Thirty
She whirled, saw him, threw the coffee, mug and all. The mug hit him dead center of his chest; hot coffee splashed into his face. He shouted, dropped the rag in his hand, and gave her enough time to leap toward the knives.
She grabbed one, spun back. And slowly lowered it.
“Yeah, you know what they say about bringing a knife to a gunfight.” He gestured with the .32 in his hand. “Put that down. You ruined this shirt. Let me tell you, you’re going to pay for it.”
“They’re closing in on you.”
“Yeah, you’d like to believe that, but the fact is, this is all just the way I pictured it.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“We’ll talk about it later. We’ll have plenty of time.” He grinned, pushed his fingers up the bridge of his nose.
“I’m not—”
It clicked, the gesture, the sarcastic quirk of his mouth.
“Chaffins.”
“Took you this long.” Obviously pleased, he grinned. “Well, I had Lasik—ditched the glasses. And a nose job. Decent haircut, bulked up a little. It’s been a while, Carson. Or should I say Bowes.”
“How could you . . . We were friends.”
“Bullshit. You wouldn’t—didn’t—give me the time of day until I headed up the yearbook committee, cleared you onto the school paper.”
“This is because I didn’t pay enough attention to you? In high school?”
“Please, like I carried a torch. I’ve had plenty of women. Girls. Old ladies.” He bared his teeth in a smile. “All of that. I figured out who you were. I figured it out, and I made a deal with you. You lied, and you sent that fucking cop over to tell me to keep it zipped.”
How had she missed the madness in his eyes all those years ago? How could she have not seen what she saw now?
“I didn’t make any deal.”
“You fucking did, then you took my idea. You wrote the story yourself. It should’ve been my byline. It was my story.”
“It was never yours.”
“Because you’re Thomas David Bowes’s daughter?”
If he lowered the gun, just lowered it, she thought, she had a chance. She’d have to be fast, but she’d take the chance.
“It’s always been about my father.”
“Maybe, maybe he kicked it off because I knew, way back, I’d put your father in the shade. It’s more about your mother.”
“My mother.”
“I said we’ll talk later. Get moving.”
“My mother.” He didn’t want to shoot her, didn’t want to kill her fast. So she planted her feet, took a stand. “You tell me what my mother has to do with any of it.”
“Fine. I’ll give you another minute. But give me any trouble, I’ll shoot you in the knee. It won’t kill you, but it’ll hurt like hell.”
“My mother,” she said again, and checked the time on the oven clock behind him. And thought: Xander. Where was Xander?
“Your mother? Other than birds, some stray cats I killed, she was the first dead body I’d ever seen. Man, it was a revelation! She was cold, and her eyes. Man, her eyes. I got such a boner.” He laughed at the look of disgust on her face. “It’s just wiring, Carson. I was born for this, just like your old man. I’ve studied up on it, researched it. I bet your kid brother and I could have a hell of a conversation about it.”
“You stay away from him.”
“He doesn’t interest me. It’s always been you. I knew when we were on the floor with your mother’s cold, dead body, I’d do you one day. Then I figured out who you were, and that made it so fucking sweet. Now move, or I’ll kneecap you. Maybe I will anyway. I’ve never started out that way be—”
He jerked back when the dog charged the door like a bull.
The wild barks and Chaffins’s shouts exploded in the air.
When he swung the gun toward the door, Naomi threw up her hands. “Don’t. Don’t. I’ll go with you. I’ll go.” She positioned herself in front of the door, hands up.
There was still time, still a chance, she thought desperately. Xander would come back. She could get close enough to try to fight, to get the gun away. Or far enough away to run.
“Out the front, and fast, or I swear to God—”
Tag shoved the opening wider, gathered himself, and leaped.
As the gun swung back, Naomi threw herself over the dog.
The shock of pain dissolved her legs. She heard the dog’s sharp yip as fire burned in her side, as the room spun, as she fell, the dog beneath her.
“Bitch! Stupid bitch, stupid bitch.”
She saw his face swimming over her, the mad fury in his eyes. “This is the way you want it? You want a bullet in the brain? Maybe that’s how it was always supposed to be.”
She stared at the gun, mildly puzzled. Why did it look so small? Like it was a hundred miles away.
Then it was gone. She heard shouting, thought something crashed, but it was all, again, so far away. Nothing really to do with her. Not when she was floating away.
—
Look at me! Damn it, Naomi, open your eyes. You fucking stay with me.”
Pain seared back, like a brand in her side. She cried out against it, her eyes wheeling open.
“That got your attention. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I have to keep pressure on it.” Xander fixed his mouth on hers. “I have to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
“Xander.” She lifted a hand that didn’t feel like her own, touched his temple. “You’re bleeding. You’re bleeding a lot.”
“Yeah. You, too. Help’s coming. You just look at me. You talk to me.”
“Were you in an accident?”
“No. You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“I can’t . . .” Memory flooded back, washing through the pain. “Tag. The dog. The dog.”
“Stay down, stay still! He’s okay. He’s going to be okay, too. Hear that? Hear the sirens? Help’s coming.”
“He was in the house. He was going to shoot the dog. I couldn’t let him shoot the dog. He . . . the gun. He has a gun.”
“Not anymore. Don’t worry about him. Broke his nose for you,” Xander murmured, laying his brow to hers.
“I was going to fight. Going to try, but the dog—he came to save me. I need to close my eyes.”
“No, you don’t. You need to look at me. You need to stay awake. Back here!” he shouted. “Hurry, for Christ’s sake. I can’t stop the bleeding.”
“High school nerd.”
“What?”
“Chaffins. Anson Chaffins. Tell Mason,” she said, and slid away.
—
She went in and out in the ambulance, caught snippets of words, mixed voices. She felt Xander’s hand clutching hers, and once turned her head and swore she saw the dog on a gurney beside hers.
“Anson Chaffins,” she said again.
“Got it. They got it. They got him. Just take it easy.”
She surfaced again, moving fast, lights blurring overhead, voices, more voices shouting out medical terms like an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.
She heard, “I’m going to give you something for the pain.”
And said, “Oh, yes. Yes, please.”
—
Furious they’d blocked him from going with Naomi, Xander argued with the burly nurse who stood in his way. If she’d been a man, he’d have decked her.
He considered doing it anyway.
“You need to get that dog out of here, and you need that head wound examined.”
“The dog’s hurt. He’s been shot, for God’s sake.”
“I’ll give you the number for an emergency veterinary clinic. But you have to—”
“You’re going to take care of this dog.”
“That’s exactly right.” Mason, face set, strode up, his ID held out. “The bullet is evidence, and needs to be removed. The dog is a material witness, and needs to be treated immediately.”
“He’s a fucking hero.”
“That’s right. I suggest you get a doctor, get this dog prepped for surgery, or I swear, I’ll arrest you for obstructing a federal investigation.”
They wouldn’t let him in with Naomi, but loosened up enough to let him sit with the dog while they removed the bullet, treated the wound. And while they cleaned his own wound, stitched up his scalp.
“He’s going to be fine.”
The surgeon who’d volunteered for the procedure neatly closed Tag’s wound.
“It’s going to be sore, and he’ll limp for a few days. I’ve given him some antibiotics, and I’ll write up a report for your vet. She should do a follow-up.”
“Thanks.”
“He’ll sleep another hour, I’d say. He looks like a good dog.”
“He’s a damn good dog. Please, God, somebody find out about Naomi. Naomi Carson. Just—shit!”
“I need you to hold still.” The intern doing the scalp stitching looked at the surgeon.
“She’s doing a good job, just give her a few more minutes. I’ll check on Ms. Carson.”
Before he could, Mason came in. “How’s it going?”
“Both patients are doing well. One more cooperative than the other.”
“Where is she? How is she? Fuck! Are you mining for gold in my scalp?”
“They’re working on her. But she’s going to be fine. It was through-and-through. Through her, into Tag.”
“Your evidence, Special Agent.”
“Thanks.” Mason took the dish with the spent bullet.
“She lost a lot of blood, and a bullet never does you a favor, but it didn’t hit any organs. Just the meat. They’re going to want to keep her overnight. Probably want to do the same with you.”
Xander readied for battle if need be, because his mind was set. “I’m staying with her. So’s the dog.”
“Already arranged. Are you up to giving me a statement? It can wait.”
“I’m okay. Just tell me, where’s this Chaffins now?”
“In a cell in Sunrise Cove, but officially in federal custody. He’s been examined by a doctor, and his injuries treated. Among other things, you broke his nose, knocked out three of his teeth, cracked a couple ribs.”
“Did I?” Xander looked down at his hand, flexed his aching fingers, his raw and swollen knuckles.
“Thanks. I know you love her, but I loved her first, so thanks for saving my sister’s life.”
“No problem.”
Mason pulled up a stool. “Okay, tell me what happened.”
He ran it through.
“I should’ve seen it coming. I did see it, but too late. I actually bought the little-Bobby-in-the-backseat bullshit. And when I came to, I knew he’d gone after her. I called you while I drove back. Pulled in behind his damn camper, ran for the house. I heard the gunshot.”
He stopped, closed his eyes. “I heard the shot. I heard her scream. When I ran in he was standing over her, ranting, had the gun pointed at her head. I pulled him off, beat him unconscious. She and the dog were lying there, bleeding. So much blood. I grabbed a couple of dish towels and put pressure on her side—like they always say you’re supposed to. It hurt her. I hurt her.”
“He hurt her,” Mason corrected.
—
She dreamed she swam, slow and lazy, through the palest of pale blue water. Surfaced and floated, skimmed under to glide. Up and down, in and out, with everything warm and watery.
Once in the dream, beavers cut down trees with chain saws, deep, rhythmic buzzing. She surfaced, thought she saw the dog snoring away on a cot beside her.
She laughed in her sleep—heard Xander’s voice. Wouldn’t mind some of whatever they gave you.
And smiling, slid under again.
She thought of moonlight falling in slants over the bed, how it felt to make love with him over and under those moonlit slants.
Opening her eyes, she saw it was sunlight, sliding through the slats over the window.
“There she is. Are you staying with me this time around?”
She turned her head, met Xander’s eyes.
He looked so tired, she thought, and pale under the scruff. Bruised—badly—on the temple.
“We . . . had an accident.”
“Not exactly.”
“I can’t remember what . . .” She turned her head again, saw Tag watching her from a cot. “He is sleeping on a cot. And we’re . . . we’re in the hospital. He shot me. He shot us.”
“Simmer down.” Xander pressed a hand on her shoulder, kept her in place. “Anson Chaffins.”
“Yes. Yes, I remember. I remember all of it. He got in the house.”
“Bedroom. You let the dog out, he waited, came in that way, caught you in the kitchen. Mason said you went to school with him.”
“Yes. He was a year ahead of me. I only got to know him for a few months—yearbook committee, school newspaper. But he was with me when I found my mother. He said—he told me—it was his revelation. He said it was wiring, he and my father, both born to be what they are. And seeing my mother’s body opened things up for him. Excited him. All this time . . .”
“Don’t worry about it now.”
“How bad am I hurt? Don’t sugarcoat it.”
“Well, baby, they did the best they could.” And laughed when her mouth fell open. “That ought to cure some of that pessimism. You’re fine. As fine as anybody who’s been shot. Hit your left side, just above the waist, pinched right through, and straight into the dog’s right hindquarters. He’s fine, too. I’m saying right now, no Cone of Shame, not for him.”
“No Cone of Shame.” She reached out, stroked the dog. “Not ever. He can have the Pants of Heroism.”
“You jumped in front of the dog, didn’t you? He was going to shoot the dog, and you jumped in front of him.”
“Wouldn’t you have done the same?”
“Yeah.” Shakier than he wanted to be, Xander blew out a breath. “Yeah, probably. Idiots.”
“How did you get hurt? Your head. You were covered with blood.”
“Head wounds bleed a lot.”
“He was the call—that’s it. The breakdown. It was him. He could’ve killed you.”
“He didn’t.”
“He could have—”
“He didn’t. Get used to it.” He pulled her hand to his lips, held it there, rocked for a moment. “I’ve still got to get used to him nearly killing you—but not. We’re both right here. Jesus, Naomi. Jesus, I didn’t know I could be that scared and live through it. I didn’t know how bad it was. I couldn’t tell, just you lying there, and the blood.”
“Did you save me?”
He pressed his lips to her hand again. “You’d have done the same for me.”
“Yeah. Probably. We’re both right here.” She smiled as Tag nosed under her other hand. “We’re all three right here. And Chaffins?”
“In custody. I don’t know where they’re taking him, probably later today. News is all over. I spent some time reading on my phone last night. It’s all over the news. They broke your connection to Bowes. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore. I should never have let it matter so much. How long do I have to stay in here? I want to go home.”
“They’ll want to look you over, but they said you could probably go home today.”
“I need to go home, Xander, but I need to see him first. I need to see Chaffins. I never saw or spoke to my father, but I’m going to see and speak to Chaffins.”
“Okay. Let’s see about getting you out of here, and see what Mason can do.”
It took two hours, a lot of paperwork, a lot of warnings, and she had to leave in a wheelchair, use a side entrance where Mason had a car waiting.
He helped her stand, then just held her. “You’ve looked better.”
“I’ve felt better.”
With his help she eased into the car while Xander and Tag took the backseat.
“The press are all over town. If you do this, you can’t avoid them completely.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“He had a press pass,” Mason said as he drove. “He came to briefings, booked a motel room—though he stayed in the camper, too. Even when he wasn’t using it for other reasons.”
Just a smart, nerdy kid who’d gone to a school dance with her, who’d put a couple clumsy moves on her, easily brushed off.
And a monster, all along.
“He held his victims there—like Bowes and the cellar.”
“Yeah. Different campgrounds, different names. He’s collected several IDs over the last several years. He’s got skills, computer skills.”
“He always did.”
“He kept a log of his victims—names, locations, dates. He has photos of them. We’ve got enough evidence to put him away for a dozen lifetimes. You’ll never have to worry about him again.”
“I’m not. I won’t. You’ve told the uncles I’m okay.”
“Yeah, I talked to them. Don’t worry.”
“I don’t want them to. I’ll call them as soon as I get home.”
“Then you’re taking one of those pills,” Xander said, “and zoning out.”
“I probably won’t argue about that one. Are you still going to see Bowes?”
“I will.” Mason nodded. “But it can wait.”
He drove into town, pulled into the slot closest to the station house they’d cleared for him. The minute Xander helped Naomi out of the car, reporters rushed toward them, shouting.
“Tag, too. He should see the dog, too.”
Sam Winston opened the door for them, stepped out.
“Every one of you keep back, and stop yelling or I’ll have every last one of you arrested for disturbing the peace. This is my town, and I’ll do it.”
He closed the door, took Naomi’s hand. “This is your town, too. Are you feeling up to this? You’re certain?”
“Yes. It won’t take long.”
Not so different, she thought, no, not so different, from that police station so long ago. They’d have put her father in one of the cells in the back, behind the steel door.
“Mason, Xander, and Tag. All of us.”
It hurt to keep her back straight, but she’d deal with it. She needed to walk in, unbowed. When she did, Chaffins rolled off the bunk where he’d sprawled. And, despite the blackened eyes, the bruised, swollen, and taped nose, the split lip, he smiled, showing gaps from missing teeth.
“Kid brother, grease monkey, and your little dog, too. Afraid of me, Naomi?”
“Not in the least. I just wanted us all to have a look at you in what’s now your natural habitat.”
“I’ll get out,” he snapped as Tag growled low in his throat.
“No, you won’t.”
“I’ll get out, and come for you. You’ll always look over your shoulder.”
“No, I won’t.” She laid a hand on Xander’s arm, felt it vibrate. “Would you give us a minute?”
“Sure.” But Xander stepped up to the cell first, whipped a hand through quick as a snake, rapped Chaffins against the bars. She couldn’t hear what Xander murmured in his ear, but it drained the color from Chaffins’s face.
“Fuck you! I should’ve beat you to fucking death.”
“But you didn’t,” Xander said easily, and, stepping back, looked at Naomi. “You don’t move from this spot unless it’s back.”
“Don’t worry.” She took his hand, kissed his bruised knuckles. “You, too, Mason. Just for one minute.”
“I’m on the door,” he said.
Naomi waited, studying Chaffins, seeing the boy he’d once been, the monster he was.
“They might write books about you.”
“Damn right, they will.”
“Even make movies. You can have the sick glory your kind enjoys. I’m fine with that. But you and I, and everyone else, will know that when you came for me, you lost. You lost, Chaffins. I put my father in a cell, and he once meant something to me. Now I’ve put you in one, and you mean nothing.”
“You got lucky. Next time—”
“Dream about it. I hope you do. Every cold, dark night, dream about me.”
“You’ll dream about me.”
“No. I’ll forget you, just like I forgot you years ago. I’m the daughter of a monster. Monsters don’t scare me. Come on, Tag. Let’s go get you a Milk-Bone.”
“Come back here! You come back here, I’m not finished with you.”
“But I’m finished with you.”
She kept walking.
“Feel better?” Xander asked her.
“Yes. Yes, I do. But oh God, I’ll feel better once I get home and take that pill.”
She closed her eyes on the drive so she could focus on pushing through the pain. She had only to get home now, let everything go.
She breathed out relief when the car stopped. “Definitely drugs, but I’d really like to sit—sprawl out on the deck for— Whose car is that?”
Before Mason could speak, the front door of her house flew open.
“Oh God. Oh God.” Tears spilled as Seth yanked open her door.
“Don’t you think about getting out by yourself. I’m going to carry you.”
“You came, you’re here. You’re both here. How? No, you can’t carry me. I can walk.”
“You’re not walking anywhere.” Harry eyeballed Xander. “You’re Xander?”
“Yeah. I’ve got her.”
To settle it, Xander slid his arm under her legs, wrapped the other around her back, gently lifted her.
“Take her right up to bed. We’ve got it all ready for her.”
“No, please. I’m okay. I’d really like to sit out on the deck. I need to hug both of you.”
“I’ll get pillows.” Seth rushed off.
“I made pink lemonade, remember?”
“With crushed ice.” She took Harry’s hand as Xander carried her. “When did you come? How did you get here so fast?”
“Private jet. We’ve got connections. My baby girl,” he murmured, kissed her hand. “Your people said we could come in, Mason. They’d cleared it. And you’d gotten a crew in to . . .”
“Yeah. It’s clean,” he said to Naomi.
By the time they got her to the deck, Seth was fussing with pillows, with a light throw. And had a little vase of flowers on the small table.
“There now, set her right down.” As Xander did, Seth went down on his knees, wrapped arms around her. “My sweetheart, my baby.”
“Don’t cry, don’t cry. I’m okay.”
“She needs a pill. I’m sorry,” Xander added, “but she really needs the pain pill.”
“I’ll get you some lemonade to wash it down. Do you want lemonade?” Harry asked Xander.
“I’d about kill for a beer.”
“I’m going to get you a beer. Mason?”
“I have to go. I’ll be back, but I have to go right now.”
“You be here for dinner. I’m going to make something spectacular.”
As Harry hurried inside, Seth pushed to his feet. Still weeping, he turned, enfolded Xander.
“Ah.” Xander looked into Naomi’s wet, smiling eyes. “Okay.”
“You are now and forevermore a hero to me.” Sniffling, Seth stepped back. “She is the light of my life. She and Mason are the lights of our lives.”
“She brightens up mine, too.”
“I’ve got to go.” Mason kissed Seth’s cheek. “Sit down. Take a breath.”
“Not yet. This boy—handsome,” he added with a wiggle of his eyebrows for Naomi. “He needs some ice for those knuckles. I hope you beat the crap out of that vicious little shit.”
“Broke his nose, knocked out three teeth,” Naomi said.
“Well done.”
Harry came out with a tall glass filled with crushed ice and frothy pink liquid and garnished with a twist of lemon. He handed it to Naomi, then handed a beer—in a pilsner—to Xander. Then, as Seth had, he wrapped his arms around Xander.
“I’m Harry, and this is my best girl. It’s very nice to meet you, Xander.”
“Nice to meet you.” He pulled a pill bottle from his pocket, tapped one out. “Take this.”
“Actually, I want to hold off just until—”
“Take it.”
She sighed, but swallowed the pill. “Oh, Harry, nobody makes pink lemonade like you.”
“Could you eat? Something soft and soothing. Cheesy eggs on toast?”
Tears just flooded up again. “My favorite sick-day meal, Harry.”
“I’m going to make you some eggs, both of you. And I’m going to fix this amazing dog something special. No kibble for you today, my brave boy.”
Tag sent him a look of adoration, laid a head on Harry’s leg. “Some beef. We’ll call it Beef à la Tag.”
When Harry went in, Tag limped after him. Before Xander could sample the beer, Seth bustled out with a zip-top bag of ice.
“Here now. Why don’t you sit on the glider? Naomi can put her legs in your lap. You’ll ice that hand, drink your beer. And look at this beautiful view. It’s the best day of our lives. How’s your pillow, honey?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“When you’re ready, Xander’s going to carry you upstairs so you can sleep awhile. We’ll all be right here. Just right here.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I’m going to help Harry. You call if you need anything.”
She smiled, sipped lemonade when he went inside. “It’s starting to feel like a dream. Did you know they were here?”
“Mason told me. They flew in early this morning.”
“You’re going to like them.”
“I already like them. What’s not to like? I’ve got a beer and I’m getting cheesy eggs.” He had to set the ice aside to dig the phone out of his pocket. “I’ll answer later. I’ve been getting calls and texts for hours. Everybody wants to know how you’re doing, come see you. Bring food, flowers, Jesus knows.”
“Everybody?”
“Name somebody. I bet they’ve called or texted.”
Like family, she thought. Friends and community could be like family if you let it happen.
“We could have some over—Harry loves to cook for people. It’s nice they want to. I’m just tired. Pill’s already kicking in.”
“Tomorrow. They can come tomorrow if you’re up for it.”
“That’s probably better. It’s okay now.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. I’m not going to ask what you said to him, but thank you for whatever you did say that drained the blood from his body.”
“You finished him off.”
“I finished.” She nodded. “I’m where I want to be, with who I want to be with, and I’m done worrying about blood ties and how people I don’t care about react.”
“Good.”
“And I love this spot. I love looking out at the water, and knowing I will day after day.”
“It’s a good spot. We ought to get married down there in the backyard.”
“It’s a good spot for— What?”
“Fall’s nice, all the color.” Contemplatively he sipped the beer. “October. That’d give you time to do what women think they need for it. Flowers and the dress, whatever.”
“But married? That’s—”
“How it ought to be.” Casually, he rubbed his big hand up and down her calf. “You’ve got until October to get used to it. That’s long enough.”
“You actually consider this a proposal?”
“I think it’s perfect,” Seth said from the doorway, then wiped his eyes and stepped back inside.
“I’ll get you a ring. We’ll make a good life here.”
“I haven’t said I’d—”
“You will,” he said easily. “I love you, Naomi. That’s the start, the finish, and everything in between.” He looked at her, those strong blue eyes. “You love me.”
“I do. I really do. I just never thought about getting married.” She took his injured hand, laid the ice over it again. “But I think I could get used to it.”
“Good. October. Anything else is negotiable.”
“The uncles are going to want one hell of a show.”
He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t they? Shows are fine, as long as there’s this.”
He leaned over, touched his lips to hers.
As long as there’s love, she thought, sighing into the kiss. And the good, strong place to build a life together.
A life of sunrises and lilacs, of friends and quiet moments.
And a really good dog.