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Standing in the entry was Deputy Lavell, not a hair out of place, staring at him with stern disapproval.
"Ski said for me to tell you to return to the sheriff's office."
"How come he didn't tell me himself?"
Dodge held their eye contact for fifteen seconds, then repeated what he'd said word for word. She shrugged, then walked out without a backward glance.
Berry was indifferent to the deputy's rudeness. She wanted to pump Dodge for information, but he insisted on taking a hot shower first. "Before any bugs can lay eggs on me. Pour me a bourbon, please," he said over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs.
He was back down in ten minutes, scrubbed and smelling of soap, his wet hair combed back off his face. He was carrying his sport jacket and was wearing a pair of Dockers and a short-sleeved shirt. With all the muck now washed off, the scrapes and scratches on his exposed skin were visible.
"Did you put some antiseptic on those?" Caroline asked as she passed him the requested drink.
"No." He took a gulp of the whiskey.
"Don't say anything till I get back."
"It better not sting," he called to her as she rushed toward her bedroom.
He sat down in the bentwood rocker that he'd sat in the day he arrived. That had been Saturday. This was Monday. Berry was amazed at how familiar to her he'd become in that short span of time, how many monumental events had occurred, how much she had shared with a father she hadn't known until forty-eight hours ago.
"Is Ski all right?"
"What, the hero of the day?"
"He is?"
"Last man standing. Made even the Texas Rangers look like little girls." He took another slurp of whiskey. "He's worse for wear, but fine."
"Where is he now?"
"Last I saw him, he was at the entry to the hospital emergency room, fielding questions from reporters. All the Houston stations. One from Tyler. Lafayette, too, I think. People still like hearing about a posse running the bad guy to ground. Especially in the Thicket. Adds to its mystique."
Berry shook her head in wonderment. "I can't imagine Oren venturing into a wilderness."
"I can't imagine him doing a lot of the things he did." He warily eyed the bottle of antiseptic that Caroline carried in along with a plastic sleeve of quilted cotton pads. "Is that gonna burn?"
"It won't hurt as much as an infection would," she said. "You probably should get a tetanus shot."
"Don't hold your breath."
Frowning at him, she knelt down beside the rocking chair and doused a cotton pad with the liquid, then applied it to a nasty puncture wound on the back of his hand.
Between curses over the stinging antiseptic, he talked the women through the previous few hours.
When he finished, Berry asked, "What are Oren's chances?"
"Of surviving? He won't. He'll die now or he'll face three counts of murder and die courtesy of this sovereign state. Either way, his goose is cooked."
Berry got up and walked to a window that afforded a view of the lake. The sun was setting. A flock of birds was reflected on the surface of the water. Pines cast long, straight shadows on the pebbled shore. The setting was picturesque and tranquil, exactly as it had been last Friday evening when she and Ben finished their work and, innocently, decided to cook steaks on the grill and celebrate the completion of a yearlong project. The memory caused her to grimace.
She turned to face her parents. Funny that she automatically thought of Caroline and Dodge now as a unit. A pair. Her parents.
"I want to see Oren."
With a decisive thud, Dodge set his glass on the cocktail table at his elbow. "Goddammit."
"What?"
