By the time she was finished, I was crying again and this time I didn’t know why. Whether it was receding shock, or the feeling of helplessness, or another emotion that came from a friend doing a personal chore with such loving care, I couldn’t have said. I sniffed and said, “Thank you.”

  Lynnie hugged me hard, kissed my uninjured cheek and said, “You’d do the same for me. MacRoper wrote you out for a few days. Soon as the questions are done, go home.”

  “He didn’t even see me,” I said, sniffing once again and wiping my nose on my bandaged wrist.

  “He didn’t have to. He disappeared to the toilet without telling anyone where he would be. I covered for him, so when I put the scrip pad in his hands and told him what to write, he did. You up to being questioned by the cops and to helping security fill out paperwork? They have a ton of it out here.”

  I sighed again, taking in a breath that wasn’t quite steady yet. “Sure. But my hands are really starting to hurt and I’m thirsty. Can I have a Diet Coke and some graham crackers and…” I tried to look pitiful, “a shot of Demerol?”

  Lynnie looked at me with concern. “Are you hurting somewhere besides your knees and hands?”

  “No. But I’m a patient. They get the free food and the good drugs. Right?”

  Realizing I was joking, Lynnie finally relaxed and swatted my shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I’ll bring you the food and some Tylenol.”

  “Tylenol’s good,” I said, easing back on the stretcher. I sat up straight. “Jim?”

  He poked his head through the curtain, face strained, full of fear beneath the cop face. “The guy, he called me Nem. He said, ‘Damn it, Nem, stop fighting.’ The ‘m’in Mnemosyne is silent…. Could ‘Nem’ be a short form?”

  Lynnie stepped back. “Mnemo—What? What’s going on?”

  Jim cursed, nodded and left, dialing his cell phone.

  I held up a hand to Lynnie to delay her and called out, “Jim, wait.” When he stuck his head back around the cubicle wall, I said, “If he wants me, he might want Jasmine, too. Call Nana. Get her some help? Please?”

  He nodded and finished dialing, his face still the cop mask that was so unexpectedly comforting.

  I met Lynnie’s worried eyes and said, “It’s a long story.”

  “You gonna tell me?”

  I sighed again and rested my head back on the stretcher pillow. “Eventually. Over coffee and something sinfully sweet.”

  “Deal,” Lynnie said. Looking back over her shoulder at me, her eyes dark with fear, she disappeared into another patient cubicle.

  25

  I couldn’t drive, bandaged as I was, so Jim put me in the passenger seat of my vehicle and drove me home, Julie following in his Crown Vic. Though I was hurting, I felt amazingly good. I didn’t know if it was the aftereffects of the attack or being with Jim. Okay, maybe I did know, but I wasn’t ready to look at that yet. I rode the miles with my hand in his, knowing I was safe, my daughter was safe, and I could, at least for a moment, relax and close my eyes. The tires hummed on the interstate and soft music played on the radio. Some small, romantic part of me thought it was wonderful.

  Partway there, the night pressing against the windows like a living thing, Jim said, “You awake?” I nodded sleepily. “He’s decompensating. He’s falling apart. Now he’ll start making mistakes. Now we’ll catch him.” His tone held something, some chaotic, shadowed quality that brought me fully awake.

  “Yeah,” I mumbled. “But will you catch him before he kills that last little girl? The diabetic?” I felt Jim quiver once and grow quiet. I had a moment of understanding, one of those intuitive leaps that the mind can make in times of stress or worry or fear. I opened my eyes in the night and whispered, “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you? If you can. When you catch him, you’re going to kill him.”

  Jim’s entire body tightened and shook with a minute compression. “Go to sleep, Ash.”

  I laughed softly, the sound knowing and defeated all at once. “You’ve never had to pull the trigger, have you? Never had to…kill someone.”

  The SUV’s lights picked up the flight of a large bug, surfing over the hood in the slipstream. Jim reached down and cut off the radio. “No,” he said finally.

  I lifted a hand to the steering wheel and touched his knuckles with the tips of my fingers. “It’s not so easy to kill, Jim,” I said, my voice a breath of sound. “To hold a gun on someone and look in his eyes and pull the trigger. It’s not so easy.”

  “You had no choice,” he murmured back, his voice barely audible above the drone of the tires.

  A flurry of insects beat the air above the road with thousands of wings, an instant of chaos caught in the headlights. “I had no choice,” I repeated, my tone reconciled to the past but not forgiving of it. “If I wanted to make sure Jasmine was safe, I had to stay alive. Which meant killing Alan. He threatened her.” The breath caught in my throat. “Threatened her life. If not for her, I might have quit. I might have stopped struggling and just…died. But instead, I shot him.” Tears crawled across my cheeks, burning through the salve, melting into the pink scrub top. “And I watched his eyes as the life sputtered and went out.” My breath was painful as I saw Alan’s eyes again, pupils widening, emptying, face going slack and inert. “It’s still hard. So very…very hard.”

  The road beneath us had taken on a steady sound, the occasional car or eighteen-wheeler passing in the night, close and comforting. “That’s the way I feel,” he said. “That I’d kill for my daughter. Or for you.”

  I smiled and closed my eyes again, soothed by the drone of the engine and the feel of his hand in mine.

  “Oh,” he said, his tone sharp enough to rouse me slightly. “The prints in the vault room? Except for yours, from when you took the forensic course, none are on any record anywhere. Preadolescent fingerprints don’t take well, and some of the smudges suggest it was a kid, like you thought.”

  I yawned. “Much ado about nothing, then.” And I was asleep, feeling utterly safe even in my dreams.

  Jim woke me with soft words. “Pretty lady, wake up. We’re home.”

  I smiled. Pretty lady…Whose home? Ours? But I didn’t say it, knowing it was far too soon to think in terms of taking our relationship to a higher level. “I’m awake,” I mumbled.

  Amused, he said, “Your eyes are still closed. Want me to carry you inside?”

  “That would be very romantic,” I murmured.

  “Even with your nana and aunt Mosetta watching?”

  “No!” I sat up fast, blinking, scanning. Aunt Mosetta and Nana were standing outside the SUV, watching me. Jas was pressed against the passenger window, fear etched in her face, her posture. “I’m awake, I’m awake. Ohhh,” I groaned as the pain hit me, throbbing up from my hands into my spine. “I’m awake, but I’m not happy about it.” I rubbed my eyes with my bandages, avoiding my damaged face, the cling wrap abrading my skin.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m ready.” I reached for the door and Jim leaned past me, lifting the handle. The door opened and I slid out against Jas’s taut body.

  She wrapped me in her arms, holding me too tightly, her face against my head, her body racked in sobs. I patted her, hugging her just as hard. “It’s okay,” I murmured. “It’s okay. I’m fine. Well, a little beat up, but, really, I’m fine.”

  “Nana came over and sat on the porch and I knew something was wrong and you were in trouble but she wouldn’t tell me why, and I was so scared.” Her arms constricted around me and she rocked our bodies, shifting from side to side.

  I peered over her shoulder at Jim, who had come around the SUV, and at Nana, who stood, feet braced, dour in the bright security light. The scene was surreal, all shadows and light, the smell of horses and dog. Big Dog thrust his muzzle into my hip.

  Jas’s fingers clenched in my shirt. “What happened? Are you okay? I love you, Mama.”

  “I love you, too, Jazzy,” I said, using the name I hadn’t used in years. I eased her back and she touched my injured cheek.

  “Nana wouldn’t tell me—” She stopped, wrenching a breath so hard it scudded in her throat. Jas gripped my upper arms and set me away from her. Her face suffused with anger. She pivoted away from me to face Nana and pointed a finger at the stern old woman. “You!”

  Nana raised her brows.

  “You let me worry.” Jas advanced on Nana, her stance menacing. “You let me worry. You let me cry. And you knew she was okay. You knew she was on the way home and you didn’t tell me she was okay!” Jas screeched, her arms out as if to do battle.

  Nana studied her great-granddaughter, her expression dispassionate. She tucked her hands in her jeans pockets, watching.

  “How—” Jas’s voice stopped as if her throat closed up. “How dare you!” Hands fisted, her voice strengthened. “You had no right to make me worry!”

  “Jas!” I said, not certain what was going on. Nana flicked her eyes at me and away. They said, quite clearly, Let me handle this. I stopped, remembering another time, another place, when Nana had looked at me as she was looking at my daughter.

  “You wanted to be told?” Nana asked. “You want to be treated like an adult? Like a grown-up Chadwick?” Her chin lifted in challenge.

  “Yes,” Jas said. “Yes! I’m tired of being treated like a child! Like I’m too stupid to make decisions, to be trusted with the truth, like I’m too young to think.”

  Nana grinned, a strange type of victory on her face, an expression I remembered. “Fine. Next time, I’ll tell you everything. ’Bout time you grew up. Now you can take a bigger responsibility for things around here. This farm don’t run itself.” Nana looked past my daughter, whose body was still poised for combat. “I’ll see you in the morning, Ashlee. We got things to talk about.” She looked at Jas. “You can be part of that. If you’re awake.”

  “I’ll be awake,” Jas said, her voice vibrating with emotion.

  “We’ll see. Night, Ash, Topaz. You, too, Jim. Julie.” Her heel ground on the rock driveway as she turned, joined by Aunt Mosetta. The two women moved into the night toward their house, its lights just barely visible through the woods.

  Silence settled on the yard. I scratched Big Dog’s head and he sniffed at my bandages, trying to decide if the smell of my blood was reason enough for him to go into attack mode. “It’s okay, boy,” I murmured. His tail wagged, but he looked around, inspecting the small party just in case. In the distance, an owl hooted. From a different direction, another owl answered, the calls of the mated pair lonely in the dark.

  Jas shifted and faced me in the night, her expression defiant, her body still poised for combat. “I will not apologize to that old woman,” she said.

  “You will not refer to your great-grandmother as ‘that old woman,’” I said back. Jim moved in beside me, as if he thought I needed support. I appreciated it, but I stood on my own two feet, steady and strong, as my daughter grew up before my eyes.

  “Fine,” she said. “I will not apologize to Nana for speaking my mind.”

  I rested against Jim, letting him put his arm around my waist. “I was about your age when Nana put me in a position to stand up to her.” I smiled slightly. “It’s her way of gauging if you’re grown up enough to be considered a Chadwick adult.”

  Jas tilted her head, the movement stiff in the harsh security light. “You mean it was a…a test?” she spat.

  “Your whole life is a test to Nana.”

  “Well…That just sucks.”

  I chuckled and yawned. The abrasion on my face pulled with the muscles, but I ignored the discomfort. “Yes, it does. Get used to it. She’s been training us all up for the role of Chadwick Elder for years. You ready to play in Nana’s sandbox or you want to gripe about it?”

  Jas thought about my words. Finally her shoulders eased and her feet shifted. “I guess I can see her point.”

  “Good. I’m hungry. You got dinner ready?”

  Jas crossed her arms. “How’d you know Nana made me put chicken breasts on the grill?”

  “I can smell them. And ’cause she would know I hadn’t eaten and I’d be hungry. Are you going to feed me?”

  “Yeah. You and Julie and Jim and Paz and me. Six breasts. That old woman is either psychic or crazy.”

  “Like a fox,” I said, and my knees gave way.

  Jim half carried me, half dragged me to the porch and sat me on the swing. His hand lingered on my shoulder and he whispered in my ear just before he stepped away, “How long before she realizes her nana just gave her an unpaid summer job?”

  “I give her an hour. Tops.”

  Jim chuckled softly, his features indistinguishable in the night. “You want to meet Sarah, my daughter?”

  I said, “I’d be honored to meet her. Bring Sarah over anytime. Nana and Aunt Mosetta and I will make her feel right at home.”

  Laughing, he said, “Part of me thinks that would be great for her. The other part of me is scared to death at the thought.”

  The special agents seemed to appreciate the downtime; they hadn’t had much of that since the day my dogs had brought me a red sneaker with a child’s toe inside. Over grilled chicken breasts, steamed asparagus and salad, they chatted with the girls about school and the farm and future plans. I was mostly silent, carefully handling my fork with just my fingertips and hoping I didn’t dump my whole plate in my lap. Jim only looked at his watch once, and Julie told him in no uncertain terms that even Simmons expected them to eat. But I was worn to a frazzle and ready to be alone. It was nearly midnight when we finished the meal, and only a bit before that when Jas realized the price she would pay for being recognized as a Chadwick adult. I didn’t bother to hide my amusement when Paz laughed at Jas’s spluttering.

  Something of my fatigue must have shone in my face, because Jim and Julie left quickly after that, driving off in his unmarked car while Paz and Jas cleaned up the dirty dishes. I locked the doors, set the alarm, checked the location and readiness of the guns and talked Jasmine through sliding bread bags over my hands and taping them over my knees so I could shower. No way was I going to bed covered with nasty hospital germs and road dirt.

  I stood, alone at last in the big shower stall, hot water streaming over me, and had a good long cry, full of self-pity and fear, emotions that I would never admit to anyone. Feeling better, I peeled off the bread bags, dressed in flannel pjs, took my painkillers—not Demerol, but still better than Tylenol—and went to bed.

  The next day I awoke at nine to find Wallace at my bedroom door, Jas behind him and Nana behind her. He didn’t look happy. The females looked like an amused conspiracy. Many people might be nonplussed at finding visitors standing in their bedrooms, but it wasn’t the first time with Nana. She had respected my marriage to Jack, knocking on doors and calling before dropping by, but that had ended with Jack’s untimely death. Now she barged in whenever she wanted.

  “Morning,” I said as I crawled from bed, glad that I didn’t sleep au naturel.

  “Yes. It is,” Wallace replied. “Nana said I needed to change some bandages?” He had clearly worked all night, still dressed in the hospital scrubs he wore on duty, and sounded grumpy. “Where are you going?” he asked as I stumbled away.

  “Potty, brush teeth, put on clothes and comb hair. Meet you in the kitchen.” I closed the bathroom door on them. When I met them ten minutes later in the kitchen, I was more chipper, Wallace more dour. He wanted his bed and he wasn’t too happy to be doing nursing chores, work he normally delegated to others in the E.R. of Dawkins County’s small hospital. He didn’t mind snarling at me to make his point. I wasn’t sure how he managed to gripe while surrounded by breakfast smells but he did, pointing to a chair and saying, “Sit.”

  Jasmine and Topaz, who had stayed over again, cooked bacon and eggs and baked biscuits while he worked. Nana just drank coffee and watched us. Wallace opened his black bag and set supplies on the table, donned gloves and peeled off the dressings on my hands. Some of his animosity slid away at the sight of the damage. My left hand was the worst, gouges deep and swollen. “This has to hurt,” he murmured, pressing gently on the deepest laceration. “I’m surprised they didn’t put a couple of stitches in it.”

  I didn’t reply. My cousin cleaned my wounds and redressed my hands, this time in bright yellow cling wrap. When he was done, I said, “Not bad. Almost as competent as a first-year nursing student.”

  Wallace laughed softly through his nose, a sound that came out much like a snort, and turned my hands over, studying them as if he had wrapped a secret up in the bandages. He met my eyes, his greenish ones fierce. Softly, so the girls couldn’t hear him, he said, “They catch the bastard who hurt you, he better not need treatment in my E.R.”

  I colored. “Thank you,” I said. Nana just grunted.

  Wallace removed the dressings on my knees and left them off, saying, “These are fine. You hit harder and skidded farther on your palms than on your knees. Let them air.” He smeared some antibacterial ointment on my cheek and put the tube in my pocket. “Keep this moist and clean.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” I said primly, sounding like a nurse on a soap opera. “Right away, Doctor.”

  “Yeah. Keep it up. I’m for bed.” He kissed me on my forehead, patted Nana’s shoulder and hugged Topaz to him, pulling his daughter out the door with him while she squealed and pretended to fight him. Suddenly there were only three of us for breakfast.

  We ate in silence, serving ourselves from a pile of food meant for five. I remembered that Nana had said she wanted to talk to me today. When she was finished eating, she leaned back in the chair, the wood creaking, her eyes thoughtful and worried. “What is it, Nana?” I asked.

  “They found Erasmus,” she said. “We got a problem.”

  “What?”

  “About two this morning, a sharp-eyed highway patrol officer saw tire marks off the shoulder of the road, through some brush along an old fence near Campbell’s Truck Stop. They found his car in a creek. He was dead.”