Dan & Tyler 2 - Wintergreen (17 page)

Tyler came back inside, not meeting Dan's accusing stare. He washed his hands in the kitchen, the water running for what seemed like a long time to Dan, and then sat down in the armchair he used most. "They'll be here soon."

"All the way from Washington?" That didn't seem possible unless he'd fallen asleep without noticing.
Tyler shook his head. "Cole has people stationed here and there, but for this, well, he can tap into the resources of other departments. The closest team available will come, by road or in a chopper, and they'll secure the scene, take care of the evidence, and we'll get you to a military hospital where no one will ask questions."

Tyler reached over and laid his hand against Dan's. It felt cold and damp from the water it'd been washed in, and Dan flinched. Tyler took his hand away and cleared his throat.

 

"Dan -- I'm sorry you're hurting. I would -- I would have gotten Anne here if it was serious, you know that, right?"

"Serious?" Anger swept through him, killing the assorted pains for a moment. "Tyler, I shot someone, and that bullet -- I felt it come for me, I thought I was dead -- and you, what you did -That's not serious? Man, you have some fucked-up priorities."

"You're not dying," Tyler said with precision, each word clear and distinct. "You're not dead, or kidnapped, or at risk. You're wounded, in shock, and in a world of pain because it was a surface wound and they hurt like hell, but you'll live. I don't care about anything else."

"I'm supposed to say thank you?"

 

"No." Tyler sighed. "We've got a lot to talk about, I guess, but it can wait."

 

"Suppose I don't want to go off to this military hospital? Suppose I want to stay here?"

"You can't," Tyler said flatly. "I have to report to Cole, and you need to get examined. A gunshot wound needs reporting; we can't involve the local cops in this by going to Anne. We can't expect her to lie for us, and she'll know what did that to your arm as soon as she sees it."

"So
you're
kidnapping me instead?" Dan demanded. "Nice."

 

"I'm keeping you safe."

 

"Just don't murder any more women doing it," Dan muttered.

Tyler stood and then bent over so that his face was inches away from Dan's, his gray eyes ice cold. "I'll do what needs doing and don't ever interfere with me working again, boy. Ever. You hear me?"

Astonished, hurt, Dan glared up at him. "Go to hell," he said, and held Tyler's gaze for just long enough to show Tyler that he wasn't scared before he turned his head aside and stared at green velvet instead.

*** Two dark blue vans, nondescript, with tinted, bulletproof windows arrived just about when Tyler had expected them to. Tyler watched them churn up his drive and felt an unreasoning resentment that his haven had been invaded. He reminded himself that he'd told them to come, and made sure that he kept his open, empty hands in sight as he walked to within a few yards of the vans.

Two men got out of the first van, dressed in coveralls, as unremarkable as their vehicle. Tyler could have drawn a reasonable picture of them after one glance, but for most people their features would fade to fog within moments. Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Perfect for this line of work. One of them held a piece of paper that Tyler guessed was a description or photograph of him. The man glanced at it and then at Tyler, a frown on his face. "Mr. Edwards?"

"Yes."

 

"Director Stevens sent us."

 

Tyler nodded. "Where's the medic?"

A man got out of the second van, gray-haired and plump, a medical bag in his hand, leaving the driver to stare blankly out of the window. Tyler smiled at the driver, just to be annoying, and got an indifferent glance back. The doctor was friendlier.

"That would be me. Doctor Reeves, at your service. Are you my patient? You look remarkably well for a man with bullet holes in him." He got closer and glanced at Tyler's wrists, pursing his lips and tutting. "Oh, I see. Superficial, but painful, I'm sure."
"They're nothing," Tyler said impatiently. "The man you need to see is inside. He's been shot -the bullet grazed his upper arm, but there aren't any broken bones -- he has a possible concussion, and --"

Reeves held up his hand, his fussy friendliness dropping away. "I prefer to make my own diagnosis, thank you, and when I've finished with my other patient, you and I will have a little chat about so-called trivial wounds and infection."

"Just go in and see to him," Tyler said. He turned to the cleaners. "Get busy. I want you finished by the time the man in there is ready to be moved."

 

The taller of the men rolled his eyes. "It takes as long as it takes."

 

Tyler took three strides and grabbed the man, the stiff cotton of the coverall the man wore harsh against his hands. "You keep him waiting and I'll stuff you into a body bag all of your own."

A click sounded, and he didn't need to turn his head to know that the driver had dropped the pretence of indifference and was aiming a gun at his head through the open window. Figured. "Pull that trigger and the paperwork will bury you."

"Let go of the nice man and I won't have to fill in a single form and we can all go home early." Tyler released the man with exaggerated care and gave him a thin-lipped smile. "Sorry," he said insincerely. "It's been one hell of a day."

The man snorted. "Only one body? For you agents, that's practically a day off."

 

"I'm not an agent," Tyler said evenly. "Not anymore."

 

The second cleaner spoke up. "Mister, when you're standing over a woman you put a shitload of bullets into, you'd better hope you're still an agent. Now, where is she?"

 

Tyler pointed at the shed. "There."

 

"You moved her, didn't you?" the man said, staring at the marks left on the ground. "Well, that just doubled the clean-up time."

 

"You wanted me to leave her where you're standing?" Tyler demanded. "A little hard to explain away as a lawn ornament."

 

"Yeah, sure." The cleaners exchanged glances and pulled on their gloves in unison. "We'll take it from here. Just give us the guns that were fired and tell us where they were discharged."

"It's all in the shed," Tyler told them. "No bullets to dig out of trees; the only ones not already bagged are in her. You need to take care of the blood on the ground and fix the door, maybe." He hesitated. Dan wasn't going to want it back, was he? "There's a rock with the guns. That's got blood on it, too. Dispose of it."

"Thanks for making our job that much harder," the man said sourly. "We’re supposed to take photographs, you know; preserve the chain of evidence."

 

"No, you're not," Tyler said coldly. "You're supposed to make this go away, like it never happened. Now do your job and get that murderous bitch's body off my fucking land."
Chapter Eleven

The hospital was all cool white walls and beeping machines. Dan tuned everything out: all the prodding, all the questions, all the pain. After an endless while, they gave him something to make the world go dim, and he began to relax.

Tyler was slumped in a chair in the corner of the room, his wrists neatly bandaged, staring at the open door as if he planned to shoot the first person who walked through it. Tyler stuck by Dan like a shadow on the journey in and would have throughout all of the examinations if Dan hadn't kicked up as much of a fuss as he was capable of. No way was he letting Tyler see him get into a backless gown, his ass hanging out. Tyler had retreated to just outside the door of whatever examination room Dan was in until Dan was finally settled in a private room.

Tyler had also made one of the cleaners drive his truck to the hospital, still packed full of stuff for a vacation that, as far as Dan was concerned, had been permanently cancelled. It was handy that his gear was close at hand in the hospital parking lot, though; they'd driven for ninety minutes to get here, and since he'd been on a stretcher in the back of a van, he hadn't seen much and didn't have a clue where he was. Maybe he could get Tyler to bring him his backpack and laptop.

There were a lot of men around the place who looked as if they belonged on the front lines, hair cropped short, hospital gowns and robes not hiding the fact that they were soldiers. Dan didn't belong here with men like that, but every time he tried to point that out, either Tyler scowled or a nurse shoved a thermometer into his mouth.

His arm itched, his face throbbed, and he was just plain miserable. He must've sighed, because Tyler's gaze flickered over to him. "Do you need anything?"

Tyler sounded studiously calm and remote, and Dan reminded himself that with an arm full of stitches, throwing something at that blank face wasn't a good idea. Last time he'd done that, Tyler had just caught it anyway.

"How about some privacy?"

"They won't let me sit outside the door," Tyler replied, as if that made perfect sense in his world, and maybe it did. "They're only letting me stay in here because this place doesn't really go for visiting hours with balloon and flowers and shit."

"And because you'd kick up a fuss if they tried to make you leave."

"Yes," Tyler said. "I would. I'm not leaving you when you can't defend yourself, and trust me, you want me here when Cole arrives."
"Suppose I don't want to talk to him?" Dan felt his lip push out in a stubborn pout that he thought he'd outgrown at the age of ten. Apparently not.

"He's flying across the country to see you, boy. I wouldn't mess him around." Tyler shrugged, something that Dan couldn't do without whimpering softly in agony, and added, "Easier to get it over with and then you can forget about it."

"You're really something, you know that?"

 

Tyler was staring at the doorway again, twitching whenever anyone walked by, a tiny shift in his seat, a slight flexing of his hand.

 

"Really something," Dan repeated.

 

"I get it," Tyler said. "When you're not pissy as hell, I'll apologize properly for saving your life. Until then, shut the hell up."

 

"Don't like what I have to say?"

 

Tyler sighed. "No. It hurts you to talk, and I don't like you hurting."

 

Dan opened his mouth, caught Tyler's eye and grim expression, and closed it again.

 

***

Cole arrived just as Dan had finally found a comfortable position on a bed that was far too high and narrow, with irritatingly crackly sheets. He looked as elegant as before, but older, infinitely weary. How much of a toll did a job like his take on a man? Dan had seen a faint echo of that look on his father's face when something had gone wrong on the farm or his dad had been up all night working to fix a tractor after getting up at dawn to harvest a crop, but Cole's shoulders looked weighted down with responsibilities.

Sympathy made Dan more polite than he'd planned to be. "Hello, sir."

Cold brown eyes, puffy with lack of sleep, stared at him, and then Cole nodded, a brisk jerk of the head. "Mr. Seaton. I was sorry to hear of your injuries." His gaze seemed to linger on the bruised skin and cut on Dan's cheek, something that Tyler had yet to comment on. "You've been in the wars, young man."

It was what his grandmother used to say to him as she bathed his grazed knee or made up an ice bag for his bumped head; those words, a kiss, and a cookie, warm and chewy, pressed into his hand for him to nibble at until he'd stopped crying. Dan blinked away wetness and stared hard at the crisp sheet until he was pretty sure that he wasn't going to start blubbering like a baby and shame himself.
Cole, mercifully, turned his attention to Tyler, who had stood when Cole entered -- relaxed, as if he'd recognized Cole's footsteps, but rising quickly to his feet. Old habits, maybe. He hadn't saluted, at least.

"So," Cole said after a moment. "You missed something."

And that was so fucking unfair that it brought Dan's head up and he hissed a protest, because Tyler might be a psychopath -- God, those bullets thudding into flesh, so very many of them, literally overkill, and Tyler's
eyes
-- but the man had done his best, hadn't he?

Cole gave him a sharp glance that silenced the words Dan wanted to say, and he was glad that he hadn't bothered, because Tyler just nodded. "I stopped looking too soon."

How the fuck is that your fault? Dan screamed silently at him. He felt hot, and his heart was pounding, the way it used to when his dad was yelling at him. Cole shouldn't be doing this to Tyler in front of him. It wasn't fair.

"Mmm." Cole dismissed Tyler with that single cool murmur, and turned his attention to Dan, his voice kinder, warm with sympathy that Dan didn't trust for a moment. "Tell me what happened, son."

Dan licked his lips, unsure of what to do now. He hadn't discussed a joint version of events with Tyler, and he didn't want to say something that would get Tyler into trouble. He was aware on one level that it made no sense to be protecting Tyler, but he couldn't help it; what had happened might have made him seriously reconsider sticking around the man, but his loyalty was to Tyler, not Cole. "Uh…"

"It's okay," Tyler said quietly. "You can tell him everything that happened. If I get arrested, it won't be for killing her, just for not getting more out of her first."

 

"Let him speak," Cole said. He walked over to Dan's bed and drew up a plastic and metal chair that looked designed to discourage use. "You were at the cabin?"

"Yeah," Dan said. He was lying propped up, and sitting, Cole's face was level with his own. There was nowhere to look; if he tried, his gaze returned, inexorably, to those patient, impassive eyes. He reached out and picked up his glass of water, a lid and bendy straw making it easy to drink from and bringing back memories of Happy Meals and salted fries. The water was cool and flat and swallowing hurt.

"We were about to go on vacation, but Tyler needed to give Anne our spare key, so he drove into town. I was outside, waiting, and this lady came out of the woods. I thought she was a hiker."

 

"Paula Ryan," Cole said.

Shrugging with one shoulder didn't work, and it still hurt his arm. "I don't know. If Tyler says it was, then I guess that was her name. I'd never seen her before."
"I went to the morgue first," Cole said. "It's Ryan. Her fingerprints prove it, but I hadn't forgotten her face."