Anchored by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 3)

by Catherine Finger

  He shook his head. “Not yet. But we’re very close.” Dejection pulled at his features, and I could see past the warmth to the emptiness in his eyes. Failure. He’s struggling with failure.

  He offered me his hand. I wrapped both of mine, bandages and all, around it. Yeah. Me too, Nick. Me too. I drew his hand to my lips, kissing each knuckle softly. “You really need some rest, hotshot.”

  “You see? Even she agrees.” Gino’s voice rose out of the corner of the room. How long had he been sitting there? No wonder I feel so rested—these guys have my back. Again.

  Gino appeared at Nick’s side. “Good morning, mija. You are looking well this morning, praise be to God. You will not mind if I take our Nicholas home for a few hours? He will not rest, nor leave your side without your word. I have assured him your kinsmen will take only the best of care of you.”

  “Kinsmen? Am I in Baraboo?”

  Gino nodded. “When they found you, you had collapsed, overwhelmed by the smoke. You had freed the bad man’s friend and were covering his body with yours as you passed out. You were mija to the end.”

  “And Burdock was probably already off Wildcat Mountain by the time they started dragging you away.” The weariness in Nick’s voice saddened me profoundly. What could I do to encourage this man?

  I kissed the back of Nick’s hand. “Go home and get some rest, handsome. I need you back by my side.”

  Nick’s brown eyes were glistening as he squeezed my hand, bent down, kissed me on the forehead and whispered, “I love you, Josie.”

  Then he turned and walked away. Gino turned to me and winked before heading out the door behind him. I had almost faded back into sleep before I realized neither one of them had told me anything at all about the case. No doubt they wanted me to rest here for a few more days, but I was not about to sit this one out. I shook my head, willing myself to come to life.

  Then I reached for the phone on the hospital tray in front of me.

  “Josie! Where are you calling from?” The sound of Sheriff Tom Quinn’s voice shredded what was left of my nerves. “I mean, should you be talking on the phone right now?”

  “Come get me.” I looked around my bed at the various machines and tubes, wondering which one to pull first and how much noise it would make. “I’ve just been released from the hospital.”

  Quinn was silent.

  “We sent Nick home. He needs to rest. You sound fine. Now, come get me.” If I didn’t let him think about my request, he’d be more likely to agree. “See you in what, ten, fifteen minutes?” Keep it moving. Keep him talking.

  “Thirty. Tops. I’m so glad you’re well enough to be released. I got a very different picture from Nick …” Is that skepticism creeping in?

  “You know he can be a little melodramatic. Just come get me. Any updates on the case?” Redirect him. Try to shift his focus off your growing line of little white lies.

  “You’re not going to believe what we’ve pieced together. We’re close, Josie, very close. Where will you be?” Eagerness replaced the skepticism.

  “Meet me on the sidewalk out front. I’m going to get a little fresh air.” And if I make it off this floor without any alarms sounding, I’ll need to stay away from lobbies and entrances.

  “I’ll be there, Josie. In a company car.”

  “Great. Thank you, Quinn. I owe you one.” I pumped as much normalcy as I could into my voice, and then I hung up.

  Crap. Now what?

  First things first. I drained the water glass in front of me, filled it, drained it again. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me. I give You this day, this moment, this battle. I tried to keep my prayers short in general. They tended to get really, really short when I might not be going straight by the book.

  I shook my head, testing for dizziness. Then I sat up, swung my legs over the side of the bed and began the inventory. Both arms were bandaged to protect first- and second-degree burns, assuming I could trust my memory of the doctor’s latest assessment. Manageable. My nose was still bandaged. Not my best look. More second-degree burns on both legs had been salved and dressed during my forty-eight-hour stay. I could get pants on over those. Eventually. Scorched hair that the nurses had delicately washed sometime in the past few hours tickled my fingertips. Beauty school dropout. No broken bones, mildly singed lungs. Good to go, Jo.

  There was an IV line stuck in my right hand, clear liquid dripping slowly down. It didn’t look all that essential to me. I turned the red clasp to stop the flow. Then I painstakingly— emphasis on the pain—pulled the tape off and yanked the needle out. Blood pulsed out, hitting the curtain and night stand. Crap! I grabbed the sheet and shoved it against my arm to stem the flow. The nurses made it look so easy! I unplugged the machine next to the bed, uncertain whether my handiwork would trigger an alarm.

  Now what? I spied the wardrobe and stepped toward it. My body was stiff but not incapacitated. Thanks to the pain chaser, my limbs were itchy but not in agony. I could handle that. I found a couple of clean hospital gowns on the wardrobe shelf. The best I could do was wrap them around my backside in a makeshift outfit that wouldn’t feature my bare butt as the main attraction. The loose cotton was probably all my tender skin could handle anyway. Quinn would just have to deal with my latest outfit. I’d gone AMA—Against Medical Advice—before. Sometimes just to avoid the lag time and paperwork. Getting into hospitals was easier than getting out of them, a lot easier.

  I pulled myself to my feet, dull pain bristling along my singed skin. I took a deep breath and padded my way to the bathroom. Big mistake. My hair was relatively clean, but patches had been burned off, and the tape for the bandage over my right ear wrapped all the way around my head. Sort of like a headband. I’ll start a new trend. The bandage on my nose was ringed with bruising—I didn’t even want to think about what might be going on under there. I sighed.

  I’m fine. Move out.

  I pulled a pair of sunglasses from my purse, slid them on, and walked out into the hall.

  And ran right into Nurse Ratchet.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lisa Bhatt gleamed from the smaller woman’s bronze nametag. She had a regal bearing, one I associated with commanders of every stripe, and even before she said a word, I knew I’d been outgunned.

  “Going somewhere, Chief?” Her smiling eyes didn’t match her steely manner.

  I sighed. “Look, I …” I stopped, staring at her.

  Her jet-black hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Lustrous cream-in-coffee skin was alive with energy.

  I squinted at her nametag again. “Do I know you?”

  “Hope so, Chief. Hop on. I’m your ride.” Her light touch on my shoulder guided me into the wheelchair, and she didn’t even wait for me to get settled in before pushing me smoothly toward the elevators, nodding curtly to a nurse who didn’t look up as we passed her station. I watched as she hit the button for the third floor. A wave of dizziness washed over me as we swooshed upward.

  Third floor? “Bhatt? Lisa? Wh …” Talking hurt. “Where are we going?”

  “We are engaging in community service.” She pushed me out of the elevator and down the hall where two large men were standing guard. White.

  “Brilliant.” But what would we say to him? Beads of cold sweat formed at my hairline.

  “Boys.” Bhatt nodded at the armed tree trunks flanking the door.

  They looked at her and nodded back. Trunk A unfolded his arms and stood aside while Trunk B scrambled to open the door. Job done, they finally noticed my bandaged body in the chair before them. Trunk A grimaced. “You catch the bastard that did this.” Trunk B met my eyes, jabbed a thumb toward the open door. “He wasn’t worth it, Chief. You’re the bravest woman I know, and he wasn’t worth it.”

  “We don’t get to choose who’s worth it. We just get to choose who we want to be today.” I impressed mysel
f.

  Bhatt straightened. “Come on, Yoda.” She gave the guards a final nod and pushed me into the room.

  The mechanical whirring and thumping sounds in the room were a little louder than the white noise in my head. White’s arms tied to the tree. Nausea rolled through me. A flaming arrow snicking past my ear. I clenched the wheelchair arms.

  The man before me was swathed in bandages from the neck down. His right leg was in traction. His head was bandaged, and his face was slick with ointment. He tracked me with his eyes as Bhatt parked me next to the bed.

  How bad were his burns? What happened to his leg? Did I do that? I tried to remember pulling him off Wildcat Mountain, but there was only blank space. I knew this was a powerful moment, but I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Bhatt fidgeted. I held up a finger, silencing her before she spoke. Then I lifted my right arm painfully off the arm of the wheelchair, gestured to White and tried to cock my left thumb back at myself. “You wanna go to turnabout with me?”

  White stared back at me, stupefied.

  “No? Well, fine. We can still be friends. Let’s just talk.” So far, so good. But what was it I was trying to get out of him? A bottle of molasses gummed up my brain.

  White’s painkillers must’ve been better than mine. “Chief, you saved my life.” His voice was weak but clear. “Thank you.” He lifted a bandaged hand at me. “You risked your life, for me.” His eyes glistened. “Why?”

  “Because you are made in the image of God, and He loves you. And He isn’t done with you yet.” Where had that come from? “And because you are worth it, Melvin.”

  Compassion sprang from White’s eyes like a fragrance. “After all I done? You got yourself close to killed, for me?” Tears fell down his cheeks. “I wanna make it up to you. Tell me what I gotta do. Anything, just, please …” He was crying in earnest now.

  Bhatt leaped in like a lioness. “You can tell us everything we need to know, that is what you can do.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “I will tape this conversation, is that okay with you?”

  He nodded.

  “You have the right to remain silent …” Bhatt put a hand on my shoulder as she Mirandized him.

  White continued weeping, unchecked. “I’m just so sorry. I never been worth nuthin’, to nobody, till him … but that was … he was … dirty.”

  I breathed in, feeling every microscopic movement. In a bad way. “But you are worth saving, Melvin. You are made in the image of God, and that makes you worth saving.” Had I taken some sort of religious platitude drugs? Or was this the Holy Spirit finally having His way in my life? I hoped for the latter, fearing the former.

  “But you saved me. After all I done … I’m … I’m sorry, Chief. Can you ever forgive me? I’m sorry.” His eyes beseeched me.

  And sent me into a rage. “For what? For this?” I pointed to myself. “Or for those people you murdered with your boyfriend?” Black smoke surged up my throat, and I was seized with the desire to smash him in the face. Forgiveness? He wants forgiveness? He’s a monster.

  Josephine, as I forgave you, so you forgive him. A rich voice filled my head with truth and my heart with peace.

  Forgiveness? Obedience was all I could offer, forgiveness belongs only to God. To the One Most High, as I understand Him.

  Obey. And give him your forgiveness. Now.

  “White, I forgive you. Because He died so you might be made new. Even in this. Take that up with Him. But for me, yes, I forgive you.” I think.

  Lightness opened within me. I’d just done something good, something really big. Or else I was on one heckuva painkiller high. Time to press on. “White, how, why? Why those men? How did you two become a thing?”

  I couldn’t find the right words, I wasn’t following any interviewing protocols, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Chief, I …” A sob gasped from him. “We, there was no reason. We met in the FBI class.”

  Confirmed. “But why?”

  He shook his head. “Weren’t no why. Other’n the professor reminded Burdock of some bad days. And he’s got some kind of power. Some kind of voodoo. He hooks ya in.” His arms moved under the bandages, and his face glowed red under the shiny layer. “It was his idea. But he made it seem like mine.” His voice trailed off.

  Bhatt and I exchanged glances. “Where did you meet the victims—the men you murdered?” So much for bedside manner.

  White started at murdered. “I, we—”

  “We’re not saying it’s your fault, your idea, we—” Gray clouds swirling through my mind.

  White nodded through it all, keeping his eyes only on me. “Chief, we, I …” Sorrow flooded his features. “It was like hunting. We set up an ad. An online ad. And I wrote it, mostly. And I called it ‘Please Love Jesus and Huntin’.’”

  “And will you give me your ID and password?” I was certain I could predict the physical preference section of the ad. “Did Burdock fill out the ad?”

  White shook his head. “I done it myself. He give me ideas, but I done it myself.”

  “Did he give you ideas on how to describe the men you were looking for?” The chain of murders rolled out before me as White nodded. I didn’t want to know any more, hear any more. Except for one thing. “What happened on Wildcat Mountain?”

  White’s face grew slack. “I dunno. We was luring you up top, to get to the professor. Burdock wanted him bad. He was my friend. We got tattoos. But then he turned on me.”

  “The professor?” Bhatt’s voice broke the spell between us.

  White nodded. “He wanted to kill the professor. From the day he seed him in class. Said he had to go where the all the others had gone.”

  Holy crap. Nick.

  Bhatt thanked the men at the door and worked her magic at passing staff. We were through the lobby and heading to the parking lot in under three minutes. “Nice work, Bhatt.”

  “I should say the very same to you, Chief. And by the way, I texted Quinn about the tattoo. One of his nurse buddies will get back to us.” She pulled out a key fob, pressed a button, and a cherry-red Bugatti roared to life. A Bugatti? In Baraboo, Wisconsin?

  “You grow less forgettable by the half step, Bhatt.” I thought back to when I’d met her, leaning over evidence at the crime scene on the sixth hole, smart and efficient. “Are you going to explain how and why you’re here, or do I have to beg for it?”

  She tucked me into the passenger seat like I was a child.

  I rolled my eyes at her.

  She smiled in response, humming, and got herself buckled in. She voice-texted the recorded confession to Amelia, Nick, and Quinn. Their names danced off the console screen like movie stars as she left a message of warning, repeating White’s claims about Nick being the ultimate target. “Where were we? Ah, yes. First off, Sheriff Quinn was standing next to me when you called him. And, Sheriff Quinn being Sheriff Quinn, he sent me to fetch you instead. Secondly, well, I guess that’s the end of the story.” She pulled out of the parking lot. “Mind if we make a quick stop along the way?”

  I stared at her. “Another one? Uh, sure. I guess. Is there a reason I should know about?”

  “Have you seen yourself? No offense, but girlfriends don’t let girlfriends go out looking like that. Especially not if they might be running into His Hotness.”

  “His Hotness?” I kept staring at her, eyes widening. “Do we have that kind of time? Have you heard back from anyone?”

  She smiled, deftly handling the high-powered machine. “You know, Signore Vitarello, your love slave. And no, perhaps if you gave it thirty more seconds.”

  My mouth fell open, and still I stared at her. “Where are we going, and where have you been all my life?”

  Her laughter was rich and beautiful. “Thank you for the compliment, Chief. We are stopping at my house, as we need to fix your face. I have more salve and fresh b
andages to get you properly cared for—you know, in case your little AMA escapade leaves something to be desired in your burn-care program. Then, honestly, I would suggest a little makeup, and I have something in mind for your hair that might just work.”

  “Who are you?” This was a side of Bhatt I hadn’t seen coming.

  “Do not worry. I went to beauty school in a former life. And I am up-to-date on my first-aid training.” She drummed her fingers lightly on the wheel.

  We pulled into the driveway of a little Cape Cod, blue with white shutters and matching trim. “Home sweet home.” She was at my door, helping me out of the car before I registered everything she’d just said.

  “You are a force to be reckoned with, woman,” was all I said as I followed her inside.

  She turned and bowed before me, smiling, hands in prayer position. “Yes, I am. But not even half the force of the woman before me.” She disappeared down a hallway, leaving me to wander through photographs on the wall and in frames on every flat surface. “And no word back yet from the Triumvirate. Or your Cuban godfather.”

  Gino. She’d texted Gino. I smiled.

  The pictures documented a privileged youth. Lisa as a little girl wearing brightly colored saris, sparkling brown eyes full of life. Lisa as a teenager wearing a gown fit for a queen, bejeweled and surrounded by other beautiful girls. Riding a thoroughbred sidesaddle, dressed in hunt attire. I’d ridden most of my life and couldn’t imagine sitting atop such a powerful beast, let alone jumping, in such an awkward position.

  Who is this woman? And how did she end up in Baraboo, Wisconsin?

  Bhatt returned bearing a makeup bag in one hand and a first-aid kit in the other. She gestured to a dining room chair. I pulled it out and sat down.

  She handed me a glass of water before assuming her position behind my chair. “Drink up. Coffee’s brewing. We must keep you hydrated. We’ll start with your hair.”

  “Officer Lisa Bhatt,” I said it slowly, drawing out each word. “You impressed me a few days ago—seems like two lifetimes ago. So, tell me your story. How does a rich girl from India end up in a small town in Wisconsin?” I waved my arm around the room at all her pictures.