We All Sleep Alone (Finley Creek Book 11)

by Calle J. Brookes

  “We’re two highly intelligent beings. We should be able to figure it out.”

  “I’m sure.” She shot him a grin. “I’m sure there’s an instruction manual here somewhere if we can’t. I’m a fast reader.”

  He reached out and pulled the ball cap down over her eyes a bit more. His own reflection looked back at him from the mirrored glasses. “Pull your jacket over the plaster cast a bit better. Don’t meet anyone’s eyes.”

  “It’s not like anyone’s going to be around. It’s two in the afternoon on a weekday in October.”

  He waved one hand around. Almost all of the three dozen sites were filled. “Keep your mouth shut, or you’ll get grounded for sure, young man.”

  Anyone looking closely would see a very feminine young woman, with delicate features and a fit body.

  Most people didn’t look that closely at others. Not in his experience.

  They were going to use that to their advantage.

  “I have to take the little plastic tags off all the clothes first. I put the laundry soap in that cabinet under the bed. We’ll need something to cover the laundry basket once the clothes are dry. The rain is really brutal today.”

  Within three hours, all of the laundry she’d purchased had been run through the wash—twice, at her insistence—and then dried. Also twice.

  He stopped her from setting the dryer a third time—to kill any bugs, she said—by reminding her that people were starting to mill around. That just increased their chances of being discovered.

  She nodded reluctantly.

  “All right. Back to the tin can, then.” She was hesitant to be alone with him in such a tiny space. It was going to get dark sooner than she was probably ready for.

  That meant climbing into bed with him again.

  She was a hell of a lot more aware today. Yesterday, she had barely noticed him in the bed at all.

  He suspected tonight would be a bit different.

  Allen’s gut tightened at the thought.

  He grabbed the basket full of unfolded laundry. She’d wanted it nice and neat—but as he’d reminded her, that wasn’t exactly something a teenage boy would care about. Especially one in a cast.

  She could fold all she wanted once she returned to the van. Or he would let her order him around with it for a while. Give her a chance to be the boss in even this one thing.

  He understood how the loss of control could impact someone. It had him so many times before.

  All these people—mostly couples from what he could see—were making him antsy. There wasn’t a real teenager anywhere to be seen.

  That would make her stand out more than he’d intended.

  Still. They were leaving first thing in the morning.

  He’d keep her under wraps until then.

  66

  Izzie couldn’t take it any longer. They’d been stuck in the van for hours. The rain wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. She half expected it would turn into a damned boat—because Allen would make it happen—and they’d float away. She’d never realized how utterly competent the man was. Everything he touched worked so perfectly.

  She touched something in the van and almost needed an engineer to figure it out—he accomplished whatever he wanted, practically without blinking.

  It was completely irritating.

  He refused to let her outside the van again. Had told her it was too populated out there, and she had to be careful not to get the cast wet. She wanted to get out and do something. Sitting still had never been easy for her. Usually, she redirected herself by writing something. With her dominant in the air splint at his unrelenting insistence, that wasn’t quite feasible. Not by a long shot.

  She wished they could get out, play tourist or something.

  Logically, she understood. She was supposed to stay invisible.

  She was stuck in a van with a man she had no idea what to do with. She shot him a look when he wasn’t looking. He wore thin, gold-framed glasses for reading. They looked good on him. Everything looked good on him.

  That was part of the problem. He sat in the front captain’s chair, with it swiveled around to face the interior. He had one long leg crossed over the other. A maroon leather-bound book rested in his lap, and the notebook she’d given him was in front of him on the table. One arm was bent—showing off the well-defined muscle beautifully.

  He was as strong as he looked.

  He’d carried her a few times now. With little effort.

  Damn him. Everything was so easy for him.

  She wanted to get out of the van and do things. Probably because she knew she couldn’t. She was a bit contrary that way. Jake and Annie had pointed that out to her several times.

  She turned, shifted. He’d insisted she take the small jackknife couch. It wasn’t helping. She was hurting. She would be for a while. It was no wonder she felt a little bit irritable.

  Izzie would have to break into the aspirin eventually. In the meantime, she looked at her companion.

  There were half a dozen more journals stacked up on the dinette next to him. “Heavy reading?”

  He looked up at her. “Hmmm? Oh. These are Henedy’s journals. I’m taking notes. Seeing if anything stands out. See if I can figure out what was going on with him.”

  “Why do you have them?” She shivered as a chill went through her. The last person on the planet she wanted to think about right now was Wallace Henedy. Her scars twitched just hearing his name mentioned. “How did you get them? Didn’t the TSP want them?”

  “They were in his office when I cleaned it out for the next surgeon. That’s what I did the afternoon before the abduction attempt. I had them in my trunk when I noticed you walking across the road in the rain. I was going to drop them off with Detective Evers on my way home that night. In all the chaos, I forgot to give them to Elliot.”

  “Nikkie Jean said there were two potential replacements while I was…off. Plus, Dr. Baker.”

  “Neither worked out. Baker most certainly didn’t. When he said something totally inappropriate to Lacy and Nikkie Jean about female surgeons, Rafe and I made the decision to let him go immediately.”

  “I’m sorry—well, sorry you’re having so much trouble replacing Henedy. Not sorry about Baker. I…may have said a thing or two to him before he was fired. Guy was a total jerk. Once again, you’re rescuing me has caused you more trouble than you deserve.” That left her feeling indebted. Not something Izzie exactly wanted to think about.

  The restlessness was hard to miss. She was also in pain—and too stubborn to admit it. Wind slammed into the van. She jerked. Then winced. “What’s the plan for severe weather in this thing? I’d really hate to have to ride out another storm.”

  He sat aside the journal and leaned forward. “We listen to the weather reports, and if it’s severe, we head to whatever shelter is in the check-in packet.”

  “Great. We’ll get to ride out the next one together in a germ-filled campground toilet. Tell me: Did I do something in previous life to deserve this? I’m really starting to think karma is out to get me for something.”

  It was the closest to actual complaining and whining he had ever heard from her. For some reason, it made her downright adorable at the moment. Especially with the dark curls tumbling wildly over her forehead. “It’ll be ok. I’ll protect you.”

  “Ok, so stay in the tin can until what? We’re given the signal to come home? Does Elliot Marshall have a bat tattooed to his chest? A big glowy light we’ll be able to see clear across Texas?”

  “Something more like a bull with fangs. I’m not exactly certain. I have heard he may have wings beneath his dress uniform. We just have to play it by ear.”

  “Want to know a secret, Jacobson?” She leaned forward.

  Allen fought the urge to grab her and kiss the half pout off her mouth.

  He could think of a few things they could do in the rear of the van to pass the time in the storm. He cleared his throat and reminded himself that even if she was so incline
d, she was hurting and injured, and it would not be a good idea at all. “Sure.”

  “I’m not much into playing it by ear. I far prefer to plan. I even plan time to work on my plans. I have backup plans for my backup plans. Well, I did, until Wallace struck.” She paused for a moment, then raised the shade over the nearest window. She peeked out at the storm, a concerned look on her fairy face. She lowered the shade with a determined jerk, then flopped as gingerly as a person could over to face him again. “Maybe that’s it? Someone somewhere in the ether has decided to teach me a lesson. The last three months I haven’t been able to plan a single flippin’ thing.”

  “No. I don’t suppose you have.” He understood how adrift that made her. He wasn’t obsessive about it, but he preferred to know what his future held, too.

  “So…what’s in the journals? Does he say why he went berserk and tried to kill me and Nikkie Jean?”

  “A mix of things. Patient observations, notes to himself of things to research. Stuff he needed to understand better. Personal commitments, schedules. He has some learning disabilities, he told me once. Highly intelligent, but he has his struggles. He still spells phonetically, and his handwriting is worse than any other physician’s I’ve ever seen. It’s slow going.”

  She stared at him for a moment. “What are you hoping to actually find?”

  “Something that tells why or gives an indication that he was losing touch with reality. Something I may have missed. These journals were in a filing cabinet under the hospital evacuation manual and standard operating procedures. They were hidden. If I hadn’t been there when maintenance jerked the cabinet away from the wall to replace the computer cord, I wouldn’t have heard them rattling inside. I want to know why Henedy hid them. There’s something he doesn’t want found. I’m going to find out what—and why.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t something you missed.” She stared at him, her eyes big and dark—and hurting. “Maybe it was something else. Something I did. He came right at me. He didn’t even hesitate to look around to see who was in there first. He walked right up to me and shot me. Doesn’t it make sense that it was because of something I did, then?”

  He threw the journal down on the dinette. He didn’t even have to stretch to be able to reach her across the van. He wrapped his hands around her waist and met her. Almost nose to nose. “Hell, no. You didn’t do a damned thing to cause what he did. Not a damned thing, Izzie. There was something broken in him that caused it. Nothing else. It was because of him. Not you.”

  She shook her head. “In my head, I get it. But deep down…I just keep wondering what I did to deserve this.”

  “Have you spent this whole time thinking that?” he asked softly. It was the most personal comment she’d ever made to him. It practically broke his heart at the pain he heard.

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense, isn’t it? I did something to make him angry so he came at me. Otherwise, it was so random.”

  “It’s more likely that it was to get to Nikkie Jean.” He’d watched the videos over and over. Henedy had barely looked at Izzie before he’d pulled the trigger. “She most likely pissed him off while they worked together. Or learned something about him he didn’t want getting out.”

  “He was attracted to her. He asked her out, right before she met Caine.”

  “I didn’t know that. But it makes sense. Apparently, he likes younger women. Maybe he was pissed at her and Caine? There are rumors going around about billing fraud. At FCGH and at Barratt County. Wallace was most likely involved. Maybe he attacked you and Nikkie Jean to get to Caine? Or he suffered a breakdown and started randomly shooting. We’ll figure it out. I promise. I’m not going to stop until I do.” He made her a silent vow to go with his verbal promise. He wasn’t going to let her ever go on thinking that she had any culpability whatsoever. She’d been dancing along with Nikkie Jean and Wallace had shot her. No rhyme or reason. No blame. Nothing she had done had caused what happened.

  “I’m not so certain I even want to know anymore. I’m afraid of what I’ll find out. Can’t I get on with my life instead of being stuck in this limbo somehow?”

  Allen couldn’t help himself. He scooped her up and onto his lap. Allen just held her, wanting to comfort.

  67

  Allen had the van disconnected, slides in, roof down, and breakfast ready before she even woke. After she took a quick shower in the wet bath, cast wrapped in a trash bag, they were ready to go.

  Izzie hadn’t said much more than good morning and blinked up at him with sleep-softened brown eyes that made him want to snuggle her right back into the bed.

  Izzie liked to cuddle in her sleep. He’d enjoyed almost every minute of it. Being clubbed in the head with plaster had been the only thing he hadn’t. Even that had been worth it to hold her. He’d kept his hands in purely respectable places—she had definitely not given permission—but he’d enjoyed the warmth and feel of her next to him.

  It had put him in a damned good mood when he’d woke.

  The sun was just popping over the horizon.

  It took him until almost an hour to convince her to take something stronger than aspirin. The woman was the most obstinate creature on the planet that he had ever seen. He had once thought Nikkie Jean held that honor. Or even Lacy.

  Izzie had them beat, hands down. They left the small park in Waco where they’d stopped to take a break and stretch. Allen headed south toward Victoria. There was a campground there. His plan was to hit Victoria for the rest of the day, then bounce to another campground in a nearby state park one county over.

  If Izzie was feeling up to it, they’d take a tour of the old mission at the park the next day. He knew cabin fever was setting in. The pain was getting to her. She had the wig and dress—they’d have to hide the cast in the long flowing wrap she’d found to go with it in the things he’d grabbed from Linda’s things. They could take a few hours to try to forget what had happened to her. Forget what they were really doing out there.

  Other than one or two comments earlier, she never complained. Even about the pain. Mostly it had been about inactivity. Izzie didn’t sit still very well. At all.

  He shot another glance at her. She was sound asleep in the passenger seat. She had a blanket over her lap. Allen reached over and shifted it to cover her.

  She didn’t look so snarky now. He’d come across two references to a cranky second-shift nurse in Henedy’s journal who had confronted him. He suspected it referred to her. Henedy had mentioned how she’d reminded him of Henedy’s wife. Repeatedly.

  Allen had met Jennifer Henedy several times. She was an inch or so taller than Izzie, he thought, had the faintest start of the typical middle-age spread going on, and had short-styled dark hair and medium-dark eyes.

  Superficially, there could be a resemblance between her and Izzie. Whereas Jennifer Henedy was—in his opinion—a cold bitch, Izzie was passionate heat. Kindness and compassion. Humor. Integrity and intelligence.

  The woman was damned near fascinating.

  The journal had mentioned that nurse and how she’d questioned Henedy’s decisions. From what information Allen had, he would have questioned the choices, too.

  Henedy had made some dumbass decisions. He’d obviously tried to learn from them. He was humble in that way, at least.

  Nothing in the journals was offensive or concerning. Nothing stood out, good or bad. Henedy came across as even compassionate and concerned in many places. Mostly, he was just bland.

  Nothing even hinted at madness.

  Not like Logan’s journals had when they’d finally been turned over to Shelby. He’d read all about his friend’s downward spiral and had known exactly where he had failed Logan. Those failures were burned into Allen’s brain for eternity.

  Henedy’s journals were almost innocuous.

  That was all Allen had found so far.

  It was dated well over ten months ago, a few months after Nikkie Jean had joined the department.

  Henedy had wri
tten that he’d first found Nikkie Jean to be a plain little thing. Not that remarkable, though she’d reminded him of a woman he’d once known. He’d thought Lacy was gorgeous and sexy and absolutely terrifying. Allen had to agree with that. She was. Nikkie Jean had barely registered on Henedy’s radar back then.

  Something had changed between now and then.

  Allen had stopped reading as Henedy had started talking about another nurse. One at County. She had never been identified by name fully. With a C.

  He would find out, though. If this “C” knew anything about the man, Allen was going to get that information. He’d also follow up on anything about the dark-eyed nurse that reminded Henedy of his wife.

  Nikkie Jean had told him Henedy had been rambling about his wife that day. A daughter they could have had. How his wife had left him.

  Immediately after shooting Izzie. Nikkie Jean had sworn she thought he’d called Izzie Lizzie or Elizabeth a few times.

  Allen didn’t know if that mattered or not.

  He didn’t always understand peoples’ motivations for what they did. But to him, that fact stood out. For all he knew, Henedy had been looking at Izzie and imagining his wife in her place. Killing her in a rage.

  He was good at sewing together flesh and bone, to fixing traumas to the body. Not figuring out what would drive a man like Wallace Henedy to shoot an innocent woman.

  He looked at that woman again.

  Her mouth was slightly open, begging a lucky man to kiss her. If he wasn’t driving, he’d lean over her and do that. A soft brush.

  Well, if they had been lovers, he would. There was no harm in fantasizing now.

  His body tightened at the thought. Almost a constant state for the last twenty-four hours.

  He wanted this woman. Badly. Each minute he spent with her increased that desire.

  Allen forced his attention back to the road and back to what he’d read in the journal. The notes were an odd blending of professional notes and personal reflections in the mundane that Henedy’s days appeared to be. The man had adored his wife and son and nephew. He’d also adored women. That had been obvious in the first journal entry.