Hostage at Hawk's Landing Page 11

  Wilson’s eyes widened. “Huckleberry is dead? God... How?”

  Wilson’s reaction seemed sincere. “He was in the stall with one of the bulls and had been gored. But two men were there and shot at me, so it’s possible he was murdered, and they put him in with the bull to cover it up.”

  The color drained from Wilson’s face. “Good Lord. Poor guy.” He scratched his chin. “Do you have any idea who’d do such a thing?”

  Dex shook his head. “I was hoping you could tell me that.”

  * * *

  MELISSA WAS ACCUSTOMED to living alone, but the rental house felt empty now. She missed Dex. His masculine scent lingered, taunting her with the fact that their earlier kiss had almost led to the bedroom.

  She phoned April to inform her that they could get in the shelter the next day to reopen. April offered to relay the news to the other volunteers and to Another Chance Shelter. The men she and Dex had transported there could return to Lend-A-Hand if they wanted.

  Melissa rolled her shoulders, her muscles aching. The red marks on her throat were turning dark purple now.

  Shivering with the memory of her attacker’s hands around her neck, she undressed and showered, letting the warm water soothe her frazzled nerves.

  She closed her eyes, savoring the scent of rosewater in her body wash, and scrubbed her body and hair clean. Willing the water to wash away the haunting memories of nearly dying twice, she stood beneath the spray until the water started to turn cold.

  Finally, she dried off and pulled on a T-shirt and pajama shorts, then padded to the kitchen and made a cup of hot tea. She needed to sleep and to forget about how close she’d come to death.

  Dex could distract her...

  Her suitcase caught her eye, but she fought the instinct to pack and run. She couldn’t leave yet. Not until she knew what had happened to Bill’s friend Harry, or who Jim Smith really was. Or if the shootings and the vet’s death and the missing homeless men were connected.

  Dex wanted answers about his father, too. She wanted them for him.

  Then she would leave town and find a place to start all over again like she had so many times before.

  A place where she could permanently put her fantasies about Dexter Hawk behind her.

  * * *

  “MR. WILSON, DO you have any idea why someone would want to kill Dr. Huckleberry?”

  Wilson fidgeted and glanced past Dex. “I have no idea. Everyone I know liked the doc.”

  “Were you two friends?” Dex asked.

  Wilson shrugged. “More like business acquaintances. He treated my animals. I respected that and paid him well for it.”

  “Did he have any enemies?”

  Wilson blinked rapidly and shoved his glasses on the top of his head, making his graying hair stick out. “Not that I was aware of. He was married once, but his wife ran off a couple of years ago.” He arched a brow. “You think she’d do something like this?”

  “I don’t know,” Dex said. “Was their relationship tumultuous?”

  Wilson shrugged again. “Huckleberry worked all the time. She got lonely, entertained herself elsewhere if you know what I mean.”

  So she’d cheated on him. But that would have given the vet motive to hurt her, not the other way around. “How about financially?”

  “Hell, she wanted everything, but he fought her.”

  “That’s certainly a theory the police will investigate,” Dex said, although he couldn’t imagine a woman dragging her husband into a stall with a raging bull. Then again, she could have hired those men to kill her husband, and he and Melissa showed up at the wrong time.

  He made a mental note to ask Lamar about the man’s will and if his wife had an alibi. He could check into her financials.

  “Or, hell, maybe someone broke in and wanted to steal drugs,” Wilson suggested.

  “That’s another possibility,” Dex agreed.

  “Did Dr. Huckleberry keep bull sperm at his place?” Dex asked.

  Wilson shook his head. “No, the seed we use is locked away tight and secure.”

  Dex retrieved the recent picture of his father. “Mr. Wilson, one more question. Do you recognize this man?”

  Wilson examined the picture. A shake of his head accompanied his response. “Don’t know him. Like I said, though, I could have met him at an auction. They draw a crowd.”

  Dex swallowed disappointment, then assessed the photo of his father taken twenty years ago. “How about this man?”

  Another look, then Wilson’s gaze rose to his. “Don’t think so. Why? You think these men have something to do with Dr. Huckleberry’s death?”

  “Maybe,” Dex said. “Although they didn’t kill him. These two photos are of the same man. And he’s dead.”

  “Who is he?” Wilson asked.

  “My father, Steven Hawk. He went missing about eighteen years ago. I’m trying to find out what happened to him.”

  Wilson looked confused at the change of topic. “Are you one of the Hawks who own that big spread, Hawk’s Landing?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s my family.”

  Wilson grunted. “Sorry I can’t help you out more with your questions. But if your family needs any breeding or studs, let me know.”

  Dex bit back a retort. Wilson might claim he knew nothing, but even under fire, he was pushing his business. Still, he seemed nervous about the vet’s murder.

  Did he know more than he’d admitted?

  * * *

  MELISSA HAD STRUGGLED with insomnia since she was little. Living on the streets and in shelters had taught her to always keep one eye and ear open for trouble. Dangers lurked everywhere.

  Bad men. Drug addicts. Pimps. Thieves. Vandals. Pedophiles.

  She hadn’t known at the time what that last word meant, only that some men liked little girls. Even inebriated, her father had kept her close for protection.

  It was the one honorable thing he’d done.

  She tried to put memories of those nights aside as she crawled into bed. But they plagued her in the night.

  She was five-years-old. She clenched her raggedy doll to her chest as she stumbled along after her father. He hugged his brown bag to him like it was his lifeline, sipping from the bottle inside.

  He called it his liquid courage. Said he needed it to get through the day.

  She hated the stinky smell, and the way it made him forget things sometimes. Like where they were going or that they hadn’t eaten all day. That he got sloppy and fell and sometimes they didn’t make it to the shelter. They’d sleep in the park, which she didn’t mind as much as the dirty alleys where it smelled like rotten food and nasty beer and pee.

  She saw men relieving themselves as if the alley was their toilet, and always covered her eyes. She didn’t like the way they looked at her, as if she was doing something wrong, not them.

  A grungy man in an army-green coat unzipped his pants and smiled at her as if he was going to show off his thing. She turned her face into her daddy’s sleeping body and hid her eyes, burrowing into him as tight as she could get.

  The next day when she’d told him about it, he’d gotten mad. Then he’d dragged her to a shelter and left her by herself. Said little girls didn’t belong on the street.

  She’d cried and begged him not to leave her with strangers, but he’d shaken off her hands and walked away.

  That night she’d lain on the cot alone and stared at the ceiling, willing him to come back. She’d heard noises outside, loud voices. Arguing.

  The walls shook and the door bust open...

  * * *

  SHE JERKED AWAKE, trembling, her senses on edge. A noise. She heard it outside.

  The window rattled. A banging. Wood creaking.

  Fear bolted through her.

  Someone was trying to break in.

  Chapter Fourtee
n

  Dex decided to stop by the hospital before heading home. The doctors should have had time to treat Melissa’s attacker.

  Maybe he’d be awake by now.

  Normally he’d trust Lamar to call him. But with Lamar’s warning, he didn’t expect to be looped in on the investigation until Lamar was ready to tie it up.

  He drove straight to the hospital and parked, then went inside to the ER. He recognized one of the nurses and approached her.

  She was in her midforties, with a passel of kids at home. The plump, tenderhearted woman treated all of her patients as if they were her children, too. She’d assisted the doctors in stitching him up a couple of times when he’d been injured on cases.

  He quickly explained that he’d witnessed the shooting and fudged slightly, implying he was working with the police. “Was the man moved to a room?”

  She checked the records. “Yes, third floor.”

  “He was unconscious with no ID when he was admitted,” Dex said. “Do you know his name now?”

  She shook her head. “Afraid not. A detective named Lamar put a detail on his room. Haven’t you talked to him?” she asked with an eyebrow raise.

  “At the crime scene, yes,” Dex replied. “But I had a couple of other leads to look into so haven’t spoken to him in the last hour.” He thanked her with a smile. “I’ll go upstairs and see if the man has regained consciousness.”

  Her phone was buzzing on her hip, and she gestured to it, so he headed toward the elevator. A siren wailed outside, and an ambulance rolled up, sending nurses and doctors scurrying.

  He slipped into the elevator and rode it to the third floor, then got off.

  Dex checked the room numbers and veered to the right. Voices echoed from the nurses’ station on the corner, and people rushed down the hall. A Code Red blasted over the intercom, and a nurse wheeled a crash cart toward the door where nurses and doctors had gathered.

  His instincts kicked in, and he picked up his pace. A guy in scrubs rushed past him, heading toward the elevator. Dex moved on, his pulse hammering as he neared the room.

  The code was in Room 312, the room where his John Doe was.

  A uniformed officer stood at the door, on guard, his face strained as a doctor ushered him out of the way.

  “What’s happening?” Dex asked as he reached the officer.

  The officer shrugged, his stance tense. “Don’t know. I went to take a leak, came back, and the prisoner was struggling for air. I pushed the call button and all hell broke loose.”

  Dex tensed as he watched the nurses and doctors scrambling to try to save the bastard. One doctor was doing CPR, his movements steady. The nurse with the crash cart rushed in, pulled out the paddles and shocked him. The man’s body jerked, but the steady beep of the machine beside him indicated he had no pulse.

  More voices. The doctor ordering them to do it again.

  Another shock. Then another. Then another, each time more intense. The man’s body jerked and fell back against the bed, no sign of breathing or life.

  A nurse checked the clock. Read the time. Looks were exchanged. Then the doctor put the paddles aside and pronounced the man dead.

  Dex cursed beneath his breath. That bastard might have had the answers he needed.

  But now he was just another body added to the count. They were piling up fast.

  And he was no closer to learning the truth.

  * * *

  MELISSA CLENCHED THE sheets and listened. Outside, the wind was silent. No storm.

  The noise...the back door rattling. Someone trying to turn the doorknob.

  Her lungs squeezed for air.

  What if it was another shooter connected to the vet’s death?

  Slowly she reached for her phone on the nightstand. She pressed 9-1-1 as she slipped from bed, and ducked into the closet.

  “9-1-1, how may I assist you?”

  “This is Melissa Gentry. Someone is trying to break into my house.” She quickly gave the operator her address.

  “Please stay on the line—”

  Melissa shoved the phone into the pocket of her pajama bottoms and snatched the rifle Dex had given her from the closet. Her fingers trembled as she gripped it.

  The noise grew louder. The door rattling. She tiptoed into the hallway. A few steps toward the kitchen and she stared at the back door. The knob was definitely turning.

  Through the glass in the upper part of the door, a shadow hovered outside, jiggling the doorknob.

  Fear nearly paralyzed her. Would the police get here in time?

  She pressed her back against the wall, forcing herself to remain still so the intruder couldn’t see her through the glass.

  Suddenly the window shattered. She trembled and raised the rifle.

  A gloved fist shot through the broken glass, clearing shards of glass, then he reached inside and tried to unlock the door.

  She stepped closer, close enough she thought the intruder could see her through the opening. He was a big guy, broad shoulders.

  She aimed the gun dead center at the man’s chest. Then she cleared her throat. “Go away or I’ll shoot!”

  She held her breath, praying he’d back down. But the door burst open and the man lunged at her. She tried to get off a shot, but he jerked her arm up and the round hit the ceiling. Plaster rained down and she struggled to hold on to the weapon, but he slammed her backward against the wall. Her head hit the wood so hard that the world spun.

  Calling on moves she’d learned in a self-defense class, she brought her knee up and aimed for his crotch. He dodged the blow and clawed at the rifle. Another bullet dislodged and hit the wall. She screamed and shoved at him, but he was too strong.

  He growled and backhanded her across the face. Her head snapped back, and her control on the gun slipped.

  He snatched the rifle from her hands, then flung her across the room. She grappled for control, but her head hit the corner of the wall, and she slid to the floor.

  She blinked through blurry eyes and tasted blood.

  But she couldn’t give up. She crawled to her knees, desperate to see what he looked like. Burly. A beard. Shaggy hair. Dark clothes. A scar across his cheek.

  He aimed the rifle at her.

  Her life flashed behind her eyes. She’d done good by helping others.

  But she wanted more. She wanted love. A family of her own. A real home that she’d never had.

  He took a step closer, his menacing expression sending a shiver through her.

  Dear God, she didn’t want to die...

  * * *

  DEX WANTED TO slam his fist against the wall. Everywhere he turned, he hit a dead end.

  “Was anyone in the room with the prisoner before he coded?” Dex asked.

  The officer shrugged. “Just the staff. A nurse earlier. The man seemed fine. Just sleeping.” He paused and rubbed his chin as if thinking. “Later, a male nurse came in. Put something in the guy’s IV. I figured it was pain meds.”

  Suspicions rose in Dex’s mind. That IV could have held something that killed the man.

  The doctor appeared at the doorway, wiping perspiration from her damp forehead. “I’m sorry, Officer. He didn’t make it.”

  “What happened?” Dex asked.

  The doctor narrowed her eyes at Dex. “Are you family, sir?”

  Dex shook his head. “No, but—”

  “I can’t discuss this with you,” the doctor said. “Either get his family here or I’ll talk with the detective in charge.”

  The doctor’s phone was ringing. She answered it, then rushed to a room across the hall.

  The officer guarding the room stepped aside to phone Lamar. Dex turned to the nurse. “Did you find out his name?”

  She shook her head. “There’ll be an autopsy. Maybe the ME can give you insight into his
identity.”

  And an exact cause of death.

  The image of the male in scrubs he’d passed rushing toward the elevator surfaced, and Dex hissed. If those scrubs were a disguise, the man could have slipped something in that IV to cause the suspect to have a heart attack.

  Inside the room, the doctor had covered the suspect with a sheet and the machines had stopped beeping, the silence eerie.

  A minute later, the officer returned, his face stoic. “Detective Lamar said you need to stay away from here.”

  Dex worked his mouth from side to side. “I just want answers.”

  The officer attached his phone back on his hip. “Maybe so. But he asked if you’d been in to visit this man. Said you had reason to want him dead.”

  “Lamar implied that I killed him?”

  “Not in those words.”

  Anger churned inside Dex. Lamar knew him better than that. But this officer? “You’ve been here since he was brought in?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you know that I haven’t been inside the damn room.”

  Furious, Dexter walked away. But he dialed Lamar as he rode the elevator. Lamar answered immediately.

  “What’s going on?” Dex asked. “You think that I did something to the John Doe in the hospital. I wanted—”

  “Whoa,” Lamar said. “I never said anything of the sort.”

  “Well, your officer implied it.”

  A grunt echoed back. “You know how cops are, Dex. Always questioning everything.”

  “Well, someone may have killed the guy, but it sure as hell wasn’t me. I passed a man in scrubs rushing past the elevator as I headed down the hall toward our prisoner. The officer said a male nurse gave the prisoner drugs through an IV. He assumed it was pain meds, but what if someone was disguised as a nurse and killed him?”

  “Can you describe this nurse?” Lamar asked.

  Dex pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to recall details. “Probably thirties, clean-shaven, medium build. I didn’t get a good look at his face. Talk to your officer. Maybe he can add something.”