17. Jane Doe
CHAPTER 17
JANE DOE
“W e’re going on horseback?” I study the small trailer attached to Elliot’s truck as he walks a brown horse out of the barn. We haven’t exactly been getting along since last night, but I feel like he should have elaborated a bit more on the ‘few things’ he needed to pick up.
“There’s a lot of ground to cover. It’ll be easier on horseback.”
“I—uh—I don’t know that I’ve ever even ridden a horse.”
“Which is why I’m going to let you ride Cinnamon.”
“Cinnamon. Is that Cinnamon?”
“No, this is Bobby. You met him the day we pulled you out of the creek.” He stops in front of me. “Hold your palm flat.”
I do as he says, and he reaches into his pocket and plucks out a sugar cube, setting it on top of my hand. The horse takes it, its whiskers tickling my skin as it uses its lips to lift the cube.
“Hi again, Bobby,” I reply with a smile, some of the unease I’d felt moments ago fading.
“It’ll be easier this way. Especially with your injuries. Walking that far would be rough on you. Besides, you promised to do this my way. Remember?”
The sour mood I’ve been in since last night deflates at the knowledge that he thought ahead enough to account for my injuries when I know he could have done this on foot and saved himself trouble. “Fair enough. But if I fall, I’ll never let you live it down.”
And with that comment, the tension around us eases just a bit.
“I think you have that backward. If you fall off of Cinnamon, you have no business ever going near a horse.” With an easy grin, he leads the horse into the trailer.
“So you don’t think we need the backup of having your brothers along?”
He stops what he’s doing and turns to me, “Are you okay with it just being us? I can call Lani?—”
“What? Oh, no. It’s fine. I’m just making small talk. Apparently, it’s something I do when I’m nervous.”
He grins, and my stomach twists into nervous knots. This time, having nothing to do with the horses. “I’ll remember that. I’m going to grab Cinnamon and get her loaded. Then we’ll be ready to head out. You have everything you need?”
“Yes. I think so.”
He loads Cinnamon into the trailer then closes the main gate before crossing over to the passenger side of the truck and opening the door for me just like he’s been doing every time I’ve ridden in the truck with him. “After you.”
“Chivalry is alive amongst the Hunts,” I joke, enjoying that it seems he’s no longer frustrated at me either.
He chuckles. “We do have manners.”
“Nice to know.”
He shuts the door then opens the back so Echo can jump in. The dog sits happily in the seat, staring out the window as his owner climbs behind the wheel.
And because I can’t leave well enough alone and just let a good mood be a good mood, I clear my throat. “Listen, Elliot, about what we saw last night?—”
“I don’t want to fight about it anymore,” he says, putting the truck into Drive.
“I know, but if we take that footage at face value, then I’m not a good person. You could be helping a murderer, for all you know.”
“I’m not taking it at face value because things are rarely black and white.”
“But—”
“No.” He pulls down the driveway. “If it turns out that you were a murderer, then I’ll let you handle things the way you want to. But I still believe things are not always what they seem.”
“Why? How are you so sure?”
Elliot stops at the stop sign at the end of his drive and turns toward me. “Because I know what I feel when I look at you, and I’ve learned the hard way to always trust my gut.”
My heart flutters in my chest as warmth spreads through me. “And what you feel for me is that I’m innocent?”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Something like that.” He shifts his attention back out the windshield and pulls onto the small two-lane highway leading away from the ranch.
All while my mind is still back there at that stop sign, trying so hard not to read into something that might not be there, even as I secretly hope it is.
* * *
I study both horses as Elliot finishes pulling saddles out of the trailer’s small tack room and placing them on the animals. Nerves twist in my belly, but I do my best to keep them at bay. Honestly, I’m not even entirely sure it has a lot to do with the horses but more to do with the fact that we might very well find the place where I was shot.
I turn and study the tall trees surrounding us. This park has trails for bikes, hiking, and horses. According to Elliot, it spans nearly 300 acres and could take us days to look through. We may not even find the sign today, but I’m not letting go of the hope I have.
Twice now, I’ve had memories resurface of me running through trees. That has to mean something, right? And after that video last night, well, I’ve never been more desperate to get to the bottom of who I really am and why I seem to be wrapped up in not one but two murders.
“Ready?”
I turn back to Elliot. My heart leaps at the sight of him, standing there in jeans, boots, a long-sleeve button-down, and baseball cap. This time, it’s not backward. He looks rugged and ready for whatever comes our way.
“Yes. Let’s do this.”
Holding Cinnamon’s reins, he backs her up a few steps. “You have any idea how to climb on?”
“I’m guessing I put my foot in that handle?”
“The stirrup, yes.” Elliot smiles. He’s not mocking me, and for that, I’m grateful. “Put your foot there, grip the saddle horn here, and pull yourself up. I’ll help if you struggle, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks.” Reaching up to grip the saddle horn, I put my foot into the stirrup and pull myself up. My unused and still-sore muscles ache, but I’m able to get myself up and situated. The moment I’m on the horse, my nerves dissipate. The power of the animal beneath me isn’t unfamiliar.
“You good?”
I look down at him and smile, feeling something missing slip into place. “I think I’ve ridden before. It feels—I like it.”
Elliot smiles, his handsome grin stealing my breath. “You look like a natural.” He hands me the reins then slips Bobby’s bridle on and climbs on. Seeing him sitting in that saddle does something to me, unlocking yet more desire for the soldier who pulled me out of that creek.
Does he feel it, too? This connection sparking between us? Is that what he meant back at that stop sign?
“Let’s head out. Does any of this look familiar?”
I look around as the horses begin moving. “Just the fact that they’re trees,” I reply truthfully. “But—” I trail off as we come around a small curve in the trail, and my gaze lands on a sign that had been hidden from our view before. My heart begins to pound. “That’s what the sign looked like.”
He follows my gaze. “A trail sign. Do you remember what it said yet?”
I close my eyes, searching the memory, but all I can see is the general shape and size of the sign. Everything else is a blur. “No, I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. He taps the saddlebags behind him. “We’ve got food and time. We’ll find it. Echo, hier. ” The dog races into the trees before us, his ears perked, tail wagging.
“He won’t run off?”
“Nope. He’ll stay with us even if he ventures off a bit, following his nose.” The horses navigate the trail easily as I study the trees around me, hoping to see something—anything that might jog my memory.
But so far, it’s just a beautiful, serene outing with tall trees, bright sunlight, and chirping birds.
We continue in silence, with just the sounds of nature surrounding us, for what feels like hours, as Echo trots happily ahead. “Do you do this often?” I ask Elliot, who’s riding beside me.
“Ride the trails?”
“Go out on horseback for a case.”
“Not as often as I’d like. Most of our cases take place overseas or in urban areas of the States.”
“Overseas?”
He nods. “We handle a lot of missing persons cases, and a lot of times, that takes us out of the country.”
“Oh wow.”
He nods. “It’s a rough job, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Even if things don’t go the way we want all the time, I like to think we’re making a difference.”
“You are.”
He glances over at me.
“I mean, I may not know much about what you do, but reuniting loved ones is a pretty fantastic mission.”
“It doesn’t always go as planned. Sometimes, we’re too late.” His tone is haunted, and it hurts my heart.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“When you were too late?”
When he remains silent, I worry that I’ve pushed him too far. That I’ve dug into a darkness he’s trying to keep hidden.
“I had a client who needed to find her sister. The police wouldn’t take her seriously since her sister was a party girl, but she insisted something was wrong. Said it was a gut feeling.” He pauses. “We got close looking for her. And when she was counting on me to find answers, I was too late. She lost her life because the guy we were looking for was never really after her sister. He wanted her, and I missed it.”
My heart breaks for him, the pain so evident in his expression. “Oh, Elliot. I’m so sorry.”
“It happened, and I haven’t quite been able to move past it.”
“But it wasn’t your fault.”
“I missed something.”
“Everyone misses something. There’s never a perfect case. When things are cut and dried, it’s rarely the full story. Isn’t that what you’ve been saying to me this entire time?”
He cocks his head to the side and studies me. “Fair enough.”
I smile softly at him. “I’m really sorry, Elliot. I can tell she meant a lot to you.”
He stops Bobby, so I do the same with Cinnamon. “She looked like you. At first glance. When I saw you in that creek, there was a moment?—”
And it hits me why he was so standoffish at first. Because I looked like the woman he couldn’t save. “You thought I was her.”
“It was impossible, of course. She’s been dead for three years. But for just a moment.” Anyway. “Aside from the red hair, you two really don’t have a whole lot of similarities, but from a distance, it caught me off guard.”
“Is that why you haven’t been to church?”
He nods. “I couldn’t face the guilt. I don’t see how God can forgive me for something like that, and I have no idea how to learn to forgive myself.”
I wish I could remind him that he didn’t do anything wrong and have him actually believe me. But I know that, no matter what I say, he has to be the one to forgive himself.
“I’m truly sorry for what happened to her. But if you want my opinion, she was lucky to have you, Elliot. Even given what happened.”
“Thank you.”
I smile. “You’re welcome. “So—” I turn my face and look out at the trees, and my gaze catches sight of a partially hidden sign. “Wait.” I climb off the horse and offer Elliot the reins as I walk farther into the trees.
Like a magnet, it draws me in closer. The memory resurfaces again, this time slower. As though I’m currently living in it, the rest of the world fades away. My heart pounds, and I reach up to touch the sign.
“This is it.”
“This is the sign?”
I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear him right behind me. I turn toward him and nod. Echo is sitting beside him, and Elliot has the reins of both horses in his hands with them lingering a few feet behind us, still on the trail.
“You’re sure?” he asks.
“Yes. I—this is it, Elliot. I ran past this.” Hope burns in my chest as I turn to look at him. “We found it.”
He continues looking straight ahead, studying the brush around the sign. “Then let’s head in. You okay to keep riding?”
“Yes. Absolutely.” Truthfully, even if I weren’t comfortable getting back on Cinnamon, I would have agreed to anything that meant getting closer to the answers I’ve been so desperately seeking.
He offers me Cinnamon’s reins, and I place them over her head just as he does to Bobby. “We can continue riding side by side for now, but if the trail narrows, I’ll take the lead. Just keep an eye out for anything that might jog your memory, okay?”
“Okay.”
We climb onto the horses, and Elliot calls out, “Echo, hier. ”
The dog trots over to Bobby’s side before he guides the horse down the trail beside the sign. I keep my eye on it as we pass by again, my heart racing with the very possibility of discovering what happened to me before I was dumped in that creek.
The brush is thicker through here, the trees closer together, and each step we take is like jumping back into that nightmare.
“This is definitely it,” I tell him. “I remember all of this.”
“Anything else coming to you?” he asks.
“No, not yet. But we’re close. I know we’re close.”
We’re only about half a mile down the trail before Echo lets out a warning bark. It’s soft, an alert, and while both horses perk their ears, neither seems too bothered by the sound.
Elliot, though, goes completely rigid, his hand on the grip of the weapon holstered at his side. He turns around in his saddle, studying the trees.
Echo growls.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and adrenaline surges through my veins. Something is wrong.
“We need to go,” Elliot orders, his tone low.
“What do you think it is?”
“We’re not the only ones out here.”
I look around, searching for another person on horseback or a hiker. “It’s a park. Isn’t that normal?”
“Echo won’t warn me unless there’s an issue.” Before I can ask what he means, he turns to me and his eyes go wide—panicked. “Get down!” He lunges off of Bobby and hits me with the full force of his frame.
A gun goes off.
We fall to the ground.
I land on my back, winded and dazed. But before I have time to catch my breath, Elliot is dragging me behind a tree. “Stay down,” he orders. “Echo!” he calls out. “ Hier!”
Another gunshot echoes through the trees. Wood splinters when it hits the tree beside us.
The dog rushes to Elliot’s side and lays down, panting heavily. “Good boy.” He pets the dog then falls backward.
“Elliot, what’s—” Red blossoms on the front of his shirt, right above his heart. “No. No. No.” Panic pulses through my veins. I rip my sweatshirt over my head and press it to his injury. He hisses in pain, but I keep pressure on it. Dear God, please don’t let him die.
Echo whimpers, the hair on his back still standing on end even as he nuzzles Elliot before turning to face the direction of the shooter. He growls low and deep, a warning of what’s to come.
“Get back to the truck,” he growls. “Take Echo. Do not run in a straight line. Stay behind the trees.” He’s breathless, barely able to keep his eyes open.
“What? No. I’m not leaving you.”
“You have to,” he tells me. “I can’t keep up. But if you get there, you can call Bradyn?—”
“You’ll be dead before we get back.”
He grabs my hand and holds on. “We’ll both be dead if you stay.”
How do I tell him I’d rather die than live in a world without him?
“Where’s your cell phone?” I start searching his pockets.
“In my left pocket. But the service out here is spotty. That’s why you need to get to the truck.” He lies back, breathing through the pain.
“We’ll make it work.” I reach into the pocket of his jeans and withdraw his cell. The screen is shattered, the phone dead. “Calling isn’t an option.” I toss the phone to the ground.
“Jane, you have to get to the truck.” His tone is strained, his breathing getting heavier.
I grip his face, blood staining my hands. “Listen to me, Elliot Hunt, I am not leaving you out here to die. Do you understand? Stop asking me to. I’d rather die here in this park than lose you. So stop arguing with me.”
He clenches his jaw and nods. “At my back, there’s a pistol. Grab it.” He rolls over, groaning as he does. I reach behind his back and tug the firearm free, holding the cool steel in my hand. Echo remains at Elliot’s side, ears perked.
Given what I’ve pieced together about myself, I’m betting I’ve fired a gun before. Even if I haven’t, I refuse to go down without a fight. And if that means whoever is after me finishes the job, so be it. At least, I will have tried.
I creep closer to the tree, staying low. The horses are grazing a few yards from us now, their reins dangling from their bridles.
Why they haven’t run, I’m not sure. But they’re so close.
All we need to do is?—
Another branch snaps. I grip the gun in my hand and peek around the tree. A man dressed in all black, a mask on his face, moves stealthily through the trees, every step bringing him closer to us.
And in his hands is a large rifle. The kind you’d see in a military movie.
My blood chills. I glance back at Elliot. He’s breathing, but the rise and fall of his chest is labored. Whatever that bullet hit, it’s done damage. And if I don’t get him help soon, he’s going to die.
Lord, please don’t die.
I take a deep breath and raise the firearm.
The man comes into the sights, and I take another deep breath. As I let it out, I squeeze the trigger. The gun goes off, a clap of thunder that sends birds flying up from the trees. He stiffens and falls backward, but I don’t waste any time as I lunge to my feet and sprint forward, my only thought on getting that rifle away from him.
He’s lying on the ground, a bullet hole in the center of his chest. Blood pools to the surface, and he stares up at the sky, his eyes frozen open.
The rifle has fallen to the side, so I bend down and retrieve it then sink to my knees and check his throat. There’s no pulse. Dead. I killed him. Just like the man in the hospital.
“Jane!” Elliot yells, his tone is pained as though he’s clinging to whatever energy he has left to call for me.
“Here! I’m okay! Stay where you are! Don’t move!” Quickly, I check the man’s pockets. After withdrawing a wallet, keys, phone, and a knife from his boot, I rush back over toward the horses and slip the items into Bobby’s saddlebags before sprinting back to Elliot’s side.
He’s pale. So pale. “He’s dead, okay? We need to get you onto the horse so we can get back to the truck.”
“Dead? How?”
“Apparently, I’m a good shot. Come on. Please, Elliot. Don’t die on me.” Echo whines louder, nuzzling Elliot again.
“I’ll do my best.” He groans as I help him to his feet, doing what I can to ignore the sharp pain from my still-healing side. Knowing it’s life or death we’re dancing around, I guide him toward the horse. I can heal later. He’ll die if he doesn’t get help now.
His legs are barely moving, every step labored with how weak he’s growing.
“If I pass out, leave me and get help.”
“Elliot—”
“You won’t be able to get me back on the horse, Jane. And the longer we wait, the more likely it is I’ll die. You have to leave me behind if I fall, okay?”
I look up into his hazel eyes then cup his cheek and nod. “I will. But I’m riding with you to make sure that doesn’t happen.” I slip Bobby’s reins back over his head then climb into the saddle. After slipping my foot out of the stirrup so Elliot can use it, I reach down and take his hand.
Elliot, growing weaker by the second, takes a deep breath and then pulls himself onto Bobby’s back. I pull as hard as I can, trying to offer what little strength I have until he’s seated behind me.
I take his good arm and pull it around my waist then hold it steady. “Go, boy,” I urge Bobby. The horse starts moving, galloping through the trees with Echo racing beside us and Cinnamon keeping pace slightly behind us. I hit the main trail, my mind focused only on getting Elliot to safety. Echo runs at our side, easily keeping pace with the horse.
Lord, please get us out of here. Please, God, save him. I need him. Please .
Minutes tick by, but they might as well be hours before we’ve reached the truck. As soon as we’re in view of it, I stop Bobby. “Whoa, boy. We’re here.” But Elliot’s not responding. Echo lets out a soft bark.
My chest aches. Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.
“Elliot, I need you to hold yourself up long enough so I can get down, okay?”
Still nothing.
I can risk trying to climb down alone, but Elliot will fall.
Echo starts barking again, an alert as a large truck pulls into the lot, and I wave my hand. “Help!” I yell as the truck comes to a stop.
Bradyn Hunt and Kennedy jump out. The eldest Hunt brother’s expression is one of terror as he sprints forward toward his younger brother. “What happened?”
“Someone was out there. They shot him. I can’t get him down.” Tears burn in my eyes, but I remain focused.
He has to live.
“We have to get him down, Bradyn. He needs help.”
“Breathe, Jane,” Kennedy tells me. “You’re not alone anymore, okay?”
Bradyn reaches up and grabs his brother, pulls him down, and lays him out on the ground. He checks Elliot’s pulse as I get down and rush to his side. “He’s lost too much blood. I’m going to put him in my truck. You and Kennedy get him to the hospital, and I’ll deal with the horses.” Without waiting for a response, he lifts Elliot with a groan and carries him to the truck. “Where’s the shooter?”
“Dead,” I tell him. “His rifle is on Cinnamon’s saddle horn.”
I open the back door, and Bradyn lays Elliot on the backseat.
“God, please don’t take my brother,” he whispers, placing his hand on Elliot’s stomach. “Please let him live. I ask this in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.” As soon as he’s done, he pulls back and slams the door. “I’ll handle it. Get him to the hospital.”
“What if there was more than one?” Kennedy asks.
“I won’t go in without backup. I’m calling Riley as soon as you leave. But if you don’t go now?—”
“We’re going. He’ll be okay,” Kennedy says, gripping Bradyn’s face and kissing him quickly.
Bradyn nods, but his expression is one of concern. Pain. “I’ll keep Echo with me.”
I nod and try to remain somewhat in control of the anxiety coursing through my body as I rush around to the other side of the truck and open the door. Carefully raising his head, I climb in and lay Elliot’s head in my lap. I apply pressure to his wound and hold tightly while Kennedy gets behind the wheel.
She throws the truck into Drive and races out of the lot.
“Please don’t die,” I whisper. “God, please don’t take him.” With my free bloodstained hand, I reach up and hold the silver cross around my neck. Please.