by Freya Barker
“Don’t even think about it.” Mal’s voice is barely a whisper as he steps around from behind me, a gun pointed at the idiot’s gut. “Clint, grab the cuffs from the back of my belt,” he tells me. I do as he says, doing my best to stay out of the way of Mal’s gun, I cuff the guy’s wrists behind his back. The idiot is still smiling, this time at Mal who calmly observes him.
“Idiota. He’s dead already, he just doesn’t know it yet,” he says, and I follow his eyes to my brother, where I just now see the large knife sticking from his gut.
“Jesus, Jed!”
-
-
When Clint takes off toward the trailer, I’m frozen in place just watching him go. Stunned that he’d take off like that. I hear the physical altercation too, but the moment he yanks open the door, the sound stops. The sound of a scuffle propels me into action, but I don’t get further then one step. Blocking my way is the guy from the parking lot a few days ago. The same guy who cut me off in the car. Only difference, this time he’s not wearing his sunglasses and his eyes look black, as black as the barrel of the gun he’s aiming at me.
“Well, well, well. How fortunate you show up here,” he says in a thick Slavic accent, something that hadn’t registered before, but this time I’m not distracted by his hands on me. Not yet anyway and if up to me, never. I put my hands behind me to find the knob on the hitch of the trailer I’m standing behind, leaning back a little.
“How much?” I ask, knowing I’ll probably never get that money together unless I sell my house. But sell it I will, if it puts an end to this. The man just chuckles.
“There is no amount big enough to eradicate your son’s troubles I’m afraid. He has crossed a dangerous man.”
While he’s talking, my right hand lifts away from the hitch and finds its way to the small of my back and under my coat, where the butt of my gun sticks out from my waistband. I had tucked it there when Clint told me to put it away. The guy doesn’t even seem to notice, so full of himself and thinking too little of me. I bring my left hand forward and fiddle with the zipper of my coat, trying to get him distracted enough so I can pull my gun on him. The distraction comes a moment later, when I hear Clint calling out his brother’s name and a chill settles over me. The second the guy turns his head, I have the safety off and pointed right at him. When he turns back, I see his eyes widen slightly, but before I even have a chance to pull the trigger, a red dot appears on his forehead and in the next instant he is on the ground, missing a good chunk of his head. Oh my God, oh my God. This is nothing like the shooting range. People don’t get hit at the shooting range, and it’s generally noisy. Yet I never heard this. I heard nothing. Just one minute he’s standing and then he’s not. Bile starts rising and I’m on hands and knees, puking out the goulash Seb made. I’m still dry-heaving when I remember Clint’s voice. I don’t think, and I try not to look at the dead man I jump over but continue to run toward the trailer, with only Clint on my mind. It’s Gus who catches up with me at the door. He takes one look at me and grabs me by the shoulders.
“Beth. Jesus. Where are you hit?” His hands start to move over my head, unzipping my coat and running his hands over my torso. “What the...” That’s when his eyes move beyond me to the shapeless form on the grass. “Honey...” With careful movements he slides his hand over mine and gingerly pries my fingers off the gun I’m apparently still holding. The crunch of gravel announces the arrival of both Joe and Neil, who stop in their tracks, staring at me then looking beyond me at the man in the grass. Both immediately turn around and start scanning the surroundings, the three of them forming a barrier between me and the outside.
“Ambulance is on the way. So is the sheriff and tribal police,” Neil speaks first, his back still turned to me.
Gus hands my gun off to Joe, who bites off a curse. I’m confused and I just want to get to Clint, so I start moving, but Gus holds me back.
“What the hell, Gus, let me go. Clint needs me.”
I struggle to get free but his arms just wrap around me tighter. “Honey, he sees you like this, he’s gonna lose it.”
I stop fighting long enough to turn and look at him. “Like what?”
“We need to clean you up, you’re covered.”
With my heart racing I reach a hand up to wipe at my face. When I see the blood on my hand, I twist out of Gus’s arms and start heaving again.
In the distance I hear the sirens approaching.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Beth?”
Clint’s voice comes through the curtain pulled around my bed. Don’t really know why they want me to stay after the nurse cleaned me up and gave me a pair of clean scrubs to wear. I mean, it’s not like I’m injured or anything, so I’m sitting on the edge, waiting for them to give me my walking papers.
As soon as the ambulance had arrived, the EMTs came straight for me. After I’d assured them I hadn’t been hurt, that it wasn’t my blood, they went inside the trailer. Mal had come out with a guy in handcuffs, who looked a little the worse for wear, but I still hadn’t seen Clint. From what I could tell, things weren’t good in there, but Mal quickly told me Clint was unharmed. Unfortunately, it turned out Jed was hurt and badly. Neil went and got the Yukon and Gus hustled me in the back, while Joe dealt with law enforcement, claiming I needed to go to the emergency to get checked out. Which is how I never got to see Clint. Until now.
His face looks haggard as he pulls aside the curtain and steps through, not pausing until he’s wedged in between my legs, and cups my face in his hands.
“Baby, you okay?” he asks in a tired, soft voice.
“Fine, just fine. I tried to come to you, but they wouldn’t let me. How’s Jed?”
“In surgery. God, he was bad, Beth. So bad I thought he was gone a few times,” his voice croaks. I wrap my arms and legs around him, trying to hold on as best I can while he dips his head down to rest his cheek on the top of mine. We’re wrapped around each other like that for a few peaceful minutes, when I hear the curtain drawn back once again. Clint releases his grip on me but keeps his back to whomever’s come in. I notice why when I release him and sit back. His cheeks are wet with tears and without taking my eyes of him, I address whoever stepped in, “Please, could you give us a minute?”
“I’ll wait.” I recognize Drew’s voice coming from behind Clint and listen to the curtain closing behind him again.
From the table beside the bed I grab the box of tissues, and with a handful I carefully wipe the tears away. Clint lets me, his eyes never leaving mine, without saying a word.
“You good?” I whisper, my hand resting against his cheek and I feel him nod before his head dips and his mouth covers mine. A hard but meaningful kiss, and with his lips still touching mine he says, “Love you,” before straightening up and calling for Drew to come in.
That part is less pleasant. Especially since this was the first Clint apparently hears about what happened outside. I’m still not even sure what happened. First thing Drew tells us that they were able to identify the dead man as Sam Blazek. I’m not surprised at that, but what I am surprised at is what he tells us next.
“Blazek was shot with a M1A tactical rifle or something very similar from a fair distance.”
Clint sits down beside me on the bed, clutching my hand in his so hard, my fingers are about to lose function, but I’m not about to let go.
“We’ve yet to sit down with the other man, although we’ve identified him as Bogdan Lozinski, muscle for Blazek apparently. We’re waiting for the FBI to come in on the interview. At some point, I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you two as well, but for now you just have to deal with me. I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”
For the next half hour, Clint and I alternate giving our respective accounts of that night’s events. It isn’t until we get to the end, when I’ve already cried over Clint’s version of what happened inside that trailer, that I recount my experience outside. Clint abruptly gets up, moves to the end of the be
d and bends his head, his knuckles white as he clenches the foot of the bed, releasing a litany of profanities under his breath. When I try to reach out for him, he shakes his head sharply. “Don’t,” he bites off and I retreat, hurt.
Drew observes the interaction and smiles at me gently. He’s always been a good kid, even when still working as a deputy for Joe, he’d come into the diner and have such an even-keeled pleasant demeanor. He hasn’t lost that gentle touch now, having worn the sheriff’s badge for only a couple of months. I hope he never does.
“I’ll take this back to the office, write up a preliminary report and when things settle down a bit over the next few days, we’ll have you come in to sign a statement. In the meantime, I’ll do my best to hold off Special Agent Gomez from barging in on you. How does that sound?”
“Thanks, Drew.” I smile, despite still feeling the anger radiating from Clint, although he manages to growl, “‘Preciate it.”
With a small two-finger wave for me and a chin tilt for Clint, he disappears through the curtain, only to be replaced by the nurse who was in earlier.
“Okay then, let me do a quick check of your vitals, and then you’re good to go.”
Unnaturally complacent, I push up the sleeve of my ‘borrowed’ scrubs so she can get the pressure cuff on there.
“Why the vitals again? I’m fine, don’t have any injuries, why hang on to me?”
The nurse tilts her head and smiles at me. “When your friend brought you in, you were showing signs of shock. Shallow breathing, pasty complexion, clammy skin, and your heart rate was all over the charts, in addition to a blood pressure which was coming up too low. You were showing mild signs of confusion, and although you appeared well able to communicate, there was a slight slur. All indicative of shock.”
“But I wasn’t even hurt.”
“No need, sometimes highly traumatic events can induce shock even if there is no physical injury, although the symptomatology might be slightly different. We make sure with people over forty that they’re not experiencing the early warning signs of heart attack. And you don’t,” she adds quickly, as she checks the readings, measures my heart rate, and jots it all down in a chart at the end of the bed. “All reads a lot better now and you’re free to head out. Will you be with her?” she asks Clint, who is still standing by the foot of the bed.
“Won’t let her out of my sight.” Again with the growling. I twist my head to give him a glare, but it seems to bounce off him.
“Good. Well then, if anything happens, if you feel unwell, you start getting clammy again or get dizzy or confused, come back here right away, okay?”
“We’ll be in the waiting room anyway, waiting for an update for a family member in surgery,” I assure her.
“Stab wound to the abdomen?” she asks, obviously well informed, which admittedly is not hard to do. Cortez Southwest Memorial is not a big hospital. I nod at her and she goes on to say, “Why don’t you have a seat in the waiting room, and I’ll go see if I can find out anything on his condition, alright?” With that she leaves the cubicle, and I turn to Clint who is staring at me.
“Shoulda made you go back to the car,” he says between clenched teeth. “Better yet, should never have left you there in the first place. I’d lost you today? I’d have been done for.”
I get up off the bed and ignore the hand he lifts off the bed to ward me off. Without hesitation, I walk into his space until my front is plastered against his and my arms slip around his back, pulling him as tight as I can. Slowly the rejection seeps out of his body and he curls around me. One arm rounding my shoulders and the other hand sliding in my hair, pushing my head into his chest. Totally surrounded by Clint he whispers, “I swear, I wouldn’t survive.”
Blinking back tears I clench my hands into fists, holding onto the back of his shirt. “Honey...”
-
-
It takes everything not to punch my fist through a wall when I find out from the sheriff what happened outside, while I was struggling with that son of a bitch in the trailer. I’ll be forever grateful for Mal showing up when he did. I might not have noticed the full extent of Jed’s injuries otherwise, he could’ve bled out right under my nose. I’d never have forgiven myself. But the thought of Beth coming to harm when I was supposed to protect her, that would’ve ended me.
Still emotional and torn up over Jed, this news hits me hard. Hearing that she’d been forced to draw her brand new gun on a man, and then have his blood and brain matter blown all over her is upsetting enough. Strong though—fuck, is she strong. Even when I’m not sure she should be coming near me when I’m this close to losing it, she’s sure enough for me. No hesitation when she ignores my attempt to keep her at a distance and plasters herself against me.
“I could use a hot drink,” Beth says, shivering under the thin scrubs, “but first lets find the waiting room.”
The waiting room is just down the hall, so I grab a thin hospital blanket off the bed, wrap it around Beth, and with my arm around her shoulders, take her there. Last thing I expect is the packed room that greets us. Emma, Arlene, and Seb are sitting on one side, Joe, Gus, and Neil on the other, and Naomi seems to be deep in conversation with a nurse I haven’t seen around yet. The only one who seems to be missing is Mal.
It’s Seb who gets up first, claps me on the shoulder, and wraps Beth up in a big hug before he’s forced to give her up to the women, who flank her immediately and try to get her to sit down with them. Not Beth, she reassures them she’s all right and comes straight back to me, leans in, and slips her arm around my waist.
That’s how we stay for the next few hours, fueled by an endless supply of coffee and snacks from the hospital cafeteria, with the occasional pocket of soft conversation breaking the silence. It feels like a safe balloon, one where I feel the gnawing worries in my gut for my brother almost suspended, but when the door at the end of the hall opens, the balloon pops. I see the surgeon taking off his mask as he walks toward the waiting area, and my gut twists viciously. Beth curls into me deeper as both of us watch him approach.
“Mason family?” he asks and is surprised when a room full of people responds with ‘yes.’ Beth’s hand at my waist squeezes tightly, and I try and steel myself for what’s coming.
“Mr. Mason was in very serious condition when he was brought in, having sustained a severe abdominal injury from a large blade knife. The knife almost completely severed a section of his large intestine, damaged his stomach and nicked his spleen. He also lost a tremendous amount of blood. We’ve had to remove the section of intestine that was damaged, repaired his stomach and removed the spleen. We also cleaned out his abdominal cavity of blood, stomach and bowel contents, but need to monitor him closely for infection. He’s been continuously transfused but we are running short on stock.” The doctor takes a look around the room and nods. “Luckily he is A positive. Anyone with A or O type blood can donate. I will have the nurse set up a station in one of the treatment rooms. We get him through to midday tomorrow,” he looks briefly at his watch, “make that today, and we’ll have a better idea of how we’re doing. For now, he’s through surgery, the active bleeding has been stopped, and he’s been started on intravenous antibiotics preventatively. The next twelve to twenty-four hours will be a wait and see scenario.” He nods around the room before saying, “I’ll send Tracy in for those who’d like to donate blood.” With that he’s almost out the door before I catch him
“Can I see him?”
“And you are?”
“I’m his brother, please—I need to see him.”
He hesitates for a moment, before giving in. “Five minutes and only you. Also, you’ll have to be gloved and gowned, I’m not about to take any risks. His system can’t take much more.”
I follow him through the swinging doors, where I am outfitted, and a nurse shows me into a large room with three beds along one wall. Only one is occupied but it is hard to see by whom, because he is mostly obscured by a large number of mach
ines, tubes, and hoses. I can hear the hissing of air being forced and the soft beep of one of the monitors surrounding him. I recognize what is visible of his hair and face. He looks old. Much older than his years. If I didn’t hear the hiss of air going in and out of his lungs and see and hear the beep of his heartbeat on the monitor, I’d think him dead. There is no room to sit in the ICU, and I have to grab onto the foot end of the bed to keep myself upright. I stand to lose so much if I lose him. Years wasted on a woman who wasn’t worth it from the start. Pain constricts my chest when I consider my only living relative, the brother I’d always considered my best friend before things went sour, might not make the night.
I move to the side of the bed and gently take his hand in mine. “I love you, Jed. Not gonna let a little nick get the best of you, are ya?” Careful not to disturb anything, I lean in and kiss his forehead, then his hand, before turning and walking from the room. Hardly notice the tears wetting my face.
When I walk through the swinging doors, Beth is waiting at the other side, her back leaning against the wall. She looks up, takes one look at me, and is in my arms holding me tight to her. My head bent down, face buried in the crook of her neck I let her hold me up. “Looks dead already,” I whisper in her hair.
“He’s not. He’ll fight, if not for him, he’ll do it for you.” She sounds strong and convinced, and I hold on to that.
“Taking Emma home.” Gus appears behind Beth and reaches over to put his hand on my shoulder. “She’s worn out and still insisted on giving blood. Arlene and Seb are in there now. Neil’s already done and has left to do some work. Naomi and Joe are hanging here to take you home when you’re ready.”
I let go of Beth with one arm and stick a hand out to Gus to thank him. Ignoring my hand, he curls his hand around my neck and pulls me in for a half hug. “Be in touch,” he says, as he lets me go, turns, and walks down the hall. In the waiting room, Joe has Naomi cuddled up against him and both stand up when we walk in. Naomi walks over, giving me a hug while Joe slings his arm around Beth. “Joe’s B positive, he can’t donate, but he’s gonna drive you home,” Naomi says.