Dressed in White

by Diana Stone

“So, that brings me to this question—do you think Coletti sanctioned this, or were they working on their own?”

  “I don’t know. He was hauling-ass eastbound. I assumed it was to get to Reno or Vegas. He also called someone and was saying ‘Yes Sir’ a lot. He did say he and his partner were coming to the ranch to call off the other two men. The others were out to get me and Quinn. I don’t have the whole story, and I don’t remember his exact quote, but he implied he changed his mind when his friends died in the barn. He wanted justice for that. The fact is, he still was going to kill me.”

  Quinn gives his statement. There will be more to come in the days ahead, but we’re released to go home.

  The sky is beginning to lighten as Deputy Ken starts our journey up the coast, toward the wine country.

  Quinn and I are together in the back seat, with Ken acting as chauffeur. We aren’t saying much. I’m almost in Quinn’s lap, he pulled me so close. I’m trying to absorb his strength. I feel uncomfortable showing this much emotion in front of Ken, but at least he isn’t looking, and I’m being tight-lipped, so he doesn’t know what I’m feeling.

  The ride is silent. I’m not sleeping, rather I’m dozing. Every few minutes, thoughts pop into my head, such as ‘What’s next?’ Actually, most of them are questions—always questions. I have reached a few conclusions as well, but much depends on other people.

  45

  After

  As Ken makes his turn down the ranch driveway, I untangle myself and sit upright in preparation for my return to reality. He pulls up to the outbuilding where Quinn hid his Jeep. This poor place, it has had so many problems recently.

  Ken puts the unit in park and gets out. Quinn and I get out the driver’s side. I’m the first out so I thank Ken first. He gives me a hug. “Be happy,” he says.

  “Yeah, I guess so. I beat death again!”

  He doesn’t have anything else to say. Quinn has stepped out. “Thank you. I appreciate your help!”

  They shake hands and Ken replies, “Take good care of her.”

  They nod to each other. His eyes lock on mine, and look a bit wistful, then he gets in and drives away.

  “What now?” I ask.

  “He gave up his rights to you. You’re all mine.”

  “Oh.” I’m quiet for a moment. “I meant are you going back to your place, or joining me at the doctor’s. Or what?”

  “Like I said, you’re mine. We can go to the doctor’s, or we can go wherever you want,” he puts his hands on my shoulders and looks directly in my eyes.

  “That’s nice to hear. I need to get my poor hand set. But I feel bad about this place.” I look at the empty pastures, the barn with crime scene tape flapping in the breeze, and the desolate house on the rise. “I’ll drive my truck.”

  “I’ll drive. It can stay here,” he suggests.

  “Ok, thanks. I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “You’re not a bother! Come on, let’s go,” he leads the way to his Jeep.

  “I forgot all about Jacqueline-Noelle. I wonder how she’s doing!”

  “I don’t know. The last I saw she was alive. One of the deputies saved her life.”

  “I was about to shoot him. I’m glad the deputy did.”

  He quickly looks at me. “You’re feeling remorseful?”

  “Oh goodness no! I may have missed,” I’m quick to reply. “Plus, it’s one less possible lawsuit.”

  He laughs. “You had me scared for a moment.”

  “Don’t worry, I haven’t gone soft.”

  * * *

  My left hand is in a cast, my ribs are bruised, and I have a slight concussion. I’m also exhausted and hungry. The only reason I’m not thirsty is that I never get thirsty—and that can be a problem.

  Quinn has been on the phone with his guys and brought them up to speed with the details. Jacqueline-Noelle has a fractured tibia. I’m not sure how fractured it is. Whether it has a crack, or is broken through. I need another phone. I need to call her. Mine was collected as evidence.

  I lean against the car door and hope to drift off. Except for the stiff suspension, and the bumps in the road, I would be able to nap. It’s nice to hear Quinn’s voice in the background. He’s doing business and planning something.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks between phone calls.

  “My hand hurts, and I want to eat, and sleep, in that order. But I don’t want to eat out. I want something fast and nutritious. I know what I want—banana bread!”

  “That’s nutritious?”

  “Well, maybe if it’s homemade.”

  “Should we stop at a bakery to see what they have?”

  I’m about to say no, then I decide yes. I’d like something tasty. Skip nutritious; I can do the nutrition thing another time. I need comfort food.

  He pulls up to the one on the main road through Solvang. Perfect. I’ve been here before, and they have tons of comfort food.

  “Pick out what you want, and I’ll get it. Do you want to find a table, or eat on the road?”

  “It’s nice in here, everyone is happy. I don’t want to go home and wallow in my misery, and pain, and questions. I’ll delay that and find a nice little table.”

  “Sweetie, find a seat. Don’t wallow. You’re too young,” he tries to uplift me.

  Five minutes of sitting here, scanning the tables, looking at what my fellow pastry lovers are eating, and I feel a few notches better.

  Quinn comes to the table with a cup of herbal tea and a coffee. “Chamomile, so you can sleep, plus it’s good for you,” he smiles a fun smile, under that scruffy beard.

  “I’m getting used to seeing the inner you, but not the handsome you.”

  “I need alcohol to take it off, otherwise my face will come off with it,” he gives it a tug.

  The man from behind the counter arrives with three dessert plates: A cherry strip, an apricot strip and a German chocolate cake.

  The strips are fluffy pastry with a wide, center moat filled with preserves. “This is just what I need,” I take a bite. “Mmm, thank you.”

  “You’re a bad influence. I’m having the cake. I rarely eat like this.”

  “That’s why you look so good.”

  “Compliments will get you everywhere,” he reaches over to touch my cheek—it’s somewhere that doesn’t hurt.

  I smile at him, and to myself. I’m calming down. The tea is warm and lovely, and the pastry is luscious.

  I settle deeper in my chair and let my eyes glaze over. I like it here. The flow of people, their anticipation, and their cheerfulness. What is this telling me? I’m tired of being alone, tired of being out in the boonies?

  “What are you thinking? I can see the wheels turning.”

  “I’m trying to figure out what I want. I like the vibe here. I’m not comfortable with the thought of being alone. That’s strange. I usually like being alone in the hills on a horse.”

  “Maybe you should hang out at Monica’s again?”

  “That’s a good idea. Once we, I mean you, catch that damned Heather. She’s waiting for her opportunity to do damage.” Darn it, I don’t want to think of anything dark.

  “I’ll get her. Let’s change the subject,” he suggests.

  I smile and nod. The tea really is nice. I put down the empty mug and stare at it.

  “What’s running around your head now?”

  “The tea was wonderful.”

  He gets up and goes to the counter. I can tell he’s in repair Jessica mode. I deeply appreciate it. He returns with a steaming mug of hot water and another tea bag.

  “What do you want from your life?” he jumps in with both feet.

  “A good man, a good horse, and good friends.” It comes out in a rush. “That’s strange. It has changed over the past few months. I used to want beautiful open spaces, horses, and freedom.”

  He smiles softly.

  I wipe my fingers, take the last sip of tea and lean back. I feel a little better.

  “Would you like to sp
eak with anyone about what happened?”

  “You mean a psychiatrist?”

  “Well, more like a therapist.”

  “Not really. No. I’d rather speak with people who have lived through the same thing. Like you, I guess. I don’t want someone asking ‘So how does that make you feel?’ I don’t want to keep answering those kinds of questions. I want feedback on how they felt, and perhaps some suggestions that sound logical. I don’t want a large group chat, either. Just one-on-one.

  “If you’re willing, I’ve been through a bunch of crap. As you know, I was shot. I’ve gotten into other scrapes that required working out a few things in my head.”

  “I’d like that. I respect you and value your opinion.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” his look is angelic.

  He doesn’t hurry me. We sit a few minutes longer, until I take a deep breath and say I’m ready.

  The drive through Lompoc, past the base, and to his compound, is quiet. It looks like he’s thinking. I’ll do my thinking later. I want to keep my brain quiet so I can sleep for days. I need to heal.

  The steel gate slides open, and we pull up to the front of his warehouse. His three friends come out to greet us.

  They’re standing together looking a bit uncomfortable. Quinn breaks the ice. “Jess is fine, she’s a bit rattled, but she has one hell of a war story.”

  We all troop inside. I go directly to the private master bedroom, pausing at the door to say goodnight.

  “I’m going to take a shower then fall in bed. Don’t feel you need to babysit me. I know I’m safe with everyone out there, guarding the nest.”

  “I’ll be in later. The guys and I have to plan.”

  That must be planning for Heather, and to see if Coletti is going to continue this.

  46

  Goodbye Heather

  I wake with the knowledge Quinn is beside me in bed. My hand hurts. The aspirin must have worn off. I’m hungry too. But I don’t feel like getting up and, as usual, I can’t tell what time it is. I toss around, then drift off.

  I feel someone sitting on the edge of the bed. I wake with a jolt.

  “Sorry, it’s just me.” Quinn.

  “Oh, good.”

  “It’s 6:00 PM. You’ve had a long sleep. I thought you should get up and eat, move around, then go back to bed for the rest of the night.”

  The loft is empty except for us. I’m sitting at the kitchen counter with an enchilada in front of me. There were some left, and I wanted something delicious, with melted cheese and good flavor. I’ve taken an aspirin and have a cup of tea to soothe me.

  “How much did you sleep?” I ask him.

  “About four hours. It took the edge off. The good news is we have a plan for Heather,” he looks happy.

  “Great. She needs to be locked up.”

  “Monica said she was again in the bakery today. I sent the guys to Los Olivos to wine taste, look around, and see if they can find her. They’ll set up our own cameras so we’ll be notified sooner.”

  “Good. Hopefully her time is running out.”

  “I think so.” He pulls out his phone, “Do you mind if I answer a few emails, or would you like to talk?”

  “I’m fine eating in silence.” I’m still keeping my mind blank.

  After my meal, I walk around the property, absorbing the last of the afternoon sun, then head in for another long sleep.

  * * *

  I wake because I feel Quinn lurch out of bed. I heard a ding from his phone. That’s some kind of alert.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Heather is inside the bakery!”

  I jump up. “Are you going to get her? She won’t be there by the time you get there.”

  “The guys are on it. I’m going to supervise—and gloat.”

  “I’m coming too.” I can’t find my clothes. “I need something to wear.”

  He’s digging through his drawers, tossing me baggy shirts and sweat pants. This will work. It isn’t a fashion show. Together we dash out the door. This time he’s driving the BMW. It likes speed more than the Jeep.

  “Travis and Dave got her. They were staking it out, and she walked right into their hands. I’m liking life right about now!”

  The police arrived long before us. She’s already in cuffs in the sheriff’s unit. I feel the draw to look at her, to see justice done.

  I stand here and scowl. “Goodbye Heather.” I raise my voice so she can hear through the closed doors.

  She looks at me, then turns away, dismissively. I’m still looking at her. I can’t pull myself away. My mind is working up lots of things to shout at her like ‘You’re going prison. Your days of freedom have come to an end, you psycho witch.’

  But I don’t. I’ve had too much training for that. I keep quiet. She’s going for burglary, kidnapping, assault with a deadly weapon, and arson. She’ll be away for a while—quite a while. I’ll happily testify against her.

  Monica hurries up. Together we look at her. “What a stupid woman,” Monica announces.

  Heather reacts to that. On my… she’s going berserk, kicking the door, and screaming. I turn to Monica. “Don’t you think she looks like a fly caught in a web—they bounce around, but can’t get free?”

  She laughs and waves at the fly. She wraps her arm around my waist and we walk away.

  That’s ultimate put down… sitting in the back of a police car, being laughed at.

  “I’d like to come back to work. I’m not 100% certain my problems are over, but when they are, I’d like to.” I miss the camaraderie.

  “Anytime. I guess that means you want your cat back?” she tilts her head trying to look innocent.

  “That must mean she’s being a good girl.”

  “We love her.”

  “Can she stay with you a little longer—my living arrangements are unclear, but I’d love to come say hello.”

  “Absolutely.” She turns to Travis and Dave as they walk up. “Thank you for your help!”

  “It’s our pleasure, ma’am,” they look proud.

  “Yes and thank you again for yesterday at the barn. The stall lock and my escape route were lifesavers.” I chime in.

  Monica heads over to speak with the arresting officer. “Where’s Adam?” I ask.

  “He’s in Reno.”

  “Reno? That sounds ominous.”

  “He has contacts who are helping us with Coletti. It looks like he’s leaving us alone. The second car of goons were sent to bring the first ones back to Reno. Their plan fell apart during the shooting. They reverted to enforcers who wanted revenge. Coletti swears he will stay away.”

  “He said that before.”

  “Right, but this time I told him he’ll be a dead man if he doesn’t. Not just his men—him.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “While you were sleeping for 12 hours,” he wraps his arm around me.

  “It’s wonderful having the mice work while I sleep, but I hope you don’t think I’m lazy.”

  Quinn laughs, “Lazy, no I don’t think so.”

  47

  The Offer

  I’ve had a week of easy days. Yes, I worked code enforcement, but it was easy… no one tried to kill me. What a strange barometer to gauge a good work day. I’ve spent my two days off at the new stable, trying to show them I’m not a difficult boarder. I’m not sure how long I’ll be there, but I like the trails, and I’m not there alone. That’s still something I have an issue with—being alone. I’m like a herd animal; I feel better with people around me. We all have a better chance of not being eaten than if we’re out there, alone, when the predator comes to eat. I think I understand a prey animal’s mind because of my first-hand experience.

  Quinn and the guys have been working on their plans for their business. They’re setting up executive private security, investigation, and the stuff they did for me—getting people out of problems. I guess that’s called a problem solver. Though it may have another definition in the Urba
n Dictionary.

  Monica invited Quinn and me for dinner tonight. I’ve just driven up and am waiting for him to arrive in his own car. Charlie just arrived, so I head over to his vet-mobile, as I call it, to say hello. I love looking at the goodies he has. From the portable X-ray machine and computer so you can instantly read them, to the more archaic tools, like emasculators, and tooth floats for filing down the points on the horse’s molars. He has neat things in there.

  Quinn arrives with a hug for me and engages in back slapping with Charlie. We head into the friendly house, smelling the scent of dinner as we step in.

  Nikki pours the wine. Monica made a plate of cheese sticks to snack on. Quinn and I look at each other and break into smiles. We had a Kentucky dinner with cheese pastry sticks.

  “Monica, you remembered!” I wave one in the air.

  “I couldn’t resist. It will remind you of fun times when you eat one.”

  “I’m not sure how fun it was, but it was memorable.” Quinn takes a bite and smiles at the flavor.

  The glass of Pinot is doing wonders. I feel my stress ebb away. I slouch down a bit in my seat. I’m finding it pleasant listening to Quinn and Monica discuss surveillance camera technology. I think they could be talking about anything, and I’d find it nice. I like listening to him, and Monica is a good friend.

  Nikki and Charlie are discussing hoof abscesses.

  This is the perfect family. I want to stay with this group. I don’t want to be a strong woman all alone. I want to be strong—with good friends and an amazing man of my own.

  Even Monica’s flakey pot pie is soothing. It’s comfort food at a high level. The flavor is so good, I don’t want to eat plain food again.

  Quinn tops off my glass. He leans over to whisper, “This is nice, isn’t it?”

  “Wonderful. I don’t want it to end.” I reply.

  “I got a call from Jacqueline-Noelle today,” Nikki announces.

  “Oh no, is she angry?”