by Sandra Brown
Jeremy peeled his lips back to form a parody of a grin. “Just a scratch, Daddy.”
* * *
“We, uh, found an SPD officer and his unit behind an abandoned building. He’d been shot twice. Once in the abdomen, once…” Tucker glanced at Amelia, who was sitting beside Dawson on a short sofa in the trauma center waiting room. The deputy amended whatever he had been about to say. “He was dead.”
Dawson felt Amelia flinch. He was too shocked by what had happened to Headly to react.
Deputy Wills cleared his throat, his prominent Adam’s apple sliding up and down his long, wrinkled neck. Dawson thought he looked like a turtle with his small head poking out of his shirt collar, which was too large.
Entertaining such nonsensical thoughts was the only thing keeping him sane. If he started thinking about the reality he found himself in, about Headly inexorably dying while he stood futilely by, he’d go crazy, destroy something, kill somebody.
He was only barely holding on to his reason, and he was able to do that only because Headly hadn’t been pronounced dead at the scene. Perhaps he had died in transit to the hospital, or on the operating table, but no one had had the courage to tell Dawson yet. That was a distinct possibility, because the deputies were regarding him as though mistrustful of his outward stoicism and in fear of an eruption of violent fury at any moment. They were justifiably afraid.
Wills cleared his throat again. “You were right about the direction the shots came from.”
“I didn’t spend nine months in a war zone for nothing.”
“Well, anyway, on account of you, we knew where to start looking for the shooter. They were on the roof.”
Dawson fixed him with a stare. “They?”
“We found two sets of shoe prints in the gravel. And Jeremy Wesson’s fingerprints on the doorknobs.”
“Carl was with him.”
“We don’t know that,” Tucker said.
“I do.” Dawson closed his hand into a tight fist. “Carl would want to take credit for killing Headly.”
After a taut silence, Wills said, “We don’t know who pulled the trigger, but—”
“Jeremy was a sniper, for chrissake.”
Wills nodded. “From that vantage point, with a fancy scope, a skilled shooter…” He didn’t take that thought any further. “The fingerprints—”
“Weren’t an oversight,” Dawson said. “They don’t care who knows it was them.”
“Look,” Tucker said, “you’re making assumptions that—”
Wills nudged Tucker hard enough to shut him up. He, the good cop, realized that every contrary word out of his partner’s mouth was riling Dawson. Like jerking a sleeping tiger’s tail.
After a moment, he continued. “The downed officer had been on patrol over in that industrial park where some vandalism had recently been reported.” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “Must’ve intercepted them as they were fleeing. His radio was missing. Which explains how they eluded us. They could follow our communications and keep track of our movements.”
Tucker said, “Plus, we don’t know what they’re driving. The car Bernie—Carl—left in that parking lot is still there.”
Dawson shot him a baleful look. “You’ve finally come around to accepting that Bernie is Carl Wingert?”
Tucker had the grace to look abashed.
Amelia slid her hand beneath Dawson’s arm and rested it on his thigh, which served to keep him from lunging at the deputy who’d questioned Headly’s superior knowledge. His muttered epithets toward Tucker were heard by her alone.
He’d tried to persuade her to return to the beach house and take advantage of the protection she’d be afforded there, but she had refused to budge from his side, and secretly he was glad. Over the course of the last few tumultuous hours, her invisible steeliness had manifested itself in quiet but emphatic ways.
She’d spent ten minutes talking on her cell phone to the deputy who’d been watching Hunter and Grant all day. She later told Dawson that they’d been thoroughly entertained until, after a pizza dinner, they’d been tucked safely into bed and were now fast asleep.
She’d also been assured that they were unaware of the personnel, which had been doubled in number, to guard them. Satisfied that her children were being well attended, she’d declared that she would stay with Dawson, at least until they knew the extent of Headly’s injury and the status of his condition.
Several times she had tried to thank him for saving her life, but was unable to complete the sentence without becoming too emotional to speak. He’d told her that thanks were unnecessary, that he understood the depth of what she was feeling. She seemed to understand how he felt as well.
When fear of the worst had caused him to lapse into brooding silences, she hadn’t filled them with mindless promises that all would be well, when the possibility of catastrophe loomed. When he felt like talking, she had listened as though absorbing each word into her skin. She was a soft but stalwart presence he was grateful to have.
Because of the tension between Tucker and Dawson, Wills continued as spokesperson. “All gloves have come off. A manhunt is under way for Carl Wingert and Jeremy Wesson. Every law enforcement agency in five states is on high alert.
“Knutz would be here himself, except he’s gone into overdrive, coordinating the effort. Coast Guard’s put up choppers to patrol the beaches. First thing tomorrow morning, police boats will start searching the inland waterways. Canine units will be called up if they’re needed. US Marshals Service. State police. You name it, he’s got them working it.
“But the problem is,” he continued, tugging at his long earlobe, “we’re talking about a huge area and we don’t have a starting point. Apparently Wesson was using a bogus license when he got that traffic ticket, because none was issued in South Carolina to his SSN. We don’t know of any kinfolk they have in the area except Ms. Nolan here. Jeremy’s Marine buddies are being canvassed, but—”
“They’re the last people he would contact,” Amelia said.
“That’s what we think, too. But we gotta check. As Tucker noted, we don’t have a make and model of the vehicle they were driving.”
“Tire tracks?” Dawson asked.
“We tried, but there’s nothing but hard pavement around that vacant building. Surrounding buildings are also vacant, so there was no one to question about vehicles seen in the area.”
“Security cameras?”
“None operable, because the businesses are kaput.”
“What about traffic cameras?” Amelia asked.
“Being checked all over the city, but most only capture the license plate, not the driver.”
“Cameras on the bridges?”
“Are being checked. But lots of cars, lots of drivers. It’ll take time.”
Tucker broke a thoughtful silence by asking Amelia if she had duplicates of Jeremy’s credit cards.
“Not for years. I’ve had my own accounts since we separated.”
“We were hoping maybe he’d use an ATM or make a purchase.”
“You don’t think Carl would avoid leaving such an obvious trail?”
“Hey,” Tucker said, taking offense at Dawson’s snide tone. “We’re doing our best here.”
“That’s what worries me,” Dawson fired back. “If you had listened to Headly sooner—”
“Well, excuse me for not placing much confidence in a lawman who’s been chasing the same guy for forty years.”
Dawson was off the sofa in a blink, intent on ripping out Tucker’s flabby throat. He might have, had it not been for Amelia grabbing a handful of his shirttail to hold him back.
Which coincided with Eva’s sudden appearance in the open doorway.
Dawson worked himself free of Amelia’s grip and shouldered past the deputies in order to reach her. His arms went around her, and he bent down low to murmur into her hair, “Eva, Eva, we can’t lose him. We just can’t.”
He held her tightly while she cried into his shirtf
ront. But she was made of stern stuff and eventually set him away from her and wiped the tears off her face. “I was told by the policeman who met me at the airport that he’s still in surgery.”
“They took him back”—Dawson glanced at the wall clock—“over three hours ago. No word since then.”
“Did you see him before he went in?”
He shook his head. “By the time Amelia and I were allowed to leave the scene, he was being prepped in the OR. They wouldn’t let us go back.” He reached behind him for Amelia’s hand, pulled her forward, and made the introductions.
Amelia bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering. “Mrs. Headly, I’m so sorry.”
Eva took her other hand. “It’s not your fault.”
“He was trying to catch the men intent on hurting me.”
“He was trying to catch Carl Wingert long before you were born.”
Amelia gave her a watery smile and motioned her toward the sofa. Eva went to it and sat down. Amelia asked if she could get her anything. Eva declined, but patted the seat next to her. “Please.” Amelia joined her and they began talking together in low tones.
Dawson turned back to Wills, who said, “We’ll keep you apprised.”
“I’ll appreciate that.”
“We’re sorry about Agent Headly.”
“Thanks.” He said it brusquely, but the remorse in their expressions was genuine, even in Tucker’s. He thanked them again with more sincerity.
The two left. Dawson, seeing that the women were involved in their conversation, stepped into the hallway. Disobeying the signs prohibiting the use of cell phones, he accessed his and punched in a familiar number. “Hey, Glenda. No, no word yet. He’s still in surgery. Got anything?”
Five minutes later, as he was disconnecting, a wiry, compact man in green surgical scrubs came through a pair of double doors. “Mr. Headly’s family?”
Dawson’s throat seized up, but he managed to nod toward the waiting area. He followed the surgeon into the room and stepped around him so that he was at Eva’s side with a supporting arm around her shoulders when the surgeon introduced himself.
“I’m sorry it took so long, but the surgery to remove the bullet was painstaking because we didn’t want to further damage surrounding tissue or nearby nerves. He’s in recovery. Not completely out of the woods, but for someone who took a hollow-point between his scapula and spine, he’s doing remarkably well.”
* * *
The surgeon provided them a much more detailed description of the wound and the repair it had required, but they absorbed little of what he said. What they heard was that, after the swelling went down, the paralysis Headly was currently experiencing in his shoulders and arms would be reversed and he should enjoy a full recovery.
Amelia knew that her relief couldn’t match that of Eva and Dawson, but it was profound nevertheless. Although Eva had absolved her of any and all responsibility, had Headly died, she would have borne that regret for the remainder of her days.
For Dawson’s sake, she was especially happy that Headly had survived.
In celebration of the good news, the three had hugged, laughing and crying in equal measure. Dawson was the first to pull himself together. He resorted to the masculine mechanism of dealing with a traumatic event by pretending he hadn’t been sorely affected by it. He cracked jokes. “He’s too stubborn to die. He wouldn’t go without giving me one final lecture.”
Eva saw through his ruse as clearly as Amelia did, but she didn’t call him on it, knowing that he was coping with his emotions in a manner that was comfortable for him. Eva placed a call to their daughter, who’d been standing by in London to learn her father’s fate. Soon after that they were told they could see Headly in recovery. Eva insisted that Dawson be allowed to go with her. He, in turn, refused to go without Amelia.
The three of them were shown into the curtained cubicle where Headly lay tethered to machines and roped in tubes. Surprisingly his eyes were open. As Eva approached the bed, he asked groggily, “Where’d you come from?”
She clasped his inert hand, and there were tears in her eyes when she bent down and kissed his lips gently. But she answered in a breezy tone. “They called to tell me that you’d been shot. I checked my calendar and it was clear. Having nothing else to do, I flew down.”
His eyes were suspiciously moist as he gazed up at her. “Just as well flush the Viagra. I can’t move my hands. Foreplay’s out.”
She laughed softly. “The paralysis is temporary.”
His unfocused eyes roved over to Dawson. “She lying?”
“No. You’ll live to screw another day.”
“Really, you two!” Eva said in mock outrage. “What will Amelia think of us?”
Headly turned his head toward her. She expressed how sorry she was for what he was suffering.
“I’m glad it wasn’t you he hit.”
“He tried,” Dawson said.
Headly closed his eyes. “Jesus.”
“Dawson saved my life.”
Headly whispered, “Are they in custody?”
“Don’t think about any of that right now, Gary.”
Despite Eva’s admonishment, he forced his eyes open and looked to Dawson, who said, “Still at large.”
“Shit.”
Eva said, “Gary, if you continue to torture yourself, I’m going to leave. I swear I will.”
No one believed her, especially not her husband, who smiled at her drowsily. “I’m damn glad your calendar was clear. Wish I could hug you.”
Dawson glanced over his shoulder at the flimsy curtain that enclosed them but provided only a modicum of privacy. “Listen, Amelia and I should split, let you two have a minute alone before they run us all out.”
“What’s your rush?” Headly asked.
“I just said.”
Headly grunted. “What’s going on?”
“Okay, if you must know, I’m hungry. On account of you, I haven’t had anything to eat today except for those crummy doughnuts at breakfast.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience.”
Even though Headly garbled some of the syllables of the last word, Dawson smiled across at Eva. “Pissy is a good sign. He’s gonna be fine.” But when he looked down at Headly, his expression turned serious. “You had me scared.” Being careful of the IV shunt taped to the back of Headly’s hand, Dawson gripped it. Huskily, he said, “Rest. Cooperate with the nurses. Take care of yourself, hear?”
The long look the two men shared was rife with unspoken meaning.
“See you in the morning.” Dawson returned Headly’s hand to his side and, after winking at Eva, turned, held the curtain aside, and motioned Amelia through.
They didn’t speak until they were out of the recovery area and walking swiftly down the corridor. “In here.” He pushed open the door leading to the stairwell. Once the door had closed behind them, he said, “He’s too smart for his own good.”
“He knew you were lying when you told him you were hungry.”
“I guess my technique needs work.”
“So what is going on?”
“I’m due to meet Tucker and Wills downstairs in a few minutes.”
“What for?”
“Glenda’s been doing some research today. She unearthed something hinky they should know about.”
“Hinky how?”
He shook his head. “Not that I’m brimming with admiration for the two, especially Tucker, but I really should share this with them first.”
“Does it relate to the shack that Willard mentioned?”
He just looked at her, said nothing.
“You won’t tell me even that much?” His silence, and the lack of trust it signified, came as a crushing disappointment. She lowered her head so she’d no longer have to look into his shuttered eyes.
After a lengthy silence, he said, “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Well, I don’t. I thought you…we…”
Placing his index finger ben
eath her chin, he tipped her head back until she had no choice but to look into his face. And in his expression she saw all she needed to know and more than she needed to understand.
“You thought right,” he whispered. “I, we, did.”
His hand slid around the back of her neck and pulled her up into a kiss so evocative and intimate that it aroused every cell in her body. Craving closeness, she clutched handfuls of his shirt and stood on tiptoe. His hand settled on her butt and secured her against him.
The kiss was bone-melting, intensely passionate, but short-lived. When he ended it, he cupped her face between his hands and stared into her eyes, then released her so abruptly she fell back against the tile wall. By the time she realized it was over, he was halfway down to the next landing, where he turned a corner and disappeared. He didn’t look back.
She stayed there for several minutes, holding her fingers against her throbbing lips, tasting him still, and trying to make sense of the last few minutes. When she replayed the scene in her mind, she realized that dialogue was missing. What had been left unsaid?
Eventually she left the stairwell. Eva was in the corridor talking with a nurse. She ended the conversation and walked toward Amelia. “I recommended they increase the dosage of Gary’s sedative. He’s fighting it.”
“He’s in pain?”
“Mental anguish. Did Dawson leave to get something to eat?”
“No, he’s meeting with the deputies downstairs. His researcher…” Noticing the strange look that had come over the other woman’s face, she asked, “What?”
“The two deputies who were in the waiting room earlier? Tucker and—”
“Wills. Yes.”
“I just left them talking to the surgeon. They wanted to know about the bullet’s trajectory. Something technical.”
For several seconds, Amelia could only stare at her with misapprehension. Then she jogged toward the direction Eva had indicated. When she rounded a corner, there stood the two deputies engaged in conversion with the surgeon.
Wills noticed her. “Ms. Nolan?”
“Where’s Dawson?”
“Isn’t he with you?”
“You weren’t meeting him? About some information his researcher…” She could tell by their blank expressions that they had no idea what she was talking about. She turned quickly toward Eva. “He lied to me.”