An Ill Wind

by Monette Michaels

  Keely at that point had pointed her finger at Fee and said, “By Monday, you’ll have found a frick-fracking lame excuse not to move here at all. So we’re striking while the iron is hot.”

  Tara had then said, “Your girl is right. I can take you back to Elk City today. It’s on my way home.”

  After being out-argued and out-maneuvered, Fee had given in—because Keely had been on target, Fee would’ve manufactured an excuse not to make the move—still might.

  “No problem. I’m here so use me.” The taller woman looked around the one-room studio that had served as Fee’s home for the last three weeks and grimaced. “What a dump. How could you even stand it?” She turned and stared at Fee. “Are you so scared of a personal relationship with Trey Maddox that you’d rather live here and punish yourself instead of living in comfort on Sanctuary?”

  “Well, I never…” Fee huffed. Tara was outspoken and blunt, that was for sure. “You don’t know me. You don’t know Trey. You know n-n-nothing…” She sputtered to a stop, gasping and trying not to break down and scream or cry or both.

  The emotions she’d buried since her kidnapping and the recent long-distance move were bubbling just under the surface and could explode at any time. She hated feeling out of control; it made her look like a weak, emotional woman.

  “Not true.” Tara lightly touched Fee’s arm as if in apology for being so harsh. “I know you. I’ve been you.”

  Fee gasped. “You?”

  “Yeah, me,” Tara said. “I’ve been stalked … and raped … worse even.”

  God, what could be worse? Fee squeezed Tara’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

  Tara nodded. “Fee … you’re a smart, independent professional woman who feels she should’ve been able to avoid all the violence, all the drama. I felt the same way … but shit happens. You can’t avoid some things. You have to stop beating yourself up and trotting out the ‘if I had only done this’ arguments, and move past it.”

  “How?” asked Fee in a plaintive tone.

  Tara hugged her. “Hey, you’ve already started. You have a great group of gals as a sounding board. Plus you’ve found a man like Trey Maddox. From what I’ve heard so far, he’s the kind of man who’ll be in it for the long haul and will help you work through this. Wish I’d had a man like him after my traumatic experience.”

  Fee backed out of Tara’s hug and observed the strain on the woman’s face. She clutched Tara’s hand and squeezed it. “Thanks … look … if you ever need to talk … I’m willing.”

  Tara grimaced. “Oh, babe, I’ve talked … and talked until I ran out of words. To domestic abuse counselors. To shrinks. I’ve examined what happened to me to death. I’ve even managed a few boyfriends and intimate relations since my ordeal.”

  Well, that was more than Fee had accomplished. Instead of seeking help, Fee had run from Detroit and then from Trey.

  “For the most part, I’m doing good. The aftermath of what happened to me only rears its ugly head now and then.” Tara paused and gave Fee a look filled with empathy. “But for you, your trauma still seems as if it happened yesterday, because your rapist got away with it and is still stalking you. You need justice. Until you get it, you’ll have a hard time getting past the pain and burying the memories. So, tit for tat, I’m here for you. But you also need to share with Trey what you told me and the other gals at lunch. He can’t help you overcome your insecurities and fears if he doesn’t understand all the underlying causes.”

  “Do you have a counseling degree or something?”

  Tara snorted out a laugh. “Or something. It’s called life experience. We might be close in age, but I think I’ve had a lot more experience than you’ve had.”

  Fee nodded. “That wouldn’t be hard. Thanks, for the offer … and, well, everything.”

  Tara was correct Fee needed to work through shit and not just Adam-fucking-Stall, but also the other men who’d made her feel as if she were less than adequate—and that included her father.

  Fee frowned and could hear her father even now yelling at her because she’d run home crying after she’d been bullied at school. “You’re a weak, sniveling coward. Teagues never back down from a fight.” She’d been eight-years-old at the time. The scene had been repeated over the years; no matter how much she accomplished, her father had always belittled her.

  “What caused that look on your face just now?” Tara asked.

  “Daddy issues.” Fee frowned. “He always told me I was a wimp.”

  “Fuck him,” Tara said. “I see a woman who has the inner strength to be a survivor. I bet you’re calm and cool in a crisis, too.”

  “Maybe.” Fee smiled. “Thanks.” She pulled out her big suitcase, put it on the lumpy bed and then started piling her few clothes into it.

  Tara continued to stare at her, a look of concern on her face. “You okay?”

  “Getting there.” Still a bit overwhelmed by Tara and the other gals’ support and manipulations in her personal life, Fee changed the subject. “So-o-o, since you’re here and are willing, could you use one of those boxes over there and pack my toiletries?”

  Fee angled her head toward the pile of boxes she’d used in the move from New Mexico and had never found the time to break down. “I didn’t bring much more than the few clothes I had in New Mexico and a few personal items since this dump was supposedly fully furnished.”

  “Do you think anyone from the hospital has ever set foot in this place?” Tara accepted the change of topic and snorted. Hands on her hips, she looked around the apartment once more. “Furnished apartment? More like Goodwill rejects.”

  Fee laughed. “Pia called it early hovel. If any of the female doctors had seen it, I expect things would’ve been nicer.”

  Or not. After all it was a clinic in the back of the beyond and the medical center didn’t have the kind of money to upgrade the place. She figured they counted on the resident doctor to find and rent his or her own place. The administration had probably been shocked when she’d moved in.

  “Hell, Keely had it cleaned up for me,” Fee added. “I can’t imagine how bad it was before that.”

  “Yeah, clean is always good. Though, torching it would’ve been better.” Tara picked up a box and headed into the bathroom. “Jesus, woman, you travel light. I have a thirteen-year-old cousin who has more stuff than this.”

  “Ha, funny. I’m not much for cosmetics. Don’t really need it for the clinic since many patients are allergic to anything that has scent.” Fee eyed her suitcase which now contained all her clothing. “Most of my clothing and household goods are in storage in Detroit. That’s why I had to buy all those things at the outlet mall.”

  Fee should ask one of her sisters to arrange to ship at least her winter clothing to Idaho. Or maybe she and Price could go to Michigan for a short visit and arrange a long-distance mover to bring all her things to Idaho.

  And visit dear old dad?

  Or maybe not.

  Fee zipped up her suitcase and rolled it to the door. “I’ll take this down to my car and then come back and pack my books and electronics. With what you’re packing, that’ll be the whole of it.”

  “Okay,” Tara shouted from the small bathroom. “I can help with the other stuff once I finish packing this box. Then I’ll help you carry the boxes down.”

  “Thanks,” Fee called over her shoulder, then bumped her rolling suitcase down the rickety outdoor staircase. Thank God, she wouldn’t have to make this trip too many more times. This staircase was an accident-waiting-to-happen.

  When she reached the ground, she tugged at the suitcase as it got stuck on the last step. Swearing under her breath, she turned and dislodged the loose board that had caught on the wheels and made a note to tell Tara to watch it when they came down later with the boxes. Then still looking at the ground for any other obstacles, she turned and walked into a wall of bad-smelling flesh, muscle, and bone.

  Fee inhaled sharply and instantly regretted it. The smell was worse the secon
d time around. She’d autopsied corpses during medical school that smelled better than this. Whoever this was had needed a bath days, no, weeks ago.

  Still she had run into him. So—“Excuse me, I’m so…” She looked up, saw the gun in the man’s hand, and stuttered, “…s-sor-r-y.” Her primitive brain told her to scream and run, but her body wasn’t cooperating.

  Staring down at her, a nasty grin on his dirty, stringy-bearded face, the man she’d run into said, “You the doc?”

  Fee nodded as she finally moved, only to back into her suitcase and almost fall over it. He really did smell. He was also scary. His grin was definitely not of the relieved-to-find-medical-assistance kind, but more of the I’m-a-bad-ass-mother-fucker kind. The gun he’d pointed at her chest underlined the latter interpretation.

  The mountain man—because he was huge and dressed for roughing it in the wild—caught her arm and kept her from falling on her butt.

  Her “thanks” was automatic. So was tugging at her arm to get him to let go.

  “Teeny little thing, ain’t ya?” He didn’t release her as his smile grew wider to display a mouth full of stained, rotten teeth and diseased, bleeding gums. He either had really poor dental hygiene or was a crystal meth user. Or possibly both.

  Fee disregarded his comment on her size. Maybe she was overreacting and he was only here to seek medical help. She eyed him and found no obvious injuries, just a lot of dirt.

  And a big gun? Aimed at you.

  “A-r-re you injured? S-s-sick?” Fee couldn’t keep her fear out of her voice. She forced herself to focus on his face and not the big black gun. She forced herself to ignore his blatant leer. His eyes were dilated, so much so she was hard-pressed to say what color his eyes were. He blinked a lot, and his body moved constantly.

  Shit, shit, shit. If he wasn’t a meth addict, she’d turn in her brand-spanking-new Idaho medical license and take up knitting.

  A bad situation had just gotten dangerous. Meth users tended toward paranoia and wild mood swings, depending on when they’d had their last hit.

  Fee tugged at the arm he still held, but he didn’t release her. Her heart rate went into overdrive and she struggled to breathe past the tightness in her throat.

  Her captor laughed at her puny efforts to escape his touch as he dragged her toward the front of the clinic. The door stood wide open. The broken door jamb was evidence that the man had pried the door open. So much for clinic security.

  “I ain’t the one needin’ doctorin’. Need ya to look at my brother,” her dirty captor said. “He’s been shot. You fix him.”

  Gunshot wound? Her captor’s suspected meth use? She recalled something Tara had mentioned earlier about meth cookers living in the wilds of the national forest. And what were the odds these guys would find their way to her clinic?

  Somewhere, in her past, her karma had gotten extremely fucked up.

  Swallowing hard, Fee prayed her voice wouldn’t tremble as much as her knees. “Yes, of course, I’ll help your brother.” She used the soothing voice she used on all injured patients—and their concerned friends and relatives.

  She didn’t want to startle this guy in any way. So far he’d seemed to be dealing with reality and merely wanted medical help for his brother. She could do that. Then maybe he’d take his gun and brother and go away.

  But first, she needed him to let go of her arm.

  And point the gun elsewhere. And lose the leering looks.

  Fee refused to carry that last thought any further until the man actually became a clear and present danger.

  Head in the sand much? Well, what about Tara—in her uniform shirt with a gun on her hip? Think he’ll ignore her when she comes to find you?

  Fee’s blood ran cold. If this guy saw a uniform and a gun, he could easily turn violent and harm them both. She’d seen it happen too many times in the ER. Cops plus drug users equaled chaos and usually more patients for her to fix.

  “Um, could you shut the door, please?” she asked after they entered the reception area. “We don’t want any wild animals attracted to the smell of blood coming inside. I heard there are bears in the area.”

  “Yeah, that’s why Zeke got shot.” After dragging her farther into the small reception room, the man kicked at the door until it closed part way. “We kilt us a bear for some meat, then some assholes chased us away from our kill. Then the fuckers found and tromped all over our camp and called the rangers on us. Had us a shoot out when we circled back to camp.”

  Holy shit. He just confessed to at least two crimes, three if they were cooking meth in that camp. Not good. Then it hit her, these were the guys that Trey had left this morning to investigate. Did she have an ill wind following her around?

  “Well, that’s none of my business.” With her pulse pounding like an air hammer, Fee forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Once again she tried to tug her arm away from his grimy grip. “I can’t help your brother,” she rasped out the words, her mouth as dry as a desert, “um—help Zeke—with you holding onto me.”

  As if he’d heard his name, a man groaned piteously from her only exam room which was immediately off the reception area. The door was partially open. “I may need you to assist me in helping with Zeke. My name’s Dr. Teague. What’s yours?”

  Asking for his help had a two-fold purpose. First, it gave his drug-fogged mind something to concentrate on other than fixating on her or his need for a fix. He seemed genuinely concerned about his brother. Second, she wanted to give Tara time to get away and call for help. The ranger had to have heard the man’s painful groans through the floor. There was no insulation in the clinic ceiling at all.

  “I’m Bo. Get moving. That-aways, Abe can check out the other broad upstairs.” The man cackled as if he’d told a joke.

  Fee wasn’t laughing. They knew about Tara. Her gut clenched. She prayed Tara had heard and was away from here and calling for help by now.

  Gun now pointing at her head, Bo shoved her toward the exam room just as a man cried out, “Bo, where the fuck are ya? Get the fuckin’ doc in here. I’m hurtin’, man.”

  “Hold onto your dick, Zeke. The doc’s comin’ in now.” Bo followed on her heels as she entered the small room.

  Another tall man just as dirty, smelly, and unkempt as Bo stood over the examination table where Bo’s brother lay.

  “Abe, you go on and get that other woman,” Bo ordered. “Bring her down here where we can keep an eye on her.”

  “Hell, yeah.” Abe stripped Fee with a single, encompassing glance as he brushed past her to leave the room. “Hope, she’s as good-lookin’ as the doc. I ain’t had me a piece of choice ass in some time.”

  “The doc’s off-limits,” Bo said. “For now.”

  Immediate, stomach-churning fear twisted her insides into a frigid knot. Then just as quickly, the knot was seared away by a rage so strong, she was amazed smoke hadn’t risen from her skin.

  Adrenaline poured into her bloodstream. No way. No how. She refused to be a victim. Not a-fucking-gain. She’d fight the bastards to death and into hell if she had to. They were on her turf now and she’d defend herself.

  Scalpels are sharp.

  Yeah, they were. Plus, she knew exactly where to cut or stab to do the most damage. She’d do what she had to do in order to survive and deal with the aftermath later. Survival trumped the Hippocratic Oath.

  Trey will be around to support you this time.

  Yeah, he would. That thought made her feel even stronger.

  “For now. Gotcha.” Abe smirked and pointed a shaky finger at Bo—and tried to wink, but failed. His eyes were almost all-pupil. He also displayed visible signs of being a meth addict, but for a longer time than Bo or Zeke. Abe’s skin was covered in open sores which complemented his missing teeth and raw, bleeding gums.

  While Bo was nominally the leader, Abe was the most dangerous of the three.

  “I looked around a bit.” Abe’s feral stare made her feel unclean. “The doc’s got a drug
safe. One of the old-style ones with no timer. Bettin’ there’s some good shit inside it. Once she fixes Zeke, maybe we can get her to open it for us.”

  “Fine idea. Now get a move on, Abe. Don’t let the other bitch get away.”

  Abe threw Bo a deathly glare as he stomped out of the exam room, leaving the door wide open, and then exited the clinic with a slammed door.

  Tara had to have heard Abe’s exit.

  Fee feared for her new friend’s life. If the ranger hadn’t heard what was going on, Fee needed to warn her in some other way, without getting killed herself.

  Bo shoved Fee toward the examination table. “Get to work, doc.”

  “Of course.” She looked around to find a way to make some extra noise to alert Tara. “Bo?”

  “Yeah?” He stared at her chest and smiled before moving his wild-eyed gaze to her hair. “Like me a red-haired woman. You a true red-head, doc?” He zeroed in on the juncture of her thighs and snickered. “I’m bettin’ you are.”

  Fee clenched her jaw against a whimper. She’d love to have the guts to kick the bastard in the balls, but Bo still had a gun and Zeke was watching her like a cat watched a mouse. His wound was in a shoulder, so while in pain, he was still mobile and dangerous. She’d never get away with it.

  Patience.

  “Bo … could you push that cart closer to the table?” She indicated the one she wanted and then moved to wash her cold, shaking hands and put on gloves.

  “Sure.” The man ambled to the cart whose wheels she and Pia hadn’t gotten around to oiling. The racket it made when moved was enough to wake the dead, let alone alert Tara.

  While the cart clanked and screeched its way across the room, Fee positioned herself on the side of the exam table which allowed her to see into the reception area. This served to keep Bo’s back to the doorway.

  “Damn, woman. Ain’t you got any oil?” Bo kicked at the cart, making even more noise.

  “No.” She bit her lip, holding back the insane urge to giggle at his incredulous look, and focused, instead, on the dirty white towel someone had secured on Zeke’s shoulder wound. She unwrapped the towel which had been soiled with God only knew what before being pressed against the bloody wound.