Hold on to Me (33 page)

“Don’t mess with that.” Del eased his hand back down. “They’re giving you oxygen until your lung reinflates.”

His eyes slid closed despite his efforts to keep them open. The darkness sucked at his body again. With a burst of will, he lifted weighted lids. “Cait?”

“Come on, Tick, you need to rest.”

“Need…see her.”

“Okay. I’ll find her.”

Minutes or hours could have passed. He drifted somewhere between the dark and reality until a cool touch smoothed his jaw. He forced his eyes open.

A haunted green gaze looked down at him. With her hair secured in a disheveled knot, she appeared weary and troubled. Her unsmiling mouth trembled, and he lifted a hand, wanting to brush a finger over her lips.

“Hey.”

She bit her bottom lip. “Hey, yourself.”

He struggled to catch his breath between words. “Wanted to see you.”

Her teeth worried her lip again, her eyes closing. “You scared me, Calvert.”

“Really know you love me now.” He tried to chuckle and regretted it, his chest seizing up with pain.

“What?”

“S’many bureau regs you broke to save my sorry ass, you have to.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” Twin tears slipped from beneath her lashes.

“Don’t cry. S’all right.” Black dots swirled at the edges of his vision. “Ever’thing’s okay. Love you.”

“I know. Sleep now. You need to rest.”

“Be here?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Unwilling, he allowed the drugged exhaustion to pull him under once more.

A heavy rain, courtesy of an early evening thunderstorm, pattered harsh fingers against the windows. Feet tucked under her, Caitlin curled into a vinyl armchair with Jeff Schaefer’s journal balanced on her lap.

Tick slept, much as he had for the last twenty-four hours, the strong painkillers keeping him sedated. The comforting regularity of his heart and oxygen monitors provided a soft beeping in the background, but even joined with the rain, they couldn’t drown out the gurgling of the lung catheter.

Caitlin hated the wet, slushy sound with a shuddering aversion, but it wasn’t going to run her from the room, anymore than the nurses had been able to earlier. When he’d awakened and asked for her, when she’d finally been able to touch him and see for herself he was all right, she’d promised him she’d stay. And except for a roundtrip flight out for Gina’s funeral, it was a promise she intended to keep.

She stroked the back of his hand, the skin warm. He was right. Now, everything was okay, would be okay. Schaefer hadn’t gotten the victory he’d been so smugly confident would be his.

Once more, she focused her attention on Schaefer’s forceful handwriting. She had no intention of doing a jailhouse interview with the son of a bitch, but the record of his thoughts and plans and actions provided glimpses of the man lurking beneath the earnest façade.

The first one was too easy. The second was over too fast. Sharon, though, she was a rush. Listening to Calvert and Parker search for her, knowing they’d never even fucking think to look at me was even sweeter.

Caitlin fingered the page corner. He’d passed his pre-employment polygraph with flying colors then written of the administrator with derisive scorn. The same contempt nuanced the printed history of his time with the sheriff’s department, his interactions with Tick and Cookie, with her.

Killing Amy was almost like killing my mother and for a while it relieved some of the anger. But this FBI bitch? She’s too cool, too watchful. She could almost, almost be my equal. Getting the better of her could be interesting. Wonder what it would be like to hear her scream?

And Calvert’s so obsessed with her. Wonder what it would be like to make him watch her die?

Arrogant bastard. She snapped the plain notebook shut, anger trembling through her.

In his sleep, Tick made a soft, indefinable sound, somewhere between a pained grunt and a smothered snore. Caitlin cast the journal aside and unfolded stiff limbs. She leaned over him, tracing the lines of his much-adored features.

Bending closer, she kissed his cheek, slightly stubbled now, and let the familiar scent of him fill her.

“I love you,” she murmured near his ear. “Always, Calvert, no matter what. We’re in this together, all the way.”

The door whispered open and she looked up as Cookie slipped into the room. His concerned gaze darted to Tick’s face.

“How is he?”

She stroked her thumb over the inside of Tick’s wrist, careful to avoid the IV line. “Good, I think.”

He closed the door and moved to stand on the other side of the bed. A slight frown dragging at his brows, he studied her. “How are you?”

With her palm pressed to Tick’s forearm, she let his warmth seep into her. “Better.”

“I’m sorry, Falconetti…you know, about Bocaccio.”

The lingering desolation of that loss flooded through her. “So am I. Want to hear the most ironic thing, Cookie?”

He clasped his hands, leaning on the bedrail. “Sure.”

“Gina didn’t come here because she’d found something on Schaefer.” A completely humorless laugh escaped Caitlin’s lips. “It was you, an old missing-persons case from when you worked in Florida. You flag as a possible suspect.”

Cookie’s lashes fell but he didn’t say anything.

“She died for
nothing
. He killed her for nothing.” Caitlin sifted her hair away from her face. “My God, he was so twisted, Cookie…I’ve been reading his journal. Have you looked at that thing?”

“No.” On a harsh sigh, Cookie opened his eyes. “We’ve been taking Butler’s place apart, trying to make a connection between him and Schaefer.”

“It’s in the journal. Butler moved Sharon’s car. Schaefer wrote about it, how he used Butler, manipulated him. The same way he did Amy.”

“And Tori.” Cookie’s voice hardened.

“Yes. I’m worried about her. She—” Caitlin cut off the sentence. Probably Cookie wasn’t the person to share this with, her concern over the way Tori seemed to be withdrawing into herself, the way her sparkling personality had dimmed overnight. Caitlin glanced at Tick’s face, the lines of pain apparent even in his drugged sleep. “I wish I’d killed the bastard.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

She passed a hand over her eyes. “I can’t remember the last time I was this tired.”

“Not sleeping for a week will do that to you. If I get out of here, will you at least try to take a nap?”

She smiled at his gruff concern. “Maybe.”

“Which means no, you won’t. Stubborn as he is, aren’t you?” Cookie’s impish grin appeared momentarily. “Damn, he’s gonna have a long, hard row to hoe with you. I can’t wait to watch.”

“Good night, Cookie.”

He chuckled and headed for the door. He stopped, one hand on the lever. “Hey, Falconetti. Told you y’all would be good together.”

Disjointed dreams came, of Caitlin’s gentle touch on his face and her husky voice whispering that she loved him. He surfaced through layers of darkness, wanting to hang onto the dream as long as possible. Something tickled his nose and he brushed it away, his arm still leaden.

The tickle returned and he dashed at it again, the movement sending sharp pain racing across his chest. Familiar male laughter penetrated the haze. “Come on, Lamar Eugene, wake up.”

“Leave him alone and let him rest, Ash.” Stanton spoke somewhere over his head.

He opened his eyes to find them on either side of the bed, Stanton eyeing the monitors and Ash twirling a feathered fishing lure in his hand. “Hey.”

Stanton appraised him with a critical gaze. “You look better.”

“Better than what?” He groaned, pressing the heel of his hand into his eyes, grateful that he felt more alert, but aware of every ache in his body now. He ran an exploratory hand across his chest. “I feel like hell.”

Stanton shot him a wry look. “I wonder why? It wouldn’t have anything to do with getting shot in the chest.”

Ash chuckled. “They cut the dosage on your pain meds.”

Tick glanced at the window, the blinds closed. Fingers of deep golden light slid between the slats. “What time is it? Hell, what day is it?”

“It’s Thursday night, a little after eight,” Stanton replied, checking his watch.

Tick stared at him. “Thursday? I’ve been out of it for two days?”

Stanton nodded, dropping into the vinyl chair by the bed. “Pretty much. You’ve come around a few times. You spoke to your mom, to Del. The doctor said you woke up long enough to cuss him out when they removed the lung catheter earlier today.”

“Lord, I’m glad I don’t remember that.” He rubbed a hand over his throat. “I’m dying of thirst.”

Ash filled a foam cup with ice water from the pitcher by the bed and dropped a straw in. To Tick’s disgust, he couldn’t keep the cup steady, and Ash had to hold it for him.

Ash set it aside. “At least you weren’t throwing up from the anesthesia. When I had my appendix out, I was sick as a dog for a week afterward.”

“Nah, he did that at the scene,” Cookie drawled, strolling into the room. He tossed a packet of saltine crackers on the bed, smirking. “Thought you might need those.”

“Funny.” Tick grimaced and struggled to sit up, Ash helping him. Pain arced across his chest and he gasped, pausing a moment to catch his breath. “Where’s Cait?”

Cookie hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. “She said something about her and Troy Lee taking your truck and boat and heading to Key West.”

Tick cast his gaze heavenward. “Shouldn’t you be out arresting someone?”

“She flew out to New York this morning for Bocaccio’s funeral.” Stanton leaned forward, hands clasped loosely between his knees. Vinyl creaked and cloth rustled as he stood. “We should go and let you get some rest.”

Tick wanted to point out that he’d been asleep for two days, but with pain still rolling through him, he wouldn’t be good company either. Opening his eyes, he grinned, a half-hearted effort. “Thanks for coming.”

“I’ll catch up to y’all.” Cookie waited for the others to clear the room. He cleared his throat, his gray gaze solemn for once. “So, you okay?”

“Yeah.” He’d be better if Caitlin were around, wanted to see her now that he was actually coherent. Images from that standoff on the dock flickered in his head and a shudder moved through him, spreading darts of agony over his torso. Damn, that situation could have so easily gone the other way.

“Tick, it’s over, man. Don’t dwell on it. You’ll make yourself crazy.”

“So what about Schaefer?” Tick wasn’t sure how many of Caitlin’s bullets the son of a bitch had actually taken, but there’d been a hell of a lot of blood spilling from him.

“He’s alive. Barely.” Cookie’s grim tone indicated he wished it otherwise. “Still in ICU, still pretty touch and go, according to the docs.”

Tick nodded. “And Cait?”

“It’s been tough, but she can deal.” A familiar evil glint appeared in Cookie’s eyes. “Quit worrying. She couldn’t miss that funeral but she’ll be back tonight. Has a hot date with Troy Lee.”

“You can get out now.”

“Later, man.” At the door, Cookie stopped and glanced back. “Hey, Tick.”

“Yeah?”

“Falconetti says Tori’s having a tough time. When you talk to her…make sure you take it easy with her.”

“I will.” Remorse pulsed in him. Damn it, he hadn’t kept Tori safe from the bastard, either.

As his partner left, Tick let his lids slide closed once more. He felt like hell, but a rush of hope and promise deluged him, despite the lingering worry and regret.

He had his Caitlin back. For good.

Plus, if everything went right, he’d be taking the long weekend to kick back and relax.

Lawyer at his side, Schaefer, still pale and weak, sat in a wheelchair before Judge Virgil Holton. Pain twisted his expression, but no sympathy rose in Tick. Schaefer deserved to hurt, deserved everything he got, for what he’d done to those girls, what he’d planned to do to Caitlin. Those plans, outlined in the journals Cookie had found hidden in Schaefer’s closet, gave Tick nightmares. Shooting them quickly had been far from the guy’s final plan. Schaefer had seen Caitlin as a challenge and Tick as inferior, and making Tick watch her slow death was to have been the ultimate victory.

He’d written of the other murders, of Butler’s help in disposing of the cars, with the arrogance of a man who believed himself invincible. He’d drawn Butler in after Sharon’s disappearance, when he’d returned to Sharon’s car after killing her and found Butler there. Between threats and Butler’s own greed, Schaefer had convinced him to remain quiet.

Tick was glad Caitlin had shot the son of a bitch. Too bad she hadn’t killed him and saved the state the cost of a trial.

“The state requests remand, Your Honor.” From his position in the side gallery, Tick could see the contemptuous sideways glance Tom McMillian slid in Schaefer’s direction.

“Considering Mr. Schaefer’s current physical condition, flight is unlikely, Your Honor.” Autry Holton clutched the edge of the defense podium, and even at this distance, the white tension surrounding her knuckles was visible. Having to mount this defense had to be difficult for her—she’d known the victims, her father was the judge and she was sleeping with the sheriff. Or had been. After the fierce argument Tick had caught the tail end of the night before, he was guessing whatever Stanton and Autry had going between them was gone.

Autry leaned forward. “And the state’s case is largely circumstantial.”

“The state requests the court consider the heinous nature of the crimes, Your Honor. Mr. Schaefer murdered five young women as well as a witness and attempted to kill two law enforcement officers, including a federal agent. He remains a suspect in the murder of another federal agent.”

Autry turned a cool look on McMillian. “Allegedly murdered. As for Agent Bocaccio’s death, the state has absolutely no evidence pointing to his involvement. And the GBI report on Investigator Calvert’s shooting isn’t complete yet. My client may be cleared of wrongdoing in that incident.”

Beside Tick, Stanton made a disbelieving sound in his throat. Tick could empathize. Autry was really reaching here.

Virgil Holton lifted quizzical eyebrows at his daughter. “Mr. Schaefer is remanded without bail.”

Autry recovered quickly, as though she’d never expected to win. “Your Honor, under the circumstances, I request Mr. Schaefer be housed in a facility other than the Chandler County Jail.”

Virgil gave a quick nod. “Remanded to the Haynes County Jail while awaiting trial. Any objections, Mr. McMillian?”

McMillian was already gathering his materials. “None, Your Honor.”

The bailiff moved forward to collect Schaefer, and Virgil rose from the bench. Autry stepped across the aisle to hand a folded document to McMillian.

“Bet it’s a motion to suppress the fingerprint evidence on that bag y’all brought back from Tallahassee,” Stanton whispered, cynical disdain coating his words. “She’ll swear it was illegally obtained.”

Tick rose and reached for his suit jacket. His side pulled with the movement, the area around his gunshot wound still tender, and he winced. “And Virgil will toss the motion out. Nothing illegal about it, but she has to try. She’s just doing her job, Stan.”

Stanton straightened his tie. “You can’t really agree with her doing this. He tried to kill you, Tick, damn near succeeded, too, and she’s defending him.”

Ignoring for a moment the pain in his side, Tick shrugged. “She’s a defense attorney. That’s what she does.”

“What if she gets him off?”

“She won’t.” Tick eased toward the door. “Not with everything we have, plus my testimony. Not to mention Cait’s.”

Simply saying her name gave him a thrill, much the way having her voice wash over him when he picked up the phone did. Holy hell, he was so far gone it wasn’t even funny. He’d told her so the night before when she’d called after deplaning in Texas. She was stopping over to see her grandfather and had tried to talk Tick into joining her. Since her last case—a kidnapping and murder in Oregon—had kept them apart for weeks, he’d been hard put to tell her no.

Hopefully, surprising her would make up for the very real disappointment in that beautifully husky voice.

He stopped on the wide marble steps outside and shook out a cigarette. Stanton scowled. “What the hell are you doing?”

His lighter flared, heating his fingers. “Don’t start, Stan.”

“Didn’t Jay tell you…oh, hell, why am I bothering? You’re just going to do what you want to anyway.”

Tick inhaled, the nicotine seeping into him, steadying his nerves. Actually seeing Schaefer had the banked sense of fury bleeding through him.

“What time is your flight tomorrow?”

Anticipation shivered over him, leaving a different form of tension in its wake. “Eight o’clock. I’m going on to Atlanta this afternoon. There’s something I need to do.”

The door whooshed open behind them. “Stanton,” Autry said, her pretty voice tight. “Could I speak with you a moment?”

Tick could feel the hesitation before Stanton cleared his throat. “Yeah. Give me a minute, though.”

Stanton exhaled roughly. “Try to get some rest, Tick. You still look like hell. And have a good time.”

Have a good time? Considering the bureau had kept Caitlin from him for almost three weeks, he had every intention of doing so.