Gone Too Deep (22 page)

An odd noise made her raise her head. “What's that sound?”

Baxter listened intently for a moment, and then met Ellie's eyes. A huge grin spread over his face. “That's a helicopter.”

After a shocked moment, she returned his smile with interest. “George.”

Her dad gave a happy laugh. “George.”

With relieved excitement bubbling through her, it was hard not to abandon all caution and hurl herself down the trail to the remains of the cabin. Ellie had to keep reminding herself that Anderson was still out there, and the helicopters were still just tiny dots in the sky. They weren't safe yet.

As she cautiously followed her dad out of the cave, Ellie let out a long breath. She felt like she'd held it the entire time she'd been stuck in that dark hole. It had kept them safe, but she'd hated every second.

Baxter was serious and watchful as they emerged, his gaze constantly moving. In her excitement over help arriving, she'd forgotten the treacherous journey the night before. The narrow trail was both easier and scarier in daylight—although she was more confident about where to put her feet, Ellie could see exactly how far she'd fall if she took a wrong step. Descending the nearly vertical rock face was even scarier, although it helped to have Baxter standing at the base beneath her, quietly calling where to reach for hand- and footholds.

By the time the trail widened and headed downhill toward the blackened shell of the cabin, she was sweating and dizzy from nerves. The last part of their route was the worst. As the trees gave way to an open stretch behind the cabin's remains, Ellie felt exposed and vulnerable. It was too easy to imagine Anderson watching them from one of the many concealed hiding places, waiting for his chance to take out both her and her dad.

The two helicopters were louder now, although they were still quite a distance away. As Ellie and Baxter circled around to what had been the front of the cabin, she saw a dark shape on the ground. Ellie's worries about their safety were temporarily forgotten as what she'd done hit her like a kick to the belly. Her boots felt weighted, but she forced them to step forward, one at a time, until she stood by the side of the man she'd killed. Darkly stained snow surrounded his body, as he'd been far enough away from the cabin that the heat hadn't melted the snow.

His eyes were fixed and cloudy, staring into the distance. There were two holes in the front of his coat.

“Center mass,” she murmured, and then jumped when Baxter spoke behind her.

“Good shooting, baby girl. I…I would've ran right into a storm of bullets if you hadn't pulled me to the side.”

“Was it good shooting if someone's dead?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in her dad's voice. “You get to go home, baby girl. That's definitely good.”

As she looked at the person she'd destroyed, it didn't seem like a good thing. They stood there a long time, until the helicopters were almost overhead.

In the clear light of morning, she eyed the dead man's stained jacket. “Why is his blood orange?”

“It's frozen. That's the color it turns when blood freezes.”

She allowed her dad to tug her away from her victim. “I think I would've been fine never knowing that blood turns orange in the cold.”

Baxter's mouth grew grim, and he kept his gaze on the helicopters above them. “And I would've given a lot for you to have never known.”

It wasn't George—not on either of the two helicopters—but he'd sent them. Four men wearing tan sheriff's department uniforms and carrying guns piled out of the first one as soon as it touched down. Once they'd disarmed Baxter, gotten the condensed version of what had happened, and secured the scene, the Flight for Life helicopter was finally allowed to land.

Baxter and Ellie were quickly checked by the two EMTs and then bundled on board the Flight for Life helicopter. Although George had wanted to come, according to Grace—the chattier of the medics—there wasn't room with the pilot, both EMTs, Ellie, and Baxter. As it was, it was a tight squeeze.

“With that mess of a crime scene, though, there'll be more law-enforcement people coming in on sleds,” Grace said.

Ellie frowned. “Sleds?” That seemed like a slow way to travel. Maybe Grace had meant dog sleds.

“Snowmobiles,” she clarified, and Ellie felt silly for picturing a team of crime scene investigators on toboggans.

She and Baxter were flown to a Denver hospital. Although she had bumps, extensive bruises, and was mildly dehydrated, the doctors didn't find any reason for her to stay overnight. Baxter, however, had firmly locked himself in his own head during the helicopter ride, and he'd been placed on a psych hold.

Ellie was talking with the on-call psychiatrist about possible in-patient treatment facilities in the area for her dad when a young, freckle-faced nurse approached and hovered next to them expectantly.

“Did you need something, Phoebe?” the psychiatrist, Dr. Kruger, asked, turning to the nurse. She blushed, the pink blending her freckles together.

“Ms. Price?” she asked. “There's a very…tall gentleman looking for you.”

Now Ellie was blushing, too. “Could you tell him I'll be right there?”

Wide-eyed, the nurse hurried away, and Ellie turned back to Dr. Kruger. “So, you think the place in Armstrong would probably be the best, then?”

He looked amused. “Boyfriend?”

“Um…no.”

“But you want him to be your boyfriend.”

“No…maybe. I've only known him for a week—less than that, even!” She was flustered. How had they gone from talking about having her father committed to discussing her unlikely relationship with her mountain-man guide?

“Sometimes it doesn't take long before you just know,” the psychiatrist said. “Trust your gut.”

Ellie eyed him. “Is that your professional advice?”

Chuckling, he looked like someone's sweet grandpa who'd carry around toffee in his pockets to pass out to neighbor children. “No. That's my no-charge advice. And I think the Armstrong facility would be a good fit for your father. Now go let your not-boyfriend know you're okay. We'll finish our talk later.” With an avuncular pat on the shoulder, he walked away, leaving her staring after him. Weren't doctors supposed to be impatient and rushed? Dr. Kruger was more of a fairy-godfather type.

Shaking off her whimsical thoughts, she hurried toward the waiting area and her extra-tall visitor. Once she saw him, leaning against a square support pillar, Ellie stopped. In the large open spaces of the mountains, he'd seemed big, but here, in an enclosed area, he was enormous. The freckled nurse noticed Ellie and tilted her head toward George, as if Ellie could have missed the Paul Bunyan look-alike. She gave the nurse a grateful smile anyway and walked over to her former guide. He saw her approaching and pushed away from his leaning post, straightening to an even greater height.

Although she was dying to hug him, she made herself stop a few feet away and just grin like a fool…a sleep-deprived fool. “Hi.”

The corners of his mouth drew upward, his own version of a goofy smile, and she lost control over her body. Rushing the couple of steps forward, she wrapped her arms around his middle. He remained rigid in her hold for a few seconds, and then unbent enough to awkwardly return the hug. His pat on her back was vigorous enough to make her grunt.

Pulling back just enough so she could look up at his face, she asked, “Are you okay?” Ellie noticed he was no longer wearing her lavender hat, and a fresh dressing covered his head wound. It looked much more professionally done than her field bandaging hack job.

He shrugged. “You?” The backs of his fingers brushed over her cheek, and she leaned into his touch.

“A few bruises, but nothing to keep me here.” Her eyebrows drew together as her smile faded. “Baxter, though…he lost it in the helicopter. They're holding him here tonight, and then he's going to a psychiatric hospital in Armstrong, forty minutes or so north of Denver.”

“That's good.”

“It is.” With a nod, she said with more conviction, “It really is. I wish he was going to be closer to me, but the doctor didn't advise dragging him all the way to Chicago. If Dad can stay on his meds, I think that'll help him separate reality from the demons in his head.” Leaning forward, she let her cheek find George's chest again. “He really was in danger. I thought the bad guys were all just a creation of his confused brain, but they'd been sent by someone, the guy who'd killed his friend, Willard Gray. I heard Anderson admit that the murderer had told Anderson and Wilson”—the second name caught in her throat as she pictured his staring eyes and frozen, orange blood—“that my dad had witnessed some kind of sale. I'm guessing it was a drug deal. Dad won't tell me who he thinks the killer is, though. I think he's trying to protect me.”

George's hand cupped the back of her head, and Ellie closed her eyes. She was pretty sure that, as tired as she was, she was perfectly capable of falling asleep, standing or not. She'd managed to doze while sitting upright on a truly uncomfortable rock, after all.

“How'd you get here?” she asked, fighting sleepiness by prying open her eyelids.

“Drove your car.”

That woke her, and she pulled her head back again so she could stare at him. “My rental?”

At his nod, she started laughing, trying to imagine George's three-hour trip to Denver, folded up in the driver's seat of the tiny car. “Why?”

“Knew you'd need to return it.”

The utter sweetness of him, that he'd squash himself into the compact rental for hours to save her some hassle, made her stop laughing and tear up again. Blinking hard, she asked, “Do you have a ride back?”

That time, his shrug accompanied a shake of his head.

“Want to stay with me? I was going to get a hotel room.” When she heard how her offer sounded, her face flushed with heat. “I mean, I'm too tired to drive right now, but I could give you a ride back tomorrow.”

After eyeing her for a few seconds, he shrugged affirmatively.

“Good. Great.” Anticipation started to bubble in her stomach. “If you have time, we maybe could do the tourist thing in the morning. Since I need to get Dad settled at Armstrong, I'll be staying here a couple of days. I've never been to Denver before, so I'd love to explore the city.”

Despite the flare of panic in his eyes, his grunt sounded like a yes, and she hopped in excitement. “Awesome. We're going to have so much fun.”

A male voice interrupted her tour-guide planning. “Eleanor Price?”

Turning, she saw a handsome man in a sheriff's department uniform. “Yes?”

“I'm Sheriff Rob Coughlin from the Field County Sheriff's Department, and I need to talk to you about what happened at the Blue Hook cabin site.”

Leaning her shoulder into George's chest, she took comfort in his heat and strength.

“Mind if we talk over here?” Although the sheriff's voice held command, he softened it with a slight smile. “Excuse us, George.”

With a glance at George, wishing she could stay leaning on him instead of talking to an intimidatingly good-looking lawman, Ellie followed Coughlin toward the empty corner of the waiting room. As she settled into a chair, she looked toward George again. He was watching them with an unhappy expression.

After the sheriff took down all of her personal information, he asked, “Why don't you tell me what happened?” Once again, it was a gently given order.

She took a deep breath, using the few moments it took to organize her thoughts. “I got a call from my dad last Saturday evening—”

“Your dad is Baxter Price, correct?” he interrupted, scribbling notes onto a small pad of paper.

“Yes. He was talking about having to hide from someone, saying that people had been sent to kill him, so he was heading to Grandpa's cabin. I thought he was just delusional and paranoid, but I was worried about him wandering around in the mountains in his compromised mental state.”

The sheriff looked up from his notebook. “Delusions and paranoia. He has a history of mental illness, then?”

“Yes. Ever since I can remember. He brought me to that cabin seventeen years ago and barricaded both of us inside.”

A spark of recognition lit his gaze, but she didn't know if that was from personal experience or just hearing the story from others who had been there. He didn't clarify which one it was, but instead continued his line of questioning. “Has he been diagnosed?”

“Not that I know.” If she had her way, though, that was about to change. “He'll be going to the Armstrong Psychiatric Hospital tomorrow, though.”

“Tomorrow?” He tapped his pen against the notebook. “I'll need to talk to him today, then, to get his statement.”

Wrinkling her nose, she said regretfully, “You won't get much out of him. He's not responding to anyone right now.”

“If not, I'll deal with it. Back to your statement. What happened once you received your father's call?”

It took a long time to get through her retelling of her time in the mountains. The sheriff interrupted frequently to clarify a point or ask for additional details.

“What time was it when King threw the explosive device into the cabin?” he asked.

In her exhausted state, the name confused her for a moment before she made the connection. “That's right. Dad had said his name was Anderson King.”

“Yes. Anderson Heathrow King.”

She blinked. “That's a mouthful. George said they're drug dealers?”

“Yes. King and his brother, Wilson Jerome King, are—or were, in Wilson's case”—Ellie flinched—“local methamphetamine dealers. I've had quite a few encounters with both of them.”

“They thought Dad witnessed a drug deal.”

His gaze was piercing. “What?”

“When Anderson was holding the gun on Dad, he said something about my father witnessing a sale.”

The sheriff looked thoughtful. “That would explain why the King brothers were trying to kill him.”

“He—Dad—said he never saw anything, though.”

Coughlin's gaze softened. “Baxter probably has a hard time remembering what he did and did not see,” he said gently.

“Maybe.” When she ran through the memory in her mind, though, her father had seemed so
certain
that he was being set up. “Dad kept talking about the person who killed Willard Gray sending Anderson and Wilson after him.”

The sheriff leaned forward, interest bright in his eyes. “Did Baxter tell you the name of this person?”

“No. Sorry.”

“Did he say anything that might help us identify a suspect in the Gray case? Anything at all? Even the smallest detail, no matter how trivial, might be important.”

Sheriff Coughlin was so serious and intent, Ellie felt a surge of disappointment that she couldn't help him, especially since Willard had been her father's friend. Renewed determination to find out whom her father suspected the killer was surged through her. Once he was on his meds, Baxter would hopefully be more lucid. In the meantime, though, she had nothing of value to offer the sheriff. Holding up her hands in an I've-got-nothing gesture, she watched as disappointment dimmed his look of sharp interest.

Shifting back in his seat, the sheriff asked, “If Baxter isn't able to talk to me today, would you be willing to try talking to him?”

She shook her head. “Sorry. When he gets locked in his head like this, he doesn't communicate with anyone.”

He accepted that calmly. “I'll visit him when he's been at Armstrong for a few days, then, and let him get his mind straight first. So, what time was it when Anderson King threw the explosive device into the cabin?”

* * *

They'd gone over her statement twice when a bottle of water appeared in front of her face.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully, accepting the bottle from George. Uncapping it and taking a few swallows, she realized just how dry her throat had gotten during the interview. George shifted closer to her chair, sending the sheriff a look.

Coughlin raised an eyebrow and then stood. “I think that's good for today. George, you drove Ellie's car here, right?” At George's nod, he continued. “Good. After I see Baxter, I'll give you a ride back to Simpson, and I can get your statement on the way.”

Disappointment rushed through Ellie. The sheriff was ruining her plan to keep George close. “But”—she frantically racked her brain for a reason why that wouldn't work—“how can you take notes and drive at the same time?”

Apparently unaware that he was being a plan wrecker, the sheriff smiled. “That's what makes digital recorders so great. Well, one of the reasons.” He gestured toward a black device on his duty belt before turning to George. “I'll be right back. This probably won't take long.”

Although he didn't look happy, George lowered his chin in a nod.

“Can I be there with him?” Ellie asked as the sheriff started to turn away from her. “While you talk to him?” Even though she knew Baxter wouldn't answer any of Coughlin's questions—probably wouldn't even hear them—she felt uncomfortable just leaving him alone to be interrogated.

As expected, the sheriff shook his head. “Sorry. I need to get all the witnesses' statements individually. It's too easy for someone else's version to affect your memory of what happened.”