I heard the ice cubes melting in the sudden silence.
“And yet you still went for a run in the dark by yourself?” Dawson asked.
“I run most every night by myself.”
His gaze turned shrewd. “Who knows you do this?”
“Anyone who hangs around the ranch on a regular basis.”
“And anybody in the bar listening to John-John’s very loud phone conversation with you tonight.”
“Which leaves half the criminals in the county,” I said irritably. “What are you getting at, Dawson?”
“Somebody knew you were on that road tonight and came after you.”
“Why?”
“You tell me.”
“So you don’t believe this was an accident?”
Dawson scowled. “No. Maybe once your head is clear and we fill out the incident report, something will click.”
My eyes went big as pie plates. “You’re filing a report?”
“Standard procedure. Don’t act so surprised.”
I was. Didn’t make sense. He’d drag his feet on tracking down a murderer, but he’d waste time trying to find out who’d played a game of chicken with me? A smart retort danced on my tongue, and I bit it back.
“I’ll swing by tomorrow morning with the paperwork. You look exhausted.” He casually swept a hank of hair that’d escaped from my ponytail. Rather than flinch at his touch, I had the strangest urge to purr and demand more.
“Anything you need before I go?”
“Would you grab the prescription bottle of Percocet from my bathroom upstairs?”
“Be right back.”
I’d about dozed off when I felt the warm weight of his hand on my shoulder. “Mercy?”
My eyes opened.
“Here are your pills and a bottle of water.”
I popped two and swallowed. Nestling my head back in the pillow, I said, “Thanks, Dawson. Would you shut the light off on your way out?”
“Even I can take a hint that broad.” He laughed softly. “Night. Sweet dreams.”
THIRTEEN
The constant brrrr-rat-a-tat-tat of machine-gun fire echoed in the distance. A series of angry shouts dragged my attention from the window across the street. I peered around the corner, careful not to give away my position. A man climbed out of a baby blue Cadillac and started up the steps of the mosque just as happy kids streamed out the front door.
My heart thumped a warning too late. The car and the man exploded simultaneously. I couldn’t even scream when hunks of metal, small chunks of flesh, and blood rained down on me.
I jumped and was instantly awake. Disoriented by the darkness and the nightmare, my eyes frantically searched for something familiar. When my gaze caught the whir of the ceiling fan blades, I realized I was on the couch in the living room. My ankle throbbed, reminding me of the incident from the previous night.
I looked at my foot propped on the pillow. The ice pack on my ankle had melted. The one beneath my head felt like a water balloon. A leaky balloon.
I yelled, “Sophie?”
No answer.
Why hadn’t I heard her clattering around in the kitchen? I squinted at the grandfather clock. Six. That explained it. Sophie didn’t get here until after eight… unless she decided to come early. Or later. I didn’t make her punch a time clock.
I sat up and bent forward to check my ankle. The swelling was down. No bruising. I flexed and pointed. Still sore. It’d probably be all right if I didn’t put too much pressure on it. I swung both feet to the floor and put my weight on the arm of the couch so I could stand. I half limped/half hopped to the kitchen.
I glanced out the window over the sink. Didn’t see Jake’s truck. He was always here at the crack of dawn. I didn’t make him punch a time clock either. I hobbled to the door. Twisted the handle and the lock popped. I never locked the door. Dawson? Concerned for my safety last night? How… sweet.
I pushed on the screen door. It wouldn’t open all the way. What the hell? Did nothing in this place stay in one piece? Just another damn thing I’d have to fix. I pushed again. The bottom corner kept hitting something. I stuck my head out the top of the door, looked down, and froze.
Couldn’t be.
I blinked. My vision swam. I slammed my eyes shut and chanted: please be a dream, please be a dream, please be a dream. Slowly I peeled my lids open.
Still there.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t make my mouth move. I couldn’t work up enough spit to even swallow. My eyes kept straying to the horrific scene on my porch.
Black goo ran in a river down the steps. A large puddle had crusted over, looking stark against the white boards on the porch.
Not a nameless black substance. Blood.
Blood from the dead person blocking the door.
I curled my hands around the screen door until metal cut into my palms. The pain meant it was real. This wasn’t another bad dream.
Heartsick, I choked back the acid crawling up my throat and scrambled for the kitchen phone. Dialed 911. After I explained the situation to dispatch, I added, “Make sure you call Dawson and tell him I’ve got another body at my place.”
Only after I hung up did I allow myself to fall apart.
I loaded the cordless in my purse, along with my cell phone. In my dad’s office I found my grandfather Deke’s old oak cane. Leaning on it kept the pressure off my bum ankle. I shuffled down the handicapped ramp.
Outside, I dropped my backside onto the bumper of the truck. Unfortunately, I had an unobstructed view of Sue Anne.
I could’ve closed my eyes. Or gazed at the pearly morning sky. Or focused on the red geraniums and pink petunias in the flower boxes. But I forced myself to look. To see what had been done to her.
She’d been placed on her left side with her knees drawn up, facing the steps. Her slender arms were bound behind her back with nylon rope. Blood coated her neck. Her teeth, clamped over a blue bandana serving as a gag, stuck out from beneath her swollen lips, giving her a feral look. Her long hair had been pulled away from her face and tied with a white bow, which matched the white gown she wore. The front of the dress, at least the part I could see, was discolored reddish brown.
Somehow I’d managed to keep myself somewhat together until my purposefully detached gaze landed on her bare feet. Her toenails were unpainted and unadorned except for a silver toe ring on the second toe of her right foot. A rainbow-colored braided friendship anklet was tied around her left ankle. Just like the bracelets Levi and I had made years ago.
I lost it again. What a waste. What an absolute fucking waste. I dropped my head to my knees and cried.
Even as I sobbed for Sue Anne, a cold fear invaded my soul. Had I played a part in getting her killed by forcing her to talk to me? How did I live with that? How could I possibly justify snooping around when it led to more deaths?
I kill for a living. There’s no PC way to say it. I’ve never tried to pretend I was an assassin with a heart of gold. I can’t afford to think of anything but the job when I’m on the job. Study intel, get in position, pull the trigger, get out. Repeat as necessary. Simple.
Do I have sleepless nights? Yes. Do I have regrets? Some. Not as many as I should. I’d ended more lives than what’s listed in my kill book. I hate having to document my assignments. Yes, it’s important to keep track of all the technical stuff, wind velocity, range ratios, and humidity. Build a better soldier by being better prepared. But to list names? Dates? Times? And methodology? That requirement bordered on psychotic bragging.
Terrorists deserved to die. Sue Anne didn’t. Some things really are black-and-white in my world.
The sirens snapped me out of the black hole I’d sunk into.
Baby-faced Deputy Jazinski crossed the yard and stood beside me. Nervous. Fidgety. Could’ve been his usual behavior since I didn’t know him. I’d heard Dawson hired Jazinski right before my father’s death with Dad’s blessing. Still, the kid gave me a weird vibe.