Bree continued to stare at Sandy in dread as she mouthed the same words over and over.
It feels as if she’s staring through me. Who does she see?
“Sorry . . . ,” Bree whispered. “Sorry . . . dead. Buried.”
“Bree. You’re not going to die! You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you again.” Sandy searched for the CALL button and hit it. “Everyone will be so happy you’re awake. Lucas just left, but I’m going to call him right now.” She kept talking, afraid Bree would drift away if she stopped. The woman gripped her hand like a lifeline. “Bree, honey, you can relax. Are you in pain? Do you need more medication?”
“Lucas?” she croaked with a new fear in her eyes.
“Lucas is safe.”
Bree’s lips stopped moving, and her eyelids fell closed. The grip on Sandy’s hand eased.
“Bree?” Sandy touched an unharmed spot on Bree’s cheek. “Bree. Open your eyes again for me.”
“What’s going on?” Sandy’s favorite efficient nurse bustled in, wearing purple scrubs and running shoes. The deputy on guard stood in the doorway, his face hopeful.
“She opened her eyes and talked to me!”
“That’s great!” The nurse leaned close to Bree. “Hey, Bree. Sandy claims you talked to her, is that true?” she cajoled as she checked Bree’s pulse and started the automatic blood pressure cuff. “Wake up for me again, would you?”
The two of them watched Bree’s closed eyes and waited. Sandy swore her heartbeat was louder than the machinery in the room.
Nothing.
It was as if it had never happened.
“She was terrified she was dying.” Sandy wanted to weep. “She kept saying ‘buried.’ Do you think she’s in pain?”
“Hmmmm,” the nurse said noncommittally. “I’ll mention it to her doctor.” Satisfied with Bree’s vitals, she straightened the sheets and laid a caring hand on her patient’s shoulder. “Keep talking to her,” the nurse said kindly, smiling at Sandy. “Keep reassuring her she is safe. No doubt she’s very traumatized.” She frowned. “I’ve seen patients open their eyes and even speak, but then fall right back into their unconscious state. Sometimes that is the best medicine as the brain tries to process the trauma.”
“Lucas missed it.” But would Lucas have wanted to see his mother like that?
Sandy decided it was best he hadn’t. She still struggled to catch her breath after the sight of Bree’s fear.
Lowering herself into her chair, Sandy kept a grip on Bree’s hand and stared at the battered face as the nurse left.
Buried.
Had Bree been more concerned than she let on about the threatening notes? Had she wanted someone to know her final wishes?
A shudder shot up Sandy’s spine.
Had Bree expected to be murdered?
Why?
Sandy had spent a decade looking over her shoulder, always waiting for Lionel to jump out of the dark. But she’d never felt the need to express her last wishes to someone.
I really should make a will.
The gentle hum and beeps of the equipment were reassuring, and Sandy relaxed into the chair. As long as the machines were calm, everything was all right with Bree.
But something in her head is tormenting her.
Understandable after the torture she’d endured.
But the distress was there before the torture.
Sandy leaned forward, rested her arms on the metal rails of Bree’s hospital bed, and started to think.
I can figure this out.
Truman pulled open the door to Leaky’s Tavern, stepped inside, and paused as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He’d shown the digitally aged images of Trevor Whipple and Nathan May in every shop in town and come up empty.
Over and over people studied the pictures, frowned, shook their heads, and then handed them back with a “Sorry, Chief.”
Currently Truman was on the hunt for Nick Walker, Rose’s fiancé. At one time or another, every man within several miles had passed through Nick’s business, and Truman knew he could find Nick at Leaky’s for lunch.
He spotted Nick in a booth near the back, a club sandwich in hand and a gigantic soda on the table in front of him. A bar like Leaky’s was an unlikely lunch spot for a man on the job, unless that man knew about the awesomeness that was the Leaky turkey club.
Truman knew.
His stomach growled.
A few other people sat at the bar, their eyes glued to a basketball game. Nick was the only customer at a table. Truman slid into the booth across from him, and Nick wiped his mouth. “Hey, Truman.”
“Rose holding up after last night?”
“Yeah, but she calls the hospital nurses’ station every hour to check on Kaylie. What’s the latest?”
“Stable. Doctors are optimistic.” That’s such a relief to say. Truman had repeated the same phrase multiple times that day. Everyone cared deeply about the young, peppy owner of the Coffee Café. It made him proud to be a part of this town.
“Catch the asshole that shot her?”
“They will. Deschutes County, Bend PD, and the FBI are all over it.” Truman itched to be on the hunt, but it wasn’t his jurisdiction. He couldn’t sit still, so with renewed vigor he’d thrown himself into finding who’d attacked Bree Ingram.
“Good.” Nick took a drink of his soda.
“Rose definitely has the flu?”
“Yep. Doc started her on some medication as soon as she went in.” Nick looked glum. “She didn’t want to take anything, but he said there’s more risk to the baby from the fever than the drugs, and Rose is also at risk for getting something worse. He said something about changes in a pregnant woman’s immune system that makes them more prone to bad shit.”
“That sounds awful.” Pregnant women were a mystery to him. Perplexing changes happened in their bodies.
“They say it’s a good thing she’s in her last trimester. Just need to keep her hydrated, eating consistently, and her fever down.” He scowled. “And no more late-night stressful visits to hospitals. She was exhausted when we got home.”
“I know how persuasive Mercy can be when she wants to do something. I assume Rose is the same way. There’s no changing their minds.”
“Exactly.” Nick took a fierce bite of his sandwich. “You here for lunch?” he asked after he chewed and swallowed.
“No. I wanted to show you these.” Truman laid out the images one by one. “Recognize anyone?”
Nick picked one up and wrinkled his forehead. “Why are they so weird looking?”
“They’re computer generated.”
“Oh.” He carefully studied each one, continuing to make quick work of his sandwich. “Help yourself to some fries.” He pushed his plate closer to Truman.
Leaky’s fries were a close second to the club. Crisp outsides, tender insides, and tossed with a secret spice recipe. Mercy claimed the secret was cumin and chili powder, but hers tasted nothing like Leaky’s. Truman took a few from Nick’s plate and flavor exploded in his mouth.
He must have made a noise, because Nick looked up from a page and grinned. “Good, huh?”
Truman could only nod.
Nick sat back in the booth. “I don’t recognize these guys, but I keep coming back to this one.” He tapped the overweight Nathan May. The same photo that felt familiar to Truman. “Don’t know where or how, but I’ve met him. I think.” Nick looked less than positive.