by Linda Ladd
After that, Claire walked to the vending machine for more coffee and tried to clear her head. She was having lots of trouble doing that and contented herself by dully watching the coffee drip slowly into yet another Styrofoam cup. Her cell phone went off. She saw it was Bud and picked up quickly.
“How’s Nick?”
“Holding his own, but they’re not saying he’s out of the woods. They did take out the breathing tube, and he’s semiconscious at times.”
“Well, that sounds like fairly good news. If he survived the surgery, he’ll probably pull out of this okay.”
“Yeah, I hope so.”
“Are you still at the hospital?”
“Yes. Tell Charlie that I’m staying here until he’s out of danger. At least until then.”
“Don’t worry about it. Charlie said for you to take some time off. He’s talking to the Ozark P.D. about the possibility of that psycho Landers getting out of that wreck alive. He’s asking them to reopen the search. Truth is, Claire, this whole thing sounds like that guy. He was so obsessed with you that he’d do anything to get you, and if it is him, he won’t let up. You need to watch yourself. Don’t let him get close again.”
“That’s pretty much what Black tried to tell me.”
“So, just be careful, okay. Don’t be by yourself unless you have to. This guy is nobody’s fool. Even if it isn’t him, somebody’s gunning for you. The shooter could’ve been firing at you and hit Nick instead. Who knows?”
“Okay.” It was all so confusing, and she was so tired, so sleep deprived that she wasn’t quite grasping things so well anymore.
“We’re out at your place now, Claire, trying to find some kind of evidence to ID this guy. Nothing yet, but we couldn’t get much done until daybreak. No sign of him yet.”
“Okay,” she said again. Seems like that was all she could muster up.
“Get some sleep, Claire. It sounds like you need it.”
They hung up, and Claire walked back inside Black’s ICU cubicle. She did feel better physically. The shower helped. So did the coffee. He was sleeping peacefully now, or heavily sedated, she wasn’t sure which. She just stood there and looked down at him, trying to figure out her next move. She had to find out more about this Thomas Landers guy and just why he was so focused on her. Black needed to tell her everything, or maybe she could find some kind of file he kept on this maniac in his private office. He mentioned the private detective, John Booker. Maybe Booker could tell her what was going on. She felt lost in the dark, groping blindly for answers.
The hours seemed to crawl by minute after minute, with Black neither speaking nor moving a muscle. Then that night around eight o’clock, Black regained consciousness. Claire was staring out the window at nothing when he stirred and mumbled her name. She went quickly to him and picked up his hand. He still didn’t look so hot. In fact, he looked ashen and only half alive.
“I’m right here,” she said, leaning down close where he could recognize her.
Black tried to focus his eyes on her. “You all right?”
Touched, she whispered, “I’m fine. You had us all worried, Black. How do you feel?”
He shut his eyes, and left them closed. “Like a Mack truck ran over me.”
“I can believe that. Do you remember what happened?”
“Landers shot me.”
“We don’t know for sure that it was him.”
“It was him,” he said, then stated it again more forcefully. “It was him, Claire.”
“Don’t get excited, Black. You’re not well yet.”
His eyes found her face. “Stay here with me, Claire. I’m worried about you.”
Claire had to laugh at that. “Hey, it’s my turn to worry about you. You’ve been worrying about me way too long.”
“Listen to me. You’re in danger. Especially since you can’t recognize him.”
“I know that. I need to know exactly who or what I’m up against. If it’s him, and I’m not at all sure it is, yet, then I need to know what he looks like.”
“He tried to frame me, but when that didn’t work, he decided to shoot me.” Black groaned as he tried to shift position. “He wants me out of the picture. He was at your place, Claire. Right there close to us. He shot me because I showed up.” He stopped again, as if tired, but then he said, “But he’s after you, not me.”
Black’s voice was hoarse, his words halting, and she watched the numbers on his pulse and blood pressure monitor start to rise. She put her palm on his hot forehead and brushed back his thick black hair. He was fighting a temperature, all right. “Please, Black, just calm down. I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re okay. I promise.”
“Promise me you won’t be alone. I want Bud with you. Or Booker. I’ll call Book and he can stay with you.”
“Okay, okay, just calm down. You need to concentrate on getting well so we can get you home.”
“You need to get me out of here. I wanna go home. Now.”
Claire laughed at that one, too. “No way, Black. You’re not going anywhere. Think like a doctor, Black. You’ve got a gunshot wound to the chest. You are in very serious condition.”
Black shut his eyes, as if his strength had ebbed away. She stroked his hair some more and watched his pulse slowly return to normal. He dozed, but after a short time, he jerked awake again and lifted his head. He blearily found her at the side of the bed.
“Promise me you won’t go back to your house. Stay at Cedar Bend until I get out of here.”
His heart rate was increasing again, and the promise was easy for her. Hell, she was ready to promise him anything if he’d calm down. “Okay, I promise. The security at my house is no longer working, that’s for sure. I’ll stay at Cedar Bend at night when I’m not working with Bud. That satisfy you?”
“Oh, yeah, that satisfies me.” He shut his eyes, the drugs taking him out of it again. Eyes still closed, he kept mumbling. “Get up here with me, Claire… .”
That request did make her laugh and think that maybe he was getting back to normal faster than they thought he would. She’d hate to think what Dr. Atwater would think if Claire did climb in bed with him. Then Black slept, and she did, too, on the very uncomfortable chair beside his bed. But maybe when he got home, when he was stronger, she could do what he wanted. Maybe that would make both of them feel better.
Chapter Twenty-one
When Claire was absolutely certain Black was well on his road to recovery, she returned with Bud to her house on the lake and found Charlie and a small herd of her fellow Canton County Sheriff’s deputies combing her property for any trace evidence left by the shooter. They’d been turning over every leaf and branch for hours now. Others were inside her A-frame house, dusting for fingerprints that would positively ID this Landers guy, and which would prove, once and for all, that he was still alive and well and stalking her with deadly intent.
After donning protective gear, Claire walked inside her living room. She found Shaggy leaning over the kitchen counter, carefully dusting every inch of the sink and faucet for prints. He greeted her soberly for a change. He said, “The shooter was in here, all right. I’ve got his prints all over the place. And they look like a match to the one on the bullet casing we found down by the lake.”
Ever heard of blood running cold? Well, that’s what just happened to me. “He was in here? Inside my house?”
“Yep, and I’m willin’ to bet he was probably already in here when you got home last night, hidin’ somewhere. I found his print on the keypad of the security system, too. He knows your code. It’s in perfect working condition. He had to’ve known it.”
“Shit,” said Bud. “You’re lucky you’re not dead or tied up in that deranged psychopath’s lair somewhere.”
Claire wracked her brain about the night Black had been shot. This crazy guy was in her house with her while she was undressing, getting ready for a bath? And she didn’t suspect a thing? Despite her years in law enforcement, she didn’t have
a single clue, no sixth sense warning her that he was there, hiding and waiting to attack? Oh, God, she had disarmed herself, too, set her weapons aside. What would’ve happened if Black hadn’t shown up when he had? Her jaw hardened.
“Did you find prints anywhere else, Shaggy?”
“Oh, yeah. On the stair railing. Upstairs in your bedroom. On the bedside table. On the bedroom windowsill. In the bathroom. He was all over the place and touchin’ a lot of your stuff.”
“Good God,” Charlie said. “And you had no idea?”
“No. The deadlock was set when I got here. Security was on and working.” At that point, Claire stopped abruptly and looked at Charlie. “Jules was here with me last night. He barks at everybody. Why didn’t he bark and alert me?”
Bud said, “Jules’s gotta know this guy, Claire. Who’s been around your dog?”
Charlie’s face was red as fire. “Well, that’s just great. And that also means he’s got access to you, and you don’t even know it.”
“But I’ve been spending most my time at Cedar Bend since I woke up. I’ve only been out here a few times. Black was usually with me. Joe McKay and his little girl were out here once to visit. But nobody else. Nobody that I can think of.”
Bud quickly defended McKay. “Joe’s not involved. He cares too much about you. It’s got to be somebody over at Cedar Bend. Anybody act suspiciously when you were out there?”
“No. I didn’t see all that many people there, either. Just Black, and Monica, and once in a while her boyfriend, Jesse. He walks Jules sometimes. Jules knows him. And he’s a real weirdo.”
“Sounds to me like he’s the one.”
“But he’s crazy about Monica. He seemed so harmless.” Claire realized that despite all that, the guy gave her the creeps. “But I don’t trust him. We need to check him out.”
“Well, I, for one, trust your instincts,” Bud said.
“He always tried to be nice enough, but he just acts so bizarre. Monica really liked him.”
Charlie said, “What’s he look like?”
“About my height, maybe a couple of inches taller. Slim, athletic, white guy. Brown hair, brown eyes, close-cut beard and mustache. I don’t know. Just regular looking. He was out at Jeepers with us the other night. As far as anybody else that Jules was used to, I’d say Miki Tudor, Black’s assistant, came into the apartment once in a while to bring Black papers to sign, stuff like that, but not very often. There were maids in and out; sometimes room service waiters came up. I can’t think of anybody else. Unless Monica gave Jules to other people to walk, and I didn’t know about it.”
“Well, somebody knows that mutt, and I think this Jesse guy sounds like the most likely,” said Charlie. “So I want him checked out. If it’s not him, maybe he knows who else handled the dog. Have you gotten hold of him yet, Bud?”
“No, sir. He hasn’t picked up. I got the number off Monica Wheeler’s cell and left four messages on his voice mail. Said it was extremely urgent for him to get in touch with us.”
“Then find out where he lives and go by his place and pick him up. He’s involved with our victim and he’s worked with Claire’s dog. Bring him downtown. I want to question him myself.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, Claire, go upstairs and pack your bags. This place is a crime scene. You can stay at Cedar Bend, can’t you? You got a problem with that?”
“No. Black wants me to stay out there until he gets out of the hospital.”
Charlie nodded. “Good. I hear he’s doing a lot better today, thank God. I put in a call myself to Dr. Atwater.”
“He’s awake enough to badger them about going home. Says he’s fully capable of doctoring himself now.”
Bud grinned. “Sounds like Nick. But he’s hardly in walkin’ around shape yet.”
“They can’t stop him, unfortunately. He’s willing to go home by ambulance and says he’ll get a private nurse, if he thinks he needs one.”
For a good part of that afternoon, Claire stuck around and helped the forensics team check out her house, which she had only just gotten used to and now had the good sense to get the hell out of. She did grab some clothes, most of them, actually, but the thought of some deranged serial killer going through them, touching them and doing God knows what else with them, made her want to run everything through a hot water wash cycle before she ever put them against her skin again.
Around five o’clock, she made sure Buck’s team was finished processing her Explorer, and then she got in and backed it out of the driveway. One of the technicians restrung the crime tape after her. People were still going over everything they could find on her property as she drove away. She stopped at Harve’s and briefly filled him in on how things were going, and he promised to up his security measures. When she left him, he had his own .45 out and loaded and in his shoulder holster, just in case any deadly psychos came calling. She didn’t ask him about his dealings with Thomas Landers, and he didn’t volunteer any details. He said he’d know the devil if he ever saw him again. After that, she got the feeling he didn’t want to talk about it.
Claire turned out on the highway and headed back to the hospital, where she didn’t really expect to find Black. He was probably already gone, whisked away to Cedar Bend Lodge in his own personal and awesome Bell 430 helicopter. Surprisingly, however, he was still there, but had been moved out of the ICU and into their largest private suite. The nurses she talked to added that he was still complaining and bound and determined to go home. She smiled at that, but was eager to see him again.
His door stood slightly ajar, and when Claire pushed it open, Black was propped up in bed, still hooked to all kinds of blinking monitors and tubes. A tall man wearing a camouflage T-shirt and utility pants was standing on the far side of the bed. They were talking together in low tones until Black caught sight of Claire standing in the doorway.
“Claire. Come on in. We want to talk to you.”
We? she thought. She moved over to the bed, more than curious about the other guy. “How’re you feeling, Black?”
Black picked up her hand and entwined his fingers with hers. “Not good, but not too bad, considering a serial killer shot me.”
“I’m glad you’re still here at the hospital. Surprised, but glad. You don’t need to go anywhere for a few more days.”
“I’m doing okay. I’m a doctor; I happen to know exactly how to take care of myself.”
“Good, then you won’t do anything stupid, will you?” Claire glanced pointedly at Camo Man, who chuckled at her observation, and then wondered why Black hadn’t introduced them. He was usually pretty good at being polite and remembering that she didn’t remember anything
“And you are?” she finally said, taking the bull by the horns, not shy about introducing herself. She didn’t like not knowing by name and reputation who was loitering around Black, since somebody just tried their best to murder him.
The big guy only grinned. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, nice looking in a rugged, outdoorsy, red-flannel-lumberjack kind of way, with close-cropped dark hair, and eyes a slightly darker blue than Black’s. He looked like a tough guy, like he knew how to take care of himself and anybody else who made the mistake of getting in his way.
“This is John Booker. My private investigator. I told you about him.”
“How do you do,” Claire said, polite but suspicious, too. Why? She wasn’t quite sure. Just something about him irked her.
John Booker grinned some more, an expression that seemed amused at her expense. What was with this guy?”
“Oh, you know me, Detective Morgan. You don’t like me much, either.”
Oh, really? “Why don’t you tell me why, Booker?”
Black interrupted quickly. “Don’t get defensive, Claire. I had him investigate you once. You didn’t like it.”
Oh, really? “Well, I don’t like it now, either.”
“Don’t worry. You forgave both of us a long time ago.”
Claire t
ried to remember hating the guy, and couldn’t, of course. Damn, if she didn’t remember everything soon, she was going to give up and start over. New friends, new memories, nothing she had to have to pick and shovel out of her head. Like watching Black get knocked clean off his feet by a rifle blast. She decided to let it drop. The past was the past. Whatever it was.
She turned back to Black. “We found blood in the woods behind my house. I wounded the guy who shot you.”
“Well, good for you. Now we can check out his DNA against Thomas Landers’s hospital records. They’ve got a sample at the hospital where we locked him up.”
“We got the shooter’s fingerprints off the bullet casing. And all over the inside my house, too.”
That got Black’s attention, all right. “He was inside your house?”
“They have fingerprints. They might be yours, but we’re going to check them against the bullet.”
“Okay, that’ll double the proof. Unless Landers burned his own prints off with a Bic lighter, or something. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
Well, that was disconcerting, she did have to say. “So you still think it was him?”
“I know it was, and I’m going to prove it to you. I’ve got Book on it, already.”
That was Booker’s cue to tell her his role in all this, she supposed. He looked straight at her, eyes unwaveringly serious. “I’ve been down on the Finley River checking out where you went off that bridge. His body was never found, but I’m hiking down along the bank looking for places where he could’ve gotten out. Maybe the Ozark P.D. missed something. They were looking for a dead body. I’m not. I headed back up here as soon as I found out Nick got hit.”
“Charlie says they were pretty thorough with that search. He and Bud were both down there helping out, part-time.”
Black said, “Not thorough enough, apparently. Booker will be.” He was convinced, all right, and nothing was going to change his mind. However, Claire had to admit things were pointing in that direction. “We’ve got to consider all possibilities, Black. You know that. So you tell me. Is there anybody else who might want to come after you? Who might want you dead?”