Chapter Eleven #2
She mimed rocking a baby in her arms, reminding Ronan of the baby, and he nodded once. She hadn’t thought he’d forgotten, but she wouldn’t forgive herself if the baby was caught in the crossfire.
Ronan pointed to her, then to the right of the tent’s flap. She moved where he indicated and he took the left of the flap. He tossed it up abruptly.
“Reece Miller, this is the Mendocino County Sheriff. Come out with your hands where I can see them.”
A woman cried out in alarm and a man cursed, but weakly. “Get me my gun,” he demanded.
“Reece, please.” Wendy sounded terrified and so tired.
“Now, Wendy.”
Elle braced herself, anticipating gunshots, but none came. Instead, Wendy Miller stumbled out of the tent, her hands up. “Don’t shoot! Please! My baby’s inside.”
“Goddamn you, Wendy.” The words started as a yell and ended as a moan.
“He’s hurt.” Wendy looked from Ronan to Elle with wild eyes. “It’s bad. I tried to fix him. To bandage him, but…it’s bad.”
Not waiting to hear more, Elle moved into the tent, hearing Ronan’s muttered “Fucking hell.”
Reece Miller looked awful. He was sweaty, feverish, his hair matted and greasy. His shirt was wet with blood, and the stain was spreading rapidly. He was also on the move, dragging himself to the corner of the tent where his shotgun was propped.
Elle crossed to him in two strides, crouching beside him and snapping her cuffs on his wrists. He attempted to struggle, but it was barely more than a wiggle.
She noticed the pharmacy bag with gauze and bandages and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. There was a pile of bloody bandages next to him that smelled foul. Reece Miller would be lucky if he survived.
Gently, she rolled him to his back, grimacing when he spat at her. His lungs were underpowered and his aim was bad, so the spit missed her.
Still. What an asshole.
“That was disgusting, Miller,” she said.
“And you’re a bitch,” he grunted.
She shrugged because she could hear Ronan cuffing a now-sobbing Wendy. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got you now. I’m Fugitive Recovery Agent Randolph. How’d you get hurt?”
He turned his head to the side, glaring at the side of the tent.
“Whatever.” She gathered the baby from a carrier in the corner that was farthest from the gun and closest to a woodstove. The stove was making the tent cozy warm, but Elle was surprised the three of them hadn’t succumbed to carbon monoxide poisoning.
There was a crudely cut hole in the side of the tent, which must have provided at least enough ventilation to keep the smoke from becoming dangerously thick.
She touched the baby’s forehead and frowned. “She’s burning up.”
“So am I,” Miller snarled.
“And you’ll get care in jail,” she said. “Your baby should never have been out here in the cold. What the hell is wrong with you? Wasn’t it enough that you’ve injured two people and killed two others? Are you trying to kill your baby, too?”
Miller jerked his head around to face her, his jaw slack. “What the fuck? I haven’t killed anyone. Yeah, I shot those people in SF, but they didn’t die. I ain’t killed nobody.”
“You can tell that to the cops. Detective Clarke?”
He was standing inside the tent flap, calmly watching her. “May I come in now?”
She snorted a laugh. “Sure. This guy says he didn’t kill anyone.”
“I didn’t!” Miller shouted, then fell back with a groan.
Ronan took in his wounds. “Your wife says you got shot trying to steal some weed from the growers.”
Elle shook her head. “That was really dumb, Reece.”
“He was in pain,” Wendy said from outside the tent. “We were hoping they had some flower to spare so he could smoke it. Give me my baby.”
“I don’t think so, ma’am.” Elle cradled the baby closer. “I’m calling CPS. You can argue your case with them.”
“No!” Wendy screamed, her sobbing becoming more intense. “You can’t take my baby!”
Ignoring her, Elle turned to Ronan. “What’s your protocol for transporting injured prisoners? A helicopter won’t have enough room to land around here.”
“I’ll call for an ambulance. They’ll have to cart him out by hand. Not gonna be fun for Mr. Miller here.” He crouched next to Miller. “You even consider spitting at me and I’ll throw in assaulting a cop. Understand?”
Miller nodded, his lips thin. “Fuck off.”
But the words were incredibly weak.
“Reece Miller, you’re under arrest for the murders of Dianne Foster and Steve Garfield.” Ronan went on to read the man his rights while Miller’s eyes grew wider and more panicked.
“I didn’t kill anyone,” he insisted. “You gotta believe me.”
“Because you’ve been so trustworthy up until now,” Ronan muttered.
Elle hoped those words hadn’t also been directed at her. He’d been so angry with her for withholding information. She hoped she’d redeemed herself. “Detective Clarke, I’m taking the baby outside. I’m getting lightheaded from the smoke from that stove.”
Ronan closed the stove door and vents as Elle took the baby out of the tent. “Where’s her diaper bag?” she asked Wendy, whose face was wet with tears.
“In my car. I just got back when you came. Were you following me? In the Tahoe?”
“Yeah. When was your husband shot?”
“A week ago. His wound smells bad. I almost asked the pharmacist to call a doctor, but Reece made me promise not to.”
That smell was not a good sign. “I hope he hasn’t gone septic. Did he tell you what the shooter looked like?”
“Two guys,” Wendy said, “one gray-haired, the other was dark-haired. Wore bulletproof vests. He said they looked alike. Like brothers, maybe. Will you put them in handcuffs, too?”
“Detective Clarke will. I’m only authorized to cuff your husband. Where’s the painting your husband stole?”
Wendy’s eyes flew open at the abrupt change in topic. She shook her head. “No.”
“I’ll make sure the authorities know you were cooperative. That might go toward regaining custody of your child.”
It might, but it probably wouldn’t. Wendy would likely serve some time. One can only hope.
“Will you uncuff me and give me my baby if I tell you?”
“No,” Elle said honestly. “But if you ever want to see your baby again, you will cooperate. Your choice. Your parents told us that they tried to get custody once. They’ll be sure to get it if you end up in prison for aiding and abetting a fugitive.”
Wendy closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging. “It’s hidden under the bed in my sister’s house. She never cleans under there. She’d never have seen it.”
“Wow. You know that painting is worth more than a house, right?” Stepping to the side, Elle took out the sat phone and tapped the password onto the screen one-handed, still cradling the baby against her.
She dialed Sara, who picked up on the first ring. “What’s happening?” she asked, bypassing a greeting.
“I got Miller and his wife.”
“The baby, too?”
“Yeah. Kid’s really sick.” Elle glared at Wendy. “She’s got a fever. I’m getting the child medical assistance. Painting’s under Wendy’s sister’s bed.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“That’s what she said.”
“Good job, Elle. Is Clarke there?”
“Yeah. He’s arranging transport for Miller. Miller got shot by the two growers. Bad gut wound. May be septic.”
“Well, if he doesn’t survive, at least we get paid.”
Elle could agree with that. “Mendocino County will take him into custody for the murders. You can let SFPD and the bail bondsman know.”
“Did he confess to the murders?”
“No. He says he didn’t do them.”
“He didn’t,” Wendy said loudly, leaning toward her phone.
“Yeah, whatever,” Sara said, sounding bored.
“Where are you?”
“Just passing San Rafael.”
Elle was surprised. Sara had continued south. “I figured you’d come back regardless.”
“I was going to. Felicia told me she’d divorce me if I wasn’t there for the birth. So I had to choose.”
Wow. “Got it.” Her words were cold. She was angry and hurt and wanted Sara to know it.
“Look, Ellie. Good job. I mean it.”
“Yeah. Thanks. Bye.” Elle ended the call. “Detective Clarke, what should I do with the baby? Take her to my vehicle or stay here?”
He exited the tent, Miller’s shotgun in his gloved hand. “Stay here. I just called for an ambulance, CPS, and a crime scene unit. They’ll get here faster than we did because they won’t need to be quiet.”
“They know about the growers, right?”
“I told them. They’ll be wearing vests.” He unloaded the shotgun, set it aside, and peeled off his gloves. Gently, he touched the baby’s cheek. “God. She’s burning up.”
“I’ve got a thermal blanket in my backpack.” Elle turned her back to him. “If you can get it out, that’ll help until they get here.”
Ronan did so and Elle swaddled the baby in the blanket. She stepped into a patch of sun, where it was a few degrees warmer, and rocked the baby where she stood when she started to fret.
“She has a bottle in the diaper bag,” Wendy said quietly. “There’s a bottle warmer in the car. Plugs into the phone charger port.”
“I’ll get it,” Ronan said, setting off at a jog.
“Why did you do it?” Elle asked Wendy. “Why did you come with him? Did he force you?”
Wendy shook her head slowly. “He’s my husband. What was I supposed to do?”
Um, not follow a fugitive on the run from the law? But Elle had stayed with Todd for too many years, so she held her tongue, rocking the whimpering baby until Ronan reappeared with a bottle.
This was almost over.
Thank God.
Willits, California
Monday, February 2, 1:15 p.m.
“Thanks, guys,” Ronan said as the medics put Reece Miller into the ambulance, accompanied by two deputies. “I’ll be in to do the paperwork as soon as I wrap things up here.”
He stepped out of the way as they closed the ambulance doors and drove away. Deputies had already come for Wendy and CPS had taken the baby into their custody.
It was just CSU and Ronan at the scene.
And Elle. She’d stayed until the end and she hadn’t needed to. She’d done her job and could collect her fee, but she still stood near the tent, staring pensively at the tumble-down house that had provided a bit of shelter for Miller and his family.
He joined her at the house and waited because it seemed she had something on her mind.