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“As I walked through the squad room, somebody, I don’t even remember who, tried to waylay me, told me that our detectives were already on the scene and would handle things, that I didn’t need to go. They said Hank had been notified and was on his way to me.
“But I needed to act, to do something, not hold hands in a prayer circle. I gotta tell you, though, w
hen I walked up the porch steps and saw The Major, the sight nearly brought me to my knees.” He made a strangling sound and coughed.
Silently Kerra implored him to please stop there. She didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to know.
But once he’d composed himself, he continued. “Dealing with that was tough enough, but along with it was the missing woman. That small bathroom in the hall? The lock was busted all to hell. The window was open. Ground outside showed scuff marks. We hoped she’d managed to get away, but truth is, we were expecting to find her body, because the bastards meant business. One of my deputies—”
“Hold on,” Trapper said. “Bastards, plural?”
“We think there were at least two. The Major was shot with a nine-millimeter. But something bigger than a pistol had shattered the door lock. I’m thinking the stock of a shotgun, because it appeared that one took out the top of a tree and blasted a boulder. Probably fired from the bathroom window.”
A silence ensued before the sheriff continued. “Kerra was finally spotted by one of my deputies. You know that drop-off behind the house that goes down to the creek bed? Looked like she went sailing right over the edge and didn’t stop till she hit bottom, which is essentially a rock pile unless it’s rained real hard. She was banged up, near to freezing, but alive.” He paused for a few seconds. “She got lucky. Guess we did, too. We have a witness to whoever shot The Major.”
Needing to disabuse him of that, Kerra opened her eyes and tried to focus on him. When he realized that she was awake and aware, he took a step closer to the foot of the bed. “Ms. Bailey. Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital.”
“That’s right. You recognize me?”
“Of course.”
“And you’ve met Trapper here.”
“Yes.”
Trapper didn’t move or speak.
“How long have I been here?”
“Few hours. It’s going on four a.m. Monday.” The sheriff’s voice was gentle, but he got down to business. “Do you remember last evening? The TV interview and what happened after?”
Tears collected in her eyes, and she had difficulty swallowing. She managed to nod, but the head movement made her dizzy.
“Do you feel up to answering a few questions?”
“I’m still muzzy.” All she felt like doing was closing her eyes and seeking oblivion, and that was very uncharacteristic of her. Struck by a frightening thought, she asked, “Do I have a brain injury?”
“Not that I’ve heard,” the sheriff replied. “Nothing serious. You’re just doped up,” he said and gestured toward the IV. “You took quite a tumble and landed like a rag doll. You recall that?”
“Somebody came down on a rope.”
“A fireman. We weren’t sure until he got down there that you were still alive. We’d been searching for almost an hour, shouting your name.”
As after the hotel bombing, memories of the previous night came back to her in snatches with wide gaps in between. Some were vivid, like how badly her shoulder had hurt, how cold she’d been, while others were foggier.
She remembered lying on her back on the hard ground, the fierce wind, sprinkles of cold rain. She recalled trying to respond to the people shouting her name, but she couldn’t find the strength to raise her voice.
She’d also been afraid that if she signaled her whereabouts, it would seal her doom, that whoever had killed The Major would appear at the top of the ravine and finish her off from that vantage point.
She remembered fearing that she would die in one manner or another, from internal injuries, exposure. Her mother had died catastrophically. Her father’s death was all too recent. The longer she lay there, the greater the possibility she would die. Surely she wouldn’t cheat death a second time.
She was so convinced of that, she became hysterical with relief and thankfulness when rescuers arrived. As they strapped her to a stretcher, she’d begged for repeated reassurance that she had survived. A consoling EMT had pushed a tranquilizing drug into her vein to stop her hysteria.
But now, she felt the scald of fresh tears. “I’m sorry, so sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” Sheriff Addison said.
