Suddenly the boat engine roared and Ren heard the craft cut toward them.
“Run,” he shouted.
Charlie hiked her pants into place and leaped ahead of him toward the path back to the shelter, zipping and buttoning as she went. She was also laughing hysterically.
At the shelter, they finally stopped, breathless.
“Dude, what did I tell you? Totally awesome.” She hit his arm with her fist, hard. “You are such a wuss. Know what? I feel like getting high.”
She grabbed the flashlight from Ren and leaped onto the picnic table in the shelter. She shined the light along the rafter and pulled down the cigar box bound with a rubber band.
“Here.” She handed the box to Ren. “Roll a spliff. I’m too electric.”
Ren sat down on the cement table and opened the box. He took out the Baggie of weed and the papers.
“Dude, what do you think was up down there?” She paced, as if walking off the rush.
“I told you. It was Pressie. That was his eye of fire. You better be careful. He’s seen you. He knows you. He’ll come for you.”
Charlie howled, not a laugh but an actual howl like a wolf. She was full of the old Charlie energy, and Ren was glad to see it. He became intent on the work of his hands.
“Dude, kill the light.”
The quiet intensity of her voice made Ren look up. Charlie stood still, facing downriver toward the lake.
“Turn the light off,” she said, a little desperately this time.
Ren obeyed. He stared where she stared, and then he saw what she saw. A beam of light scanning its way up the path they’d just followed.
“Jesus, you really pissed somebody off.”
“Pressie?” There was still a touch of devilment in her voice.
“Let’s get out of here,” Ren said.
“I hear you.”
He threw everything back into the cigar box, slipped the rubber band in place, and stood on the tabletop, reaching toward the rafter. He thought he had it in place, but when he let go, the box fell to the ground.
“Come on,” Charlie growled.
The light was less than fifty yards down the path. Ren kicked the box under a pile of leaves in a corner of the shelter and ran for his bike. Charlie was already mounted.
They heard the heavy footfall of boots pounding rapidly toward them on the path. They shot off, pedaling hard for the main road. When they reached the bridge, they finally risked a look back. The light was gone.
“Guess nobody ever mooned them before,” Ren said.
“Screw ‘em if they can’t take a joke.”
“Want to come home with me?”
“Naw, my old man’s probably asleep by now. I’ll be okay.”
“Take the bike.”
“Okay.” She didn’t move. “Ren?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for…you know.”
“Sure.”
He watched her head into town, and felt something immeasurably sad in seeing her go, knowing what she was heading home to.
Ren’s father was dead, but despite what people said, he’d never been a drunk, nor had he ever laid a hand on his son. Even in death, he’d left something precious behind for Ren.
If Charlie’s old man were to die, all he’d leave behind was an empty bottle and a huge sigh of relief.
8
Jewell woke early and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling while big tears rolled down the sides of her face. Sunday mornings were still hard, maybe always would be. Often on Sunday mornings, she’d awakened to Daniel slipping quietly from the bed. He would go to the bathroom, shave, brush his teeth, run a comb through his long black hair, and come back to bed smelling of aftershave. He’d press himself gently against her, nuzzle the nape of her neck, cup her breast. Usually she was already awake, but she liked to pretend she was still sleeping, let him believe he had to wake her, coax her to his pleasure. But, oh, it was her pleasure, too. She looked forward to those mornings that began with lovemaking. She adored being loved by her husband, and she loved him fiercely in return.
She had never much considered the other side of love, thinking vaguely that if love were gone, what was left was sadness or perhaps simply emptiness. It surprised her to find there was no emptiness, that many emotions rushed in to fill her heart along with the sadness. Self-pity. Bitterness. Anger. Sometimes even hate.
Sunday mornings, it was often loneliness, and that’s what held her in its grip as she lay crying silently, dreading the day.
At last she drew back the covers and planted her feet on the floor. Once summer was past, the floorboards were cold. Her father, who’d built all the cabins himself, didn’t believe in carpeting. Although many rooms had an area rug, hand-loomed or -braided, to add a splash of color, mostly the floors were left bare to show off the beautiful grain of the polished maple.
In the kitchen, she began coffee dripping, then sat down at the table and lit a cigarette. She’d given up smoking when she was pregnant with Ren; she’d gone back to it after Daniel was murdered. Mornings, she often sat like this, alone with a cigarette and her coffee, waiting for the dawn.
She’d always been an early riser, but it seemed that no matter how early she got up Daniel was up before her, the coffee made, the good aroma filling the cabin along with her husband’s whistling, which was generally cheerful and a little off-key. She’d find him in the kitchen at work on breakfast making blueberry pancakes or waffles, of which he was duly proud. His specialty, though, was omelets with wild rice and Gouda cheese.
Now breakfasts were usually cold cereal and juice.
The walkie-talkie on the kitchen counter crackled to life.
“This is Cork. Anybody there?”
Jewell held off for a few seconds, taking her time putting out her cigarette, savoring just a bit longer the feel of her aloneness before picking up the unit to reply. “Go ahead.”
“Sorry to bother you, Jewell. I saw a light on. This is a little embarrassing but my bedpan’s full.”
“I’ll be right there.”
She threw on a robe and slippers, picked up her medical bag, and headed to Cabin 3. Cork was sitting up, the curtains above his bunk opened to the gray light of early morning.
“I’d have emptied it myself,” he said, “but I’m plugged into this damned IV.”
“If you think you can walk a little, I’ll put you on an oral antibiotic.” She emptied the bedpan, washed her hands, then removed the IV needle. She took his pulse and checked the bag that collected the drainage from the wound in his thigh.
“You seem to be healing nicely,” she said.
“My saving grace: I heal good.”
“Hungry?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“I’ll bring you some breakfast.” She looked down at him and made no move to leave. “But first I want to know exactly what’s going on. I want to know names: who shot you and why. And at the end, I want to be convinced that there’s no way Ren and I could be in any danger.”
“It’s complicated,” Cork said.
“Give it a try.”
“Pull up a chair then.”
When she was seated next to the bunk, she said, “Go ahead.”
“It began ten days ago,” Cork told her. “Someone ambushed me on the Iron Lake Reservation outside Aurora. I lost a piece of my earlobe. One of my deputies was badly wounded. A couple of days later a businessman from Chicago was brutally murdered at a place called Mercy Falls, not far from town. His name was Eddie Jacoby, and he was not a good man. The Jacoby family turned out to be wealthy and powerful, and headed by one hell of a bastard named Lou.
“Lou Jacoby had a second son. His name was Ben. A long time ago Ben Jacoby had been in love with my wife.”
“With Jo? How long ago?”
“Back in law school,” Cork replied. “As I began to uncover more and more truths about the incidents in Aurora, I became more and more convinced Ben Jacoby was responsible for the ambush on the rez.�
�
“He wanted Jo? And-what?-he was willing to kill you to get her?”
“That’s how it looked to me. Then someone planted a bomb in my car that could have killed me or anyone else in the family, so I sent Jo and the kids away. They went to Evanston, Illinois, to stay with Jo’s sister, Rose. Turned out that was just a hop, skip, and jump from Ben Jacoby’s home in Winnetka.”
“Coincidence?”
“I’ve never been a believer in coincidence.”
“So naturally you thought this Ben Jacoby was responsible for the bomb.”
“It seemed like a reasonable conclusion at the time. Then Jo disappeared. She went to meet Ben Jacoby and never came back. I drove to Evanston as fast as I could.”
“You found her?”
“Yes, but not before she was raped.”
“Oh Jesus, Cork. I’m sorry. Was it Ben Jacoby?”
“No. But I’m sure he had a hand in covering up for the son of a bitch who did it. He was murdered before I could talk to him.”
“And now you’re a suspect?”
“Mostly in the mind of Lou Jacoby.”
“Who hired the men who tried to kill you.”
“That’s it.”
“Do you know who killed Ben Jacoby?”
“I’m pretty sure it was the same people who murdered his brother, Eddie.”
“And that would be?”
“Eddie’s wife, a woman named Gabriella. And her brother, Tony Salguero. I think they killed Eddie because he was an abusive husband. He was also rich. And they killed Ben because he knew they did it.”
“How do you prove any of this?”
“I hope the police are pretty well on their way to doing that for me. If they do, I’m hoping it will bring Lou Jacoby to his senses. Until that happens- if it happens-I need to be careful. Lou’s probably got more than a few cops in his pocket, so it’s best I stay off the law enforcement radar, even up here. With this bounty on my head and Lou’s hired guns beating the bushes looking for me, it’s probably wisest just to lie low and let this leg mend.”
Jewell realized she’d been at the edge of her seat. She relaxed and sat back. “They found you in Kenosha. What makes you think they can’t find you here?”
“I made a mistake in Kenosha. I called Jo at her sister’s place. Jacoby’s people must have tapped the line. I won’t make that mistake again. Until this is over, I’m not contacting my family at all. I don’t want them dragged into this.”
“You’ll just leave them in the dark wondering whether you’re alive or lying dead somewhere?” She folded her arms as if she were cold. “You weren’t happy running a burger stand. You had to go and put on a badge again. And now look at you, lying there lucky to be alive while you’re family worries themselves sick over you. Men. You only think about yourselves.”
Cork spoke quietly. “Are you talking about me now, or about Daniel? He put himself at risk and died because of it. The hell with his family. Is that it?”
“He died because of bastard cops.”
“Like me? You think I’m that kind of cop? That kind of man?”
“I don’t know who you are.”
“I’m family, Jewell.”
“You lay a lot on that.”
“Family holds weight.”
“Don’t count on it.” She stood up, prepared to leave. “I’m on at the clinic today. Ren will be here if you need anything.”
“He doesn’t have to stay close. I’m feeling better.”
“You’re still in no shape to move.”
She started for the door.
“Jewell, there’s something else you should know. Someone’s coming here today, a woman named Dina Willner. A friend. To help me.”
She looked back at him, angry. “Someone knows you’re here?”
“I trust her. Twice in the last week she saved my life.”
Jewell shook her head fast. “I don’t care. Somebody knows where you are. I don’t like that. I don’t like any of this.”
“It’ll be over soon, I promise.”
She eyed him coldly. “That’s exactly what Daniel said the last time I saw him alive.”
“Jewell, I left my family because I knew they’d be in danger if I stayed. If I thought you or Ren were in danger, I wouldn’t be here, either.”
“If your thinking has been so good, how come you’re lying there with a bullet hole in your leg?”
“This woman who’s coming, I trust her with my life.”
“And mine. And Ren’s.”
“If you want me gone, I’ll leave now.”
“I should take you up on that, but with that leg you wouldn’t get far.” She’d talked enough, argued enough. She didn’t have the stomach for it anymore. Turning her back to him, she said, “I’ll have Ren bring you something to eat.”
She showered and dressed, got herself ready for the clinic. After that, she began bacon frying and pulled eggs from the refrigerator. She was mixing batter in a bowl when Ren appeared, coming from his room with his hair wild and his eyes still a little glazed.
“I thought I smelled food,” he said.
“Hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“Sit down. I’ll fix you something.” She watched him shuffle to the table, looking in so many ways like his father. “How about blueberry pancakes?”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“That’d be great.”
While she worked at the stove, she spoke to him over her shoulder. “I thought I heard you moving around last night.”
“Remember that cougar track I told you about? I thought I heard him outside.”
“The wind, probably.”
“Something scratched the cabin wall, Mom.”
She turned from the griddle where the pancake batter had just started to bubble. “And you went outside to check?”
“I was curious.”
She pointed her spatula at him. “Ren, I don’t know if that animal is a cougar or bobcat or what, but I don’t want you going out in the middle of the night to find out. At least, don’t do it alone. Wake me up if you’re really scared.”
“I wasn’t scared.”
“Okay, curious. But wake me up. We’ll go together. Promise?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I’ve got to take off for the clinic pretty soon, so after you eat your breakfast, I’d like you to take a tray to Cork. And keep an eye on him for me, okay? If he wants to put a little weight on that leg, let him, but nothing strenuous.”
She served him the blueberry pancakes and bacon. While he ate she finished getting herself ready. She kissed the top of his head on her way out. “Call if you need me.”
“I will.”
He looked up and smiled. Smiled so like his father that she flashed on Daniel in a way that felt like a hard blow to her heart.
“You okay, Mom?”
“Fine, Ren.” She gathered herself and turned to the door. “Be good. Be careful.”
“Always am.”
With a stab of fear she could do nothing about, she thought, Not always.
9
Cork stared at the exposed rafters above his bunk, solid pine logs honey-colored and varnished. They made him think of Jewell’s father, who’d built the cabins himself. He’d been a strong man, straightforward, with a comforting, easy humor that Cork would have thought of as Ojibwe, except that neither of Jewell’s parents was eager to acknowledge that part of their heritage. Both were of mixed blood-Irish on her mother’s side, Swedish on her father’s. They grew up in a time when being Indian only invited problems, so they put forward the white in their blood and turned away from Indian associations. It had been a bit of a sore point between Cork’s mother, who was proud of her Ojibwe heritage, and Jewell’s mother, who was not, but that didn’t keep them from loving each other as sisters should. Across a lot of summers, he’d visited the resort with his mother, creating history. It occurred to him, lying there nearly helpless, that that was much of what fa
mily was about. History. And from history came community. And community was something that spread out beyond itself, resulting in towns and nations. But it all began with family.
Family was why he was lying there with a hole in his leg. Because of the Jacobys, a family unraveled, and his own, a family he was trying desperately to protect. If he’d stayed in Evanston with Jo and the children, they would surely have been in harm’s way. Jacoby had put a half-million-dollar bounty on his head. Five hundred large. For that kind of money, there was a kind of man who wouldn’t hesitate to take out Cork’s whole family to get to him. Leaving them was the smart thing to do.
Wasn’t it?
An eye for an eye. That was the last thing Jacoby had said to him. The man was old, but he was the most dangerous kind of adversary: a guy with nothing to lose. His sons had been murdered and all his money could not change that. No telling the lengths he’d go to in his hunger for vengeance. The idea of a hit, Cork could handle. What worried him most was that Jacoby, in his craziness, might turn his anger toward Jo or the children. In which case, abandoning them might turn out to be the worst thing he could have done.
Cork hammered his fist against the mattress. Damn, what he wouldn’t give to be in the same room with the son of a bitch. Didn’t matter that Jacoby was old: Cork would have loved the chance to beat some sense into him. Instead he lay there helpless, battling two enemies he couldn’t lay a finger on: uncertainty and rage.
Christ, how fucked was that?
The door creaked. He glanced over, expecting Ren with breakfast. It wasn’t.
“Dina,” he said.
The woman who had saved his life on two separate occasions was not very tall. She stood five-four on tiptoe, weighed maybe 120 pounds. She had light brown hair, green eyes, and a face no less lovely than the best Hollywood had to offer. Her name was Dina Willner. She called herself a security consultant, a term that covered a lot of ground.
“Where’d you come from?” he asked. “I didn’t hear a car.”
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