Cold Comfort (24 page)

"Here," he said. "This is a big one with low branches. You won't be visible from the road. I'll go see what the dog is, and you stay there until I tell you it's safe."

"No. I'll stay with you. You won't hurt it, will you?"

"Dammit, Claire, you're so cold your teeth are rattling. You're wet, filthy, and so tired you can hardly walk, and you're worried about the damn dog. I guess you'll make it." He kissed her forehead. "No, I won't hurt it—it's just doing its job. If I can't get past it, we'll wait awhile. Someone will probably be home soon. It's a weeknight
—
most people don't stay out late."

He pushed her toward the tree. "Now get up there so I don't have to worry about you."

She suspected he used that to keep her in line. "I'm fine." She caught a low limb. Riley cupped his hands under her foot and gave her a boost. She hauled herself up into the broad oak and hooked her arm around the trunk. "I'm okay. Be careful."

She watched his silhouette in the faint light.

He called to the dog, speaking softly. "Here, boy. Good dog."

The dog stayed.

She didn't think it sounded vicious, more like Goodyear announcing a new arrival in his territory.

"Hello, fella," she heard Riley say. "It's a big mutt, wagging his tail," he called to her. "I'll come get you."

"Just shine the light on the ground and I can jump." She could barely make out Riley's light now. Thank heavens for the house. If they had to go on with no light.... She wouldn't think about it.

He reached the tree and stood close to the trunk, shining the feeble beam on himself. "Here I am. Can you jump to me?"

In the faint glow, she saw the reddish patch on his shirt. "That's blood!" Her heart leapt to her throat. "Don't try to catch me
—
you're hurt." She rolled onto her stomach on the limb and let her legs swing down.

Riley caught her feet. "I've got you. Don't worry, it's not bad, just bled some."

"What happened?" She wanted to hold him. She touched him lightly and then jerked her hand back. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, I'm okay." He cupped her cheek with his hand, then pushed her hair away from her face and smiled.

In that moment, she knew there'd never be anyone else for her.

"The shot through the windshield. The bullet went on through, probably stuck in the seat."

"And you've carried me all this way." Had she made his wound worse? Dammit, why didn't he tell her? "Riley, I'm warning you—this protection business has gone on long enough. Your shoulder could be infected."

"No, the swamp water would wash it out." He led her toward the house. "It's black because of tannic acid, not dirt."

The dog remained silent.

"Hold it right there." A bright light blinded them.

Claire jumped, whirled toward the voice. Riley shoved her behind him and turned his feeble beam on the man, but the more powerful light blocked them from seeing.

He wasn't Joey Fortunato. His singsong drawl told her that, and nothing else mattered.

"Please, help us," she said before Riley could speak. "My friend is hurt
—
our car is in the swamp
—
"

Riley interrupted her. "We need help. Can you call Ed Killian at the police station in McClellanville?" He held up both hands where the man could see them

"You run off the road in the rain? Come on in, get warm." He turned back to the dark house, trusting them to follow. "I was watching TV in the back, heard Bo bark."

They followed the silhouette and its beam of light across the yard.

The man opened the front door and turned on the lights. He turned back to them and his shaggy eyebrows rose. "Best come in and get out of those clothes."

Claire saw a thin little man with gray hair, holding a long-barreled gun Wyatt Earp would envy. "I hate to track into your house."

"It's seen worse." He motioned them in. Indicating a door off the hall, he said, "There's the bathroom. I can give you a shirt and some old pants. Ain't much, but they're clean and dry." He entered an unlighted room, pulled some things out of a chest of drawers, and handed them to Claire. He nodded toward Riley. "You need a drink, son. Looks like you ran into something meaner'n you."

"Yeah, I did. A drink sounds great." Riley turned to Claire. "Get out of those clothes and get dry."

Riley's pale face contrasted with the red stain on his shoulder.
Dear God, let him be all right.
Rage washed over her. Her fists clenched. If she ever saw Joey Fortunato again.... She pressed her forehead against the doorframe and closed her eyes.

Riley touched her jaw with his fist. "Don't fall apart on me now."

If only he knew. She quelled her rage and forced a smile. "Please, call an ambulance."

"It's not bad, really. You get warm and I'll get Killian."

"He'll be okay," the old man said. "I'll give him a dose of spirits and a blanket
—
nothing else big enough to go around him." He led Riley into the kitchen.

Claire peeled off her clothes and stepped into a small tin shower. The water was blissfully hot. She didn't see shampoo, only a hard, cracked piece of soap on the sink. She scrubbed her hair with her fingers and rinsed thoroughly, soaking up the warmth, letting her mind go blank. Gradually she came back into focus and turned off the water. Riley. She'd better leave him some hot water. Anxious to get back to him, she dried herself quickly with the thin towel their host had given her. She put on the worn khakis—too small to button at the waist—and shirt, rolled her own clothes into a ball and tied them in her torn, filthy shirt.

The sound of their voices led her to a room at the back of the house with a kitchen at one end and a worn recliner and small television set at the other end. A tiny Christmas tree, heavy with colored lights, sat on top of it.

Riley, wrapped in a green Army blanket, sat at a red Formica-topped table, sipping something from a thick white mug. Color had returned to his face. He coughed and shook his head. His eyes watered. "Claire, I'm not sure you'll want any of this. Chester makes it. But it's good," he added, clearing his throat. An unlabeled bottle of clear liquid sat on the table between the two men. Riley raised the cup and tipped his head at the old man. "This is Chester Wilkes. The cavalry's just over the hill."

"Mighty excitin' night y'all've had, Miz Claire." The old man leaned back on the chrome legs of his chair, saluting her with a white mug of his own. "I put some coffee on for you."

"How do you do, Mr. Wilkes?" She held out her hand to him. "You're very kind to take us in like this."

Chester blinked and rose from his chair, taking her hand. "Chester, ma'am, just Chester."

Riley chuckled and took another sip.

Claire checked the level in the bottle, noting Chester's rosy cheeks. About half of the clear liquid remained. Judging by their relaxed posture, she suspected it had been full when they started. How long did she stay in the shower? She looked back at Riley. He smiled. At least he didn't appear to be in pain. "How's your shoulder? Is Officer Killian coming?"

"Mason Snead's on tonight. He'll be here right soon." Chester turned his benign smile on Riley. "Good man, Mason is. He'll take care of you."

"I'm fine. It wasn't much, just grazed me."

Claire hoped so. She poured coffee into another of the white mugs, eyeing the bottle. No, one of them should stay sober. Riley was downright chatty, telling Chester about their adventures in the swamp, about the pig and the muck.

She took a swallow of the hot drink and spluttered. It resembled the bog mud she'd fallen in. "Did you make the coffee, Riley?"

"No, Chester did. But I told him how much to put in."

"It's good. Thank you." She raised her cup to Chester. "We ought to call Tammy. She's probably wondering what happened
—
" A thought struck her. "You don't think they found out about her, do you? How did they find us?"

"The little weasel in the nursing home. I thought he was just lusting after you, but Fortunato probably left him a generous incentive and a phone number. I think he'd moved on when MaryDell mentioned Tammy, and I'm sure we weren't followed to or from the hospital."

"You talking about Tammy Burnside? She just lives a couple of miles down the road."

"Do you still have her number, Riley?"

Riley clutched his blanket and stood, exposing hairy legs and dry white socks. "My wallet should still be in my pocket." He leaned over, following her gaze. "Chester loaned me some socks. Nothing else fit." He wobbled a little and sat back down. "Maybe you should check."

"I'll find it." She hoped the liquor made him unsteady and not his wound. His jeans lay steaming over the back of a chair by a wood stove. She lifted them to search for the wallet. "Did you tell the police you'd been shot?"

"Nope. Chester fixed me up." He lowered the blanket off his left shoulder.

Strips of white cloth that looked suspiciously like bed sheeting circled his upper arm and shoulder. A knot at his chest held it in place. A small red stain marked his wound. "See," he said, squinting at the splotch of color, "it's stopped bleeding. Ches put some antibiotic ointment on it."

"It's good stuff." Chester rocked forward, let the chair legs hit the floor with a bang. "Fixed Bo right up."

"Bo? The dog?" Claire's eyes widened. Visions of gangrene danced through her head. She thought she might be ill. "Are you—"

Riley held up a languid hand. "I'm fine. Chester makes it too
—
it's some kind of smelly sulfur-based stuff."

Bo's deep bay, signaling a new arrival, interrupted Claire's argument.

"That'll be Mason." Chester pushed himself up off the chair and took a few unsteady steps toward the front door.

"I'll get it—it's probably the mad hatter." She glanced at Riley, sitting placidly, wrapped in his blanket. If the ointment didn't kill him, the white lightning probably would. She hoped Mason Snead was an understanding kind of man.

Chapter 16

Claire introduced herself and led the deputy to Riley and Chester.

Snead wisely declined the refreshments. "Thanks, but I've had some of Chester's hooch before. I'm on duty all night." He gave the two men a long look and turned to Claire. "Want to tell me about it? Ed filled me in on the connection with Doc Clary, so I know who you are."

While Claire talked to the officer, Chester called Tammy Burnside and explained the situation. "Yeah, but they're fine. She's talking to Mason Snead now."

He listened briefly. "Okay. She can call you later." Chester hung up the phone.

Later, Claire promised herself. She'd come back when this was over and see everything, talk to Tammy again. She turned her attention back to Snead.

Riley, with his beatific smile, huddled in the drab blanket like a kindly troll. He kicked her under the table when she opened her mouth to answer Snead's questions about Riley's shoulder. He and Chester quickly passed it off as a scratch he got in the swamp. Clearly the dog ointment didn't concern anyone else.

"Oh, yeah." Snead nodded earnestly. "That's good stuff. My dog got his side ripped up by bob war, and it healed fine."

"Bob war?" The name didn't register.
A local dog fight?

"You know, the war with the twisted points," Snead explained.

"Oh, barbed wire."

Chester and Riley laughed, much harder than Claire thought the misunderstanding warranted.

She touched her fingers to her temple and smiled at the sweet-faced young officer. "Sorry, I'm awfully tired."

After Riley put his damp jeans back on, Snead drove them back to the Tahoe. The officer stopped with his spotlight on it, revealing the driver's side angled helplessly above the black water line, the passenger side under water. "I'll get someone to tow it in tomorrow morning. Anything you need to get out of it tonight?" He looked pointedly at Riley. "I'll keep watch in case they show up again."

"You're hurt. I'll get it," Claire said.

"No you won't. Get back in the car." With an exaggerated sigh, Riley dropped the blanket on the seat, took off his jeans, and, over Claire's protests, stepped off the road shoulder into the water. The bed-sheet bandage glowed in the harsh beam of the spotlight as he waded the few yards to the Tahoe's rear door and crawled in. He kept up a steady stream of curses while he retrieved Claire's purse and coat, the rental papers, and other items in the glove compartment. "Not even wet. The water didn't reach it," he called, making his way out again. He waded back to the road and leaned against the cruiser. He stripped out of his wet shorts and pulled his damp jeans on. "Nothing's been disturbed. I didn't think they'd be anxious to tackle a swamp. With luck, Fortunato won't find me or my address."

Silently, Claire handed him the blanket.

Snead started back toward Marsh Winds. "Those guys can find you easy. There's only a couple of places to stay around here. You'd better go to Georgetown or Charleston."

"First I've got to eat. It's been a long, long day." Riley rested his head on the back of the seat and closed his eyes.