UNEASY PREY Page 17

  Beneath the layers of winter outerwear, Zoe moved. Her lips parted in a groan.

  He called her name, soft and pleading. “Zoe. It’s me. Pete. Wake up, sweetheart. Let me see those baby blues.” She had to be all right.

  She had to.

  She stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open. Those baby blues had never looked so beautiful.

  And dazed.

  She looked at him. Or through him. She blinked and shifted her eyes toward Sanders. “Rose? Don’t forget to feed the cats.”

  Then Zoe took a deep breath. Exhaled. And relaxed, her eyes drifting shut.

  “Zoe?” For one long horrible moment, he thought she was gone. He pressed his numb-with-cold fingers into the groove on her neck. Nothing. Fighting down the panic, he realized he was pressing too hard. Plus he’d lost most of the feeling in his hands. He softened his touch. And found it. Her carotid pulse. Strong. Steady.

  Thank God.

  “Who the hell is Rose?” Sanders asked, her voice shrill.

  “Her best friend.”

  Behind him, the Monongahela County EMS ambulance rolled up, tires crunching in the snow. A county police car made the turn off Route 15. A pair of the day-crew paramedics approached. One of them inhaled sharply. “Oh my God. It’s Zoe.”

  Reluctantly, Pete turned her care over to her colleagues. He stepped out of their way, but hovered close enough to jump to her side if she stirred again.

  The reporter covered her mouth with one trembling fist as she watched the medics.

  Pete hated feeling helpless. Since he couldn’t do a damned thing for Zoe, he shifted his focus to catching the son of a bitch who had done this to her.

  “Ms. Sanders,” he said.

  The reporter didn’t respond.

  He repeated her name, louder.

  Her wide-eyed gaze swung to him. Not the pit bull with a bone anymore.

  “I need you to think hard. Tell me anything you can remember about the man who did this.”

  She shook her head. “He was dressed all in black. And when he turned toward me, he had his face covered. All but his eyes. And I was too far away to see those.”

  “Was there just the one man?”

  “That’s all I saw.”

  “What about the van?” He was pretty sure it was the one George Winston had just reported stolen, but an eyewitness confirmation wouldn’t hurt.

  Sanders kept shaking her head. “It was white. No markings. No windows along the side. Tinted windows in the back. It was too far away to read a license number. That’s why she was trying to get closer.”

  Pete glanced over at Zoe, whom they’d transferred onto a backboard. Most likely, she’d been hurt for no reason. If it was indeed the same van stolen from Winston’s lot, Pete already had the license number. He thought again of the missed call. “I tried to call you back. Why didn’t you pick up?”

  Sanders patted her coat pockets. “Oh.” She looked around. “I must have dropped my phone after I called 911.”

  The paramedics lifted Zoe and the backboard onto a stretcher.

  The Monongahela County uniform trudged up to them, and Pete spotted a Pennsylvania State Police unit making its way up the lane.

  The county officer introduced himself, and Pete shook his hand. “This is Lauren Sanders. She witnessed the whole thing. Get her statement.” He shifted his gaze to the reporter. “Did you see which way the van went?”

  “South.”

  Away from Dillard. Toward Brunswick. “Thanks. Tell the officer here everything you told me and anything else you might remember.” Swinging back to the county uniform, he added, “Try to find her cell phone. She says she lost it after calling for help.”

  “On it, Chief.”

  He waded toward the rear of the ambulance where they were loading Zoe. “How is she?”

  “Still unresponsive, but her vitals are good.” The paramedic, whose face was familiar, but whose name escaped Pete, gave him an encouraging smile that they probably taught in EMS school.

  “I’ll follow you to the ER.”

  “I’ll tell her when she comes to.”

  When. Not if. Pete wanted to believe this guy more than he’d ever wanted to believe anyone.

  The paramedic climbed in. His partner slammed the doors and headed around to the cab. Pete dug out his own cell phone as he plowed through the snow back to his SUV. Once inside, he fired up the engine, cranked the heat, and punched in Seth’s number.

  “I need you on duty now,” Pete said when his officer answered. “Can you make it?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation. Or maybe Pete imagined it. “Sure thing, Chief. What’s going on?”

  He dropped the shifter into drive. “Zoe’s been hurt. I’m following the ambulance to the hospital. I need you to put a BOLO out on a white Ford panel van stolen from Abbott Electric and Heating.” He dug his notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open to relay the license number. “Last seen heading south on Route 15 from the Krolls’ farm.”

  After another pause, Seth’s voice took on a tone Pete was well acquainted with—the this-is-now-personal tone. “Same guys?”

  “Same guys.”

  “Got it. Hey, Chief?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Take care of Zoe, okay?”

  Pete waved at the State Trooper as their vehicles passed, one coming, one going, but didn’t stop to chat. “Roger that.”

  Sounds registered first. A low roar punctuated by piercing beeps and whistles. The roar rose an octave. More like a gaggle of geese along a lake. But the beeps and whistles remained. Black softened to gray. And then the light and pain slammed into Zoe’s awareness.

  “Hey.” Pete hovered over her, his image blurred as if she’d gotten moisturizer in her eyes.

  She blinked, trying to clear her vision. “What happened? Where am I?” She’d been at the Krolls’ place, picking her way through the snow. Why? Oh, yeah. The van. She squeezed her eyes shut, but that sent a stabbing hot pain through her head.

  “You’re in the ER.” Pete’s voice sounded odd. Mushy.

  She opened her eyes again. Still blurry. “I can see that.” She’d spent enough time bringing patients through the ER to recognize the treatment cubicles of Brunswick Hospital’s Emergency Department. “How’d I get here?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Remember what?”

  “The ambulance ride? The guys said you were chatting away with them on the way in here.”

  She tried to think, which wasn’t as easy as one might believe. Ambulance? She shook her head. The pain threatened to carve her brain in half. Bad idea. Very bad idea. She raised a hand to touch a gauze bandage instead of her curls. “They shaved my hair?”

  Pete laughed, warm and soothing. “No, my love. Just one patch of it. You took a nasty blow to the head. I think the doctor said thirty stitches.”

  “Stitches?” That explained the pain, but little else. “Where was I when all this was going on?”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  Zoe struggled to get her brain to clear. “The van.” Panic cleared the fog a bit. “Pete, the van’s at the farm. You have to get over there. They’re robbing Mr. and Mrs. Kroll.”

  Pete shushed her. Why was he shushing her? He needed to go catch those guys before the Krolls returned home.

  “Easy,” Pete told her in that same soft tone. “I know all about the van.”

  He did?

  “I was there.”

  He was? “You caught them?”

  “No. They’d gone by the time I arrived. But Seth and the entire county and state police forces are out looking for them.”

  “Knock knock,” called a nearby voice.

  Pete turned away from her. “Come in.”

  The curtain surrounding them swished open, and
Dr. Fuller strode in, a comforting smile on his face. “Hello again,” he said brightly.

  Again?

  “What’s the diagnosis?” Pete asked him.

  “X-rays show no signs of a fracture and the CT scans came back clear.” Dr. Fuller crossed his arms. “However, considering all the other indicators, I think it’s safe to say she’s suffered a concussion.”

  “Gee.” Pete’s voice dripped with his patented sarcasm. “You think?”

  The doctor chuckled and turned to Zoe. “You ready to get out of here?”

  “Hell yes.” She pushed up to sitting, but the pain in her head ratcheted up a notch, and her vision blurred even more. She lay back. Gingerly. “Ow.”

  “Keep her quiet for a few days,” Dr. Fuller said to Pete. “Make a follow-up appointment with her personal physician next week. And get her back in here if she loses consciousness again.”

  “I can’t keep quiet.” Although the idea sounded pretty good at the moment. “I’m on duty tonight.”

  Pete squeezed her hand. “They already know you won’t be in.”

  After a flurry of activity, which didn’t help Zoe’s headache in the least, she found herself in the passenger seat of Pete’s township SUV, headed home. On her lap, a stack of discharge papers she’d signed without reading.

  She’d been surprised to discover it was dark out when they wheeled her to the emergency entrance. The clock on Pete’s dashboard read almost eight thirty. It had been close to two when she’d been at the barn.

  “I lost half a day.”

  “Yep.”

  “Did you say I was talking to the guys in the ambulance?”

  “Yep.”

  “I don’t remember any of it.”

  Pete kept his gaze on the road, but she caught a glimpse of his cock-eyed grin in profile. “They said you were a chatterbox. They also said very little of it made sense.” He glanced at her. “Do you remember calling Lauren Sanders ‘Rose’?”

  “What?” Zoe tried to piece together the jigsaw puzzle of her memory. The reporter had been at the barn. Drove her back to the house. Zoe had left her phoning for help.

  “When you came to before the ambulance arrived. You called her Rose and asked her to feed the cats.”

  That old adage about “it only hurts when I laugh” was only partly true. It hurt all the time, but laughing made it worse. Zoe closed her eyes. Pete had filled in some of the gaps while they waited for the paperwork springing her from the ER. But he might as well have been telling her about someone else.

  “What do you remember?” He glanced at her again. “The guy who hit you. Sanders said she was too far away to identify him. Did you get a look at him?”

  Had she? Zoe searched the black hole that was her memory of the last few hours. “I have no idea.”

  Pete fell silent, leaving her to replay what little she did remember over in her mind. His mention of Lauren Sanders niggled at her. Not because of jealousy this time.

  The reporter had been there with her. Had driven her to the top of the hill. Zoe had ordered her to stay behind and call 911. But Sanders had followed.

  Zoe fingered the bandage on her head. For a moment, the brain fog lifted, leaving one question clear in her mind even if the answer was not.

  Where was the reporter when Zoe had been struck?

  NINETEEN

  “How’s Zoe?”

  Wayne Baronick had brought Starbucks for everyone, a rare gesture from the detective, and an indicator of his genuine concern.

  “Concussed,” Pete replied. “I picked up Sylvia and deposited her at my house. She thinks she’s keeping an eye on Zoe, and Zoe thinks she’s keeping an eye on Sylvia.”

  Baronick snickered. “Smart.”

  Saturday morning Pete normally would have been off duty, but there was nothing “normal” about the current situation. He did at least wear his civvies to the station. He, Baronick, and Nate Williamson, Pete’s weekend officer, sat around the conference table with their not-quite-hot cups of coffee.

  “Updates,” Pete said.

  Baronick swiveled in his chair to look at the whiteboard. “The sons of bitches wiped the Krolls out. Stole everything of any value plus some cash. All nice stuff too.”

  “New,” Pete commented. They’d lost everything in the fire and had to start from scratch. “Have you spoken with them?”

  “Not personally. One of my uniforms took their statements. At least they have insurance.”

  Pete made a mental note to stop over there and make sure the old couple was okay. With their poor health, he hated to think what the added stress might do to them. “If there’s a bright side, at least they don’t have to worry about these guys coming back.”

  “There’s nothing left to steal.”

  “Exactly.” Pete tapped his notebook, open on the table in front of him. “What about the stolen merchandise found at the Engle farm?”

  Baronick rocked back in the chair. “There was a lot of electronic equipment. We’re in the process of matching it to all the theft reports. No cash or firearms were recovered though.”

  “Not surprising,” Nate said. “They’d keep the cash or spend it.”

  Baronick scanned the sheet of stolen items. “And they may have already sold the firearms.”

  “Or traded guns for drugs,” Pete said. This was the sort of thing he’d hoped he’d left behind when he moved away from the city. “What about jewelry?”

  Baronick flipped a page. “Some of it was recovered. We’re still sorting through the odd pieces, but you can tell Sylvia we have her rings and earrings. The jewelry box itself is a little worse for wear, but the stuff inside all seems to be there.”

  “What about Oriole Andrews’ pieces?”

  Baronick ran a finger down the list. “Too early to know. The granddaughter’s descriptions were pretty vague. We’re still mixing and matching a lot of things.” He paused and tapped the paper. “Oh. And Sylvia’s son’s firefighting memorabilia has all been recovered.”

  “Good.” She’d be relieved. “Nate, I want you to pay another visit to the pawn shop in Phillipsburg to check on the firearms.” Pete didn’t trust Bub McDermott to call the moment someone brought stolen goods into his store—in spite of what he’d promised.

  Baronick set the papers on the table. “We’re revisiting the gun and pawn shops in Brunswick and the rest of the county too. And to take the recovered items off their lists. I’ve also updated the BOLO on the van.” He eyed Pete. “Your turn. Anything new overnight?”

  He closed his notebook. “No. Seth and Kevin spent the bulk of their shifts looking for that damn van, but these guys must have found a new hole to hide in.”

  “Any new activity around the Engle place?”

  “They drove by several times. Nothing.” Pete turned to Nate. “I’m going to head there for a closer look. I want you to keep an eye on it too.”

  Nate looked skeptical. “Do you honestly think they’ll go back there?”

  “Probably not, but criminals have been known to be stupid.” Pete tucked the pen and his notepad in his pocket. “After I check out the farm, I’ll pay a visit to the Krolls.” If this sent either of them back to the hospital, Zoe would be inconsolable.

  “I hate to mention this,” Baronick said, “but you’re not on duty today.”

  As if that mattered. “I appreciate your concern, but there’s no down time until we catch these bastards. Besides, after I talk to the Krolls, I’m going to Brunswick to see my father.”

  Baronick grinned. “How’s Superman Harry doing?”

  Not so super. “He has Alzheimer’s. How do you think he’s doing?” Pete winced at the sharpness of his tone. “Actually, he’s faring pretty well. I think he has a girlfriend.”

  Nate snorted.

  Baronick erupted in full-fledged laughter. “Like son, like fa
ther.”

  Possibly more than the detective realized, but Pete wasn’t about to mention Harry’s phone call or his suspicions about murder at Golden Oaks.

  Zoe rested her elbows on Pete’s kitchen table, supporting her chin in the palms of her hands, her fingers shielding her closed eyes. She wasn’t sure which symptom was worse—the mother of all headaches or the brain fog.

  Sylvia thunked a glass of water in front of her. Zoe peered between her fingers at the droplets sloshed on the table.

  Sylvia extended a closed fist toward her. “Here. Take these.”

  Zoe held out an open palm, and the older woman deposited a pair of tablets into it. “What’s this?” Zoe asked, although as badly as her head throbbed, she’d have downed anything that might dull the ache.

  “Acetaminophen.” Sylvia flapped a paper at her. One of the ones the hospital had sent home with her. “No aspirin or ibuprofen.”

  “I hope they’re extra strength.” Zoe downed the pills followed by half the water.

  Sylvia tapped the table with one finger. “Drink it all.”

  “Yes, Mom.” Zoe’s sarcasm was softened by the knowledge that Sylvia was being way more attentive than Kimberly would have been.

  Sylvia lowered into the chair catty-corner from Zoe’s. “He’s conning us, you know.”

  The world around her was out of focus, and the coat rack next to the kitchen door appeared to be swaying ever-so-slightly. Zoe slugged the rest of the water and closed her eyes again. “Who’s conning us? Dr. Fuller?”

  “No. Pete.”

  Zoe ventured peeking out with one eye. “What do you mean?”

  “He brought me over here to watch you. I’ll bet he told you to keep an eye on me.”

  As a matter of fact…

  Zoe’s expression must have confirmed Sylvia’s suspicion. “I knew it. He’s off gallivanting around and expects us to babysit each other.”

  “He’s trying to keep us out of trouble.”

  “He doesn’t want us underfoot.” Sylvia leaned forward, her forearms resting on the table, her fingers interlaced. “Since we’re stuck here, let’s take advantage of the situation. If we put our heads together, we might come up with something.”