CHAPTER 24

SARA SPENT MOST OF THE DRIVE back to Reese on the phone, trying to locate Hank Norton. As promised, first thing that morning, the Elawah County hospital had arranged for Hank’s transfer to a larger facility. The only problem was, no one knew which facility. Sara had tried every hospital she could think of in the area. Finally, she’d managed to get an actual person on the line at St. Ignatius, a regional hospital about an hour’s drive away, almost in the exact opposite direction of Coastal State Prison. An ICU nurse was giving Sara the lowdown on Hank’s condition when Jeffrey pulled up in front of the jail.

“Thank you,” Sara told the nurse. She disconnected the line, holding the phone to her chest. “He’s stabilizing.”

Jeffrey parked the car. “That’s good, right?”

Sara nodded, though she wasn’t so sure. As a doctor, she understood that a patient’s recovery wasn’t just down to good medicine. Family support could often energize a patient, even give them a reason to live. Hank Norton was at a crucial point right now. If he thought he was alone, if Lena didn’t do her part to take care of her uncle, then he might very well give up the fight.

Jeffrey got out of the car and walked around to open Sara’s door. She gave him a tight smile as she stood, but didn’t let go of his hand as they walked toward the basement, where the jail was housed.

The entire trip down, she could tell that he wanted to talk to her, just as she could tell this desire came from guilt rather than a need for her to understand. For Sara’s part, she didn’t want to hear the excuses. Jeffrey had made up his mind that he was going to Coastal State Prison the minute he’d seen the telephone number charged to Lena’s motel room. Anything he said now was just a backpedaling attempt to put a better face on the decision. Sara felt she had to support his choice, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to act happy about it.

She told him, “The hospital is an hour out of your way.”

Jeffrey opened the glass entrance door for her. “I know.”

Don Cook was at the front desk, but unlike the first time Jeffrey had seen him, he wasn’t playing the part of the relaxed old man. The deputy was sitting straight up in his chair, arms crossed, obviously furious.

Jeffrey gave him a cheery smile. “We’re here to see Lena Adams.”

“I know what you’re here for,” Cook barked.

There were footsteps on the stairs. Jake Valentine rounded the landing, stopping when he saw Jeffrey and Sara. He was dressed in his uniform again, his gun belt tight around his waist, his hat planted squarely on his head. Sara had expected the sheriff to look pleased with himself to have his prisoner back in custody, but he looked pissed as hell.

“Ma’am.” He tipped his hat to Sara, then told Jeffrey, “She’s being processed out.”

Sara and Jeffrey both exclaimed, “What?”

Valentine narrowed his eyes, as if he didn’t quite buy their reaction. “Her fancy lawyer got the judge to let her out. She’s free to go until her court date on the escape charge.” He instructed his deputy, “Don, you mind going to fetch her?”

Cook took his time standing, making sure everyone in the room knew he was not happy with the latest developments before he left by the steel door leading to the cells.

As soon as the man was gone, Jeffrey asked, “What happened, Jake?”

“She wasn’t locked down ten minutes before the judge gives me a call, asks me to go over the warrant with him. Again.” Valentine paused as if he needed to check his temper. “He dismissed all the original charges and chewed my ass out in the process. I had to beg him to bench-warrant the escape. If I hadn’t spent so much money looking for her, he would’ve probably let that one drop, too.” He rested his hand on the butt of his gun. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Jeffrey answered, “I’m as clueless as you are.”

Valentine walked over to the front door and looked out into the parking lot. A light mist had started to fall. He glanced back at Jeffrey and Sara, then returned his attention to the BMW. “That fancy car must’ve set you back a pretty penny.”

Sara felt herself bristle. Jeffrey told the man, “Doctors make a lot of money.”

“That they do,” Valentine agreed. He kept his back to them, and Sara was reminded of the sudden punch the sheriff had thrown at Jeffrey that first night outside the hospital. Jeffrey must have been thinking about this, too, because he stood in front of Sara.

“Why’d you let the judge release her?” he asked Valentine. “You could’ve fought the judge. You could’ve gone over his head, called in the GBI.”

“Believe me, all those things occurred to me.” Valentine turned around. “Then, I got a message.”

“What message?”

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

Jeffrey took the note, unfolded it. Over his shoulder, Sara saw there was one sentence across the page in block print: DROP IT OR YOU WILL DIE.

Valentine took back the note, folded it. “No question about what I’ve gotta do. I’m not gonna end up like Al Pfeiffer, shitting in my Depends every time there’s a knock on the door.”

Jeffrey sounded as shocked as Sara felt. “You’re just going to drop it? You’re gonna let these guys get away with this? Two people are dead, Jake. Charlotte Gibson was a teacher at Myra’s school.”

“You’re one to give me a lecture, considering your star detective is being represented by one of the biggest drug lawyers in the tri-county area.” He shook his head, disgusted. “Looks like I called it right the first time we met, don’t it?” He took a few steps forward, closing the gap between him and Jeffrey. “In case you’re wondering, I’m questioning your integrity, hoss. You wanna go ahead and beat me to the ground now or do you wanna wait until I turn my back?”

Jeffrey ignored the challenge. “It’s time to stop playing around, Jake. You need to call in the GBI.”

“I did,” he volunteered. “We’ll call it my last official duty as sheriff.”

“Wait a minute,” Jeffrey said. “You resigned?”

Valentine nodded. “Next-to-last official duty, I guess. Last one was letting your detective go, and I suggest you get her out of town as soon as possible and forget you ever knew this place.” He looked over Jeffrey’s shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”

Lena stood in the open doorway, Cook scowling behind her. Dark bruises patterned her face. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her fury was evident when she saw Jeffrey and Sara. “What are they doing here?”

Jeffrey ignored her. He told Valentine, “Let’s step outside a minute and finish this conversation.”

“My pleasure.” The sheriff pushed open the door with a flourish.

Sara watched them through the glass door. The mist had turned into a spitting rain, but neither man seemed to care. Jeffrey stood on the curb while Valentine walked into the lot for yet another look at Sara’s car. She felt shame mixing with anger that he was so focused on the damn thing. If the sheriff thought Jeffrey was on the take, he was more than welcome to look at their tax returns.

Behind her, the steel door slammed closed. Don Cook had made his exit. Lena and Sara were alone. Immediately, the walls felt as if they were closing in.

Lena’s tone was clipped, cutting. “You need to get Jeffrey out of here right now.”

“That’s not going to be a problem,” Sara returned, watching her stubborn husband standing out in the rain. “Jeffrey’s going to see Ethan.”

“You can’t let him do that.”

Sara laughed, incredulous. “I don’t know if you remember your little tirade in the hospital a few days ago, Lena, but the best way to get Jeffrey to do something is to tell him not to do it. It helps if you make threats.”

Lena muttered something under her breath.

Sara heard plenty, but still, she demanded, “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“If you’re going to try to mumble, you shouldn’t do it so clearly.”

Lena walked toward her, stopping a few feet away. “I said he’s so pussy whipped he can’t see straight,” she repeated. “You need to get him the fuck out of here. Now.”

“How do you propose I do that?”

“Just tell him that he has to leave.”

Sara shook her head. “God, you’re so stupid about people.”

“You think insulting me is gonna fix this?”

“Fix what?” Sara demanded. “Fix the woman who was burned alive? Fix the man who was stabbed in the back? Fix the fact that your uncle is at death’s door?”

Lena pressed her lips together, stared all her hate into Sara.

“Save the theatrics. I get that same look at the clinic every time I give a toddler a shot.” Sara put her hands on her hips. “Tell me, Lena, was Charlotte Gibson your friend?”

Lena kept glaring, but Sara could see the other woman’s resolve was breaking.

“Was she?”

“Yes,” she finally answered.

“If she was your friend, then I fear for your enemies.”

Lena finally looked away, her tone softening. “I’m trying to protect both of you. I need a day—just a day. Take me at my word and get out of town.”

“You’ve dragged us down here and gotten us mixed up in this…this…shit—for lack of a better word—and you think that a simple, ‘because I said so,’ is going to end it?” Sara looked back at the parking lot, saw that Valentine and Jeffrey were walking toward the door. “Is Ethan mixed up in any of this?”

Lena stared at Sara as if trying to divine the best response to get her way.

“Quickly,” Sara snapped. Valentine was a few feet from the glass door, Jeffrey behind him. “Is Ethan involved in this?”

“I don’t know.” Lena shook her head and shrugged at the same time. “Probably not. I don’t know.”

“What will happen if Jeffrey goes to see him? What will change? Will it make anything better or worse?”

“I don’t—”

Valentine opened the door. Jeffrey followed him inside.

Lena didn’t waste her time. She told Jeffrey, “Stay away from Ethan.”

He looked at Sara first, as if trying to decide which team she was on. Sara copied Lena’s earlier gesture, shaking her head and shrugging. Maybe Lena wasn’t so stupid about people after all. Of course, Sara had basically drawn her a map: the best way to make Jeffrey do something was to tell him not to do it. If Lena wanted him out of town so badly, the trip to Coastal State Prison would eat up the entire day.

Lena told him, “Ethan has nothing to do with any of this.”

He gave her that cocky smile that Sara despised. “That so?”

“I’m taking care of things,” Lena told him. “Just leave, Jeffrey. This is none of your business.”

He was still smiling, but his tone was a warning. “Are you my boss now, Lena? Is that how it works when you’ve got a big-gun drug lawyer pulling your strings?”

Lena looked at the floor. Sara tried to change Jeffrey’s focus, asking the sheriff, “Is Lena’s car still at the impound lot?”

Valentine nodded.

“Do you mind driving us there to pick it up?”

Valentine was obviously surprised by the request. “I was…uh…”

Lena interrupted, “I left Hank’s car at his house this morning. We can take that. It’s closer.”

Sara didn’t wait for Valentine to come up with an excuse. She told Jeffrey, “Lena and I will take Hank’s car to the hospital. You can pick me up there when you’re finished.”

Jeffrey’s jaw worked. He nodded toward the door and Sara followed him outside. The mist was back, lending a solemn mood. Silently, he walked to the car. Her cell phone was in the glove box. He powered it on, staring at the screen as he told her, “It’ll take me a few hours to get there, probably another hour to fill out all the paperwork.” He handed her the phone. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way back, all right?”

Jeffrey wasn’t one for public displays, but he kissed her cheek, then her mouth. She grabbed him by his collar, pressed her face in his neck.

He said, “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Lena, but promise me that y’all are going straight to the hospital.” She nodded, but that wasn’t enough. He tilted her face up to his. “You’re going to be the mother of my child, Sara. Promise me that you’re going to keep yourself safe.”

“I promise,” she told him. “We’ll go straight to the hospital. I’ll be there until you come to get me.”

He kissed her again before letting go. “It’s going to be fine, okay?” He walked around to the driver’s side of the car. “I’ll see you in a few hours. We’ll be home tonight.”

Sara watched him get into the car, remembering that morning six months ago when he’d left her standing in her parents’ driveway. Lena had called minutes earlier and he was off to arrest Ethan Green on a gun violation. Now, standing outside the jail, Sara felt the same dread welling inside of her—the same uncontrollable fear that hovered like a dark shadow over her heart every time she found herself thinking about the misery of her life without Jeffrey.

As he reversed into the street, Sara prayed to God that this time would have the same ending. That tonight—just like that night—she would curl up in bed beside him and listen to the steady cadence of his breath as he fell asleep.

SARA AND LENA RODE in the back of Jake Valentine’s squad car. He had offered the front seat, but Lena had said no and frankly, Sara did not want to sit by the man. What little respect she’d had for Valentine in the beginning was more than cancelled out by his relinquishing his badge over the threatening letter. The irony was not lost on Sara that, had she been in Myra Valentine’s shoes, she would have begged her husband to quit. Sara wondered if there would ever come a day when she would not worry about the fact that Jeffrey was good at his job.

Probably the night of his retirement party.

The brakes squeaked as Valentine pulled to a stop in front of Hank’s house. Sara frowned at the Mercedes in the driveway. The car looked older than Lena.

Valentine got out of the cruiser. He opened Lena’s door, then walked around to get Sara’s. He seemed relieved to be leaving the job and getting on with his life. She wondered what Jeffrey had said to him out in the parking lot.

The rain had stopped, but the sky was still overcast. Lena stared at her uncle’s house, asking, “Why are all the lights on?”

“What’s that?” Valentine asked.

“The lights are on,” Lena said, an edge to her voice. “I didn’t see them on this morning.”

Sara wondered why it mattered. She asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said, then, “No. I don’t remember.” She stared back at the house. “Hank wouldn’t want all the lights left on like that.”

“He’s barely coherent,” Sara reminded her. “I’m sure his electric bill is the last thing on his mind.”

Lena started up the front walk. “I’m going to check.”

“Hold on, lady.” Valentine trotted up ahead of her, hand on his gun so it wouldn’t slap his leg. “Let me just run in there and check things out, okay?”

Lena didn’t wait with Sara. Instead, she walked around Hank’s Mercedes, looking inside the windows, checking underneath, an air of paranoia surrounding her every move.

Sara followed her, asking, “What’s going on?”

“We had a deal,” Lena said, almost to herself.

“What deal?”

Lena stood on the far side of the car, watching Jake Valentine pull at the tape around the front door, trying to pick it open.

“What were you looking for under the car?” Sara asked, all of her senses telling her something was wrong. “Who did you make a deal with, Lena?”

“Hey,” Valentine called. “Anything happens”—he gave a little chuckle—“y’all know the number for nine-one-one, right?” He didn’t give them a chance to respond as he shouldered open the door.

Lena inhaled sharply as if to brace herself.

Valentine waved back at them. “It’s okay,” he said, holding his hand to his side. “I’m okay.”

Blood seeped into the material of his shirt where the metal flashing on the doorjamb had sliced open his side. Valentine kept putting his hand to the wound, then looking at the blood on his palm. Sara could tell from the bleeding that the cut was deep, but he assured them, “I’m fine. Y’all just stay here while I poke around inside.”

Lena waited until the sheriff disappeared, then opened the back door of Hank’s car. She reached under the driver’s seat with her hand, keeping her eyes on the house the entire time.

Sara asked, “What are you doing?”

Lena closed the door quietly, locked the car. She had obviously been checking for something under the seat, but she told Sara, “That cut looked pretty bad.”

The rain started up again. Sara raised her hand to shield her eyes. “You wanna tell me what the hell is going on here?”

Lena grinned, as if Sara was being foolish. “I think I just didn’t notice that the lights were on this morning,” she said. “There should be a first-aid kit in Jake’s cruiser.” She went to Valentine’s car and pulled the trunk release. The lid popped open, and Sara saw a rifle bolted to the floor. Beside it was the blue metal box Charlotte Gibson’s husband had brought into the station.

Sara remembered the birth certificate applications hidden under the lining, where Angela Adams had listed her brother as the father of her children. It took all Sara’s effort not to push Lena aside as the other woman reached into the trunk and picked up the box.

Still, Sara tried, “That’s evidence.”

Lena snapped open the lid before Sara could think of a way to stop her.

Sara suppressed a sigh of relief. The box was empty. Even the liner was gone. Rain splattered the metal bottom.

Lena asked, “Where did he get this?”

“It was brought in by Charlotte Gibson’s husband.”

Lena shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“All clear,” Valentine shouted from the house. He made his way down the porch, holding his side, obviously in pain. He saw the metal box, and asked Lena, “Have you ever seen that before?”

Lena shook her head and gently closed the lid.

Valentine holstered his weapon as he asked, “Any particular reason y’all are poking around in my trunk?”

The first-aid kit was strapped inside. Sara retrieved the kit, saying, “We thought you might need this.”

He took his hand away from his side, showing her where the flashing had ripped the shirt, sliced apart the flesh. “I think I need more than a Band-Aid, Doc. This thing is bleeding like a mofo.”

Reluctantly, Sara asked, “When was your last tetanus shot?”

“I stepped on a nail when I was twelve.”

Sara looked at the house, dreading the thought of going inside. She didn’t want to go back to the jail, either, but she couldn’t very well make him stand out in the rain.

She headed toward the front steps, telling Valentine, “You’re going to need another tetanus shot. I’ll get you patched up as best as I can and then you can drive yourself to the hospital.”

“Drive myself?” He seemed alarmed.

“It’s two minutes away,” she said, knowing she should offer to drive him.

Valentine scowled. “I hate hospitals.”

“Everyone does,” she said, leading him back to the kitchen. Sara was a plumber’s daughter and had been exposed to her fair share of sewage, but she had never smelled anything as bad as this. “I’ll clean it up and get a good look at it.”

“Is it going to hurt?”

“Probably,” she admitted, pushing open the swinging door to the kitchen. Trash was strewn everywhere, but the sink was empty and the light was good. Sara put the first-aid kit on top of a stack of pamphlets on the counter and asked Lena, “Can you find some clean rags?”

Lena frowned. “How clean do they have to be?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She put the metal box on the table and went back into the hall, the swinging door swishing closed behind her.

Sara lowered her voice, asking Valentine, “Is there any reason I should be worried about not having gloves?”

“What?” he asked, then blushed and laughed at the same time. “Oh, no, ma’am. I’m clean as a whistle.”

“Okay,” she said, hoping she could trust him. Sara turned on the faucet and used the soap in the tub of Orange Glo to wash her hands. “Go ahead and take off your shirt. I can at least get the bleeding under control.”

He put his gunbelt on the table and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Is this as bad as I think it is?”

“We’ll have to see.” Sara opened up the first-aid kit, glad when she saw large gauze pads and surgical tape instead of the usual Band-Aids.

“I hate needles,” Valentine continued. Lena came in, a couple of rags in her hand. He warned them both, “Y’all don’t let it get around, now, but I’ve been known to faint when I see a needle.”

“Me, too,” Sara told him. She ripped open the gauze pad and he flinched like a child. She was always amazed by how nervous cops got around anything that questioned their invincibility. The man could barely unbutton his shirt.

She asked, “Do you need help with that?”

“Aw, hell.” Valentine gave up on the buttons and slipped his shirt off over his head, wincing as he stretched, the wound gaping open.

“Careful,” Sara warned, a moment too late.

He looked at the blood dripping down the waist of his pants and joked, “I’m not gonna need a transfusion or anything, right?”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Sara said, pressing the gauze pad to his wound. “If you do, I’m sure we can find some donors at the jail.”

“I don’t know about that,” Valentine said. “I’ve got a rare blood type.”

The blood was already seeping through the gauze. Sara held out her hand for the rags, but Lena did not offer them. She was just standing there, frozen in place.

“AB-negative,” Lena said, her voice barely above a whisper. “His blood type is AB-negative.”