Thread of Fear (28 page)

“I think he’s alive.” Jack trained his weapon on the gunman and approached warily. Sure enough, one of the arms moved, like he was reaching for something.

With lightning speed, Carlos had him rolled on his stomach with his hands cuffed. Blood was pouring from the man’s right leg.

Jack hurdled the guy and rushed to the SUV.

It was empty except for a pissed-off Rottweiler. Someone had leashed it to the door handle, probably to keep it from ruining the stealth attack.

“Fiona!” Jack ran in front of the wreck and glanced around frantically. The vehicle’s high beams made a surreal white landscape of weeds and rocks and fence posts, but Fiona was nowhere. Where could she be? She must have fled right after impact.

Just before bullets had started flying.

“Fiona!”
Desperate, he turned around in circles. Maybe she was hiding. Maybe she’d run the other way.

And then he spotted her. A dark heap at the bottom of the ditch.

He sprinted over and dropped to his knees. She lay on her side in the leaves and muck. “Fiona? Oh, Jesus.” Her eyelids fluttered, then closed. He turned back toward Carlos.
“We need an ambulance!”

Gently, he rolled her onto her back. Her hair was sticky and warm. “Fiona? Can you hear me?” He ran his hands over her face, her head, her neck, searching for the source of all the blood. It seemed to be gushing from a spot near her ear. “Honey, stay with me.”

Jack ripped off his bloodied shirt and wadded it into a ball. He pressed it against her head as a stream of incoherent words spilled out of him. He didn’t know what he was saying, only that he was pleading with her and willing her to hear him.

“Fiona, hold on.”

Her eyes opened then, and Jack’s heart lurched. She murmured something.

“What?” He leaned closer.

“I’m…scared.”

“It’s okay. Help’s coming.” Sirens wailed faintly in the distance, but they never seemed to get close.

God, her full, beautiful lips were gray. Her eyes were wide with shock.

“Stay with me, now.” He picked up her hand and pressed it flat against his chest. “Help’s coming, okay? Just hold on.”

S
helby Sherwood was hungry.

And not the small, quiet hungry, like when you went to bed without dinner. This hungry was fierce, like an animal with teeth and claws wrestling her insides.

She took another two steps and sank down beside a broken log. She felt dizzy. She tipped her head back and stared up at the pine trees, high as skyscrapers, and wished for something to eat.

An extra-cheese pizza from Dino’s. She’d eat it straight out of the box and wouldn’t share a single piece with Colter.

Well, maybe one.

A new pain twisted her stomach, and the thing she’d been trying to forget about for days and nights and weeks popped back into her head.

I want to go home.

But she didn’t know where home was. She only knew it wasn’t here.

She looked up at the sunbeams coming down through the branches. The beams were white and thick, and made her think about God. She’d been thinking about God a lot lately and wondering if her dad was with Him up in heaven right now, looking down at her.

She’d heard her grandma talking once, saying her dad was a sinner because he drank too much and never went to church. Her mom had argued, but Shelby knew her grandma was right—at least about the drinking and the church part.

But Shelby thought maybe God was different from that. Maybe He understood about the bad things, like her dad’s drinking, and the way she sometimes lied to her mom, and the way she’d sneaked onto the computer when she wasn’t allowed. Shelby knew she’d brought all this on herself, but she hoped maybe God didn’t see it like that.

Shelby closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face. Her cheeks felt cold from the tears she couldn’t quit making, and her stomach started to twist again.

She rubbed the hair away from her face and got up. She had to find food. It had been four days since she’d eaten much of anything, and three days since the man had left, saying he’d be back with hamburgers. He’d stayed gone a long time—longer than ever before—and Shelby had thought she should try to get away from the cabin. He’d nailed the windows shut and locked the door with a key and told her don’t make trouble, or she’d be sorry.

And he’d made her sorry before, so she’d believed him. But when morning came, and he still wasn’t back, she’d decided to try anyhow.

Shelby walked on through the forest now, looking for blackberries or dewberries, like she and Colter used to pick near their grandma’s house. She didn’t want to remember the man anymore. She hated thinking of his ugly hands and his stinky breath in her face. She hated everything about him.

I want to go home.

She pushed the thought away again and kept walking. The ground was soft under her Skechers, and her feet were so numb, she almost didn’t feel the blisters anymore.

The bushes rustled, and she looked along the edges of the path. She’d seen squirrels and chipmunks and even a rabbit, but not a single other person since she’d left the cabin. She didn’t mind. Sleeping alone on the moss and leaves was better than being back there.

Shelby’s legs wobbled, but she kept going. She didn’t want to stop yet, not until she’d found something to eat. Maybe if she listened hard, she’d at least find a stream to drink out of. So she walked and listened. The trees started to thin out, and the ground wasn’t as soft. Something white and lacy up ahead made her stop.

A mayhaw tree. Her grandma had mayhaws. She gathered the berries every year for jelly and cooked them up in her big soup pot. Shelby liked to watch as she poured the red juice into jars that said
Ball
on the sides.

She got close to the tree. It was small, like a midget compared to the big pines. She didn’t see any berries—just flowers—but she grasped the trunk with both hands and started shaking. She shook and shook and the flowers came down like snowflakes.

“What you doing to my tree, child?”

Shelby spun around. At first she didn’t see the woman. Her skinny brown body and her baggy brown clothes blended right in with the tree trunks.

“Fruit don’t come for a while yet. You just shakin’ the flowers loose.”

Shelby stepped back as the woman came close. She squinted down at Shelby from underneath a straw hat.

“You a mess, girl.”

“I was just…” Shelby glanced at the tree. “I was looking for berries.”

The woman worked something around in her mouth. She turned and spit on the ground. She squinted some more and leaned her head to the side. “You hungry?”

Shelby nodded.

“Come on, now.”

She waited a second and then followed the woman down the windy path to a brighter place where all the trees were short. There was a cabin up on blocks with white-flowering mayhaws all around it.

“You set there on the porch.”

Shelby dropped onto the lowest wooden step and rubbed her palms on her jeans. Her hands were dirty. Her face was probably dirty. Her hair hung around her head like string, and she needed a toothbrush.

But then she heard oil spitting, and the smell of bacon made her forget all that. Her mouth started to water. She ran her tongue over the empty place where her tooth had used to be, the one he’d knocked out that first day. She didn’t like thinking about that day, but sometimes she couldn’t help it because her tongue kept touching the empty spot. Her shoulders got tight, and she glanced into the cabin. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe she should run back into the woods.

But her stomach growled again, so she stayed, and the woman came onto the porch with a blue tin plate and cup.

“Careful, now. Coffee’s hot.” She put the cup and plate next to Shelby, and sat down on the highest step.

Shelby looked at the food and wanted to cry. Two pieces of bread, smeared with butter and jelly. Three strips of
bacon. She snatched one up and stuffed the whole thing in her mouth. After a few chews, she picked up the bread.

The woman watched her from under the hat. “That’s the best mayhaw jelly in Sabine Parish. I sell more jars than Miss Mayhaw and Southern Best combined.”

Shelby chewed the bread, feeling bad for hardly even tasting it.

The woman looked out at her yard. “People be saying these is miracle trees. Not supposed to bloom another three weeks yet. And after all that cold, we thought they might not bloom at all. Now here it is February, we got flowers everyplace.”

The woman looked at her a long time, and Shelby tried to slow down, but her mouth seemed to be moving on its own.

“Where your people, girl? You out here alone?”

Shelby looked down. She swallowed. She didn’t know what to say, so she picked up another piece of bacon.

The woman turned to her yard again.

“Miracle trees. Humph!” She made an arc of spit into the dirt. “We make our own miracles round here. Been through droughts and mealybugs, Katrina and Rita. Only thing kept my business going was a generator and a deep freezer and a strong back to haul it all up outta the flood.”

Shelby didn’t like coffee, but her mouth felt dry, so she drank some. It was warm, and the bitterness made her shudder.

“You that Georgia girl.”

Shelby froze.

“People be looking for you. Just yesterday, some FBI man was asking ’bout you down at the gas station. Someone seen the car you was in over at the campground. Whole town’s talking ’bout it.”

She couldn’t breathe. The food made a big, greasy ball in her stomach, and she thought she’d throw up. She glanced at the woods.

The woman reached out and placed a brown hand over hers. “Don’t be scared now.” Her voice was soft. “Ain’t no one gonna hurt you here.”

With her other hand, she pulled a cell phone out of her pocket. It was big and gray like a remote control.

“You got someone to call, baby? I can do it for you if you want.”

She turned Shelby’s palm up and pressed the phone into it. Shelby stared down, and her thumb seemed to remember the numbers. She lifted it to her ear.

The loud beeps made her jump.

“Dial one first, child. You in the piney woods of Louisiana.”

Shelby tried again and waited through the rings. Then came her mother’s voice, and she felt dizzy again.

“Mom, it’s me.” And the tears burst out. “I want to come home.”

Fiona felt heavy, everywhere. She tried to move her arm, and then her leg, but every limb seemed cemented to the ground.

She wasn’t on the ground. She was on something firm, but soft, and her head was slightly higher than the rest. She smelled Band-Aids. She opened her eyes and winced at the glaring light. Suddenly her skull seemed to squeeze, and she moaned.

Her arm lifted, and something warm enveloped her hand. It felt familiar. She remembered that warmth around her hand sometime before. When? It had been just after the bright
lights and the pinpricks and the man with the blue mask.

“You awake?”

She opened her eyes again. This time Jack’s big, dark form blocked the glare from the lamp beside her bed.

But it wasn’t her bed. She darted her gaze around and panicked. She tried to sit up. The bolt of pain was so intense it sucked the breath out of her.

“Lay back.”

“Where…?” She didn’t have enough air to finish the thought. Her throat felt dry.

“You’re in the hospital.” His voice was close. “They got you all taken care of now. You’re going to be fine.”

He squeezed her hand, and the heat of his fingers made her realize how cold the rest of her was.

“I’m cold.”

He dropped her hand for a moment, and she panicked again. But then a thick blanket came up around her shoulders.

“Better?”

She tried to nod, which was a huge mistake. Someone seemed to be whacking her forehead with a mallet. She groaned and closed her eyes.

The commotion increased inside the room. She heard Jack’s voice, and a woman, and then there was another man talking, and she slid back into darkness.

She opened her eyes again, and the room was brighter. Strangely, though, it wasn’t nearly as painful as before. She let her gaze trail around slowly, taking in the pale blue walls, the brown curtains pulled closed, the table littered with coffee cups. On a beige recliner sat a giant red purse.

“Well, well! Look who’s up!” Courtney appeared in her field of vision. She had a smile plastered on her face and black smudges under her eyes.

“Hi.” Fiona’s throat had never felt so dry. “Is there…water?”

“One venti water, coming right up.” She rushed over to the sink and filled a pink plastic cup. “So, you decided to rejoin the world. Guess the drugs wore off, huh? I’ve been lobbying for you, but they’re stingy around here.”

She came back and nudged the straw between Fiona’s lips.

The water tasted wonderful. She wanted a hose.

“Don’t overdo it.” Courtney pulled the cup away much too soon. She was smiling, but Fiona saw the signs of strain. Her hair looked greasy, and she wasn’t even wearing lipstick this morning.

It was morning, wasn’t it? She remembered the room being darker before, and she remembered Jack’s hand.

“Where’s Jack?”

“Hmm, you mean my new favorite person? The man who rescued my sister from a homicidal maniac and plays a mean game of Texas Hold ’Em?” Courtney returned the plastic cup to the table. “I sent him out for sandwiches. He looks like death warmed over. He’s hardly left the hospital in three days.”

Three days. But…

“Apparently having your girlfriend get shot in the
head
and Life Flighted away takes a toll on a guy. Imagine that? I told him it was no biggie, but he’s been kind of edgy about it.”

Fiona let the words sink in. She’d been shot in the head? Was that why her skull felt two sizes too small?

Courtney sat on the bed, taking care not to pull the tube
hooked up to Fiona’s arm. It trailed up to a clear plastic bag filled with some sort of liquid. The drugs that were making her thoughts fuzzy, probably.

She picked up Fiona’s hand with her pale, slender fingers. Her hand was cool and small—not at all like Jack’s—but amazingly comforting.

“God, Fiona.” Her voice quavered. “You scared the
shit
out of me. Don’t do that again, okay? To me
or
Jack. I’ve never seen a man so stricken as when I walked in this place and he was standing there with your blood all over him. And he had his own injury to worry about, but he wouldn’t let anyone near him until he found out about you.”

Fiona’s stomach tightened. “What injury?”

“That psycho shot him in the shoulder. Straight through the muscle, so he was lucky. He says it’s fine, but I’m sure it hurts like a bitch.”

Jack had been shot. And it was
her
fault. She felt a stab of guilt, worse even than her headache, which was excruciating.

“How do you feel?”

Fiona closed her eyes. “Remember your twenty-first birthday? The tequila shooters? It’s that hangover, times ten.” She reached up and hesitantly touched the bandage at her forehead. “What happened, exactly?”

“You want the English version?” Courtney’s voice was steadier now. “Because I can get Dr. McDreamy back here to give it to you in medispeak, but it would just piss you off like it did me.”

A nurse popped her head in and smiled.

“Temperature check,” she said, bustling in to poke and prod Fiona with various instruments.

“Bottom line, you were insanely lucky,” Courtney said. “Bullet grazed your scalp just above your left ear. Eight stitches. You’re having an extremely bad hair day, but it’s not fatal. The real damage came when you tripped and conked yourself out on a rock. You suffered a concussion, but the doctor thinks you’ll be fine by the end of today.” Courtney stood up and stepped aside so the nurse could check the IV. “In other bullshit, you’ve got an ugly purple bruise on your chest, two cut wrists, and a nasty black eye. Jack and I are not amused.”

Courtney crossed her arms and stared down at her. “But if you ask me nicely, I
might
consider helping you out with that haircut. And some makeup, too. You look like crap.”