“Hi, yourself.” He walked over to the kitchen and opened a cupboard, retrieving a clean coffee mug. “No. I told him we needed a few minutes.”
He walked over and set a large thermos next to her phone. The minute he unscrewed the top, the heavenly scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. She inhaled slowly, savoring the smell, thinking it was possibly the best aroma on earth. “You stopped at the diner?”
Clay nodded and filled the mug up to the brim, holding it out as Ricki quickly set the cup she had in her hands down on the floor. “I thought I should bring something you couldn’t refuse in case you had barricaded yourself in here.” He smiled when she took a long sip and closed her eyes and made a soft humming noise of approval. “Anchorman says hello, and that you have until three this afternoon to pick up your phone or he’s coming over here.” He watched as she made a face. “And Marcie said she’s coming with him. They’ll shut the diner down and sit on your porch until you talk to them.”
Ricki tucked a stray piece of dark hair behind one ear. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’ll send them a text and let them know I’m fine.”
He turned and sat in one of the straight chairs facing the couch. Propping a booted foot on top of the opposite knee, he quirked an eyebrow at her. “Does that mean there’s also nothing to talk about with your uncle, or your boss, or your doctor?” He paused for a brief second. “Or me?”
“Uncle, boss, doctor, no. You, yes,” Ricki said. “I need to apologize.”
Clay’s eyebrow lifted higher. “For . . . ?”
Her back stiffened, but it had to be said. “For falling apart on you. I know you drew the short straw to tell me about Amanda Cannady, and I should have held it together. None of it was your fault, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“I don’t recall you taking anything out on me, Ricki,” Clay said evenly. “You were upset, and that’s okay. No one likes to hear they were involved in a car crash where a life was lost.” When she looked away, he snorted loudly enough to draw her attention back to him.
His bland look annoyed her enough to give him a good glare. “I’m trying to apologize here.”
“And I’m trying to tell you that the accident was no accident, and it wasn’t your fault.”
“Look, I can’t help feeling—” She abruptly stopped talking, her mouth still open as she stared at him. “What do you mean it wasn’t an accident?”
“I talked to the two kids who spent the night at the hospital. They both gave statements that they were late meeting some friends for a hike in the park and were driving too fast.”
“Maybe. But they were in their own lane,” Ricki interrupted, then fell silent when Clay lifted a hand.
“Let me finish, Agent James.” He was all cop now, staring at her until her mouth snapped shut before lowering his hand again. “They were well over the speed limit coming around that curve, so there was no way in bloody hell you could have reacted fast enough to avoid hitting them. They also said they thought you were going to hit them head-on, but you suddenly turned and headed straight for the tree line.” Clay let out a long breath. “If you hadn’t flipped over, you would have ended up wrapped around a tree.” He leaned forward. “And you wouldn’t have been in their lane if it hadn’t been for the shots fired at you.”
All the irritation drained out of her in one single moment. Shots? “What shots?” she demanded.
“At least two,” Clay said. “There’s a bullet hole in the left front fender, and another one in the tire.”
Ricki slowly shook her head. “I don’t remember hearing a gunshot. Are you sure?”
“Unless there was already a bullet hole in the jeep’s fender, I’m sure,” Clay stated flatly. “And so is Charlie. I had the jeep towed to his shop. He found both bullet holes.” Clay leaned back again and met her gaze. “Right now, he thinks you were the victim of some stray hunting accident because that’s what I told him, although I’m not sure how long that explanation is going to hold up.”
Ricki’s eyes narrowed. “Someone hunting that close to the highway, who fired two shots, and both happened to hit the jeep?” Charlie wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but once he had a chance to think it over, he wasn’t going to buy the “stray bullet from a hunter” story.
“Yeah. Like I said, it probably won’t hold up for long.” He slid his foot off his knee. It made a solid thump as it dropped onto the floor. “Cy sure didn’t buy it, and he wanted me to tell you that Hamilton expects a call.”
“It’s the weekend. I’m not on the clock,” Ricki said absently, her mind still on her tire being deliberately shot out. Why would someone do that? She’d been in town more than a year, and she was pretty sure that Quinn, whom she’d recently tossed into jail for murdering half a dozen people, didn’t have any other relatives in town who might want revenge. So why her, and why now? A picture of the skeleton lying in the old lighthouse, a uniform folded neatly at its side, popped up in her mind, but she couldn’t catch hold of her thought as it faded away.
“Well, maybe this will get you to communicate with someone,” Clay said. “Ranger Wilkes also sent along a message. He says he’s found out something about the badge that you’ll be interested to hear.”
Her attention caught, Ricki set her coffee mug on the table and waited expectantly. “What did he find out?”
Clay grinned. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him. Tomorrow is Monday. You’ll be on the clock.”
“With other things to do,” Ricki said. “So I’ll need to take a few days.”
“What things?” Clay looked around. “You can work from home. You know, internet, virtual meetings, all that stuff your son can help you with if you can’t manage it.”
“Funny, Thomas. But I have a diner I should look in on and a mom I was supposed to visit this weekend. Not to mention I don’t have a car, so I need to make some transportation arrangements, and I look like something out of a horror movie.”
He stood up and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I have to admit, it’s a different look for you, but I’ve never known you to be vain.”
“Says the man who looks like he stepped off a movie screen,” Ricki muttered.
“And,” Clay went on as if he hadn’t heard her, “I’ve never heard you dig around for so many excuses to hide out. The diner is fine. I was just there, remember? Anchorman and Marcie have everything under control. I know you should visit your mom, but maybe Cy can take you later this week, since you shouldn’t be driving that far on your own yet.”
She rolled her eyes at that. “I can’t drive anywhere at all. The jeep is sitting in Charlie’s shop, totaled, and I don’t happen to have a spare one sitting around.”
“Uh-huh.” Clay drew his hand out of his pocket and tossed a set of keys onto the low table. “I brought you these.”
Ricki looked at them and then back up at Clay. “What are those?”
“The keys to my truck,” Clay said. “I have the official chief of police SUV, so I never use my truck anymore. Keep it as long as you like.” Seeing her dumbfounded expression, he grinned. “You’re welcome.”
She knew she should be thrilled to have one immediate problem solved, but the heaviness from the last few days settled in around her again, like a dense fog that only receded a little before coming right back. “I can’t take your truck.”
Clay crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. “Well then, it’s going to sit there and block your driveway because I’m not moving it. You need to ditch the guilt and get back to work, Ricki.”
Turning her head to stare out the window, she lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. Maybe. But it wasn’t that easy. “I need a few days.” She’d call Dan to hear what he’d found out about the badge, but that could wait until tomorrow.
“We all have something, Ricki.” When she glanced back at him, Clay nodded. “Something we do to get our head screwed back on straight.” He walked over to the couch, leaned down, and placed a quick kiss o
n her forehead before she could get out a protest. “Whatever that something is for you, do it, and soon. There’s someone out there shooting at people, not to mention two dead bodies who have already been shot. This needs to be figured out, and you owe it to a ranger that everyone’s forgotten about to get it done.”
Clay captured her hand and gently tugged until she was forced to get to her feet. Annoyed, Ricki glared at him. “What are you doing?”
“You need to get dressed. There’s something you have to do down at headquarters.” Clay shrugged. “You can go like that if you want, it’s up to you. But either way, you’re coming.”
Chapter Sixteen
When the SUV rolled to a stop, Ricki made no move to open the door. All through the ordeal of tugging on a pair of jeans with her one good hand, and sitting through the minor bumps along the highway which had seemed more like mountains as they jarred against her bruised body, she’d maintained a stoic silence. She didn’t know what was so important that Clay had insisted she make an appearance at headquarters, on a Sunday, no less, but she was sure it wasn’t something she was going to enjoy. And until he fessed up to that, she wasn’t going to do anything except sit in the SUV, her gaze steadfastly glued to the view out the side window. She didn’t glance over even when Clay let out a heavy sigh.
“Okay. We might as well go in. They’ve been waiting long enough,” he said quietly.
Ricki’s head slowly turned until she was looking right at him. “Who is waiting?”
Clay’s mouth turned down at the corners, but his gaze never wavered from hers. “Richard and Lisa Cannady.” He hesitated before adding, “Amanda Cannady’s parents.”
All the color drained from Ricki’s face and her hands went ice cold. Amanda’s parents? God only knew what they would have to say to the person who killed their daughter. Ricki closed her eyes in sheer self-defense against the tidal wave of dread and sorrow crashing over her.
“Now?” was all she could get out. “You brought them here and they’re waiting for me now?”
“TK called me. Talking to you is the only request they’ve made,” Clay said. “They deserve to be heard. You know that.”
She did know it. The only problem was, could she hold up under the recrimination and onslaught of guilt that was about to be heaped on her? She winced when Clay reached over and took her hand, gently rubbing his thumb over the top of her knuckles.
“I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought they were going to blame you.”
She looked down at their joined hands. “Why wouldn’t they? They lost a child. It’s someone’s fault, and I’m the one that was behind the wheel of the other car. Why shouldn’t they blame me?”
“They shouldn’t because you weren’t to blame.”
Clay’s gentle patience had her eyes misting up. She didn’t believe him. At least not completely. But he was right that Amanda’s parents deserved to be heard, and if talking with her was all they wanted, then the least she could do was give them that chance. No matter how much it might hurt.
She gave an abrupt nod of her head and withdrew her hand from Clay’s. “Let’s go.”
Enveloped in a fog of dread, Ricki walked stiffly through the double front doors. Ray’s usual spot was empty. Even on a Sunday he would normally be manning his post, but not today. Maybe Clay had warned him who was coming in this morning, and he was back in Clay’s office, keeping the mourning parents company as they waited for her. Or maybe the elderly volunteer hadn’t wanted to face that kind of grief at all and had simply stayed home.
The walk down the long hallway seemed endless, the echo of their combined bootsteps bouncing off the walls. Clay opened the door to his office and then stepped back, giving Ricki’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she passed by him. She walked halfway across the room and then stopped, slowly taking in a quiet breath as she nodded at the couple, sitting in the visitor chairs in front of Clay’s desk, staring at her with wide, haunted eyes.
“Why don’t you take my chair, Ricki?” Clay said.
Grateful to have even that small barrier between herself and the pool of grief surrounding Amanda Cannady’s parents, Ricki nodded and stepped round the desk before slowly lowering herself into the utilitarian chair reserved for the police chief.
“Mr. And Mrs. Cannady,” Clay began. “This is Special Agent Ricki James. She was driving the other car involved in your daughter’s accident.”
Even with her dark-brown eyes glistening with moisture, Lisa Cannady managed a watery smile. “Yes. We know, Chief.” Her chin quivered slightly as she laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “I’m Lisa, and this is Richard.” She paused and took a quick breath. “As the chief said, we’re Amanda’s parents.”
Ricki simply nodded, not trusting her voice. Lisa Cannady had brown hair, pulled back from a pretty face with even features and a generous mouth. Her husband had lighter hair, liberally streaked with a darker gray. He wore glasses with plain, no-nonsense frames and even sitting down, clearly towered over his wife. When Ricki met his gaze, he nodded back at her, like a fellow combatant in a war where they were barely hanging on.
He started to say something, then stopped when his voice cracked on the first word. Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath and tried again. “Special Agent James, we’re grateful you agreed to meet with us today.” He stopped for a moment and studied her face. “It looks like you’re still recovering.”
“Ricki. Please call me Ricki. And I hope you’ll accept my deepest sympathy.” Ricki chewed on her lower lip as her gaze shifted to Lisa. “And my apology, although I know it isn’t enough. But I’m sorry. So sorry for not being quick enough to keep the accident from happening. I want you to know that I. . .”
“Agent James,” Lisa cut in. “Ricki. We didn’t come to hear an apology.”
Her husband laid a hand on top of the one Lisa still had resting on his arm. “No, we didn’t. We know the accident wasn’t your fault.”
Ricki blinked, struggling to process their words. “Not my fault?”
“No,” Richard said, a clear conviction in his voice. “And with our own apologies to your police chief, we didn’t just take his word for it. He explained about someone deliberately shooting your tire out, but we also talked to the other girls riding with Amanda, and they all told us the same thing. They were driving too fast when they came on that curve, and neither you nor our daughter had time to get out of the way.” His shoulders slumped as he looked over at his wife.
Lisa nodded in response to his silent plea. “They also said you deliberately turned your car toward the trees, and if your vehicle hadn’t rolled over, you would have hit them head on.”
Not comfortable with how she was beginning to sound like some kind of hero, Ricki shook her head. “There wasn’t anything else to do, Mrs. Cannady. It was turn toward the trees or hit Amanda head on. The trees were the lesser evil of the two options.” She bit her lower lip. “Although not lesser enough.”
“The other girls lived because you did that,” Lisa said. “We’re going to keep thinking of that as a blessing, even though we lost our Amanda.”
“Lost her to someone who had no regard for someone else’s life,” Richard said. “He’s the one I can’t forgive. I’ll never forgive.”
The fury and anguish of a father who hadn’t been able to protect his child spilled into the room. This was something Ricki understood, and wholeheartedly agreed with. She’d never forgive anyone who took Eddie from her, who took anyone she loved from her. She cut a swift glance over to Clay who nodded back at her. This was something they both understood.
Feeling like she was standing on ground that had shifted back into place beneath her feet, Ricki felt a great weight slide off her shoulders. “I can’t either,” she said softly. “And thank you.” The words came from her heart and brought tears to Lisa’s eyes as well as her own, as a look of understanding passed between the two mothers.
“We came to ask a favor,” Lisa said. “For your help.”
“I’ll do my best,” Ricki said, then folded her hands and waited.
“Catch him.” At Ricki’s startled look, both husband and wife nodded in unison.
“Catch him,” Richard repeated. “Like our son said to us, and we’re passing along to you, we want this man who killed our daughter to look out at the world from behind a set of iron bars for the rest of his life. It won’t bring our daughter back, but it will bring her justice.”
Ricki stood up, her back straight and her mouth set into a determined line. “I intend to do just that.”
Chapter Seventeen
Ricki tightened the shoulder straps of her backpack, then did the same to the ones around her waist. It had taken some contortions to slip the pack on with an unforgiving splint holding her broken wrist in place, but she’d managed. After she’d exchanged goodbyes, and a long hug with Lisa Cannady, Clay had dropped her off at her cabin. Her uncle was there with Eddie, and had plans to keep the teenager busy all day. Later that afternoon, Anchorman was going to stop by and spend the night so the two of them could play video games until who knew when.
It was just past noon by the time she’d pulled into the small clearing just above where the Dosewallips River had washed out the road that had once led across the state land and into the national park. She’d have to travel the last six miles on foot to reach the primitive campground that was one of her favorites in Olympic Park, and the one she’d always gone to for her “alone time” campouts.
Ricki took one last look at the truck, which sat all alone in the small clearing that served as a parking lot. She hoped it would still be there and in one piece whenever she got back. Explaining away a vandalized truck to her insurance company would be awkward since it wasn’t her truck. Not to mention telling Clay. Because she couldn’t do anything about it, she turned around and started off down the trail toward the washout.
One Last Scream (Special Agent Ricki James Book 2) Page 12