The Last Time I Saw Her (18 page)

Despite everything, Charlie had to smile. That was so typically Lena.

“Thanks,” she said. Lena looked as exotically lovely as always. Her chin-length black bob was smooth and shining, deep red lipstick outlined her full mouth, and, because she was working and Lena loved her job, her slanting brown eyes were as bright and alert as a terrier's on the hunt. Five-two barefoot, she was sensitive about her height and routinely wore four-inch heels to compensate. Her figure was curvy, and she preferred fitted skirt suits to pants. The one she wore at the moment was deep green, with a matching blouse and nude heels.

Next to her, Charlie was pretty sure she did look like crap.

“She means you look like you've been through an ordeal,” Buzz said.

“I mean what I said. Don't put words in my mouth, Crane.” Lena gave him a dark look.

“Sorry.” Buzz held up both hands in an appeasing gesture.

Charlie took from that exchange that the off-and-on romance the two had going was currently in “off” mode.

Lena scanned Charlie again. “You basically look like you got run over by a train, but that's not what I'm talking about. You're skinny, you're pale, you've got dark circles under your eyes. All of this in the past two and a half weeks. What on earth have you been doing since we last saw you?”

Charlie was speechless. She hadn't realized that what she'd been through with Michael's absence had left such a noticeable imprint on her appearance.

“Okay, enough with the small talk,” Tony said. Charlie was grateful for the interruption. Impossible to explain that she'd spent the last seventeen days racked with grief. “You two get preliminary cause of death on our fatalities?” he asked Lena.

“Four victims suffered fatal gunshot wounds, one suffered gunshot wounds but expired from blunt-force trauma thought to be the result of a car crash, and two had broken necks,” Lena replied promptly.

“The gunshot wounds were of different calibers, which means multiple shooters and/or weapons,” Buzz said. “The two corrections officers were shot once in the head each with the same caliber bullet, probably the same weapon; the police officer was hit multiple times in the torso, which means multiple weapons and probably multiple shooters; and the teen was shot twice in the back. Same caliber bullet, probably the same weapon and shooter, but we won't know definitively until the test results are back.”

“First question: Where did the escapees get the guns?” Bartoli said, and looked at Buzz.

“Working on it, boss,” he said.

Charlie folded her arms over her chest. She was so tired that she was practically sitting on the corner of the table by this time. “While I was on the bus, I heard Torres say something about one of the librarians smuggling guns into the prison library. Torres described the librarian as male and fat.”

“That should narrow it down,” Tony said, and looked at Lena.

Lena grimaced. “I know. Find the fat male librarian.”

Tony nodded.

“Heads are going to roll.” Buzz shook his head. “Security at that prison must have been off-the-charts lax.”

Tony said, “So tell me about the two deaths that weren't by gunshot. Broken necks, you said?”

Buzz nodded. “Both were broken by manual force in the same style. Those were our two deceased hostage takers.”

Tony asked something else, but Charlie missed it because she realized with a tiny flutter of alarm that she'd lost track of Michael.

And that would be because he was right behind her, she discovered a second later. She felt the brush of his body against hers even as she anxiously skimmed the knots of people surrounding her, trying to locate him. She couldn't see him, but still she knew who it was instantly, identifying him on what she thought had to be a cellular level, even before he said “Here” in that still too-gravelly voice and handed her a bottle of water.

She knew it was him because when he touched her the air went out of the room.

You've got it bad,
she told herself. But she was also resigned to it. She'd come to terms with the fact that apparently, by some inexplicable quirk of fate, he was it for her.

“Thank you.” Accepting the water with gratitude, Charlie kept her voice cool and crisp, like everything around her hadn't just taken on a little extra vibrancy just because he was near, like she wasn't barely resisting the urge to lean back against him, to touch him in some way. Unscrewing the cap, she took a long, appreciative drink while Tony, Buzz, and Lena looked past her at Michael. Tony frowned, Buzz's expression was assessing, and Lena's eyes widened.

“This is Rick Hughes.” Tony made the introduction. “Lena Kaminsky, Buzz Crane.”

Of course, Michael knew them almost as well as he knew Tony, but they didn't know that.

As Michael stepped forward to shake hands with Lena and Buzz, Tony asked him, “You ever serve in the military?”

Michael met his gaze. “Why do you ask?”

“Haven't met many people who could break a neck like that.”

Michael smiled. “I've had some martial arts training.”

“I see.”

While they were talking, Charlie found herself looking from one man to the other. It was, she thought, sort of like comparing a French rapier to a Viking broadsword. Tony was tall and leanly muscled, the quintessential FBI agent in his dark blue suit, pale blue shirt, and red tie. His black hair and handsome face turned women's heads wherever he went. Wearing a dirty, torn, untucked, and open-collared white shirt (he'd apparently lost the tie somewhere) with stained gray suit pants, Michael was inches taller and more powerfully built. With his lion-colored hair, golden tan, and beautifully cut features, he was outrageously good-looking to the point that the same women who would turn their heads for Tony would trail panting at Michael's heels. There was a hardness around Michael's eyes and mouth, a hint of aggression in the set of his shoulders that, surprisingly, made him the more formidable of the two, despite his sun-god looks. One looked like the kind of man you could bring home to mother, settle down with, and depend on, and that was exactly what Tony was. The other looked dangerous and dirty-minded, pure sex on the hoof, and that described Michael perfectly.

Charlie absolutely knew which man she
should
want.

Maybe Michael's right
was the rueful rejoinder that popped into her head.
Maybe I do need a shrink.

Michael turned to Charlie and said, “I've been sent to fetch you. There's an ambulance pulled up right outside with a crew that's here to check out us rescued hostages.”

She met his gaze. His eyes were still black, and she trusted that it would go unremarked in the jerry-rigged fluorescent lighting. Anyway, it was unlikely that anyone here was familiar enough with the normal color of Hughes's eyes to notice the difference.

“Go,” Tony said to her. Deciding to go ahead and get it over with, Charlie nodded, and Tony added to Lena, “Kaminsky, go with her.”

That told Charlie everything she needed to know about how Tony felt concerning the supposed Hughes: he didn't trust him. Well, fair enough. Given the information Tony had, she wouldn't have trusted him, either.

Michael was already heading for the open tent flap. Swigging thirstily from her water bottle, Charlie started walking after him, and Lena fell into step beside her.

“He's
pretty,
” Lena said under her breath, her eyes on Michael's broad back. “Tell me you're not calling dibs.”

Well, actually, she was, but—

“What about Buzz?” Charlie replied, indignant on Buzz's behalf.

“Forget Crane. Plenty of fish in the sea that
weren't
once engaged to my sister.” Lena had been looking Michael over. Now she frowned and glanced at Charlie. “Is that Hunky Guy's jacket you're wearing?”

“We were stuck on a ledge. It was cold.” Charlie knew she sounded defensive: ridiculously, she felt defensive.

“So he gave you his jacket, which means he's a gentleman.” Lena's speculative gaze, which had returned to slide over Michael again, sliced back to Charlie. “Or else it means he likes you. What is it with men and liking the helpless types, anyway?”

That ruffled Charlie's feathers. “I am not helpless.”

“I know. You're not helpless at all. That's what's so damned unfair about it. Men just think you're helpless.” Lena shook her head in disgust. “It's that big-eyed, fine-boned thing you have going on. They all want to protect you.”

“That is a total crock.”

“Uh-uh. Look at the boss. The minute he heard you were missing, he rounded up Crane and me and had us all heading to the rescue so fast the plane practically broke the sound barrier.”

“Thank you for coming, by the way.”

Lena shrugged. “You showed up for me, I showed up for you.”

Charlie looked sideways at Lena. “You know what? I think that makes us friends.”

Lena said sourly, “Oh, gosh, should we go shopping or something? Or, I know, maybe we can get a mani-pedi together. That would be fun.”

“Shopping would be nice,” Charlie replied, her voice deliberately bland. Lena gave her a sharp, aren't-you-funny look. Then they were outside the tent, and what with the sudden darkness and the distracting bustle of activity as vehicles moved in and out of the parking area, the conversation lapsed. Charlie cast a compulsive glance at the tent where the bodies were being held—she was contemplating sneaking in and telling whichever of the spirits could see and hear her to look for the light—only to discover that it was empty: the bodies apparently had been taken away for autopsy.

So. No more to be done there, so put it out of your mind. And keep walking.
Because her step had faltered a little.

“Something wrong?” Lena asked.

“No,” Charlie replied, and pulled Hughes's jacket more tightly closed against the brisk wind. Being down in a valley as they were with the jagged black peaks of the mountains towering all around made her feel small and isolated, as if the rest of the world were a million miles away. Thinking about what might be happening on the mountain behind her got her so antsy that her pulse started to race and her breathing quickened. Instantly labeling those thoughts as unproductive, she forced them from her head. An ambulance was parked nearby. The rear doors were open and the interior had a faintly greenish glow in the darkness. A couple of EMTs sat with their legs dangling in the open doorway, looking out toward her and Lena as they approached. Michael had gotten there just ahead of them, and he turned around to watch them, too.

They reached the ambulance. Because Michael insisted she go first, Charlie was helped inside.

A couple of ibuprofen, some antiseptic wipes, a turkey sandwich—Michael wolfed down three, courtesy of a catering table that also held coffee—and a trip to a nearby porta-potty later, Charlie was just walking back inside the tent with Michael and Lena when a sudden commotion drew their attention to a table near the dry-erase board. Everybody was rushing in that direction, so they walked over, too.

“What's going on?” Lena asked Buzz as they stopped beside him and Tony, who were in front of a table on which an open laptop computer had been placed. Surrounding them was a crowd—a couple dozen cops mixed with some National Guard types, a contingent of local FBI agents in blue windbreakers, and a few random others who weren't wearing uniforms and thus were difficult to identify. It was worryingly quiet as they all leaned forward almost as one to try to see the computer. Grainy images of something Charlie couldn't quite make out filled the screen. Her hand tightened on the Styrofoam cup of coffee in her hand.

“SWAT's inside the barn,” Buzz replied in a hushed tone. “They're just reporting in. What you're looking at are pictures from one of their body cams.”

Armed with that knowledge, Charlie felt her heart beat faster as the images resolved themselves into the school bus, its back door open, parked inside what looked like an old tobacco barn. It was darker even than the night toward the outer edges of the screen. The lighting focused on the bus seemed as if it was being supplied by lanterns and flashlights, which made it swoopy and uncertain.

A man appeared on the screen. He was in full SWAT riot gear, with a helmet and a blackened face.

“We've got three victims inside the barn,” the man reported, and Charlie felt a chill slide down her spine. “They were dead when we got here. No sign of anyone else. No pickup truck. Just the bus, with one dead inside and two dead on the ground.”

A murmur of dismay ran through the group crowding around the monitor.

“Can you identify the dead?” Hintz asked. Along with a quartet of fellow Virginia State Police officers, he was the closest to the laptop, leaning toward it with his hands flat on the table on which it rested.

The man on the computer looked around and said, “Grell, get me a visual on the female. Lane, get me the males.”

As Charlie heard the word
female,
her heart sank. Only two females had been left on the bus. That had to mean that either Bree or the chaperone, Tabitha Grunwald, was dead. Blindly she reached out and set her half-empty coffee cup down on a nearby table: she'd just managed to catch herself before her fingers crushed the flimsy Styrofoam.

Tabitha Grunwald was curled in a fetal position in the aisle near the front of the bus. Seen by the white glow of the lantern that had been placed on the seat nearest her, her short gray hair was shiny red with blood. Her flowered dress was soaked with it. The paper bag Charlie had given her was still clutched in her hand.

Her face had been blown away.

Hintz identified the victim for the man in the barn, who repeated her name to someone who was out of camera range.

As the camera panned Tabitha Grunwald's body, Charlie dropped her head and closed her eyes. Her chest felt tight. It required an effort to breathe. Remembering the chaperone's helpless terror, she shuddered.

A strong masculine arm came around her shoulders; she knew immediately that it belonged to Tony rather than Michael. She also knew that she must be looking bad if Tony was offering her that kind of comfort and support in such a public setting, because, like her, he always tried to keep it professional when he was on the job. When she opened her eyes, though, she couldn't even look at him or at Michael, who stood silently on her other side, or anyone else, because the computer screen instantly caught her attention again. Her throat closed up as she saw that the kid with the carroty hair, Josh Watkins, was on there now. He was sprawled on his stomach in the dirt on the barn floor and it was obvious that he was dead. His back was a bloody mess. He looked like he'd been shot while trying to run away.

As Hintz identified Watkins to the man in the barn, Charlie's knees wobbled. She felt as if every ounce of strength she had left in her had just drained away.

Tony's arm tightened and he pulled her close against his side.

Leaning against him because she really did need the support to keep from folding like an accordion, she dropped her head forward again and concentrated on regulating her breathing.

As many times as she had seen death, it never got easier. And she'd known these victims, had been a hostage along with them. She had shared their terror.

She felt responsible for them.

Yet she had lived and they had died.

I failed those kids.

Guilt mixed with sorrow mixed with outrage that such terrible things could even happen.

“That's Larry Carter,” Hintz said. From that, Charlie knew that the third victim was the driver. She didn't look at the screen again. She had just officially reached her limit: she'd seen too much death for one day.

“The rest of them are still up there on the mountain somewhere, Major,” a man said, and Charlie opened her eyes to find that a National Guard officer was talking to Hintz, not via computer but there in the tent. The police contingent was still in front of the computer, but was looking at the guardsman rather than the screen now.

“I want them found,” Hintz said. His voice was calmly authoritative, but his one hand that still rested on the table was clenched into a fist and there was fire in his eyes. “I want the rest of those hostages brought out of there alive.”

The guardsman nodded. “We've got the mountain surrounded. Every road blocked. A fly couldn't get off there without us spotting it. Give us some daylight and—”

“We can't wait for daylight.” Hintz's face was grim. “Physically search every inch of that mountain
now.
Start at the bottom and sweep upward. Grid by grid, everybody no more than arm's length apart. Continue the high-tech stuff: Use every piece of equipment you have. Use everything you have. We've got six murderers up there, and five kids, and we need to find 'em. Let's go.”

“Yes, sir.”

The crowd around the computer scattered, with everyone moving purposefully to do their jobs. A uniformed state trooper walked up to the little group consisting of Charlie, Michael, Tony, Lena, and Buzz, and said, “Excuse me, Dr. Stone?”

“Yes?” Charlie replied. She'd straightened away from Tony's side the second she'd felt recovered enough, as much for the sake of his professional reputation as her own. His arm was no longer around her, but they were still close. His face impassive, Michael had been watching her and Tony, but he glanced toward the trooper as the man spoke. Lena and Buzz, who'd been talking, broke off.

“I'm Eddie Plank. Major Hintz sent me to drive you and Mr. Hughes back to Big Stone Gap if you're ready to go.”

“I am,” Michael said, and looked at her. His eyes said
You are, too.
“Dr. Stone?”

Charlie frowned at him. “I can't leave.”

“Yes, you can,” Tony said, and Charlie switched her attention to him. “There's nothing more you can contribute to this tonight. The situation is contained to the mountain, and there's a search-and-rescue operation in progress. You're not needed for that. You go home, get some sleep, and by tomorrow hopefully everything will be resolved here and we'll be back in Big Stone Gap ourselves trying to determine how the hell this happened. We've got rooms in the Best Western there, so you can expect to see us at some point.” He looked at Lena. “Kaminsky, go with her.”

Charlie and Lena both stiffened and said “No!” simultaneously.

“I don't need her.”

“I'm not a babysitter!”

The women's gazes clashed. For an instant, they glared at each other. Then recognition of the mutual enemy struck, and they transferred those glares to Tony.

“No,” Charlie said again. Quietly but firmly. Tony was right, there was nothing more she could contribute to the situation here. All her knowledge of serial killers in general and three of the search subjects in particular could add nothing to the efforts already under way. If the situation changed, her files and notes on Abell, Torres, and Ware were on her laptop, which (thank goodness!) she'd left in her office at home and in her file cabinet in her office at the prison. She was so exhausted and emotionally and physically wrung out that she was becoming more of a liability than an asset with every passing moment. Plus there was Michael. He had only a short time in Hughes's body. If she could help save even one life she wouldn't let that weigh with her, but the truth was her expertise was of no help to anyone now. And she needed—not wanted but
needed
—to be with him. “I'll go, but I'm not taking Lena.”

“Damn right you're not,” Lena seconded, and scowled at Tony.

Tony slid a hand around Charlie's arm. “Can I talk to you for just a second?” he asked.

Michael's face revealed precisely nothing as he said, “I'll be at the car,” and walked away with the trooper while Tony pulled Charlie aside.

“Hughes,” Tony said, quietly enough so that only she could hear. He didn't have to say anything else: she knew what he meant.

“He had plenty of time to murder me while we were stuck on that ledge if he was going to do it. I think I'll survive a car ride with him with a state trooper as an escort.” Charlie's reply was equally quiet, and also a little tart. “And he'll know you and Buzz and Lena and the state trooper and no telling who else know he's with me, so I'm betting I'm safe.”

Tony frowned. “I'd feel better if Kaminsky went with you.”

“Lena wouldn't. Neither would I.” Charlie squared her shoulders. She was so tired it was hard to think straight. “This is my decision, Tony, and I'm making it.”

His jaw hardened. Then he said, “You're right, it is your decision. I'll walk you to the car.” His tone was cooler and more formal than it had been previously.

“Thank you,” she said. Then, as they started walking, Charlie flicked a sideways look at him and sighed. “You know I appreciate your concern.”

His jaw was still set. “But you don't want it.”

“It's not that I don't want it, it's that I don't need it. Right now, for this. I'll make it back to Big Stone Gap in one piece, I promise.” She flicked another look at him. “But I am so, so grateful that you grabbed Lena and Buzz and came here. I know you did it for me. You're a really good friend, and I appreciate it.”

They were outside now, walking through the dark. The police cruiser waited a few yards away, its lights on, its motor running. Charlie couldn't see who was inside, but she assumed it was Michael and the driver.

Tony stopped her with a hand on her arm. She looked up at him.

“Just so we're clear, I don't want to be your really good friend,” he said, and kissed her.

The kiss was quick. Hot on Tony's part, not on hers. Charlie had no idea if it was visible to the occupant of the cruiser's rear seat. The thought that Michael might be watching Tony kiss her made Charlie's pulse give a nervous flutter. Tony lifted his head before she could react in any significant way, leaving Charlie to blink up at him.

“Don't say anything,” Tony said, drawing her toward the front passenger door of the cruiser, which he opened for her. “Not right now. Think about it.”

Charlie's lips parted to say something along the lines of
I don't need to think about it,
but then she closed them again. There wasn't enough privacy, or enough time, to have the conversation they needed to have.

The cruiser had a metal grid between the front and rear seats that was designed to protect the officers in the front from prisoners in the back. As she slid into the front passenger seat, Charlie shot a look through the grid at Michael, who was indeed in the back. His face was impossible to read in the brief flash of light she got from the open door. His body language was equally opaque.

But there was something in the air—she thought he'd seen.

Tony leaned across her to tell Plank, “Walk Dr. Stone to her door and make sure she gets inside safely.”

Plank nodded and said, “I'll do that.”

What was it with all these alpha males? Because clearly that was the type that was attracted to her, and to whom she was attracted. More fodder for her next session of self-analysis, if ever she succumbed to one, Charlie thought. She didn't get a chance to respond to that high-handed and totally unnecessary instruction to the driver before Tony said, “I'll talk to you tomorrow,” and shut the door. A moment later the cruiser pulled away.

As they exited the cordoned-off area, Charlie was startled to discover that the media was out in force: satellite trucks crowded the road beyond the barricade, and the bright lights of camera crews made it look like a movie premiere was in progress. Charlie suspected that only direct orders from some high-level authority in combination with the thickening fog kept news helicopters from strafing the mountain. On second thought, though, she wasn't surprised: of course the kidnapping of a school bus full of people including eight teenagers by convicted murderers escaping from one of the most secure prisons in the country would be a lead story on every TV channel in existence.

Vehicles must have been entering and exiting the protected zone fairly steadily, and word must not have leaked that two of the rescued hostages were in the state police car driving sedately through their midst, because they weren't bothered as they nosed through the circus and escaped into the dark.

After a few desultory attempts at conversation directed at Michael, who basically grunted in response, and a few polite remarks aimed at Plank, whose equally polite replies soon left them both at a dead end, Charlie gave up on the whole talking thing and lapsed into silence. The next thing she knew the cruiser was crunching over gravel, and she sat up to find that they were pulling up the driveway to her house. It was dark, not a light on anywhere. Except for the fuzzy glow of a couple of porch lights down the block, the entire street was dark.

Blinking, she realized that she'd fallen asleep and had slept the whole way home. A glance at the dashboard clock told her that it was after one a.m. The nap had helped: physically at least, she felt better.

“I'll walk from here,” Michael said as the cruiser stopped. Charlie slewed around to frown at him through the grid. She could see no more of him than a dark shape. “The place where I'm staying isn't far.”

“Where are you staying?” Impossible to keep the surprise out of her voice, because of course Michael was staying with her.

“The Pioneer Inn.”

It was a small place on the edge of the town square. Trying to figure out how he was even aware of its existence, much less where it was, she was flummoxed. As far as she knew, he'd never been there.

“You're staying at the Pioneer Inn?” Okay, she had to quit talking. She was sounding way too interested in his plans, given their audience.

By way of an answer, Michael silently held up what, when she squinted at it, she perceived to be a plastic key card. Then she got it. Of course
Hughes
was staying at the Pioneer Inn. He must have found the key card in his pocket. But—

“I'll be glad to give you a ride as soon as I see Dr. Stone to her door,” Plank replied, getting out. By the interior light that flashed on as the door opened, Charlie met Michael's eyes.

“You aren't really—” There was a touch of panic in her voice at the idea that he was going somewhere else. The door closed, and the visual she had on him was largely lost as he was swallowed up once again by shadows.

“I'll be back in ten minutes,” he said. “You barely know me, remember? I can't just go inside with you. Word got back to Dudley Do-Right back there, he'd drop dead.”

From the tone of that, she knew Michael had indeed seen the kiss.

She sighed.

Plank opened the door for Michael, who got out. By the time Plank reached her door, Michael was walking away into the night. Having lost her purse, along with her cell phone and keys, Charlie was only glad she had a means of letting herself into her house. Plank escorted her to her front porch and followed her up the shallow steps. Except for the creak of the wood beneath their feet and the brief, distant tinkling of a neighbor's wind chimes, everything was quiet. Hers was the kind of street where even on the weekends people were in bed by one a.m.