Home of the Brave (Raine Stockton Dog Mysteries Book 9) (26 page)

Miles suppressed a chuckle as he made the turn into Courthouse Square and found a parking place.  It was all decorated for the parade with swags of red and white bunting  draped from the white columns of the courthouse, waving in the breeze from the reviewing stand set up in front of the big building, and continuing  around on both sides to the public safety building and the jail.  Huge American flags waved from the east and west corners of the square, as well as from the center of the courthouse portico, and bleachers were set up in front of the reviewing stand.  In contrast to the past twenty-four hours, it all seemed surreal; garish and overdone.  I felt that wave of vertigo again, a touch of queasiness in my core.

“Wow.”  Melanie looked around appreciatively.  “Pretty cool.  Maybe we should stay for the parade after all.”  And without waiting for a response, she reached for her door handle.  “I’ll go in with you, Raine.  You’ll probably need some help.”

I said, “I don’t think so.”  Even as Miles reached his arm over the seat to stop her and added, “Whoa, kiddo.”

I had offered to bring Nike to the hospital, or even to return her to Jolene at home, but Jolene was still a by-the-book kind of girl.  Nike was property of the sheriff’s department; she wanted her returned to the sheriff’s department.  And given everything that was going on there now, the sheriff’s department was definitely not the place for a little girl.  I wasn’t even sure it was the place for a big girl, and I didn’t intend to spend any more time inside than necessary.

I gave Melanie an apologetic smile as I got out.  “Sorry, official business,” I said.  To Miles I added, “I’ll just be a minute.”

Cisco suddenly sat up straight and barked out the window.  Melanie twisted around to see what he was barking at.  “Hey,” she said, frowning.  “It’s that creepy guy from the woods.”

Miles frowned.  “Do you mean the one with the gun?”

Startled, I followed the direction of her gaze.  “Oh my goodness, you’re right.”  The man who stood in the shade of the big poplar that marked the entrance to the park across the street from us was wearing camo pants, a green cotton hunter’s vest and combat boots.  When Cisco barked, he turned to look at us.  It was definitely Gene Hicks, but there was something different about him.  I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.  “How weird is that?”  He had mentioned something about trying to sell fireworks in town, so maybe that was why he was here.  Maybe the FBI swarming all over the woods had driven him out of his campsite.  It just seemed so strange to see him here.

Miles got out of the car and came to stand beside me.  Why do men do that?  Like their mere presence could frighten off imaginary threats.  I gave him a disparaging look and deliberately raised my arm, waving to the man across the street.  He looked at me for a moment with no expression whatsoever.  Then he smiled, took an apple from the oversized pocket of his vest, and saluted me with it.  He walked away with an easy, sauntering gait, munching the apple.

“Creepy,” muttered Miles.

I frowned.  “He is not.”  But what was it that was different?  What was bothering me?

Melanie said, “Well, I didn’t like him.  He had a snake tattooed on his hand.  He was scarier than the soldiers.”

Miles gave me an “I told you so” look and I ignored him, walking around the vehicle to open the cargo door of the SUV.  The minute I did, Nike became agitated.  She stood up in her crate and barked, pawing at the wire, even grabbing it with her teeth as though she was trying to chew her way through.  Did she know Jolene was here?  Did she recognize the place she had only worked in for four days?  Whatever it was, the sight of that big police dog trying to chew her way through the wire cage was disconcerting, and of course her barking got Pepper and Cisco started.  There was no way I was going to try to handle her by myself.  I closed the back door of the SUV and called “Sorry!” to Miles over the sound of barking dogs.  “Be right back!”

I crossed the parking lot and went quickly around the walkway to the sheriff’s department, still wondering what it was about Gene Hicks that was different, and wishing I’d had a chance to talk to him.

I pushed open the sheriff’s department door, and for the first time in all the years I’d been coming here I couldn’t wait to leave.  Even before I opened the door I could feel the urgency and the dread; I could smell the sweat of overworked, over-dedicated officers and the shock of betrayal that permeated every stone and tile.  It brought it all back.  It reminded me it wasn’t over.  It made me want to go home and play with my dogs and barbecue hamburgers and pretend the past weekend had never happened.

Annabelle looked at me with big eyes and a harried expression when I came in.  “Hey, Raine.  You okay?  None of us can believe this.  Just awful, isn’t it?  I’m glad you’re okay.”

I’m sure I said something nice to her but I really just wanted to do what I’d come to do and go home.  I spotted Jolene in the bullpen and started toward her.  It was odd to see her in civilian clothes—a white shirt and jeans—and her arm was compressed against her chest in a dark blue sling.  The bruise around her eye was still purple, and the eye itself was bloodshot, but the swelling had gone down and she looked pretty good for someone who had only gotten out of the hospital a couple of hours ago.  Certainly she looked a hundred times better than she had the last time I’d seen her.

The bullpen was crowded and noisy and had that same sour smell of fatigue and nervous energy that clung to the rest of the building.  The big whiteboards had pictures of faces I didn’t know on them, and most alarmingly, faces that I did know: Lyle Reston, Reggie Connor, Henry Middleton.  More than once I saw pictures of the old-fashioned yellow “Don’t Tread on Me” flag with the coiled rattlesnake. I could feel eyes follow me as I passed.  I tried to smile, tried to look brave.  I wanted them to know everything was okay now.  It could have gone so much worse, but thanks to them it had not.  Everything was okay now. And so I made myself smile.

Jolene got up from her desk as I approached, and for a moment we just looked at each other warily, uncomfortably. I had heard somewhere that when people survive a trauma together— an airplane crash, say, or a shipwreck or a hostage situation—an indelible bond forms between them that no one else will ever understand.  I did not think that was going to be the case with Jolene and me.

“Hey,” I said, a little awkwardly.  “Nike’s in the car.  She’s a little agitated.  I thought you’d want to bring her in yourself.”

Jolene responded grumpily, “You probably fed her popcorn and talked baby-talk to her.”

I scowled briefly. “I did not.”  In fact, she had shown no interest whatsoever in the popcorn.

Jolene returned my scowl.  “I guess I should thank you for keeping her.  I would’ve stopped by your place to pick her up, but the sheriff wanted to see me.”

I glanced around, just wanting to be out of here. Everything about this place, and about Jolene in particular, was like reopening a wound, and it disturbed me to think it might always be that way. “I’m sure you would have been excused,” I said, trying to be polite.  “Aren’t you on medical leave?”

Her expression was a little grim.  “You only get leave if you’re still employed.  I’m not sure I am.” She lifted a shoulder in a curt dismissive gesture that seemed to carry an undertone of frustration.  “It’s probably just as well,” she said gruffly.  “I screwed everything up out there.  What kind of cop can’t handle the duty in a hick town like this?  I deserve to be fired.”

That was probably my cue to say something reassuring—which she would have resented—or to agree with her, which would have started a fight and, come to think of it, was probably what she was going for. But to tell the truth, I was barely listening.  I couldn’t stop looking around the room, trying to figure out what was still nagging at the back of my mind.  “What’s the deal with all the snake flags?”

“It’s the Gadsden Flag,” she corrected me with a tone that implied any idiot would know that.  “The militants use it as their insignia.  Of course, so do the Navy Seals and a lot of other legitimate patriotic organizations, but we’re supposed to keep an eye out for it.  You know, bumper stickers, tee shirts—”

“Tattoos,” I said softly.  Something cold was starting to close in around my stomach as bits and scraps of memory started to swarm together like iron shavings drawn to a magnet.  Lost homes, unpaid insurance claims, a box of fire crackers that were too big to be fire crackers...

You
can't trust anybody
, Gene Hicks had said,
Not the government, not the banker, not the preacher, not your wife. Not anybody.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Jolene.  Then she looked at me sharply.  “Do you know somebody with a tattoo like that?”

I said softly, still thinking hard,  “Yeah, I do.  There was this camper in the woods...”

A green backpack, a green canvas bag filled with grenades. Jeb Wilson.  Florida.
What was it Miles had said about an insurance debacle after the hurricane? 
If he makes it to Washington, there’s no limit to the damage he could do
...

The backpack …

You can’t trust anybody
, he’d said. 
There’s some bad types around
...

That was what was wrong about Gene Hicks.  That was what was missing.  A hiker without his backpack.  Without his gun, without his tent, without his provisions … without his backpack.

My breath left my lungs with a whoosh and I turned to Jolene urgently.  “It wasn’t us!” I gasped.  “It was never about us, don’t you see?” 

Jolene’s brows drew together suspiciously. I must have looked, and sounded, crazy. “What are you talking about?”

“He had firecrackers.”  My heart was pounding as though I’d just run up a flight of stairs and I could hardly get the words out.  “The man in the woods, only I don’t think they were firecrackers at all, I think they were some kind of bomb... he practically
told
me what he was planning!  Florida, the insurance, the banks...”

Jolene said in a tone that was very quiet and still, “What?  What was he planning?”

I looked around the room wildly, although I’m not entirely sure what I was looking for.  “Jeb Wilson!” I cried.  “The FBI, the state police, every deputy in the county—they were all at the camp and no one was guarding the town!  That was what they wanted !  ‘When your government goes up in flames’ … that’s what he said, don’t you remember?  This was their plan all along!”

The deputies around me had stopped talking, and turned their heads to me, their expressions tense and worried.  Buck must have heard me from his office because he came out, looking older and more tired than I ever imagined he could be.  He said, “Raine?  What’s going on?” 

But I spared him barely a glance, and turned back to Jolene, desperate to make her understand.  She was there, she would know, she
had
to know I was right, she had to believe me.  My breath came so rapidly that I thought I might pass out.  “‘
This is not our mission
.’  That’s what they kept saying.  That’s why the FBI can’t find them—they had already planned their escape route!”

Buck said, “Raine?”

“He had a backpack,” I said tensely, lowly to Jolene.  My hands were balled into fists at my sides as I tried to will my thoughts into her mind. “When I saw him in the woods he had a green backpack, and just now—he didn’t!”

Her eyes were locked on mine with an intensity that I have never felt from another human being.  And it was the weirdest thing, I
felt
her understanding.  No one who had not been there would have believed me.  No one who had not endured those terrifying hours by my side would have trusted me or even tried to make sense of my hysterical ramblings.  But it was as though she looked inside my head and she knew exactly what I was trying to say and she believed me.

The lines around Jolene’s mouth grew very tight.  “I need my dog,” she said. 

She shouldered past me, moving in long strides for the door.  Before she reached it, she was running.  So was I. 

Chapter
Twenty
-Seven

T
he
first bomb Nike alerted to was beneath the reviewing stand.  The square was evacuated within minutes; the entire town was sealed off within the hour.  There were two more bombs, each with enough fire power to take out half a block.  One was in the courthouse, the other beneath the jail.  They don’t leave witnesses.

But this time their mission failed.  This time the bomb squad was on site in fifteen minutes.  The entire town was declared secure by sundown.  There was no parade that Fourth of July, no fireworks, no picnics on the town square.  But it was still the best Independence Day in recent memory.  Because this time the good guys won.

Jeb Wilson held a press conference in which he praised the hard work and ingenuity of the Hanover County Sheriff’s Department, operating under the inspired leadership of Buck Lawson. It was carried on the national news, and Buck’s picture was in every newspaper in the state.  A reporter out of Asheville did a feature on the hostage crisis and called it “The Heroes of Camp Bluebird.” A big-time news magazine picked it up and Cisco’s picture was on the cover. For a while we were pretty famous.