Razor's Edge (18 page)

“Not us. Me. And I'll give you my cash card and PIN to deal with that if it happens, which it won't.”

“You're damn right it won't, because we're not taking the chance. We're going to—”

From the other side of the back door came a noise. Roxanne covered Tanner's mouth to quiet him so she could hear better. “Did you hear that?”

There was a whisper of sound, barely audible over the sound of the hot breeze. Then the door rattled as someone pushed against it from the other side. “Help.”

Tanner's face went hard, and he pulled Roxanne aside. “Move away from the door!” he shouted. “I'm going to kick it open.”

“What if they can't move? You might hurt them,” said Roxanne. “Window.”

“Right.” Tanner wasted no time using a landscaping stone to bust through a nearby window. He cleared the glass away and folded his body through the opening.

Roxanne was right on his heels.

Lying in front of the back door was a young woman wearing bloody scrubs. She opened her eyes as they approached, but she didn't move.

Tanner pulled out his concealed weapon and whispered, “Stay here.”

Roxanne didn't waste time arguing with him. The young woman was bleeding out. She pressed her bare hands against the bullet hole in the woman's chest. Blood seeped between her fingers.

This wasn't good enough. The pool of blood beneath the woman indicated the bullet had gone through and she was bleeding from her back as well. If Roxanne didn't do something soon, she was going to die.

Tanner came back moments later with his cell phone against his ear. “Only one of them is still alive. I unlocked the front door. Hurry.” He hung up and looked at Roxanne. Whatever he saw there must have told him the whole story, because he didn't ask any stupid questions, like if the woman was going to be okay. Instead, he said, “I'll find some bandages.”

Roxanne doubted that would help, but she wasn't going to turn away his offer to help.

“He shot Bill, too,” whispered the woman.

“Who shot him?”

“Stranger. Sick. Drugs, I think.” Her eyes fluttered shut and didn't open again.

Tanner knelt by her side, ripping open packs of sterile gauze. “The shot went through. I'm going to turn her. Keep up the pressure.”

Roxanne did. As Tanner pressed the wad of gauze against the woman's back, she had to steady herself against the strength of his efforts.

Sirens blared, growing louder until she knew they had to be right outside. The sounds of men entering the clinic filtered down the hallway.

“Police!” shouted a man.

“Back here,” called Tanner.

“Move away from the woman,” ordered the officer.

“If we do, she'll bleed to death,” said Roxanne. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a young man pointing a gun at her. Still, she didn't ease up on the pressure.

He moved so that he could see over a half wall, and his face went pale. “Oh God. Joyce.” He took a step forward, then thought better of it. “The ambulance should be here in a second. Hold on.”

Chaos descended on them as a swarm of people crowded the narrow hall. Roxanne gladly gave up the job of keeping Joyce's blood inside her body to the paramedics.

She moved to one of the exam rooms to wash her hands, but an older man stopped her. “Sorry, ma'am. I can't let you do that. This is a crime scene.”

The blood had begun to dry, making her fingers sticky. “You're not going to make me wear her blood, are you?”

The older man's mouth flattened in distaste, making his long mustache sweep his bottom lip. Authority hung in the air around him, telling her that he was not someone to trifle with.

“Joel, collect some samples and photograph the young lady's hands, please.”

Joel was in uniform, and he came over a few seconds later with a large camera. He snapped a dozen photos from various angles, then rubbed several long cotton swabs over her skin before sealing them in individual tubes.

“I'm Sheriff Bream,” he said, holding out an open container of wet wipes. “How about you tell me who you are and exactly how this all happened.”

“My name is Roxanne Haught. I'm looking for a friend of mine. The waitress at the diner said she'd seen a man recently who was sick, and she told him to come here. I was hoping to ask a few questions.” She purposefully left out the part about being attacked by the man the waitress recognized, and even misled him into thinking that the man the waitress had seen was her missing friend.

The sheriff pulled in a deep breath and let it out, as if preparing for a challenge. “Who's your friend?”

“Jake Staite.”

“Why do you think he's here?”

“I got an e-mail message from him. It was sent from your town's library.”

“Who's the big guy?” asked the sheriff, nodding toward Tanner.

“Tanner O'Connell. He's helping me find Jake.”

“Tell me what happened when you showed up here.”

Roxanne told him exactly what had happened—how they'd knocked, saw the TV was on, and thought that they might be heard if they knocked on the back door. She left out the argument about whether or not she should break in but told him about the noise they heard and breaking the back window to get in.

“Hell of a thing,” said Sheriff Bream. “If you hadn't shown up, Joyce might have died before we found her.”

“She said it was a man who did this.”

“That so?”

“Yes.”

“Did she say who it was or what he looked like?”

“She said he was sick. I think she mentioned drugs. Don't they have a security camera here you can check?”

“We'll be looking into it,” he hedged, as if unwilling to confirm or deny the existence of a camera. “In the meantime, I'd like you and your friend to come with us for a bit.”

“You can't possibly think we did this,” she said.

“It's routine. No need to worry. I'm sure your story will check out.”

Roxanne sure as hell hoped so, because she didn't have time to waste. “Do I need to call my attorney?”

“That's up to you, ma'am. Might not be a bad idea, though.”

That didn't sound good at all.

 

 

Hours later, Tanner was brought into the room where they were holding Roxanne. Red marks lined his wrists where they'd handcuffed him.

He didn't look happy about it, either.

Sheriff Bream announced, “You're both free to go. A security camera at the bank across the street caught video of a man going into the clinic's front door a couple of hours before you two. That same camera also verified your story about knocking on the front door right before the clinic's closing time.”

Relief made Roxanne sag in her chair. She was exhausted, running on fumes. Hours of interrogation—as polite as it had been—had worn her down. Her worry for Jake had added to the stress until she felt stretched too thin and brittle enough to break.

Tanner moved past the uniformed female officer who had stayed in her room the whole time. Once he was at her side, she felt some of her tension ease. She wasn't sure why that was the case, or what it was about him that caused the odd phenomenon, but she was grateful for the respite.

Sheriff Bream handed them his business card. “We'd like it if you'd stay in town tonight. We'll put you up at the Hall's Bed-and-Breakfast.”

“Why?” asked Tanner. “You said everything checked out.”

“It did. I would just feel better knowing you were nearby in case we had any more questions.”

Roxanne felt like she'd been wrung dry of information. While the officers were polite and professional, they'd been thorough—over and over again. “What else could you possibly want to know?”

“From what I can tell, at least four strangers have come through this town in two days. I'd like to know why.”

“I told you why we're here. I'm looking for my friend.”

“Seems to me you're not the only one looking for someone.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” asked Tanner. He shifted half a step closer to Roxanne, and she couldn't help but feel the protective vibes sliding off him in waves.

The sheriff watched her face as he spoke. “Joyce woke up to say that the man who shot her told her he had to get better fast so he could find a woman named Roxanne.”

Shock trickled through her, stunning her speechless for a moment. “Can I see a picture of the man?”

The sheriff nodded to the female officer, who pulled a page from a folder and handed it to Roxanne. It was a grainy image from the bank's security camera showing the profile of a man in clothing too heavy for the stifling heat. He looked to be in his thirties with a receding hairline and a nose too small for his face. She didn't recognize him.

“Do you know him?” asked the sheriff.

Roxanne shook her head. “I have no idea why he'd be looking for me. Maybe it's another Roxanne.”

Bream lifted his bushy brows. “It's not exactly a common name. And I don't happen to be a big believer in coincidences. Maybe we should talk about why someone would be looking for you.”

She stared right in his eyes. “You've already run my license. I'm sure you've checked into my background. Did you see anything that would make
you
look for me?”

“Money. Or this man could be tied to your kidnappers—their kid, maybe.”

“Kidnappers?” asked Tanner, looking between her and the sheriff as if expecting an answer.

Roxanne wasn't going to be the one to give it to him. The shame of that whole ordeal was not something she wanted to face tonight, when she was already feeling fragile and worried.

Fortunately, the sheriff didn't answer his question, either. Instead, he continued on as if Tanner hadn't spoken. “It could be about revenge. And then there's a whole slew of things you could be hiding—things that wouldn't show up on any background search.”

“I'm not hiding anything,” said Roxanne. “All I want to do is find Jake and bring him home.”

“We'll do what we can to help, but there's no record of his passing through. In the meantime, you two get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow.”

Roxanne opened her mouth to argue, but Tanner's hand settled at the small of her back, jolting her silent. He looked down at her. “I think that's a good idea. We're both beat.”

They were escorted back to their truck and then followed an officer over to the Hall's Bed-and-Breakfast.

It was a cute place, with plenty of southwestern flare that would appeal to tourists. The rock garden in front was lit with color-changing lights that led the way to the front door. The front porch boasted several seating areas kept cool by an overhead system of tubes spraying a fine mist of water.

Roxanne barely noticed the lobby. Her eyes were burning with fatigue, and her heart was heavy with worry. She couldn't have cared less about the décor or the friendly man behind the counter. All she wanted was to go to her room, take off these bloody clothes, shower, and figure out a way to find Jake.

Maybe Mira would have some ideas about where to look next.

Tanner walked her to her door and waited while she unlocked it. The tarnished brass knob squeaked as it turned. So did the hinges.

She walked inside and set her small overnight bag on a chair upholstered in turquoise fabric. The furnishings were old, some even antique. The dry air had caused the floorboards to shrink, leaving gaps between the wooden slats. A small TV sat on a wall-mounted stand. Outside, a streetlight glowed bright, burning her eyes.

Roxanne drew the shades down. One of them kept sliding back up, thwarting her attempts to darken the room.

Tanner reached over her head and took the loop from her hands. He wrapped the cord around a nail that had been driven into the windowsill, presumably for that purpose.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice rough from all the talking she'd been doing. At least that was what she convinced herself was causing it. Deep down, she knew it was more. She'd been fighting back tears for the last hour as her worry for Jake grew.

Tanner took her by the shoulders and turned her around. Concern lined his face and made his blue eyes brighter. His big hands held on to her, giving her more comfort than she would have liked. “Are you okay?”

His concern for her cracked her defenses, and she pulled in a shuddering breath to keep herself from tearing up. She would not cry, not in front of Tanner.

Roxanne plastered a fake smile on her face. “I'm fine. Just tired. You don't need to stay.”

“I'm worried about you.” He smoothed some wayward strands of hair behind her ear.

She had to resist the urge to lean into his touch, desperate for the comfort it brought. The casual way he invaded her space turned her brain to mush. She had to find a way to keep a professional distance, for both their sakes. “Don't worry. I'm a big girl.”

A small grin lifted one side of his mouth. “Not all that big. And you were put through the wringer today.”

“So were you.”

“It's not my friend who's missing. I know that's hard on you. I also know we'll find him.”

“How?” she asked before she realized how much that lack of faith revealed about her state of mind.

“I have some ideas. Why don't you get some sleep, and we'll talk about it in the morning.”

“You're stalling, aren't you?”

He shook his head, and confidence radiated out with that single motion. “Nope. But we're both tired. And I'm really sick of having blood on my clothes.”