CnC 5 One Hex of a Wedding (6 page)

 

 

 

THE AFTERNOON SUN seemed terribly out of place as we sped along to the hospital. It should be raining and stormy, dark as my mood. Deacon tried to reassure me but until I heard word from the doctor that Joe was okay, nothing in the world could help.

“The fact that he was conscious is a good thing, Emerald. It really is,” he said, maneuvering down Saddleback Street as cars pulled to the right to get out of our way. “He’ll be okay.”

“Who shot him?” I asked. “What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know. Greg and Sandy were there when I got there. The minute I found out what happened, I took off to let you know.” He fell silent, concentrating on the road.

I stared at my hands. My left hand in particular. The brilliant-cut diamond in Black Hills gold weighed heavy on my ring finger, reminding me of just how much I had to lose. Until I met Joe, I never expected to find someone who’d ever love me the way he did. Whom I’d ever love as much as I loved him. Sure, I’d loved Roy in the beginning, but he returned it with anger and taunts, with so many strings attached that I began to believe I wasn’t worthy of love. There were a few dalliances after I left him, but nobody really special. Not until the lanky young EMT had serendipitously fallen into my life. I didn’t want to lose him. Not now. Not ever.

“He’s got to be okay, Deacon. He’s got to be okay.”

Deacon remained silent, but I could feel his concern reaching out to me, covering me like a soft comforter on a cold night.

 

 

I’D BEEN IN the hospital all too often over the past eighteen months, both for my own injuries and those of family and friends. The path of a cosmic crime-fighter didn’t run smoothly, and I was weary of the worries that attended the dubious honor.

I bolted from the car and rushed inside the moment Deacon pulled up to the entrance of the ER. As I entered the doors, my feet stopped working and I found myself paralyzed, terrified of what I might hear. Then a firm, familiar presence slipped up behind me and warm arms wrapped themselves around my shoulders. I leaned back against Jimbo’s chest, enveloped by the scent of leather and dirt and hickory smoke.

“Tell me he’s okay. For God’s sake, tell me he’s alive.” Biting my lip, I held my breath until he spoke.

“He’s alive, that much I know. I don’t think he’s in danger, O’Brien. The doctors will be out as soon as they know what’s going on. He caught a bullet in the shoulder; I don’t think he got hit any other place.” He leaned down and pressed his lips against the top of my head, much like I did when Kip was afraid. For a rough and tumble biker, he could be pretty tender. Jimbo was a good friend and I knew he wouldn’t lie to me.

I looked up at him. He looked haggard and was covered with soot and dirt. I pushed myself away, turning to examine him. Reddish splotches stained his shirt. Blood. I reached out, hesitant. “Is that—”

He glanced down. “Joe’s. Come on, let’s get you to the front desk.” He took my hand and, leading me like a little girl, he fielded our way through the bustle of nurses and patients till we stood by the front desk. “This is Joe Files’ fiancée.”

The nurse looked up from her chart and her eyes flickered with recognition. It was Wilma Velcox. She’d helped Kip when I had to bring him in for a broken arm. “Ms. O’Brien. You’re Mr. Files’ fiancée?”

“Yeah. Is he going to be okay?”

She closed the file she was holding, set it to one side, and stood. “You must be frantic. I’ll have someone come talk to you in just a moment. Sir, if you could take her over to the waiting area—”

Jimbo let out a muffled grunt. “Okay, but don’t make it too long.” He steered me over to the all too familiar sofa in the waiting room and pushed me by the shoulders until I sat down. I leaned forward, head in my hands, trying to keep it together. My mind whirled with all sorts of possibilities—most of them bad—but I knew my fear was overriding my ability to sense how Joe was doing. I tried to tune in, but couldn’t push past the panic.

“Tell me what happened. Talk to me.”

Jimbo let out a long sigh. “We were getting ready for the barbecue, we’d carried the meat down to the lake and I was working on the grill while Joe was shucking corn. I turned around … I dunno why, but something felt off. Just then, there was a crack, and the next thing I knew Joe was on the ground, bleeding. He had his cell phone on him and I called 911 while trying to pull one of the barrels in front of us for cover.”

I closed my eyes, imagining the scene. The lakeside area of Jimbo’s acreage was overgrown, wild and thick with cattails and long blades of canary grass. Skunk cabbage dappled the area with bright yellow flowers, and a rickety homemade dock led out over the lake to where he kept inner tubes and a canoe tied to the moorings. The meadow had been cleared and we used it for get-togethers and barbecues. I could see Joe standing there, shucking corn under the afternoon sun, and then a shot ringing out. Suddenly, the image was all too vivid and my eyes flew open.

“Was he shot more than once?”

Jimbo shook his head. “No. Whoever did it either disappeared or ran out of ammo. One shot, that’s all. I couldn’t tell if the bullet actually went in or not. I didn’t want to mess with the wound too much, so I just applied pressure where it was bleeding, and by the time the ambulance got there, I’d staunched the flow. Joe was awake.” He paused, then stumbling over his words, continued, “He told me to tell you that he loves you, O’Brien. That you’re the only woman he’s ever loved.” He stared at the floor.

At that moment, Murray and Deacon appeared at the entrance to the waiting room. Murray rushed over and settled in on my other side. I caught her glance at Jimbo over my head, but she said nothing.

Deacon motioned to Jimbo. “Now that Emerald’s here and Joe’s with the doctors, I need to get your statement.” Jimbo grunted and headed over to the other side of the room, followed by the careworn officer.

Murray took my hands in hers. “White Deer says to tell you not to worry, that Joe will be okay. She took a peek.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. “Thank you, I needed to hear that. I trust her. I trust her—really, but …”

“But you won’t know for sure until the doctors talk to you.”

Miserable, I nodded.

She pulled me into her arms and let me rest my head against her shoulder. “Harlow’s watching the kids. She convinced your family to go back to the hotel.”

Family! Shit, I had to call Joe’s family. I grabbed for my purse and frantically began searching for the address book. “Joe’s brother is due in tomorrow—I have to call him.”

She took my purse from me and set it on the seat beside us. “Wait until you know more about what’s happened. You don’t want to alarm them if it’s just a surface wound.”

I let go of the book and she tucked it back into my handbag. “You’re right. I can’t seem to think straight. I’m so scared, Mur. What if he … what if something goes wrong … what if—”

“What if you put those what-ifs on hold? Come on, I’ll bet you haven’t had a full breath since Deacon showed up at the door.” She made me turn around and began rubbing my shoulders. As the tension loosened, I inhaled deeply, realizing that she was right. As I coughed, I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye. A doctor had entered the room and was headed my way. I recognized him, too, from one of our numerous trips to the ER.

Jumping up, I raced over, scanning his face anxiously. “Can you tell me about Joe?”

He held out his hand and smiled. “You can relax, Emerald. He’s going to be all right. The bullet winged him, grazing his shoulder right below his collarbone, but it didn’t go in. Joe must have turned just as the bullet came whizzing by, because it caught him at the perfect angle—for him, not for whoever it was trying to shoot him. He’ll be fine, though he’s going to hurt like hell the next week or so.”

Dizzy with relief, I felt my knees give way, but before I landed on my butt, strong arms buoyed me up. Jimbo had rushed to my side, catching me a second before I hit the floor. He helped me to a chair.

The doctor sat down next to me. “Mr. Files is an athletic young man, and that worked in his favor. He has abrasions and a lot of bruising, but nothing that won’t heal.” He looked at Deacon. “Since the bullet didn’t penetrate, your men should find it out at the scene, Officer Wilson. My guess, from the wound, is that the gun was a twenty-two. If it had been a shotgun, there would have been a lot more damage, and the buckshot would have made a mess of his arm.” He consulted the file. “We’ll want to keep him for twenty-four hours for observation, but I think he’ll be able to go home tomorrow.”

Breathing easier, I asked, “Can I see him?”

The doctor put his hand on mine. “Of course, but give us about fifteen minutes to make him comfortable in a room. A nurse will come get you when he’s ready for visitors.”

“Is he up to answering a few questions?” Murray asked.

With a shrug, the doctor said, “I think a few questions will be fine, but don’t overtire him.” And with that, he left the room.

“Thank God he’s going to be okay.” I slid back in my seat as the panic rushed out like a wave on the ebb. Tears streaked down my cheeks as I silently gave thanks to whatever force had saved my sweetheart. I could easily have been Joe’s widow before I’d even been his bride.

Murray pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll let Harlow know so she can tell the kids,” she said.

Jimbo gave me a thumbs-up. “I told you he’s tough. O’Brien, wipe your eyes and blow your nose and fix your makeup. Joe’s going to need cheering up and that long face of yours is about as cheerful as a hog on butchering day.”

I narrowed my eyes, unable to keep from laughing. “Are you calling me a pig, biker man?”

He grinned. “That’s the stuff. You’re a tough broad, O’Brien. And
that
is a compliment.”

 

 

JOE WAS IN bed, propped against pillows, with an IV in his arm and a Telfa bandage covering the space just below his collarbone on his left side. He opened his eyes when we walked through the door. I raced over to his side, dropping into the chair next to his bed.

He winced a little as he shifted to get a better look at me. “Hey, babe, good of you to visit.” His voice was groggy; they’d given him pain medication and it had made him tired.

“Joe, don’t you ever do this to me again! I was afraid …” My voice trailed off. I couldn’t finish my thoughts. Sometimes saying something aloud made it all too real. I clutched his right hand, focusing on the feel of his fingers in mine, the warmth of his flesh against my own.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know. I was thinking the same thing myself.”

Murray and Jimbo hung back, but Deacon slowly made his way over to the bed. “Hey, Joe, I don’t mean to break up the reunion, but are you up to answering a few questions for me?”

Joe cleared his throat. “I can try, man, but I don’t remember much. Jimbo had a much clearer view of what went down, considering I was preoccupied with keeping myself alive, rather than looking for whoever shot at me.”

Deacon asked him if he’d noticed anything out of the ordinary, if there had been any strange sounds or events before the shot. Joe told him no, he’d just been shucking corn when he heard a loud
crack
and the next thing he knew, his shoulder was on fire in a blaze of pain.

“Can you think of anybody who might be out to get you? You have any enemies, made anyone mad lately? Any threats?” Deacon poised his pen over his notepad.

Joe looked at him sharply. “What do you mean? You think this was deliberate and not an accident? I thought it must be some neighbor kid out shooting birds or something, who didn’t look before he pulled the trigger.”

As I mulled over Deacon’s questions in my mind, an ugly thought crept into the back of my mind. One I didn’t want to entertain. I hoped I was wrong. I’d better be wrong. But what if I wasn’t?

Joe shook his head. “I can’t think of anybody who might be that mad at me. I’m in the business of saving lives, not making them miserable.”

I had to speak up. “I know somebody who’s mad at you, Joe. I hate to even mention it—but maybe …”

“Who?” Deacon looked at me, as Murray and Jimbo moved closer.

I glanced up at Murray. “Roy. He was drunk last night, but he wasn’t incoherent. He threatened to ruin our wedding. You all heard him.” Once the words were out of my mouth, I wished I could take them back. What if I was right? But surely Roy wasn’t capable of murder. Or was he? I didn’t want to believe he could possibly pick up a gun and deliberately shoot someone but then again, I’d been on the receiving end of his fist several times and I knew he wasn’t above taking his anger out on anybody who happened to be within punching range. Was the leap so far from a fist to a gun?

Murray’s eyes grew wide. “Shit, you’re right. Deacon, I want you to talk to Greg. I had him find out where Roy is staying. I sent him over to take Roy’s car keys back and tell him to watch himself. Ask Greg for the address and if Roy’s still there, tell him to stay put. We can’t rule him out until we investigate this further.” She turned to me. “Would Roy have known about the barbecue?”

I shrugged. “Kip might have told him. He told him about the party. And it’s not that hard in this little town to find out what’s going on.”

Just then, the door opened and a nurse walked in. She was carrying a bag with a bloodstained shirt in it. “The doctor wanted me to ask you if you’ll be needing Mr. Files’ shirt for evidence?”

Murray glanced at it, then did a double take. “Jimmy,” she said to Jimbo, “that’s your shirt. I gave that to you for Christmas.”

I peered at the Hawaiian print and frowned. “She’s right. I don’t think you own a shirt like that, do you, Joe?”

Joe shook his head. “No, but when I was mixing up the barbecue sauce, I spilled it all over myself and had to borrow a shirt from Jimbo. My own shirt’s sitting on his kitchen counter.”