ever since his mother had married that holier-than-thou asshole, she’d withdrawn from Ian. Bernie had destroyed her confidence in herself. He wanted control. All along Ian had held hope that proving his father’s innocence would help him get her back. But Bernie was still in the way.
Ian shoved some quarters into the coffee machine, waited for it to dispense the coffee, and headed back down the hall. Beth was pacing the waiting room, her expression torn.
She started toward him, then hesitated, chewing on her thumbnail. “Ian—”
“Don’t,” he said. “I understand you did what you had to do, but you have no idea what it’s like to lose your family.”
“No, I guess I don’t.” Hurt flared in her eyes. “Although Sunny was my family. I was supposed to take care of her, Ian, but I got her killed.”
Shit. That wasn’t what he meant.
One of the nurses appeared. “Sheriff Kimball?”
He faced her, praying she didn’t have bad news. “That’s me.”
“Your father refuses to have the operation until he sees you.”
She ushered him through the ER to a room where they’d prepped his father. His father’s eyes were closed, his face so gray that Ian was afraid he was too late.
A groan rumbled from his father, and Ian took his hand. “Dad?”
He wheezed for a breath. “Ian?”
Ian swallowed hard. “I’m here.”
“Didn’t do it,” he murmured.
“I know,” Ian said, battling fear and annoyance.
“Files . . .” His father’s voice cracked. “School files. Answers there.”
The stolen ones? “Where are the files?”
“Cabin,” he said, gasping for a breath.
“Where?”
“My pocket, a map,” his father said. “I was going to give it to JJ. See if she remembered someone.”
“You think someone from school kidnapped her and Sunny?” Ian asked.
His father groaned again. “Student,” his father said between coughs. “Some troubled kids. One of them had a crush on Kelly. He made up those rumors . . .”
His father’s voice faded. Ian wanted the kid’s name. “Dad, talk to me. Who was it?”
He patted his father’s cheek to wake him, but he’d lapsed into unconsciousness.
Ian glanced at the nurse. “You have his clothes?”
She gestured toward a bag on the floor in the corner. Ian crossed the room and rifled through it. His shirt had been cut off and was soaked in blood. His jeans were old and frayed, but Ian found a scrap of paper in the pocket with a crude map.
“Take care of him,” he told the nurse. He squeezed his father’s arm. “Fight like hell, Dad. I’ll find the truth. Then I’ll be back.”
He clutched the map in his hand and strode through the ER. Beth met him at the door, questions in her eyes. He didn’t have time to hash over what had happened.
If those files gave them the answers they needed, they might save Prissy Carson’s life.
It was time to say his final good-byes to Prissy Carson. But he couldn’t carry her to the holler.
The police and Feds were all over the town, asking questions. Getting close.
He touched the most recent vials of blood he’d collected, memorizing the names.
How many would he have to take to win his own salvation?
The paintings he’d finished with the girls’ blood were lined against the wall of his storage room. Their blood decorated the interior of the cavern as well.
A noise sounded from outside the room, then the ping of water dripping. Another sound a second later. Footsteps in the hall of the cavern.
He froze. N
o one knew about his place but him.
Sweat pooled on his neck. He snuffed out the candle in the corner and flattened himself against the wall.
The door groaned open. The candlelight from the hall flowed inside in tiny glimmers, just enough to allow him to see who’d discovered his secret.
His son’s face filled the light. Shock. Disgust. Intrigue. A myriad of emotions in the boy’s eyes.
The words of his own father reverberated in his ears. The day his father told him about the Calling.
It was time to pass on the message.
He led his son to the wall of blood and began the story.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Ian needed distance between himself and Beth. He understood the reason she’d shot his father. Hell, he’d almost pulled the trigger when he’d seen that knife in his father’s hands.
But . . . the situation was too damn complicated. His guilt. Hers. The dead girls deserving justice.
All those families needing answers.
Beth’s tortured expression made his gut clench. “How is he?”
“They’re taking him to surgery.” Ian pulled the map from his pocket. “He stole the files from the school. He was going to give them to you.”
“What’s in the files?” Beth asked.
Ian shrugged. “He said a student made up the story about Kelly and Dad, but he didn’t say who. I’m going to get the files.”
“Give me the map and I’ll go,” Beth said.
Ian hesitated. He wanted to stay here and make sure his father survived the surgery. But Prissy Carson’s life hung in the balance, and he needed to retrieve the files ASAP.
And Beth wanted the truth as much as or maybe more than he did.
Still, the unsub knew Beth’s identity. Knew where she lived. He might be watching her. Following her.
Ian couldn’t stand the thought of the sicko hurting her again.
“We’ll both go.”
“No, Ian,” Beth said softly. “You need to be here when your father wakes up.”
He shifted, debating what to do. “What happened when we were talking to Reverend Benton?”
Turmoil darkened her eyes. “I remembered one particular revival, the one we went to the night before I ran away. The senior Reverend Benton was preaching. He frightened me. They were handling snakes. Later, I peeked into one of the tents, and he’d restrained this young girl and was performing an exorcism.”