Run to Me (5 page)

He lay squinting up at the kitchen ceiling. When Tragg’s face
appeared above him, he tried to scuttle back. The man thumped a foot in the middle of his chest, pinning him in place.

‘Now you listen to me, kid. You’re going to go out
and get in that van and not say a word to your little buddies, you got that? Because if you so much as open your mouth someone’s going to get hurt. And it might not be you. You get what I’m saying?’

With no breath to speak, Zack quickly nodded.

Tragg removed his foot, reached down and lifted him by the front of his pyjama shirt. He thrust him towards a chair where some clothes were lying. ‘Put
those on and make it quick.’

Zack obeyed, anxious about changing in front of him but too afraid not to. To his surprise he still clutched the box with the spider. He managed to keep it out of sight long enough to slip it into his pocket.

He straightened from tying his sneakers to find Tragg eyeing him.

‘Hey, Zacky, what say you save us all a lot of trouble and tell me now where the guy hid
the case?’

‘What guy? What case?’

Tragg smirked. ‘You really don’t want to be playing games with me.’

‘What’ll you do with us after we tell you?’

‘Then you
did
see Giles.’

‘Sure. We all did.’

‘Well, no problem then. The minute you tell me we’ll let you go, I give you my word.’

Zack knew the man was lying, but stalling would at least buy them some time. ‘It’s . . . well . . . I can’t explain
it. I’ll have to show you.’

Tragg thought for a moment then reached out and pulled him to within an inch of his face. ‘You better not be fucking with me.’

Zack felt the funny stirring in his chest. Bad Boy didn’t like being pushed around. And he didn’t much care how big or nasty the person was doing it.

He made a show of surveying the man’s ravaged skin. ‘Geez, you musta had the world’s worst
case of zits as a kid. Probably all them Junior Mints, huh?’

Zack held his breath. No matter how scared he got himself, Bad Boy always said what he wanted. But he’d never mouthed off to someone like Tragg before!

‘Little Zacky likes to live dangerous.’ Tragg shoved him towards the kitchen door.

Zack walked ahead of him into the dining room. ‘You know they got cures for hatchet-face these days.
You should check into it. Don’t want to go around scaring little kids.’

‘I like scaring little kids.’

‘Bet they’re not the only ones, though.’ He braced himself for a blow from behind.
Please, don’t do this!
But BB Ballinger was on a roll. ‘Must be hard getting laid with a face like that.’

Two steps from the front door Tragg slammed him into it and pinned him while he hissed in his ear. ‘You’re
going to be checking out a set of false teeth if you don’t put a sock in it.’

He yanked Zack back by the collar of his sweatshirt and opened the door. ‘Right, let’s go. And remember what I said.’

Hand on his shoulder the entire way, Tragg escorted him out to the van. The door stood open and Corey and Reece were already buckled into the middle row of seats. Nolan was at the wheel and Vanessa
stood talking to Corey through a window.

‘But aren’t you coming with us?’ the boy was pleading.

‘No, I have to stay here and wait for the next lot of children to come through.’ When she saw his expression she quickly added, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll see you at the shelter in a day or so.’

Corey brightened. The boy’s hair, which normally stuck out in
all directions, had been neatly combed, and Ali
the alligator had a new button eye to replace his missing one. Vanessa’s work? Had to be. No way Nolan or Tragg would have done it.

Zack glared at her. The fact she would pretend to care about Corey was almost as bad as what Tragg planned to do to them. For an instant nothing mattered more than that he expose these people for what they were. But Tragg still had a grip on his shoulder and the
adoration in Corey’s eyes was something he didn’t have the heart to destroy.

With a feeling of helplessness he climbed up into the seat beside them. Tragg waited, watching him closely as he buckled his seatbelt.

‘Zack! Where were you last night?’ Corey said the instant he saw him.

Reece clutched his arm. ‘Yeah, we woke up this morning and your bed was empty.’

Zack caught the warning look from
Tragg. ‘You dipsticks, I was there all night. I just got up early to get ready, that’s all.’

With a satisfied smirk, Tragg rolled the door shut. He rounded the van and got in the front to ride shot gun. Nolan started the engine, saluted Vanessa and drove from the driveway.

Doctor Chase Hadley strode from the treatment room into the office and returned his last patient’s file to the receptionist’s desk. Through the archway across the hall he could see five people in the waiting room – including a pair of school-age boys who seemed bent on breaking every item in the toy box.

The round middle-aged woman seated at the desk glanced up from her computer. ‘And
you thought Deadwater was such a small town you’d get to spend all your afternoons fishing.’

He couldn’t help smiling. In the three weeks they’d been working together he’d found Elaine Kirkland to be direct and unflinching in her observations. As well as possessing an uncanny knack for reading his thoughts. ‘Looks like I’ll just have to make do with weekends.’

‘Being the only practice for a
hundred miles and with all the logging camps in the area we do get busy occasionally. Just be glad we haven’t had one of those awful log spills. Crush injuries are the worst. At least that’s what Doctor Muir always said.’

Chase nodded. He couldn’t argue. ‘Right, who’s next?’ At the sound of something breaking across the hall he bent to her ear.
‘Please tell me it’s the juvenile demolition crew
while there’s still something left of the waiting room.’

‘Well, that depends.’

‘On what?’

‘Whether you’re prepared to barter for your services.’

‘Barter? You’re kidding.’

She shook her head.

He frowned a moment then narrowed his eyes. ‘Yes, you are. Come on, admit it. Dumb city boy out in the sticks, you think I’ll fall for it. Next, you’ll be telling me this is how all . . .’

Elaine continued
to shake her head. When his words trailed off she pointed up the hall.

Chase stepped into it and peered towards the back of the building. In the light streaking in through the door to the parking lot a young woman paced the width of the corridor. Long jean-clad legs, brown corduroy jacket, shoulder-length blonde hair. He couldn’t see her face for the glare, but from the speed of her strides and
the tension held in those slender shoulders, he guessed she wasn’t elated at being there.

‘Who is she?’ he said.

‘Shyler O’Neil. Doctor Muir treated her only twice but she bartered both times; the last was six months ago. I don’t think she realised he’d retired.’

‘So she came in expecting the same arrangement.’

‘I told her you might not be willing to continue it but that I would ask you.’

Chase stepped back. On seeing his receptionist’s smile he realised he’d lingered over studying the stranger a bit longer than necessary. ‘What kind of barter are we talking about?’

‘I don’t know; she makes things.’ Elaine began shuffling papers on her desk.

‘She’s not going to pay me in pot holders, is she?’

‘You’ll have to work out the fine points between you. All I’m asking is, will you see
her?’

He accepted the file she held out to him and skimmed the notes of his predecessor. First visit dated November last year, the second in March, both for recurring bouts of cystitis. ‘There’s a few things missing here – address, phone number, emergency contact.’

‘If you can get any of that information out of her I’ll be happy to record it. But don’t hold your breath – she doesn’t say much.’

‘You saying she refused to give her details?’

‘It’s possible she just keeps forgetting, I guess.’

‘So what do we know about her?’

She shrugged. ‘Nothing.’

‘Elaine,’ he admonished, ‘you mean to tell me in a town this size, a dedicated gossip such as yourself –’

‘Caring professional, if you don’t mind.’

‘. . . doesn’t have the lowdown about a patient?’

‘Sorry, Doctor, but if anyone knows
her I haven’t talked to them.’

Chase tapped the folder against his palm. This was a great way to start a new practice. If word got out, he’d be running a welfare clinic for sure.

He sighed. ‘All right, send her in.’

Eyes straight ahead. Don’t look into the waiting room. Acknowledge the receptionist.

Shyler talked herself towards the treatment room door. Her feet grew heavier with every step.
She’d been anxious enough about coming to the clinic. When she’d arrived and learned she’d be seeing a new doctor, a total stranger, she’d nearly turned around and driven home again.

Unspoken though it had been, she’d had an understanding with Doctor Muir. From her very first visit he’d seemed to know not to pressure her. Their distance from ‘civilised’ medical circles had perhaps made it easier
for him to bend the rules where she was concerned. Would this new doctor be as accommodating?

The door stood ajar. She stopped before it and looked at her hand. The cut wasn’t all that bad really. It didn’t even hurt so much any more. Surely if she just kept it tightly bandaged –

‘Go ahead in.’ The receptionist was waving her on. ‘The doctor’s waiting.’

She took a deep breath and stepped through
the door.

Her heart dropped. The man seated behind the oak desk was half the age of Doctor Muir, not much older than herself. Thick brown hair, solid shoulders, athletic build. When once she’d had an eye for such things she’d have thought him attractive. Now her main concern was his age – a younger practitioner, not long out of medical school, would surely be a stickler for rules.

He looked
up and smiled. ‘Shyler? Come in. Have a seat.’

Ignoring the chair beside his desk, the one he’d indicated, she crossed the room and perched on the edge of the treatment table. ‘Thank you for seeing me without an appointment, Doctor.’

He paused a moment then pushed to his feet, tall and straight, and came round the desk. ‘That’s all right. What can I do for you?’

She held out her hand.

‘Done
some damage to yourself, have you? Let’s take a look.’ His voice was soft, his manner calm. He pulled up a stool and sat before her, then reached for the mag-light above their heads.

Say something, anything
, she goaded herself.
Explain how it happened. Act normal. The last thing you want
–

He took her hand, his touch strong and sure, gentle and warm. She couldn’t block thoughts of how long it
had been. A lock of
his hair dropped over his brow as he bent his head. A waft of soap and spicy aftershave.

‘Okay, this isn’t so bad,’ he said. ‘A couple of stitches is all it needs. You’ll be fine.’

Without getting up, Chase rolled the stool to a neighbouring cabinet and opened a drawer. As he got out what he needed he cast a surreptitious glance at his patient.

The glimpse he’d caught of
her out in the hall had not done her justice. Olive-green eyes, porcelain skin, hair the lustre and shade of raw silk. Delicate features marred slightly by apprehension, but no surprise there. Not many patients enjoyed getting stitches.

He rolled the stool back and laid his things on the tray beside her. ‘Shyler, I’m going to have to numb the site. It’ll probably sting more than when you cut
yourself so just take a deep breath and try not to move.’

She clamped her jaw as the needle went in. Her feet did a little dance on the step stool; she clenched her other hand in a fist.

‘Hang in there. Almost done.’

Shyler ground her teeth and hung on. Sting, he’d said. She couldn’t imagine getting the stitches without the injection would hurt any more.

‘There.’ He straightened. ‘You can
relax, the worst is over.’

Relax? She’d laugh but knew what it would come out sounding like.

Chase disposed of the syringe and sat back to let the drug take effect. ‘I guess Elaine told you about Doctor Muir. He retired only recently, which is probably why you weren’t aware. I just took over the practice three weeks ago.’

He waited but she didn’t respond. Usually patients asked questions at
this point. Some to be friendly, others simply to know
what sort of man they’d be dealing with. Shyler apparently wasn’t curious.

She didn’t seem to have relaxed much, either. Her feet were still tapping, her fingers writhing in her lap, her top teeth scraping her bottom lip. Didn’t she believe him that the worst was passed?

He took up her hand. Tension hummed along her arm like energy through
a high voltage wire. Her pulse was fast.

Gently he prodded the skin near the wound. ‘How are we going? You still feeling that?’

A wordless nod. A shuddering breath. No eye contact. Nothing terribly out of the ordinary. Yet somehow he sensed this was more than simple fear of the procedure.

‘While I think of it, we don’t seem to have any contact details for you in our file. Perhaps you could
give them to Elaine on your way out.’

Another quick nod. But this time a shift, her hand tugging slightly as though to pull free. He gently restrained it. ‘So you don’t have a problem with giving your details?’

Shyler looked up, ignored the warmth she read in his gaze. ‘Of course not. Why should I?’

‘Your file says you’ve been here twice. Normally –’

‘I was in the process of moving then so
I didn’t know which address to give.’

‘Well that explains it.’

Despite his smile she sensed his suspicion had not been allayed. Best to get him off the topic entirely. ‘Where were you practising before you came here?’

‘Boston. That’s where I got my degree. Elaine thinks that makes me a city boy, but actually I grew up in Maine. Just north of Camden. Ever been there? Not a bad spot.’

It wasn’t
his habit to babble to strangers. In fact many considered him on the reticent side. But Chase hoped his
talking would put her at ease. Whatever the reason, she still looked tense.