Beyond Reach

From all appearances, she had not been raped. Sara wondered why this came as a relief. Sara herself had been raped—brutally so, as a certain lawyer liked to point out. As awful as that experience had been, she imagined it was much more painful to be burned alive.

  The thing that terrified Sara most was that the woman surely knew what was coming. There had been no obvious damage to the skull; no one had knocked her out before the fire was set. She had watched and waited as flames devoured her body.

  The shower cut off, and Sara rolled over onto her stomach, wishing she’d thought to bring their pillows from home. She was wearing socks, sweatpants, and a long-sleeved shirt buttoned up to the collar, even though the room was stuffy from the heat and smelled of wet fried chicken. The remnants of a pizza they’d had delivered were on the plastic table, and she thought about getting another slice, but her body would not move. She would have asked Jeffrey, but earlier he had taken one look at the well-done ground beef topping and dry-heaved.

  The bed shifted as he got in. She waited for him to turn off the light, to bunch up his pillow and arrange the blankets like he usually did before he settled down. He did none of this, asking instead, “You asleep?”

  “Yes,” she lied. “Did you put something on your hand?”

  He didn’t answer her question. “I shouldn’t have slowed the car.” He added, “Yesterday,” as if she needed some clarification, then repeated, “I shouldn’t have slowed the car.”

  Sara closed her eyes. “I shouldn’t have slapped you,” she answered, though as much as she tried, as shamed as she felt for resorting to violence, Sara couldn’t bring herself to truly regret it.

  Still, she rolled over, put her head on his chest. He gave a deep sigh, and she felt the last of her anger dissipate.

  She said, “You smell like hotel soap.”

  “It could be worse,” he pointed out, though thankfully didn’t tell her how. “Did you call your mother?”

  “She was taking a nap with Daddy.” Sara added, “At six in the evening.”

  Jeffrey laughed, but Sara had never told him that she was twenty-two years old before she found out that her parents’ ubiquitous Sunday afternoon “nap” excuse had been a cover for something far more illicit than sleeping. Nor did she tell him that her nineteen-year-old sister had been the one to inform her.

  Jeffrey laced his hand through hers, suggesting, “Maybe soon we’ll be taking naps.”

  A baby. Their baby.

  He told her, “I checked the machine while you were doing your autopsy notes. The adoption agency didn’t call.”

  “I checked it while you were in the shower.”

  “They’ll call,” he said. “I can feel it.”

  “Let’s not talk about it,” she told him. “I don’t want to jinx it.” The truth was that it could take years before a baby was available, though the fact that they had agreed to take a child up to the age of two and hadn’t asked for a specific race or sex had definitely moved them up the list. The woman at the agency had said that it could be next year or it could be any day now. All they could do was wait—something neither Jeffrey nor Sara was very good at.

  Jeffrey stroked her arm, then her side. His thumb slipped just under the waist of her pants, and he suggested, “Maybe we could take a nap right now.”

  She sat up on her elbow and looked him in the eye so that her answer would be loud and clear. “No part of my naked body is touching any part of this skanky motel room.”

  He gave her one of his sly grins. “Is this some kind of come-on?”

  Sara let her head fall back to his chest, not wanting to give him the chance to change her mind. “Please tell me that what I did today is going to help you so we can get out of here.”

  “I don’t know that I can do that,” he admitted, stroking her arm again. “We still don’t know who the victim is. If Lena had stuck around, we probably could’ve found a lawyer to get her out by now.”

  “Don’t mention lawyers,” she begged.

  “We never did talk about that,” he said. “How the deposition went. What the strategy is.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, but her voice caught in her throat. There hadn’t been a message from Buddy Conford on the answering machine, either. This meant that Global Medical Indemnity was still trying to decide whether or not Sara’s medical judgment was worth fighting for or to capitulate to Jimmy’s grieving parents.

  For once in her life, she willingly changed the subject back to Lena. “I’m just glad it wasn’t Hank in that car.”

  “You and me both,” he said, knowing better than anyone how easy it would be for the local cops to up Lena’s charges to murder if the victim had been her uncle. “I still don’t know how Jake thinks he’s going to make a case without an ID. There has to be a motive. If he can’t prove a connection between Lena and the victim, then game over.”

  “Not knowing the victim’s name doesn’t negate the fact that she’s dead.” Sara smoothed down the hairs on his chest so they wouldn’t tickle her nose. “And Lena was at the scene. She had her foot on the gas can.”

  “They probably won’t be able to get her prints off the can.”

  “That doesn’t offer a resounding proof of innocence.”

  “They don’t have a statement from her. She didn’t say a word to anyone.”

  Sara thought to ask why he was giving Lena the benefit of the doubt when he would most certainly take her actions as an admission of guilt from anyone else, but she was too tired for the argument that would follow.

  Jeffrey said, “I wish we could find Hank. He’s got to know something.”

  “You’re sure he’s not at home? Hiding, maybe?”

  “As far as I could tell, no one was there.” He added, “Valentine has a car right across the street. I’m sure he knocked on the door when Lena went missing.”

  “Maybe you need to knock hard enough to open the door.”

  He laughed in surprise. “I think being married to a cop is finally starting to rub off on you.”

  “Then listen to me. I’m worried that Lena has done something to jeopardize Hank.”

  Jeffrey took his time responding. “Has it occurred to you that it could be the other way around?” She didn’t answer, and he continued, “Hank’s probably back on drugs. Maybe he pissed off his dealer. Maybe Lena came down to take care of things, only the dealer didn’t want to be taken care of.”

  She looked up at him, resting her chin on her hand. “Go on.”

  “These guys don’t like being fucked with,” Jeffrey continued. “And they’re not afraid of cops.”

  For the first time since they’d gotten here, Sara was finally hearing something logical. She could easily imagine Lena pissing off the wrong people, damn the consequences. The same pattern she had established with Ethan Green—provoking her skinhead lover until he retaliated with force—could be playing out again in Elawah County.

  Jeffrey told Sara, “You didn’t see Pfeiffer up close. He was terrified. Maybe he thought they had sent me to finish the job.” He hesitated, as if he hadn’t quite worked out the next bit. “It could be that the reason Lena didn’t want to talk to me the other night was because she didn’t want to expose me to these people.”

  Sara put her head back down on Jeffrey’s chest. She could not give the woman the benefit of the doubt, but she didn’t want the ensuing argument that might come if she voiced her opinion. “Do you think the man we saw at the hospital could have been Hank’s dealer?”

  “Jake said the guy was a dealer.”

  “He also said that the guy was there to visit one of his boys in the hospital,” Sara pointed out. “Jake had plenty of opportunity to tell you then and there that the man was supplying Hank and that Lena had gotten in the way.”

  “I wasn’t exactly high on his list at the moment,” Jeffrey reminded her. “To his thinking, you and I had just helped Lena escape from custody.”

  Sara didn’t want to dwell on that point. “Do you think Hank might have helped he
r?”

  He shrugged. “To get out of town, she would need a car, clothes, money. Lena could do that on her own or she could find help.”

  “I don’t know if I buy Hank being capable of coordinating all that.”

  “He’s an old man,” Jeffrey allowed. “Then again, you don’t get track marks on your arms like that from going to Sunday school.”

  He had a point. Actually, he had a lot of good points. She wondered why he hadn’t been thinking like this yesterday. It would have saved both of them a hell of a lot of trouble, not to mention nearly eight hundred miles on her car.

  She asked, “So, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

  “Maybe knock real hard on Hank’s door.” He chuckled, obviously still pleased that Sara had come up with the idea. “Failing any response, I guess I’ll find out a little more about Jake Valentine. I’ve got some contacts at the sheriff’s academy over in Tifton. Hopefully, they can give me a better idea of the kind of cop he is. Then, I’m going to call Nick and get him to run a deep background check on Jake.”

  “You can’t get Frank to do that from the station?”

  “The GBI can go deeper than a look-see,” he said, using the slang for the routine checks he could run at the police station. “It takes several days to pull a complete profile.”

  “Jake can’t have a record or he wouldn’t have made it through the Public Safety screening.”

  “I’m going to cross-reference him for known associates.”

  “Surely, they would’ve flagged his file if he was a known associate of a criminal.”

  “Depends on how he’s known.”

  “And if he has some connections near your connections, and they find out you’ve been digging around about him?”

  “I imagine he won’t be too surprised to hear the news.”

  She reached for his hand, her fingers brushing his skin until they touched a sloppily applied Band-Aid. She curled her hand around his. “Do you think Jake is part of any of this?”

  “Jake grew up here. He was only a deputy for a couple of years before he moved up. I think he knows everything that’s going on in this town. Whether he’s involved in it or just standing on the outside looking in is the question.”

  “When did you come up with all of this?”

  She expected him to make a joke about his stunning brilliance or remarkable sleuthing abilities. Instead, he surprised her.

  “That woman,” he began, and she understood he meant the charred body they had worked on all day. “There’s somebody out there who’s missing her. They’re either too scared to ask the sheriff for help, or they know that it’s useless, that Jake can’t or won’t help them.” She could hear the indignation in his voice. “If you can’t trust the police to take care of you, to do their jobs the right way, then what’s the point?” He paused, but she knew he wasn’t expecting an answer. “It’s not right, Sara. It’s just not right.”

  Twenty-four hours ago, she had wanted to kill him, but now all that she could think was that she had never loved him so much as she did right now.

  “Can you imagine how you’d feel if something like this happened in Grant County?”

  Sara could not imagine such a violation. The first time she had met Jeffrey had been on the Grant County High School football field. She was team doctor, watching the game from the sidelines. Sara had turned around for some reason, looking up into the stands. That was when she’d seen Jeffrey with Clem Waters, the mayor. He loomed over the man, making Clem look like a dwarf. There was something about Jeffrey’s presence that made it difficult for Sara to breathe. She had never told him this before, but her heart had stopped at the sight of him. When she saw him walk down onto the field, her knees had actually felt weak. If a player hadn’t managed at that very moment to get the crap knocked out of him, she would have made an absolute fool of herself. As it was, she had only been a partial fool.

  She wrapped her arms around him. “You wouldn’t let it happen,” she assured him. “Not in our town. Not ever.”

  He pressed his lips to the top of her head, then reached over and turned out the lamp on the bedside table. Sara settled back in, curling her body into his. She felt herself relax just as she felt him tense.

  She asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you smell something burning?”

  “After today, that’s all I smell.”

  “No.” Jeffrey turned the lamp back on. “I mean it. Something’s burning.”

  “I can’t smell—”

  He got out of bed and slipped on his jeans. Reluctantly, Sara sat up, knowing that he wouldn’t go to sleep until he located the source of the smell. Considering the state of the hotel, she wouldn’t be surprised if the electrical wiring was smoking.

  He pulled back the drapes and checked the parking lot. “I can’t see anything.”

  “I don’t suppose that means you’ll come back to bed?”

  Jeffrey slipped on a T-shirt from the suitcase and opened the door. He stood there, letting the cold in, sniffing the air. “It’s coming from outside.”

  She stood up. “I can smell it now.”

  They both put on their shoes before walking out into the parking lot. Sara pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt down over her hands to fight the nighttime chill. Outside, the odor was more intense, like smoke from a roaring campfire. The sound of crackling was obvious, too, and they both followed the noise to a tunnel that ran along the back of the motel’s front office.

  There was a crowd of guests gathered at the end of the tunnel, all of them looking as if they were embarrassed to be seen here. Their fear of being caught by their neighbors and spouses could not compete with the desire to watch a spectacle. And spectacular the sight was: the building next to the motel was surrounded by flames, smoke wafting into the night sky.

  As Jeffrey and Sara reached the front of the crowd, the windows blew out of the building with an earth-shaking explosion. Jeffrey put his arm around Sara, turning her away from the debris. There was another loud boom. The front door blew off and skittered across the parking lot.

  Jeffrey had to raise his voice over the roar of the fire to ask, “Has anyone called nine-one-one?”

  Someone from the crowd answered, “Twice.”

  Jeffrey told Sara, “That’s Hank’s bar.”

  “I hope no one is in there,” she answered, shielding her eyes with her hand to block out the intense light. The flames seemed to be concentrated around the periphery of the building, as if someone had poured gasoline around the outside and lit a match. With the windows gone, the fire was working its way in, following the line of the studs and beams, dancing across the roof. If there were fire sprinklers in the building, they weren’t working. Sara guessed the bar would be completely engulfed within the next five minutes.

  There was a piercing noise, like a hurt animal or maybe a siren. Sara glanced down the road, expecting a fire truck, but there were only a couple of cars and a motorcycle driving slowly by.

  “Lena,” Jeffrey murmured, striding toward the building.

  Through one of the broken windows, Sara saw a figure move to the middle of the bar. In the glowing light, she could tell that the person was looking at something in his hands.

  “Hey, you!” Jeffrey had obviously realized what Sara had: that the person inside wasn’t Lena after all, but a man with broad shoulders and a stocky build. He looked up when Jeffrey called again, but he made no move to leave.

  Jeffrey turned back toward Sara. He nodded once, as if to say, “You know I have to do this,” then ran toward the building.

  “Jeffrey!” she called. It was too dangerous. The fire would reach the man in seconds. “Jeffrey!”

  He jumped back as a wall of flames shot up in front of him, but would not give up. Ignoring Sara’s pleas, he circled the building, looking for another way to reach the man.

  “No,” Sara whispered, helplessly watching Jeffrey dart into the burning building. Inside, the man’s shirt was on fire now, but insan
ely he turned away from Jeffrey, disappearing farther into the building. Jeffrey chased after him, reaching out, then they both vanished.

  “No,” Sara repeated, waiting, watching the open doorway for Jeffrey. She circled, glass crunching under her shoes, scanning the building, looking through the gaping holes where windows used to be. She had gone halfway round the bar and was standing at the edge of the woods when there was a loud explosion, this one so intense that it knocked her to the ground.

  Seconds passed. Her ears rang, her brain felt enveloped in static. Sara shook her head, debris falling from her hair. She pressed her hands into the packed dirt and sat up on her side. Flames shot up from the building. Her skin felt singed by the heat. She managed to get to her knees, but could not stand. Her mouth opened, but she could not speak.

  “Sara!” Jeffrey came running out of the woods, sliding on the dirt as he dropped to his knees beside her. “Are you okay?” He put his hands on either side of her face. “Are you hurt?”

  She put her hands over his. “I thought—”

  The distinctive wail of a siren filled the air. This time, there was no mistaking that the noise came from a fire truck. The back wheels screeched as it pulled into the parking lot, an ambulance right behind it. The firemen scrambled like ants as they hooked up hoses and directed people away from the blazing building.

  “Sara,” Jeffrey repeated. “Talk to me. Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head, collapsing against him, her arms so tight around his waist that she was surprised he could still breathe.

  “You’re okay,” he told her, stroking back her hair. “You’re okay.”

  Sara couldn’t trust herself to open her mouth without sobbing. She felt numb, caught in a vacuum that muffled sound and sensation.

  Jeffrey coughed, and she loosened her grip around him but did not let go.

  She’d thought he was dead. For that split second, she’d seen her life without him, felt what it would be like to lose him.

  “He ran into the woods,” Jeffrey told her, as if she gave a damn about the man who’d lured him into the building. “He had something in his hands. I couldn’t see what it was.”