If I Should Die

The body had been found around noon, and Hendrickson would have immediately called the police. That meant the information had been out there nearly nine hours. Plenty of time for the wrong people to find out that Jimmy hadn’t followed orders. That had to be why Gary Clarke was here.

The creaky front door signaled a new patron. Jimmy glanced discreetly at the mirror to see who entered. His pulse raced.

Shit.

Slipping off the bar stool, he casually walked toward the bathroom. But as soon as the swinging hall doors closed behind him he turned left, into the kitchen.

“What’s up, Jimmy?” Omar Jackson-the cook and only black man in Spruce Lake-smiled brightly.

“Not much.” Unable to fake a smile, he kept walking. He didn’t know if Omar knew what was what, or if he was as ignorant as he pretended. Maybe he feigned ignorance to stay alive.

Or maybe he was neck deep in the same shit Jimmy trudged through.

Avoiding conversation with the cook, Jimmy exited out the back door, then walked briskly around the corner to his truck.

As soon as he slid into the driver’s seat, the bar’s front door opened wide. Three men emerged and headed his way.

Jimmy floored it. No use pretending. They knew he hadn’t made the body disappear. There was no way they’d let him live. They didn’t know why he’d survived this long. It was as if he was made of Teflon; he’d been told that now and again.

He had known the risks when he put Victoria’s body in the mine. He was no saint, but he wasn’t a killer nor could he treat her body like garbage. So what if he’d disobeyed orders. He hadn’t believed she’d ever be found.

Going home would put his nephew at risk. The only way Jimmy could protect his nephew was to disappear.

He sped up, his old truck squealing in protest. He glanced in the rearview mirror.

Gary Clarke’s brand-new black F-250 was gaining on him.

Jimmy floored it. At first, his truck didn’t respond, then it lurched forward as he picked up speed with the decline in the road toward Colton.

He might make it to Colton, but then what? Go to the police? He would have laughed if he wasn’t so terrified. He wasn’t safe in prison or out.

He fumbled with his cell phone and dialed the only person who might be able to help. The only person he might be able to trust.

“Jimmy? You can’t call me. Not now.”

“Help me! Someone found her body! Now Gary and-”

“I can’t help you.”

“You have to! Dammit, you promised to protect me!”

But the line had gone dead.

He dropped his phone, sobs racking his body. His sister had asked him for one thing: to protect her son. The last five years he’d thought he was doing the right thing, keeping their enemies close, doing odd jobs, keeping the kid in school. The kid was going places.

But not if Jimmy couldn’t protect him. The one person who promised to be there wasn’t.

The Colton Reservoir was coming up. Behind him, Gary Clarke was still gaining. If they caught him, it would be a lot more painful than what he planned to do. Maybe he’d survive. Maybe he’d escape.

Speeding up just as he crossed the short bridge, he turned the wheel sharply to the right, using the lip of the walkway to jump the railing. The bottom of his truck scraped the metal, and for a moment he thought his wheels would catch, Gary and his pals would drag him out of the truck and do horrible things …

Then he was up and over, flying in the dark, falling down, hitting the water hard. His head banged against the steering wheel on impact, and the last thing he thought as he drifted into unconsciousness, the water rapidly rising around his legs, was:

I’m sorry, Abigail. I tried my best.

EIGHT

Even though she didn’t believe he’d take her up on her suggestion, Lucy still tried to talk Sean out of going with her to the mine Thursday morning so he could rest. He drove her to the site in the rental SUV he’d picked up at the airport, parking behind three official vehicles.

“I suppose you won’t wait in the car,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Give it up, Luce.”

She grumbled, but opened the passenger door. Why was she surprised? None of her four brothers would have been waylaid by a two-story fall or a dozen stitches.

She walked-Sean limped-to where a sheriff’s deputy and rescue worker stood at the edge of the mine shaft watching their approach. Apprehension rose in her chest as they neared the open pit.

“Hello,” Sean called out, raising his hand in a friendly wave.

“Lost?” the deputy asked.

“Not at all,” Sean said. “I was the lucky guy to fall down there yesterday.”

The cop didn’t smile. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

Lucy’s stomach flipped. Was her inability to rid her mind of Sean’s fall a sign of post-traumatic stress? She couldn’t control her body’s reactions, and that was unlike her.

“That’s what I said, I’m a lucky guy.” All humor was gone from his tone. “Sean Rogan. Lucy Kincaid. Lucy found the body.”

He didn’t say anything about their backgrounds. If people knew he was a P.I. and she was an FBI recruit, it would be harder to quietly gather information.

“Deputy Weddle. This is Al Getty, Fire and Rescue. You’re staying at the Hendrickson place?”

Sean nodded. “Is the coroner down there?”

“Just lowered their equipment.”

“I’d like to join them,” Lucy said. “I found the body and can show them where she is.”

At first Weddle looked as though he would argue. Then he said into his radio, “Ham, you there? Over.”

“What do you need? Over.”

“The little lady who found the body wants to join you. Over.”

There was a long pause. Weddle didn’t take his eyes off her. Was he laughing internally, or suspicious?

“Shaffer says send her down. Over.”

Weddle said to Lucy, “You heard him.”

“Are you sure you want to do this, Luce?” Sean quietly asked.

“She’s been on my mind-I want to make sure I saw what I did.”

“Excuse me?” Weddle said. “You want to make sure you saw what?”

“The way she was posed.”

“Posed,” he said flatly. When she’d first approached, Weddle’s casual posture had led her not to consider him much of a cop, but now his eyes assessed her with a suspicious glint.

“She was flat on her back, arms crossed over her chest. It didn’t seem …,” she searched for the words, “… a natural way to die.” She zipped up her jacket, remembering how cold it had been in the mine yesterday.

“Boss?” Getty said.

“Strap her to the chair.”

Getty buckled Lucy into a rescue seat with a full five-point harness secured around her thighs and over her shoulders.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded, holding Sean’s blue eyes as she was lowered down.

I love you, he mouthed.

“She’s going to be okay down there?” Weddle asked Sean.