Under the Dog Star: A Rachel Goddard Mystery #4 (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) (39 page)

Rachel’s throat was so dry she could barely get her words out. “We can’t do anything without more light.”

“Turn on all the lanterns,” Leo said, waving his gun around the room. “There’ll be light enough.”

Rachel and Sullivan moved around the room, switching on lanterns that hung from chains attached to the ceiling. She never turned her back on the dog, and Sullivan was equally careful. Neither of them went near the lantern hanging directly above the animal.

Rachel tried to keep an eye on the dog as she and Sullivan removed Leo’s blood-soaked shirt and peeled off a wad of sodden gauze to expose his wound. Blood dripped from the gauze as Rachel lifted it.

She stared, horrified, at Leo’s abdomen. The ragged hole, six inches across, still oozed blood. Dozens of gunshot pellets studded the muscle tissue. How had he survived this long without treatment?

“Fix it,” Leo said. He breathed in rough gasps, air whistling through his teeth. His grip on the gun never loosened. “Get that birdshot outta my gut and sew me the fuck up.”

This man was going to die, and Rachel didn’t care. All she could think about was Marc
y,
waiting for Rachel to come for her and her brother.
Where are they? What has he done with them?

Jim Sullivan seemed transfixed by the sight of the wound. “Good god, Leo, if we start digging around in there you won’t be able to stand the pain. We have to give you something—”

“The hell you will!”

Leo’s sharp tone brought the dog to its feet, nails scrabbling on the wooden floor, its growl turning to a snarl. Rachel went rigid, her breath caught in her throat.

“You’re not dopin’ me up. You think I’m that stupid?” Leo swiveled his head on the pillow to glare at the agitated dog. “Quiet! Down!”

The dog fell silent and lowered himself to his belly. Rachel breathed again.

Sullivan kept wary eyes on the dog as he spoke to Leo. “We need surgical implements. I’ve got everything we need in my van. I’ll go get—”

“No,” Leo said.

“We can’t do anything for you without the right instruments and supplies.”

“I know you, Sullivan. You wouldn’t think twice about takin’ off. You’d save your own hide, you wouldn’t give a damn about leavin’ her behind to get killed.”

Rachel didn’t want to look at Sullivan. She was afraid to see in his face a confirmation of what Leo had said. She kept her head down and waited.

“But she wouldn’t do that to you,” Leo said, his voice a weak rasp. “Would you?”

Rachel raised her head. Leo’s eyes gleamed with the desperation of a man crazed by pain. Sweat poured off his face. The gun wobbled in his trembling hands. The smallest thing could set him off, make him pull the trigger.

“No,” Rachel said. “I wouldn’t do that to him or anyone else.”

Leo snorted. “A real bleedin’ heart. Always wantin’ to help. Too stupid to live, that’s what I call you.”

“Let me get the supplies and instruments,” Rachel said. “I won’t run, not as long as Dr. Sullivan’s in here with you.”

***

Tom edged closer, using trees for cover. He didn’t see the other deputies yet. He would watch and wait until they found their way to him.

The door of the cabin opened and Rachel emerged.

“What the hell—” Tom realized he’d spoken aloud, and he clamped his mouth shut. What in god’s name was she doing here?

Rachel ran across a carpet of fallen leaves to the van, yanked open the rear door and hoisted herself inside.

He had to get her attention, find out what was happening. Darting from tree to tree, he closed in on the clearing. He could see the cabin’s window, so he had to assume that anybody looking out that window might catch sight of him. He pressed against an oak tree, standing sideways to reduce his visibility, and sneaked a look every few seconds. The van had the Mountainview Animal Hospital name, barely visible through a layer of dirt, on the driver’s door.

What was Rachel doing in the van? Why was she out here, and why was Jim Sullivan with her?

He heard the slap and rustle of her feet hitting dead leaves. Daring exposure, he poked his head out from behind the tree. Rachel struggled to hold onto a cardboard box with one arm while she closed the van’s door.

Tom gave a short, sharp whistle, the whistle he always used to call Billy Bob.

Rachel spun around, scanned the woods, locked eyes with Tom. Her mouth opened, but she made no sound. For a moment she seemed frozen in place. Then she shook her head, a clear warning.

Clutching the box against her chest, she turned and ran back to the cabin. When the door closed behind her, Tom felt as if she’d dropped into an abyss and he was helpless to catch her.

***

Rachel wanted to torture Leo, make him scream, make him beg for mercy, but the rage inside her didn’t direct the movements of her hands. Using forceps she’d retrieved from the van, she picked gunshot pellets out of the gaping wound with the same care she would bring to any procedure. Her gentleness hardly mattered. Without anesthetic, this had to hurt like hell.

Leo’s teeth chattered as he tried to grit them against the pain. Jim Sullivan dabbed the wound with gauze again and again, soaking up the blood so Rachel could see what she was doing. In the corner, the dog growled, a constant menacing background noise.

Rachel was aware of Sullivan glancing repeatedly at the animal, and when she looked up what she saw on his face made her go cold inside. Sullivan might be fearless in handling other aggressive dogs, but he was terrified of this one.

Tom was outside. He wouldn’t be alone. Other deputies must be out there in the woods around the cabin. They might think they could burst in and overpower Leo, but they couldn’t know the dog was in here, ready to attack on Leo’s command.

She pressed the forceps into the muscle to get at a deeply imbedded pellet. Leo cried out.

The dog jumped to his feet and snarled.

“Sorry,” Rachel said, her eyes on the dog. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. That one was hard to get at.”

She waited while he relaxed a little and his breathing returned to a rapid but normal rhythm. The dog, too, relaxed and settled down. Rachel went back to work.

After a couple of minutes, she dared to ask, “Where are Marcy and David? Are they here somewhere?”

“None of your damned business,” Leo choked out. “Keep workin’.”

“I just want to know they’re okay.”

Leo pushed himself up with one arm and leveled the gun at her. “Shut up and keep workin’.”

***

Where the hell were the other guys? What was taking them so long to find him? Tom checked the sky to orient himself, then spoke quietly into his two-way radio. “The camp is on the southeast slope. Repeat, move southeast. I need backup.”

One voice answered, “Roger, Captain.” Brandon.

He couldn’t just stand here behind a tree and wait. He needed to know what was happening in that cabin. Moving sideways, tree to tree, he worked his way into a spot that wouldn’t be visible from the cabin’s single front window. He broke away from his tree cover and sprinted to the side of the cabin. Dropping down, he duck-walked around to the front. He crouched directly under the window and listened for voices from inside.

***

“We have to use clamps,” Sullivan told Rachel, keeping his voice low. But he was watching the dog. The animal moved about restlessly in its corner, as if waiting for Leo’s command to release him from an invisible cage. “We can’t close this with sutures.”

“Stop whisperin’,” Leo said. “I know you’re plottin’ against me. You can just forget about your little plans. You cross me and you’ll end up like Hall and Rasey.”

“We’re just trying to decide how to close the wound,” Rachel said. “It’s going to hurt, no matter what we do.”

“Just get on with it!” he bellowed.

The dog snarled and took a couple of steps toward them.

“Please don’t shout,” Rachel pleaded. “Try to stay quiet.”
You’re upsetting your dog,
she almost said, and she had a wild urge to laugh at the innocuous sound of it.

“Stop yappin’ and do your goddamn job!” Leo pointed his pistol at the ceiling and fired.

Rachel cried out and stumbled backward into Sullivan.

The door banged open and Tom charged in.

The dog lunged. It slammed into Tom’s side and knocked him to the floor. His gun flew out of his hands.

“Leo, stop the dog!” Rachel screamed. “Call him off!”

Leo’s answer was a cackling laugh.

Tom rolled on the floor, the dog on top of him and tearing at his jacket.

Rachel threw herself at the animal, gripped its ears and pulled. The dog ignored her and ripped a sleeve off Tom’s jacket.

Where was Tom’s gun? Rachel searched frantically. There, on the floor against the wall. She dove for it.

“Good boy,” Leo called to the dog. “Good boy.”

Rachel focused on Tom’s gun and was barely aware of Sullivan struggling with Leo. She heard Leo cry out in pain. The blast of another gunshot filled the room.

“Rachel!” Tom cried. He’d pulled his body into a tight knot, one arm over his head. The other reached toward Rachel.

She scrambled toward him on her knees, the gun in one hand. Could she shoot the dog? Could she do it without hitting Tom?

“Give it to me,” Tom yelled. “Rachel, give me the gun!”

She pressed it into his hand.

The dog sank its teeth into Tom’s other arm. Tom raised the pistol and shot the animal between the eyes.

The next few seconds passed in a blur of movement. The dog dropped to the floor. Tom rolled onto his knees and pushed himself to his feet. All Rachel saw as she jumped up was Tom’s torn and bleeding arm.

Tom turned the gun on Leo. Only then did Rachel realize Leo could have shot them both, still might shoot them—if he had his gun. But the pistol was in Jim Sullivan’s hand now, and he held it out to Tom.

Leo moaned. He lay on the cot, a hand to his shoulder, blood from a fresh wound seeping through his fingers.

“Jim,” Rachel said, “did you—”

“It was him or me,” Sullivan said. His face had drained of color and he looked stunned, unbelieving. “Him or me.”

“You did good,” Tom gasped.

“Tom, you need a doctor,” Rachel said. “You have to get to the hospital. But we need to find Marcy and David—”

“Marcy and David? What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t the dispatcher—She must not have—Leo took Marcy and David, he brought them up here, at least we thought he did.”

“They’ve got to be here somewhere,” Sullivan said. He rubbed at his eyes as if trying to wake himself from a daze.

In three strides, Tom crossed the room to Leo. “Where are those kids?”

Leo laughed, a ragged noise filled with contempt and anger and pain.

Tom brought a knee down on Leo’s open wound. Leo screamed. “Answer me, you goddamned piece of shit. Where are they?”

“Out back—dog shed—Get off me, get off me!”

Rachel raced out the door. Deputies were running out of the woods from every direction. “Help Tom!” she yelled, but she didn’t slow down.

The sheet metal shed stood at the edge of the clearing. Rachel wrenched open the door and saw only darkness inside. She heard the rustle of animals moving about. “Marcy! It’s Dr. Goddard. Are you in there?”

A muffled cry answered her.

Suddenly Brandon was beside Rachel, switching on a flashlight. “Hold on, let’s check it out before we go in.”

When Brandon shone the light into the shed, Rachel leaned forward along with him to see what they were facing. Cages lined the walls. A few were empty. Pit bulls stared back from others.

The muffled cry came again, and another joined it.

Rachel and Brandon rushed inside and fell to their knees in front of two cages that held Marcy and David. Bound and gagged, scared out of their wits, but alive.

***

The Blackwood twins entered the cabin with weapons drawn.

“Everything’s under control.” Tom tried to ignore the searing pain in his arm, the blood flowing from his wounds. “Get this son of a bitch on his feet.”

Leo moaned and swore as Kevin and Keith hauled him upright.

“You’re under arrest for the murders of Gordon Hall and—”

“He deserved it!” Leo yelled. “That son of a bitch killed my sister so he could get her kids for his wife.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Tom said.

Leo looked up at Tom with fevered eyes. “The great Dr. Hall murdered my sister, right there in his damned hospital.”

“Yeah, sure, Leo. So you sold the kids to him, then waited nine years to kill him?”

Leo gave his hideous laugh again. “You think you’re so damned smart. You don’t know the half of it yet. You don’t know who paid me to get rid of Hall.”

Chapter Forty-one

The sound of Tom’s footsteps on the tile floor echoed in his ears, loud and intrusive, as he walked down the hushed corridor of the intensive care unit. His wounded left arm throbbed in time to his footfalls. In the glass-walled rooms he passed, patients lay quietly dying or struggling to hang onto life, with tubes measuring out nourishment and pain relief and monitors tracking every faltering heartbeat. At the far end of the corridor Vicky Hall was fighting her own battle.