Blood Ties (22 page)

Kevin pointed out the vacant houses as our marker and we moved on. Th

e thick underbrush gave way to a

giant meadow speckled with pine trees. Th e creek made a

couple of hairpin turns and vanished again.

I leaned against a large Black Hills Spruce to catch my breath, bending down to ease the stitch in my side.

Something pinged above my shoulder; shattered tree bark dusted my hair like shrapnel. I stood, frantically brushing at the sticky sap, imagining pine beetles crawling across my scalp. “What the hell was that?”

Another loud crack hit somewhere above my head.

Kevin dove for the ground, yanking me down into the tall grass beside him.

“Someone is shooting at us.”

My body went rigid, except for my heart; it started beating like a unity drum at a Powwow. “Can you see who it is?”

He shook his head.

230

“Do you think it’s kids?”

Another shake of Kevin’s head.

Th

e shots had been more potent than an air rifl e or BB gun.

“Did you see any ‘no trespassing’ signs posted anywhere?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Neither do I.”

I wiggled back and the sound of gunfi re sent another shot close enough to part my hair. I nearly screamed.

“Stop wiggling,” Kevin hissed.

Motionless, I waited. No other blasts were fi red.

“Where’s your gun?” I whispered.

“In the Jeep.”

“Have your cell phone?”

He signaled for quiet.

I lowered my voice and repeated, “Where’s your cell?”

“Why? You plan on throwing it at them?”

“I was going to call 911.”

“No service. Th

at’s why I left it in the Jeep.”

Not a shock; most pockets of wilderness, especially those deep in the Black Hills had sporadic mobile phone service. So, what were we supposed to do with no weapons? I longed for my bow. Hell, I longed to be sitting in my living room watching this drama unfold on TV.

Two rounds were fi red off in quick succession. I heard something splinter behind us, and crash, probably a tree 231

branch, but didn’t turn around for verifi cation.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Kevin said.

“Do you have a white hankie we can wave? Th en,

maybe these people won’t think we’re poaching . . .”

“Most people don’t shoot fi rst and ask questions later, even in rural western South Dakota.” He parted the grass slightly; his gaze darted to the ridge above us. “Whoever it is, they’re only trying to scare us. Because if they were trying to kill us, we’d already be dead. We’re basically sitting ducks.”

Th

is was one of those rare times Kevin wasn’t real big on comfort. My heart pounded, my face fl ushed bright red as the dirt below us. Parts of my body that didn’t even have glands started to sweat. And yet, we waited.

He pointed to the right. “Let’s make a break for the tree line. On three.” He eased to a push-up position.

I raised my butt off the ground, resting on my palms and toes, hoping my arms wouldn’t give out before bone deep shakes wracked my body.

“One. Two. Th

ree.”

I scuttled blindly to the copse of trees, dropping to the earth behind the fi rst stout trunk. My lungs were taxed, but I was surprised they still functioned; I’d fully expected to get shot in the back. I chanced a look around the gnarled roots of the big pine.

And saw Kevin sprawled in the grass.

Adrenaline kicked in. Without thinking, I belly 232

crawled to him.

Please, please, no, no, not Kevin.

Th

ree shots, fi red leisurely, kicked up chunks of veg-etation. I hardly noticed. Kevin had curled into a ball.

I shook him hard. He groaned and cursed. I wanted to drape my body over his and weep with gratitude. “Kevin?

You get hit?”

“No.”

“What’s

wrong?”

“Twisted my ankle. Must’ve slipped on a rock.”

“Can you move?”

“Yeah, but forget it. Get your ass back in the trees where it’s safe.”

“Fuck that. I’m not leaving you.” Four shots interrupted the ground around us, sending grass and dirt fl ying like confetti. I wanted to scream with outrage. Instead, I whispered, “Can you crawl backwards? Don’t think I can carry you.”

“I know you can’t. Stay low. I’ll go as fast as I can.”

We moved like turtles on the half shell. More shots were fi red. Closer.

“We’d better kick into high gear. Th

e fun is wearing

thin for our shooter friend.”

Crab-crawling backwards uphill was nearly impossible for me. Kevin’s movements, with his bum ankle, made him look like a handicapped hopping spider, which normally would’ve sent me into gales of laughter. But normally, we 233

didn’t have bullets whizzing at us. I refused to get too far ahead of him, afraid he’d collapse while I was protected in the woods.

I’d never considered myself a tree hugger, but I latched onto the fi rst pine in sight and wouldn’t let go.

A rapid burst of gunfi re echoed from the ridge above us.

Th

en it stopped.

We waited. Nothing.

Th

e sounds of silence were music to my ears.

When I fi gured the coast was clear, I moved to where I’d propped Kevin against a large tree stump. Luckily his calf wasn’t bent at a funky angle, a la’ Joe Th eismann. I

lifted his pant leg; his hiking boot covered the ankle. At least the reinforced suede top would keep it from swelling too much for now. He needed to get out of here. I glanced at the path and around the trees but couldn’t remember how far we were from the Jeep.

Kevin threaded his fi ngers through mine. “Th ank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” I fussed, picking pieces of grass from his hair, straightening his shirt with the casual touches he uses to calm me. “I’ll probably be wishing I would have left you when I have to carry you all the way back to the damn Jeep.”

He tilted my face back toward his. “Julie . . .”

Not

now.
“I know. Come on, let’s get going.”

“I can walk,” he growled between clenched teeth. Even with my help, he fell back against the tree when he put 234

weight on his foot.

“And I’ll bet you can two-step to Dwight Yoakam too.” Slinging his arm over my shoulder, I looked right into his eyes. “Lean on me, Kev. I mean it. You don’t have to be tough with me.”

“Same goes,” he said softly, brushing an aspen leaf from my hair.

It was an agonizing journey. I took the brunt of Kevin’s weight, and with my sore ribs, I knew I’d be in agony the moment I stopped moving. Th

e Jeep was fi nally in sight

and I’d quickened our pace to an excruciating rate when the fl ashing lights of a patrol car pulled around the bend and parked.

Pennington County Sheriff ’s Department. I recognized the offi

cer easing out of the cruiser. Which meant he’d recognize me too. Better get the pleasantries out of the way fi rst. “Hey, Bill,” I called out cheerfully. “Are we glad to see you.”

Kevin

snorted.

I had the mean urge to let go of him. I crafted a small smile for Bill and refrained from further injuring Kevin.

Th

is Florence Nightingale stuff was harder than it looked.

“Julie Collins? I’d recognize that wild hair anywhere.

What’re you doing out here?” Deputy Bill Brownell walked over and helped me settle Kevin against the Jeep’s front bumper. “You okay? You need an ambulance?”

“No, but thanks,” Kevin said grimly, using that, 235

I’m-bleeding-but-it’s-nothing attitude which cursed most men. Th

en, he blithely off ered his dirt-covered hand and introduced himself. Hell, I was surprised he didn’t whip out a business card.

“What are you doing out here?”

“We were looking for some land for sale but lost our way.”

Bill’s skeptical eyes moved from Kevin back to me.

Zeroed in on my puff y jaw, then cruised up to study the gash on my cheek. “Christ. What the hell happened to you?”

“I ran into a pine tree,” I laughed, touching the crusted scab, “which is why we ended up turned around.”

“A couple of homeowners heard shots and called.” His gaze accused Kevin, although his tone remained mild. “You weren’t really out here for target practice, by any chance?”

“Only if we were the targets,” I said, pointing to the path behind us. “Someone shot at
us
. We were headed back here to report it on Kevin’s cell phone when he twisted his ankle.”

“Did you shoot back?”

Kevin shook his head. “My gun is in the Jeep.”

“Mind if I take a look at it?”

“Sure.” Kevin dug his keys from his pocket and tossed them to me. “Permit to carry concealed is in the glove box.”

I grabbed everything from the cab, including my cigarettes. I watched Bill scrutinize Kevin’s license; he carefully handled his gun. He sniff ed the barrel and handed 236

it back to Kevin, butt fi rst. “When was the last time you fi red it?”

“At least three weeks ago. Why?”

“Don’t need to get defensive, son. I fi gured as much since it looks and smells pretty clean. Th is your only one?”

“Th

at I’ve got with me.”

Bill shifted his bulk sideways, running a thick wrist under his jowl. “Got any idea who was shooting at you?”

I smoked and wandered around to the back of the Jeep while Kevin explained.

Deputy Bill sighed. “Probably just some ornery kids.

We get that out here sometimes, although it usually happens closer to hunting season.”

“I don’t think it was kids,” I said, grinding my cigarette beneath my boot heel and reaching down to pick up the spent butt. Beneath the wheel well, silver glinted in the afternoon sun. I crouched closer, noticing a bowie knife imbedded nearly to the hilt on the rear driver’s side tire.

“Especially not now. Deputy, come and look at this.”

Bill sauntered back and squatted eye level with the knife. Several moments passed before he whistled. “I’ll be damned. Doesn’t look like you ran over it.” To Kevin he said, “You carry a knife in your car?”

“No. Why? What’s going on?”

“Th

ere’s a knife sticking out of your tire.” He stood and removed his hat, scratching his head. “Hang on. I’ve got a plastic bag in the car.”

237

I dropped to the ground; Kevin hopped and grunted his way back around to see the action. We watched as Bill donned gloves and jockeyed the knife out, placing it in an evidence bag. Th

e tire was totally ruined.

“Your spare any good?” Bill said to Kevin.

“Should be. I had it checked last month.”

“I’ll change it.” Deputy Bill crawled under the Jeep and released the spare and the jack.

I scooted closer to off er my help, but Bill shooed me back.

“No sense in us both getting dirty. I’ll have to take this tire in as evidence. Don’t know what we’ll fi nd, but I’ll give you a call when we’re fi nished.” Helping motorists must’ve paid off because he changed the tire with the speed of an Indy Car pit crew. Th

e ruined tire was shoved in his

trunk beside a blue plastic tarp.

After jotting down Kevin’s statement, he turned to me.

“I’ll fax this to you at the offi

ce tomorrow, that okay?”

Crap. I couldn’t very well say no. Th

e fax machine was

in Sheriff Richards’ offi

ce, which meant he’d see it and

read it, especially if my name was on the report. Th en, he’d

realize I hadn’t been sick. He’d also realize that I’d been doing the one thing he’d warned me not to do, on a day I’d been scheduled to work for him. Too bad I couldn’t blink like Jeannie and start this day over. “Sure. I’ll be in tomorrow.”

Bill helped me load Kevin in the Jeep and waited until 238

I’d pulled out to follow us back into Rapid. Neither Kevin nor I paid much attention to the scenery on the return trip.

In fact, Kevin acted paranoid, like the deputy had somehow bugged his car. We didn’t discuss anything about the afternoon’s events, which was another oddity.

Normally, we’d dissect and compartmentalize every morsel we’d uncovered. My questions went unanswered because as soon as he got a clear cell signal, he called Lilly.

She was waiting outside Kevin’s garage when we pulled up. Pacing, pale and wan, looking unlike the put-together Lilly I knew and loathed. I almost felt guilty because she was obviously worried about Kevin.

Th

e second I’d shut off the engine, she yanked the passenger door open. She cooed at Kevin, stroking his face, cheeping her displeasure like an angry momma bird.

When she demanded to examine his ankle in her soft, lilt-ing, puke-inducing voice, my faint stirrings of guilt turned into nausea. Especially after Kevin extracted an envelope from under the seat and handed it to me without a word.

I opened it. My paycheck.

Helpful Deputy Bill had parked behind us, insistent on helping Kevin inside and giving me a lift back to my vehicle. I stayed in his patrol car, sullen, sore, and surly.

Lilly wanted to fuss and Kevin let her, but I’d be damned if I would watch. It hurt too damn bad.

239

Th

ursday afternoon, I answered the phone in my chirpiest voice, “Bear Butte County Sheriff ’s Offi ce.”

“Hey, Jules, Kevin. What time does your shift end?”

No, “How’ve you been”, or “I missed you” softened his curt tone. I barely resisted sticking my tongue out at the receiver. “Th

ree. Why?”

“Can you get off early?”

I hesitated. My butt was still sore from the ass chewing courtesy of Sheriff Richards. I’d crossed a line and the ten-sion was extremely unpleasant for everyone that worked in the offi

ce. Especially for me. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” I said with a sniff .

“Have you heard from Meredith Friel?”

“Not since we saw her Sunday. Why?”

“Shelley hasn’t contacted you either?”

“No.

Why?”

“Because Meredith just stopped in and she was pretty frantic. Seems Shelley checked herself out of rehab.”

My anger with Kevin immediately fl ed. “When?”