The Trouble With Murder (33 page)

“Son of a bitch!” I cried at the
last guy standing. “I’m tired of getting shot!”

He was moving forward quickly, his
gun held in front of him by both hands, his aim better than any of the others’.
And he had not stopped firing for my outburst. I was certain this was Pratt.

His fire had driven both Koepke and
me back behind the SUV. I could hear the slosh of his boots in the mud over the
report of the gun and knew he was close. Koepke and I were both kneeling. He’d
been aiming low.

My last idea hit. I threw myself at
the bumper of the SUV and struggled to get to my feet, groaning at the effort.
I could feel each second tick by as I strained, my strength beyond drained.
Then it was as if everything was in slow motion. Each footstep squished in a
prolonged sound. Each gunshot was drawn out.

Leaning on the heel of my right
hand, still clutching the gun, I got my left foot under me. Another footstep.
Giving it every last thing I had, I pushed up, managing to get the other foot
under me. Another footstep. Panting, I leaned on the SUV as I pulled myself
upright. Another footstep.

Taking a breath and leaning heavily
against the vehicle, I raised my arm and pushed myself to the left, leaning
over Koepke and around the edge of the SUV. I was surprised to find Pratt a
mere three feet from the barrel of my gun. As expected, he’d been aiming low,
at the place I’d just been. At the sight of me, his eyes widened, and he swung
the gun up. But not before a shot rang out.

He was thrown backward from the
impact of the shot. His arms flew open and the gun fell from his hands. For a
moment, everything was suspended, as it had been in the split second the SUV
had gone over the side of the road. The gun hovered in the air just below his
gloved hands. His arms seemed to hang in the air. His feet were mostly off the
ground. The gunshot rang out and seemed to pause. Then it was over. The sound
of the shot rolled away and everything moved again. The gun splashed as it hit
the ground. Pratt flew backward and landed on his back, mud spraying up around
him, his arms out to the sides, a large hole oozing in the middle of his chest.

It was over. I heard sirens in the
distance and the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades cutting the air. Suddenly
I was falling, sliding down the back of the SUV into the mud. My left arm hung
uselessly at my side, and my right, still clutching the gun, draped over my leg.
I noticed my jeans were covered in mud, and my traumatized brain wanted to
focus on this.

Suddenly Ellmann was squatting in
front of me, stuffing his gun back into the holster on his hip. His clothes
were soaked, and his dark hair was plastered against his head. Through the fog,
I realized there was blood on his left arm. The blood on my right pant leg
didn’t fully register, though.

“What, you needed a matching hole?”
I asked. It came out as little more than a sorry, pained whisper.

He took the gun from my hand. At
first I clung to it, refusing to relinquish it. He gently pried my fingers away,
and I let go.

“What were you going for? The
trophy?” He waved his hand at my thigh.

My gaze dropped back to my leg, and
I saw the dark red stain spreading around the burned, frayed hole. The pain began
to register, slowly at first, then more powerfully as the significance of it
penetrated my understanding. I’d been shot.
Again.

“I need to close my eyes for a
minute,” I whispered.

The sirens were closer now, as was
the helicopter. I heard car doors and Koepke shouting directions to the new
arrivals.

“No, Zoe, stay awake,” Ellmann
said, reaching for me. He touched my face, tipping it up to look at him. “Stay
with me.”

I smiled. Or, at least, I attempted
to smile. It may have come across as a grimace. “I’d never leave you.”

“Zoe. Zoe!”

His voice seemed to be coming to me
through a tunnel now, echoing and growing more distant. I felt his touch, felt
him shake me, then I was moving upward. Had Ellmann picked me up? I could no
longer fight the blackness. Everything faded away, replaced by unconsciousness.

When next I became aware, it was daylight, warm, mostly
quiet, and I wasn’t feeling much of anything, pain included. Information came
to me in layers. I became aware of lying in a bed. Then of someone holding my
hand. Then of a
SportsCenter
reporter speaking. When I recognized the
steady beeping of something nearby, I had a suspicion as to where I was.

I cracked an eye open and gazed
around. Sure enough, it was a hospital room. In fact, it looked very similar to
my last. Opening my other eye and blinking away some of the blur, I looked to
my right. Ellmann was sitting in a chair beside the bed, his feet propped beside
mine, crossed at the ankles, my hand lying in his. There were bandages visible
under the sleeve of his t-shirt, and there was a sling in his lap. He was
watching TV. I squeezed his hand.

Immediately, he looked at my hand
then up to my face. Seeing I was awake, he dropped his feet to the floor as he switched
off the TV. He turned in the chair to face me, leaning closer. He was smiling.

“How was your nap?”

“Maybe one of my best.”

He chuckled softly and reached his
long fingers out to brush a strand of hair back from my face.

“Did I have another surgery?”

“Yes.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve never been
in the hospital before. Now I feel like I spend all my time here.”

He lifted my hand to his mouth,
pressing a kiss to it. “How’s your pain?”

“Whatever I’m on this time is
way
better than last time,” I said. “I feel pretty good.”

He grinned. “Good, I’m glad to hear
it.”

“Hey, how’s your arm?”

“Nothing to it. Just a nick.”

The nurse bustled in, a tall blonde
woman I didn’t know from my last stay, which I thought was good. She carried a
syringe in her pocket as she rounded the bed for the IV. She greeted me and
inquired how I was feeling. I began to answer as she twisted the syringe onto
the IV line. She depressed the plunger, and an instant later I felt whatever
she’d injected hit me. Suddenly very tired, I trailed off midsentence and fell
asleep.

_______________

I awoke again Monday morning. Ellmann was still beside the
bed, with his feet propped up beside mine, the paper open in front of him. I
saw no sign of the sling. I could see the date on the front page, but couldn’t
believe I’d basically skipped Sunday.

I bumped my foot against his. He
put the paper aside and turned to me, smiling.

“Hello, again.”

“No more nursing trickery,” I
warned.

He grinned, attempting to play coy.
“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m serious.”

He kissed my hand. “It’s been
almost thirty-six hours. That’s longer than your last stay. I’m willing to be a
bit more open-minded now.”

“I don’t want to see that nurse
again.”

“Don’t stress yourself out, okay?
How are you feeling?”

The pain was there, just beyond the
insulation of narcotics, as it had been the first go-round. Whatever I’d been
on yesterday had been much better. Yesterday, someone could have probably cut
my arm off and I wouldn’t have felt a thing. Not so today.

“Well rested, thanks to you and
your Nazi nurse.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh, please.” I tried to look
around. “Could you sit me up, please? No funny business.”

Making a point of showing his
hands, he reached out with a single finger and hit the button to raise the head
of the bed.

I noticed he was wearing different
clothes. He’d been home to at least shower and change. And I noticed the
bandage I’d seen yesterday was gone, or, at least, was smaller. That was good.
I wondered if he’d also been home to sleep, though I did notice the dark circles
under his bloodshot eyes. I asked him.

“I’ve mostly slept here,” he said.
“I had to do a bunch of paperwork yesterday, then I moved your things out of
your motel room. Seemed pointless for you to pay for a motel room you weren’t
using. I took your stuff to my house and showered. Otherwise, I’ve been here.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, you’ll be glad
to know your house is no longer a crime scene.”

I sighed. “Great. I can move
again.”

There was a knock at the door, and
a young woman with short brown hair and pretty blue eyes came in. I glanced at
Ellmann questioningly. He raised his hands.

“Wasn’t me,” he insisted.

“I’m Melinda, your nurse today. I
just stopped in to check on you. Glad to see you’re awake. How do you feel?”

I started to answer when Ellmann
whispered in my ear.

“I was a little vague on details
when you got to the ER.”

Good to know.

“I feel great.” I smiled at her.
“All things considered.”

“Wonderful.” She grinned. “You have
a visitor. Are you up for it?”

Obviously I hadn’t called anyone. I
figured it was Sadie. She always seemed to be working. Probably she’d been in
the ER when I’d been brought in. It wouldn’t have been difficult for her to
find my room number.

I also figured this meant my
promise of an explanation had come due. It didn’t seem right to put her off
when she was already here. So I nodded to the nurse.

Smiling her approval at my
compliance (I easily imagined the horror stories she’d heard from my past
nurses), she went to the door and opened it, waving in the visitor I still couldn’t
see.

I heard a male voice, not Sadie’s.
I glanced at Ellmann, who squeezed my hand reassuringly and stood.

The door closed behind the nurse,
and a moment later footsteps carried a very uncomfortable Zach into the room.
He was as uneasy as I was confused. Stopping barely inside the room, he stuffed
his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and his eyes darted around. They
glanced to me a couple times, and each time I was sure I saw him wince.

Ellmann walked over to him, his
hand extended. Zach, clearly uncertain about the much bigger guy, carefully
placed his hand in the one offered to him, as if resigning himself to the idea
he might not get it back.

“Glad you could make it,” Ellmann
said. “I thought you should know what happened. And that you two could use a
minute together.” He turned and shot a very pointed look at me.

I glared back. Up to this point,
Ellmann had done an outstanding job of staying out of my private thoughts, my
personal problems, and my family drama—at least as much as our recent situation
had allowed. I couldn’t deny that was one of the things I truly appreciated
about him. He wasn’t Mr. Fix-It, running around butting his nose into stuff he
really didn’t understand.

Zach continued standing near the
door, trying his best not to fidget but failing miserably. I was going to have
to discuss this with Ellmann immediately. He couldn’t make this a habit. I’ve
been dealing with my family my whole life; I understand the dynamics better
than he ever could. He was going to have to respect that, or this wasn’t going
to work.

“I need to make a couple phone
calls,” Ellmann said, taking a step toward the door, his movement forcing Zach
another two steps into the room.

Zach watched Ellmann leave then
turned back to me. He didn’t move any closer.

“So, uh, when did you get a
boyfriend?”

There was a trace of indignant
accusation in his voice, reminding me he was not only my younger brother, but also
a boy who had always depended on me like a mother. I felt a pang of guilt. And,
privately, I was willing to admit Ellmann may have had a point calling Zach
here today.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. He just
sorta showed up one day.”

Zach looked at me for a beat, the
longest he’d looked at any one thing since arriving, and I knew he was trying
to decide if I was being serious. He must have seen that I was.

“Oh. Well, I, uh, I kinda like him.
I mean for you, obviously. He, uh, he’s very serious.”

I nodded. “He’s a cop. I think they
have to be that way to get the job or something.”

“Huh? Right. No, I meant about you.
He’s very serious about you. I like that part.”

“Oh.”

This was an interesting perspective
on the relationship between Ellmann and me, one I hadn’t considered before. It
also made me acutely aware of the fact that Zach had never seen a healthy
romantic relationship in his entire life. Our parents certainly didn’t count.
And I had a string of failures behind me. That wasn’t to say what Ellmann and I
had fit that description, but the revelation was valid all the same. And, I could
certainly hope Ellmann and I would have it one day.

“Thanks for coming,” I said,
steering the conversation back around to what I thought might be safer ground,
for both of us.

“No problem. I mean, when the guy, uh—”
Zach turned and pointed a finger at the closed door.

“Ellmann.”

“Yeah, when Ellmann called, I
wasn’t sure what to think. I mean, I probably wouldn’t have known you were
here.”

That blow landed directly on
target. Then it was my turn to wince.

“I hope he didn’t make it sound
worse than it is,” I said lightly. “I’m fine. I’ll be released in a couple
days, tops.”

I could see it was best to play
this down for Zach. He was actually scared.

“Well, I mean, what happened?” He
was back to shuffling from foot to foot, eyes darting everywhere but to me. He
wasn’t on the verge of tears, but they weren’t totally out of the picture,
either.

“Hey,” I said, reaching out to him
with my uninjured right arm. “Come here.”

Requiring no further prompting, he
darted forward and practically flung himself onto the edge of the bed, wrapping
his arms around my shoulders and squeezing, like he’d done all those times as a
child when he’d sneaked over to my room in the middle of the night and asked if
he could sleep in my bed. My body tensed, and I froze as the pain jolted
through me, both from my right thigh and my left shoulder.

He immediately released me and jumped
to his feet, as if the bed had caught fire. “What’s wrong?”

I blinked the tears out of my eyes
and forced a breath. “It’s okay,” I said, my voice tight. “Really, I’m okay.
Just sore. Here, sit.” I scooted to the left of the bed and patted the empty
space.

He was eyeing the bed and me,
obviously unsure.

“I promise, it’s okay.”

I held my hand to him again.

Finally, he took it, and I pulled
him closer. He sat slowly, carefully, watching me with slightly wide eyes for
even the tiniest hint of pain. I smiled and squeezed his hand.

Someday I would need to explain to
him what happened to me. But that day was not today. It would have been too
much.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His
voice was a whisper.

I smiled. “Yes. I promise; I’m not
going anywhere.”

I finally understood. That was his
real fear. If he didn’t have me, he wouldn’t have anyone. He needs me. And he
knows it. The little shit.

We both had tears in our eyes now.
I pulled him toward me and hugged him. He was stiff at first, resistant,
worried about hurting me again. But soon he was squeezing my waist, his head on
my shoulder.

For a moment, I was back in the
stolen Tahoe, driving through the dark and the rain, bad guys chasing me. I
remembered what it had felt like to experience a moment of doubt, a moment in
which I wasn’t sure my future would be very long. All those wasted moments,
those missed opportunities, the mean words, the withheld gestures—they all came
back to me. Most of my regrets had to do with Zach. I’d been a child trying to
raise a child in unthinkable circumstances, but those excuses didn’t change the
mistakes I’d made.

“Zach, I love you. More than
anything else. No matter what happens, no matter how angry or disappointed I
am, that’s always true. You know that, right?”

He nodded against my shoulder.

He was quiet for another minute
then said, “Do you love me enough to give me my ID back?”

Our tender, touching moment was
over.

“Absolutely not.”

He sat up. “Zoe, it cost me a
hundred bucks!”

“Mom’s probably given you five
times that this week alone.”

“That’s not the point. It’s a waste
of money. I’ll just buy another one.”

“No, you won’t. You’re going to pay
Donald for the damages to the Lincoln. And you’re going to think long and hard
about what I’ll do to you if I catch you a second time.”

He did his best to maintain his
carefree expression, but I saw his Adam’s apple bob as that thought hit home.

“There is no damage to the Lincoln!
I already told you.”

Not surprising.

“Well, then, you can fill the gas
tank for him.”

“I already did.”

“Good.”

“I even told him he could park it
in the garage now, too, but he said no.” He shrugged as he stood. “I think he
likes parking on the street, to show it off.”

I was looking at him closely now.
“Why could Donald park the Lincoln in the garage?”

Zach turned back to me. “Because
Mom won’t need it anymore.”

Immediately I thought Ellmann had
talked to her, even though I’d asked him not to. Was this the kind of guy he
really was? Meddling in other people’s personal affairs? If so, I didn’t like
it.

Then my thoughts drifted to another
conversation I’d had not so long ago, and I thought there might be another
explanation.

“Why won’t she need it? Did she
move out?”

“Sorta. She’s in jail.”

“Jail?”

“Well, prison, technically. The
cops say not even
her
lawyer can get her off this time.”