Chapter Twenty-Nine
Wade heard the gunfire but didn’t feel an impact.
Charlie jerked sideways, and the pistol flew from his hand. Shimmering bits of silver crashed to the floor. Elvira screamed her husband’s name. Wade wondered vaguely if two shattered mirrors canceled out the seven years of bad luck.
Sheriff Nava charged forward and kicked the gun away while Jackson wrestled Charlie into submission.
The gunman was handcuffed roughly and jerked to his feet.
His face appeared pale and doughy, and one of his arms hung limply at his side.
Another officer went to assist Elvira, who was still cowering at the edge of the bar.
Sheriff Nava approached Wade and squatted next to him. “Are you hurt?”
Wade brushed off the broken glass. “I don’t think so.”
Jackson directed Charlie through the door with a shove. Blood dripped down the man’s arm and fell on the tile in red splats.
“Who shot him?” Wade asked.
“I did,” Nava replied.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Nava helped Wade to his feet.
“Were you aiming at his right arm?”
“I was aiming for his chest.”
“You missed.”
Nava smiled and patted Wade on the back. They both knew he’d saved Wade’s life. “Take my advice, Hendricks. Don’t shoot anyone in the line of duty. There’s so much paperwork you’ll want to kill yourself by the time it’s over.”
Wade chuckled at his dark humor.
“Go get checked out by the EMTs,” Nava ordered. “You’re bleeding.”
He nodded, feeling the sting from multiple cuts. He had a gash on his elbow. Wade exited the bar with Nava and headed toward two ambulances parked outside the perimeter. Meredith was standing there, waiting for him. She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight.
“Are you all right?” she whispered.
“I’m fine.”
“Your mother fainted when she heard the shot.”
Wade glanced into the back of the nearest ambulance. His mother was having her blood pressure taken. She gave Wade a look that was part relief, part anguish. “This is what happens when I stay sober. My heart can’t handle the stress.”
“She’s sober?” Wade asked Meredith.
“That’s what she says.”
He sat down on a curb to wait for treatment.
Meredith took the task upon herself. She pressed a square of gauze to his elbow and plucked bits of glass from his clothes.
She kept smoothing her hands over his back, as if making sure he didn’t have any secret bullet wounds.
His mother climbed out of the ambulance after a few minutes.
“Panic attack,” the female EMT said. “She needs rest.”
“I need a Xanax,” Wynona grumbled.
The EMT examined Wade next. She cleaned and bandaged the gash on his elbow.
The other cuts were minor and didn’t need attention.
The technician moved toward the squad car where Charlie Franklin had been detained.
Jackson brought Wade his uniform shirt and shoes, which he donned with a wince.
He felt removed from the chaos, as if he was watching from a distance.
The colors and sounds were muted. It was survivor’s shock, he supposed.
Meredith seemed to recognize the reaction.
She handed him a bottle of water, which he drank gratefully.
She stayed close by his side, quiet and protective.
His mother’s friend, Patty Gonzalez, came forward to chat with his mother. Patty and Wynona stepped aside and spoke with their heads together. Their voices were low and subdued. After a short time, Wynona returned to address Wade and Meredith.
“Patty’s driving me to Desert Breeze,” Wynona said.
“What’s that?”
Wynona rolled her eyes. “It’s an inpatient facility for addiction therapy in New Mexico. They have an open bed.”
Wade snapped out of the fog that had enveloped him. Reality came crashing back down on him, ready or not. This wasn’t an exchange he could phone in. “You’re going to rehab? Willingly?”
She shrugged like a sullen teenager. “I guess I need to. Can you take care of the ranch while I’m gone?”
“Of course,” he said, touched by the request.
“I’d better leave now before I change my mind.”
He rose to his feet and embraced her. She accepted the gesture stiffly. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d done this. They hadn’t shared a hug in years. It was awkward, but not unpleasant.
“Take care of Mary, too,” she whispered. “Don’t let her go.”
“I won’t,” he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat.
She patted his shoulder and walked away with Patty. It was the opposite of a mushy, sentimental scene, but Wade found himself getting choked up. Meredith grasped his hand and squeezed it tight.
“Did you suggest rehab to her?” Wade asked.
“No. She’s always refused to discuss it.”
Wade marveled at the abrupt reversal. His mother had decided to go to rehab on her own.
She’d fainted out of worry for him, and they’d hugged.
On top of that, he’d escaped a near-death experience unscathed, and Meredith had said she loved him.
Wade felt like he was dreaming. This was too good to be true.
Sheriff Nava appeared beside him. He had Wade’s gun and wore a grave expression. “Do you have a minute?”
Wade nodded easily. “Wait in my truck,” he said to Meredith. “I’ll be there soon.”
She stood on tiptoe to kiss Wade goodbye.
It was a light touch, full of concern and caring.
Wade’s neck heated with warmth. After she pulled away, Wade returned the gun to his holster and followed Nava toward his SUV.
They both climbed inside, with Wade in the passenger seat.
He felt shell-shocked, but his brain was functioning well enough to consult with Nava.
Cops didn’t always have the luxury of rest.
“Charlie Franklin broke down in tears and admitted his intentions were murder-suicide,” Nava said. “You saved Elvira’s life.”
Wade made a sound of acknowledgment. He hadn’t forgotten that Nava’s affair with Elvira had instigated this entire mess. Charlie had almost killed Wade because of it. “Did you interview Elvira?”
“Briefly.”
“She told him we were sleeping together.”
“I’m aware.”
“Why would she lie about that?”
“She claims he kept badgering her, asking if you were her latest conquest. She finally said yes to shut him up.” He gave Wade a sidelong glance. “I’m sorry you got caught up in it. I wouldn’t have let you go in there if I’d known.”
Wade accepted the apology, which sounded sincere.
They’d survived a hostage situation. No one except Charlie had been seriously injured.
Nava had taken the shot when it counted.
That action spoke volumes, as did Nava’s initial attempt to enter the bar himself.
It wasn’t easy to make life or death decisions in the blink of an eye.
Nava changed the subject. “We need to talk about your trip to Last Chance today.”
“Okay.”
“Did you speak with your father about Cameron Pickett?”
Wade’s brows rose at the question. “I did.”
“What did he say?”
“Not much.”
“I knew Cameron,” Nava admitted. “I knew you were his son the first time I saw you. I also knew where he was buried.”
“How?”
“Because I buried him.”
Wade was baffled by the confession. “Why?”
Nava’s mouth tightened into a grim line.
“There’s a history behind it that doesn’t really matter.
The important part is that I didn’t like Cameron, and I had a crush on your mother.
I was cruising around on my motorcycle one day, pissed off and looking for trouble, when I spotted Wynona on Riverbend Lane.
She came out of the woods crying, face all swollen. Then she drove away in Cameron’s car.”
“She didn’t notice you?”
“No. I figured he’d put his hands her, so I grabbed the tire lever out of my toolkit and went in search of him.
I was going to straighten him out. When I found him, he was dead.
I sat there for hours, staring at his body.
Then I dragged him to a more secluded spot, dug a grave with the scoop end of the lever, and buried him. ”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen. It took all night.”
Wade shook his head in wonder.
“I didn’t see your mother again for almost twenty years. She married Boyd Hendricks, and you came along. I decided to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“She married him because he promised to get rid of the body.”
Nava squinted at him. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. She still thinks he did it.”
He seemed floored by this revelation. “She married him for doing what I’d already done, and he never told her?”
“He never told her.”
“Son of a bitch,” he swore.
“What are we going to do about it?”
“Nothing,” Nava said. “We aren’t going to identify him. We’ll disregard the evidence, set the file aside, and move on.”
Wade inclined his head, because the solution suited him fine.
He’d become a realist in his tenure in law enforcement.
Justice wasn’t always straightforward, or even aboveboard.
Cameron Pickett didn’t deserve to rest in peace.
His mother didn’t deserve to be prosecuted.
It was a fair outcome, all things considered.
“Should I meet you at the station?” Wade asked.
“No,” Nava said. “The report can wait. Go home and celebrate being alive with that pretty girlfriend of yours.”
Wade exited the vehicle, eager to follow this advice.