I Shall Not Want (50 page)

“Be nice, now,” Clare said. “Okay, I’m going to find Kevin and Hadley.” She turned on the Aztek’s engine and cranked the AC and blowers on high. “I’ll be right back.”

She slammed the door shut and staggered toward the downslope side of the barn. “Hadley! Kevin!” A flash in the corner of her eye made her turn so quickly she staggered and fell down. A wall of flame had exploded at the edge of the field, clawing up into the trees, racing along the grass. Toward the narrow mountain road. “Lord a-mercy. That’s not good.”

There was another boom. She stumbled toward the sound. “Hadley! Kevin!”

“Here! Over here!” She followed Hadley’s voice, to find the woman tugging on Kevin’s arm. “Come
on
, Flynn. You aren’t going to stop them.”

“I can do it,” he said. “I’m a good shot. I’m a really good shot.” He swayed.

“He wants to shoot their tires out,” Hadley said. “Like the kid in the movie. ‘You’ll shoot your eye out!’ ” She giggled.

As Clare watched, the Humvee backed up for another run at the barn. She had to hand it to them; those things were built like tanks. Then Kevin brought his gun up and dropped into a shooting stance. Which would have been more impressive if he wasn’t listing like a sinking ship.

“No!” Hadley yelled.

Clare rammed her shoulder into Kevin’s arms as he squeezed the trigger. His shot went off overhead. He staggered upright and looked at Clare reproachfully. His eyes were dilated black. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Kevin, you can’t aim. You’re stoned. You’re under the influence of illegal drugs.”

“Am not!”

“Are so.”

“You guys.” Hadley shook her head, trying to stop laughing. “The whole damn mountain’s going to go up in a minute.”

The Humvee roared forward. Flames shot out from beneath the hood. It hit the barn. Cracked stone crumbled, battered beams fell, and bale after bale of shrink-wrapped marijuana tumbled out of the broken wall, like the payout from an enormous slot machine.

“Whoa,” Kevin said.

The Humvee blew up.

The pressure wave knocked Clare and the officers to the ground. A fireball shot into the sky, chewing and charring the remains of the barn, and an irregular skirt of fire ripped across the grass from the inferno of twisted metal and glass.

“Holy shit.” Hadley pushed up from the ground. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

They ran for the Aztek. Kevin scrambled into the driver’s seat, while Clare and Hadley wedged into the passenger side.

“You sure you can drive?” Hadley said.

“ ‘Course I can,” Kevin said, throwing his SUV into gear. “I’m a good driver. I’m a very good driver.”

“Nobody’s a good driver when they’re high.”

“I’m not high! I’ve never gotten high in my life.” He hit the gas.

“God, Flynn. I don’t think anyone could be more vanilla unless they were Amish. I’m sorry I debauched you, now.”

“Okay, everybody? Hold on. We have to drive really really fast through this fire here.” He accelerated toward a wall of flame.

Isabel screamed. “No!” Clare shouted. “You idiot!” Hadley yelled. Then they were in it, and then they were through, jouncing and plunging, careening down the narrow road, bouncing like popcorn kernels inside the SUV.

“We’re gonna die,” Isabel said tearfully. “We’re gonna die.” Amado recited something over and over. Clare thought it was the Hail Mary. She dug her hands into the sides of the seat and hung on for dear life.

“That wasn’t debauchery. That was love.” Kevin’s voice softened, although his foot was as heavy as ever. “Love, love, love,” he sang.

“Aw, Flynn. I’m sorry. I was harshin‘ you. You’re a good man. You’re too good for me.”

Clare felt tears welling up in her eyes. “You guys are beautiful. You wanna get married? I can do it, you know. Just say the word.”

Lyle MacAuley rolled his cruiser to a stop between Flynn’s Aztek and the crumpled remains of Clare Fergusson’s car. Beside him, one of the responding EMT crews worked to extricate someone from the upside-down wreck. Christly hell. If he had to tell Russ she was—he wouldn’t do it. He’d go home, get his things together, and leave for Florida.

He got out of his unit. Behind him, the last of the Millers Kill Volunteer Fire Department trucks screamed uphill toward the mountain road. The Corinth and Lake Luzerne departments were on the way.

“Whaddaya got?”

“One guy. Broken collarbone, two broken legs. Concussion, probably.” The EMT leaned back so Lyle could get a glimpse. “Know him?”

Lyle looked at the studs and tattoos. “Not as well as I’m going to.” He straightened. “Was there a woman inside?”

“Nope.”

Thank God for that. So where the hell was she? And where were Kevin and Hadley? He heard a noise. Circled, slowly, trying to pinpoint it. Coming from Kevin’s Aztek. He walked closer. It was… what the hell?… voices. A bunch of ‘em. Singing “All You Need Is Love.”

Amy Nguyen was leaving Russ’s hospital room as Clare arrived. “Amy! Hi. Are you here on business?”

“Catching him up on the Christie/Punta Diablos prosecution.” The assistant district attorney pointed to Clare’s BDUs. “You recruiting, or what?”

“Oh, this? I’m in the Guard. I just got back from Latham. I serve off-weekend so I can get in more flying time.”

Nguyen smiled behind her hand. “You’re a very unusual priest.”

“I get that a lot, yeah.”

Inside, Russ was propped up, shuffling through the papers spread across his bed. He smiled. “Hey, darlin‘. How was training?”

“They squeezed the truth about my day job out of me.”

“And?”

“And now everyone on the crew calls me Preacher.” She made a face. “Better than my nickname when I was regular army. Charlie Foxtrot.”

“For… Clare Fergusson?”

“A different C.F.” She ignored his grin. “What’s all this?”

“A paper trail. Or what we’ve been able to make of one.” He held up a sheet. “Donald Christie did time in Plattsburgh. Along with Alejandro Santiago, a member of the Punta Diablos. Apparently, they struck a deal while behind bars. Donald and his brother would dispose of the PD’s business rivals, underper-forming sales representatives, et cetera, for ten grand a pop. The idea being that no one would find the bodies up here in the Adirondacks.”

“Not an incorrect assumption.”

“No.” He picked up another paper. “The agreement held for two years. Then a truckload of pot arrives on the scene. Very valuable. High THC level.”

Clare rubbed the palm of her hand against her forehead. “Don’t remind me.”

He snickered. “We don’t know exactly what went down. Did the PDs want to store it up here because things were getting hot in the city? Did the Christies turn the driver? Whichever, they were suddenly in possession of ten million dollars’ worth of weed. And a load of trouble. The PDs started cruising around, taking potshots, breaking into Bruce’s trailer. I suspect they didn’t move more directly because they didn’t know if their driver had taken off with the goods or if the Christies had stolen the shipment. They sent their accountant up here to check it out. Neil Christie whacked him.”

“That was the first body?”

“Yeah. Isabel was out with some of the family, searching that night, and saw the whole thing. She took the guy’s bag and hid it, thinking to protect her brother. Then, of course, the PDs got desperate. The merchandise was one thing, but they’d lost their distribution list.”

“So what did Amy Nguyen say?”

“Alejandro Santiago and his compadres will be going away for a long, long time.” He grinned, showing his canines.

“And the Christies?”

His grin fell away. “We don’t have anything on Bruce. He claims he had no idea about any of it and was shocked—shocked!—when his brothers revealed their stash in the barn that day.”

“Maybe—”

He shook his head. “Donald and Neil between them only had half a brain. Just look at how they died. No, he was behind it. We just can’t prove it.”

“That’s not right.”

He smiled a little. “We’ve had this talk before.” He held out his hand. She took it. He tugged her closer. “When I get out of here—”

“You’re going to the Rehabilitation Center at the Glens Falls Hospital. Maybe you can have Sister Lucia’s old room. She’s been released.”

“Okay, when I get out of rehab—” He stopped. “You know, you were right.”

“I was?”

“About it taking time. It’s going to take five months of hard work to come back from this.” He rested his free hand on his bandaged chest. “Losing Linda was worse. It hurt me more than this did. I do need to give it time. A year’s not too long.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “So when I get out of the hospital, and when I get out of rehab, and when I make it through the anniversary—”

She smiled. “What?”

“We’ll have a talk.”

Clare wished Janet and Mike hadn’t lit the fire. She and Father St. Laurent stood with their backs to the foliage-bedecked hearth, and while she was sure they looked picturesque, she was roasting in her cassock. She sighed silently and waited for the priest to finish translating the last part.

“Le requiero y cargo ambos, aquí en la presencia del Dios, que de cualquiera de usted saben cualquier razón por la que usted no puede ser unido en la unión legal, y de acuerdo con la palabra del Dios, usted ahora la confiesa.”

The only response was Mike McGeoch, honking into his handkerchief, and the rumble of the furnace kicking in. Father St. Laurent smiled at her. What a hunk. Such a shame.

She looked at Isabel, who clutched Amado’s hand. “Isabel,” Clare began, “will you have this man to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage?”

Careful, Chief, careful.“ Noble hovered over Russ, making his way up the marble steps with the help of his much-loathed cane. He’d already decided he was going to burn the damn thing for the winter solstice.

“I’m not going to fall, Noble.” He tried to keep his voice even. “If I couldn’t walk, they wouldn’t have let me come back to work.”

“Well, it might be slippery.” Noble bent to study the hallway floor. “Might be some melted snow we didn’t get up.”

He limped into Harlene’s dispatch center, Noble at his back. It was empty. They were in the squad room. He could hear muffled laughter, someone shushing. He sighed. Limped through the door.

“Welcome back!” The shout was deafening. Someone—Harlene, probably—had gotten everyone in, all shifts, the full-timers and the part-time guys, every one of his people. His people. Young, old, men, women. They smiled at him. Waiting for him to give a speech. Not his strong suit.

“So,” he said. “This morning would be a good time to rob a bank in town.” They laughed.

Lyle came up beside him and faced the small crowd. “There oughta be a nice ceremonial way to show I’m beatin‘ feet away from the chief’s chair, as fast as I can run, and turning it back over to the guy who actually belongs there. I thought maybe I could take the chief’s insignia off my collar and pin it on him, except I never put it on.” He glanced at Russ. “So I figured I’d put something on myself to indicate I was resuming my life of leisure.” He reached back and pulled the grungiest Day-Glo orange hunting cap Russ had ever seen out of his rear pocket, snapped it open, and squared it on his head. He held out his hand. “Welcome back, Russ.”

Russ pumped his hand, and everybody cheered and the next thing he knew he was hugging Lyle, who was pounding him on the back and saying, “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” in Russ’s ear.

They broke apart, Lyle shifting from foot to foot, Russ banging his cane on the floor. “One hug every eight years,” Russ said. “That’s my limit.”

Then Harlene and Knox hugged him, and Kevin lugged in boxes of pastries from the Kreemie Kakes diner and he thought,
I’m the luckiest sonofabitch in the world
.

Hadley was helping Hudson and Genny decorate the tree when the doorbell rang. Well, maybe “refereeing” was a better word. Hudson had to place every ornament in a particular place, and God help them all if one of the frosted bulbs got too close to a flying reindeer. Genny, on the other hand, was free-form. Right now she was tossing handfuls of tinsel at her side of the tree. Some of it was even landing on the branches.

“Be good,” Hadley told them, as she crossed to the door.

It was Kevin Flynn, taking a break from patrol. He was in uniform, his unit idling curbside. He took off his hat and beat away the snow that had fallen on the shoulders of his coat.

“Flynn?”

“Hi,” he said. “I know you have the rest of the week off, so I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks. Uh, Merry Christmas to you, too.”

“Would you like to join the Flynns for our traditional Christmas dinner?”

“Thanks, but we’ve already made plans.”

He glanced past her to where the kids had fallen silent. Undoubtedly taking in every word. “Sledding?”

She stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind her. “No. Flynn, you have to stop asking me out.”

“I will. If my feelings change. Until then?” He shrugged, his coat rising and falling.

She stared up at him. “What
is
it with you?”

He took a step toward her.
Stop him
, she told herself. He slid his hands along her jawline, her cheekbones.
Do something, woman
. He bent his head.
Just say no. Oh. Oh, my God
. He held her as if she were a breakable ornament and kissed her as if she were the only warm thing in winter. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered. She was still catching her breath when he bounded down the stairs. She listened to the thump of his cruiser door. Watched his rear lights dwindle in the falling snow.