Line of Fire

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  She opened the door. “Please, come in.”

  The door opened into a narrow ten-foot hallway that led to a living room. The room held a sofa and two matching chairs, the backs of which held large draped shawls, similar to her scarf, though the colors were more earthy and muted. In front of the sofa sat a cherry coffee table with a glass top where incense burned in a tall crystal vase. A wide cherry buffet and hutch spanned one wall, the upper part all shelves with glass doors, the deeper bottom part containing drawers and cupboards with wooden doors. The buffet top was large enough to hold a variety of serving platters or even a small television. Instead the space was filled with quartz crystals large and small, some in clusters, others in cut crystal bowls.

  More crystals glistened from the upper shelves. I recognized an amethyst cathedral geode, similar to one I’d picked up at an estate sale, though this one was three times the size. Braids of grass filled one of the shelves, and below that was a shelf of wooden talismans like the one she’d given the woman at Cindy’s old apartment. Several baskets next to the cabinet held bundles of what looked like different kinds of sage. Behind the sofa sat a table layered with another flowing cloth, this one a calming blue, and beyond the table, curtains covered the glass doors leading to the balcony.

  Shannon gave me a look that told me he thought the contents of the room and its occupant strange. I was with him on that, but the feeling was calming and peaceful, and I was glad to be here.

  “Please have a seat.” Divone indicated the sofa before removing a cut crystal bowl filled with colorful crystals from a shelf and placing it on the coffee table near the burning incense.

  “You did know Cindy, didn’t you?” I asked. “Even before the birth.”

  She pulled a large feather from a drawer and sat in a chair opposite us, leaning forward to fan the incense. A gentle smoke rose around the room. She set the feather down. “I knew Cindy very well. I tended her every day from the time she was six weeks old until she was twelve and her mother went back on the streets.” She pointed to a framed photograph among the many that filled the entire wall behind her. “That’s her there, right in the middle of my five children and four others I watched at the time. She’d just turned twelve.”

  “What happened to her after that?”

  “She stayed with friends, or sometimes she’d come back here for a few weeks. There were three foster homes. Sometimes in the summer she stayed with her mom. It wasn’t a bad life. Wherever she was, she knew she always had a home here.”

  The tightness I’d felt in my chest since leaving the nursing home eased. “I’m glad to know that.”

  “Her child has been happy?” Divone asked.

  I nodded. “She has two parents who love her very much.”

  “I knew she would.” Divone smiled and fanned the incense again. “I burned the sage and cleansed the room. I prayed to the Almighty to help the child come. Afterwards we gave her a name.” She picked up the bowl of crystals. “These are birth stones, red calcite, moss agate, jade, peridot, moonstone, opal, among others. Some of these were the same ones we had at Jenny’s birth. They soothe and give strength to the mother.”

  Shannon was holding back a smirk, but I’d felt imprints do exactly what she was describing. I didn’t know if the stones themselves had any curative qualities, but I believed in positive thinking and emotions. Jake sold a lot of crystals in his herb store, and though I’d never used them, his customers usually returned to buy more.

  “The birth went well?” I prompted.

  “Jenny was breech, and it was hard, but she came okay. In the hospital, Cindy would have been given a C-section, but breech births are possible if you know how and if the placenta is strong. Cindy did hemorrhage afterward, and that was a bit of a scare, but I managed to stop the bleeding.”

  “When did Cindy get sick?”

  A slight frown passed over her face. “I’m not sure. I went to see her the week after the birth, and she was healing well. She was determined to give her baby everything she didn’t have, even if that meant giving her up or watching her grow from the sidelines.”

  “But she didn’t have even that.” Like my own young birth mother who’d died in childbirth.

  “I don’t know why she didn’t call me for help when she got sick like she did. Maybe I would have been able to help if she’d called me early enough.” Divone offered a brief smile. “At least I would have gotten her to the doctor in time.” She took up the feather and fanned the incense once more. “I can say that I believe Cindy was needed elsewhere, and Cindy’s friend—Gail, wasn’t it?—she attached to that baby from the moment I put her in her arms. It was she who held and calmed her while I attended to Cindy, as though fate knew what they would mean to each other.”

  “If you knew Cindy, did you know her boyfriend?”

  “Oh, I knew him.” Her voice indicated disapproval. “Or at least I’d seen him with Cindy a few times. He was smart. Really intelligent. He knew so much about everything. But he was also a mean and vicious man. One of the times I saw them, Cindy had a black eye, and another time when I touched her arm, she winced. I didn’t need her to tell me who did that.” She paused, her face pained. “He drank, but he didn’t need the drink to be mean. He let all his intelligence go to waste. He was into fraud, and Cindy suspected he’d taken part in several murders, but she didn’t know how to get away from him. The last time I saw her before the birth she was relieved he’d gone to prison. That was before she knew she was expecting.”

  “Did you know his name?” Shannon’s phone must have vibrated because he took it from his pocket as he asked the question.

  “Geyser, I think. I never caught a last name.” She sighed. “Sorry, I wish I could be of more help.”

  “Did he come to see you recently?” I asked as Shannon pushed a button on his phone. “Maybe searching for information about his daughter?”

  “I haven’t seen him.” Divone’s brow gathered. “You think he took her?”

  “We don’t know. She was searching for her biological father online. If he ran into someone who’d known Cindy while she was expecting, that might have been enough for him to track her down. Especially if he thought Cindy’s friend might have raised her. If Jenny put the name of her mother and her place and date of birth online, it wouldn’t be hard for him to connect the dots.”

  Shannon showed me a sketch on his phone before passing it to Divone. “This is a preliminary sketch our artist made from a description an orderly gave at the home where Cindy’s mother is now. Does this look like Geyser?”

  Divone studied the photo. “It’s been fourteen years, you understand, and I only spent a couple hours with the guy all together, but this doesn’t ring any bells. I mean, all the features are right, but it’s not him. Sorry.”

  Shannon sighed. “It happens sometimes. The orderly only saw him briefly.”

  “He could have changed a lot in fourteen years,” Divone said. “Prison can do that to a man.” She sounded like someone who spoke from personal experience and I was curious. On any other day, I would have loved to keep her talking.

  “Would you mind working with a sketch artist?” Shannon asked.

  “Of course not.” Divone glanced at the phone once more before handing it back. “But my description would be the same as this, except he was younger, of course. Don’t know that you’ll get anything different from me.” She stood and walked to the cabinet. “I do seem to remember that we took pictures one time. It was the first time I met him and the first time I’d seen her in three years. It was the only really good visit we had because after that I’d realized what he was. Maybe he’s in one of the pictures.”

  Divone removed a photo box from a drawer, found a tab, and began thumbing through two inches of photographs. I caught glimpses of women who resembled her, giggling toddlers on their laps. Probably her own daughters.

  “Here they are.” Divone’s flipping slowed, and her lips pursed. “Oh, there’s only one with him. It’s not good
.”

  In fact, it was the back of his head, and he was wearing a baseball cap, so it really didn’t help. His height was average and though he was on the slender side, that didn’t set him apart from millions of other men.

  Great.

  “We’ll keep this if you don’t mind,” Shannon said. “Maybe the FBI can do some enhancing.”

  “Sure.”

  “Wait.” My heart started thumping in my ears as a thought occurred to me. “Do you still have the camera?”

  Divone nodded. “Oh, yes. Even in this digital age, I like the old-fashioned kind of photos. Most people I know don’t even get around to printing their digital ones. Why do you ask?”

  Because even if she didn’t have the photos, if the day had been so good for Divone, there might be an imprint waiting for me. “Can I see it?”

  My tone must have been urgent because she stopped asking questions, walked to the middle of the cabinet, and opened a cupboard. “Here it is.” She handed it to me.

  Imprints assailed me. Happy, vague ones but strong enough to make me smile. Not enough to take over, to blot out who I really was. Divone enjoyed taking pictures of those she loved. Her grandchildren, especially. Occasionally, a stronger imprint emerged when Divone was worried or when someone else wielded the camera, but for the most part, the imprints were easygoing and pleasant. I sat back on the couch, willing to wait. Ten years, eleven, twelve. A blur of faces as the years passed, the imprints more faded.

  I almost missed it when a happy face, two happy faces, came in a blur like all the others. But this one had pale blonde hair and the face that looked like Jenny’s. It had to be Cindy. I focused more tightly on the imprint, willing it to be enough, though nothing I could do would change what was there.

  I wasn’t experiencing voices this far after the event. Only the faces. Closer. Look at him. But Divone was looking at Cindy, who seemed happy. No, look at him, I thought. Then Divone did look at him, and I saw him. Young, very thin. Blond hair that curled at the ends. Narrow face.

  Narrow face.

  One I’d seen before.

  I must have gasped because the camera was yanked from my hands. I blinked, for a moment not seeing the room I was in but still focused on the faint images in the imprint.

  “Autumn?”

  Shannon’s face came into view, and I gave him a weary grin. “I know who he is.”

  “What?”

  “I know him. He’s in Salem.” I searched my brain for his name. “It’s Bremer. David Bremer, the gunman from the gas station.” Jenny’s biological father had been in the custody of the Marion County sheriff’s office all along.

  Shannon and Divone stared at me, Shannon with a look of triumph and Divone with one of confusion.

  “We’ll need to call the commander and Agent Cross,” Shannon said.

  A rush of self-doubt assailed me. What if I was wrong? No. David Bremer’s being Jenny’s father would explain at least to some point the apparent coincidence of people pulling guns on us twice in one day.

  “This means those men at the hospital,” I said. “It’s all related.”

  Shannon nodded grimly. “Probably, though what drug dealers have to do with Jenny’s disappearance, I can’t imagine.”

  “The key is Bremer. We have to question him.” I turned to Divone. “Thank you so much for your time. You’ve been a lot of help.”

  “I don’t know how … I’m not sure what—” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. As long as you find that little girl.” She opened yet another drawer and pulled out a scarf with wide stripes of purple, mauve, and green. “I paint the colors onto white silk,” she said. “These colors are soothing. Take this with you on your journey. Maybe it will help.”

  “Thank you.” I accepted the cloth without protest, mostly to save time but partly because it was so beautiful. As my fingers touched the silk, an imprint came to me of her painting the cloth, exuding calmness, comfort, and love in much the way my sister did when she was drawing. I met her eyes, this shaman midwife who had spent her life helping others and making things for them. “It’s beautiful.”

  I wondered if I should try to fold it further and put it in my pocket, but she took it from me, shook it and draped it over my neck. “It is to be used,” she said, smiling. “Come on, I’ll show you out.”

  I followed her, tucking the ends of the scarf inside my coat. It didn’t match my red sweater, but there was no one to see, and the calm that pervaded my body was worth it.

  “You drive. I’ll call,” Shannon said as we left the building.

  Strangely, it was darker than I remembered in the street. What had happened to the street lamps? Sure enough, those around the building were out, though I could see others glowing down the road. A lone car drove past us through half an inch of snow, disappearing around a bend.

  “Watch out!”

  Shannon’s warning came too late. Rough hands grabbed me.

  Chapter 12

  Instinctively, I lashed out, my fist connecting with something big. I followed up with another punch and a roundhouse. Next to me, I could hear Shannon locked in his own battle. More snow fell to join the soft blanket already on the ground.

  My assailant jabbed at me, a blow that grazed my jaw as I ducked. I launched another round of punches, landing two with a satisfying crunch. His next jab hit me in the face with enough force to knock me to the slushy ground. He laughed and reached for me, but he was overconfident and slipped on the snow. I helped his descent by kicking his legs out from under him. He fell with a moist thud. He was significantly larger, though, and no matter how much faster I was, he was trained enough that I knew this was a fight I wasn’t going to win. Fleeing was the wisest option.

  Springing to my feet, I dared a look at Shannon. He’d felled one man, who was struggling to his feet, and now fought with a third who was twice his size. Just as Shannon punched, I kicked the back of the man’s legs and he collapsed. Shannon punched him again, and he lay still.

  The first two men were back on their feet. They lunged toward us. So much for getting out of there. I sidestepped my opponent, took several steps away as if I were going to run, and then turned and leapt at him, foot out, using my momentum to increase the power of my kick. The move was good, even though I was hindered by the weight of my coat. He took it in the stomach, grunting, but he lashed out as he tumbled back, catching me in the thigh with a painful blow.

  Ignoring the pain, I slammed my fist into his jaw. It was a perfect move, or it would have been if I’d been taller. As it was, his head barely jerked back with the force. He growled, slamming his fist into my stomach once, twice, and again. I twisted away, feeling sick and weak. No time for that, I told myself. I kicked out blindly, and this had more effect than my planned moves. He screamed as I found his knee.

  Fueled by hope, I threw another punch at his face as he hunched over, hoping to land it with enough force to knock him out or at least make him dizzy. This time luck wasn’t on my side. He recovered easily, his right fist connecting with my left shoulder and his left slamming into my mouth. Warmth dribbled down my chin.

  I knew I should run, but I was in too much pain. Though he hadn’t hit my healing gunshot wound, jabbing the shoulder on the same side was bad enough. A cry escaped through my gritted teeth, an involuntary reaction that would direct him to punch the same area again.

  His fist rose, and I lifted my right arm to block, hoping he wouldn’t break it.

  A movement behind him. Shannon. A glint of metal coming down on my attacker’s head. He fell and this time didn’t get up.

  “Behind you!” I shouted at Shannon.

  He whipped his gun out, but the other man also had a gun. Apparently, they’d wanted to take us quietly but weren’t above resorting to shooting us if necessary.

  The two men stood, guns pointing at the other. “Put it down,” Shannon said.

  The man didn’t reply.

  “Who are you?” Shannon demanded. “Who are you working for?”<
br />
  Again the man gave him no response.

  Shannon raised his gun an inch. “Look, assaulting a police officer is a serious offense. It’d go easier on you when we get to the precinct if you’d put it down now and come voluntarily.”

  That’s when I noticed vehicle lights coming toward us down the street. Was it a passerby? Maybe someone had heard the fight and would call the police.

  The man laughed. “You ain’t going nowhere, except with us.”

  I could see now that the vehicle was a black van—and it was heading our way fast. The driver slammed on its brakes as it reached us.

  This did not look good.

  Shannon lunged, bringing his gun hand down on the wrist of the other man, who’d also glanced at the van. His gun thumped into the snow.

  “Run!” Shannon shouted.

  We ran. Loud cracks split the air around us. I heard a bullet rip into the base of a tree not a foot away.

  Shannon had his gun out, but without cover we didn’t dare to stop for him to aim. We were near his truck now, and I heard him use the keyless entry before pushing the keys into my hand. “You drive.”

  I started the engine, while he let off a few cover shots. Surely someone would call the police now. Of course, our attackers would come to the same conclusion and be more anxious to accomplish whatever they’d set out to do. Namely, eliminating us.

  I jabbed my foot at the gas, and we were in motion. Shannon fired another shot out his still open door just before I swerved around the corner and the van temporarily vanished from sight.

  In seconds, they were in my rearview mirror again. Shannon was calling for backup. I pushed harder on the gas, wondering if I needed to switch into four-wheel drive to keep my traction on the snowy road. But my next turn took me into a street where the busier traffic had kept the snow from sticking. The traffic was safer for us, maybe, but I worried about someone else getting hurt.