Winter Prey
“But we gotta talk.”
“All right.”
Shelly Carr knocked on the door. “Visiting hours?” He had a wool-plaid hunting cap in his hands, with earflaps.
“Come on in,” Lucas croaked. Carr asked, and Lucas said he felt fine. “What’s the word on Harper? Weather says you found his truck.”
“Yeah—out on a lake. There’s a big collection of fishing shacks. Lot of people around there. We think he might have met somebody, got a ride so we couldn’t put out a bulletin on his license. God knows where he is now, but we’re looking.”
“You look pretty good,” Lucas said.
“Got some rest,” Carr said.
“Have you talked to Gene again?”
“Yeah. He’s still up at your cabin,” Carr said. “He just sits up there and watches television and reads. I’m kind of worried.”
“He needs professional help, but there’s no chance he’d talk to a psychiatrist,” Weather said. “Big macho guy like that, no chance.”
“Yeah, well . . . I know where he’s at,” Lucas said. “It’s like the Church. If you don’t believe, it won’t do you any good to go. He’s gonna have to work it out himself.”
“The whole thing was odd,” Carr said. “He was okay until he went to her funeral. He shouldn’t have gone, I told him that.”
“He might of had to,” Lucas said.
“Yeah, I know,” Carr said reluctantly. “But as soon as he saw her face, that was that. I mean, she looked like an angel. You know about his daughter.”
“Yeah.”
They sat for a moment, not talking, then Carr said, “I gotta go.” He whacked Lucas twice on the leg. “Get better.”
When he was gone, Weather said, “Shelly’s doing all right politically. Lacey’s made sure that everybody knows about him walking up the driveway to deal with Helper.”
“Took some balls,” Lucas said.
“And somehow all the dead people are just . . . dead. Seems like nobody really talks about it that much. It’s been less than a week.”
“That’s the way it goes,” Lucas said.
“Did you see the paper?” she asked.
“A nurse brought it in this morning, just after you left,” he said.
“Great picture, Shelly with the FBI guys, taking credit,” she said. “Kind of made me mad.”
“Shelly’s just taking care of business,” Lucas said mildly. He was amused.
“I know. I had a little talk with him about his wife, by the way. I suggested that they both might be better off divorced.”
“What’d he say?”
“He said, ‘Divorce is a sin.’ ”
After a few minutes he said, “Push the door shut.”
She looked at the door, then stepped over, pushed it shut, sat on the bed next to him, kissed him. He couldn’t turn his head much, but he could move his arm, and he held her to him as long and hard as he could.
She finally pulled away, laughing, straightened her hair.
“Jeez, it’s hard not to take advantage of you, a man in your condition,” she said.
“Hey. I don’t hurt all that bad. So come back here.” He tried to reach for her, but she danced away.
“I wasn’t referring to your getting shot. I was referring to the fact that you’re falling in love with me.”
“I am?”
“Take my word for it,” she said. She stepped closer, bent over, kissed him lightly on the forehead. He tried to reach for her again, but she danced away. “Try to get some rest. You’re probably gonna need it when you get out.”
“You’ve got a sense of humor like a cop,” Lucas said. “Nasty. And you hide behind it. Like a cop.”
She’d been smiling, but now the smile narrowed, turned uncertain. “I guess I do.”
“Because you’re right. I am falling in love with you. You don’t have to be funny about it.”
This time she touched him on the tip of the nose and said, “Get well.” She was smiling, but seemed to have tears in her eyes, and she left in a hurry.
Lucas drifted for a while, punched up the TV, turned it off, used the bed-lift control to raise his head. He could see out the window, across the lawn toward the town, with the small houses and the smoke curling out of the chimneys. Not much to see: white snow, blue sky, small houses.
And it was bitterly cold, everybody said, the worst cold of the winter.
From inside it didn’t look so bad. From inside, it looked pretty good. He smiled and closed his eyes.
• • •
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