A Stolen Chance (20 page)

“I hope your leg develops gangrene, rots off, and you die writhing in pain. I’ll be in heaven watching and laughing the entire time.”

“You bitch!” He limped back to the side of the bed and hit her on the side of the face with his pistol. Pain sliced through her as bone cracked, and she feared he’d broken her cheekbone again. She stifled a scream. “I’m going to mess you up before I shoot you. Give that boyfriend something to remember me by.”

She gasped around her agony and panted out, “You always were a sissy, Dewayne, getting your jollies beating up defenseless people, like women. Now that you’ve lost your good looks, have you started abusing children yet?”

****

The bitch had grown a mouth. Dewayne had liked her better when she was meek and scared. He wanted his hands around her throat. Then she’d lose some of that mouthy attitude. He yelled and lunged for her, but hit a solid wall. Something—something invisible—kept him from moving.

“What the hell?” He tried again. Whatever it was pushed him backward. He stumbled and ended up lying across the bed. Susan snatched at the gun, trying to wrestle it away from him. They grappled for the revolver, and he snatched it from her grasp and swung, barely missing her. “You bitch.”

He bounded upright and turned on Susan. Pain shot up his leg to his hip. Gasping, he gritted his teeth to keep from screaming.

Susan leapt to her feet and ran across the mattress and onto the floor toward the bathroom. He stumbled after her, desperate to catch her. Again he hit a solid wall. Swinging his arms, he fought to gain purchase with the unseen force but kept stumbling back toward the fireplace. What the hell was going on here? Was this some kind of new secret weapon?

Suddenly the pressure eased, and he limped forward, pistol aimed at her back. She was scrambling to get something from the medicine cabinet. He chuckled. Did she plan to blind him with hairspray? His life was over. He’d killed a woman, and the cops would find him eventually. If she thought a little aerosol spray could save her, she’d better rethink her plan.

At last, bitch.
Turn around. I want to see the fear in your eyes when I kill you.
Susan turned, a small handgun in her hand pointed at his heart. He roared with laughter. Yeah, she’d shot him while he’d been running, but to his face? He choked on his guffaw as a figure—a man—took shape beside her.
What the hell...?
It was the Indian man, the one who’d visited him at the abandoned motel, dressed in full warrior regalia, his tomahawk raised with savage intent.
No, no way... Ghosts don’t exist... I’m hallucinating from the pain.
He shook his head to clear his vision and pointed his gun at Susan. His hand shook so hard his teeth clacked against each other.

The ghost spoke, and his guttural voice froze Dewayne in place.

****

“Be strong, woman. Remember you wear White Bear. He will give you courage.” Mr. Riley had spoken out loud, and from the expression on Dewayne’s face, her ex not only saw him but heard him, as well. Dewayne, eyes round with shock, started backing up.

“Mr. Riley?” She clasped the fetish that dangled from rawhide around her neck. The bear warmed in her hand, reminding her to be strong.

“You must do it, Daughter.”

Susan didn’t have to ask what Mr. Riley meant. She pointed the Ruger and fired all seven rounds into Dewayne. Each one sent him closer to the fireplace, until he crashed into it and slid to the ground in a heap. Smears of blood distorted the beautiful tiles.

Pounding on the door and someone yelling, “Susan, Susan!” drew her eyes from the grisly scene. A loud crash followed as the door burst in. It was Joe and George. One of them flipped the light switch. She squinted against the glare and looked to see if Mr. Riley still stood beside her. He was gone.

Joe carefully approached and took the Ruger from her trembling hand. “Damn, your face is bleeding. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

She shook her head. Her face throbbed. She reached a trembling hand up to touch her cheek and winced.

George put his arms around her and hugged. “You did good, girl. Real good. The medics will be here in a minute to patch you up.” He patted her back. “Cry now if you want. It’s okay. Carson is on his way.”

She trembled in George’s arms but no tears came. Within minutes Carson burst through the door. She fell against his chest, and then sobs erupted, tears of cleansing release. Her outburst didn’t last long, but the shakes continued. She didn’t regret killing Dewayne but resented the circumstances making it necessary. He’d never have left her in peace; even behind prison walls, he’d have found a way to torment her.

Carson held her, nestled her head against his neck, and murmured words of comfort. Finally, she asked, “How’d you get here so fast?”

He grinned and glanced over his shoulder. “Joe called. Then I heard the police sirens. I was in the truck on my way home when they rushed by.”

Susan looked around him at the men filing into the room. A couple of them stepped around the body, taking notes, while one stood at the door to keep curiosity seekers away. Dewayne remained upright, sitting slumped on the hearth, seeming to be in the process of sliding off yet staying as he’d landed. In death, his eyes fixed on some distant spot, he appeared harmless, but she shivered and turned away. Carson grabbed a blanket from the closet shelf and wrapped it around her shoulders.

He led her to the bed. “Crawl in and get under the covers.” He propped two pillows behind her head and pulled the blanket up under her arms. “The detectives will want to take your statement here in a minute.” He sat on the side of the bed facing her, one hand propped beside her hip. With the other he examined the wound on her face. She jerked back when he touched it. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s sore.”

“The medics will be here in a minute to take care of it.” He tucked her loose hair behind her ear. “How do you feel?”

She didn’t think he was referring to her head. “Fine, I think, but it does hurt.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Maybe a couple of aspirin.” Her cheek throbbed. She reached up to touch the spot, but Carson caught her hand.

“Let’s wait on the paramedics. They’ll want to see you first, and then they’ll give you something.” He smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “And you’re not fine, sweetheart. You’re probably in shock, and reality will set in later. Seasoned police officers experience trauma after killing someone, even when it’s self-defense.” His lips brushed hers. “I won’t leave you.”

She sniffed and brushed back a tear. “Okay.” He moved closer to her and wrapped her in his arms. The steady thump of his heart and his strength reassured her. She gripped the fabric of his jacket to keep him close.

He cupped the back of her head and turned his face into her hair. “Oh, Lord, when I got the call that shots had been fired, I about died of a heart attack on the spot. I should have been here with you.”

“We had no way of knowing Dewayne would come tonight. He was shot, for gosh sake. Hans needed you. Plus you needed to be with him, to oversee his recovery.” She placed her lips against his ear. “Anyway, I had backup.”

He tilted his head back, his gaze questioning. “You mean Joe and George?”

“No. Mr. Riley.”

He released her. His eyes widened. “No!”

“Yes! He reminded me I had a backup plan, or I wouldn’t have remembered the gun in my medicine cabinet. And Carson, Dewayne saw the ghost... He heard him. Mr. Riley scared the bejeebers out of Dewayne.”

George tapped Carson on the shoulder and nodded toward the fireplace. “Take a look. I think Dewayne found your Grandpop’s treasure.”

Sure enough, a small drawer had popped out of the tiles just below the mantel.

****

Detectives Haney and Williams arrived along with a coroner’s van from Albuquerque. Haney shook Carson’s hand and nodded to Susan before turning to chat with the local police officers. Williams took note of the scene and then watched as the medical examiner checked Dewayne’s body. He and one of the local detectives, Steve Greyhawk, strode over. The older man grasped Carson’s hand. “Howdy, Carson.”

“Greyhawk.”

He squatted before Susan. “Detective Greyhawk, ma’am.” He glanced at her bandaged cheek and then at her trembling shoulders. “You feel up to answering a few questions?”

“Yes. I’d like to get this over with.” She glanced at Dewayne’s body and shuddered.

“That’d be very helpful, ma’am.” He turned to Carson. “Can we go somewhere else to talk? It’s too crowded in here.”

Carson couldn’t agree more. Susan needed to get away from the gruesome scene. “Good idea.” He helped her up. “Why don’t you grab some clothes and your computer? This room may be off limits for several days.”

Within minutes, Susan sat on his couch, her feet drawn up beneath her, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea. Carson settled beside her. Williams sat in a chair across from them, Greyhawk next to him in a kitchen chair. “As a courtesy to the Chicago PD, we’re allowing them to observe this investigation. Any objections?”

Susan shook her head and looked at Carson for confirmation.

“None. How’d you get here so fast, Williams?” Carson asked.

“Captain Farley notified us that Holt had been spotted.” He nodded to Susan. “And that you’d winged him. When we heard, we boarded a plane for Albuquerque. Received a call at the airport about the break-in and shooting tonight. Hopped an Albuquerque police helicopter and flew straight here.”

Greyhawk added, “We’ve been in close contact with Albuquerque PD since Holt’s first appearance here at the café. Thought he might hide out at the old motel down the road, so we’ve been making surveillance drives through the area. But we don’t have a large staff. If we had, perhaps we could have prevented today’s earlier occurrence.” He flipped open a note pad. “Now, Miss Lawton, let’s start from the beginning.”

****

The sound of Susan’s soft snuffle in her sleep comforted Carson. If he had anything to do with it, she’d be in his bed from now on. He loved her, wanted her to marry him. Would she be able to commit now that Dewayne was dead?

She lay curled on her side, one hand under her cheek, the one not patched up with gauze. Thank goodness the bone wasn’t broken. She’d be mighty sore for several days, and bruised, but those wounds would heal without permanent results. Killing someone was a different story. Some people never got over it. She’d seemed fine before falling asleep. It’s possible her survival instinct would prevent her from beating herself up over DeWayne’s death. Yes, she could have just wounded him, but the man held a gun. He could have still shot her. She had no choice but to empty her gun into him.

Barefoot, Carson padded softly to the closet to hang up his coat. In the soft glow from the kitchenette, his gaze fell on the old coat hanging to the side. He’d noticed it before, an old bomber jacket, and had explored all the pockets over a month ago. But someone, maybe Susan, had moved it to a more prominent position. A chill permeated the closet, and he shivered. He glanced at Susan to see if she was well covered. Drawn by an invisible force, he reached toward the cracked leather and fished through the left and then the right pocket. His hand closed on a small cloth bag. He emptied the contents into his hand. The stone pieces rattled against each other as they hit his palm. An eerie sound reverberated through the closet at his discovery. It resembled a grateful sigh, one echoing from deep within someone’s chest—Grandpop’s chest.

****

Mr. Peña and the tribal elders waited for them at the meeting lodge in Zuni. Mr. Zeekya greeted them at the door. “I’m sorry to hear of your tragedy, Miss Lawton, but I’m glad the evil man will bother you no more.”

“Thank you. I’m glad it’s all over and I can now move on with my life.”

“Come, Nephew,” called Aunt Nona from across the room. “Show us what you found.”

Carson placed a basket on the table. His audience leaned forward as he unwrapped its contents to reveal the prayer fetishes. He lifted a yellow mountain lion, representing north, and placed it on the table. “Ahs” accompanied each fetish—the blue-black bear—west, the red badger—south, the white wolf—east, the multicolored eagle—the sky, and the mole—the underground.

Carson observed the group as they gazed on the fetishes, reverence evident in their expressions. This collection was not like the tiny objects left for him and Susan. He’d found the rest of that small collection in the pockets of the old jacket belonging to his Grandpop. Though old, they couldn’t compare to this antique set. These were larger and cruder carvings.

Mr. Peña nodded to Carson and cleared his throat. His deep voice thick with emotion, he said, “Carson Rhodes, we are grateful to you for returning these valued relics to our safe keeping. The Zuni people thank you.”

Heart in his throat, Carson gathered his emotions before speaking. “I’m sorry it took so long to return them. I do believe Grandpop regretted keeping them. On his deathbed, he tried to tell Granddad about them, but his delirious raving didn’t make sense at the time.” It must have struck a chord though, for his grandfather did begin a search.

Nona lifted one of the crudely shaped carvings. Though primitive compared to the modern art pieces, there was no denying which animal each symbolized. Tears glistened in her eyes. “I thought never to see these again.”

Mr. Peña patted her hand. “They are home now, Mother. We will guard them well.” Carson had suspected at their first meeting that the man might be an uncle, but having it confirmed was a shock.