CHAPTER
FORTY-NINE

Savage River
Dr. Samantha Owens

Sam stepped inside Xander’s home and let her eyes explore the cabin. It was simple, plainly decorated, saved from being utterly Spartan by the wall of bookshelves and a baby grand piano in the western corner. It was bigger on the inside than she expected. Opposite the front door, there was a vaulted ceiling with glass windows up one wall that looked out over a ridge. The main floor was taken up by a large great room with a big fireplace, a surprisingly modern kitchen and a small dining area. There was a hallway that she assumed led to bedrooms, and a second-story loft that looked like a master bedroom. The furniture was handmade, heavy, wooden, Adirondack-style. She didn’t see a television, and she didn’t see a phone.

Maggie directed her to the bathroom, where she took care of the necessaries and washed her face, which was smeared with dirt and sweat from the climb. She longed to hop in the shower and let the warm water soothe her aching muscles, but that didn’t feel right, somehow.

She brushed her hair back from her face, secured it with a ponytail holder she found on the sink and went back to the kitchen.

Maggie was setting the table.

“We have fresh venison stew. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please.”

Venison wasn’t her favorite, but she’d eat a horse right now if someone offered. Funny, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this hungry. It must have been the hike and the clean air. Healthy stuff, especially after the grit of DC.

Or sheer relief at being alive. She wasn’t fond of guns.

Sam accepted a bowl of stew and a large glass of water from Maggie. She was starved, and didn’t waste time talking, just focused on getting the food into her stomach. It was good, better than she expected, hot and full of potatoes and vegetables.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s very good.”

“Noah shot the deer himself.” She pointed with pride at her eldest son, who hid a shy, pleased smile in his own bowl.

“Good for you.” Sam turned to the boy’s mother, who was looking at her son with quiet satisfaction.

“Maggie, I need to ask. What’s going on here?”

Maggie poured some more milk for her kids. “It’s been a hard few days, Dr. Owens. If you don’t mind, can we wait until we put these three to bed?”

She didn’t want to talk in front of the children. Okay, Sam could understand that. But the anticipation was driving her mad.

“Fine. But when is Xander coming back?”

“I don’t know.” This was said simply, with no embellishment, but Sam caught the tone. Maggie was angry with her. She’d chased Xander away with her distrust.

This situation grew more confusing every moment.

Sam finished her meal in silence.

After dinner the kids played cards, teasing Jennifer with their antics. Sam honestly didn’t think the time would ever come to put the kids down, but at last it did. The minute Maggie left the room, Sam scrambled, trying her best to be quiet as she looked through drawers and cabinets and on shelves for a phone, or some way to communicate with Fletcher.

She struck out.

Maggie came back into the great room. “He doesn’t have a phone, if that’s what you were looking for. But he does have beer. You want one?”

That wasn’t good news. If he didn’t have a phone, it stood to reason that he might avail himself of a disposable cell when he needed to, right?

Sam agreed to the beer. She probably shouldn’t. Alcohol dulls the senses. But if they wanted her dead, they’d have killed her in the woods, where no one could ever find her. If they still wanted her dead, well, maybe a little alcohol would lessen the pain. She probably couldn’t stop them, anyway; they were trained to take bigger threats than Sam down without hesitation.

She wasn’t afraid of dying. Not anymore. She’d lost so many, sometimes it felt like it would be easier just to go to them. She just didn’t relish the idea of it hurting to die.

Then again, knowing what Simon and the twins had gone through, maybe she should welcome that punishment, too.

Maggie went to the refrigerator and brought back two Miller Lites. She offered Sam a cold glass. Not exactly the most threatening gesture. She demurred, took the icy beer by the neck.

“I don’t drink in front of the kids. Their father, Roy, is an alcoholic. I try to shelter them from it, which means I have to be careful when they’re around.”

“That sounds wise,” Sam said.

Maggie sighed. “I can’t believe they’re dead. All of them.”

If you only knew.

“Please. Maggie. I am so in the dark here. I’m just a medical examiner from Nashville. I’m not supposed to be involved in all of this. My connection to Donovan is over a decade old. His mother asked me to come do a secondary autopsy, and suddenly I’m thrust into this investigation as a pawn, apparently. The reporter, Taranto, told me things that I don’t understand. I’ve tried to be patient, but I need to know what’s going on. I need to know why I’m involved.”

A deep voice came from the door.

“Then we’ll try to explain it.”

Xander was back.