Annette Dashofy - Zoe Chambers 03 - Bridges Burned (13 page)

Zoe. Damn it. Every other time they’d worked a scene together, he’d been happy to see her. This evening, he didn’t have the luxury of sorting through the debacle their relationship had become. He had to stay focused on the accident scene. At least it was less messy.

“Chief?” Mrs. Naeser said.

Pete squatted next to her and her husband. “Yes, ma’am?”

The worry in her dark eyes had sparked into anger. “I want you to arrest my son-in-law.”

“Arrest? Ma’am, I’m afraid not trimming his hedges isn’t against the law.”

Bitter tears glistened. “I don’t want you to arrest him for not trimming his hedges. I want you to arrest him for attempted murder.”

“My neck hurts. A little.”

The redhead behind the wheel of the Toyota Rav4 seemed more scared than injured when Zoe asked her if she was all right. But any indication of possible whiplash couldn’t be ignored. “Anything else? How about your back? Your legs?”

The woman moved her lower extremities in response. “No. I’m fine. Except for my neck. And it doesn’t hurt much. I’m probably fine. Right?”

Zoe smiled. “Probably. But you should let us take you to the hospital and get it checked out anyway.”

The redhead took a trembling breath. “Okay.”

Earl touched Zoe’s shoulder. “I’m gonna call for a second ambulance. Then I’ll get the collar and backboard and take her vitals. You check on the guy over there.” He motioned toward Pete and a man sitting next to one of the other cars.

Zoe shot a look at her partner. The last person she’d wanted to see was Pete, and Earl knew that. But he’d turned his back and headed to the ambulance at a trot. Thanks, pal. Payback was gonna be a bitch.

“You sit tight,” she told the woman in the car. “My partner will be right back. I’m going to see if the gentleman over there needs treatment.”

Zoe grabbed the jump kit and strode toward the Hyundai with the mashed fender. A man she recognized as Jack Naeser sat on the ground next to his car. Pete was engaged in an intense conversation with Naeser’s wife.

“There has to be something you can do,” the woman was pleading as Zoe arrived.

Pete looked exhausted. He met Zoe’s eye for the briefest moment before shaking his head at Mrs. Naeser. “I’m afraid not. Ryan hasn’t broken any law.”

The woman opened her mouth to reply, but Pete held up a hand. “You help the paramedics tend to your husband. I’ll go get a statement from your son-in-law. That’s the best I can do.”

If Pete made any gesture to Zoe, she didn’t see it. Instead, she dropped to her knees beside her patient and gently took his wrist, fingering a pulse. “How are you feeling, Mr. Naeser?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck, how do you
think
I feel?”

“Jack,” his wife scolded gently. “Be nice.”

“Can you tell me what happened here?” Zoe asked, as much to determine his cognition as to learn the details of the crash.

While Naeser spewed his story of overgrown hedges and not being able to see to pull out of his own goddamned driveway, Zoe opened the jump kit and ripped into a stack of sterile gauze pads, using them to blot away some of the blood. Head wounds bled excessively and this one didn’t look quite so bad once she’d cleaned him up a bit.

She tore into three more of the 4x4 squares and pressed them against the gash. “Hold these.” She took his hand and positioned it over the bandage.

He winced but obeyed.

Zoe plucked her penlight from a pocket in her cargo pants to check his pupils. Equal and reactive. Naeser continued his story, and she continued her eval, taking his blood pressure—elevated—and his respirations.

“Do you have any history of heart disease or stroke?”

“No,” Naeser barked.

“Yes,” his wife said. “He refuses to admit it, but he had a TIA a little over a year ago.”

Transient Ischemic Attack. Mini-stroke.

Naeser snorted. “I was just overly tired is all.”

Mrs. Naeser narrowed her eyes. “That’s not what the doctor said.”

Indignant, Naeser pushed away from the car, drawing one leg in, moving to stand up. “You think I got hit because I had some kind of spell?”

Zoe put both hands on his shoulders, blocking him gently. “Not at all. I just have to ask.”

He sat back. “Oh.”

Zoe added more sterile squares to the blood-soaked ones and opened a package of sterile bandaging. “Are you on any prescription drugs?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what they are.”

“I have a list in my purse,” Mrs. Naeser said.

“Good.” Zoe touched Mr. Naeser’s arm. “Your vitals are fine, but I think you should let us transport you to the hospital to be checked out.”

“I don’t need an ambulance.”

She shifted her gaze to the wife. “At the very least, he’ll need some stitches. But head injuries can be serious. You really want to rule out a concussion.” Or something worse. Zoe raised an eyebrow at Mrs. Naeser, hoping the wife got the message without making Zoe say it out loud. She didn’t want to further rile the man if she could avoid it.

Mrs. Naeser crossed her arms and fixed her husband with a hard stare. “Let them take you in the ambulance, Jack. I don’t want to drive you to the hospital and have you pass out halfway there.”

The man mumbled something Zoe couldn’t quite make out.

She hid her smile. Poor Jack Naeser didn’t stand a chance.

Thirteen

“Your mother-in-law wants me to arrest you for attempted murder.” Pete dropped the bomb without letting Ryan Mancinelli know the charge was ridiculous. Scare the guy a little. Maybe a little fear, even unfounded, might be what it took to get him to trim those damned hedges.

“Attempted murder?” Mancinelli’s reaction was exactly what Pete had hoped. Panic. “She—you—can’t do that. Can you?”

The correct answer was
no
, but Pete leaned on the Mancinelli’s porch railing and kept mum.

Mancinelli turned to his wife, who stood at their front door, her arms crossed and shoulders hunched. “You need to talk to your mother. Tell her. I—I never intended—” He waved at the Hyundai and the pickup. “This was just an accident. I never wanted your father to get hurt. I sure didn’t want to
murder
him!”

Ashley’s lower lip trembled. Pete wasn’t certain if her tears were a result of anger at her husband or fear for her dad. She uncrossed her arms, although her fists stayed balled, and looked at Pete. “Do it. Arrest him. I’ll give a statement or testify or whatever you need me to do.” She turned on her husband. “Just don’t expect me to post your bail.”

Anger. Definitely tears of anger.

She wheeled and slammed through her front door.

Clearly stunned, Mancinelli stared after her, his jaw slack.

Pete hadn’t anticipated the wife’s reaction, but decided to go with it. “Look, Ryan. I know you never meant for this to happen. And the court systems are overwhelmed. No one wants to add to the burden.”

Mancinelli’s mouth had clamped shut—the exact opposite of his eyes—and he nodded then shook his head.

“The way I see it,” Pete went on with his good cop routine, “you have an easy way out.”

“I do?”

Damn, the guy was dense. Or maybe terror had dulled his brain cells. Pete gripped Mancinelli by one shoulder and gave him a wake-up shake. “Cut the hedges.”

Mancinelli reacted as if the idea was entirely new to him. “Oh. Yeah. I guess I should.”

“Yeah. You should.”

“If I promise to trim them will you not arrest me?”

Pete pretended to give the proposition serious thought. “All right.” He neglected to add he wasn’t going to arrest Mancinelli either way. “I think if you do that, I can even talk your mother-in-law out of pressing charges.” Mancinelli’s wife was another matter, but she wasn’t Pete’s problem.

Mancinelli blew out a breath. “Okay. I’ll do it. I promise. I’ll go get my trimmer right now.”

“You should wait until we clear the wreckage.”

“Sure. No problem.” He gazed past Pete and tipped his head. “I think someone’s looking for you.”

Pete turned to see Zoe striding his way. For a second he forgot they weren’t getting along and smiled, descending the porch steps to greet her. Then the memory of Holt Farabee living under Zoe’s roof slapped the smile off his face.

“We have a second ambulance on the way.” Zoe hooked her thumbs in the front pockets of her pants and cocked one hip. “The lady in the SUV is complaining of neck pain. Mr. Naeser probably just needs stitches, but I can’t rule out a concussion or a closed head injury.”

Pete shifted his position to keep an eye on Mancinelli. With the threat of an arrest off his shoulders, the guy had slouched into a chair on the porch. Keeping his voice low, Pete asked her, “Has Naeser’s wife calmed down any?”

Zoe glanced toward the Hyundai. “She’s not letting him back out of going to the hospital, if that’s what you mean.”

It wasn’t. But as long as she’d quit ranting about attempted murder charges, maybe Pete could see that the offending hedges were trimmed before the Naesers returned from the hospital.

One item off his caseload. “Zoe, we need to talk.”

Her jaw jutted. “I have to get back to my patient.”

Pete caught her arm as she spun away from him. “I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his voice. He’d prefer to keep his personal business personal, but suspected Ryan Mancinelli’s ears had perked up. “I had no right to say what I did.”

Her eyes, filled with steely resolve, met his, but she didn’t say a thing.

“You know I respect your instincts. But you’re letting that little girl cloud your judgment.”

Zoe bristled. “And you have tunnel vision where Holt’s concerned.”

Pete winced. He should have stopped after the
respect your instincts
comment. “Will you at least consider the possibility he might be involved in his wife’s death?”

“What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

“I’m a cop, not a lawyer. Not a judge or a jury. Neither are you. If you want to be a coroner and investigate homicides, you better learn that.”

“So you have free rein to railroad someone just because you don’t like them?”

“No.” Pete sputtered. “I’m not railroading Holt Farabee. I’m investigating his wife’s death. He may or may not have played a part in it. But until I clear him, I’d prefer the woman I love not live under the same roof with the man.”

Zoe’s eyes widened, and a hush fell over the entire accident scene with the exception of the idling motors of stopped traffic and rescue vehicles.

Pete realized his voice had risen more than he’d been aware. The Naesers at the end of their driveway, the cowboy by his pickup, Earl, two firefighters, and the truck driver standing next to the Rav4 all stared at him. Pete glanced at Ryan Mancinelli, whose face had gone ashen.

Damn it. Pete had just professed his love for Zoe in the worst possible manner. He wished she’d slap him. Hard. “Zoe, I’m sorry…”

She wrenched free from his grasp and walked away without another word. Pete closed his eyes and gave himself a silent tongue lashing. Idiot. Moron. Stupid son of a bitch. Could he possibly screw up his chances with her any worse?

Mortified, Zoe strode toward the Rav4 and her partner. “What’s the second unit’s ETA?”

Ever the voice of reason and the face of calm, Earl checked his watch. “Should be here any minute now. In fact, I think I hear them coming.”

Over the roar inside her head, she made out the faint siren in the distance. She nodded at the two Vance Township firefighters staring at her. “You have enough help extricating her from the car, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, then I’ll keep an eye on Mr. Naeser until the other ambulance arrives. Holler if you need a hand.”

“We’re fine.”

Zoe rubbed at the stabbing pain piercing her skull above her left eyebrow as she made her way back to the wrecked Hyundai while keeping her gaze on the ground in front of her. The last thing she wanted was to make eye contact with anyone.

Had Pete just said he loved her?

Had he then
apologized
for it?

Why on earth had she thought they could be anything more than friends? She’d known better. Or should have. Never. Again.

And yet… He loved her.

She’d been crazy about him for years. Wanting him. Fantasizing about him. Resisting her feelings for him…

“Ma’am?”

Zoe looked up into the concerned face of the guy in the cowboy hat and boots. She winced.
Ma’am
? When had she ceased being a
Miss
? And when had she stopped walking?

“Are you all right?” With that drawl, he was definitely not a local boy.

“I’m fine,” she muttered and brushed past him.

She risked a glance toward Ryan Mancinelli’s front porch.

Pete was no longer there, but Mancinelli leaned against one of the pillars, watching her.

She wondered if
everyone
was watching her, and her face burned.

She dropped to her knees beside Jack Naeser, noting the bandage on his head had soaked through. “How are you doing?” She caught his wrist, palpating his pulse. Focus on the patient. Put everything else out of her mind.

The man scowled. “I’ve got a whopper of a headache.”

“I don’t doubt it.” His heart rate was slightly elevated.

“His head’s still bleeding,” Mrs. Naeser said.

“I see. Head wounds do tend to bleed profusely.” But Zoe didn’t like the looks of him. He was paler than before and a sheen of sweat glistened on his face. “Mrs. Naeser, those prescriptions he’s on, are any of them blood thinners?”

“Yes. I think it’s called war—war something.”

“Warfarin.”

“That’s it.”

Crap. “You might want to get your purse and that list now.” Zoe looked toward the semi, relieved to see Tony DeLuca and Vickie Spencer, the crew from Medic One, dragging a gurney around the jackknifed rig. She waved them toward her.

Before they reached Zoe and her patient, a younger woman, who Zoe recognized as the Naesers’ daughter, jogged up. “What’s going on? Is Dad going to be all right?”

Zoe caught Mrs. Naeser’s gaze. “Why don’t you both go get her purse?”

“Okay,” Mrs. Naeser said, but Zoe noticed the woman and her daughter didn’t budge.

“What’ve you got?” Tony DeLuca asked.

Zoe fired off a quick summary on the patient, including the warfarin. “I want a new BP. And let’s get him on the gurney and elevate his legs.”

The three medics didn’t need to say it out loud. They all knew they were dealing with a patient who was getting shocky.

As a team, they moved the gurney next to Naeser, took a new set of vitals which revealed, as Zoe had suspected, a lowered blood pressure, and started him on oxygen. Tony helped him onto the cot with a pillow under his lower legs, and Zoe and Vickie covered him with a light blanket and strapped him down.

The daughter’s voice rose over the stethoscope plugged into Zoe’s ears as she rechecked Naeser’s BP. “What’s going on?”

Zoe looked up. Mother and daughter clung to each other, both wide-eyed. She held up one finger to them and finished listening to the thud-dub of Naeser’s heart while releasing the blood pressure cuff’s valve. “One-oh-eight over fifty-six,” she announced to Vickie. Zoe turned to the worried pair. “He’s bleeding a little heavier than normal because of the warfarin. Tony and Vickie will be taking him to Brunswick. He’s in excellent hands.”

Both women nodded.

Zoe focused on the daughter. “Can you drive your mother to the hospital?”

“Yeah.”

Tony clapped Zoe on the back. “We’re taking off. We’ll get an IV started once we get him in the ambulance.”

Zoe waved, and Tony and Vickie wheeled the gurney and patient away.

“We’ll be right behind you, Dad,” the daughter called after them.

“Drive safely, okay?” Zoe told her.

The young woman gave her a weak smile, but her gaze shifted over Zoe’s shoulder, and the smile faded.

Zoe turned to see Ryan Mancinelli headed their way.

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

Zoe could have sworn his words were directed at her instead of his wife or mother-in-law.

But his wife strode toward him and gave him a shove that staggered him. “Stay away from me and my family, you bastard. I don’t ever want to see you again. Do you hear me? We’re through!”

In the next moment, both women were screaming at Mancinelli, who held up his hands in surrender and babbled apologies to no avail. Zoe looked around frantically for Pete. She was still furious with him, but she feared a murder was imminent unless someone intervened. Preferably someone big and commanding, carrying a sidearm.

Instead of Pete, Kevin trotted their way. At the same time, she heard her name being called. Earl waved at her from beside the Rav4. He and the two firefighters had their patient stabilized on a backboard and gurney.

Without waiting for more blood to be shed, Zoe grabbed her jump kit and ran.

Saturday was supposed to be Pete’s day off.

Sleep had been sparse. He never needed a reason for insomnia, but the look on Zoe’s face last night haunted him into the wee hours of the morning. When he did drift off, he dreamed he was in the center of an angry mob closing in. By five a.m., he was showered and shaved. By six, he’d had breakfast and three cups of coffee and was sitting in his basement workshop.

He worked a third coat of linseed oil and beeswax into the heavy stock of the reproduction Jaeger flintlock rifle he’d been building for almost a year. With any luck, it would be ready for this fall’s deer season.

Fall. Three months away. To be quickly followed by winter. Bitter cold, icy, snowy, blustery winter.

Unless he took Chuck up on his offer.

Pete brushed an arm across his forehead. No way. Maui would not be good fit. He wasn’t cut out to live in paradise.

Was he?

He dipped his rag in the small can holding the oil, letting the excess drip off. He stared at the amber droplets and replayed recent events in his mind. How could one man so completely derail a relationship in only two days?

He’d handled everything wrong. Everything. From criticizing Zoe’s interest in helping a little girl to dredging up her less-than-stellar history with men—as if his history with women was anything to brag on—to last night’s angry outburst, which very publicly humiliated both of them.

Damn.

Pete smoothed the oil onto the stock and watched the grain pattern darken. If only he could oil his brain and bring a solution to his stupidity to the surface.

His cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. Thank heavens. He draped the oily rag on a hook, wiped his hands on a paper towel, and picked up the phone. The station’s number filled the screen.

“Chief,” Seth said when Pete answered. “I’m sorry to bother you so early, but Ryan Mancinelli called here for you. Said he needs to talk to you. And he sounded like it was pretty important.”

“I don’t suppose he said what it was about.”

“No, sir. I asked. He said he didn’t want to get into it on the phone.”

Pete rubbed his right temple. “Any word on Jack Naeser’s condition?” If anything had happened to Naeser, Mancinelli might be seeking protective custody.

“No. Do you want me to call the hospital and find out?”

“That won’t be necessary. Do you have a call-back number on Mancinelli?”

Pete jotted down the number as Seth read it to him. Five minutes later, after washing his oily hands, Pete placed the call to the township’s hedge lover.

“This is Chief Adams,” he said when Mancinelli answered. “I understand you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yeah, I do.” His voice sounded tight over the phone. “Can I meet you at the station?”

Pete checked the clock on the wall. “How soon?”

“Eight o’clock?”

“Fine. How’s your father-in-law?”

There was silence on the line for a moment, and Pete thought they might have been cut off. But he heard Mancinelli take a breath. “I don’t know. My wife isn’t answering her phone. At least, she isn’t answering for me.”

Pete wasn’t the only one screwing up relationships this week. “Is that what you want to talk to me about?”

Pete was prepared to assure the kid his mother-in-law could not press attempted murder charges, but Mancinelli replied, “No. That’s not it at all.” There was another long silence before he said, “I have information about Holt and Lillian Farabee.”