15. Mara
MARA
“Ithink I’m staying because of you.”
Six words.
That’s all Doc said.
Six words that have been circling my brain for the last twenty minutes while Sheriff Tate talks about Robert Vance, roadblocks, search warrants, and approximately seventeen other things I should probably be listening to.
I’m not.
I’m thinking about Colin Shaw.
Which is becoming a problem.
A very large, broad-shouldered, irritating problem.
“Mara.”
I look up.
Sheriff Tate is staring at me.
“What?”
“I asked you a question.”
“I was listening.”
“What did I say?”
I consider lying.
Doc is standing near the conference-room door.
The traitor smiles.
“I hate you.”
Tate blinks. “I didn't ask whether you hated me.”
“I wasn't talking to you.”
His gaze moves toward Doc.
Then back to me.
“Oh.”
Doc's smile disappears.
Mine probably does too.
Sheriff Tate looks entirely too pleased with himself.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“You're thinking something.”
“Nope.”
“I can hear you thinking.”
From the holding room down the hall, Hampton shouts, “Can we please get back to the conspiracy?”
I close my eyes.
Sheriff Tate calls back, “You're under arrest. Stop participating.”
“I have useful information!”
“You also shot my deputy!”
“He's fine!”
A deputy at the front desk says, “Parker says you're an ass.”
Silence.
Then Hampton answers, “Tell him I'm sorry.”
I look at Doc.
He looks at me.
Neither of us makes it.
We start laughing.
Sheriff Tate shakes his head.
“I have lost control of this entire investigation.”
“You had control?” I ask.
He points at me.
“Careful.”
I grin.
For a few seconds, everything feels almost normal.
Then my gaze falls on the old county map spread across the table.
Robert Vance.
McKinley Road.
Less than half a mile from Mom’s house.
The humor disappears.
“Let's go find Vance.”
Doc's expression changes immediately.
“No.”
I stare at him.
“That was fast.”
“You're not going anywhere near Vance.”
“I am a deputy.”
“He has Grant’s key.”
“Which is exactly why I need to find him.”
“He's already tried to kill you.”
“We think.”
“He entered your house.”
“We think.”
“He took the key.”
“We know.”
“Thank you for making my argument.”
“That was not your argument.”
“It is now.”
Sheriff Tate holds up both hands.
“Before this becomes whatever this always becomes, nobody is going anywhere yet.”
Doc and I look at him.
Tate sighs.
“It's disturbing how similar the two of you are.”
“We're nothing alike,” we say together.
Silence.
Tate looks between us.
I look at Doc.
Doc looks at me.
From down the hall Hampton yells, “That was adorable.”
Sheriff Tate turns toward the holding room.
“I can move you to county!”
“I'll be quiet.”
Trigger's voice comes from the front of the station.
“No, he won't.”
I turn.
Wolf walks through the door first.
Trigger follows.
Behind them are three men I recognize immediately.
Blaze.
Ace.
Havoc.
The rest of the Rangers are home.
For a second, nobody moves.
Then every eye lands on Doc.
His face changes.
The humor disappears.
So does the calm.
I see something I haven't seen in him before.
Fear.
Not fear of bullets.
Not fear of Hampton.
Fear of these men.
Blaze stops several feet inside the room.
He looks older than he did at Grant’s funeral.
They all do.
But I remember him.
I remember all of them.
Fifteen years ago, they stood together in a church while my mother cried over a flag-covered coffin.
Today, they stand together again.
Except Grant.
Blaze looks at Doc.
“Hello, Colin.”
Doc doesn't answer.
Ace folds his arms.
“Fifteen years.”
Still nothing.
Havoc looks at Wolf.
“You said he was here.”
“He is.”
“Apparently.”
Doc's shoulders have gone rigid.
I understand suddenly.
He can face Hampton.
He can face Grant’s journal.
He can even face me.
But he doesn't know how to face the men he thinks he abandoned.
Blaze takes another step.
“Are you going to say anything?”
Doc finally speaks.
“I don't know what you want me to say.”
Trigger answers from behind them.
“How about sorry?”
Wolf gives him a look.
“What?”
“He disappeared.”
“Not helping.”
“I wasn't trying to.”
Ace's jaw tightens.
“We looked for you.”
“I know.”
“We called.”
“I know.”
“We wrote.”
“I know.”
“Then why the hell didn't you answer?”
Doc looks away.
“Because Grant was dead.”
The room goes silent.
Ace's anger falters.
Doc continues.
“I was his medic.”
Blaze closes his eyes.
“We know.”
“He died under my hands.”
“We know that too.”
“I couldn't save him.”
Havoc steps forward.
“And you think we blamed you?”
Doc doesn't answer.
That is answer enough.
Ace swears softly.
Blaze looks at him for a long time.
“Grant was shot three times.”
Doc flinches.
“He was bleeding out before you reached him.”
“I should have?—”
“No.”
Blaze's voice cracks through the room.
Doc stops.
“You don't get to do that.”
His gaze lifts.
“Do what?”
“Turn Grant’s death into your punishment.”
Something in Doc's face breaks.
Only for a second.
But I see it.
Blaze does too.
“We lost Grant,” he says. “Then we lost you because you decided none of us wanted you anymore.”
“I didn't?—”
“You disappeared.”
“I know.”
“Do you have any idea how many hospitals Wolf called?”
Doc looks at Wolf.
Wolf shrugs.
“A lot.”
“How many bases Trigger contacted?”
Trigger folds his arms.
“A lot.”
“How many times we thought you were dead too?”
Doc's face goes pale.
I don't think anyone has ever said that to him.
Havoc steps closer.
“You weren't the only man who loved Grant.”
The words hit everyone.
Me most of all.
Doc looks down.
For fifteen years, he's carried Grant’s dog tags beside his heart and convinced himself it was his fault, because he couldn’t save Grant.
Blaze closes the remaining distance.
I think he's going to hug him.
He doesn't.
He punches Doc in the shoulder.
Hard.
Doc stumbles.
“What the hell?”
Blaze grabs him and pulls him into a hug.
“There. Now I feel better.”
For one second, Doc stands frozen.
Then his arms come around Blaze.
Wolf joins them.
Trigger follows.
Ace.
Havoc.
Five Rangers surround the man who ran away from them fifteen years ago.
Nobody says anything.
They don't need to.
My eyes burn.
Sheriff Tate hands me a tissue.
“I don't need that.”
“You're crying.”
“No, I'm not.”
“You are.”
“Mind your business.”
He hands me the tissue anyway.
I take it.
From the holding room Hampton calls, “Is everyone hugging?”
I laugh through the tears.
Sheriff Tate shouts, “Stay out of it!”
“I feel excluded!”
Doc laughs against Blaze’s shoulder.
And something inside me melts.
This.
This is what he lost.
Not only Grant.
All of them.
When the men finally separate, Doc wipes one hand over his face.
Trigger points at him.
“Were you crying?”
“No.”
“Looked like it.”
“Head injury.”
Trigger stares at him.
“That doesn't even make sense.”
“It doesn't have to.”
I smile.
He's coming back.
Maybe he doesn't know it yet.
But he's coming back.
Twenty minutes later, the conference room is standing room only.
I forgot how much space Rangers take up.
Ace is leaning against one wall. Havoc has stolen Trigger's chair. Trigger is complaining about it. Blaze and Wolf stand over the map.
Doc stays beside me.
Not across the room.
Beside me.
I notice.
Of course I do.
Sheriff Tate points toward the map.
“Robert Vance owned this property seventeen years ago.”
Blaze leans closer.
“McKinley pasture?”
“Yes.”
“That's behind Mara’s mother's house.”
I look at him.
“You know where Mom lived?”
“All of us did.”
That surprises me.
“How?”
Blaze looks uncomfortable.
“Grant.”
Of course.
“He showed us pictures.”
Ace smiles faintly.
“Your mother sent cookies.”
I stare at him.
“What?”
“Christmas. Two years in a row.”
“She never told me.”
“They were terrible,” Havoc says.
My mouth falls open.
Ace elbows him.
“What?”
“They were.”
Blaze looks at me apologetically.
“Your mother wasn't much of a baker.”
I start laughing.
“She was horrible.”
Havoc points at me.
“See?”
“She burned toast.”
“We know.”
“Her biscuits could break windows.”
Trigger says, “Grant made us eat them.”
Doc's mouth twitches.
“He said throwing them away would hurt her feelings.”
Wolf nods solemnly.
“So we fed them to Kane.”
The room goes quiet.
Then Havoc says, “That explains a lot.”
Everyone loses it.
Even Sheriff Tate.
I laugh until my stomach hurts.
Mom would have loved this.
Grant would have loved this.
For fifteen years, these stories existed without me.
Now they're mine too.
Eventually Tate gets us under control.
Barely.
“Back to Vance.”
The room settles.
Doc points toward the old road.
“If he owned the property before Grant died, this isn't a coincidence.”
“No,” Blaze says. “It isn't.”
“What do you remember about Robert Vance?”
Blaze looks at Ace.
Ace looks at Havoc.
Something passes between them.
“What?” Doc asks.
Ace answers.
“We've seen the name before.”
“Where?”
“After we came to Eagle River.”
My pulse changes.
“When?”
“About six years ago.”
Wolf frowns. “Why didn't you tell me?”
“We didn't know it mattered.”
“Tell us now.”
Havoc takes over.
“We helped Sheriff Tate search for a missing hunter near the old McKinley property.”
I remember that.
“Tom Jenkins,” I say.
Tate nods. “He got turned around after dark.”
“We found him the next morning,” Havoc says. “But while we were searching, we came across an old storm cellar.”
“On Vance's property?” I ask.
“Near it.”
“What was inside?”
“Nothing.”
Ace shakes his head.
“Not nothing.”
Havoc looks at him.
“The wall.”
“What wall?” Doc asks.
Ace turns toward the map.
“There were names scratched into the concrete.”
Cold moves through me.
“What names?”
“We didn't write them down. We thought teenagers had been messing around.”
“Do you remember any?”
Ace thinks.
“One.”
Everyone waits.
“Kane.”
Doc goes still.
“Daniel Kane?”
“I don't know. It just said KANE.”
Blaze straightens.
“We need to go back.”
Sheriff Tate shakes his head.
“Not until I have deputies secure the property.”
He makes the call to search the property.
I look at him.
He catches me.
“What?”
“You were waiting for me to argue.”
“Yes.”
“I wasn't going to.”
Doc looks at me.
I point at him.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
Blaze looks between us.
Then at Wolf.
Wolf smiles.
Blaze's eyebrows rise.
I know that look.
“No.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“None of you are allowed to say anything.”
Trigger leans toward Havoc.
“She means Doc.”
“I know.”
“I can hear you.”
“We know.”
Doc looks at me.
For once, he's the one whose face is slightly red.
I enjoy that far too much.
Sheriff Tate's radio crackles.
“Sheriff, Unit Four.”
He answers.
“Go ahead.”
“We're at the old Vance property.”
Everyone goes silent.
“What do you have?”
“We found the storm cellar.”
“And?”
A pause.
“Someone's been using it.”
Doc moves closer to the radio.
“How recently?” Tate asks.
“Very.”
My pulse pounds.
“What did you find?”
“Food. Water. Medical supplies.”
The deputy continues.
“And photographs.”
My skin prickles.
“Of what?”
Another pause.
“Deputy Ellis.”
Every man in the room looks at me.
Sheriff Tate's face hardens.
“What kind of photographs?”
“Hundreds of them.”
My stomach turns.
Doc's hand finds mine.
The deputy continues.
“Her house. Sheriff's department. Last Stand Tavern.”
Doc's grip tightens.
“And there are photographs of the Rangers.”
No one moves.
“How old?” Wolf asks.
“Some recent.”
The deputy hesitates.
“Some look fifteen years old.”
My heart pounds.
Grant.
“Anything else?” Tate asks.
“Yes, sir.”
“What?”
“There’s a wall covered in names.”
Ace looks at Havoc.
The deputy continues.
“Most have dates beside them.”
“Read me one,” Tate says.
Static crackles.
Then:
“Grant Ellis.”
My breath stops.
“What date?”
The deputy reads it.
The day Grant died.
Doc goes completely still beside me.
“Others?” Tate asks.
“Several.”
“Read them.”
The deputy begins.
Names I don't recognize.
Dates.
Deaths.
Then—
“Daniel Kane.”
Doc grabs the radio.
“What date?”
The deputy reads it.
Three days from now.
Silence.
Nobody breathes.
Kane isn't on a list of dead men.
He's on a schedule.
And whoever has been living beneath the McKinley pasture plans to kill him next.