Unearthed (39 page)

“Got something,” he said, his jaw moving tightly as he stood there, rolling back and forth on his toes. “I can feel … something—it’s—it’s—”

“Spit it out,” Alison said, and she reeked of impatience. “My brain’s been scrambled like an egg, and I could have come out with it faster than you.”

“It’s Hendricks,” Duncan said, his eyes alight. “I can feel him, just outside of town. We need to go. Right now.” Arch just stared at Alison, through that gentle, chiding look in her eyes that said he should listen, until it all clicked inside and he bolted for the door.

“What did Arch have to say for himself?” Reeve asked as he re-entered the bullpen area. He saw Erin still working, hunched over, back to him. The girl had a thin frame, itty bitty shoulders, wasn’t very tall, and she looked even more compact when she was bowed over like that. She barely turned to acknowledge when she heard him, jerking slightly like he’d surprised her.

“Huh?” Erin asked, just a little slow, like she was thinking it over. “What?”

Reeve frowned at her. That reaction felt a hair off to him. “Arch. I sent him in here when I turned him loose. You talked to him, didn’t you?”

“Only for a minute or so,” Erin said.

Reeve surveyed the room quietly, trying not to look right at her, feel like his eyes were bringing pressure onto her. Truth was, he’d been avoiding asking rough questions with Erin the last few weeks. He didn’t have a lot of manpower left at his disposal, after all, and she’d damned near died on that mountaintop just before Arch had flown the coop. Reeve knew she was in somehow with the cowboy, which meant she was tangled up with Arch in some way, but he’d watched her some since her return and was fairly satisfied that she wasn’t in contact with them.

She still seemed damned cagey here, though, which didn’t exactly make him happy since he’d granted her miles worth of benefit of the doubt. “What did you talk about?” Reeve asked, trying to keep it light.

“Not much,” she said, and turned her head back to her desk. “That you didn’t have enough to hold him on.”

“What’d you say?” Reeve asked, feeling like he was pulling teeth just to get this much from her.

“That I was sure he was hiding stuff,” Erin said, a little too breezy, a little too quick. “That he was gonna trip up sooner or later, and my bet was on sooner.” She didn’t even look up at him as she spoke.

“What do you think he’s hiding?” Reeve asked. He came up beside her, leaned on the desk across the aisle from her. She still didn’t look up, just kept running that pen over her paperwork, checking boxes and writing things down. Like that couldn’t wait. It was the number one sign she was lying; on any other day, she’d take any excuse to pause and chew the fat rather than fill out a report.

“Hard to say.” She just kept her head down.

“What about the cowboy?” Reeve kept his gaze locked on her, gathering the evidence of his eyes.

This time she stiffened, and he knew something was up. “I don’t think he’s in the picture anymore.” She even sounded different, her voice almost a croak. “Probably left town.”

“Heat was too much for him?” Reeve asked, playing along. This was not the fun part for Reeve, playing lie detector. He preferred to use that particular skill on detainees and suspects rather than on his own deputies, but this was getting ri-goddamned-diculous. Was there anyone left in the department who wasn’t lying to him? Probably Fries, he conceded. The man was not that bright.

“You know how it is,” Erin said with a shrug. “Something minor like this comes along, a drifter like Hendricks heads for cover. I doubt we’ll see him again.” That came out almost like it was burning her gullet to say it, like she was having to pry the words out from where they were sticking in her throat.

“Hmm,” Reeve said, trying to sound incredibly neutral about the whole thing. He didn’t want to give anything away to her now that he knew she was lying. “Well, let me know if you remember anything else.” He pushed off the desk. “Deivrel was right; we don’t have enough on Arch to make anything stick—yet. But the nice thing about him hanging around and continuing to do stuff like he did at the plantation tonight? It tells me he’s still in deep on whatever’s going on, which means—”

“You’ll get another shot at him soon,” Erin said, finally looking up at him. The girl was a piss poor actress. It was written all over her face that she didn’t think this was a good thing.

“Like any other criminal,” Reeve agreed, giving her a faint smile as cover. “They just keep giving us chance after chance.” And he headed back to his office, trying to figure out the best way to proceed now that he’d just figured out there was another loose leg on his table. Shit kept going this way and everything would come crashing down before too much longer.

Lauren had said, “If he’s still alive, you’ll need a doctor,” her words echoing out in the still of the early morning, and no one had argued. She’d taken that as her cue to go with them, getting in the back seat of the car with Arch Stan and the guy—or whatever—named Duncan. She’d caught a wounded puppy dog look from Dave Belzer as the car had practically thrown dirt as it shot out from behind the barn. She’d barely gotten her seatbelt on in time to keep from getting thrown around.

They’d bumped along backcountry roads for about twenty minutes before Duncan had slowed them down. He handled the car all jerky, like he wasn’t used to driving, like he was a grandma who hadn’t done it in a long while. He had a far-off look that said his mind was somewhere else at least part of the time, and Lauren didn’t dare to open her mouth to ask where. No one had spoken on this little jaunt, which was kind of eerie. Not that she was complaining, because she didn’t really want to talk to Arch and she had abso-fucking-lutely no idea what to say to Duncan.

Instead she sat there, watching the first strains of sunrise peeping through the gaps at the top of the trees to her left. Yellow-tinged sky lay beyond the interlaced boughs, flaming daybreak just beyond the woods. She looked at the road before them, a narrow-cut path in the trees with little margin between the ends of the asphalt and the start of the forest. It might have been an inspiring sight at any other time. Right now, though, it just gave her a sense of foreboding.

Arch had a sword across his lap, the point angled between his knees. Duncan stole a glance at him. “That’s Hendricks’s.”

“Sheriff took mine,” Arch said. “I didn’t get it back when I checked out of jail, either.”

“Think it’s evidence?” Duncan asked.

“Maybe,” Arch said. “I didn’t ask. Didn’t even think about it.”

The car started to slow. Lauren looked around, scanning the tree line around them. “Is this …” she began, sensing the heavy atmosphere in the vehicle, “… is this a trap?”

“Seems likely,” Duncan said tautly. “Doubt the duchess would just let him loose. Either a trap or …” he hesitated, “… we’re about to find a corpse.”

Lauren felt her breath stick in her chest. She didn’t know the cowboy all that well, but he’d tried to save Molly. That made him worth saving in her eyes. “What do we do if it’s a trap?”

“Run,” Duncan said. “Before it gets ugly.”

“Shit,” Lauren breathed. “Why did you let me come if you thought it was a trap?”

“Like you said,” Arch was matter-of-fact about it, “if he’s alive, we are going to need a doctor. If he’s not …” There was not much weight to that suggestion, a thing not believed by the speaker, clearly.

“Do you have a—” She blinked, looking futilely around the back seat for something, anything. It was bare. “Can I have a weapon?”

“If you can find one,” Arch said. “Hendricks have the knife on him when he got taken?”

“Nah,” Duncan said and fumbled in his coat, coming out with a shiny piece of metal that he handed back to Lauren. She stared at it for a moment before taking it from his outstretched hand.

It was a knife, she realized a little belatedly. A switchblade. She pushed the little button and it sprang open with a click. She cried out just a little, then figured out how to push it back shut. “What will this do against a demon?”

“Kill ’em,” Arch said. “Blade’s blessed, like the sword. A little pressure and they pop into that dark fire and out of the realm of threatening you.” He turned all the way around and looked at her. “I wouldn’t go poking yourself with it, though.”

She felt the blood drain out of her face. “Why? Will I …?” She made a hand gesture, a kind of loose representation of an explosion.

Arch’s face creased at the brow, a frown of semi-amusement. “No. But it’s a sharp object, so be careful.”

She suppressed the desire to tell him to go fuck himself and instead just clutched the switchblade in hand. “Thanks a lot.”

He turned back around, probably picking up on the undercurrent of irritation from her. The car started to slow. “We here?” Arch asked.

“Close,” Duncan said. “Real close.” He steered the car to the shoulder and threw it into park with a jolt. “Come on.” He threw open the door and got out, already looking around.

Arch followed right after him, but Lauren lingered a moment. When she stepped outside, the cool dawn air washed over her, taking away the sense of stuffiness that had completely swallowed her up in the back seat. She hadn’t even realized how closed in she’d felt, claustrophobic. It had been a dark and pervasive feeling, and now she had the trees around her, no window between them. The dawn’s light was brighter now, rising higher in the sky.

“This way,” Duncan said and started off at a trot. He looked like he was walking but moved like he was jogging, arms and legs chugging at a speed that betrayed him as something other than human. She watched him move and wondered how it was possible, what he was doing.

Arch headed after him at a trot and Lauren followed behind, clutching the switchblade carefully, holding it out from her body a ways. The last thing she needed was to trip while jogging and see that thing deploy as she fell. With her luck, she’d impale herself and bleed out right there in the woods, miles from any medical help other than herself. Wouldn’t that be ironic? She hadn’t exactly lived by the sword, but she’d die by it just the same.

She tried not to go too fast. Duncan sped up an incline and disappeared down the other side. Arch was twenty feet or so ahead of her, each step crunching old leaves and cracking the odd twig. He looked like he was at home in this place, sword at his side and ready for battle.

Was this what it would be like as part of this group? Constantly having to be ready to fight? Always wondering if someone was about to set a trap for you? It was so alien to her, this idea. Carrying a tire iron into the mine up on the mountain had been a huge departure for her, and striking at the demon that had gone after Arch had been … well, even stranger.

Now, a few weeks later, she was carrying a switchblade through the woods and searching for possibly a dead body. Oh, how the times did change.

She crested the rise and looked down. She wasn’t close to winded, exactly, though she had certainly sensed a decline in her cardiac fitness in the last few weeks since she hadn’t been running. She still managed to take easy breaths, though this had been a very short run.

Then she saw Duncan and Arch below, and what they were huddled around, and she lost her breath.

“Make room,” she called out as she came down the slope. She didn’t run, she took her time, watching every step. It wouldn’t do any good if she sprinted down into the ravine and tripped, sending herself into a tumble. Then they’d have two patients to deal with instead of one, and since she was the medical practitioner, they’d be fucked.

Duncan and Arch parted a little for her as she came up to them. What she saw then was the first clear view of her patient, and her first thought was,
Okay, I’ve seen worse
.

But she couldn’t quite remember when, specifically, at least not off the top of her head.

“Dumped his jacket right over him,” Duncan said, pulling a bloodied cloth off the body. When the coat came up it exposed the chest, stripped bare, and her first thought was that it didn’t look too bad there. Some contusions, but not any serious wounds. She worked her way down from there. His jeans looked intact and still on him; they’d need to cut them off for her to assess and be sure, but she saw no signs of trauma along his body.

Then she got to the feet.

“Boots over here,” Arch said, coming up with a pair of cowboy boots that were just sitting off to the side. He picked them up and something rattled inside them. He turned them up and something fell out. A shocked silence filled the air. “Are those …?”

Lauren let her eyes drift to the mangled left foot. “Toes.”

Arch squatted down, scrambling to grab the fallen pieces off the ground. He rustled in the dry leaves as he moved on all fours, trying to find and scoop them up. “Can we …?”

“I don’t know,” Lauren said, moving down to look at the foot. He’d lost three toes on his left foot, and the place where there should have been bloody scars was instead seared and burned, cauterized shut. It was a messy job, but someone had done it. It had probably kept the blood loss low, but trying to reattach them was a job for a surgeon with incredible skills. More incredible than could be found anywhere between here and Atlanta. “I don’t … I don’t think we can fix this.”

“His face is a little messed up,” Duncan said, and Lauren turned back to look for herself. His cheek was swollen, and he had black eyes and a broken nose. A trickle of red oozed out of his left nostril. “Looks like she hammered him for fun.”

Lauren dropped two fingers on his neck to confirm what she’d already suspected. “He’s alive. Pulse is strong. He’s taken a beating, but …” She pushed his eyes open and looked into pupils that stared right back at her, a little sluggish but not at all dilated. “I think he’ll make a recovery in a few weeks. He’s probably going to come around any minute now.”

There was a moment’s silence. “That means a trap, right?” Arch asked from behind her. Lauren had her head down, focused on doing what she could for Hendricks.

“Maybe,” came Duncan’s reply, laced with uncertainty.

Hendricks lurched into semi-consciousness and started gagging. Lauren rolled him, used his natural momentum to turn him when he moved. He had a harsh smell about him, something sulfuric that she couldn’t come close to placing, like a trip to the landfill outside Culver. The smell of his stomach trying to empty wafted up as he retched, barely spitting anything up. The smell harsh but blessedly light, like he’d already thrown up everything he had in him and was down to stomach bile alone at this point.