8. Maverick
MAVERICK
MIND OVER MATTER
The last two days have felt like the longest days of my life.
Forty-eight hours.
That’s how long Clara was in a coma.
I drove the nurses and doctors crazy each time I asked them for an update.
When will she wake up? How long will she be like this?
Isn’t there something you can do? I couldn’t be satisfied with their answer—that this is normal after the trauma she’s been through, that her body needs time to heal.
Not when every time I walked into that hospital room, she was lying so still in that bed.
Practically lifeless.
It was only the constant beeping from the monitors that reassured me. As long as the beats were steady, she was alive.
I was on my way back from checking on Juno when I saw hospital staff rush toward her room. I started running before my brain had a chance to catch up. I made my way through the throng of doctors and nurses, utterly desperate and forgoing all niceties.
That’s when I saw her.
The monitor alarms were going haywire, but it was the look on her face that stopped me dead in my tracks. She had tears running down her cheeks, and she was shaking her head no so forcefully, I felt a pang in my chest.
The moment her brown eyes locked with mine, I knew I wouldn’t leave her side again. I stood sentry in the corner of her room as the doctor assessed her and the nurses administered a sedative. To calm her and bring her heart rate down, they told me.
Seeing Clara in that coffin looking like I was too late to save her…
Knowing that she would’ve been lying in the morgue instead of a hospital bed if Juno and I hadn’t gone for a run.
If we hadn’t gone to that running trail.
If Juno hadn’t heard her. Just the thought of any other outcome where Clara isn’t here is enough to wreck me.
A deep sigh escapes, unbidden. I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes. These stiff plastic chairs are torture on my body; there’s no comfort to be had. I’m getting old.
The waiting room is only two doors down from Clara, but I feel antsy being even this far away. What if she has another panic attack and no one is there for her? I don’t like the thought of that.
A buzzing against my leg brings me back to the present. I shift and reach into the pocket of my sweatpants for my phone.
Spencer.
My team has kept me in the loop over the last few days.
I’ve pretty much taken residence in Clara’s room, working on my laptop from the corner and only leaving to eat and spend some time with Juno.
He’s been staying at Arlo’s house in Rochester, but he’s been a little high strung since the other night.
Evie and Jesse cursed my name, like I knew they would, when they went back to collect evidence from the crime scene.
Cruz cordoned off the entire section of the park, and those two worked double time.
“Spencer, talk to me.”
“We got the surveillance videos from Clara’s apartment.
A black Toyota Camry pulls into the parking lot and stops right in front of her building at 2:28 a.m. It’s difficult to see inside the car with the camera’s angle, but we can see through the back windshield.
It looks like a possible scuffle. The passenger moves to exit the vehicle as the driver leans toward them.
The car drives off at 2:31 a.m. No one got in or out. ”
“Those timestamps are in line with what Cruz said about the last location of Clara’s phone. That’s gotta be her in the car. Were you able to get plates?”
“A partial. Cruz is running it through the database. Is Clara awake yet?”
“She woke a few hours ago, but she had a panic attack and they had to sedate her. I was there when she woke up again. Been about an hour.”
“Did she say anything?”
“No. I didn’t ask. I asked her if she wanted me to explain how she got to the hospital.”
“You told her? ”
I nod, even though he can’t see it. “She asked me if I was okay after I told her about Juno. She saw my bandages. A nurse came in and kicked me out, so I’m waiting until I get the all clear to head back in. I texted Cruz to let him know, and he’ll be here within the next few hours.”
“Hopefully she’s able to identify the fucker. Speaking of identification, the DNA results came back on our Jane Doe.”
“That was fast.”
“Yeah, seems they move pretty fucking quick when a serial killer is involved. Jane Doe came back as Catherine Bennett. 31, single, worked as a cashier at Walmart in Chatsworth, Iowa. As far as we know, she has no family or next of kin.”
“Fuck. She matches every single criteria.”
“Yup. It’s him. No doubt it’s our unsub.”
“We need to find this son of a bitch,” I growl. I will do everything in my power to make sure this bastard goes down. And I’ll never admit it out loud, but I wouldn’t be opposed to finding him a permanent place six feet underground. It’d be more than he deserves.
“It’ll be easier when we know who we’re looking for.”
“I’ll call you after Cruz and I talk to Clara. Keep me updated with anything else.”
Spencer makes a sound of acknowledgment then hangs up the phone.
How the hell did one man dig a six foot hole by himself in a public park without being seen? And then to bury a body and cover the grave on his own? I’m struggling to understand it. It’s like this guy is a chameleon, blending seamlessly into his surroundings and going completely unnoticed.
I take a deep breath. The hatred I feel for this guy grows by the second. Every time I learn something else, every time we have new evidence, the hatred just festers.
Now that Clara’s been found? The manhunt is on.
And I intend to hunt.
It’s been about two hours since I got off the phone with Spencer, and I’m still in this damn waiting room.
The nurses gave me an exasperated look when I approached to see if Rosie was still with Clara.
Apparently, the fact that I’m an FBI agent does nothing for these women.
No blurred lines. No special treatment. I suppose that’s a good thing. Except for right now.
Just as I consider checking in with the nurse’s station again , Rosie pops her head in. “Maverick?” We’re on a first name basis now, considering I refuse to leave. “You can go in now. She might be asleep, though.”
“Thank you, Rosie.” I flash her a smile as I make my way out of the waiting area and down the hall.
By the time I make it to Clara’s room, she’s curled in bed, completely covered with the blanket and positioned right up against the guard rail. I move to turn the lights off but notice the human-sized ball is moving.
No, not moving. Shaking.
I abandon the light switch and reach Clara in three strides. She’s still shaking, and I can hear sniffling.
Fuck. She’s crying.
“Clara?” I keep my voice low, almost a whisper. My hand automatically goes to pull the blanket back so I can see her face, but I stop myself before I make contact. She might not want me to touch her. “Clara, sunshine, it’s Maverick.”
“Maverick,” she whimpers as she lowers the white fabric down to her chin.
The sight of her breaks my heart. She looks fragile. Her face is tear-streaked, her eyes puffy and bloodshot. How long has she been crying?
“I’m here, sunshine.”
“Will you stay?” Her question trembles with emotion, and I immediately make my way to the chair beside her bed.
“Of course I will. Are you okay?” It’s probably a dumb question, but I’ve never been very good with women in tears.
She shakes her head, then surprises me by flipping onto her other side—the side facing me—and reaching for my hand. I thread my fingers through hers and rest them on top of the mattress.
“I don’t know how to describe how I’m feeling. A nurse came in with Rosie. She did an exam… to, uh, collect evidence.” Clara wriggles her other hand free from beneath the blanket and wipes the tears from her eyes.
I have to make an effort to keep my hands relaxed. The fact that she had to undergo a forensic exam makes my blood boil. This woman has been through so much. Despite her fragility in this moment, Clara is strong .
“You don’t have to describe how you’re feeling, Clara. You just need to let yourself feel it. I don’t know everything you’ve been through yet, but I know you’re strong. You’re a fighter.”
“I don’t feel strong.” She keeps her eyes locked on mine as she speaks, letting me see her vulnerability.
“I hate bright lights, but I can’t stand the dark anymore.
I almost had another panic attack when Rosie turned them off.
I feel… violated. Like a different person. And I’m really fucking tired.”
“I’m not really good at this, and I don’t want to say the wrong thing…” After all the death and violence I’ve seen, talking to this woman at her most vulnerable is harder than I thought. “You’ve been through hell. No one walks away from that feeling the same. But you’re still you.”
“You don’t know me,” she whispers, but there’s a small smile on her face that tells me I might’ve said something right.
“I know enough. Why don’t you get some sleep?”
“I can’t.” I have to strain to hear her, as if she said it more to herself.
“Why can’t you?”
“I’m scared that I’ll wake up and this will all be a dream.”
“It’s not a dream, sunshine. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” I tighten my fingers around hers, hoping she finds comfort. “Sleep, Clara. I’m not going anywhere.”
She closes her eyes and keeps her hand in mine. Within minutes, the steady cadence of her pulse tells me she’s asleep. Good. She needs it. There’s this innate sense of protection I feel for her. More than that, I feel responsible for her. For her well-being. For her happiness.
Carefully, I use my free hand to pull out my phone and send a text to Cruz.
Maverick
Don’t come tonight. She’s asleep.
Cruz
I’ll be there tomorrow morning.