Brett continued in the same direction and stopped when the GPS displayed “you are at ground zero.”
Really? He didn’t see anything that looked like a cache box. He unzipped his backpack and took out his flashlight. It wasn’t dark, but the dense cluster of trees blocked the sun’s light. He shone a light under the brush. Nothing. He picked up a stick and searched in the nearby bushes, moving the branches from side to side. Sticks and leaves brushed up against him. Besides mosquito bites, he’d probably end up with poison ivy.
Clay had said the first cache had been found up in a tree. Brett flashed the light up one tree and down another. Nothing. He moved to his right and followed the same procedure, shining his light up, down, and under the brush. Still nothing.
What was the clue? Fools look for gold. Where does a person find gold? In the ground? In rocks? What about fool’s gold? Wasn’t it near the creek? Was the cache buried near a rock?
On his last circle of the area, his foot struck a large rock. He tripped and paused. He bent down, flashing his light over the ground, and found several larger boulders. He kicked the first one. It wouldn’t budge. He kicked several others until he kicked one that tumbled over. It was a hollow piece of plastic, disguised as a rock.
After sitting in the dirt in front of the boulder, he opened his backpack and took out a pair of gloves. He tapped the rock and turned it upside down, looking for a way to open it. Underneath was a six-by-six-inch hinged area. He needed a coin to turn the notch. He stood, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a nickel, then twisted it in the groove until the latch clicked open.
He shook the contents onto the ground. A tiny deck of cards, a small notepad, a pair of red fluffy earmuffs, and a plastic bag fell onto the dirt. Inside the bag was something liquid, red, and squishy. He held the corner of it away from his body and flashed his light on it, examining it closer, shivering at what he saw.
A fly landed on his hand. He shooed it away. Fighting nausea, he threw the bag back into the boulder, lifted the rest of the other contents, and shoved them into a different bag. After placing them all in his backpack, he rolled the gloves off his hands, balled them up into another bag, and zipped his backpack shut. He unclipped his phone to call Clay, but when it lit up, he noticed he only had one bar of service. He’d have to wait to make the call when he got to a clearing.
Just as he stashed his phone in its clip, a voice rang out.
“You can’t steal the cache. That’s cheating.”
Brett swung around, dropping his backpack, and faced the direction of the voice.
Huh? What was she doing here?
Chapter Sixteen
Sarah stood with her arms across her chest, her bike leaning against a tree, waiting for Brett to say something. She almost laughed at how she’d made him jump and how frightened he looked, and at the mosquito bite welts covering his face. Obviously, he wasn’t a seasoned hiker.
Still bent over his backpack, Brett said, “Are you trying to scare me to death? What are you doing here?”
“I’m hiking for the same thing you just found. What are you doing? Why are you taking the cache?”
“Police evidence.”
“What?”
He shuffled through the backpack in front of him. “There’s someone whacking—” He took out a roll of wide yellow Caution tape.
Sarah cocked her head to the side. “You’re not going to finish your sentence, are you? What was in that rock?”
“Have you seen the news today?”
“No, why?” She left her bike at the tree and moved toward him.
“Let’s just say I’m not authorized to talk about it. I’ve got to close off this area. He stood, throwing the backpack onto his shoulder, and draped the tape around the trees within a ten-foot perimeter, four feet from the ground. “Sorry I can’t share it with you. This is one find you’ll have to give up.” He tore a piece of tape with his teeth.
He scratched at a mosquito bite on his neck. “Do you know your way back to Hursey Park from here? I’m a little turned around.”
She chuckled. “A cop without a sense of direction?”
“Yeah, it’s embarrassing. Don’t let it get out, okay?”
“I’m a professional. I keep lots of secrets.” She helped him hold up the tape. “I know these woods like the back of my hand. I grew up around here. My house is just over the creek and up that hill.” She pointed to her left.
“Perfect.” He tied the last bit of tape in a knot and put the roll in his backpack, then zipped it shut. “I guess you probably think I’m crazy for working while Quinn is gone and Ali’s missing.”
“I don’t judge.”
“Don’t you?” He stared into her eyes as if looking for something.
She didn’t back away. “No, I don’t.”
He held his gaze. “What am I supposed to do? Go to my apartment and stare at the walls?”
“I’d probably do the same thing.” Sarah was queen of the “keep busy” strategy, always looking for ways to keep her mind and body occupied. She averted her eyes and moved toward her bike, taking the handlebars, and turning to go. “I’m sure it’s easier to keep busy.”
Brett followed. “How many of these cache boxes have you found?”
“Forty-eight.” Sarah led him out of the woods and toward the clearing.
Brett whistled. “Not that you’re counting, or anything.” He grinned. “All in this county?”
“No, I’ve searched in six other counties, but all in Indiana.”
“What’s the most bizarre thing you ever found?”
Sarah turned her bike toward the trail, its tires crunching on debris. “Hmm, I’d have to think about that. Probably a toilet seat. Although there have been some crazy things.”
“A toilet seat? That must have been one large cache box.”
“Yeah, it was in a large trunk, hidden in a cave.”
“When was the last cache your found?”
She paused, noticing something different in his tone. “A week ago.” Why was he asking her these questions? The trail narrowed. He let her go first.
“Where was it?”
She spoke over her shoulder. “On the other side of town. Why?” He sounded suspicious of her. Why?
“Did you see anyone out of the ordinary on the trails or near the caches?”
She hesitated. “Like?”
“I don’t know. Anything or anyone different than you normally do.”
She paused. Did he suspect her of something? “Nothing and no one I can remember.”
“Why do you do it?”
“I enjoy being outdoors, being one with nature, and as a child I didn’t get to play too many games. I guess this is my inner child coming out.”
As they approached the clearing, Brett’s phone vibrated. He stopped and unclipped it from his belt clip. “I haven’t had service since I entered the woods, and now it’s catching up to me. I missed five calls. Can you wait while I call my partner? I need to ask you a few more questions.”
She glanced at her watch. “I have five minutes.”
He pushed a few buttons on his phone and said, “Hey, I found what we were looking for.” He paused.
Sarah watched as Brett’s expression changed from victory to concern. What had happened?
A frown creased between his brows. “No!” He shook his head. “When? Where is she now?” There was another pause before he disconnected the call and turned to Sarah. “Ali has been in an accident. She’s at the hospital.”
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say. He surely didn’t need one more thing to go bad.
#
Brett’s sirens blared, and the colors of his flashing lights pulsed like the throbbing in his head as he headed to the Hursey Lake Hospital’s emergency room. He pulled up to the automatic doors, the ones he’d been to before as a cop doing his job, following the victims or perpetrators after a crime had been committed.
Clay had said someone died in the accident. A
woman in her twenties. Ali’s fault. Brett’s stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat. A woman was dead because of Ali.
Maybe he could have prevented it if he’d taken her keys away. Had she been under the influence of drugs or alcohol?
He hurried inside. Nurse Becky greeted him at the receptionist’s desk, knowing him well from his frequent cop visits with drunk drivers. But tonight, Nurse Becky looked at him twice before she seemed to recognize him, probably because she’d rarely seen him out of uniform. “Oh, Brett. Come on back.”
She led him through double doors and into another area lit with florescent lights and enclosed in curtains. He expected the room to smell like a usual sterile hospital room, but instead, he smelled … nothing. It was as if there was an air purifier in the room that eliminated all smells. Or was it because there wasn’t much life left in Ali?
Beeping sounds echoed off the walls. A swooshing sound like air being pumped in and out of a machine joined in the noise. Men and women in blue scrubs surrounded Ali. One woman wrote something on a chart. At first, all Brett could see was the color of Ali’s spiky bleached hair. IV tubes, breathing tubes, and oxygen nasal tubes protruded from her body. Even on her worst drinking days Ali hadn’t looked this bad.
The room spun. Nurse Becky, who’d followed him into the room, pulled up a chair next to Ali and motioned for him to sit.
He shook his head, standing to the side. “I’ll be okay. Do you know what happened?”
The nurse said, “We were told she ran a stop sign and hit the driver’s side of another car.”
Brett cringed. “Was anyone else injured besides the lady who died?”
“Not that we know of.” She patted his shoulder before she quietly left the room.
Brett stared at Ali’s face, trying to find some resemblance. Had there been a mistake? This wasn’t Ali. Her face was as round as a blowfish, but as pale as his cotton T-shirt. He took a deep breath and moved closer, recognizing the birthmark on her small hand resting on the bed. Yes, this was Ali.
A man in blue scrubs, with a head of graying hair and a bulbous nose, approached Brett. “I’m Dr. Nesbitt, the neurosurgeon.” He extended his hand.
Brett shook it. “Brett Reed. How is she?”
The surgeon, in a somber voice, said, “She’s lost a lot of blood from a cut on her neck here.” He pointed to a large bandage that ran from just under her left jaw. “She wasn’t wearing a seat belt, so there was trauma to her brain from the impact, and she can’t breathe on her own.”
Brett nodded, noticing the bandages along her neck.
The doctor continued in his medically grave tone. “The tube coming out of here is to drain the fluid.” He pointed to a tube running from behind her head. “See this meter here? This checks the pressure. We have to monitor it. If it gets below this mark here—well, let’s just say that we don’t want that to happen.”
Brett whispered, “What are her chances of living through this?”
The doctor looked away and then back to Brett. “The next twenty-four hours will tell.”
Brett held the doctor’s eyes. “If she lives, what kind of life … I mean, will she have brain damage?”
The doctor shrugged. “We never know. Every person is different, and sometimes miracles happen. Hope is your friend. Hope and prayer. But the longer she stays in this coma, the stronger her chances are of being severely disabled, if she lives.”
“Was alcohol in her system?”
The doctor hesitated, not meeting Brett’s eyes. Was he holding something back? “We haven’t gotten the toxicology reports back yet.” The doctor took her chart and wrote something on it, and started to walk out of the room but turned to Brett and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sure this is difficult. I’ll let you know if there are any changes, but for now she’s stable. I’ll be back after I make my rounds.”
The doctor left the room, and one at a time the nurses did too. The machines continued to beep and swish, and occasionally the blood pressure machine would click, pumping air into the cuff.
He reached for her hand, amid tubes protruding and crisscrossing around her. Her hand was warm but limp, and her fingers felt like sticks—thick and lifeless. Red gashes and scrapes covered her arms and face.
The sounds of the machines echoed off the walls, keeping the rhythm of an artificial heartbeat, breathing for her.
Brett released her hand and moved to check the dial on the tube at the back of her head. The long lever seemed to pulse and hover right around the danger zone.
What could he say to her? If he had one wish, would it be for her to return to her life as it had been before the accident? If that miracle happened, she’d have to face prison for killing someone. Would he stand by her side? What kind of life would she have behind bars?
There was no going back for Ali. For any of them. She had had time to change before the accident and chose not to. If she came back to her life now, would she seek help? He doubted it.
Thank God Quinn hadn’t been in the car with her or she’d be dead now. Dizziness circled him. He inhaled sharply. What was he going to tell Quinn? Poor Quinn.
Ali’s fingers twitched. His heartbeat quickened. He leaned toward her. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”
He waited. Nothing. Had it been his imagination? He watched her eyes. Nothing. Not even a flutter.
He squeezed the tears shut in his eyes and lifted Ali’s hand, kissed it, and left the room.
On his way to the waiting room, Brett passed a young man sitting in the corner who had bandages on his head and his arm. His elbows rested on his thighs as he sobbed into his hands. Dr. Nesbitt stood over the young man with his hand on the man’s shoulder. Between muffled sobs, the young man said, “Why did this have to happen? We were getting married next month. My whole future is gone. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers and glared at the doctor as if waiting for answers.
The words cut into Brett, making the hair on his arms stand up. He took a seat across the room, but he was still close enough to hear what was said next.
The man’s face reddened. “Was she drunk? If so, I’ll sue her. I swear I’ll sue her and her entire family.” His face wrinkled in a tortured expression.
Brett looked away. He was sure Ali had killed the man’s fiancé. Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision. The room spun. He needed air, fresh air. Air that would give him hope in a life that didn’t have meaning. Wandering down the tiled corridor, he saw a sign for a chapel. He went inside and sat in a pew. A wooden cross hung on the wall behind a white altar. One elderly lady, bent over and hunchbacked, exited the room in short, shuffling steps, wiping her eyes with a tissue.
He sat alone in the dark, empty chapel for a long time. It had been a long time since he’d stepped into a church. The evening’s darkness engulfed the room and his mood. There was no reason for him to stay at the hospital with Ali. He couldn’t do anything to help her. All he could do was pray, and he wasn’t very good at that either.
He went to the front of the chapel, closer to the altar and the wooden cross. He sat on the wooden pew, leaned forward, and clasped his hands together. Now what?
Footsteps fell on the tiled floor. Brett turned to see Clay tuck in and kneel beside him. Clay placed his hand on Brett’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry, man. Do you want me to pray with you?”
Brett nodded and watched as Clay’s eyes closed and he bowed his head. Brett dropped his head too.
Clay said, “Oh, heavenly Father, bless this man and his family. Help him to see your plans for him. Let him feel your powerful love. Remind him that in times of turmoil he can turn to you for guidance and approval. Protect Ali and Quinn, and keep them safe until they are with you in eternal peace. Amen.”
Brett turned to Clay. “Thanks, bro.”
Clay leaned into Brett, wrapping his large arms around him for a brief man-hug, patting his back. “No problem. I’m sorry you’re going through this.”
“Yeah, me too. This su
cks.” Brett ran his fingers through his hair. “I need to get the evidence to you. It’s out in the cruiser.”
“No need. I found it.”
“You found it?”
“Yeah, you left the car running outside the ER, so I took the backpack and parked the car.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out the keys, and handed them to Brett.
Brett hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Thanks. I guess I was in a hurry.”
Clay stood to go. “Come on, let me buy you dinner. You gotta eat.”
#
I sat in the dark, hiding in the row of pine trees along the side of pervert Moore’s house. As soon as his lights went out, I’d proceed. There wasn’t much time though. Mrs. Stookey dropped the girls off a half hour ago. She was crazy for leaving them with the creep. I’d watched from across the street.
Pine needles stabbed at my thighs, making me a little more crotchety than usual. It was a good thing I packed a Snickers bar. I opened my backpack and pushed the other stuff aside until I found it, unwrapped it, and took a bite. Maybe now I could stay awake long enough.
A car’s lights flashed up the road and headed down the street. The fat lady next door stood on her porch waiting for her poodle to potty. She called to him, “Hurry up, Biscuit. Mommy wants to go to bed.”
The car continued past the house, so I scooted a little deeper into the trees. It passed, and the yard returned to darkness. But not before Biscuit saw me. He growled. I froze. He barked louder and louder as he approached. When he was a few feet away, the lady came running over. I held my breath.
“Biscuit. Get over here,” she whispered, and grabbed him in her arms and waddled home. She hadn’t seen me. She shuffled into her house and turned off her porch light.
Darkness filled the yard again. All I had to do was wait a little longer. I took out my iPad and played a few games of Angry Birds. I wanted to kill the pigs for taking the eggs.
Then, I woke with a jerk, forgetting for a second I was waiting for Moore to go to bed. My iPad was still in my lap. It must have shut off after I’d fallen asleep. Darn! I’d have to wait to see my scores later. I shoved the iPad in my backpack and took out the flesh-colored nylon, pulling it over my face and adjusting it around my nose. After throwing my backpack over my shoulder, I proceeded to the side door of the house.
Cache a Predator Page 13