“I better,” came the reply.
Jolie lingered as the two men switched places, and then she followed Hamilton back into the bullpen. He motioned for Farran to follow him into his office. Jolie veered off course toward her desk and was about to sit down to finish her incident report.
“Murdoch, with me.”
She jolted at the command, glancing at Jennings, whose eyebrows had nearly shot to his hairline. “Sir, are you … ?”
“Murdoch, Deputy Hunt isn’t here, and it’s not my policy to interview women without a female present.”
Jolie frowned. Where was Cassy?
“Okay,” she said, dragging the word out, and then joined the party of two.
Hamilton pointed to the run-down leather sofa. “Have a seat, Farran.” He settled on the corner of his desk, with one leg hitched as if he were astride one of his horses.
Jolie stationed herself next to the closed door and leaned against the wall. Her nerves sparked with anxious energy. She’d never been a part of a real interview before; this had always been reserved for the more experienced deputies like Cassy, who had been a detective before moving to Eider.
“What’s up, Shane?” Farran asked after she made herself comfortable on the sagging couch.
“I’m trying to establish a timeline. Can you tell me what you and Xavier Hartmann were doing while you were watching the fair parade?”
Farran frowned, scratching her forehead. Her gaze flicked to Jolie and back to the sheriff. Clearly, the desire to ask why they needed to know this information was bubbling inside Farran’s brain, but she was a cop’s sister and had probably been well-trained to keep her nose out of it.
“I don’t like what you’re asking, but here we go.” Farran’s Irish lilt slipped into her speech.
It was a pattern Jolie had noticed happened to the O’Hanlon siblings when they became stressed.
“I asked Xavier to come watch with me. He needed to get out of the pub and enjoy the summer sun; the stick-in-the-mud has been working too hard lately. We watched the whole thing. Right as the last float went past, Xavier got antsy.”
“How so?” Hamilton asked.
Farran pursed her lips, and her features shuttered. Jolie stared at the other woman, trying to read her body language. Besides his policy of not being alone with a woman, the sheriff had to expect Jolie to observe and learn.
Pay attention to her eyes and hands. Don’t get distracted.
Suddenly Farran’s features went blank. “He was shifting the weight back and forth between his feet, like he was preparing for a fight. I’ve seen him do it before when we’ve had to bodily remove some drunk who refused to leave the pub.”
“Then what happened?”
“He looked at me and told me he needed to take a walk. I said okay, and he took off in the direction of the courthouse.”
All the nervous energy humming through Jolie’s body went out of her like the air in a popped balloon. The courthouse was two blocks from The Killdeer Pub and in the opposite direction of the park where Xavier had been located with Clint Kruger’s body.
“Did he say anything to you as he left?” the sheriff asked.
Farran shook her head. “I saw him turn the corner, and then I went back inside the pub. That was the last time I saw him. He didn’t come back.”
Because Jolie had found him and they took him into custody. Why had Xavier gone toward the courthouse? And how had he ended up at the park? What had he seen that made him take off and miss work?
Whoa! Slow down. Those questions are things the sheriff can ask. You’re just observing.
Sticking a fingernail in her mouth, Jolie began gnawing on the tip. She’d found him with Clint, and it begged all types of questions in her mind. Whatever had driven Xavier to the conclusion in the park was locked up tight inside his mind. Now they had to find a way to get it out.
Chapter Four
Xavier and Con stared at each other while they waited for Sheriff Hamilton to return. There wasn’t much to say when all that could be said was already spoken. Xavier slumped in his seat. How had this happened to him? He didn’t even know Clint Kruger that well, that much he remembered.
The most embarrassing thing of this whole damn situation: his boss was now investigating the possibility that he, Xavier, was a potential murderer. F. U., Lady Luck.
Running a fingertip along the edge of the underside of the table, Xavier packaged his emotions and shoved them in a corner. He could not let anyone see him crack. “How long have I been here?”
Con tapped his phone screen, and the time flashed up in large numbers. It was 19:23 hours—good old military time. “I’d say it’s been about three hours.”
“What do you think he’s gonna do?”
With a sigh, Con sat forward, pulling his phone close. “I don’t know, Xavier.”
Sorry bloke had to be eaten up by this. Xavier wasn’t the first Killdeer Pub employee to go off the deep end under Con’s watch.
“You should go home.”
Con’s wife had just had their second child. As resourceful as Nicolette O’Hanlon was, she was still a postpartum mother with an ankle biter underfoot, and she was currently being left to do it alone. Xavier shivered to think of the meltdown that woman was capable of having, because Nic suffered from PTSD.
A patient smile drew up the corners of the Irishman’s mouth. “As much as I would like to, my woman would send my arse right back here.”
“Doesn’t she need help with the baby?”
“Nic probably has a better understanding than most women of how this job works. If she needs me, she’ll call.”
Hence why he kept his phone handy.
Before Xavier could ask about the O’Hanlons’ little girl, the door opened, and Hamilton returned. The sheriff resumed his seat.
“Well?” Xavier asked.
“What she recalls is you going toward the courthouse after you got jittery about something. You weren’t specific, just said you needed to take a walk. Does any of this sound familiar?”
Xavier held up a finger, and then, closing his eyes, he let his hand fall to the table, his finger thumping against the scarred wood. He tried to picture that moment with Farran. They had been standing outside The Killdeer’s main entrance, watching the last of the floats meander by. The images congealed in his mind then sorted themselves out into a clear picture. There were the sounds of clapping and laughter from the kids gathering the bits of candy strewn on the street as the final truck loaded with hay bales and bored 4-Hers crawled past. Farran had said something to him—he couldn’t remember what—and then a flash of movement caught his eye.
Squeezing his eyes, Xavier tried to focus on the fading image. Damn it, his head was really hurting now, and the picture was scattering. It was a car. A head turned toward him. The face of a girl. Realization of who that girl nearly bowled Xavier over, and his eyes snapped open. He rocked back in the seat, nearly toppling over. Stabbing pain shot from the back of his eyeballs into his head, turning the throbbing headache into a full-out migraine.
“I saw her.” He groaned, shielding his eyes as the bright spots strobed at the edges of his visions.
“Saw who?” Con asked.
“Sarah.” Something warm trickled from Xavier’s nose. He swiped a finger under it; it came away red. “Oh, shite!”
Xavier felt it coming on. His vision was going black; his head was being squeezed like it was in a vice. He tried to look at Con, but the man faded into gray, and then there was nothing.
• • •
“Call EMS!”
Jolie bolted from her chair at Hamilton’s bellowing voice. Jennings grabbed the com and patched into the hospital’s dispatch station.
“Sheriff, what’s wrong?” Jolie asked, leaving her desk and heading toward her boss.
“Xavier’s unconscious and bleeding.”
Panic froze her on the spot. “What?”
“They’re on the way, sir,” Jennings relayed.
“Murdoch, get me a blanket or something,” Hamilton said. When she didn’t move, he barked, “Now!”
Jerking, she ran for the supply closet where they kept the things they would need when the department had to house someone in the jail. She ripped out a fat, wool blanket, disturbing the military order of Cassy’s handiwork, and snagged a few washrags, then rushed to the interview room. Jolie pulled up short in the doorway. Con knelt on the floor beside Xavier, holding his head to the side to keep the blood from pooling in his throat and choking him. The sight of Xavier lying on the cold, dirty floor with blood dripping from his nose shocked Jolie to the core. This was not a weak man. Nosebleeds and passing out were a sign of a lesser man or a horribly sick man. Xavier had exuded an air of strength and health.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Don’t know. He was remembering, and then this happened.” Hamilton took the blanket and rags from her and knelt, blocking her view of the unconscious man. “Murdoch, I want you to get his phone out of his belongings and see if you can locate anyone close to him who can help Dr. Drummond with his medical history.” Hamilton looked up at her. “Make it fast.”
She nodded, made an about-face, and made a beeline for the sheriff’s office where they had stored the box with Xavier’s bloodied clothing and other evidence they were giving to DCI. Rummaging around, she found the phone. Thankfully, Xavier hadn’t put a pass code on it, and she was able to pull up the main screen. Five missed calls and four unopened text messages blinked at her. She tapped on the missed call icon, and the names Ariel and Zac popped up. The texts were from the same two people.
The wail of the ambulance siren pierced Jolie’s head. Blocking out the noise, she double-tapped on Ariel’s name and pressed Xavier’s phone to her ear. His scent, a mixture of musk and pine, lifted from the case and did some weird, twitterpating things to her body. It was the scent of a vibrant man, full of life and humor. Not anything like the man passed out on the floor.
“X, why the hell have you been ignoring my calls?” a woman with a decidedly Australian accent answered.
“Ariel?”
“Who is this?”
“I’m Deputy Murdoch, with the McIntire County Sheriff’s Department. I’m calling to inform you that Xavier is unconscious, and we’re having him taken to the hospital.”
“Sweet Mother Mary. Tell me what happened to him, right now.”
“Um, we don’t know for certain. He passed out and has a bad bloody nose.”
Ariel gasped. “Was he hit on the head?”
Jolie blinked rapidly. “Uh … I ... ”
“Girl, was he hit on the head or not?”
“I don’t know,” she barked. “At least, I don’t know what happened to him before he came here.”
“Damn it. I’ll be there. Don’t you dare let any doctor pump my brother with drugs until I’m there.” The connection died.
Jolie gaped at the silent phone. Brother? The clatter of a gurney pulled her out to the bullpen. The paramedics were hurrying back to the room. She followed, trying not to crowd them.
“Sheriff,” she called out.
“What, Murdoch?”
She danced out of the way of a straggling medic lugging a medical bag. “I got ahold of a woman named Ariel.”
Hamilton managed to squeeze out of the room and join her in the hall. “What about her?”
“She told us to make sure no drugs are given to Xavier without her there. And she’s his sister.”
Shock wasn’t a good look on the sheriff. “His sister?”
Jolie held up the phone. “Also, there’s someone named Zac who’s been trying to call him, too.”
“Sir, we need you to move,” a paramedic ordered.
Both Jolie and the sheriff backpedaled into the bullpen, watching as the medics loaded a still unconscious Xavier onto the stretcher. Hamilton relayed the message about no drugs, and one medic made a notation on his palm device that would alert the ER staff. Once Xavier was strapped in, the medics wheeled him out. As they passed, Jolie noticed that they had removed his prosthetic and laid it next to him on the gurney.
Con vacated the interview room and stood next to Jolie. “Shane, send Jolie to the hospital. I’m going to run home and change; I don’t need blood all over me.”
“Why me?”
“Since you talked to the sister, you should be the one to meet with her.”
“Go, Murdoch. I’ll be there in a few.” Hamilton turned to Jennings. “Get Nash on the horn.”
Putting her back to the other two men, Jolie ducked her head and leaned closer to Con. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be there.”
“Why? The sister is going to need to know more.”
“I don’t know anything more than the rest of you do. She was demanding to know if he’d been hit on the head. I have no idea.”
Con turned thoughtful. “Hit on the head? He said he had a TBI.”
“He does?”
“I need to talk to Nic. Just get to the hospital and make sure nothing gets out of hand.” With that, Con left the building.
Why would he need to talk to Nic? Jolie’s gaze flicked to Hamilton, who peered over his shoulder at her.
“Why are you still here, Deputy?”
“Leaving, sir.”
Upon passing her desk, she grabbed her necessary items: gun, phone, and hat. As she was tucking those things in their rightful places, she realized she was still holding Xavier’s phone. “Sir, do you want me to—”
“Keep the phone; we might need to call this Zac person, too.”
Okay. And with that, she made like an illusionist and disappeared. In her car, she didn’t bother with the seat belt and zipped out of the lot. That same mixture of musk and pine lingered in her car. It smelled good enough to drive her crazy.
She barely knew the guy, and here she was panting over his manly smell. What the fudge?
She left the car parked in a lot on the east side of the hospital and jogged inside the ER entrance. Other than Xavier’s arrival, all seemed quiet. A nurse manned the registration station.
“Jolie?”
“Hey, Steph, where’d they take Xavier Hartmann?”
“Drummond’s with him in the big exam room. Why’s he in jail clothing?”
“Thanks.” Jolie tapped the station countertop and hurried down the hall.
She passed the medics as they were leaving with their empty stretcher. She gave the heavy hospital door a quick rap before she entered.
Drummond looked at her. “Deputy Murdoch, you can’t be in here right now.”
“I understand, sir, but I need to make sure the sister’s wishes are kept.”
“Sister? He has a sister?”
“Yes, he bloody well does.”
Jolie whipped around and came face to face with a dark-haired beauty with brilliantly green eyes and the skin of a porcelain doll.
“He also has a brother, the bloody wanker, who is on his way here.” Ariel Hartmann—at least that’s what Jolie hoped was her last name—brushed past and planted her lithe self next to Xavier’s bed. “Have you given him anything?”
“Nothing but oxygen. I was about to start an IV line.”
“Fine.” Ariel reached into the tote hanging off of her shoulder and pulled out a laminated card. “These are all the drugs he’s taken or is currently taking.”
Drummond took the list and studied it, his eyebrows lifting as he read further. “Most of these drugs are for—”
“Where’s his leg?” Ariel demanded.
Drummond’s features puckered like he’d been gut-punched. If he felt anything like Jolie in trying to keep up with this woman’s warp-speed thought process, then it explained a lot. Jolie followed Drummond’s pointing finger to the counter where Xavier’s prosthetic lay.
“Don’t lose it. Those things are expensive.”
“Ms. Hartmann, if I’m to read this list right, these are all drugs that have been used to treat brain injuries.”
“Correct. My brother was blown up by an IED. That’s why I needed to know if he was hit in the head.” Ariel pivoted and looked directly at Jolie. “And you never gave me a straight answer.”
“I told you what I knew, and that’s what Xavier told me. We don’t know if he was hit in the head. He can’t account for about thirty minutes of his day today.”
Ariel’s eyes widened. “Thirty … thirty minutes? Oh, dear God. He blacked out again.”
“Again? He’s done this before?” Drummond asked.
“TBI, Doctor, it’s messed with his brain.”
Drummond gripped Ariel’s elbow and escorted her out of the room. “I believe we need to discuss some things. Nurse, get the line going.”
Jolie stood awkwardly in her spot as the door clicked shut behind her. She watched the nurse find a vein in Xavier’s left hand and start a fluid drip. Once the nurse completed her task, she left. Jolie inched closer to the bed. The blood had been cleaned from his face, but there was just a trace of it crusted in the corner of his nostril. He looked washed out, something that was out of character for him, a man who’d always looked tanned.
The sleeve of the too-small T-shirt had ridden up, revealing the whole of a stylized cross tattooed on his right arm. It was beautiful and appeared to have taken some time to get inked. Did he have other tattoos? So many secrets exposed in one evening. He was a marine, missing a leg, with a TBI and a pair of siblings no one had ever met before.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
Chapter Five
The medical staff ensured that Xavier was stable and moved him to a room in the main wing. Jolie had been ordered to hang around since she might get Ariel to talk with her, which was absurd since the bossy Australian had been nothing but rude to her. The brother, Zac, was more polite but reserved. He looked younger than the other two.
The two lingered outside Xavier’s room, chatting in hushed tones. Jolie observed them from her post two doors down. Ariel and Zac looked like brother and sister. Yet the only things connecting them to Xavier were a few facial features. His hair was lighter than theirs, and he was taller and built like one of Daddy’s prized bulls. Ariel and Zac had athletic builds, more like runners. If Jolie had to guess, and she felt fairly confident in her guess, Xavier was a half-sibling.
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