“Cops!”
Another explosion of sound and motion as they were rammed in the right rear fender. Metal scraped. Fir needles rained down. The impact spun the patrol car sideways, wrenched the stitches over Kateri’s ribs. The wound opened, one torn stitch at a time. Icy-hot pain slithered up her nerves. Warm blood trickled down her side.
Moen opened his door.
Through the ringing in her ears, Kateri heard the roar of an engine. Was another vehicle going to hit them? Or worse—had John Senior escaped?
Moen unbuckled his seat belt. “You okay, Sheriff?”
“Yes.” She pressed the pad of her bandage. “Go.”
He leaped out and ran toward the unmoving body in the middle of the road.
Had they inadvertently killed a hostage?
Someone yanked open her door. “Sorry, Sheriff, when you fishtailed, we couldn’t stop.” A moment, then a face thrust into hers. “You okay, Sheriff?”
Kateri blinked at the star-pattern of pain before her eyes.
The face belonged to Deputy Sheriff Gunder Bergen. Good guy. Good law officer. Second in command. He knew stuff.
“Who did we hit?” she asked. “Did we kill him?”
“Moen’s coming.”
Moen stuck his head in the driver’s door. He leaned a hand on the steering wheel and one on the seat and spoke to her. “The body was John Junior. He was already dead. Like … there was no rigor mortis so a few days ago, right?”
Bergen inched in farther, leaned a hand on the dashboard. “We’re getting the coroner out here, but yeah. What killed him?”
Moen switched his attention to Bergen. “Gunshot wound.”
“Close range? His father shot him?” Bergen asked.
The two men were talking over the top of her. Which was annoying as hell. “He shot his son so he could use the body as a diversion?” Kateri clicked her seat belt and let go.
The buckle smacked Bergen on the thigh.
He jumped back, bumped his head on the roof, looked surprised as the dog who ate the bumblebee.
“No. I mean, maybe, but the shot was long range, entered the right side at about the liver. He bled out.” Moen looked hard at Kateri. “Sheriff, you don’t look much better than the corpse.”
Bergen nodded. “Ambulance just pulled up. We’ll send her to the hospital.”
Kateri said the obvious. “Don’t be silly. I’m fine.”
“You sound just like my wife right before she collapsed with a ruptured appendix,” Bergen said.
“I’m fine,” she repeated. The air coming in the door was hot. Wasn’t it? “Did we get John Senior?”
Moen clearly didn’t want to give this report. “The diversion worked. He gunned it. Road was too narrow. No one could get past us. He’s gone.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Now I’m not fine.” As her brief burst of hope faded, Kateri felt each torn stitch. “Hand me my walking stick.”
Moen pulled it out of the backseat and passed it to Kateri.
Four years ago, an earthquake had hit the coast of Washington. Kateri Kwinault had been the regional Coast Guard commander. She had lost her Coast Guard cutter in the resulting tsunami, saved her crew, been sucked out to sea and drowned by the frog god …
She said, “Moen, move the cars and the body and get after John Terrance.”
“If we do that, Sheriff, we’ll compromise the evidence.”
She looked at Moen. Looked at him.
“Right away, ma’am.” He ducked out of the car.
She could hear him shouting instructions. “Good boy,” she muttered.
Some people thought she was nuts thinking she had seen the frog god, that ancient god who lived in the depths of the ocean and whose leap caused the earth to move and the tsunamis to rise. Some people made snotty comments about her belief that she had died and been resurrected. But after too much time in the hospital, too many operations, too many joint replacements and months of rehabilitation—after surviving when she should have died—she didn’t care what anyone thought. She knew what she knew.
So she used a genuine Lord of the Rings Gandalf-tested polished walnut staff to help her get around … Maybe it wasn’t truly Gandalf-tested. But it was genuine walnut.
To Bergen she said, “Terrance is up here for a reason. He’s got a hideout and supplies. Find out where.”
“Will do.” Bergen stepped back. “As soon as I see you get yourself out of the car.”
Cautiously she swung her legs around to the ground. Took a breath. Yeah, it was hot. Summer solstice, almost July, surprising for Washington State even-in-the-summer hot. Kateri put a hand on the door and one on the stick and tried to stand.
A few inches off the seat—and she dropped back.
Mistake. Such a mistake.
After The Earthquake, she had suffered so much pain, she should be inured to it.
Nope. Pain still hurt, and something about having stitches ripped out of already shredded skin nauseated her to the point of … She breathed deeply, staying conscious. “I’m not going in the damned ambulance,” she muttered.
Bergen swore at her in some Scandinavian-sounding language.
“Mean. Considering.” She crooked her finger to him, and when he leaned close she said, “Look. I’m not being stubborn or foolish. I was elected four days ago. By two votes. Had a drive-by shooting in the first few hours of my office. I was shot. Rainbow was critically wounded. Worse, the crime was committed by felons who escaped from custody. Tourists freaked out and left town. City council wants my head.”
“Like they didn’t already want it.” But Bergen was beginning to comprehend.
“Business owners are screaming. July fourth is in two weeks. If I don’t capture John Terrance, we’re going to have a financial disaster. And we just lost him again.” She stared Bergen in the eyes. “I’ll go to the hospital, but not flat on my back in an ambulance. Get someone to drive me and I’ll by God walk into the emergency room under my own power. You stay and handle this situation. We have to catch that guy and not just for the tourist trade or to keep Virtue Falls citizens secure. You know why? For Rainbow. She deserves to have justice.”
Bergen stared right back at her. “You deserve justice, too, Kateri.”
He didn’t call her by her first name very often. Usually only when he and his wife, Sandra, had her over for dinner. Or in moments of great stress … Kateri supposed this boondoggle qualified as great stress. “We’ll have justice. Bergen, make sure the memory on this dash cam is safe. Back it up as many times as you can. When we capture John Terrance and he tries to sue us for running over his beloved son, that’s our insurance that we’ll come out clean.”
“Will do. I’ll make sure we’ve saved the memory on any other camera that might have captured the action, too.” He stood and glanced around, then leaned in briefly. “Someone’s coming who can help you get down to the hospital on your terms.”