Cate exhaled and bit her tongue. She wanted to go with Tessa, but it wasn’t her place.
Sympathy filled Tessa’s eyes. She reached over the counter and squeezed Cate’s arm. “We’ll find him.” Then she was gone.
“I’m not going to sleep tonight,” said Julie. “I feel like I’ve had ten espressos.”
“Same,” admitted Cate.
“What can we do to help after this?” asked the nurse. “I don’t like feeling useless.”
Cate completely understood. Every muscle in her body wanted to run outside and look for Henry. Frustration flooded her. “It’s simply too dark. I’d say we could drive around and keep an eye out for anything odd, but I don’t think it’d be helpful. And we’d get overtired. The best thing we can do is get some sleep and start fresh as soon as it’s light.”
How many times have I said that to discouraged families?
It was time to take her own advice.
Julie looked like she wanted to argue but turned her attention back to the screen, and Cate continued to watch over her shoulder.
Where are you, Henry?
5
Henry followed Scott through the pitch-black woods with Jason behind him. Each of the two men had a flashlight, but only Jason helped light Henry’s way. He was thankful his head was no longer covered. The faint path they followed was full of rocks and roots. He’d asked to have his hands freed after nearly falling on his face, but Scott had refused. Jason had said nothing, and only the kidnapper’s fast reflexes had kept Henry upright.
The tops of the fir trees vanished into the darkness. Based on their trunk circumferences, Henry knew they were several stories tall. This was a Pacific Northwest forest on an island, typical of many islands in the area. Islands here didn’t have beautiful flat sand beaches with warm turquoise waters. They had high cliffs, dense forests, and jutting rocks. The ocean was insanely cold and often rough, with its colors ranging from pale grays to dark blues.
The smell of the ocean followed them into the woods, blending with the scents of damp earth.
Scott and Jason were stressed, their anxiety increasing as they moved through the woods. At one point Jason had asked “What will we do if—” only to be cut off by Scott.
“No sense in worrying over something that’s already happened,” Scott stated. A muscle flexed in his cheek, his gaze hard.
They’re worried the other man died while they were gone.
After ten minutes of walking in the woods, both flashlights shone on . . . a hovel. Henry didn’t know how else to describe the shack in front of them. It had been assembled out of plywood, corrugated fiberglass, and two-by-fours. Several tarps had been hammered in place over the wooden roof. It wasn’t new. The plywood had swelled and rotted in places, and some of the boards were paler in color, possibly recently replaced. The shack was quite long but not tall at all, and Henry ducked as they entered through an opening between the boards. The flashlights lit up a narrow room lined with water jugs. A few backpacks leaned against one wall along with two rolled-up sleeping bags and two inflated air mattresses. No windows. No doors. No sink. The room was dim. Scott turned on a battery-operated camping light that hung on one wall. Henry had the sense that the men hadn’t been there long. It didn’t appear to be a place someone had lived in.
It’s a hideout.
A well-stocked hideout.
What crime did these men commit?
Henry also didn’t see a patient.
Scott strode directly to the end of the room and vanished behind a piece of plywood, making Henry realize the hovel had a second “room.”
“Follow him,” said Jason.
Henry passed the water jugs and paused in the opening to the other area, which was poorly lit by another camping light. A man was on an air mattress, a sleeping bag beneath him. Scott was kneeling beside him, covering the man with another sleeping bag he must have kicked off. The room smelled of blood. And something else. Henry sniffed and recognized the faint sickly sweet odor. Infection.
“He needs a hospital,” said Henry.
Scott looked up. “No hospital.”
“I don’t even need to examine him to know he’s in bad shape,” said Henry. “If you want him to live, get him to a hospital. I can only do so much in this shithole.” He deliberately looked around.
“No hospital. And I don’t want to hear another fucking word about it.”
Henry sucked in a deep breath. He wouldn’t win.
It’s up to me.
“Free my hands,” he said, not taking his gaze from the patient.
The man’s eyes were closed, and he appeared to be as young as Jason. Henry had glimpsed a blood-soaked towel on his belly before Scott had covered him with the sleeping bag. The patient’s chest moved rapidly with his breaths. Henry’s brain shot ahead, visually analyzing and making a priority list of what needed to be done.
Something pressed against his wrists behind his back, and he waited for the release, already frustrated that he couldn’t touch the patient.
Scott rose and pressed his gun against Henry’s temple. “Don’t try anything. One of us will be watching you at all times. And I meant what I said earlier. If he dies, you die.” He increased the pressure against Henry’s skull.
Henry turned his head, holding it firm against the gun until the muzzle was centered in his forehead. Any fear had evaporated; he had a mission lying on the floor before him. He stared into Scott’s eyes. “I will do everything I can to help him, no matter how big of an asshole you are. Right now he is all that matters.” He stood motionless, their gazes battling.
Scott looked away to the man on the floor. And then lowered his gun. “Do it.”
The tension from the duct tape vanished, and Henry’s hands fell to his sides. He took a deep breath and rubbed his wrists and fingers. The tape hadn’t been tight, so his circulation was not affected, but his hands and arms were cramped from being in the odd position.
“I need my duffel,” he said, dropping to his knees beside the man. He lifted the sleeping bag and then the bloody towel.
Shit.
A hole filled with blood. Reddened tissue surrounding it. The belly slightly distended.
Henry had seen numerous gunshot wounds during his years in the Los Angeles ER, and he’d seen exponentially worse trauma than this. Bigger holes. Multiple holes. Multiple bigger holes. And more.
It was part of the reason he’d left his job and moved to Widow’s Island. He’d seen too many atrocities inflicted on humans by one another. Back then he’d been speeding toward burnout and depression and had recognized that he needed to make a change before he was messed up forever.
Widow’s Island had accepted him. In the short time he’d been there, he’d grown deep roots.
“I can’t watch this.”
Henry looked over his shoulder.
Scott looked ready to vomit. He adjusted the gun’s aim at Henry’s face. “I meant what I said. If he dies, you die. And you won’t be the first man I’ve killed.”
Scott spun around and left.
Henry’s heart pounded, and instant sweat formed on his temples. In the dim light he’d seen the truth about killing in Scott’s eyes. It hadn’t been an empty promise.