“Doc told Penn … wasn’t nothing. One-time … thing.” Henry jerked as though at a sharp pain. Her stomach clenched in sympathetic reaction.
“There’s some writing on the back of the picture,” she said in his ear. “It says ‘BT,’ and then ‘T. Rambin.’ Henry,” she said sharply, feeling him slipping away. “Henry! Can you hear me?”
“Unnhh,” he moaned. “Bad now … push the pump.”
Caitlin sighed and pressed the pain pump three times in quick succession.
Henry murmured something, but she couldn’t make out the words Then his eyes slowly closed, and he began to snore. The Dilaudid had overcome both pain and consciousness.
Caitlin prayed he would awaken before Sherry returned.
TOM AND WALT LOOKED at each other over empty Chinet plates that smelled of fried fish and ketchup. Melba walked over to them with the flat paper bag she’d used to blot the grease from the bream fillets and french fries.
“Still got some left,” she said. “Any takers?”
Walt groaned and rubbed his belly. “If I eat another bite, I’ll pop. You did a fine job, Melba.”
The nurse smiled and laid a hand on Tom’s good shoulder. “How bad’s that pain, Doc?”
“Nothing two more Lorcet wouldn’t fix.”
Melba humphed like chiding nurses around the world. “Two more Lorcet and you’re liable to quit breathing when you doze off on that couch.”
Tom winked at Walt, who smiled briefly, then wiped his hands on a paper towel, stood, and flattened his trousers. “I hate leaving you two, but until I meet Colonel Mackiever, we’re not going to have a prayer of leaving this place.”
“You’re sure it’s not a trap?” Tom asked.
“Mac and I Rangered together. That’s the best answer I can give you. Anyway, he’s the only man in this state who can cancel that APB.”
“But you think he wants some kind of quid pro quo in exchange for helping us?”
Walt nodded. “Sounded to me like Mac’s got a Knox problem. Which is exactly what we’ve got. So maybe things’ll fit together just right for all of us.”
“How long will you be gone?” Melba asked.
Walt looked at his watch. “I figure six hours. Ninety minutes each way, plus whatever it takes to deal with Mac. I can’t risk getting pulled over by a Louisiana highway patrolman. He might just put a bullet in my ear. I could be back in five hours, if nothing unexpected happens.”
“What if it does?” Tom asked.
“Put it this way: I’ll be back by dawn no matter what happens. Will you two be all right? Or should we try to get some kind of guard help over here?”
“We’ll be fine,” Tom said, hoping it was true. “The fewer people who know we’re here, the safer we’ll be.”
Walt nodded. “I think you’re right.”
“I hate for Melba to be here. There’s not only the legal risk for her, but the physical one, as well. I think you should drop her in Natchez on your way through.”
Melba put her hands on her generous hips and glared at Tom. “And what do you plan to do after you have a heart attack and pass out? You going to call the ambulance with ESP?”
“She’s got you,” Walt said. “And be glad for it. I couldn’t leave you here alone.”
In the awkward silence that followed, Walt looked uncomfortable. He wasn’t the type for small talk or long good-byes. “I’d better get moving. You two kids don’t get up to nothin’ while I’m gone, tempting as it might be.”
While Melba shook her head, Walt picked up the small bag he’d packed for the ride, then went to the door. “Back before you know it,” he said.
As he walked out of the lake house, Tom felt the way an old bomber pilot he’d known had described feeling when the P-47s reached the limit of their range and peeled away, headed back for England, leaving the bombers alone for their final push into Germany.
“I guess it’s just you and me now, Mel. Let me give you a hand with those dishes.”
“Stay where you are,” she replied. “I’m used to doing dishes. We’re gonna be just fine, Doc.”
“I know we are,” he said, smiling. “Just like always.”
When Melba turned to the sink, Tom’s smile died, leaving dread and regret in its place. Something told him they were never going to see Walt Garrity alive again.
EIGHTY-FIVE MINUTES AFTER HE passed out, Henry Sexton began to stir in his bed. Caitlin’s heart began to race, and she rushed to finish the text she had been writing to Tom. She’d slept fitfully for much of the past hour, despite her intention to work on her master story. A steady flow of nurses and aides had cycled through the room, checking tubes, taking readings, and monitoring the catheter and drain bags. One had even gotten Henry awake enough to check his vital signs, but he’d fallen right back to sleep. Caitlin had hit the pain pump at least three times while he slept—probably not as often as Sherry would have done, but as cruel as it might seem, she hadn’t wanted to miss her chance to speak further with him alone.
She doubted Tom would even see her text message, since he’d probably switched his phone off, but she wanted to do what she could to prevent some cop from shooting him as a fugitive. Though no one else knew it, Caitlin had unique leverage over her future father-in-law, and she meant to use it. Her text read:
Tom. Whatever happened the night Viola died, you don’t have the right to sacrifice yourself, because I’m pregnant. Penn doesn’t know. I’m telling you because my child needs you in his life. It’s time for you to come home. This family can get through ANYTHING together. Caitlin Masters Cage ( your future daughter-in-law).
Henry started awake and called out for Albert Norris. Caitlin pressed SEND, then leaped out of her chair and took his hand, reassuring him that he wasn’t alone.
“Did you see him?” Henry asked through his teeth.
“Albert?” Caitlin asked hesitantly.
“No … no. The other guy.”
“What other guy?”
“The black guy.”