“Well,” Jeffrey began, once again trying not to sound too condescending, “when something bad happens in my town, like a car gets stolen or somebody swipes a television, I’ve got a pretty good idea who might be behind it.”
“Oh.” Valentine nodded. “Yeah, I got you. Only, we don’t get many cars being blown up on the football field here.”
Jeffrey chose to ignore his sarcasm. “Any arsonists?”
“That’s a big-city crime.”
“Apparently not.”
Valentine scratched his chin. “I figure whoever did this was trying to send a message.”
“What kind of message?”
“Your detective’s the only one who can answer that. Speaking of which,” he said, nodding toward the door, “I think your wife’s had enough time alone with her.”
Jeffrey could only hope that was the case. He followed Valentine back into the room. Sara was leaning against the wall outside the bathroom. The bed was empty, the soft restraints hanging from the rails. The shower was running.
Sara explained, “I talked her into cleaning up.”
“She talk back?” Valentine wanted to know.
Sara shook her head, and Jeffrey could see that she was telling the truth.
“Not much help, then,” Valentine said, obviously annoyed. He glanced at his watch, then at the bathroom door. “How long she been in there?”
“Not long.”
He tried the doorknob, but it was locked. “Jesus, lady, you didn’t think it’d be smart to go in there with her?”
Sara opened her mouth to answer, but Jeffrey cut her off, telling the man, “Watch your tone.”
Valentine ignored him, knocking hard on the door. “Miss Adams? I need you to open this door now.” He slipped his radio out of his belt. “Cook, you there? Come in.” There was no answer, and the sheriff pressed his shoulder into the door, trying to pop it open.
For the second time that night, Sara’s lips parted, but she did not speak.
“Cook?” Valentine tried the radio again. There was no answer, and he banged his fist on the bathroom door. “Miss Adams, you’ve got to the count of three to open this door.”
The radio crackled. In a slow drawl, Don Cook asked, “What is it, Jake?”
“Find the passkey for the bathroom and get your ass in here!” Valentine barked. He tucked the radio back in its holster and put his shoulder to the door again. “Miss Adams,” he tried again. “Lookit, just come out and everything will be fine.”
Jeffrey asked Sara, “Does she have anything sharp in there?”
Valentine turned around, waiting for her answer.
Sara shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Valentine asked, “Would she try to hurt herself?”
“I have no idea,” Sara returned, her words clipped. “I’m not her doctor.”
“Shit,” Valentine hissed. He banged on the door again. “Miss Adams.”
“Oh, no…” Sara’s voice was so low and the banging was so loud that Valentine obviously didn’t hear her.
“What’s—” Jeffrey looked up, his question caught in his throat. He knew exactly what had happened on the other side of that door.
Cook came into the room, a key in his hand. “What’s going on?”
Valentine snatched the key from him and slid it into the locked door. Steam from the shower filled the room. He strode inside and yanked back the curtain. The tub was empty.
“Motherfuck,” Valentine cursed. Above the toilet, a ceiling tile had been pushed back, exposing a narrow crawl space. “Goddammit!” he screamed, kicking the wall. He told Cook, “Search the hospital top to bottom. Call backup now.” Cook left, and Valentine looked right at Sara, saying, “You bitch.”
Jeffrey grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him against the wall. “You ever talk to my wife like that again and we’re gonna have a real problem. You hear me?” Valentine tried to get away, but Jeffrey tightened his grip. “You hear me?”
Valentine went limp like a kitten who’d been grabbed by the scruff of the neck. “She let my prisoner escape.”
Jeffrey didn’t let himself look at Sara, because he knew that she was thinking the same thing he was. Lena had tricked her. There was no getting around it.
He let the man go.
“Asshole.” Valentine jerked his shirt back into place, scowling. He shoved past Jeffrey as he went into the hallway. Jeffrey followed him around the corner and into the next room. The bed was empty, obviously unused. “She let my prisoner escape,” Valentine snarled. “I can’t fucking believe I stood out in that hall letting you jerk me around while your wife was in there letting her escape.”
“Sara’s not a part of this.”
“Why don’t you do yourself a favor, buddy?” Valentine challenged. “You get that wife of yours, and you get back into your car, and you get the fuck out of my town.”
Jeffrey didn’t need to be asked politely. He turned without a word and went to find Sara.
She was still in Lena’s room, stricken. “How could I have been so stupid? How could I—”
He took her by the elbow, leading her out of the room. “We don’t need to talk about that right now.”
“I shouldn’t have been here in the first place.”
Jeffrey led her into the hallway. The rent-a-cops had been called in, all two of them. Both men looked older than Don Cook and just as fit for duty.
Valentine started barking orders in between screaming into his radio for more backup. “I want her found now!”
Jeffrey pressed the button for the elevator. He glanced down the hall, figuring Lena’s escape. Obviously, she had pushed back the tile over the toilet and used the crawl space over the drop ceiling to access the bathroom on the other side. Then she had probably sneaked down the stairs to the basement. The elevator opened onto the emergency room, though even if she’d taken that route, he doubted she would’ve caused much of a stir. The receptionist probably wouldn’t have even looked up from her game of cards on the computer.
The elevator doors slid open. Jeffrey pressed his hand to Sara’s back, urging her to get on. Valentine and one of the hospital cops trotted past the elevator as the doors closed, probably on their way to search the basement.
Jeffrey pressed the button for the second floor, wondering again why the car didn’t go down to the first floor. Maybe there was a freight elevator Valentine had failed to mention. Lena could’ve used that to get downstairs, but then what? The laundry would have sheets and towels. There was probably a staff lounge, maybe lockers for the cleaning staff. She could find clothes, cash. Jeffrey figured she had taken what she needed and gotten out of the hospital as soon as possible.
“How could I be so stupid?” Sara repeated, shaking her head. Tears were in her eyes. He had seen her angry countless times, but there was nothing so savage as the anger she could direct toward herself.
He instructed, “Tell me exactly what she said.”
“Just the same stuff—that we had to leave. She barely even looked at me.” She brushed away a tear with the back of her hand, her face white with fury. “I’m so sorry,” she told him. “This is all my fault.”
“I was standing out in the hallway,” Jeffrey tried. “She used me, too.”
“Not like…” Sara shook her head, unable to finish the sentence. “I unstrapped her, Jeffrey. I’m the one who let her go.”
“Did she ask you to release her?”
“No—yes. Not directly. She said she felt dirty, that she was covered in dirt, and I just walked over and took off the straps. I didn’t think twice about it. I even helped her out of the bed.”
He tried to press gently. “Did she say anything else?”
“She apologized to me.” Sara laughed at her own stupidity. “She was acting so scared. Her hands were shaking, her voice kept catching. I’ve never seen her so upset—not since Sibyl died. I fell for it completely. God, I’m such an idiot.”
Jeffrey wrapped his hand around her shoul
der, not knowing how to comfort her. He was so furious at Lena right now that he could barely think.
Sara said, “A drop ceiling. Of all the people who should know you can climb over a drop ceiling…”
He knew what had happened to her all those years ago at Grady Hospital, that her attacker had dropped down from the bathroom ceiling. If Lena had put a knife in his back, Sara had just unwittingly twisted it. He told her, “It’s not your fault, Sara. You’re not a cop.”
“Then why am I here?” she demanded fiercely. “I should have stayed in the damn car. I should’ve just stayed home where I belong.”
The elevator doors slid open. Two more sheriff’s deputies were running through the lobby toward the stairs.
“Let’s just get out of here,” he told her, taking her by the arm. They were at the sliding doors when Valentine called to them.
“Hold on there,” he said, jogging to catch up. He was out of breath, probably from running up and down the stairs. He held out his hand, palm up. “Give me the keys to your car.”
Had Sara not been there, Jeffrey would have told the man to go fuck himself. As it was, he silently tossed him the keys, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.
Valentine saw the BMW logo on the keyfob and gave Jeffrey the kind of look you’d give a whore on the street. Cops didn’t drive BMWs, at least not where Jake Valentine came from.
“It’s my wife’s,” Jeffrey told him. Sara had worked her ass off to be able to drive that car. As far as he was concerned, she could drive a Rolls-Royce if she wanted to.
Valentine pressed the button on the keyfob and the locks snicked up. Suddenly, he stopped. “Laundry room,” he said, glaring at Jeffrey. “You asked what was on the bottom floor.”
“I was making small talk.”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
Sara said, “I’ll be over here,” walking toward one of the benches in front of the entrance.
Valentine gave him another nasty look before going to the car. Jeffrey knew the man wouldn’t find anything there. Even if Lena had seen the BMW in the parking lot, there was no way to jimmy the door locks or open the trunk without the key. Breaking a window wouldn’t do any good, either. One of the car’s safety features was that if you engaged the central locking system from the outside, nothing could be opened from the inside. Jeffrey had actually been trapped inside the car once when Sara accidentally hit the lock button as she ran into the house to catch the ringing telephone. If the sunroof hadn’t been open so he could crawl out, Jeffrey would’ve been stuck in the car for hours.
The sheriff could clearly see the empty seats and floorboards through the windows, but he still opened the door to make sure, taking off his hat, peering inside like he might catch Lena hiding under the center console. He walked around to the back of the car and popped the trunk. Except for Sara’s first-aid kit and a couple of grocery bags to be recycled at the store, it was empty.
Valentine slammed the trunk closed. He told Jeffrey, “Guess I’d look like an even bigger jackass if I put out an APB on a fugitive wanted for ‘failure to show identification.’”
“That’s a fair assumption.” The sheriff was already on thin ice with the charges he’d trumped up against Lena. He had to tread carefully now. They both knew that any mistakes he made at this point could end up ruining whatever case he might eventually build against her.
“Well.” Valentine glanced around the parking lot. “That’s Darla’s Jeep. The red Chevy belongs to the maintenance crew, the Bronco is George’s, and that’s Bitty’s Ranger over in the corner; she’s been here since Thursday when she drove herself in with a pain in her side and it turned out to be appendicitis.”
He had accounted for all the cars in the lot, but Jeffrey had to ask, “Where’s your cruiser?”
Valentine laughed, but not out of amusement. “Don’s got his best fishing pole in the trunk, so that was his first concern. Both our cars are out back. We’re getting staff downstairs to check their lockers, see if anything is missing. I had somebody go over to Hank’s to see if she shows up there.” He tossed the key back to Jeffrey. “I reckon between your wife wasting my time and you jacking me around in the hallway, she could have up to a twenty-minute head start on me.”
Jeffrey wasn’t going to argue the finer points, such as Valentine pulling some kind of power move by making them all go into the linen closet. “At least.”
“Lemme ask you something. Does it bother you that you just aided an escape?”
His tone had turned nasty in the blink of an eye. Jeffrey pushed away from the car, answering, “Not much.”
“That’s how you old cops work, isn’t it?” Valentine was obviously furious. “Always stick together, no matter what laws you break. Gotta protect the brotherhood, huh?” His voice got louder with each word. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you and ol’ Don hatched this one up together. Pull your dirty tricks to make the new guy look like a fool.”
Jeffrey warned, “You wanna be real careful what you say to me, Jake.”
“I could arrest her,” Valentine said, gesturing to Sara with an angry wave of his hand. “I should arrest her.”
He had Jeffrey’s full attention now. “We both know that’s not gonna happen.”
“Yeah? Well, this is.” Valentine swung his fist—literally. His arm flew out roundhouse style instead of punching straight from his shoulder. This gave Jeffrey plenty of time to block the hit and slam his fist into the other man’s gut. A whoosh of air came from Valentine’s mouth as he doubled over. He would’ve fallen to his knees if Jeffrey hadn’t caught him.
“God,” the sheriff groaned, clutching his stomach. “Jesus…”
Sara stood from the bench. Jeffrey shook his head, telling her to stay put. He told Valentine, “Stand up straight.”
Valentine struggled, his knees not working.
Jeffrey pulled him up by his collar until the other man was looking at him. “Just breathe,” he said, feeling like he was talking to a child. “It’ll pass.”
“Let go of me.” Valentine pushed Jeffrey away, but he still sagged against the car for support. “Goddamn, you’re stronger than you look.”
Jeffrey held out his hand to Sara, letting her know it was okay. “Where’d you learn to swing like that?”
“I grew up with four older sisters,” he managed. Which explained why he hit like a girl. “Dammit. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have hit you.”
Jeffrey didn’t point out that the man hadn’t actually managed to hit him. He changed his position to stand between Valentine and Sara, telling the man, “Listen real careful, Jake. I already warned you once. You ever threaten with my wife again and I will beat you into the ground. We clear on that?”
Valentine coughed, then nodded.
“Can you stand up?”
“I think so.”
Jeffrey waited for him to move away from the car.
“I’m sorry,” Valentine told him. “I’ve got a short fuse.”
“No shit.”
The sheriff asked, “You gonna tell me if she contacts you?”
Jeffrey was caught short by the question, which would explain the truthful answer he gave. “I don’t know.”
Valentine stared at him, then nodded again. “Thanks for being honest.”
Jeffrey watched Valentine stumble toward the front doors. The glass slid open and he went inside. Sara was still standing by the bench, and Jeffrey motioned her over.
“What was that about?” she asked.
“I’ll explain later. Let’s get out of here.”
He made to open her door, but she said, “I’ve got it,” and climbed in.
Jeffrey was walking around to the driver’s side when a white sedan sped through the parking lot and screeched to a halt in the empty space next to him. Seconds later, a burly, bald man got out of the car. He was wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of jeans that looked splattered with oil. A heavy metal chain went from the front
of his pants to his back. On his left hip was one of the largest hunting knives Jeffrey had ever seen.
While Jeffrey watched, the man took out the knife and placed it on the car seat, obviously knowing he wasn’t allowed to bring the weapon into the hospital. Not that he looked as if he needed the weapon. If Jeffrey had to guess, he would say the guy weighed well over two hundred fifty pounds and that most of that was muscle.
The sedan shook when he slammed the door. Deep scratches cut across his face as if he’d gotten into a fight with a tiger and lost. He stared at Jeffrey, challenging, “What the fuck you lookin’ at?”
Jeffrey pushed back his jacket, put his hand on his hip. His gun was tucked under the front seat of Sara’s car, but the con didn’t know that. “Don’t make this a problem.”
“Fuck you with your fucking problem,” the man barked, heading toward the ER.
Through the glass doors, Jeffrey saw Jake Valentine leaning over the desk, talking to the receptionist. They both looked up when the man entered the waiting room. Valentine glanced at Jeffrey, but the sheriff was too far away to read his expression. He said something to the thug, holding out his hand, palm down, as if to calm him. Words were exchanged, then the man turned around and stalked back out. As he passed Jeffrey, he muttered, “Cocksucker,” but Jeffrey wasn’t sure who was being insulted.
Valentine came out of the hospital as the white car backed up, jumped the curb, and sped off.
Jeffrey glanced into the car, checking on Sara. He asked Valentine, “Friend of yours?”
“Local drug dealer who wanted to see one of his boys,” Valentine explained. “I told him to come back during visiting hours.”
Jeffrey gave him a close look, wondering if the man was lying. The exchange had looked a bit more heated than a denied visiting request, but then again the knife-carrying thug didn’t strike Jeffrey as someone who liked to be told no.
“Here,” Jeffrey said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a couple of business cards. He wrote something on the back of the top card, then thumbed to the next one to give to the sheriff. “My cell number is on the bottom. Call me if you find my detective.”