An EMT named Drew looked up as Hunter approached Charlee’s gurney, eyeing her pale face above the cervical collar. “She’s still bleeding more than I’d like, but her vitals are stable, and she knows who’s president. They’ll do a CAT scan before they stitch her up.”
Hunter clenched his jaw, then inclined his head toward the other gurney, where Drew’s partner and two other EMTs were working on Brittany. “Will she pull through?”
Drew shrugged and looked away. Hunter understood. Kids were the hardest. “She lost a lot of blood, and we can’t tell how much damage that bullet did. They’re taking her to the trauma center at Ocala Regional.”
“Thanks, Drew.” Hunter moved away and started a mental checklist for the investigation.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
He spun around to see Brittany’s father take a swing at Oliver, who didn’t fight back, just tried to dodge the blows. He hurried over and stepped between the two men, hands on Paul’s chest to keep him at a distance.
“My baby could die, and it’s all his fault!”
“Easy, Paul. I’m Lieutenant Boudreau with Fish and Wildlife. I know we were all a little busy when I introduced myself before. How about we go over here, and you tell me what happened today?”
“I’ll tell you what happened. He tried to kill my daughter.” On the last word, all the fight went out of him, and he would have collapsed if Hunter hadn’t grabbed him. They sat on a nearby log, and Hunter gave the man a moment to collect himself.
“Paul, I know this is hard, but I need you to walk me through what happened.”
“I told you, he—”
Hunter held up his hands in a stop gesture. “How old is Brittany?”
“She is…oh God…sixteen.”
“Besides Charlee, your guide, there were you and Brittany, your son Wyatt, right? Plus Oliver and two young men, Troy and Luke.” At Paul’s nod, he asked, “What time did you all leave the Outpost this morning?”
Paul’s eyes flashed in annoyance. “Right after you did. Weren’t you there?”
“Yes, sir, I was. Just want to make sure I have everything clear in my mind. So you launched from Ray Wayside and headed downriver.”
He waited until Paul picked up the story.
“Everything was fine. Charlee was amazing. She got Brittany to stop texting and even take a few pictures. It was the happiest I’ve seen her since…” He stopped, blinked back tears.
“Everything was going fine. I, uh, pulled my kayak on shore to uh, make a pit stop, and when I came back, they were shouting for Brittany. They said she dropped her phone and went in after it. One of the boys, Troy, I think, tried to find her. And then Charlee and I dove in, too. But no matter how hard I searched, I couldn’t find her.”
Paul raked his fingers through his hair as he continued. “I came up for air and saw Oliver dive down. For a minute”—he swallowed hard—“I thought they’d never come back up. But they finally did. Charlee tried to get Brittany to shore, and all of a sudden, someone started shooting.” His shoulders sagged. “You know the rest.”
“Paul, why do you believe Oliver tried to hurt your daughter? It sounds like he and Charlee tried to save her. He helped do CPR.”
“He wasn’t there when Brittany first went under.”
“You said you had gone ashore. How do you know he wasn’t there?” Hunter asked.
“I just know. He was watching her all day, always popping up in the wrong place.” He buried his head in his hands. “What am I going to tell her mother?”
“Mr. Harris, would you like to ride to the hospital with your daughter?” one of the EMTs asked as he walked over.
Paul nodded and stood, then turned to Hunter. “I want whoever hurt my daughter punished.” He scowled in Oliver’s direction, then climbed into the back of the ambulance without once looking over at his son, who sat on a nearby log.
Hunter watched the teen aim a look of pure malice toward his father as the ambulance doors closed. Then all the anger seemed to drain out of him as he pulled his feet up and buried his face in his bent knees.
Hunter walked over to the boy, sat down beside him. “They’re going to take good care of her, I promise.”
Wyatt nodded. “It doesn’t matter. This is all my fault.”
“Why do you say that?”
He shrugged, still not looking up. “He hates me. They both do,” he mumbled against his knees. “I should never have been born.”
Hunter studied him, made a mental note to dig into the family’s background, figure out the dynamics. “Today was a hard day, but you did good, comforting your father, trying to help your sister.”
Wyatt shot him a sideways glance. “I tried.”
“Of course you did.” He paused. “You heard what your father said about Oliver. Do you agree?”
Wyatt shook his head, hard. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I mean, that Oliver guy was watching Brittany all day. But he was watching Charlee, too, and was always around both of them. But he was in the water with us, so there’s no way he could have shot at us.”
Smart kid. “What about when Brittany went under? Where was Oliver?”
Wyatt went very still, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Everything happened really fast. I was just worried about Brittany.”
Hunter patted his back, and the boy winced. “Did you get hurt today?”
Wyatt looked away, mumbled, “Probably.”
“Can I have a quick look?”
Wyatt gave one jerky nod, and Hunter raised his shirt, noted the bruises on his back. They didn’t look fresh. He’d definitely need to check for a history of abuse. “You’re a good brother, Wyatt. She’s lucky to have you.”
Wyatt snorted, but then he looked up with such hope in his eyes, it was painful to see. “Believe it, Wyatt. You were tough today.” He stood and motioned to a nearby sheriff’s deputy. “Let’s get you a ride to the hospital, okay?”
As the deputy escorted Wyatt to his cruiser, Hunter went back to work, replaying the conversation. And the one with Paul earlier.
* * *
Charlee woke with a gasp of pain. The insistent throbbing in her head felt as though someone was banging on it with a rock. She tried to open her eyes, but the lids felt too heavy, so she left them closed. Gradually, the voices around her started to make sense.
Someone gently brushed the hair back from her face. “You all right, cher?” Hunter’s Cajun drawl rumbled in her ear.
This time, she pried her lids open and waited for her vision to clear. She must have been hurt worse than she’d thought, because Hunter looked worried, and he didn’t strike her as a worrier. She tried to turn her head and realized she was wearing a cervical collar and was strapped to a gurney, not far from the riverbank.
He loomed over her, that tempting hint of stubble right in her face, those piercing green eyes studying her and seeing too much. “Hurts like getting beat with a baseball bat, but you’ll be all right.”
Like pieces of a kaleidoscope, the last bits of memory fell into place. “Brittany is okay, right? You saved her?”
His gaze never wavered. “They’re doing everything they can.”
Charlee struggled to focus. “What does that mean? Is she alive?”
“She was when they transported her to the hospital.”
“What aren’t you saying, Hunter? My brain’s too fuzzy to read between the lines.”
“You know she was shot. She lost a lot of blood. But she’s young.”
Tears threatened, but she swallowed them back. “She’s stubborn, too. That should help, right?” Her heart felt like someone had pierced it with a stick, and guilt sloshed queasily in her stomach. How could she have let this happen? Again?
As though he could read her mind, Hunter tucked the blanket around her and said, “Not your fault, cher. Blame the shooter who put a bullet in her.”
“Did you catch him?”
He shook his head, his gaze direct. “Not yet. But we will, I promise you that.”
The panic she’d felt underwater rushed back, along with the suspicion she hadn’t been alone. Which was crazy, right? “Someone was down there.” The words popped out before she thought them through.
Hunter’s gaze sharpened. “What are you talking about, cher?”
She eyed him, desperate, suddenly, that he believe her. “Brittany had her foot caught under a log, which could happen. It took everything I had to pull her free. But…as I was trying to find her, it felt like somebody grabbed my ankle, tried to pull me down, too.”
Hunter immediately walked to the end of the gurney, pulled back the sheet. “Which one?” He ran his big hands lightly over her skin, his touch raising goose bumps in his wake. “Here?”
When he ran a finger over her left ankle, she winced. He leaned closer, gently turned it this way and that. “It’s bruised, no question.” He pulled his cell phone out and snapped pictures from every angle. “Did you see anyone down there?”
“No. I couldn’t make out anything in that tannic water. But I’m not crazy. And I didn’t make this up.”
One corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. “You are one of the sanest people I know.”
Not exactly reassuring. “You need to believe me.”
He tucked the sheet more securely around her. “I believe we have a lot of puzzle pieces to track down before we see the whole picture.”
Everything inside her rebelled at the verbal pat on the head, and she fought against a frightening sense of déjà vu. Rick had said the same things a year ago, had dismissed her concerns about JJ’s death, had made her doubt what she knew. But before she could argue, the pounding in her skull increased so fast, it pulled her into the darkness beyond.
* * *
He raced away from the river, down the two-lane highway, heart pounding and hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel, trying to keep the vehicle on the road. It kept pulling to one side because of the flat tire, and he fought it with everything he had. He just wanted to get home, away from the noise and the shouting. He couldn’t think when it was loud, when there were angry voices inside and outside his head.
Everything had happened so fast, and none of it had gone the way he’d thought it would. He was only trying to help, to do what he’d been told to do. He’d created a distraction, hadn’t he?
He eyed the rifle on the seat beside him, and his stomach got a little queasy when he remembered the blood in the water. He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone.
Especially not Charlee.
His head pounded and his vision blurred, so he shook his head to clear it. A car horn blared, and he snapped his eyes open and veered back into his lane before he hit an oncoming car head-on. The driver shot him the finger as he went by, and he wanted to cry. No matter what he did, it was the wrong thing. All he’d tried to do was help. Make things better.
Why couldn’t he get it right?
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
The words echoed in his head the whole way back to town. He stopped at a traffic light, tried to think. What now? He needed a new tire. And a back window. He had to bring the truck back as good as new. That was the rule.
A car honked behind him, and he started driving, but he got turned around, unsure which way to go. After another mile, his breath heaved out of his chest, and he pulled into a parking lot and put his head on the steering wheel. If he waited awhile, the chaos in his head would stop, the shouting would settle down, and he could think.
Sure enough, after a few minutes, he raised his head and looked around. There, the ice cream place. He looked the other direction and saw the highway. Now he knew where he was—and how to get where he needed to go.
He pulled into the junkyard the two of them had gone to before. When the man named Joe who worked there asked what he needed, he pointed to the tire and carefully counted out crumpled dollar bills to pay for a mostly new one. He checked the treads before he paid for it, to see how deep they were, just like he’d been taught. This one seemed to be okay. Tool Man would be happy with him and wouldn’t shout.
“What happened to the back window?” Joe asked, a curious expression on his face.
He chewed his lip, unsure what to say. Finally, he just looked down and shrugged. “Got old, maybe?”
Joe chuckled. “If you say so, buddy.”
“My name isn’t buddy.” As soon as he said the words, he ducked his head. Tool Man got mad if he told anyone his name. He said that was their secret. “Do you have another one?”
Joe eyed the truck. “I think maybe I do. Come with me.”
He looked up and smiled as he followed Joe. Yes, that would be good. If he came home with everything all fixed, Tool Man would be happy. He’d be glad he’d taken care of it. And he wouldn’t shout. “Thank you. Will it cost lots of money?”
“We’ll get you squared away,” Joe said.
He waited patiently while Joe found an old truck that looked just like the one he was driving, popped out the back window, and brought it back and installed it. Then, after he carefully handed over more crumpled bills, he drove away, smiling, unaware that the other three men in the place had been watching his every move.
* * *
Someone was down there. Hunter studied Charlee’s still face, jaw clenched. What the hell?
He turned as Pete hopped out of his sheriff’s SUV. Josh raced from his FWC truck, both headed for their sister before their vehicles came to a complete stop.
Pete’s face was tight with worry. “Is she okay?”
“Bullet grazed her. Possible concussion. They’ll do a CAT scan before they stitch her up.”
“Bullet? What the hell happened out here, Boudreau?” Pete demanded. The look he shot Hunter confirmed why his nickname was Bulldog. “It was just a freaking paddle trip.”
“Right. We don’t have all the—”
“Why aren’t the EMTs taking care of her?” Josh interrupted. He shoved his sunglasses up on his head and glared at Hunter from Charlee’s other side.
Hunter kept his eyes steady on Josh. “They are. But they were busy trying to save the teenage girl. Brittany. She’s headed for the trauma center at Ocala Regional.”
As soon as the words sank in, Josh’s breath whooshed out, and he swore. “She going to make it?”
“Hopefully. She got shot, too, and lost a lot of blood.”
“Run us through the timeline, Boudreau.” Pete crossed his arms and waited.
Since this was their sister, Hunter ignored the commanding tone—for now—and filled them in on what he knew. “Looks like Brittany dove down for her dropped cell phone and got her foot caught under a log, but Charlee managed to pull her free. She wasn’t breathing when Charlee pulled her out.” He decided not to mention what Charlee had said about someone trying to pull her down. Yet. He’d wait and see if she still thought that after her head cleared. “But as Charlee was trying to get them out of the water, someone started shooting.”
Pete muttered under his breath and started pacing. Josh pulled off his FWC cap and slammed a hand through his blond hair. “Charlee doesn’t need this, not with everything else she’s had going on.”
Hunter pierced him with a look. “Agreed. But she’s tough. She’ll handle it.”
Pete looked from one to the other. “This can’t be a coincidence. Not today.”
Hunter thought the same thing but kept that to himself for now. “Before we jump to conclusions, we need to gather the facts, see where they lead.”
“You gather facts, Lieutenant. I’m going to find out what idiot went after my sister.” Pete spun away, but Hunter stepped in front of him and blocked his path.
He stared his friend down. “I’ll appreciate all the help I can get from you and the sheriff’s department, Pete, but this is an FWC case.” Since the incident had happened on the water, Fish and Wildlife would take the lead.
Pete narrowed his eyes and glanced over at Josh before scowling at Hunter. “It may be your case, but this is our sister we’re talking about.”
“I know that quite well.” But the last thing he needed was Pete or Josh screwing up the investigation by going off half-cocked. “We’ll find who did this, and I’ll make sure nothing happens to your sister.”
“Like you protected your brother? Or your lieutenant?” Pete fired back.
Hunter didn’t flinch as the words hit home. His guilt over his brother’s death could not be part of this. He turned to Josh. “Why don’t you interview Oliver? Get his statement. Pete, why don’t you get statements from Brittany’s brother, Wyatt, and the two college guys, separately.”
He turned away without another word, banking on their training to get them to cooperate. He didn’t want to fight them on this. The EMTs were just loading Charlee into the ambulance as he walked over. He gave her hand a quick squeeze, relieved when her eyes fluttered open and she squeezed his in return.
When he saw Pete talking to one of the young men while the other two waited nearby, he walked over to where Josh sat on a log beside Oliver. Josh tucked his notebook back into his shirt pocket. “This is Oliver Dunn, in case you didn’t get his name earlier. Oliver, this is Lieutenant Boudreau, FWC.”
Hunter met Josh’s eyes, nodded at the use of his new title. It was a start.
Oliver looked up, eyes sad. “This sure wasn’t the day I expected.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t. Mr. Dunn, you may have already answered this for Officer Tanner, but why does Mr. Harris think you had something to do with his daughter’s near drowning?”
The man shook his head again and looked at the ground. “I have no idea. I did everything I could to help, same as he and Charlee did. I heard Brittany might not make it. I guess he needs somebody to blame.”
“Are you from around here, Mr. Dunn?” Hunter asked.
“No, sir. From Alabama, Mobile area. Took a little vacation.”
Hunter kept his tone casual, friendly. “What kind of work do you do?”
“Mechanic, mostly. Handyman jobs on the side.”
Hunter kept his eyes on the man’s face as he asked, “Was there anyone else on the river while all this happened with Brittany? Anyone on shore nearby?”
Oliver stopped, head cocked. “I think Paul went up on shore, and a couple canoes passed us earlier. And then that kid from the Outpost showed up.” Oliver pointed to Travis, who was giving a statement to another FWC officer. “It was weird how he just appeared all of a sudden. I got the feeling he has the hots for Charlee, so that might explain it.”
From what Hunter had heard from Josh, Travis’s interest in Charlee wasn’t news. His sudden appearance, though, was something else. “Thank you for trying to help today. How can we reach you if we have more questions?”
Oliver scratched his head. “Well, I was planning to head out today, but I could stay a day or two longer, if you need me to and my cabin isn’t booked.”
“You’re staying at Tanner’s Outpost?” At Oliver’s nod, he said, “Yes, sir. We’d appreciate it if you stick around a few more days.”
Hunter stood and walked over to several FWC officers who had arrived on scene within minutes of his call to dispatch. He pulled Officer Lisa Bass aside. Her athletic good looks made men notice her, but Hunter was more interested in her sharp mind. “Hey, Fish. Do me a favor and see what you can track down about the shooter and the gun he used.”
She stiffened, hesitated, but then nodded and headed toward the trees. “Anything for Charlee,” she said over her shoulder.
Pete and Josh stepped up beside him. “I don’t like this,” Pete said. “Not today.”
“I’ll talk to Charlee, see if she can fill in the gaps,” Hunter said.
“We’ll all talk to Charlee,” Josh corrected. His features hardened, as did Pete’s, as they dared Hunter to argue.
Hunter understood. In their shoes, he’d want to talk directly to his sibling, too. “I’ll finish up here and meet you both at the hospital. But don’t get any ideas. We do this by the book. For Charlee’s sake.” He eyed them both. “We clear?”
He waited until both men nodded. Then he strode over to Marco Sanchez, another FWC officer, and put him to work tracking down the truck. He asked Brad “Byte” Griffin to collect physical evidence and then run background checks on everyone involved. As an investigator and computer whiz, Byte did most of his work online, but when word got out about Charlee, her former squad had all shown up.
Hunter wanted to head straight to the hospital, but he wouldn’t rush and risk missing something critical. His laptop was in his truck at the boat launch, so he called his captain to give him a verbal update, used his phone to fill out a status report, and then checked in with dispatch. He made another careful circuit of the scene, going over everything again.
Once the scene had been processed and everyone else had left, he cranked up his boat and headed back to the boat ramp and his vehicle.
He knew that itchy feeling between his shoulder blades wouldn’t let up until he’d gone by the hospital and made sure Charlee was okay.
* * *
Charlee floated in that half state between sleep and wakefulness, trying to get her bearings. She knew she was in the hospital because she remembered being poked and prodded and questioned and having lights shined in her eyes. Finally, they’d given her something to ease the pounding in her head and left her alone.
“Charlee, wake up.”
The voice was gruff, demanding. Not like Hunter’s soothing Cajun drawl or her brothers’ familiar rumble. Did she know who this voice belonged to?
“Quit pretending. I know you can hear me.”
Charlee struggled to focus. Who was angry with her? Why? What had she done?
A hand grabbed her arm, hard, and she automatically jerked away. The grip tightened, and she froze.
“You want to play games, act like you can’t hear me, fine. We’ll play. But I’ll win… I always win.”
A chill slid down her back. She strained to clear the cobwebs from her brain so she could identify the voice, but it didn’t sound familiar.
“You ruined my plan before. And you got in my way again today. You’ll pay for that. And so will your family.” He clamped down hard on her arm and then let go.
Goose bumps raced over her skin, and she blinked rapidly, trying to get her eyes to adjust. Who was this? The room was dark. Night. Nothing but shadows. She caught the faint outline of a body, but nothing else.
Before she could move, she heard the door to the room click shut, felt the change in the air, and knew he was gone.
No. She had to think. Tell someone. Hunter. She fumbled for the call button on the bed, swung her legs to the floor, but couldn’t get the room to stop spinning enough to stand.
By the time a soft voice asked what she needed, Charlee knew it was too late.