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“I didn’t stop it. I haven’t stopped any of the killing around here. Done a fair share myself. Now I’ll add you to my list.” He sighed and pressed the barrel to the center of my forehead. “I really do keep a list, you know? It’s long, longer than my beard, longer than your pretty brown hair, longer than Lillian’s was.” He mumbled quick words.
“The mass grave in the woods.” The photo from Lillian’s memory card resurfaced, though this time my body was piled in with the others. No.
“Seen some of my handiwork, eh? I didn’t know you’d ventured over there, but I guess a gal like you gets around.” He cackled and pressed the metal harder into my skull. “Lots of graves in these woods. Lots of señoritas and señors and whoever I can get for cheap.”
I couldn’t follow his words, only the shine of his barrel. “Let me go.”
His finger rested on the trigger. I couldn’t see anything else. Just the cold metal and his dirty index finger flirting with my death.
“They always say that.” He chuckled, then stopped abruptly. “I never do.”
I shoved my elbow into his side with all the strength I had and grabbed for the gun. A deafening shot went off, and my right ear burned and rang. I fought with him, both of us grunting as I tried to wrest the gun away from his bony grip. He shoved me to the ground as we struggled, my hands around his on the butt of the gun. He punched me in the jaw and ripped the gun away from my desperate fingers. It was over. I stared up at him as he leveled the pistol.
Another, quieter shot went off, and warmth sprayed across my face.
“Drop it!” Someone shouted through the constant scream in my ears. More pops, like fireworks going off on the next block.
Something large landed on my chest, knocking the wind out of me and blocking what little vision I had left.
Everything went quiet except the whine in my ears, and I realized this is what dying feels like.
THE SHADOWY WOODS flew by in a rush. I bounced along like a bag of potatoes, lifeless and heavy. It was cold, getting colder, and I couldn’t seem to gather my thoughts. The pain in my head didn’t stop and dimly echoed from other places in my body. And I cried. Not because of the sharp aches like razors across my mind, but because of the man in the grave.
After what I imagined were hours, the jostling stopped. Strong arms lifted me.
“She doesn’t look so good.” A familiar voice. My ears had stopped ringing, but sound only came through in muffled tones.
“Don’t you think I know that?” Another voice, this one laced with worry. Sheriff Crow. “Help me get her into the truck.”
“Yes, sir.” The fuzzy shape moved away. Rory, maybe?
“You’re going to be all right.” The sheriff walked gingerly, cradling me close to him. “Hear me? You’ll be okay.”
I tried to respond, but nothing made it past my swollen lips.
He laid me down, my head slightly elevated. The engine cranked, and faint warmth poured against my left arm.
“We’ve got you, Ms. Vale.” Rory. The back of my head rested on his leg as he pressed down on my forehead. More agony bloomed where he applied pressure, and I tried to swat his hands away as the truck began to move.
“Stay still.” He didn’t move his hand. “I have to stop the bleed. Shh. Please, let me help you.”
I dropped my hands, my fingers prickling as feeling returned. Try a little closer to home. Garrett. Cozied right up. Garrett. I dry-heaved, my body convulsing as everything inside me rebelled at the thought.
Rory leaned over and pressed his forearm across my hips to hold me still. “Sheriff!”
“Keep her steady, goddammit! I’m going as fast as I can.”
“I don’t know if she’s going to…”
Their words faded away as my thoughts circled Garrett like a murder of crows. The man I’d slept with, the one I’d come to love—he was responsible for my father’s death. He’d played me this whole time. But what was he trying to hide? My thoughts scattered until an unwavering determination remained. I would find out. Garrett would answer my questions. And then he would pay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“—ABOUT FIFTEEN HOURS, GIVE or take. I’ve given her something for the pain every two hours. Lessened the dose a little while ago.”
“When do you think the swelling will go down?”
“Days. These injuries are pretty bad, and head wounds take a while to stop swelling and bruising.” A cough. “Do you have any leads on who did it?”
“That’s an ongoing investigation, Doc. Can’t say more.”
Someone squeezed my hand. “You’ll heal, dear. You’ll heal in time.” The hand disappeared. “I’m going to get something to eat, then come keep an eye on her.”
“Sounds good. I’ll sit with her while you’re gone.” Sheriff Crow’s voice grew louder.
I forced my good eye open and blinked several times to clear the film. I lay in bed in a darkened room with a wide window looking out onto woods. The walls and ceilings were made of rough-hewn logs, and the décor was rustic with two sets of antlers on the wall near the door.
“Elise?”
“Yes.” My voice came out in a croak.
“Here.” After a beat, a straw pressed against my lips.
I drank as best I could. Sheriff Crow took the cup away and wiped the water off my chin.
He stared into my good eye. “You had me worried there for a minute, young lady.”
“Makes two of us.” My voice scratched through my throat.
“You’re safe here. I was trying to get you to the hospital, but you sort of had a fit on the way and then lost consciousness. I radioed up to the Lodge, hoping like hell Doc Lewis was here or nearby. We lucked up. He was on his way.” He swiped his
hat off and dropped it on the small wood table next to my IV stand.
“Can you talk, or would you rather wait?” He took my hand, grasping gently.
“Talk.”
“What happened out there?”
“I saw a grave. That day when Garrett was shot.” His name felt like a curse word on my tongue. “I went back out there myself to see if it was…” I swallowed hard.
It was too late now. My secret was out. The sheriff and Rory must have seen the grave, the skull.
I took a deep breath. “To see if it was my father.”
He squinted in confusion. “Why would your father be buried in Blackwood like that?”
“He died there. Vince Gallant.”
A spark of recognition lit, like a popping ember in a fire, and he opened his eyes wide. “Vince Gallant was your daddy?”
“Yes. That’s why I’m out here. To find him. Find out what happened.”
“Hell.” He ran a hand through his hair and sat back. “I haven’t thought about him in a while. Didn’t know he had a daughter.”
“You knew him?”
“Yeah. Went to high school together. I was a couple years ahead of him. Then he came back around about two years ago or so. Didn’t see him after that.” He shook his head. “From the looks of that grave, he’s been here the whole time. What the hell happened out there?”
“Danny killed him.”
His expression soured and he moved close again. “That crazy old coot.” He paled. “Jesus. If we hadn’t been out looking for poachers nearby, we never would have heard you screaming. Heard the shot.”
“I’m glad you found me.”
“Me too.” He squeezed my hand. “That day’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life. First time I’ve ever killed a man in the line of duty.”
“I can’t imagine how that must feel, but thank you. You saved my life. He was going to kill me.”
“Then that makes it all worth it.” He scooted closer, the legs of the chair clacking against my bed frame. “More than worth it.”
We sat in silence for a while as I replayed the scene in the woods. Other than Danny’s words, I had nothing to go on. And I couldn’t sort through them. Why would Garrett want me dead?
