A Deeper Darkness (26 page)

Chapter Forty-Eight

Savage River Forest
Detective Darren Fletcher

Fletcher woke up alone on the forest floor, a knot the size of Manhattan on his head. The lovely Dr. Owens was nowhere to be seen. He managed to stand without throwing up—his head was splitting. He wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, just knew Sam and Whitfield had been in front of him. So someone had taken him from behind. Which meant Whitfield had a partner. Great.

Where the hell was the tactical team?

He used the compass app on his iPhone to get himself righted. It only took five minutes to get back to the spot he and Sam had started from. He stumbled into the clearing, saw concerned eyes on him from the brush.

“Come out,” Fletcher called.

One of the tac team members came out from his hiding place. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m not surprised. Check it for me.” He bent his head for the guy to look.

“Small gash. Probably need a stitch or two. What happened? Where did you go?”

“I got smacked in the head, that’s what. Where the hell were you guys?”

“Here. Setting up our perimeter. Waiting for you to come back from your chat with the chick.”

“Great job. While you were futzing around, Whitfield took Dr. Owens.”

* * *

Fletcher was incredibly pissed off.

His head hurt. His arm hurt. Sam was missing, along with Susan Donovan. He was stuck up here in the woods with no suspect in sight, and Roosevelt had just chewed him out for the second time in two days.

He didn’t get paid enough to put up with this shit.

The dogs had scented on Sam’s trail about an hour earlier, but the track had led them back to where they’d started. A big-ass circle. Which meant Whitfield had doubled back with her to throw them off the trail. They were seven men and two dogs stuck chasing a trained survivalist through the woods. Fletcher knew they weren’t going to find Whitfield without a lot of help and a little luck. But he couldn’t give up. They’d called in for a forest service team to come help. At least they knew the lay of the land and could guide everyone around.

It was taking forever to get the warrant enacted to look for the GPS signal for Sam’s phone. He just prayed she still had it on her. It was the only way he’d be able to find her outside of a bunch of luck.

If he lost her, if his actions got her killed, he really didn’t know what he was going to do.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Savage River
Dr. Samantha Owens

Sam stepped inside Xander’s home and let her eyes explore the cabin. It was simple, plainly decorated, saved from being utterly Spartan by the wall of bookshelves and a baby grand piano in the western corner. It was bigger on the inside than she expected. Opposite the front door, there was a vaulted ceiling with glass windows up one wall that looked out over a ridge. The main floor was taken up by a large great room with a big fireplace, a surprisingly modern kitchen and a small dining area. There was a hallway that she assumed led to bedrooms, and a second-story loft that looked like a master bedroom. The furniture was handmade, heavy, wooden, Adirondack-style. She didn’t see a television, and she didn’t see a phone.

Maggie directed her to the bathroom, where she took care of the necessaries and washed her face, which was smeared with dirt and sweat from the climb. She longed to hop in the shower and let the warm water sooth her aching muscles, but that didn’t feel right, somehow.

She brushed her hair back from her face, secured it with a ponytail holder she found on the sink and went back to the kitchen.

Maggie was setting the table.

“We have fresh venison stew. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please.”

Venison wasn’t her favorite, but she’d eat a horse right now if someone offered. Funny, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this hungry. It must have been the hike and the clean air. Healthy stuff, especially after the grit of D.C.

Or sheer relief at being alive. She wasn’t fond of guns.

Sam accepted a bowl of stew and a large glass of water from Maggie. She was starved, and didn’t waste time talking, just focused on getting the food into her stomach. It was good, better than she expected, hot and full of potatoes and vegetables.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s very good.”

“Noah shot the deer himself.” She pointed with pride at her eldest son, who hid a shy, pleased smile in his own bowl.

“Good for you.” Sam turned to the boy’s mother, who was looking at her son with quiet satisfaction.

“Maggie, I need to ask. What’s going on here?”

Maggie poured some more milk for her kids. “It’s been a hard few days, Dr. Owens. If you don’t mind, can we wait until we put these three to bed?”

She didn’t want to talk in front of the children. Okay, Sam could understand that. But the anticipation was driving her mad.

“Fine. But when is Xander coming back?”

“I don’t know.” This was said simply, with no embellishment, but Sam caught the tone. Maggie was angry with her. She’d chased Xander away with her distrust.

This situation grew more confusing every moment.

Sam finished her meal in silence.

* * *

After dinner the kids played cards, teasing Jennifer with their antics. Sam honestly didn’t think the time would ever come to put the kids down, but at last it did. The minute Maggie left the room, Sam scrambled, trying her best to be quiet as she looked through drawers and cabinets and on shelves for a phone, or some way to communicate with Fletcher.

She struck out.

Maggie came back into the great room. “He doesn’t have a phone, if that’s what you were looking for. But he does have beer. You want one?”

That wasn’t good news. If he didn’t have a phone, it stood to reason that he might avail himself of a disposable cell when he needed to, right?

Sam agreed to the beer. She probably shouldn’t. Alcohol dulls the senses. But if they wanted her dead, they’d have killed her in the woods, where no one could ever find her. If they still wanted her dead, well, maybe a little alcohol would lessen the pain. She probably couldn’t stop them, anyway; they were trained to take bigger threats than Sam down without hesitation.

She wasn’t afraid of dying. Not anymore. She’d lost so many, sometimes it felt like it would be easier just to go to them. She just didn’t relish the idea of it hurting to die.

Then again, knowing what Simon and the twins had gone through, maybe she should welcome that punishment, too.

Maggie went to the refrigerator and brought back two Miller Lites. She offered Sam a cold glass. Not exactly the most threatening gesture. She demurred, took the icy beer by the neck.

“I don’t drink in front of the kids. Their father, Roy, is an alcoholic. I try to shelter them from it, which means I have to be careful when they’re around.”

“That sounds wise,” Sam said.

Maggie sighed. “I can’t believe they’re dead. All of them.”

If you only knew.

“Please. Maggie. I am so in the dark here. I’m just a medical examiner from Nashville. I’m not supposed to be involved in all of this. My connection to Donovan is over a decade old. His mother asked me to come do a secondary autopsy, and suddenly I’m thrust into this investigation as a pawn, apparently. The reporter, Taranto, told me things that I don’t understand. I’ve tried to be patient, but I need to know what’s going on. I need to know why I’m involved.”

A deep voice came from the door.

“Then we’ll try to explain it.”

Xander was back.

Chapter Fifty

Savage River
Dr. Samantha Owens

Xander took up most of the doorway. He held a rifle in his hands. Sam wasn’t good with guns, but this looked very similar to the ones she’d seen in Donovan’s photograph. Which meant it was powerful, military-grade, and Xander held it like it was an extension of his body.

Dangerous. This man was more dangerous than anyone she’d ever met.

He watched her eyeing the weapon. He passed his hand over the trigger, then grasped the stock and set it carefully against the wall. He held his empty hands open as if to say,
Okay, I’ve disarmed myself. I’m vulnerable. Now it’s your turn.

“Where do you want me to start?” Xander asked.

That was an excellent question. But first…

“Where have you been? Did you see Fletcher? Can I call him and let him know I’m okay?”

Xander shook his head. “Detective Fletcher and the remainder of his crew are fine. They’re all with a friend of mine, getting settled down for the night. When the time is right, Dr. Owens, I’ll get you back with him. But now is not the time. So, what other questions do you have?”

Shit. Fletcher was going to kill her, if Xander and Maggie didn’t do it first. Would Xander really give her answers? Then she might as well start with the biggie.

“Who killed Donovan and Croswell? And why is your DNA at Everett’s house?”

“I don’t know who killed them.”

“Come on. You expect me to believe that?”

Xander settled at the kitchen table, accepted a beer and some stew from Maggie. He took his time answering. Sam realized how very measured he was: in his manner, his words, his actions, everything. No wonder he’d stalked off earlier—rather than say something or lose his temper, he walked away.

That said something about his character.

Finally, he set down his spoon and said, “You’ll have to believe it, because it’s true. All I know for sure is it was someone Donovan trusted, and Croswell. Someone they knew, who was intimately familiar with their lives. Neither one of them would deviate from their schedule without good cause. Once a soldier, always a soldier.”

“Xander, you realize you’re describing yourself.”

He quirked a smile at her. “Unfortunately, yes. Who do the police think did it?”

“You.”

“No, they don’t. Not really. Who else?”

“Maggie.”

The woman’s eyebrows raised and she immediately looked scared. “Me? They think I’m involved? My God, Xander. What are we going to do?”

“Maggie, calm down,” Xander said, grabbing her hand. “Hal was shot across the street from your house. The minute you found out, you blew town. Of course you’re a suspect. The more important question is—do they know how you know Hal? Your real connection to him and Donovan?”

“Yeah, they do,” Sam said. “That reporter you impersonated? Told us one hell of a story. About your daughter, and who her father really is. Taranto’s dead, by the way.”

Xander whipped his head back to Sam. “What?”

“Right after I met with him. I was followed out of the restaurant, back to Fletcher and Hart, and they shot at us. Hart was hurt badly. Fletcher took a bullet to the arm. Then the killer went and tracked down Taranto, shot him and tossed his body in the Potomac.”

Xander ran his hand over his mouth. “So that’s why Fletcher was in a sling. I am very sorry to hear about Taranto. He was a good man, or at least trying to do the right thing. And I’m happier than ever that you’re up here now, where I can protect you.”

“Protect
me?
What about Donovan’s family? Susan Donovan is missing, too. For God’s sake, Xander, we can’t just hide away up here pretending everything’s going to be okay. It’s not. It’s not okay—nothing will ever be okay again.” Sam choked back a sob, of frustration, fear, she didn’t know what else, and slammed her chair back from the table. She went to the sink, not giving a damn if they watched her.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Four
.

Slowly, the water and soap calmed her beating heart, helped her get her emotions back in check. She breathed deeply with each perambulation, counting off in her head over and over and over.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Four.

Simon. Matthew. Madeline. Eddie
.

When her mind finally felt quiet enough to stop, she rinsed one last time and dried her hands on a red checked dishcloth.

She turned back to Xander and Maggie, who were politely looking away, staring into their beers.

She joined them at the table.

“I’m sorry. I get…upset. Washing helps.”

Like they care, Sam. Really. You need to stop telling people about your troubles.
She’d managed to go nearly two years without anyone commenting on her failings, and now half of D.C. was aware she’d become a hopeless mess. Maybe she did need protecting, after all.

Xander met her eyes, frank and open. “I understand, actually. That’s why I’m up here. I get…upset, too.”

“The war?”

“Among other things. I don’t know how much you know about me, Dr. Owens.”

“Your background. Your parents. That you were a very brave soldier.” She stopped for a moment, then started again, quietly. “I know Eddie Donovan thought the world of you. He trusted you implicitly. He talked about you a lot in his journals. He respected you, in addition to enjoying your company. That’s why I’m here. Eddie trusted you. And now it seems, so must I.”

“Mommy?”

A small, scared voice startled all three of them. Jennifer had climbed out of bed and come down the hall.

“Did you have another nightmare, sweetie?” Maggie asked.

“Yes. The bad one.” The little girl’s face was pink with the effort not to cry.

“Oh, sweetie. Come here.” She gave Sam an apologetic look, and spoke sotto voce. “She’s been having bad dreams since we ran.” Then to her daughter, she said, “Tell me about it.”

The little girl was trying hard to hold it together. “It was the house across the street. Back home. There was a man there. He had a wand. Like Voldemort. He waved at it you, Mommy, and sparks flew out, and you fell down.”

She started to cry in earnest, and Maggie pulled her to her chest and held her, murmuring soothing words of nonsense to help calm her child. Sam fought the nausea that immediately blossomed when she saw the intimacy. She stood and went to the window, looked out in the dark night sky, saw the outline of the trees, their edges shimmering in moonlight.

A repeating nightmare.

The house across the street.

A man with a wand.

Perhaps a childlike interpretation of a gun?

Sam rushed back to the table. “She saw the shooting.”

Maggie and Xander both stared at her.

“Ask her,” Sam said. “Ask her.”

Maggie frowned, but sat Jen back on her lap. “Honey, the other night, your birthday night, you read that scary book and had a bad dream, then you called for me. What was it about?”

“That wasn’t a bad dream, Mommy. Across the street, there was a shooting star in the window, and then someone left.”

She stuck her thumb in her mouth and started humming “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

Maggie pulled her thumb from her mouth gently. “Sweetie, the someone who left. Did you recognize him?”

Jen shook her head. Maggie tried again.

“Was it a him? Or a her? Could you tell?”

Sam glanced over at Xander, whose face was intent with interest. He doesn’t know, she thought. He really doesn’t know who killed them.

The realization that Xander had been telling the truth almost made her collapse in relief. For some reason, she so wanted to believe this man. She wanted to believe him in the very worst way.

Was it Donovan? Did Xander remind her of him? Or was it the things Donovan had written in his journal that made her feel like she knew Xander? Parts of him, at least.

Or was it the way his eyes probed into her like he was trying to share the universe’s thoughts with her?

Flustered, she turned away, but heard Jen’s answer. “It was a him.”

Maggie sighed, and Xander sucked his breath in through his teeth. “You’re sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jen answered. “He had short hair and made a big shadow across the street. I thought he was coming to get me. Do you know the bad man?”

Xander glanced at Maggie, then over to Sam.

“Yes, sweetie. I think I do. And I promise, he won’t ever come near you again.”