I wasn’t in Poudre Hospital. Or Rapid City Regional. Thank God! I was in the back of an ambulance again for the second time today. Well, technically it was yesterday when the emergency response team attended to my concussion at the Firehouse.
I lifted my hands and saw that my palms were bandaged. I pulled back the sheet, only to discover that my jeans had been cut into shorts and my knees were both bandaged as well. I remembered scrabbling across the iron ore on my hands and knees trying to get to the loader and then being yanked across the catwalk of the loader platform like Colby cheese against a sharpened grater. I wiggled my fingers, and lifted my arms and both legs to make sure everything was working. The back of my left calf was sore, but no bones were broken. I remembered the pain I’d felt as Samantha gave her best wood chop to that leg when I was hung up on the fence.
All in all, I was in great shape. Considering.
I tried to sit up, and a wave of nausea rose in my throat. I rested my head back on the flat pillow and willed the fluorescent lights inside the back of the ambulance to dim. But they didn’t. I was startled by the noise that rose in my throat, a raspy groan that gargled up when I tried to roll over. I felt a warm hand on my forehead and forced my eyelids open.
At first, I wondered if I was staring at Michael, the Archangel.
But it was Agent Adonis. He was staring down at me, dressed in white, his head covered with short white hair and his face sporting a sexy five o’clock shadow. His throat had been slit and his left jaw was black and blue. I reached up to touch his face, unsure if he was real. He smiled at me. I liked his sea green eyes. And his smile. And the touch of his fingers against my forehead.
I liked having my own angel. A cool angel.
“Streeter,” I said, my fingers lingering against his stubbled cheek.
He smiled.
Another face appeared over his shoulder.
I croaked, “Agent Stewart Blysdorf.”
He grinned. “You know me?”
I nodded, the pain in my head sending tidal waves of nausea through my stomach once again. I lay still and tried to smile up at him.
“What’d you do to your eye?” I managed.
His grin was crooked. “Nothing much. You did good, Liv.”
“And to your neck?” I dropped my hand from Streeter’s cheek.
“It’s nothing,” he whispered.
“Samantha Schilling?”
“Dead.”
“Did I shoot her? ’Cause I can’t remember firing my gun.”
Both men shook their heads.
I remembered Samantha’s story and was worried for Char Freeburg’s safety, wanting to warn her about Mr. Schilling.
My lips cracked when I spoke. “You have to find Eddie Schilling.”
“He’s dead, too,” Bly said. “Before Mully and the Lucifer’s Lot pulled up stakes, they left a little present for Eddie in his car. A copperhead. They probably knew that Eddie would eventually leave the campground in his car and speed off toward some refuge. The snake was probably coiled on the floorboard or on the passenger seat of the convertible.”
“Nice guys,” I said, trying to decide if I felt sorry for Mr. Schilling or if I felt vindication. All the young girls Eddie Schilling had hurt during his authoritative reign of terror could now rest, knowing he would never hurt them or another again.
Bly added, “One bite is all it takes to disable a driver. He crossed two lanes and ended up in the creek.”
I closed my eyes and imagined Mr. Schilling’s terror as the copperhead latched onto his arm, releasing its deadly poison. He would have been horrified, panicked, dead within minutes.
“Roy Barker?”
Streeter never said a word, content to hold my hand.
“He stole Michelle’s book from her locker,” Bly explained. “Didn’t want the police to think he had anything to do with her murder if they found it, so he put it in Jens’s bedroom.”
“Mully didn’t kill Michelle,” my mouth worked to form the words that were racing through my head.
Streeter pressed his finger gently against my lips and said, “Shh, we know.”
Bly held up the recorder I had taped to my ribs before confronting the Schillings. “We heard all about it. Digitally. You’re a genius, Liv Bergen.”
I tried to sit up again, this time successfully.
Streeter said, “Are you sure you want to move?”
I nodded.
Agent Blysdorf sighed. “They want you to go to the hospital for observation. To make sure you don’t have a serious concussion.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I said, sliding off the bed and out of the ambulance into the fresh air.
Streeter held my arm and steadied me as I warded off the initial dizziness. He brushed a strand of hair from my bandaged forehead and said, “You’re lucky that Samantha Schilling was shot before your skull was smashed. You escaped with only a concussion.”
“It feels like I cracked some serious corn,” I agreed. “I have a killer headache.”
“They say you’ll be fine,” Bly said with a smile. “You take care of yourself and heal fast, okay?”
“Agent Blysdorf?” I called after him as he went about his business with the other emergency personnel.
He stopped and turned, grinning.
“If I didn’t shoot Samantha Schilling, then I need to thank you for saving my life,” I said, my heart filled with gratitude.
He shook his head, his gray and black ringlets dancing against his shoulders. “Don’t thank me. That would be my partner.”
He nodded toward Streeter, my human crutch. Streeter’s smile was crooked, endearing. I noticed for the first time his hand was braced.
“What did you do?”
“I broke it in a beer brawl at Sturgis earlier tonight. Long story. Kind of messed it up a little bit more when I tackled you and Mully at the Firehouse.”
My mind flashed to the image of him running down the length of the bar at the Firehouse Brewing Company, saving me from Mully’s grasp. The same man I saw in my dreams. Michael, the Archangel.
“Yeah, about that,” I said, straightening a bit and releasing my grip on him. “I was fine, you know. I could have handled that situation by myself and without earning a concussion.”
Streeter grinned.
“So where do I send the bill for all the medication I’m going to need for my massive headache?”
Bly answered for Streeter. “Mail it to the Denver bureau, because unless they talk him into temporarily running this Rapid City one and solving the Crooked Man case, he’ll be heading back home later this morning.”
“I thought Agent Shankley ran the Rapid City office.”
“He used to. If he lives, I bet his ass will be fired for his involvement in covering up Eddie Schilling’s extracurricular activities,” Bly answered.
“Too much information, partner,” Streeter said.
Bly ignored him and said to me, “So this guy is leaving on a jet plane unless you can convince him to stay.”
Giving me a wink, Bly took off to talk with the rest of the emergency response team near the Nemo Quarry office building.
“You’re really leaving?” I asked Streeter.
He just stared at me. “Are you okay now, Liv? You really should go to the hospital.”
“I’ve had my fill of hospitals.” With him staring at me, face to face, I struggled to find the right words. “Thank you for saving my life tonight. And from De Milo. I owe you.”
I felt so stupid. I had thought hundreds of times about what I’d say to Streeter Pierce when I first met him, when I thanked him for saving me. And never had it come out so … stupid.
“You don’t owe me. In fact, I owe you. An apology,” he said, taking a step back from me and releasing me from his paralyzing stare.
Those green eyes were absolutely trance inducing. I blamed my ditzy thoughts on the two blows to the head.
“Apology for what? I’m the one who owes you an apology fo
r how I treated you at my brother’s house.”
He chuckled. “Well, I won’t argue with you. But let me go first. You were right. And I apologize. I shouldn’t have assumed you needed my help with Mully,” he said, walking behind the door of the ambulance bed and out of sight. He returned with a leash in his hand, a big red bloodhound close at his heels. “And as a peace offering, I wanted to introduce you to Beulah.”
The big red dog with long ears and saggy jowls walked right up to me, wagging her long tail, and started licking my shin. She must have weighed ninety pounds. I dropped to my scabby knees and hugged her neck. She groaned as I wrapped her in my arms. Her fur was warm and silky.
I pulled back and scratched her ears. “Nice to meet you, Beulah. How long have you had her?”
“About a month,” Streeter said.
“She’s gorgeous. I love bloodhounds. They’re great pets.”
“Good, because she’s yours.”
“Mine?”
“Like I said, she’s my peace offering to you since we started off on the wrong foot,” Streeter said, handing me Beulah’s lead. “A gift.”
I was overwhelmed by the gesture.
My heart flipped.
I loved dogs and I had always wanted a bloodhound. I couldn’t believe Agent Pierce had bought me a dog. How did he know how often I’d lain awake this past month worrying about how I’d feel going back into that house? My house. In Fort Collins. The house where my friend Lisa Henry had been murdered.
I turned back toward Streeter, my grin wide.
“Beulah was Special Agent Lisa Henry’s dog.”
My grin faded. It wasn’t a dog he had bought for me. It was a dog he was palming off on me. But after a moment of thought and shaking off what I thought was a fairy tale ending, I realized that just made it even better. Lisa’s dog would keep me company.
“Beulah’s been staying with me ever since … well, for the past month or so. Beulah’s a professional, a trained dog.”
“Trained for what?” I asked, wondering what this heap of lovable cuddle could possibly be trained to do well other than slumber and drool.
“Beulah’s a trailing dog,” he explained, kneeling beside her and roughing her loose skin with a friendly pat. “She tracks humans. Escaping criminals, lost kids, even finds cadavers.”
It was hard to imagine this dog’s accomplishments or energy as I watched her amble up from her sitting position to stand between us. She laid her nose on my thigh and nudged my hand. I stroked Beulah’s head and scratched her ears as she stared at me with her sad, droopy eyes.
“Beulah,” I said, “you’re a beauty.”
“Come on. We’ll take you home so you can both get some sleep,” Streeter said, rising to his feet.
“Home? So, she’s really mine to keep? She’s retired?”
Agent Pierce’s impish grin reappeared as he walked the dog to the car and coaxed her into the backseat, waving to someone and saying, “Thanks for bringing her up.” He turned to me and by way of explanation added, “The agent who had brought Beulah up here tonight.”
“At your insistence,” I guessed.
“Precisely.”
“And you knew I’d accept this responsibility? Just like that?”
“She’s a peace offering. And, yes, I was hoping you would.”
We stood staring at one another for a long moment. I wondered how long I’d been out of it to allow Streeter time to call someone, retrieve a dog, and drive her up to me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Agent Blysdorf padding back from the office and toward Jens’s truck. He flashed me a smile and a wink and slid behind the wheel.
“What’s he doing?”
“I told you. We’re taking you home. He’s driving the truck. And I’m driving you.”
Before I could even think about it, the words tumbled from me, “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to kick you out of Jens’s house. I was just—”
He touched my lips with his finger and time froze. The acceptance of my apology was offered in a twinkle of his eyes and he pulled away from me far too abruptly.
“She’s not retired,” Streeter explained, pulling a book and file from the dashboard of the car and handing it to me. “She needs a new handler. Everything you need to know is in there.”
“But I don’t know how to train a dog to track,” I argued, not fully grasping the change from owning a new pet that I already loved to caring for a professional working dog in a world I knew nothing about.
“We’re not worried about you training her,” he said, heading for the door again. “We’re worried about how well Beulah’s going to train you.”
My mouth slacked open.
Streeter laughed. “There’s been a lot of talk at the bureau over the past month. Beulah is an important part of the FBI family. And she meant the world to Agent Henry, who was an even more important part of our family.”
Streeter fell in behind the wheel of the Pontiac, waiting for me to climb in on the passenger’s side.
“So why me?” I said walking around the car.
Agent Blysdorf had the window of Jens’s pickup rolled down. His smile softened. “Because Special Agent Streeter Pierce thought you would be the best one in the world to care for Beulah.”
I felt myself sliding into an emotional avalanche.
“But I don’t deserve her,” I managed to say before my voice cracked.
“Streeter thought you did. He went to bat for you to become her handler, despite the bureau’s opposition. Nothing against you, Liv, just that you’re not bureau. But Streeter argued that you solved the De Milo case, and after last night, who could argue with him?”
A lump filled my throat, tears burned in my eyes. “Thank you!”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Streeter,” he said, giving me a wave and rolling up his window.
I made my way to the passenger seat of the Pontiac, unable to hold back a few tears that leaked from the corner of my eyes.
“Are you okay?” Streeter asked, concern etched in his face.
“Happy tears.”
Happy that I was alive. Happy to own a bloodhound. Happy to know somewhere Lisa was smiling down at me, thankful that I was Beulah’s new housemate. Happy that I wasn’t going home alone to my house in Fort Collins. Happy that Streeter thought enough of me to give me the gift of Beulah.
Happy that Streeter believes in me.
THE END
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
Lot’s return to Sodom Page 34