Deadline (Sandra Brown)

to one side. “No!” Dawson worked his arm beneath Jeremy’s head and, supporting his limp nape in the crook of his elbow, lifted it off the cushion. “Don’t die on me. Come on, wake up!” He jostled his head.
    Jeremy groaned. His eyes fluttered open.
    “Help’s here, man. Hang on.”
    “I don’t want help.”
    “What happened to Flora?”
    Jeremy’s lips moved, but Dawson couldn’t hear him for the racket outside. Forest debris caught in the downwash of the helicopter blades was striking the exterior walls like stones. Men were shouting. A heavy footfall landed on the porch, and someone shouted his name.
    He bent his head low. “Tell me where to find Flora. Jeremy. Tell me.”
    Jeremy clutched the collar of Dawson’s shirt and pulled him down until his ear was directly above Jeremy’s lips. He whispered his last words, then he looked into Dawson’s eyes, and for a millisecond they connected. Then Jeremy’s became unseeing.
    Dawson stared into the vacant gaze for several moments, then eased Jeremy’s head back onto the cushion and pulled his arm out from under him. When he tried to stand, he had to tug his collar free from the dead man’s grip.
    *  *  *
     
    Amelia was in Headly’s hospital room with the restive patient and Eva when she received the call that Tucker had promised her. “Deputy Tucker? I’m putting you on speaker.”
    She clicked over in time to hear him say, “We found him.”
    “Is he all right?”
    “He’s fine.”
    Eva folded her hands beneath her chin in an attitude of prayer. Headly muttered inaudibly, which was probably just as well. Amelia felt light-headed with relief.
    The deputy continued. “But I’m sorry to report that your…that Jeremy is dead.”
    She lowered herself into a chair. “I see.”
    She wouldn’t have expected the burst of grief she experienced. He’d been dead to her for more than a year. She had already mourned his passing once; she wouldn’t have thought there was any bereavement left for him. Knowing the things he’d done, she was amazed that she could feel anything at all. Yet she did. Regret over his bad choices, sorrow over his wasted life, and, even more sadly, relief. She and her sons were free of him.
    Tucker said, “The Savannah PD officer we found dead had got off one shot from his service revolver. Jeremy took it low in the abdomen. He bled out slow.”
    She nodded, then, realizing that Tucker was waiting on a verbal response, repeated the only words she seemed capable of uttering. “I see.”
    “The details will have to keep for now. Scott got a video recording on his phone, but we still have a lot to ask him about what transpired when he got here.”
    “That’s why they’re not letting you talk to him,” Headly said, not caring if Tucker overheard him. More loudly, he said, “Tucker, what about Carl?”
    “No sign of him.”
    Headly’s lips tightened to a thin line. “The bastard left Jeremy there to die alone.”
    “Looks like.”
    Amelia felt another stab of heartache. “When can we expect Dawson back in Savannah?”
    “Can’t say. This place is reachable only by foot. A helicopter can’t set down. May take a while to get him out. Right now, he’s being questioned by Knutz’s people. I’m needed. Got to go.”
    “Thank you for calling.” She wasn’t sure he heard all of that before disconnecting.
    It was several moments before she raised her head. “At least we know that he’s safe.” Headly and Eva were watching her closely. She supposed they were gauging her reaction to the news about Jeremy. She stood up. “I’m going home to my sons.”
    *  *  *
     
    “We’ll have to keep your phone for a while,” Tucker said.
    Dawson nodded.
    “A local deputy will walk you out of here. We’ve set up a quasi camp on a road about half a mile that way.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder.
    “My car’s in the opposite direction.”
    “This is the shorter route out. It’s not far, but it’s not an easy walk through the woods. The road swings around to the south and connects to the one that dead-ends in the marsh where your car’s at. Couple of deputies are watching it till you get there. Someone will drive you to it.”
    “I’ll appreciate it. Thanks.”
    A uniformed man approached at a jog. “Deputy Tucker? Can I have a sec?”
    Dawson turned away to let them confer and looked toward the cabin, which had become a beehive of activity. Over the course of the past few hours, crime-scene