Safe Haven

by Hannah Alexander

  The cemetery also served to remind her that, no matter what heroic steps she might take to save a life, eventually, and inevitably, she didn’t have the final say. God did.

  That was a strangely comforting thought.

  Still, she didn’t have a flashlight, and she didn’t want to sprain an ankle on her way back to the bed-and-breakfast. She cast one last, lingering gaze at the night sky, and was turning to leave when she heard a rustle in the trees down by the water. She stopped to listen, and heard a faint cry.

  It sounded like a wounded baby rabbit—they used to get those when she was growing up, when a cat would find the nest of babies. A couple of times, she and Shona had been able to rescue the babies and bring them into the house, but they never lived.

  The cry came again from the woods. No, it wasn’t a baby rabbit. It sounded more like a lost kitten this time.

  Now she wished she’d thought to bring a flashlight. Perhaps it would be best to go back to her room and get one, then come back here and check out the problem. If Blaze was still working in the kitchen, he’d likely want to help.

  She strolled across the church lawn, reading the little sign in front. It was Hideaway Methodist. She had cousins who were Methodists. She’d never understood the differences too much when she was growing up—

  The cry came again.

  Karah Lee stopped, frowning. This time it hadn’t sounded like a kitten or a baby rabbit. It had almost sounded…

  “…please…help…”

  Human. Karah Lee retraced her steps to the cemetery fence, then turned and followed it around the back of the church. “Hello? Who’s there?”

  Again, the soft, unintelligible cry, like someone too hoarse to speak.

  Karah Lee crept into the heavy night shadows of the woods, stepping cautiously toward the spot where she had last heard the cry. All she heard was the lap of lake water, driven against the shore by a fresh breeze.

  “Who’s there?” she called again.

  A wisp of sound reached her from beneath a tree a few feet away. She took a step forward, recognizing this spot. The blue tree trunk. A woman with gray hair, dressed in denim.

  She knelt beside the woman, and caught her breath. “Casey?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Taylor stepped from the Jeep onto the rocky ground of the freshly dozed site and gazed up at the dark skeleton of the building. He caught the glow of a beam of focused light on the third floor.

  “First responder,” he called out. “Will I need climbing equipment?”

  “No, but someone’s fallen up here. Bring a backboard if you have one.” The flashlight beam brightened as footsteps clumped along a wooden walkway. The beam angled downward on Taylor and flicked into his eyes. “Jackson, that you?” It was Tom.

  Taylor winced and shaded his eyes. “Redirect that thing, will you?”

  The beam withdrew. “Sorry. Watch your step,” Tom called, his voice echoing against the cliffs to the north of them. “There’s holes all over the ground down there, like some kid’s been playing with the backhoe. There’s rough wooden stairs to your left that the workers use.”

  Taylor pulled his emergency medical kit from the back seat and reached for his backboard fastened to the top of the Jeep. “Where’s the patient?”

  “Third floor.”

  Taylor entered the dark building and switched on his own flashlight. The stairs were obviously built for temporary use only. He found Tom at the top of the steps waiting for him. The lanky blond deputy was definitely out of uniform. Shorts and a tank top?

  “Tom, what are you wearing?”

  “The latest police fashion statement. Like it?”

  “It looks wet.”

  “It is.” Tom’s voice dropped, and he gestured along the narrow, wood-planked walkway, which stretched the distance from the front of the building to the back. “Better get your board over there. I don’t know how far he fell. I hate these tall buildings.”

  “You’ve made that clear to most of Hideaway.”

  A dark shadow of a man sprawled across the center of the walkway, and a ladder lay at an awkward angle beside him, upside down.

  “I think he’s one of the new guards they hired to watch this place.” Tom led Taylor over to the victim—an extraordinarily muscular man with short, dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache.

  “Could you tell if he was breathing?” Taylor asked, setting his backboard and medical case next to him.

  “He was moaning when I found him, which is how I found him.”

  The victim lay on his back; he wore coaching shorts and a muscle shirt. His face matched the paleness of the wood on which he lay, and his eyes were closed.

  Taylor inhaled the scent of freshly cut wood and recently poured concrete. And lake water. He sniffed, and as he knelt over his patient, he looked more closely at Tom. “You’ve been swimming?”

  “I like to keep in shape. Be careful with this guy. He dropped his gun, but I think those arms are lethal weapons.”

  “Gun?”

  Tom held up the weapon. “I’ve got it. Don’t worry, I’ll cover you.”

  Taylor crouched over the victim. “Hello? Can you hear me? Sir, I’m a first responder, Ranger Taylor Jackson.”

  Nothing.

  Taylor did a sternal rub. It didn’t rouse the man.

  Tom hunkered down next to Taylor. “Is he still breathing?”

  “Yes.” Someday Taylor was going to teach Tom the bare basics of emergency medical techniques.

  Taylor did a quick check of the patient’s sugar level, blood pressure, heart rate and respirations. The man’s breathing sounded as if it was becoming labored.

  Taylor pulled an ambu bag from his supplies and was placing it over the victim’s face when the man’s eyes flew open and his arm swung up, knocking Taylor sideways without warning.

  Taylor grabbed the arm and shoved it aside.

  The man swung with his other arm, and Tom lunged for him, knocking the flashlight away in a rolling spin that cast strobing shadows around them. “Hold it, there, buddy, settle down.”

  The prone man’s eyes flew open in the glow of the flashlight. One of his muscled arms escaped Tom’s grip, and Taylor made a grab for it and held him down. The man moaned in delirium.

  “We’ve got to get him restrained before he injures himself or us,” Taylor said.

  “Does it look like I’ve got handcuffs on me?” Tom complained. “Drug him. It’s all you can do.”

  Taylor reluctantly agreed, and though chemical restraint could further depress the man’s respirations, it would be preferable to risking further injury. He pulled a vial from his medical case, unpackaged a syringe and filled it, then plunged the needle. They held the patient down until the medication had time to work.

  “Guess you know they’ve had their first tremors down in Arkansas,” Tom said by way of conversation. “Earthquake’s doing its thing.”

  “You’ve been online tonight?”

  “I’m keeping my eye on it.”

  “Tom, we won’t even feel it here.”

  “Want to bet? Down between Berryville and the state line? We’re practically on the epicenter.”

  “What’s the prediction on the Richter scale?”

  “Good question.”

  “His muscles are relaxing,” Taylor said. “Let’s get him strapped to the backboard.”

  After the man was further restrained, Taylor took out his penlight and checked his eyes. “Looks like you’ve been on a bad trip, mister. Have you been taking some hard stuff?”

  The man closed his eyes.

  “Muscle builder?” Taylor continued.

  “Maybe some GHB to keep the strength going?” Tom suggested. “That stuff’s flowing hard and heavy on the boat parties.”

  “Oh, really?” Taylor asked. “You know that for a fact?”

  “Just took a ride, myself.”

  “Don’t tell me you were the one who fell off the boat,” Taylor said.

  �
��I didn’t fall, I dived.” Tom shook the patient’s arms. “So what about it? GHB so you can work extra hours following people like me around town? Or maybe you just couldn’t resist doing the stuff while you were on duty. Were you planning to jump me?” He cocked a bushy eyebrow at Taylor. “What do you bet he works for Beaufont? Maybe they pay part of their wages in drugs now, to stay ahead of taxes.”

  The guy slurred an obscenity under his breath.

  “Want to tell me what happened here?” Taylor asked.

  The man opened his eyes and glared. “The earth moved.”

  Tom nodded at Taylor. “See there? Told you we’d feel it this far up.”

  Fawn shrank against the trunk of the tree, mouth open in a silent cry for help. Her heartbeat seemed to pound through her head as the shadow knelt beside her, touched her chin, reassured her.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Casey.”

  In a wash of weakness, she thought she recognized that voice. “Who are you?” She could only mouth the words and hear the pitiful sound a little kitten made when it meowed.

  “It’s me,” the woman said. “Karah Lee Fletcher. Don’t you remember me? I was the doctor who treated you the other day.”

  Dr. Karah Lee. Fawn wanted to cry. She reached up and touched the doctor’s arm, wrapped her fingers over it and squeezed. “I’m scared. Help me,” she wheezed.

  “I’m going to, but I need to check you for injury before I can move you,” the doctor said.

  Fawn shook her head. She wasn’t hurt, she was sick.

  Amazingly, the doctor seemed to understand. “Then I’m going to take you to the clinic.” She reached down and placed her right arm beneath Fawn’s shoulder blades, and her left arm beneath Fawn’s knees and lifted her with a soft grunt. “Honey, can you put your arms around me?” The doctor’s voice was firm and strong in Fawn’s ear. “I don’t want to have to carry you over my shoulder.”

  Fawn reached up and tried to grasp the doctor around the neck. She couldn’t get a good grip. The strength had poured from her body with the sweat that had dripped from her all day long.

  “Just hold on if you can,” Karah Lee said.

  Fawn pressed the side of her face against the doctor’s collarbone and leaned into her, hearing the snap of twigs and the brush of branches against their clothing in the short trek through the forest. And she listened to the strong rhythm of the woman’s heartbeat, and her own breathing.

  Several times, Karah Lee turned and backed through the branches to keep them from striking Fawn.

  As soon as they emerged from the woods, Karah Lee hefted Fawn up higher in her arms. Fawn reached around the doctor’s neck and tried again to clasp her hands together, then turned her head to see where they were going.

  Karah Lee stopped suddenly, catching her breath, her arms tightening around Fawn. A soft glow of light flickered around the side of the church building, highlighting the overhang of the eave and the outline of hedge.

  Karah Lee stiffened, then took a step backward, then another step, and another until they were hidden once more in the deeper shadow of the trees.

  The flashlight beam sliced through the darkness and skidded across the tops of tombstones in the cemetery, as if searching for something. Or someone.

  Fawn’s focus remained on that light until she heard the wailing cry of a siren slither over their heads from the hills.

  She stiffened. No! The police were coming to get her! This wasn’t a rescue, it was an arrest.

  She struggled within her captor’s tight grip.

  “Shh. Casey, stop it!” It was just a breath of sound, and the arms tightened more firmly around her, then Karah Lee pressed her mouth next to Fawn’s ear. “We could be in danger. Be still!”

  I’m already in danger. Once again, she struggled in the woman’s grasp. Like steel bars of a jail cell, the arms held her.

  Taylor heard the echo of the siren against the cliffs. Thank God. The patient appeared to have a broken left ankle, and Taylor was glad he’d thought to strap the spine board to the Jeep last week. Now he only hoped he would get the board back sometime in the future. He’d learned long ago to keep a close eye on his equipment, or it could get “lost” in the shuffle of patients to other hospitals.

  “You were really on that paddleboat?” he asked Tom.

  “Sure was.” Tom stepped over to the end of the building, flashlight in hand, to signal to the driver where they were.

  Taylor joined him. “You’re not exactly an undercover agent, Tom.”

  “Not trying to be.”

  “You don’t have a gun or anything?”

  “Sure, in my car.”

  “I don’t see a bulletproof vest under that skimpy shirt.”

  “I took my chances,” Tom said. “You’d be surprised what a guy can find out at one of those parties when at least half the passengers are either drunk or high on something.”

  “How did you happen to hear our friendly patient?” Taylor asked.

  “Pure luck.” Tom’s sarcasm was palpable, his gaze fixed on the flashing lights as the ambulance came around the curve from the hillside into the western edge of Hideaway, past the church and the bed-and-breakfast.

  Taylor shone his light on their patient to make sure he was still in place, even though the man was restrained and the monitor was beeping faithfully. “So you think he’s with Beaufont? What happened on the boat?”

  Tom leaned closer to Taylor and murmured, “I found out they’re insured to the hilt.”

  “You heard that on the boat?”

  “I found that out from some contacts in Springfield. An old college roommate of mine’s been doing some research for me.”

  “So Beaufont shows some financial responsibility. I don’t have a problem with that.”

  Tom gave him a disgruntled look. “Do you have a problem with this crazy guy packing heat? How serious does it have to get for you to realize these people mean business? I’m telling you, I had to hit the water and swim to shore, because they caught me in the cockpit and they were on me like mud in a pigpen.” He raised his flashlight and motioned to the attendants with the doors opened on the ambulance. “We’re up here, Joe.”

  “Karah Lee? That you?”

  Karah Lee released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, and stepped from the shadows into the beam of Blaze’s flashlight. “I’m going to tie a cowbell around your neck if you sneak up on me like that again.” She felt Casey stiffen once more in her arms. “It’s okay, honey. He’s one of the good guys. You remember Blaze?”

  The girl relaxed.

  “What’s going on down here?” Blaze hurried down the gentle slope from the church. “Taylor called the Lakeside, all bent out of shape, wanting you to get indoors immediately, and he didn’t say why, didn’t have time to talk, but I think he meant what he said.” He reached Karah Lee, keeping the beam of his light aimed at the ground, and not in her face or Casey’s. Thoughtful kid.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Karah Lee said, repositioning her grip on her heavy burden.

  “Casey!” Blaze exclaimed. “Where’d you come from? What happened?”

  “She’s sick,” Karah Lee said.

  Blaze’s eyes bugged out. “She?”

  “Do you have your keys to the clinic? She needs treatment now. She’s dehydrated, barely functional, and we’ll probably need another ambulance out here.” She felt Casey stiffen in her arms once more.

  “The keys are in my pocket.” Blaze reached for Casey. “Give her to me. No offense, but you’re about to drop her, and I’ve been carrying hay bales on weekends when I’m not working for Bertie. I don’t guess your car’s down here anywhere.”

  Karah Lee gratefully relinquished her load and took Blaze’s flashlight. “Not when I can walk the two blocks. Let’s get to the clinic.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The overhead lights in the clinic nearly blinded Fawn, but the pillowcase felt soft and cool against her neck and the right side of her face as
Blaze gently lowered her onto the exam bed. It was the same bed where she’d slept last night. She automatically glanced toward the stainless-steel tray table she’d used as a nightstand, and where she’d left the books this morning in her rush to escape. They were gone, of course.

  Had someone found the chip and candy-bar wrappers in the trash can yet?

  It didn’t matter. She was in such big trouble now, stealing some food wouldn’t even count.

  Water splashed somewhere behind her while Karah Lee quietly gave Blaze instructions that Fawn didn’t completely understand—something about WD-50 or something, which sounded like motor oil to Fawn. Were they giving her a lube job?

  The important thing was that they didn’t make any telephone calls, and wherever that siren had come from earlier, it hadn’t brought any policemen or ambulance people to this place.

  And then Blaze left the room.

  Fawn stiffened. “No,” she squeaked.

  “It’s okay,” Karah Lee said, leaning down beside her and holding her gaze with gentle concern. “He’s just going to the supply room. If we were going to call anyone, we have a telephone right here, Casey. I’m not going to do anything behind your back.”

  Fawn studied the woman’s face carefully. Some people could lie really well. She’d thought this doctor was different, but…“You called the police on me,” she rasped, barely doing more than mouthing the words.

  “You mean last Friday? I didn’t have to call them, because Taylor was already here, remember? He called the sheriff for help, and I asked him not to give them any particulars about your case.”

  Fawn wasn’t sure she believed that. She shook her head.

  “Look,” Karah Lee said. “I was concerned for your safety, and I’m legally bound to do anything necessary to protect my patient, even if that does mean calling the police.”

  “But you don’t—”