Catherine Nelson - Zoe Grey 02 - The Trouble with Theft (30 page)

I kept to the walls
and took corners carefully. I saw the drops disappear around the corner into
the room I knew to be the kitchen. I couldn’t hear anything—no footsteps, no
breathing, no rummaging in drawers.

Neither did I hear any
sirens. If Danielle had called 911 when I’d left her in the bathroom, I thought
surely they would have arrived by now. Then a horrible thought occurred to me.
What if I’d been wrong about Danielle Dillon? What if she had a different part
in things, like a part responsible for murder? Her sister had become a
murderer. After growing up in the same circumstances, it wasn’t even a reach to
think she could have turned out the same way. If this was true, I’d left her
holding a knife with two helpless girls.

Suddenly, I had a
strong urge to turn around and go back. Then I was torn. My gut told me I was
right about Danielle and to continue after Desirae, but my head made a
compelling argument. I let a mental string of curses go and continued on. The
longer I stood around trying to figure out what to do, the more time I wasted
and the worse things could get. I was already here, so I decided to see about
Desirae.

When I got to the
kitchen, I inched around the door carefully, expecting to see her with each
step I took. When I’d gotten to the other side of the door, I stepped inside, my
gun immediately covering the last corner not visible from the doorway. It was
empty. I moved through the space quickly, searching the floor for blood drops
telling me where she’d gone. On the other side of the island, I could see the
plastic apron on the floor and bloody fingerprints on the roll of paper towels
on the counter. The blood drops stopped there.

I made my way out of
the kitchen through a different doorway and continued on. I passed room after
room and found no sign of Desirae. Some of the lights were off and some were
on. As I went into each room, I turned on the light if it wasn’t already on. I
wasn’t necessarily trying to be sneaky about catching up with her.

When I got to the back
corner of the house, I was standing outside French doors leading to the master
suite. The light was on inside, and one door was open. As I approached, I
expected to find the room empty, like all the others, but when I got closer, I
saw a dark smear on the doorframe. It was blood, left by someone brushing
against the jamb on the way into the room.

I carefully examined
what I could see of the room from the door then went in. The space was huge.
The bed, a king in a huge frame, was pushed against the wall on the right. The
wall on the left had three large arched doorways. My first guess was that these
were a bathroom and his and her closets. Keeping my gun in front of me and my
eyes on the room and the doorways, I closed the door, not bothering to be quiet
about it.

“Desirae!” I called,
moving into the room slowly, cautiously.

I heard nothing.

“Desirae, come on
out.”

I didn’t expect this
to work, but I thought it was worth a try.

As I neared the first
doorway, I looked in with the aid of the light pouring in from the bedroom,
which was minimal. I could see enough to confirm this was a closet, and from
the smell of cologne I guessed it to be Young’s. I kept moving, approaching
what I could now see was the bathroom. It was also dark, the light from the
bedroom insufficient enough to light the whole space.

“Desirae,” I said again.
“I know you’re in here. There’s no point hiding.”

I walked on, toward
the next doorway, which I could see was another closet. I turned my head
slightly to glance over my shoulder at the other side of the bed, just to make
sure she wasn’t crouched down there behind me. Then I heard a primal growl come
from the closet. I turned around in time to see Desirae fly out, arms raised.
In one hand, she clutched a carving knife, in the other, a cleaver. I didn’t
think people kept meat cleavers in their kitchens anymore. But then, Desirae
had a thing for kitchen equipment and probably had lots of stuff most people
didn’t.

Probably in another
circumstance I would have shot her, just pulled the trigger and been done with
it. But the truth was, my heart was broken for her. Don’t misunderstand; I was
beyond pissed about what she’d done to me, and it would probably take a year of
therapy before I forgave her, but despite that, I could see her as the broken,
abused, and wounded person she was. I knew well the circumstances that had caused
her to become what she was, and I thought if any number of things had been
different in my life, it could have been me torturing people in kitchens
instead of her. I didn’t harbor any illusions about there being any hope for
helping put Desirae Dillon right again, but I didn’t think it was fair to just
write her off, either.

I raised my right arm
to knock her arms away as I ducked to the left. Still holding the gun in my
right hand, I brought the gun butt down against her skull as she flew past. I
turned around, keeping her in front of me, and she stumbled. Losing her
balance, she fell to the floor. The carving knife bounced out of her hand, but
she’d held on to the cleaver. I was only mildly surprised to see the blow to
the head had not knocked her out.

She struggled to her
hands and knees then pushed to her feet, gripping the cleaver so tightly her
knuckles were white. She swayed in place slightly then charged forward again,
the cleaver raised high above her head. The blood from her nose had run down
over her mouth, chin, neck, and chest. This only enhanced her deranged look.

She lunged at me,
swinging the cleaver. I deflected her arm and knocked her backward. I kicked
her again, my heel sinking into her abdomen, just below her ribs. She doubled
over, banding her arms around her middle, trying to suck in a breath.

I knocked the cleaver
out of her hand. She’d barely sucked in her first breath when she was reaching
for it again. Her hand closed over the handle an instant before my foot came
down on it. Holding it there, I raised my other foot and brought it down
against her elbow, forcing the joint in an unnatural direction. She cried out; it
was a tortured, strangled sound that gave me the chills.

“Just stop now,
Desirae,” I said, panting. I was exhausted. Who knew torture could really take
it out of you? “Stop.”

Her left arm was
hanging useless at her side when she straightened up. She charged me again,
weapons forgotten. I moved to the left to avoid her, but she anticipated my
reaction. Then it was too late to avoid her. She barreled into me, and we went
down. She swung and clawed and kicked like a wild animal, snapping her teeth at
me. I could see nothing rational, nothing human left in her dark eyes.

I thought about the
gun in my hand and was tempted to use it. Too tempted.

“Don’t you get it?” I
snapped. “I’m trying
not
to kill you!”

To avoid temptation, I
tossed the gun away. It clattered to the floor near the bedroom door.

For several moments,
everything was confused. I felt lost in a whirlwind of arms and legs, mine and
Desirae’s. There was a lot of grunting and growling from her, a lot of swearing
from me. Then somehow she got behind me. She wrapped her right arm around my
neck and squeezed for all she was worth, jerking back. She flopped onto her
back, pulling me over on top of her. Then her legs were around mine, further
pinning me to her. Already I could feel the lack of oxygen affecting my brain.

I wrapped one hand
around her arm, pulling against her choke hold, then shifted slightly to the
left and swung my elbow back. It connected with her ribs forcefully, but her
hold didn’t slacken. I shifted again and swung for all I was worth. This time
Desirae cried out in pain and jerked us to the right. I put my right arm down
instinctively to break the fall and felt something cold and metallic. I reached
for it with my hand, discovering it was the skewer. It must have fallen out of
my pocket in the struggle.

In a last-ditch move,
I grabbed it up and brought it down into what I guessed to be her belly. Her
grip slackened, but she didn’t release me. Pulling at her arm with all my
strength, I raised the skewer and stabbed her again. Her arm relaxed enough
then that I was able to pull it away. I grabbed the skewer and rolled off of
her. At the same time, the bedroom door burst open.

Half a dozen cops came charging in,
pointing guns and yelling. Ellmann was among them. They were all wearing Kevlar
vests and looked prepared for battle. Seeing me, Ellmann froze, and I swear he paled
several shades. I imagine I looked pretty bad.

The other cops raced
forward, guns on both me and Desirae. They were yelling at us to stay where we
were and for me to drop my weapon. I was on my knees as they rushed forward,
one eye still on Desirae. I dropped the skewer and raised my hands.

While a few of them
dealt with Desirae and me, the others cleared the bathroom and closets. Someone
secured both knives and my gun. One of the uniformed officers, while watching
me closely lest I grab it up and stab him with it, came forward and took the
skewer.

Ellmann had holstered
his weapon and walked toward me as the officers pulled Desirae to her feet. A
pair of them walked her out of the room, reading her rights aloud. The officer
in front of me offered me his hand. I looked up at Frye.

“You look like shit,
Zoe,” he said.

“You know,” I said,
leaning heavily on him as he pulled me up from the floor, “you really only ever
see me in crisis. I actually clean up pretty well.”

He laughed and waved
off the other officers who had lingered as if waiting for the word to arrest
me.

Ellmann was standing
with his hands on his hips. His cop face was in place, and I couldn’t read
anything in him. Given that his hair was standing up, I guessed he’d had a
stressful night, too.

“You be all right?”
Frye asked.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Ambulance outside,”
he said. “I’d have them come get you, but you’d have to be unconscious to agree
to that.”

It was my turn to
laugh. Then I clutched at the pain in my left side where the skewer had gone
through.

“Oh! Don’t make me
laugh.”

Frye released my hand
then waved the others out of the room. One of them was carrying my gun. I made
a mental note to get it back. It was one of my favorites.

I managed to remain
standing upright without aid for all of a minute. Then my legs felt weak, and I
couldn’t quite keep them under me. As I started to fall, Ellmann stepped
forward and wrapped his arms around me. He caught me and lowered me to my
knees, kneeling in front of me. I looked up into his face. Now he was having a
hard time keeping the cop face on. He looked terrified and traumatized.

“Oh, shit,” I said,
remembering the worry I’d had about leaving Natalie with Danielle. “Where’s
Natalie? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” he said
softly. “Scared more than anything. Even Priscilla is okay.”

“Oh, thank God.
Ellmann, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know they were following me. I never would have
taken Natalie around with me. I should have known, I should have seen them, I
should have figured it out. I’m sorry.”

I was talking really
fast, rambling really, but Ellmann didn’t handle it well when waiters talked to
Natalie a little too long while taking her order; imagine what he thought of me
putting his sister in a seriously life-threatening situation. I was horrified
to think about what happened to Natalie, and what would have happened to her
had anything been different. But I was just as horrified to think what might
happen to my relationship with Ellmann because of it.

“Shh,” he whispered.

He raised his left
hand and cupped my cheek, brushing his thumb over the puncture mark Desirae had
made. I looked up at him again. I saw there were tears in his eyes, and his
face had whitened even more.

“Whoa, hey,” I said,
reaching for his face. But I saw my hands were covered in blood. I grabbed his
shoulders instead. “You said Natalie’s fine. What’s wrong?”

“I saw that kitchen,”
he said, his voice a tight whisper.

Oh. I’d also seen that
kitchen. And I’d seen two others Desirae had visited. It made me want to cry,
too. It must have been that much worse knowing it had been his sister bleeding
all over.

“I’m sorry,” I said
again. “You know, some of that blood must have been Priscilla’s. And mine. Not
all of it was Natalie’s. In fact, I’d say most of it wasn’t.”

He shook his head. I
was trying to make him feel better, but it didn’t seem to be working.

“I thought …” He
swallowed and took a breath. “I thought you were dead.” A couple of tears
spilled over his lashes. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

Seeing a man as big
and strong and tough and capable as Ellmann crying was more than most people
would be able to stand. Knowing he was crying because of me made it impossible.
Suddenly tears were pouring down my face, and I was sobbing.

Ellmann pulled me to
him and held me tight. I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him hold me,
sobbing like a baby. I was pretty sure he cried a little bit too, but he never
made any noise. All in all, a very manly episode of crying, in case anyone
asks.

After several minutes,
we wiped our faces, and Ellmann pulled me to my feet. He had an arm around my
waist, steadying me. I moved with a serious limp, but I walked out on my own.

When we made it to the
porch, Ellmann raised his hand and waved the two EMTs—a man and a woman—over.
They pushed the gurney from the ambulance parked near the guest house across
the pavement to the main house. I pretty much collapsed onto it. They strapped
me in then wheeled me to the ambulance, Ellmann right beside me.

I could see a second ambulance
near the first, and there was a lot of activity in the back of it. The EMTs
loaded me into the back, and Ellmann looked over at the other ambulance. I
guessed that one held Natalie. He was torn.

“Go,” I said. “I’ll be
fine.”

He looked back to me.

“Really, go. We’re
both going to the same hospital anyway. I’ll see you there.”

He raised a finger and
pointed it at me. “You better not do anything stupid, like die,” he said. Then
he turned to the EMTs. “And you better make sure that doesn’t happen.”

But Desirae had not
intended to kill me—at least not yet. Everything she’d done had been designed
only to cause pain. The EMTs assured Ellmann my wounds were not fatal, and he
went to see about his sister.

The EMTs worked
together in the back for several minutes. The female started an IV while the
male concentrated on wrapping the wounds that were still bleeding. Then a face
appeared in the open ambulance doors.

“How are you feeling?”
Danielle Dillon asked.

“I’ve been better.
Turns out, torture doesn’t really agree with me.”

She chuckled softly.

The male got out and
announced they were ready to leave.

“Oh, may I?” Danielle
asked, pointing inside.

“Up to you, Zoe,” the
EMT guy said. “What do you say?”

I had given up pretty
much any hope of bringing Danielle in on time, but I guess I wanted to keep her
in sight for a while longer. Plus, I’d sort of come to like her.

“Sure,” I said.

She climbed up and sat
on the bench seat beside me. The female sat in the jump seat at the head of the
gurney and was busy making notes on a clipboard.

“What were you doing
here?” I asked her. “Why did you come here?”

“I heard you were
looking for me,” she said. “I actually went to your house. The front door was
opened, and it looked like someone had gone through looking for something. It
didn’t take long to figure out where you were.”

“Why come to see me?
Surely you know why I was looking for you.”

She nodded. “My
grandmother told me. But she also said you were different. You told her you
wanted to help me, and she believed you. I was considering that when I heard
about Jerry Vandreen. A bit of digging told me that was you. I, uh …” She
shrugged. “I felt like maybe I owed you, because of what you did for my son,
and for those other children. And, I’m ready to stop running, anyway. I want my
life back. I want my
son
back.”

“Jerry Vandreen won’t
be hurting anyone for a while.”

“I know,” she said,
reaching out and squeezing my hand. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for
that. I tried to do the same thing, but I’ve never been any good at fighting.”

“That’s why you went
to see Vandreen that day,” I said.

She nodded. “Yeah. I
brought a bat, but he managed to get it away from me.”

My turn to squeeze her
hand. “It’s okay to not be any good at fighting.”

She held my hand for a
beat and then nodded. “Anyway, when I figured out my sister had you, I knew I
had to do something. You’d done so much for me, and I know well what she’s
capable of.”

So did I. “I’m really
sorry about your grandmother,” I said softly.

She nodded and wiped
at her eyes. “Thank you. Me too.”

“She could have killed
you,” I said after a beat. “You took a big risk. We’re more than even.”

“No, I knew she
wouldn’t kill me. I have something they want.”

A couple pieces fell
together in my head. “So that’s what this is all about.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, I should
arrest you.”

“I know.” She glanced
at her watch. “You still have four hours.”

“I’ll probably be in
the ER that long. I’ll never track you down again in time.”

“I was serious, I’m
ready to stop running. After a doctor checks you out, you can take me to jail.”

I sighed. Talking
about Vandreen reminded me of my pending charges and possible arrest warrant.
“Great. We can share a cell.”

__________

EMS rolled me into the ER and
deposited me in a room with two other patients, the treatment areas separated
by curtains. Danielle stayed with me, settling into a chair beside my bed after
adjusting my pillow and blanket. An EMT dressed in olive green scrubs
embroidered with a Poudre Valley Hospital logo came in, hooked me up to a vital
signs monitor, and looked over my injuries, applying fresh gauze to my collarbone.
He introduced himself as Tanner, and I knew who he was. I’d heard a few stories
about him from my friend Sadie.

A few minutes later,
Mercedes Salois stepped around the curtain, planting herself at the end of my
bed with her hands on her hips. Sadie is tall, thin, naturally blonde, and blue
eyed, and she wore the requisite black embroidered scrubs meant to distinguish
her as a nurse. She’s what they call a knockout or a head-turner. And she has
the personality to match. Why she was still single, I couldn’t understand.

“Did you get shot
again?” she said in a faint Southern drawl by way of greeting.

“No, don’t be silly.
Tortured this time.”

“Oh, so you’re mixing
things up.”

“You know, I like to
keep it real.”

She gave me a long
once-over. “Looks like it was a little too real.”

I winced slightly at
the worry I saw faintly creasing her eyesbrows.

“Maybe a little,” I
agreed softly.

“I’m Sadie.” She
walked over and stuck her hand out to Danielle.

“Dani. Nice to meet
you.”

“Zoe drag you into
trouble with her?” Sadie asked, but it was out of simple curiosity, not
judgment or contempt.

Dillon shook her head.
“No. It was the other way around, I think.”

“Actually,” I said.
“I’m pretty sure Dani saved my life tonight.”

Sadie looked over at
her. “Thank you. Sometimes I worry about her.”

Dillon nodded. “It was
the least I could do.”

Then Sadie turned back
to me, examining my wounds. “You were just in the hospital, or don’t you
remember? You’re still recovering from those injuries.”

We chatted while she
conducted her assessments, and charted the information in the computer mounted
on the wall beside the bed. When she was through, she looked me over once more,
her gaze glancing from my collarbone to my belly to my leg, and shook her head.
She told me I’d better have a damn good story. I assured her I did.

Then she walked over
and peeked around the curtain, listening a moment. All I heard was one of my
neighbors talking incessantly, probably to a husband who’d long since learned
to tune her out. We’d only been neighbors a few minutes and already
I
was learning.

Apparently satisfied,
Sadie pulled the curtain shut and walked over to the bedside. She leaned down
and spoke softly into my ear.

“We need to talk,” she
said. “Soon.”

Something was wrong.
Sadie didn’t typically have a flare for the dramatic. I looked at her as she
stood upright then nodded.

Smiling again, Sadie
walked over to Danielle and offered her hand. “It was nice meeting you,” she
said sincerely. “Thank you for helping her out tonight.”

Danielle nodded.
“Happy to,” she said. “Really.”