Page 63 of Trace of Doubt
He nodded and disappeared, then soon returned with Nurse Giggle, who carried a cup of ice. She spooned a few cold chips into my mouth and told me I was one handsome man. I laughed but it hurt. Everything hurt. Ah, a taste of heaven’s springs quenched my desert-dry mouth.
Sheriff Wendall reached inside his pocket for a pad and a pen. A bit of old-school going on. I preferred using my phone to record interviews.
“Start at the beginnin’.” He set his Stetson on the nightstand. “Don’t leave out one thing. It’s all important.”
“I drove Shelby to Sharp’s Creek. Met her dad, Clay Pearce...”
When I finished, the sheriff paced the floor, pad in hand and the pen behind his ear. He turned to me. “Now that you’ve given me the textbook version, what’s your gut say?”
Apprehension seized control. Whatever I said might be used against me by someone. “I’m still in a brain fog.”
“No, you’re not. You’re avoidin’ my question.”
I glared. “The Pearce family practices dysfunction like you probe for answers. Shelby, her mom, dad, and sister have secrets. I need to analyze each person’s words and body language.”
“Fair enough.”
I searched for signs of my cell phone. “Shelby will be worried I haven’t contacted her.”
“No, she won’t.”
I peered into his face. “You called her?”
“She had her own problems last night. They were at the safe house.” He quickly sketched out the details. “Aaron is recovering in a Houston hospital, and Isaac is driving her here. She refused to stay in protective custody.”
I hated what the three of them had gone through. “Sounds like her. You say one shooter was killed and another got away?”
“Yep. Isaac and Shelby will be here shortly. I want her story about what happened too.”
I loaded my mental Glock with my own questions for Shelby and Isaac. But I needed the pain meds first to process anything.
39
SHELBY
I sat in a chair beside Denton’s bed and watched him sleep. Or rather I tried without cringing. His face looked like someone had hit him with a sledgehammer. I’d seen worse in prison, revolting really, but Denton received this because of me. The swelling, bruising, and stitches would take a while to heal. The broken bones a little longer. My memory of it—a lifetime.
I longed to touch his face and run my fingers through his thick, nearly white hair. I’d sworn never to trust a man again... Prison had scarred me. But Denton’s gentleness and sacrificial giving had chiseled away at my heart, crumbling the self-imposed wall.
Isaac and Sheriff Wendall chatted in low tones across the room. I listened for something that would give me a clue about Denton’s and my shooter experiences. They were either conscious of my eavesdropping or deliberately keeping details from me. Probably both.
Aaron had survived surgery to remove bullets from his stomach and thigh. Though listed in critical condition, each hour increased his chances of survival.
Edie texted me on my burner phone with a request to call. Denton still slept, so I stepped into the hallway.
“I’m at an Austin hospital with Denton,” I said.
“Is he sick? Hurt?”
“He wrecked his truck.” Rats, I despised lying, but ignorance kept her safe. “He’s going to be okay. Banged up pretty bad. Broken leg that now has pins, cracked ribs, a concussion. He’ll be here at least until tomorrow.”
“And you?”
“I wasn’t with him.”
“Why not?”
How did I answer that? “He had an errand to run.”
