Текст книги "Stranded"
Автор книги: Alex Kava
Соавторы: Alex Kava,Alex Kava
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
CHAPTER 74
SACRED HEART HOSPITAL
PENSACOLA, FLORIDA
Maggie didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until she felt the tap on her shoulder. She was startled to find Gwen in front of her and for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you.”
Not only had Maggie fallen asleep, but she had managed to curl up into the waiting room’s double-set chairs outside of the trauma center.
“When did you get here?”
“Just a few minutes ago. Thunderstorms delayed the flight in.”
And now Maggie could see the flashes of lightning out the windows down the hall. Without warning, she smelled firewood and the musty cabin. She rubbed her eyes, pretending to wipe at the exhaustion when she really wanted to erase the image of Jack’s smile and his wolflike black eyes. One look at the concern and fatigue on Gwen’s face and Maggie shoved aside Jack and Otis.
“They said he’s still in surgery.”
“Yes,” Maggie said, and she patted the seat beside her for Gwen to sit. “But the bullet went clean through.”
She saw her friend wince.
“ ‘Bullet’ and ‘clean’ in the same sentence sounds like an oxymoron. How are you?” Gwen asked as she reached up and touched Maggie’s face.
A nurse in the ER had cleaned her scrapes and cuts, but Maggie knew she probably looked like hell.
“I’m okay.”
“I have to warn you. AD Kunze is here, too.”
“In Pensacola?”
“He’s with the Florida Highway Patrol and Otis.” Gwen noticed the look on Maggie’s face and added, “He was worried.”
“Now I know I’m dreaming.”
Gwen smiled but it didn’t last.
“I should have seen it,” she told Maggie, and suddenly her eyes had strayed to the far windows and the flickers of light. “I should have known Otis was lying.”
“Don’t be silly. How were you supposed to know?”
“I’m a psychologist, for God’s sake. I should be able to tell when someone’s lying.”
“Jack would have found another way,” Maggie said. “Even without Otis. He’s been stalking me for over a month. Ever since we found Gloria Dobson’s body outside that burning warehouse in the District. He brought me all the way to the Iowa farm just so he could watch me dig up his handiwork. Did you know he was there? At the farm with us?”
Gwen nodded.
“He actually helped us unearth the garbage bag. He watched the CSU tech pull out the receipt he’d left. The one for the orange socks.” Now that she thought about it, Maggie laughed, but there was no humor in it. “The bastard went out with us for drinks afterward. And I didn’t know. I have a master’s in behavioral science and ten years of profiling and I didn’t know that a serial killer was sitting across the table from me. And you think you should have known that Otis was lying to you?”
They both went silent. The doors to the trauma center opened and a yellow-gowned surgical staff member came out and then disappeared down the hall.
Gwen laid her hand on top of Maggie’s and she said, “Thank you for taking care of R.J.”
“Otis saved us. And a great deal of it was because of you.”
“Me?”
“You were kind to him. You reminded him of the only person who had loved him unconditionally.”
“I guess we all should be grateful to Miss Helen.” Then almost as an afterthought, Gwen asked, “Do you think Otis was lying when he said Jack had more dump sites?”
Maggie shrugged. She didn’t want to think about that. Right now she needed to concentrate on the survivors, and not just Tully.
Gwen’s phone rang. She checked the caller ID and Maggie saw something pass over her face—dread, anxiety, fear—she couldn’t tell for sure, and Gwen, aware that Maggie was watching her, quickly gave her a tight smile.
“I have to take this.”
“Is everything okay?”
“I’m sure it is. I just didn’t expect this call on a Sunday night. Excuse me.”
Gwen hurried away too quickly, as if she were running to answer a landline phone at the other end of the waiting room rather than the cell phone in her hand. It occurred to Maggie that Gwen simply wanted privacy. She shouldn’t worry, except that initial pained look on Gwen’s face left Maggie concerned.
She watched Gwen disappear down the hallway and then she saw Ryder Creed walk into the room. They noticed each other at the same time. The short distance between the door and her chair seemed to take Maggie’s breath away, and she wasn’t the one walking.
He had changed clothes, showered, and washed away all the blood and dirt. He smelled like fresh cotton pulled right out of the dryer. His hair was still damp and tousled, and without warning all the intensity she had felt in that Manhattan, Kansas, hotel room came swirling back as he sat down next to her. He looked straight ahead and when she glanced over at him, she realized he felt it, too.
“How’s Tully?” he asked, avoiding her eyes.
“Still in surgery.” She hated how good it felt to see him, to have him here. And suddenly she found herself telling him, “Thanks for being here.”
“I’m not here for you. I’m here for Tully.”
She could see him smile and remembered she had used that exact line on him while they waited during Grace’s surgery.
“How’s Bolo?”
“He’s actually doing good. Surface wound.”
Creed looked tired. The cuts and bruises on his face looked raw.
“Maybe you can come see him before you leave town. Grace, too.” Finally he looked at her and this time held her eyes.
Before she could respond, Gwen was back. Her face was pale, her eyes dazed. She sat down on the other side of Maggie without a word. She didn’t even seem to notice Creed. She had the phone still gripped in her hand.
Maggie put a hand on Gwen’s arm.
“What is it? Are you okay?”
“No, I guess I’m not,” Gwen said. “I have breast cancer.”
TUESDAY, MARCH 26
CHAPTER 75
MANHATTAN, KANSAS
This time Maggie had called Noah Waters from the airport. His father had almost hung up on her but stopped when she said, “The man who attacked Noah is dead.” But before she drove to her meeting with Noah, she called Sheriff Uniss in Sioux City, Iowa.
He answered with a lecture, telling her that he had been leaving messages for her for two days. Maggie’s and Tully’s cell phones still hadn’t been recovered after Jack tossed them into the forest. The sheriff wanted her to know they had found “Lily the lot lizard”—that’s exactly how he referred to her now. He told Maggie that somehow Lily had made it back to the farmhouse but she was still in serious condition now at the regional medical center. When she told him about Howard Elliott, the sheriff was stunned.
“Howard Elliott’s been a fine businessman in these parts for over ten years. He’s an independent contractor. Has his own truck. Folks say he took real good care of Helen Paxton after her husband disappeared.”
Disappeared?
Something about that reminded Maggie of Jack’s claim that he had killed his own father when he was a boy. Was it possible he had done the same to his foster father years later?
As soon as Maggie ended her call with Sheriff Uniss, she texted Agent Alonzo:
Skull found at Iowa farm—
check to see if it’s William Paxton.
Noah insisted on another walk. Maggie understood he wanted to get out of the house and somewhere that his parents couldn’t listen. It had been a week since the attack. He walked more confidently and wore regular shoes. His feet were healing. The cuts on his face were no longer red and swollen. And that wild-eyed panic that Maggie had seen in his eyes was finally gone. But Maggie knew—and she knew this all too well from experience—the real scars would never disappear.
“How do you know for sure it was him?”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the laminated card the Florida crime scene technicians had found in the back of John Howard Elliott’s panel truck. He had built the truck into a custom workshop for his business. As a skilled craftsman, Elliott worked on construction projects across the country. But his vehicle also included the tricks of his hobby.
There were magnetic signs for the outside of the truck that provided significant disguise. Signs that read: ST. VINCENT’S FOR THE HOMELESS, COMMUNITY RESCUE UNIT, and even FEMA. The disguises also included a variety of items Maggie realized would help him look vulnerable and add to his claim of being a nice guy who was “stranded.” There was an arm sling, crutches, a neck brace, and even a dog collar and leash.
And then there was the box of “souvenirs,” an old fish and tackle case. This one didn’t surprise Maggie, though it was the most difficult to go through. None of the items were particularly shocking, but they were deeply personal. Among the dozens of items they found inside were a Harley-Davidson belt buckle, a gold tooth, a shamrock pin, a book of poetry, a Saint Christopher’s medal, a lock of hair, and the card Maggie now handed Noah.
“My driver’s license,” he whispered.
Still not convinced, he asked, “How do you know he’s dead?”
“Because I was there, Noah. He gave me a chance to run just like he did with you.”
They’d stopped in the shade of a huge tree. Its roots had broken into the sidewalk. Noah was quiet. His head stayed down as he stared at the card that he held pinched tightly between thumb and index finger as if he still couldn’t believe it.
“It’s over, Noah,” Maggie said, her tone gentle. “You don’t need to be afraid anymore.”
“But I left Ethan behind.”
And now she could hear him trying to choke back a sob.
Maggie didn’t have an answer for him. She knew human instinct, had studied it, saw it at its worst, and took faith when she saw glimmers of it at its best. She’d never be able to explain to Noah why he had run and she didn’t. Why he had left Ethan and she couldn’t leave Tully. Why she wouldn’t let John Howard Elliott win. She had many more years and more experience fighting evil than Noah. Maybe that was the only difference.
Fight or flight. Good or evil. Rarely was life that black and white. Most people learned to live in the gray areas. Maybe Noah would, too, and hopefully he would learn to forgive himself for simply following his instinct.
“He would have killed you both,” Maggie finally said. “You chose to survive, Noah. You can’t keep beating yourself up because a madman tried to kill you and you didn’t let him. That’s what you need to remember. You survived, Noah.”
She waited for him to look at her, really look at her. “We survived.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
In the last twelve years I’ve found myself on the road a lot—fortunately, never “stranded.” I have a home in Omaha, Nebraska, and one outside of Pensacola, Florida—1,199 miles from door to door. But those aren’t the only road trips. Many times in my writing career, like a lot of authors, I’ve driven myself from one booktour event to the next. I remember one year I visited eighteen cities, including Chicago, New York, Philadelphia, Atlanta, and Los Angeles. There was also one year I added a thirty-two-city library tour across Nebraska—in an RV. Thankfully I wasn’t driving the RV.
So truck stops and rest areas are subjects I know and have experienced. That’s not always the case with every novel. Most times I’m writing about things I hope to never know. That said, I still learned a tremendous amount during my research for this book. And, as always, I have a whole lot of people to thank.
First off, thank you to my readers, who gave me all kinds of information about trucking and traveling across this country, sharing many of their own experiences. I still haven’t seen a “lot lizard,” but I’m hopeful and continue to be on the lookout.
A special thank-you to my dear friend Marlene Haney for allowing me to bury dead bodies on her family’s farmstead outside of Sioux City, Iowa, just off Interstate 29. There really is a rest area close by, and several of Marlene’s stories prompted and encouraged my twisted mind. And I took the liberty of using three of her four children—Janet, Matt, and Ryan, who are also friends of mine—and gave them all new careers. They are the Omaha mobile crime lab’s CSU techs in the novel.
Thanks also to:
My publishing teams: Phyllis Grann, Judy Jacoby, Alison Callahan, and Kathryn Santora at Doubleday; Andrea Robinson at Anchor; David Shelley, Catherine Burke, and Jade Chandler at Little Brown/Sphere.
Scott Miller and Claire Roberts at Trident Media Group.
Ray Kunze for lending his name to Maggie’s boss. Ray and I became friends as regulars at BookExpo America, and one year he mentioned he’d like to be in one of my novels, maybe as a dead body. He’s now been Maggie’s boss since his introduction in Black Friday. And, for the record, the real Ray Kunze is a nice guy who would never send Maggie into the woods with a highway killer.
Sharon Kator, my talented artist friend and neighbor, who so graciously has been my Florida advocate, taking time out of her busy schedule and setting up some wonderful signing events for me.
My fellow authors and friends who make this business a bit less crazy: J. T. Ellison, Erica Spindler, Patricia Bremmer, Laura Van Wormer, and Karin Slaughter.
My friends and family, who put up with my long absences and still manage to keep me grounded: Sandy and Fred Rockwood, Sharon Car, Patricia Sierra, Leigh Ann Retelsdorf, Martin Bremmer, Maricela Barajas, Annie Belatti, Nancy Tworek, Cari Conine, Lisa Munk, Luann Causey, and Andrea McDaniel.
A personal thank-you to the amazing crew at Kansas State University Veterinary Hospital. Using the facility in this novel is out of admiration and gratitude and as a way of letting others know what fantastic work is done there. Many of you know my dogs are my family, and I’m grateful to have so many wonderful folks taking care of them: Dr. Nicole Smee, Dr. Tonya McIlnay and the team at Veterinary Eye Specialists of Nebraska, and Dr. Enita Larson and her crew at Tender Care Animal Hospital.
Thanks also to the booksellers, book bloggers, and librarians for mentioning and recommending my novels.
And to all you faithful readers—I know that when times are tough, entertainment dollars are even scarcer. I appreciate you continuing to choose my books. Without you, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to tell my twisted tales.
Last, but never least, my thanks to Deb Carlin, who makes this journey worthwhile.
ALSO BY ALEX KAVA
Fireproof
Hotwire
Damaged
Black Friday
Exposed
Whitewash
A Necessary Evil
One False Move
At the Stroke of Madness
The Soul Catcher
Split Second
A Perfect Evil
A Note About the Author
ALEX KAVA is the author of thirteen novels, including the internationally bestselling mystery series featuring FBI profiler Maggie O’Dell. Her novels have been published in over twenty countries around the world. She is a member of International Thriller Writers and divides her time between Omaha, Nebraska, and Pensacola, Florida. More information is available at www.alexkava.com.
Other titles by Alex Kava available in eBook format
Damaged • 9780385532006
Fireproof • 9780385535526
Hotwire • 9780385532020
A Perfect Evil • 9781552543917
Split Second • 9781552549186
At the Stroke of Madness • 9781552549223
A Necessary Evil • 9781552549209
Black Friday • 9781426863998
Exposed • 9781426838712
One False Move • 9781552549193
Visit: www.alexkava.com
For more information, please visit www.doubleday.com
