Cache a Predator (30 page)

He thought of Ali, and his father, and how short life was and let his tears flow. The lump in his throat broke free, and he remembered his father telling him,
“There’s no reason men can’t cry.”

The sound of Sarah’s wailing from the front yard tore through him. He shouted, “The ambulance is on the way, Sarah. It’s coming.” He ached for her, wanting to go to her to hold her in her grief, but he couldn’t leave Quinn. Finally, Sarah’s cries quieted to gentle sobs.

Sirens blared in the distance, the sound growing closer and closer, making Brett’s screaming head throb. He hoped Clay was on his way because Brett couldn’t move. The rain had stopped, but the smell of burnt gunpowder lingered in the air.

He felt a hand on his arm and opened his eyes again to see flashes of multicolored lights against the trees and Clay and Officer Hudson kneeling beside him.

Clay said, “How you doing, man?”

Brett smiled. “Better now that you’re here and my baby is safe. What took you so long?” He motioned to Quinn at his side, and tried to sit.

Clay rested his palm on Brett’s chest. “Don’t get up. The EMTs are going to lift you into the ambulance.”

Several men approached with a gurney. Officer Hudson knelt at Quinn’s side. “They’re going to take you to the hospital too, to make sure you’re okay.”

“I hurt my ankle,” she said, holding it.

Officer Hudson said, “Oh, I see. It looks ouchy. The doctors will fix it.”

Brett said, “Don’t let her out of your sight, Hudson.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

As they lifted him to the gurney, Brett asked, “How’s Sarah’s brother?”

Clay shook his head. “He didn’t make it.”

Poor Sarah. He squeezed his eyes shut, and the tears pinched out. Oh, how he wished he could take away her pain. He thought of Ali and her death, and Dean—two lost souls, their lives warped by the cruelty of others. Why was there so much pain in the world?

#

An hour later, Brett and Quinn lay side by side in the Hursey Lake Hospital emergency room—the same place Ali had been. At Brett’s insistence, the nurses had arranged for Quinn to be in the same room with him. No one could separate them now. Given the circumstances, the staff had accommodated his request.

Clay had promised that Quinn would have a full examination to determine whether she’d been molested. Brett hoped like hell she hadn’t been.

He lay prone on the gurney, his head feeling as large as a pumpkin, an IV in his arm. The room smelled of alcohol swabs and disinfectant. A short gray-haired nurse dressed in light-blue scrubs with a name tag Hazel, RN, closed the curtains between their space and the next patient.

“Is my daddy going to be okay?” Quinn asked, sitting on her gurney.

Hazel smiled. “We hope so. He’s in the perfect place. We’re going to take care of him—get him upstairs into a room—and you can stay with him.” She lightly touched Quinn’s nose. “What about you? Are you going to be okay?”

Quinn nodded.

“Where does it hurt?” the nurse asked.

Quinn pointed to her ankle. “Right here. I twisted it.”

Hazel examined Quinn’s ankle, took her temperature, and listened to her heart. “Does anything else hurt?”

Quinn shook her head.

Brett spoke, his voice shaky. “Quinn, we need to know if anyone touched your private parts.”

Quinn closed her eyes and shook her head.

Brett asked Hazel to move his gurney closer to Quinn’s so he could see her. The nurse wheeled him to where he could meet Quinn’s eyes. The vertigo had subsided. “I found Lambie under the bed at Mrs. Stookey’s son’s home. Do you want to tell me what happened there?”

Quinn bit her lip. “He wanted me to sleep with him, but I didn’t want to, so I hid under the bed where he couldn’t reach me.”

“Did he touch you?”

She shook her head.

“Nurse Hazel is going to examine your private parts, but only because I’m here, and I’m saying it’s okay.”

Quinn glanced up at the nurse, who smiled. “I’ll be quick and it won’t hurt, I promise.” She plucked a pair of rubber gloves out of a bin on a tray table and pulled them on.

After she examined Quinn, the nurse turned to Brett and smiled, shaking her head. “No bruises or any signs of forced entry.”

Brett closed his eyes and sighed.
Thank you, God
.

Quinn shivered. Hazel covered her with a blanket, tucking it under her chin. “The X-ray tech will be here in a few minutes to take a picture of your ankle.” She turned to Brett. “The doctor wants to admit you for observation, so as soon as we have a room we’ll be transferring you up.”

Brett nodded and nudged Hazel’s arm. “Is Sarah Grinwald here? The sister of the man who was shot?”

Hazel shook her head. “I haven’t seen her.”

Poor Sarah. He longed to hold her. She’d suffered so much loss in her life. How do people move on? He wanted to apologize for believing she had been in cahoots with Dean, but he’d had to follow every lead and suspect. Certainly she would understand.

#

The next day, Brett lay in the hospital bed, his father at his side and Quinn in the bed across the room, sleeping. The drapes were drawn to keep the sun out of the room. Nurses chatted in the hallway, lunch trays clinking as the staff distributed them. Brett smelled coffee and baked chicken. His stomach growled. When was the last time he’d eaten?

His father sat in a chair next to his bed, his glasses sitting on the tip of his nose while he read his Kindle. He’d been there all night—since Brett was admitted. He wouldn’t leave his side. He told Brett he’d been gone long enough and had a lot of time to make up for.

The nurse cranked Brett’s bed up slowly and placed his tray in front of him. His dizziness and double vision had subsided. The pain pills had taken the edge off his throbbing headache. The CAT scans hadn’t revealed any internal bleeding or skull fractures. He’d been lucky. He guessed he had a hard head.

An aide brought an extra tray of food for his father. While they ate, his father said, “I was wrong, you know.”

“About what?”

“About Ali, you, your life. You did the right thing.”

“No, I did the wrong thing. I should have listened to you. Maybe if I’d never married Ali she’d be alive right now, and Quinn would be living with a stable family.”

“Ali would have aborted her.”

Brett nodded. “Maybe. But maybe not. We’ll never know. But look at this mess.” Brett waved his arms, pointing at himself and the hospital room.

His father’s eyes misted as he skimmed the room and looked back at Brett. “All I see is you and Quinn, and what’s not to love about that? I was selfish. I wanted you to myself, in the business, successful. I had so many hopes and dreams for you, but they were
my
dreams. Not yours. I was embarrassed in front of my colleagues because I’d bragged about you for so many years—that you’d be the best attorney in our group.” He paused. “I never wanted you to be a cop because I never respected them.”

His father exhaled and shook his head. “I do now. I respect you. You’re a cop because you love it, and it’s what you’re good at. You chose it because you wanted to do the right thing—the unselfish thing—for an unborn child. You wanted to give her the best life possible. You took responsibility—which is more than many young people do today.”

His father’s face seemed to relax as he spoke, as if he’d wanted to tell Brett these words for a long time. “I needed to let you go, to become Brett, but I didn’t see that at the time.”

“What changed?”

His father took his bifocals off and folded them, then set them on the lunch tray. “Watching you. Getting older. Knowing life is too short.”

“Your cancer?”

His father nodded. “Yeah, coming face-to-face with my mortality definitely played a part.”

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through.” Brett reached for his dad’s hand. “You’re still here though, and so am I, and we’re going to make up for lost time. Forget the past. We’ll only look forward.” He gave his dad’s hand a squeeze. “You’re wrong about one thing. I don’t like being a cop. Shoot, I hate obeying the rules, especially when people’s lives are at stake. And I get lost all the time.”

His father smiled.

“I still have dreams of being in the courtroom, and I wouldn’t get lost there.”

They both laughed.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sarah stopped in the hospital’s gift shop, the smell of carnations and roses filling the room. She bought a stuffed horse and a box of chocolates, and took the elevator up to the fourth floor, where its doors opened with a
clunk
. She sighed, nervously. She’d hesitated a thousand times before finally mustering the courage to visit Brett and Quinn. She had to know if they were okay, if Brett would talk to her. She couldn’t sleep until she knew, and even then it would be difficult. Her eyes were puffy, and they stung from crying. Did he still blame her for her brother’s actions? Did he still think she had protected Dean the entire time?

She stood in the doorway of room 404 and heaved in a big breath, licking her lips. Her boots clicked on the tile as she entered. Quinn lay in the dark room in a bed to Sarah’s right, sleeping. Brett lay with his head raised on the opposite side of the room with his eyes closed. His father, who sat at Brett’s side reading, turned to her. He motioned for her to come in and take his seat.

“No, don’t get up. I’ll just leave these and go.” She motioned to her gifs.

Brett’s eyes opened. He smiled. “Hi.” He reached for her hand.

His father closed his Kindle case and said, “I’m going to go get a cup of coffee.”

After he left the room, Sarah set the chocolates and the stuffed horse on the bedside tray. Brett took her hand. She sat in the chair next to him, her hand trembling in his. “How are you doing?”

Brett nodded. “Better. My headache is almost gone.” He squeezed her hand and let it go. “I’m glad you came. How are you?”

She dropped her eyes to her lap. “I needed to know if you hated me, or Dean.”

“I don’t hate you or your brother.”

She met his eyes. “I can’t believe he’s gone. Forever. Just like that. He was such a kind little boy. He didn’t understand. He always wanted to protect me, protect Mom. I should have seen he was troubled.” She looked over at Quinn. “I’m sorry he took her.”

Brett squeezed her arm. “It’s not your fault. It’s over. She’s safe now. If he hadn’t taken her from that pervert’s house that night, she might have been assaulted for who knows how long. He saved her.”

Her lip quivered. “Really? Moore hadn’t harmed her?”

Brett nodded. “The exam confirmed she hadn’t been touched. Quinn said she’d hidden under the bed.”

Sarah sighed and placed her hand on her heart. “Thank goodness. That makes me feel a little better. Dean would never have harmed her. He wasn’t cruel like that. He thought he was protecting her from you—something he was never able to do at home—protect me from Dad.” She pressed a tissue into her palm.

“I know. It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”

She shook her head. “No, I need to get this out. Please?”

He nodded for her to go ahead.

“When Mom was alive I never suspected anything was
wrong
with Dean. It wasn’t until Mom died that father teased him all the time. Dean was slow to talk, and when he finally started talking, he stuttered. I always thought Dean was just a socially blind boy who had no friends.

“But once he began to read, I’d bring him library books about animals. He was shy but hyper-focused on learning about dogs, cats, horses. By the time he was ten, he knew every dog and cat breed, what they looked like, and where they originated. By the time he was seventeen he knew how to neuter and spay them from studying books on the procedures. For a while he was fixated on watching video after video of animal procedures.”

She shook her head. “He was fifteen when I left for college. I promised to visit him, but returning home wasn’t a high priority. I knew Doc Spear was looking out for him—had practically adopted him. I thought he’d be okay.” Her lower lip trembled. She bit it. “I didn’t return home for almost six months. That’s when I found Dean at the cabin curled in a little ball in the corner, rocking. I think he’d been there for days. Facial hair had grown on his face, and he’d soiled his clothes. I sat on the floor rocking him.”

She stared at her hands, unable to meet Brett’s eyes. “He latched onto me like a child who’d seen a ghost. When I helped him out of his soiled clothes, I saw his wounds. The marks on his back, the blood in his underwear, the bruises on his buttocks. I screamed, ‘Who did this to you?’ But I knew. I’d had the same bruises.”

Brett exhaled, and with the tip of his finger guided her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry for what you and Dean went through. I can’t imagine how difficult your lives were. And I’m sorry he’s gone.”

“Thank you.” She stared into his deep-blue eyes, his sympathy freeing her from her anguish, causing a knot to form in her throat. She blotted her tears with the Kleenex. “I thought he’d learned how to channel his anger by working with animals, caring for them in a positive way. Doc Spear had kept him busy at the clinic.” She shook her head. “I should have realized sooner that he’d
lost
it.”

He leaned toward her, his voice just above a whisper. “You’re not God. How could you have known?”

“I was so busy I hadn’t taken the time to see him and talk to him after Dad died. He’d been quiet after the funeral, but I thought it was because he didn’t care. He was unemotional, which was normal for him.” Tears fell, and she looked over at Quinn again. “He would have done anything for me.”

“He loved you. Don’t blame yourself.” Brett pulled her toward him and wrapped her in his arms, holding her tight.

She hugged him in return, savoring the warmth and strength of his arms, her fingers touching his bare back, the part where his hospital gown had gaped open. She hiccupped a sob, finally releasing her pent-up sorrow.

He reached for a tissue on the table tray and wiped her tears, meeting her eyes. “Quinn had an exam. That pervert Moore never touched her.” The palm of his hand rested on her cheek, and his thumb traced her bottom lip. “She’s okay.”