Читать книгу In Close - Brenda Novak - Страница 10

3

Although Isaac had called John Hunt, the only doctor in the area, and Sheriff King at the same time, Hunt arrived first. John, who lived nearby, worked in the emergency room in Libby, but kept his medical bag handy and helped out where he could. Emergencies were taken to the hospital by Life Flight, but once Isaac had had a chance to look at Claire and realized she had only one injury that didn’t seem too bad, he’d been hesitant to call for the helicopter.

“How’s she doing?” Hunt asked.

Isaac angled his head toward his bedroom, where he’d deposited Claire when he reached the cabin. “I’m pretty sure she’s okay, that it’s just your run-of-the-mill knock on the head, but…” He wanted to be positive. Head injuries could be tricky. “You can see for yourself.”

Expecting him to walk past, Isaac waited so he could close the door, but the doctor didn’t budge. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the bloody rag Isaac held to his bare chest, and his eyebrows rose. “You didn’t mention you were hurt, too. But I guess you’re due. You’re my best customer. What happened this time?”

Once he’d cleaned the blood from Claire’s head and made her as comfortable as he could, Isaac had removed his torn and bloodied shirt and attempted to clean his own injury, but it was too deep. He couldn’t get the bleeding to stop. “Branch caught me as I was running through the woods. It’s nothing serious.”

But it was embarrassing. All the other injuries he’d sustained had been connected to his work and had an interesting story to go with them. The time he’d accidentally interrupted several wolves feeding on an elk, for instance. Or the confrontation he’d had with a mother bear. Folks around town asked him to tell and retell those stories, never seemed to grow tired of them. So he wasn’t thrilled to admit he’d been injured by something that shouldn’t have been a threat.

Hunt pulled the rag away so he could have a look. “Not serious, huh? It’s serious enough to need quite a few stitches. Lie down on that couch. I’ll get to you in a minute.”

“I’m fine,” Isaac insisted, and followed him into the bedroom.

Claire had fallen asleep. She lay in his bed—not unusual, at least in the past. That she was still wearing her clothes was a first, however. With her hair mussed and her mascara smeared, she wasn’t at her best. But that made no difference. She was damned pretty. Isaac wished he didn’t think so, but he did.

“Hey…” Hunt shook her arm. “Claire, can I have a minute?”

Her hand went to her head as if it hurt—and it probably did. Isaac hadn’t offered her any painkillers. He’d wanted to wait until Hunt gave the all-clear.

When her fingers encountered the gauze he’d used to cover the wound, she frowned in confusion. “I’m wearing a headband?”

She didn’t remember him putting that on? She’d seemed lucid at the time....

“That’s a bandage,” Hunt explained. “Let’s leave it alone for a few seconds, okay?” He guided her hand away. “Do you know who I am?”

“Of course. You’re…” She struggled with the name and settled for “Lila’s husband.”

“That’s right. Lila goes to your book group, doesn’t she?”

This drew a faint smile. “Every Thursday night.”

Isaac wondered what that smile meant. He got the impression she was making fun of herself and Lila, as if book group was the most exciting thing they ever did.

“Isaac says you have a bump above your ear. Would you mind letting me take a look?”

When she hesitated, he added, “Your other option would be to have us call the helicopter so you can be transported to the hospital.”

“No, there’s no need for that.” She winced as she attempted to sit up, but he pressed her back.

“All you have to do is relax.” Hunt unwound the gauze and gently prodded the area behind her left temple. Fresh blood gushed out of a small cut. “Scalps are notorious bleeders,” he murmured. “This could use a couple stitches, but it isn’t a concern. I’m more worried about the possibility of a concussion.” He rested a hand on her arm to get her to focus on him, probably because her gaze kept straying to Isaac as if she thought he’d done this to her. “Can you tell me what happened?”

She seemed distracted by his presence so Isaac retreated a few steps and leaned against the wall, where he could observe from a distance.

“I was trying to get some…some paintings of my mother’s.”

Paintings? Unless whoever pushed her down had stolen them, she hadn’t been carrying any paintings. Some file folders had spilled on the floor. That was what she’d had with her, but when Isaac opened his mouth to correct her, she shot him a look that shut him up.

“I didn’t know I wasn’t alone until I was leaving,” she said.

“You went to get these paintings at night?” Dr. Hunt wasn’t questioning her veracity, but he obviously thought there were better times for such an errand.

“I didn’t care that it was dark. I had a flashlight.” She sent another warning glance at Isaac, but he’d gotten the point. She didn’t want the doctor to know what she’d been doing at the cabin. Why, Isaac couldn’t even guess. But as far as he was concerned, it was no one’s business but her own. He let it go.

Hunt passed her a clean bandage, which she held to her head. “And someone was waiting for you or…what?”

Seemingly relieved that Isaac was staying out of it, she finished in a rush. “I can’t say for sure. All I know is that a man came at me, knocked my flashlight to the ground and shoved me so hard I fell.”

“Any idea what you might’ve hit on the way down?”

“The corner of the table in the entryway, I guess. The entire bottom floor is filled with furniture.” She cleared her throat. “Everyone feels it’s the perfect place to store whatever they don’t want anymore.”

It wasn’t the storage that bothered her; it was how easily others could deposit their cast-offs, forget the past and move on, because she couldn’t do the same. Isaac understood. He’d known Claire since they were children and empathized with what she’d been through. He’d lost his mother, too. She might have driven off on purpose, but he’d had to face life without her. He’d been searching just like Claire—the biggest difference being that he hadn’t had a stepfather to rely on. Fortunately in recent years he’d had the money to hire private investigators. Without so much as a birth certificate, it hadn’t been easy to figure out where he came from.

Hunt checked for other injuries. “You know where you are now, don’t you?”

A nostalgic expression appeared on her face. “This used to be my parents’ bedroom,” she said as if she was seeing it through much younger eyes. “My bedroom was across the hall. So was Leanne’s. When we moved to town, we sold it to a family who later went to Spokane. You remember Rod Reynolds?”

“I do.” Almost twenty years older than they were, Dr. Hunt had left for college about the time Isaac had been abandoned at Happy’s Inn, just before first grade. But Hunt hadn’t stayed away for much longer than it took to get his medical degree. He was familiar with most of the people in Pineview and their backgrounds.

Especially Isaac’s. But then…everyone was familiar with the story of the little boy who’d been left, with nothing but the dollar he’d been given to buy candy, at a roadside café.

Distracted by a bowl of water on the nightstand, Hunt pointed to it. “This from you?” he asked Isaac.

The pink tinge to the water had no doubt prompted the question. “’Fraid not. You’re the one who said head wounds bleed a lot. Apparently, that’s true.” Isaac could’ve done a better job cleaning Claire up if he’d shaved her hair at the site of her wound, but he was pretty sure that would only make her hate him more.

Hunt frowned at the bloody rag Isaac held to his injury. “Chest wounds can bleed a lot, too.”

Now that the doctor wasn’t so worried about Claire, he wanted to get started on Isaac. Isaac could tell.

Claire could tell, too. She began to insist he look after Isaac, but Isaac waved away her concern. “Finish here first.”

With a muttered curse at Isaac’s stubbornness, Hunt used a penlight to check Claire’s pupils. “What did you do earlier today, Claire?”

“What do you mean?” Like the doctor, she’d grown preoccupied with Isaac’s wound.

“I’m just asking about your day in general.”

“Oh.” Her forehead creased as if she didn’t see the point of further questioning, especially when someone else was bleeding, but Hunt was only being thorough. “I worked.”

Isaac wondered if she still regretted being unable to attend university. She’d talked about college just after high school, back when David was gone and they were seeing each other. During that time, she’d been treading water with a dead-end job managing Stuart’s Stop ’n’ Shop. But Leanne had been going through a series of operations, which her doctors hoped would restore some mobility, and Claire wouldn’t leave her. “Can you remember who you saw?”

“Let’s see…I did a cut and color for Joyce Sallow, a trim for Larry Morrill and a highlight for Alexis Rodgers.”

“You were busy. Where’s your sister tonight?”

“At the fireworks show. See? I’m fine. Just…shaken up. And my head’s killing me but that’s to be expected,” she added. “Take care of Isaac.”

“I will in a minute. And I’ll give you something for the pain, too.” Hunt recorded her blood pressure and heart rate. Then the doorbell rang and Isaac stepped out to answer. Sheriff King had arrived.

Not surprisingly, Myles’s first thought was for Claire. But Isaac’s injury didn’t go unnoticed. “What happened to you?”

“Collateral damage,” he replied. “She’s in here.”

Going along with the diversion, Myles followed Isaac into the bedroom. Claire was his wife’s best friend; he was obviously more concerned about her. But Isaac had a feeling they’d return to the subject of his injury at some point, if only to see how it related to the attack at the cabin. King was nothing if not thorough. And Isaac wasn’t the most trusted man in town.

“She’ll be fine,” Hunt said as they entered. “I’m going to sew up this cut. That’ll take care of the bleeding. She should be watched, just in case she has a slight concussion. But this isn’t serious.”

“Good. Can the stitches wait until I have a word with her?” the sheriff wanted to know.

“Are you up to talking with Sheriff King for a few minutes?” Hunt asked Claire.

Claire continued to hold the bandage to her head. “Of course. Whatever will help. I want the person who did this caught.”

When King asked for a few minutes alone with her, the doctor and Isaac left the room. Then Hunt insisted Isaac lie down so he could inspect the gash on his chest.

“Damn. This one’s jagged and nasty,” he said with a frown.

Isaac cocked an eyebrow at him. “Nice bedside manner. Aren’t you supposed to tell me to relax, everything will be okay?”

Hunt grinned. “You can take it. You’re the closest I’ve come to creating my own rag doll. You know the routine by now.”

Thanks to several encounters with various wild animals, he did. Although he’d been out alone, filming wildlife since he was in junior high—camera equipment was all he’d ever asked for, and what Tippy, the man who’d raised him, had generously provided—it wasn’t until he’d gotten older that he’d been harmed. He blamed himself for being careless or becoming too cavalier. But, his fault or not, that bear he’d tangled with four years ago had nearly cost him his left arm. And there might be more incidents in the future. That kind of danger went with his job. He had to get close enough to his subjects to capture good footage. That was what made his work better than most. Not only had he come within arm’s distance of bears and wolves, he’d filmed cougars, moose, bison and elk. He’d flown to Florida to do a documentary on alligators, and the Amazon to do a show on spiders, and another on snakes for the Disney channel. In the past decade, he’d been all over the world—not bad for an abandoned kid who was almost entirely self-taught.

“How long’s it been since you’ve had a tetanus shot?” The doctor spoke as he numbed the area.

“When I was attacked by that bear.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t the time before that—with the wolves?”

“No, it was the bear.” It’d been almost seven years since the incident with the wolves. He’d had a gun with him on that occasion. Firing a shot into the sky had mitigated the damage. He wasn’t sure how he’d survived mama bear. From what he remembered, she simply got distracted and galloped off.

“I’m glad one of us can keep it straight,” Hunt grumbled.

He was in the middle of stitching Isaac up when the sheriff came out of the bedroom.

“Any idea who attacked Claire?” he asked Isaac.

A local anesthetic had put Isaac out of pain. “No.”

“You didn’t see anything?”

“Headlights.”

“How’d you know she was hurt?”

“I heard her scream.” The memory of it still raised the hair on his arms.

“From way over here?”

“From the edge of the clearing.” Isaac explained everything that had happened in as much detail as he could, including his run-in with the unyielding tree.

When he’d finished, the sheriff put his notepad in his pocket, checked Isaac’s wound to make sure it was consistent with his story, then scratched his neck. “So…it could be anyone with a car that has headlights and taillights. That narrows it down.”

Isaac wished the doctor would hurry up and finish. Pain or no pain, he didn’t like needles. “It’s someone who knows the area.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He was familiar with the back way. He followed her in, so I expected to find his vehicle close to hers. But he took the alternate route just after my place, the long way, and went up and around. That’s why I didn’t spot his car until he was driving off.”

Myles rested his hands on his utility belt. “That doesn’t narrow it down too much, either. What do you think he wanted?”

Isaac shook his head. The culprit hadn’t attempted to rape her. He hadn’t really tried to hurt her, either. She might’ve ended up unharmed had she not fallen.

Still, it was chilling to think that someone had followed her and crept into the house while she was there alone at night. “No clue.”

“Thanks for helping her out.” King shifted his attention to John Hunt. “Is it okay to move her? Can I take her home?”

When Hunt hesitated midstitch, Isaac tried to ignore the doctor’s gloved hand, covered with blood, holding that needle.

“Not if she’s going to be there alone.”

“Her sister lives next door,” Myles said. “Leanne will look after her.”

“Fine with me. As long as Leanne’s willing and up to it.”

Isaac would’ve offered to let her stay, to watch over her through the night and give her a ride in the morning, but he knew she wouldn’t want that.

As the sheriff went to get her, Isaac closed his eyes. Although he experienced no pain, he felt a tugging sensation with each stitch.

The sound of movement made him glance up. Claire was walking under her own power but King had a tight grip on her upper arm, as if he didn’t quite trust that she wouldn’t fall.

Isaac thought she’d leave with just a perfunctory thank-you. He knew she probably wasn’t pleased they’d met up again after so long. But she turned back at the last moment, eyebrows gathered as she studied his wound.

“I’m really sorry you got dragged into this,” she said.

Dragged… He managed a bitter smile as the door closed behind them and wondered what she’d think if she knew how panicked he’d been, how hard he’d pushed himself to reach her.

He had a hole in his chest to prove it. But she’d be surprised to learn there’d been any kind of personal involvement in what he’d done—so surprised she’d never believe it. Neither would she believe how completely she held his attention whenever she was in the same vicinity.

Or how many times he thought of her even when she wasn’t.

Jeremy was shaking when he got home. After parking in the garage next to his father’s old Jeep, he hurried into the house and charged down the stairs to his room, where he closed and locked the door.

“Hey, the village idiot’s back! Where’ve you been?” His father had heard him come in; the noise had brought him to the top of the stairs. Rarely did he venture any closer these days. Jeremy had gotten too big. But that hadn’t always been true. He used to show up all the time, usually with his belt off and at the ready.

“Watching the fireworks.”

“I didn’t see you at the show.”

Trying to shut out the memory of how easily Claire had fallen when he pushed her, he sat on his unmade bed and dropped his head in his hands. “I was there,” he said through his fingers. “Where else would I go?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

“I was there,” he said again. Then he waited to see if his father would come down and bang on the door, because if that happened, he’d cry, and crying would only make his dad yell and say bad words. You’re a fucking giant! Quit acting like a little girl!

Maybe he did act like a girl sometimes, but he couldn’t help it. Had he hurt Claire? And who’d been holding the flashlight in the forest when he came running out of the studio? Someone had been there. Had he been seen?

He supposed he’d find out soon enough if someone from the sheriff’s department showed up.

The creak of footsteps overhead told him his father had left the opening to the basement and was going about his business. Hopefully, he’d get into bed soon. Don liked to ramble around and watch TV for most of the night. Since he’d gone on disability, it wasn’t as if he had to get up for work. But Jeremy liked it better when the house was quiet....

The clock ticked loudly on his desk. Jeremy counted those ticks until he thought he’d go mad. He kept wondering if he’d hear a knock at the door. But no one came.

Slowly his heart rate returned to normal. Everything would be okay. He hadn’t meant to do any harm. It wasn’t his fault that she was so small and he was so strong.

When he was fairly confident his father wouldn’t bother him again, he lay back and started rattling off all the numbers in his head. He was good with numbers. They calmed him. He could remember any number anyone ever told him. It made his father proud, and made him feel smart.

But that was the only time he ever felt smart.

382-24-6832…

406-385-9472…

406-269-2698…

12/24/89…

Why had Claire lied when she’d been asked why she’d gone to the cabin?

Now that Isaac was all stitched up and everyone was gone, he couldn’t help being curious. Those files had to be important or she wouldn’t have been so evasive. Neither would she have driven out to the cabin at night, in the middle of the Fourth of July celebration, knowing she’d have only the benefit of a flashlight to retrieve them.

Whatever the reason, it wouldn’t remain a secret for long. Surely she had to realize that. As soon as the sheriff left her in her sister’s care, he’d head over to the studio to see what he could find. What did she think—that he’d wait until morning? That she’d have an opportunity to recover those documents herself?

Knowing Myles King, Isaac doubted he’d hold off. Given what’d happened to Claire’s mother, the sheriff would dust for prints, check for tire tracks, do all he could to figure out who’d followed her to the studio, and why. And he’d do it as soon as possible, hoping that his efforts might also shed light on Alana’s disappearance—or at least convince everyone there was no connection between the two incidents.

Gingerly pulling on a clean T-shirt, Isaac decided to go back and get the files Claire had dropped. If he hurried, he should be able to get in and out without anyone being the wiser. What with the twenty-minute drive each way, helping Claire into the house and explaining to Leanne, it would take Myles at least an hour to get back. Isaac just had to dodge the deputies Myles had promised to send for her car.

Maybe she wouldn’t thank him for helping her, but he felt he owed her for letting her down all those years ago. He’d been an ass. Even he had to admit it. But there was something about her that brought out the worst in him.

Of course, she’d had her revenge. He’d had a long time to regret what he’d done, a long time to miss her. Although he’d made love with plenty of other women since, including several from around here, it had never been the same. And then there was the torture of one particular memory that didn’t go quite that far back....

He’d been tracking a moose in the Cabinet Mountains southwest of Libby, hoping to get a few good shots for a magazine called Montana Wilds, when he came across Claire and David camping out in the woods. They were newlyweds at the time and probably too poor to do any more than borrow Claire’s stepfather’s Winnebago to get away, so he wasn’t surprised that they hadn’t gone farther from home.

He was surprised, however, that of all the campers in the Chain of Lakes area he had to stumble on them. What seeing them together had done to him came as an even greater shock. They hadn’t heard him—they were far too engrossed in each other. He’d stood right where he’d emerged from the woods, only partially concealed by the trees, and watched David kiss and fondle his new bride as they made breakfast.

The sight had made him sick. And when he’d finally managed to clear his throat so they’d know they weren’t alone—he refused to slink off as if he’d been spying on them—Claire had angled her head to see around her husband’s shoulder. Embarrassment had registered on her face, but something else, as well. The look in her eyes told him she recognized the envy he was feeling.

Even worse, she’d derived a certain amount of satisfaction from it.

He hated that memory. Sometimes he hated Claire, too, for having such a strong hold on him despite his efforts to escape it. He was pretty sure she returned the sentiment. She wouldn’t even speak to him. If she saw him coming, she’d whip around and walk the other way. His career had taken off after a documentary he’d made on the impact of endangered status on the wolf population came to the attention of the editor at National Geographic a year or so after they’d quit seeing each other. That was when he’d started to travel. But Pineview was too small not to bump into her whenever he returned.

So, if he preferred to stay out of her life, why was he heading back to Alana’s studio to rescue whatever Claire didn’t want the sheriff to see?

He had no explanation for that. There was just something about her that made him do stupid things. Like sleeping with her for six months and not expecting to form an attachment. Like not turning away when she was being lovey-dovey with her husband so he wouldn’t have to carry that lasting and painful memory around with him. Like running hell-bent through the forest in an effort to reach her when she screamed—and just about puncturing his lung on a tree.

When he entered the studio’s clearing for the second time that evening, he found the place quiet and dark. The door stood open, exactly as he’d left it—a sign that no one had been there since.

He’d arrived in time. The files lay scattered on the floor.

Aiming his flashlight at the documents that had spilled out, he glanced over them and soon determined that they were case files—part of the investigation into Claire’s mother’s disappearance. He wasn’t sure why this was a secret. The sheriff must have a copy. That had to be where Claire had gotten this stuff in the first place.

He was sure of it until he read a report that talked about “inconsistencies” and realized that certain aspects of the case hadn’t been reported to the public. That meant Claire probably wasn’t supposed to know about them, suggesting she’d come by these through unofficial means.

Isaac raked a hand through his hair. “So that’s it.”

Careful not to pull on his stitches—Lord knew he’d bled enough for one night—he took all the papers and left the door halfway open, just as it had been before.

A car approached as he neared his own place. Using the darkness and the trees for cover, he crept close enough to the pitted dirt road to see who it was, and easily recognized the squad car. The deputies had arrived. Would they look around while they had the chance? Maybe…

Briefly, Isaac considered stopping whoever it was so he could hand over what he’d taken. Maybe there was something in these documents that would tell the sheriff why Claire had been attacked.

But he knew she didn’t want to give them up or she wouldn’t have lied, so Isaac figured he’d return them to her when he had the chance to do it discreetly.

He felt good about that decision—until he got home. After two hours spent reading through the various reports and interviews, he began to get a terrible feeling.

Something peculiar stood out....

He had to be wrong. Surely someone else would’ve noticed what he was seeing and brought it up if it was even a possibility.

Rubbing his eyes, which were bleary with fatigue, he wanted to let it go at that. He could be wrong. What was going through his mind wasn’t directly related to individual facts. It was more of a gut feeling about what all this information meant.

But it wouldn’t leave him alone....

“Shit,” he said when he set the files aside. If what he suspected was true, Claire was about to face another nasty shock.

And the sheriff was going to face his next big case.