A Bone to Pick (Page 21)

Logan slipped the flashlight into his pocket. He couldn’t carry her and simultaneously light the way. He slid his arms under her body and picked her up, cradling her close to his body.

Between the heavy cloud cover and thick canopy overhead, the trail was dark. Logan couldn’t run for fear of tripping. A second head injury would not help Bonnie. Moving as quickly as he dared, he made his way up the trail. Ten minutes later, he emerged at the road.

A set of headlights approached. The vehicle slowed and stopped in front of him.

Tessa.

She jumped out of the car. Tears and rain streamed down her soot-streaked face. Logan walked toward the SUV, and Tessa opened the rear door.

He gently deposited her mother onto the back seat. “Why don’t you sit back here with her and let me drive.”

Tessa climbed in beside her mother and closed the door.

Logan slid behind the wheel. He cranked up the heat and turned the vehicle around. “Did you get Henry on the phone?”

“Yes,” Tessa said from the back seat. “The plan is for him to stabilize her before we get on the ferry. He’ll come with us.”

Logan glanced in the rearview mirror. Bonnie hadn’t moved. He drove to Henry’s office and carried her inside.

Henry assessed her, covered her with warm blankets, and started a heated IV. “Her vital signs are surprisingly good.”

Bonnie stirred as he checked her pupils. Relief flooded Logan as she opened her eyes and murmured, “What happened? Where am I?”

10

The next day, Tessa leaned against the ferry railing. Beside her, Logan drank coffee from a cardboard cup. The afternoon sun shone on the water.

They’d spent the entire night at the hospital on the mainland. Her mother was going to be okay. She was lucky to have only suffered mild hypothermia, a concussion, and a sprained ankle. Tessa shuddered to think how badly she could have been injured.

She turned, putting her back to the sea and facing Logan. “Thank you for carrying my mother out of the woods. If you hadn’t been there . . .”

“You’re welcome.” Logan’s eyes met Tessa’s. “But you would have managed. The residents of Widow’s would have come together, just like they did to get the ferry out in record time.”

It was true. Medical emergencies reminded islanders how isolated they were—and how much they needed each other. The ferry operators had had the big boat ready to go by the time Tessa and Logan had arrived at the terminal with her mother. Henry had gone with them, but he’d returned on an earlier ferry.

Widow’s Island came into view. The ferry blew its horn. It sounded like home.

“When is Patience coming home?” Logan asked.

“She’s staying with Mallory until tomorrow.” Tessa had called her sister from the hospital. She hadn’t wanted her to hear the news from anyone else. Gossip spread faster than the flu on Widow’s Island.

Logan stretched. Tessa was too tired to think about it right now, but tomorrow, she was going to remember how nicely the muscles of his back shifted under his sweatshirt.

“Now what?” Logan led the way down to the vehicle level. “You should get some sleep.”

Tessa climbed into her SUV. She’d slept less than two hours in the past three days. Every inch of her body ached. They stared through the windshield and waited for the boat to dock.

“I have to question Pam first,” she said.

“I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to.” Tessa started the engine. “I know you want to get back to the park, and you have to be exhausted too. You’ve been awake as long as I have.”

“I want to finish the investigation,” Logan said.

“Glad to hear it.” Tessa drove off the ferry. “I’m not even going to stop at home to shower or change. If I do, I’ll fall asleep. I apologize if I’m not smelling my freshest.”

“I spent two weeks in a hundred-and-twenty-degree heat wearing full body armor with no access to a shower. You still smell fresh as a daisy.”

Her voice softened. “Why did you leave the army? I thought you were career military.”

Logan sighed. “On my last mission, a suicide bomber blew up a vaccination clinic.” A slight choking sound emanated from his throat. “It was full of women and children.”

“I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t imagine . . .

“I came back to the States. When it was time to sign my papers to re-up, I couldn’t do it.” He looked out the window, the conflict clear in his eyes.

“I’d say you did more than your share,” she said.

“Anyway. The only thing I wanted was to come home and be alone. The park ranger job seemed perfect.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I expected to be dealing with poachers and pain-in-the-ass teenagers, not murder.”

“The murder was most unexpected.” Tessa still couldn’t believe it had happened on Widow’s Island.

“Do you miss Seattle?” he asked.

“At first I did, but now that I’ve settled in here, I can’t imagine going back to the traffic, the crowds, the fast pace of city life.” She scanned the stunning green vista. “The island feels like home.”

Logan sighed. “It does.”

Tessa parked in front of the station. “Let’s get this done so we can both go to sleep.”

Inside, Pam waited in the holding cell. Cuffed to a pipe, Garcia dozed in a chair. His head rested on the wall behind him. Under the scent of coffee, something smelled delicious.

Bruce was pouring a large mug of coffee. “I just brewed a fresh pot, and Logan’s grandmother dropped off a pan of cinnamon rolls.”

“Hallelujah.” Tessa filled her giant travel mug with coffee and shoved half a cinnamon roll into her mouth. The sugar and caffeine might keep her going for another hour.

“Here’s Garcia’s statement.” Bruce handed Tessa a printed report. She read through it. Garcia hadn’t exactly admitted to breaking and entering the barn, but he had doubled down on his claim that his mother had been scammed out of her life savings by Frank Martin.

Tessa set the report down and went to the holding cell door. “Come here and turn around,” she said to Pam.

Pam obeyed. Her anger seemed deflated. Tessa handcuffed her before opening the cell door. She led Pam to a chair next to the second desk. A video camera faced the chair. Tessa began recording. Murder was the most serious of all charges. Despite her exhaustion, Tessa took her time and paid particular attention to following legal procedure. She read Pam her rights and had her sign a form stating that she understood them.

But Tessa was too damned tired to dance around the charges. “Why did you kill Frank Martin, also known as Dante Moreno?”

“Everyone thought Dante was such a sweet boy.” Pam’s glare could have cut through the steel bars of the cell. “But he was actually a nasty little weasel.”

Tessa had no problem believing that, not after reading Nick Garcia’s statement. She waited, letting the silence play out.

“I wanted my deposit back,” Pam said. “And I wanted him to destroy the painting. That’s all.”

“Why?”

“He painted in my fucking C-section scar and the cellulite on my thighs. Who does that?” she spat. “If I’d wanted reality, I would have hired a photographer. My husband spends his time in LA with beautiful young women like Leslie Lamont. I wanted to look hot too, for the last time in my fucking life.”