Ten
Trey dozed in the chair by her bed, but every time he heard her moan or shift position, he was awake. The room was quiet, although not the corridor outside her door. Voices waxed and waned as people walked up and down the hall, and every so often he heard a flurry of activity and knew someone in another room was in crisis.
Dallas wasn’t sleeping well, either. He knew when she was dreaming because she would clench her jaw, or she would start crying in her sleep.
Once a nurse came in and injected antibiotics and pain meds into her IV, and another time Dallas woke up and needed to go to the bathroom. Trey rang for the nurse and then stepped out in the hall to give them privacy, taking the time to check in at the station.
Dwight answered the call. “Mystic Police Department.”
“Dwight, it’s me. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, sir, all except for crybaby back in the skunk cell. He swears he can smell skunk, even though I told him the thing never let loose, so I sprayed the air with Piney Woods Fresh. He wanted to make a phone call, but I reminded him he’d already had his call. He wanted to eat, but I reminded him he got arrested coming out of a restaurant, so I asked him if he wanted me to sing him to sleep. His reply was unrepeatable.”
Trey chuckled. Dwight was a character, but smart as they came. Mutt Judd was mistaking a Southern drawl for ignorance, while he was the stupid one who’d fucked up his life.
“Feds are coming to pick him up, supposedly sometime tomorrow afternoon,” Trey said. “Tell Earl the paperwork is ready.”
“Yes, sir, I will,” Dwight said. “How’s Dallas?”
“Hurting. Scared. She still can’t hear.”
“You tell her my daddy had the same thing happen to him during the war in Vietnam. A shell exploded over his head. He couldn’t hear shit for a couple of days, but his hearing came back fine.”
“I’ll do that. It will make her feel better. Call if you need me. I have to get back.”
“Yes, sir.”
Trey broke the connection, and then glanced at the time. Just after 3:00 a.m. Tomorrow—today—was his day off, but he’d taken time off for the funeral, so he would be in and out of the office anyway. He needed to pack a suitcase to take out to the farm, but he could do that after he got Dallas home and settled.
There was so much they needed to know: the results of the autopsy and the rabies test on the dog, who the hell had killed Dick Phillips, and were other people in danger? Until they knew why Dick had been murdered, they wouldn’t have a clue about that last answer.
“You can go back, Chief,” the nurse said, as she came out of Dallas’s room.
“Thanks,” he said, and when he walked in, Dallas was awake and waiting for him.
“I wasn’t sure you’d still be here when I woke up before,” she said.
He rolled his eyes, as if to tell her that was a stupid thing to think, and then pointed to her shoulder and frowned.
“Yes, it was hurting, but it’s easing up.”
He nodded, then mimed going to sleep and turned out the lights. He heard her sigh as she tried to find a comfortable position, then stood and watched until her eyes were closed and her breathing was steady.
There was a knot in his belly that had been there for years and an ache in his heart so familiar he’d forgotten what true joy even felt like. He had given up believing he would have a second chance, and now here she was, asleep in a bed right in front of him. And she’d said she loved him.
Damn it! Damn it all to hell! What the fuck good was that going to do him if she walked out on him again? Well, if she tried, she was in for a surprise and just didn’t know it yet.
“I know you can’t hear me, and maybe that’s for the best because I think you would argue. But I’m giving you fair warning. I stood back the first time and let you go because I loved you enough to put your happiness first. But I’m older and wiser now, and I am going to pull out every cheap trick I know to keep you. I’ll make love to you until you beg me to stop, and then you’ll cry when I quit. I swear to God, Dallas Ann, before I’m through, you won’t want me out of your sight. I am going to ruin you for ever wanting another man.”
She sighed.
Tears burned the back of his throat as the years of pain he’d been living with, ignoring, rejecting, finally boiled up and over.
“You heard me, woman. Your ears didn’t, but your heart did. Now sleep on that, damn it.”
* * *
The hunters who’d gone looking for the feral dogs were gone all night. It wasn’t the first time they’d hunted after sundown. They knew the woods like the backs of their hands, and they knew dogs. It was most likely that the dogs would hunt at night, too, and they were right.
They trailed the pack by the sounds it made, the barking and yipping, the frantic screams of their prey in its death throes. They knew when they finally ran the dogs down that they were part of the fighting ring. The animals’ bodies were mapped by thick, ropy scars. Some were missing parts of ears; others were running on broken legs that had healed wrong. All of them were deadly animals ruined by the people who’d owned them.
By the time all four hunting parties checked back in at daybreak, they had accounted for nine dogs, six of which had charged them just like the dog that had attacked Dallas. Killing them had been a grisly task, but one they considered a necessity. Removing the hazard of the pack would keep their families safe.
To a man, they all agreed that the real criminals were the people who’d turned the dogs into killers, but there was no way to rehabilitate such severely abused animals that had been taught the only way to survive another day was to kill.
There was a feeling of relief on the mountain once word spread, although they weren’t letting down their guard. They didn’t have a head count to begin with, so there was no way to be certain if all the dogs were gone. If there were more, they hoped they had put them on the run.
* * *
Otis Woodley called Trey early the next morning and told him that he’d done the chores and set the eggs in the cooler for someone to deal with later.
Trey was glad that task was over until evening. He needed to get Dallas home and then head into the station before the Feds came to pick up his prisoner. He’d asked his mom to stay with her until he got back, but he didn’t want to impose on her for too long, and he still needed to pack a suitcase to take to the farm. There was a lot to do, but he was a man on a mission.
* * *
Dallas was going home wearing the bottom half of a pair of scrubs and a hospital gown as a shirt, because she couldn’t raise her arms high enough to get the scrub shirt over her head. A nurse had helped comb the tangles out of her hair, so she no longer looked as bad as she felt. She had her purse in her lap and her shoes on the floor ready to slip on, and was just waiting for her ride home.
The door to her room was open. She watched nurses scurrying up and down the halls and people walking past on their way to visit family, and thought how strange they all looked without any sound. She was still watching the parade when someone carrying a big pot of dark red chrysanthemums walked into view, and then she saw the face above it and groaned.
Mark Dodson, the face of the evening news on WOML Charleston, came into her room with a big smile, talking as he went.
“They said you were okay, but I had to come see for myself,” Mark said. He set the flowers down with a flourish, then turned and grasped Dallas’s hand. “So sorry about your father. This has turned into quite a trip home, hasn’t it? When are you coming back? We miss you!”
Dallas watched his face, waiting for him to pause for a breath, and when he did, she pulled her hand away and gave him the news.
“Thank you for the flowers, but didn’t they tell you I can’t hear?”
His eyebrows knitted. “Not even a bit?”
She rolled her eyes. “Mark! I see your mouth moving, but what part of ‘I can’t hear you’ don’t you understand?”
He gasped. “But I thought... I guess I—”
Dallas sighed. He was still talking. She knew he was a bit dense behind the pretty face, but this was ridiculous.
“Tell everyone I said hello. I’m still on leave, but I’ll let the boss know what’s going on as soon as I figure stuff out.”
Mark reached for her hand again just as Trey walked into the room.
Trey saw the flowers, the suit and the pretty face, then Dallas’s frustration.
“Hey!” he said, as he headed for the bed.
Mark Dodson flinched. He saw the badge first and then the man wearing it, and was trying to figure out if the visit was business or pleasure when Trey sailed past him, leaned over and kissed Dallas on the lips, then turned around and gave him a go-to-hell look.
Mark bristled. “I work with Dallas. I just came to check on her.”
“I would have thought the news crew I ran off this morning had already filled you in. She will give a statement when she is able.”
Mark blinked. “And you’re a local cop?”
“Chief of police, actually.”
“Are you here for her in an official capacity?” Mark asked.
Trey smiled for Dallas’s sake, but when he spoke, the tone of his voice could only be called challenging. “Dallas Phillips is officially mine and has been since the age of six. Wave goodbye and leave her alone.”
Mark heard the warning loud and clear.
Dallas knew Trey far too well to think the two men were just having a polite chat. She could tell by the shock on Mark “I’m the hot stuff” Dodson’s face that he might have just met his match.
“Trey, what’s going on?” she asked.
Trey whipped out his pad and pen and quickly wrote: “Your friend is just leaving and says he’ll be in touch.”
He shoved the note in Mark’s face long enough for him to read it, then smiled and handed it to Dallas.
She read it, then looked at Mark.
“Oh! Well, thank you again for the flowers, Mark. Have a safe trip back to Charleston.”
“Sure, no problem. We look forward to seeing you back home,” he said, and then glared at Trey.
Trey grinned. “She’s already home, and she still can’t hear you.”
Mark Dodson left Mystic with far less optimism than when he’d arrived. He knew all about the film crew getting the boot and had envisioned himself as the one to get the scoop on the near scandal surrounding one of WOML’s top on-the-scene faces. Not only had he failed, but he now knew why Dallas Phillips had always been romantically unavailable.
* * *
When Trey drove into the front yard, the release of tension Dallas felt was physical. Even though this was where she’d nearly lost her life, it was also the place where she would heal.
“It feels so good to be home,” she said.
Trey patted her knee and motioned for her to wait, then circled the cruiser and helped her out. The sky was clear even though there was a nip in the air. When he glanced down at her, it was obvious she was exhausted and in pain. He’d feared the ride home would be tough, and it obviously had been.
He slid an arm around her waist and gently pulled her close, urging her to lean on him for support as they went into the house.
The house smelled faintly of cold coffee. Dallas remembered she’d made a pot just before going out yesterday morning to do the chores. Everything looked the same—her Dad’s recliner sitting at the perfect angle to watch TV, the quilted throw draped over the arm of the sofa, her parents’ wedding picture hanging over the mantel.
Home.
“I’m going to change clothes. I’ll be back soon,” she said, and headed down the hall.
Trey started to ask if she needed any help and then remembered she couldn’t hear him, so he went into the kitchen, rinsed out the coffeepot and set a fresh pot to brewing, then looked in the refrigerator to see what might be lacking that he needed to bring back later. He made a mental list of what to buy, then stepped out onto the back porch.
The place looked idyllic, the beautiful old farmhouse with porches running the length of both the front and back, good grass on clean pastureland with a small herd of cattle in the distance, and just for a little visual drama, the mountain in the background. The chickens were clucking and pecking, with an occasional squawk coming from inside the coop. He could hear a squirrel scolding in one of the trees down by the barnyard, and birds were chirping all around.
He thought about what it had looked like yesterday, and how close he’d come to losing her, and could hardly breathe for the emotion that surged through him.
He felt a hand at his back, and then Dallas was standing beside him wearing gray sweatpants and what looked like one of her father’s long-sleeved, button-up-the-front plaid work shirts.
“I need help,” she said, holding up a pair of tube socks.
Instead of taking the socks, he cupped her face and moved closer, then closer still. And when he could see his reflection in her eyes, he kissed her as if it were the first time, tentatively, with so much restraint he thought he would die from want.
The moment he touched her, Dallas lost the ability to think for herself. She’d been emotionally barren without him, and now that he was back in her life, however long it lasted, she awaited his pleasure. Whatever he wanted from her, all he had to do was take it.
His lips were warm, his jacket smelled like cold air and leather, and she remembered what it felt like to be naked beneath him. How had she walked away from this? What the hell had she been thinking?
When his hands moved from her face to her backside and pulled her close against his groin, against his rock-hard erection, she groaned.
Trey heard the groan and took it for what it was—pure, unadulterated need. Exactly what he had been waiting for. He broke the kiss and pulled back, then held out his hand for the socks.
She shuddered.
Why did he stop? What the hell just happened?
He took the socks, then led her back into the house, shutting the cold air out, and set her down in a kitchen chair.
When he knelt at her feet, for one crazy moment she imagined this was how it would be if he proposed, but he only picked up one foot and put on the sock, then did the same to the other one, before he got up and winked as he walked away.
She watched as he took out two coffee cups and then realized he’d made fresh coffee. They were going to drink coffee now? Really? Her body was wound so tight it was humming, and he wanted caffeine?
Lord, have mercy, turn me off before I explode.
Trey saw desire and confusion in her eyes. Bingo.
And then he heard a car coming up the drive and guessed it was his mother.
He took the pad out of his pocket and wrote: “Mom’s here. She’ll stay with you until I get back. Rest if you can. I won’t be gone long.”
Dallas’s shoulder was throbbing, and she was desperately trying to stop thinking about being naked with him, as if it were a thought his mother would be able to read.
“Do I have any pain pills?” she asked.
He hurried out of the kitchen, retrieved her purse from the living room and then jogged back and handed it to her before letting his mom in the house.
Betsy came in smiling, carrying a small stew pot. “I made vegetable beef soup.”
“Sounds good. She’ll enjoy that. Thanks a million for doing this,” he said.
“Honey, I’m happy to help. I brought a pad and pen like you suggested. What do I need to do first?”
“She needs to take a pain pill, and I need to get back to the station. I have a prisoner due to be picked up today,” he said, as he led the way back to the kitchen.
Betsy smiled at Dallas as she set the stew pot on the stove.
Trey went back to the table, leaned over and kissed her, then mouthed the words love you.
Dallas nodded and tried not to stare as she watched him walk out of the room with that long-legged swagger, but he was sexy as hell and she might be in serious trouble here. He’d said he wouldn’t attack her, but she hadn’t promised him anything. She was suddenly curious as to how shacking up with him, however temporary, was going to go. All she needed was to get better.
* * *
It was after 2:00 p.m. when David, aka Mutt Judd, left their fine city handcuffed in the back of a government-issue vehicle and escorted by two agents from the FBI, and he’d gotten a phone call from the Health Department about the rabies test on the dog. It was clean. Dallas was in the clear.
Trey turned the paperwork over to Earl and headed for his apartment to get some clothes. He was pulling into the parking lot when his cell phone rang. It was the county sheriff’s office.
“Hello?”
“Chief Jakes, this is Sheriff Osmond. Do you have a minute?”
“Yes,” Trey said, and pulled into a parking space and killed the engine. “What’s up?”
“I have news that will corroborate Miss Phillips’s belief that her father’s death was not a suicide.”
“The coroner verified the injured shoulder?” Trey asked.
“Not yet. He just x-rayed the body before beginning the autopsy. Both of Dick Phillips’s ankles were broken, and in the same fashion.”
“What do you mean?”
“The breaks weren’t horizontal. The bones were literally pulled downward out of their sockets.”
Trey envisioned the body as he’d seen it, and all of a sudden, it hit him.
“Oh, my God. The killer hung him, and when it didn’t immediately break his neck—”
Osmond finished the statement.
“He grabbed his legs and gave them one hell of a pull. No way could Dick Phillips have broken his ankles and then hanged himself. He was already hanging when the breaks happened. I have officially opened a murder investigation. If you would pass the message on to Miss Phillips, it would be appreciated.”
“I’ll be happy to do that. This is good news for her, being able to clear her father’s name. Oh...did she tell you that her father also told Otis Woodley he was coming into big money?”
“No.”
“Well, he did, and I’m wondering if that could have had something to do with his death.”
“I’ll add that info to the file. Now all I need to do is figure out who had a grudge against him, or some other motive, and go from there,” Osmond said. “I’ll be in touch.”
Trey disconnected, then slapped the steering wheel in silent jubilation. Finally some good news.
He packed quickly, then picked up his mail and took it with him as he drove out of town, anxious to get back to Dallas.
* * *
Once the pain pill kicked in, Dallas felt antsy just sitting around. She could watch TV, but she still wouldn’t be able to hear it, and her dad’s set was old enough that she didn’t know how to activate the closed-captioning. She finally talked Betsy into going with her to the barn to clean and sort the eggs Otis had gathered. At first Betsy objected, saying Dallas needed to be resting. But once Dallas convinced her, with some amusement, that dog bites on her shoulder and bruised ribs did not impact the movement of her feet, they set out with Dallas talking, and Betsy carrying the pad and pen.
When they approached the chicken coop and Dallas saw the darker, blood-soaked earth where the dog had attacked, she walked around it without comment. Once inside the egg room, she directed Betsy to get the basket of eggs out of the cooler, and then she began cleaning and sorting them with Dallas’s input. By the time they were finished, Dallas had three dozen fresh eggs to add to the cooler, with a couple left over to go into the next carton. Betsy dated the cartons and then set them to the back of the cooler.
“And that’s the egg business. Guaranteed to make you rich in no time,” Dallas said, as they walked out into the breezeway.
Betsy giggled, then wrote: “Money isn’t everything.”
“Agreed,” Dallas said. “But it can make life easier.”
Betsy wrote: “You can’t take it with you, and it won’t make you happier.”
Dallas nodded, and that ended the money conversation, although she was still puzzled about her father’s claim to be coming into big money soon. Now that the stress of the memorial service was over, she decided to go back through the house again, this time looking for any clue to what he’d been talking about, although it had already occurred to her that the expected windfall could have been what got him killed.
Once they got back to the house, Betsy heated up the soup and got one of the pies from the memorial service out of the freezer for dessert and put it in the oven.
Dallas watched Betsy moving about the kitchen as if it were her own, seeing bits of Trey in the way Betsy’s head tilted when she was listening and her calm demeanor as she worked.
“The soup smells good,” Dallas said.
Betsy gave her a thumbs-up and a nod, and began dishing it up as Dallas got crackers out of the pantry and silverware from the drawer.
When they finally sat down and Dallas took her first spoonful, she groaned with delight.
“This is sooo good. You’ll have to teach me how to make this sometime. I love vegetable beef soup.”
Betsy nodded and smiled, hoping that meant Dallas wasn’t leaving again.
When Dallas’s phone began to ring inside her purse, Betsy jumped up and dug it out, then handed it to her. Dallas glanced at the caller ID and frowned. It was her boss.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with the people at WOML, but what part of ‘I can’t hear anything’ don’t they understand? How does he think I can take this call?”
Betsy wrote: “Text him back and remind him.”
Dallas rolled her eyes. “Yes, of course. I’m so anxious for my hearing to return that I didn’t think of the obvious.”
She quickly texted him a series of terse sentences.
Don’t call. Text! I can’t hear. Remember? I’m not coming back anytime soon. I can’t hear. I can’t hear. I can’t fucking hear.
A few moments later a text popped up.
Sorry. My bad. I’ll put someone else on it.
The fact that he was about to give someone else what would have been her assignment didn’t bother her nearly as much as it would have a week ago. The events of the past few days had quickly put life into perspective.