Her Silent Spring

by Melinda Woodhall

“Come listen to the interview,” he coaxed. “Sokolov is no Amber Sloan. He’s a professional. If he talks, it’ll be legit.”

  Nessa allowed the detective to lead her down the hall and into the viewing room next to Room 3.

  Through the one-way glass, they could see Riley Odell’s trim figure sitting across the table from Ivan Sokolov’s massive frame. The big man overshadowed his lawyer, Eugene Wexler, who sat beside him, writing notes on a legal pad.

  “Tell Riley to ask him about Sky Lake,” Nessa murmured.

  She was suddenly sure the man who’d worked so closely with Diablo and the Syndicate must know about Locke and his dealings in Sky Lake. It was highly likely he knew Mack, as well.

  And now that Amber was no longer in play, Sokolov may be their only link to the man they needed to find before he struck again.

  Ramirez turned to leave the room, but Nessa stopped him.

  “Scratch that,” she said. “I think I’ll ask him myself.”

  Knocking on the interview room door, Nessa opened it and stepped inside. She nodded at Riley, who immediately played along, acting as if she’d been expecting the chief of police to stop by.

  “Mr. Sokolov, you’re looking well,” Nessa said, sliding into the chair beside Riley. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

  “Chief Ainsley, I have to say you’re looking tired,” Sokolov replied. “I guess the Syndicate is keeping you busy.”

  Nessa dropped the smile.

  “What do you know about Sky Lake, Kentucky?”

  Sokolov’s eyes brightened, and he inclined his head.

  “Good work, Chief Ainsley. I’m surprised you were able to track down Mack without my help.”

  “You don’t have to answer her questions,” Eugene Wexler said. “I advise you not to say anything further. They’ll use it against you.”

  The lawyer pursed his lips in disapproval, as if he already knew his client wasn’t going to listen to his advice.

  “You must have gotten someone else to talk,” Sokolov said, as if Wexler hadn’t spoken. “Maybe someone who ended up on last night’s news. Am I right?”

  Keeping her face blank, Nessa felt her heart sink. Somehow Ivan Sokolov knew what was going on outside the jail. He knew that Mack was working with the Syndicate, and that he was a dangerous man.

  The question is, will Sokolov be willing to turn on him.

  Nessa looked at Riley, who’d managed to keep her expression neutral, then sighed, and sat back in her chair.

  “Okay, so you’ve got my attention.”

  Not wanting to waste time playing games, she decided to be blunt.

  “You know Mack, and we want to find him. You want to get out of prison before hell freezes over, and Ms. Odell can make that happen.”

  Riley stiffened beside her as Sokolov laughed.

  “It’s very simple then.”

  He raised a big hand to stop Wexler’s protest.

  “You drop the trafficking charges against me, and I tell your little task force who Mack really is, and where you can find him.”

  Reaching out to put a warning hand on Nessa’s arm, Riley stood and looked down into the big man’s amused face.

  “I’m sure you’re getting hungry, Mr. Sokolov,” she said. “We’ll take a break and I’ll have someone bring you some lunch.”

  She turned and left the room, pulling Nessa along with her. When the door shut behind them, Riley spun to face Nessa.

  “Are you crazy? We can’t make that kind of deal with him.”

  Ramirez emerged from the viewing room as Nessa held up a placating hand. Both the older detective and the state prosecutor stared at Nessa with wide eyes.

  “We have a predator who’s attacked one of our own,” Nessa replied, pushing away her doubts. “Our first priority has to be finding the man who attacked Peyton and bringing him to justice.”

  “Dropping charges against Sokolov will mean the release of another predator into our community,” Riley countered.

  A hesitant voice sounded behind Nessa. Andy Ford stood in the hall, his freckled face was flushed, and he seemed agitated.

  “There’s a Sheriff Archer Holt from Sky Lake, Kentucky in the lobby,” the young officer said. “I told him you weren’t available, but he’s raising quite a fuss.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “Sheriff Holt? I’m Chief Ainsley, how may I help you?”

  Nessa stared at the big man in front of her. Dressed in a tan uniform and thick leather holster, he stood over six-feet tall and looked to be built of solid muscle.

  Removing his wide brimmed hat, Holt lowered his head in greeting. When he spoke, his southern accent was even more pronounced than her own.

  “I’m sorry to barge in here, Chief Ainsley, but I need your assistance.” He glared at Andy Ford, then looked back to Nessa. “If we could talk in private?”

  “I’m in the middle of a homicide investigation, and one of my detective’s is fighting for her life in the hospital,” Nessa replied, her voice cold. “So, at this particular moment I don’t have the bandwidth to assist any other department. Especially one in another state.”

  Holt’s face hardened.

  “There’s a man in this town named Frankie Dawson that’s a person of interest in a homicide in Sky Lake. All I’m asking is for you to bring him in for questioning. I’ll take it from there.”

  The door to the back opened, and Jankowski stepped out. He crossed to Nessa and cocked his head.

  “Everything okay here, Chief?”

  “I was just getting ready to explain to Sheriff Holt that Willow Bay is not part of his jurisdiction,” Nessa said, keeping her eyes on Holt. “And if he’d like to question someone in the area, he’ll need to work through the proper channels.”

  Moving closer, Jankowski nodded.

  “That sounds reasonable to me, Sheriff Holt,” the big detective said. “So, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve-”

  “I’ve flown all the way down here to talk to Frankie Dawson,” Holt erupted, his voice booming through the lobby. “And I’ve got a charter flight waiting for us at the Windy Harbor Airfield north of town.”

  Nessa put out a hand to stop Jankowski from moving any closer to Sheriff Holt. She wasn’t about to let a brawl start in her station.

  “Unless you’ve got a warrant for arrest issued by a judge, you have no right to detain Frankie Dawson, or to take him anywhere.”

  She pointed to the door.

  “Now, I suggest you get back on your plane and fly home and let us get on with our investigation.”

  “I’m leaving,” Holt said, backing toward the door. “But you haven’t heard the last of me.”

  As the door closed behind him, Nessa turned to Jankowski.

  “We need to find Frankie Dawson.”

  “Why?” Jankowski asked. “You aren’t really going to listen to Holt and bring him in for questioning, are you?”

  Nessa sighed and shook her head.

  “No, but I want to make sure he gets over to Willow Bay General without any trouble,” she said. “I want him to get to Peyton before it’s too late.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Peyton drifted in the heavy darkness, listening to the faint voice calling to her. The voice sounded familiar, and she wanted to know where it was coming from, but it seemed so far away, and she was so very tired. It would be so easy to sink back into the cocoon of darkness. So easy to just let go.

  But the voice wouldn’t let her. It wouldn’t go away. Struggling to focus on the deep, soothing sound, she began to make out the words.

  “I’m here, Peyton,” the voice said, now close to her ear. “It’s me, Frankie. You know, the guy that flew a thousand miles to see you.”

  The image of a man’s thin face formed in the darkness, and Peyton strained to reach him, but her limbs were too heavy to move.

  Frankie, where are you…where am I?

  The words swirled in her head, trapped inside the darkness with her, echoing through her.


  “Of course, I’d have come even if it had been a million miles,” Frankie murmured. “I’d go around the whole damn world for you.”

  Peyton willed her eyes to open, but they were glued shut. The effort was too much, and she began to melt into the nothingness around her. Then he spoke again, calling her back.

  Concentrating on Frankie’s voice, she became aware of heat on her skin. It was his hand on hers. His touch was solid and real; an anchor keeping her from drifting away again.

  “I think she can hear me, Barker,” Frankie said. “I know she can.”

  A deeper voice answered Frankie. Pete Barker’s frightened eyes floated through her mind, and Peyton saw him aiming a gun at the man behind her. A jolt of fear passed through her, then another voice sounded above her, and the image flickered out.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s time for her medication.”

  The heat from Frankie’s hand fell away, and Peyton sent out a silent cry, begging him not to go.

  “I’ll be back soon,” Frankie whispered in her ear. “I promise.”

  Pushing back against the dark, Peyton struggled to open her eyes. She was startled to see a flash of light, and the blur of a white figure bustling around her.

  She blinked and tried to focus on the woman’s face. It was a nurse. The woman didn’t seem to notice she was awake as she held an IV bag up and hung it on a pole next to the bed.

  Peyton could see a long tube hanging down, and she followed it with her eyes, seeing that it was attached to her hand. The nurse checked a machine by the bed, then made a few notes on the chart.

  Her eyes grew heavy, and Peyton had to close them as the nurse picked up her hand and checked the taping that held the tube in place.

  The squeak, squeak, squeak of rubber soled shoes on the tiled floor, and the soft click of the door shutting, let Peyton know the nurse had left the room.

  But whatever medicine the nurse had administered was dragging Peyton back into the dark, and she’d almost drifted away again when she heard the metallic scrape of the doorknob turning.

  Once again forcing her eyes open, Peyton stared toward the door, hoping Frankie and Barker had returned. Instead she saw a man peer into the room. The man took a furtive look over his shoulder before letting his eyes dart toward her bed.

  Memories of the night before came crashing back. The same cold eyes had stared down at her as she’d fallen to the floor at her attacker’s feet. He’d wanted her to die, and now he was here in the hospital looking at her with those same hateful eyes.

  The surge of fear and adrenaline sent Peyton’s heart racing; the machine by her bed began emitting a high-pitched ping, ping, ping.

  Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and then the nurse was back, followed by Frankie and Barker.

  They all stared down at her with eager eyes as she fought to keep her eyes open, desperate to tell them that her attacker was in the hospital. That he’d been outside her room.

  But the inexorable pull of the medicine was too strong, and Peyton felt herself sinking back into the darkness.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “Peyton? Can you hear me?”

  A nurse stood over her bed, looking down with an inquisitive smile. The woman’s blonde ponytail and blue eyes reminded Peyton of a Barbie doll.

  “Hello, I’m Becky,” the nurse said, moving closer when she saw that Peyton’s eyes were open. “You don’t have to talk. It’s probably best if you save your strength.”

  Nodding her head slightly, Peyton saw a flash of movement by the door and looked across the room with frightened eyes.

  “You have a visitor, if you feel up to it.”

  Becky gestured toward Veronica Lee, who stood in the corridor.

  Peyton nodded again, and Becky waved Veronica inside.

  “She needs her rest, so I have to ask that you keep the visit short.”

  Making sure the call button was close by, the nurse left, and Veronica pulled up a chair by the bed.

  “I’m glad you’re on the mend,” Veronica said, taking a deep breath. “And I just wanted to thank you for trying to find Misty Bradshaw. I know you went to Amber’s place to look for her, and that’s where you were attacked.”

  Peyton stared up at Veronica, suddenly remembering what her attacker had said as she’d tried to fight him off.

  “You’re even stronger than Misty…she fought back, too.”

  She closed her eyes against the memory.

  That’s why Misty Bradshaw disappeared. She was one of his victims.

  The thought sent a sharp stab of regret through Peyton.

  “You almost lost your life trying to save her,” Veronica said as Peyton’s mind spun with the realization that Misty was dead.

  “He killed…her.”

  The words came out as a raw whisper, and Veronica stared down at Peyton in surprise.

  “Did you say…”

  “The man who attacked me…he said he…killed Misty.”

  Angry tears stung Peyton’s eyes as she watched Veronica trying to absorb the fact that Misty was gone. The anger gave her energy. Or maybe the drugs were starting to wear off.

  Whatever it was, Peyton was starting to feel stronger, and she lifted a hand and pointed toward the door.

  “He was here in the hospital,” she said, straining to be heard.

  “Who was here?” Veronica asked.

  But Peyton’s throat tightened, and she began to cough.

  Picking up a cup of water, Veronica held it to Peyton’s mouth, allowing her to take small sips that felt like heaven on her dry throat.

  “Frankie’s downstairs,” Veronica said, as Peyton drank. “He flew all the way from Sky Lake as soon as he could. And Detective Vanzinger’s been guarding your door most of the day.”

  “No, the man who attacked me,” Peyton finally managed to say. “He was here in the hospital. He was right outside my door.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Mack slipped off the elevator and headed straight for the hospital exit. After Frankie Dawson and Pete Barker had come dangerously close to finding him outside Peyton Bell’s room earlier, he’d spent the next hour hiding in the empty patient room across the hall.

  Expecting to be discovered at any minute by the big red-headed detective standing guard outside, Mack had hovered behind the door of the darkened room, peeking out into the corridor, and waiting for an opportunity to sneak away.

  When the elevator doors had opened to reveal a slender woman with long dark hair, Mack had immediately recognized her as the woman he’d seen in Sky Lake. She’d been walking with the girl who looked like Summer. The angel that had come back to Sky Lake after all these years.

  He’d listened with rapt attention as the woman checked into the visitor’s desk. She’d given her name as Veronica Lee and said she’d come to visit Peyton Bell.

  Seeing that the detective on guard was nowhere in sight, Mack had taken the chance to slip away.

  He now walked quickly to the white van and climbed inside, trying to piece together what he’d seen. The dark-haired woman must be working with the two private investigators, the local police, and maybe even the FBI.

  Taking out his phone, Mack opened his web browser and tapped Veronica Lee into the search field. As the results loaded, he scanned the listings.

  The woman was a reporter with Channel Ten News. She worked with Hunter Hadley, the pushy male reporter who had been nosing around Sky Lake.

  Mack clicked on Veronica’s latest report and waited for the video to load. He saw her standing outside Amber Sloan’s apartment as police officers and crime scene techs scurried around behind her.

  “This is Veronica Lee with Channel Ten News and I’m reporting from the scene of a homicide outside the Fox Hollow Apartments.”

  Tapping on the screen to stop the video, Mack tried to think.

  Why was Veronica Lee visiting Peyton Bell? Had the detective woken up? Is she providing a description of me right now?

  Mack imagined a composite drawi
ng of his face displayed on Veronica Lee’s next Channel Ten report, and a cold voice spoke in his head, causing his hands to tighten around the steering wheel.

  You’re not going to be able to get yourself out of this one, are you Mack? But maybe that’s for the best. Maybe fate is giving you a sign.

  He pictured Veronica Lee walking next to the lovely girl who looked so much like Summer. Maybe the girl could finally be his, the way Summer never had been. She could be his muse, his angel.

  Suddenly the voice was back, and it was louder this time.

  All you have to do is find her and take her. It’s what you were raised to do. It’s what your daddy and Donnie would do if they were still alive. It’s what fate is telling you to do.

  Starting the engine of the white van, Mack looked again at the search results on his phone, scrolling until he saw the address.

  It was time to find his angel and fly away.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The house on Marigold Lane basked in the warm spring sun as Mack drove past. The only movement came from a plump, orange tabby cat curled up in the front window.

  Circling around the neighborhood, Mack parked the cargo van a block away, and skirted behind the row of houses. He stopped outside the fence that enclosed the backyard and listened.

  Someone was humming softly on the other side. The voice was light and feminine, and Mack was suddenly sure the girl was in there, waiting for him. Following the fence around to the gate, he pulled down on the latch and inched it open.

  The girl’s small figure knelt beside a colorful bed of flowers, as a thick braid of silvery hair hung down her back. Mack’s heart began to gallop in his chest at the sight. She was so lovely, and she was right in front of him, waiting to be his.

  Lifting a big fist, he knocked on the gate.

  “Excuse me, Miss?”

  The girl turned to him with wide green eyes.

  “Sorry to bother you, but do you own an orange tabby cat?”

  Instant concern filled the girl’s lovely face, and she nodded.

  “Yes, we do. I thought he was inside, but…”

  “Well, a cat’s been hurt one street over. The neighbor said it might live here, and I thought you’d want to know.”