The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted: A Psychological Thriller

“Your friend’s going to be okay,” he said. “A pretty severe concussion and a nasty laceration on the side of her head, but all in all, she came out of it pretty well.”

“Thank God,” I said, standing up. “Any idea when she’ll be released?”

“I want to keep her overnight for observation, but she won’t have it.”

I grinned a little, not a bit surprised. I thought it might take more than a whack on her head to curb CJ’s stubborn streak.

“We’ll have her out of here in a while,” he assured, then left me there with Baker, who was studying me with crossed arms and conspicuous contempt.

“Well, well, well,” Baker said. “Murder scenes. Hit and runs. You sure do get around, partner.”

“Partner?” I replied. “Gosh, and we haven’t even been on our first date.”

“You’re funny,” he said, “but no time to joke, son. Looks like you got yourself in the middle of another mess.”

“I assure you it wasn’t intentional.”

“So you say…” he replied, nodding. “Curious, though, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“Barely here a week, and already you’ve had more excitement than most folks around here get in a lifetime. Kind of funny.”

“Hilarious,” I said. I was tired and my head hurt.

“Care to tell me what happened, son?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “With all due respect, sheriff, isn’t it your job to figure that out?”

“Wasn’t asking you to solve the crime,” he said, almost snarling at me. “I think you know what I meant.”

“I do, but in all honesty, it’s been a rough evening, and you’ve given me plenty of reason to get defensive.”

“And you’ve given me plenty of reason to be suspicious.”

I dug my hands in my pockets and gave him the benefit of full eye contact. “Are you accusing me of something, sheriff?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“Then what are you saying? If you think I’ve committed some sort of crime, I’d like to know what it is.”

“Just that things have gone sort of…awry…since you came here, and it’s my job to figure out why.”

“So let me make sure I understand you correctly: you seriously think I’m somehow the cause of all this?”

A vague nod, keeping eye contact, “Could be. In some manner.”

“Can you define in some manner for me?”

“If I knew that, I’d have this all figured out, now, wouldn’t I?”

I moved in closer so we were face to face, gave him a burning glare. “You’re playing games with me, sheriff, and I don’t like it.”

Keeping his eyes locked on mine, over-pronouncing each word now, “I’m doing my job, son, and whether or not you like it really isn’t my concern. And since it is my job, I’m just gonna go ahead and keep on doing it. If that’s okay with you.”

“It’s not the doing your job part I have a problem with; it’s the part where you harass innocent citizens.”

His lips spread into a smile, but it was cutting and unpleasant. “I did a little checking on you. Quite a colorful past.”

I said nothing.

“A nasty drug overdose.” He pursed his lips and shook his head with mock dismay. “Shame, shame, shame.”

I did my best to conceal my surprise, but what I really wanted to do was smack the stupid-assed grin off his face.

Just then, the ER door swung open and an orderly pushed CJ out in a wheelchair.

“Hey,” I said, “how are you doing?”

She rubbed the side of her head and frowned. “You know, I think I’ve been better. Hey, Sheriff.”

“Ms. Norris.”

CJ looked from Baker’s face to mine, and I could tell she sensed the tension. “God, I hate hospitals,” she said to me. “Can we get out of here?”

“Absolutely,” I replied, then nodded to the orderly; he began to push the wheelchair toward the exit.

Baker stood like a stone statue, eyes trained on me. “Son, you’re not going anywhere until I get a statement.”

I heaved a sigh, then looked at CJ and said, “I’ll just be a minute.”

It was more like fifteen. When we finally got into the car, CJ said, “What the hell was that about? It looked like you were about to clock the sheriff.”

She had no idea.

“Long story. Tell you about it later. For now, let’s get you home and into bed.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

I had no intention of leaving CJ alone. She had a head injury, and it was abundantly clear that neither of us was safe. There’s strength in numbers, and in my way of thinking, we were better off together than apart. After stopping at the motel and gathering up my belongings, we headed to her place. I put her to bed and settled myself on her couch.

I was lying upright and writing shelter shelter shelter . At number twenty-two, I glanced up and found CJ standing in the doorway, staring at me, the moonlight catching part of her face.

I turned the notebook over a little too quickly.

“What are you doing?”

I forced my voice to sound casual. “Just writing some things down, trying to make sense of everything. Why aren’t you in bed? You should be sleeping.”

“Can’t,” she said, still staring at the pad in my lap.

“What’s wrong?”

“Somebody tried to kill us tonight, that’s what’s wrong.” She came over, sat by my feet, moved a lock of hair away from her face. The bruise on her forehead looked nasty. She said, “I have a feeling you know what this is all about. Wanna tell me?”

I paused a moment, thinking before speaking, and then, “Someone wants me dead.”

“I figured that after our little game of demolition derby.”

“No, before tonight, even. Someone’s been trying to rattle my cage ever since I got into town.”

“Rattle it? How?”

I reached down into my bag and pulled out the note. “Somebody stuck this under the door of my motel room.”

She read it, pursed her mouth, and then, “Who do you think did it? And what exactly were they hoping to accomplish?”

“To mess with my head, I’m guessing. I’ve been doing a lot of digging lately. Someone wants me to stop.”

“And they thought this would do it?”

“That’s just part of it.” I took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Someone came into my room while I was sleeping the other day. And left me another message.”

She held out her hand. “Let me see it.”

“I can’t. They wrote it on the bathroom mirror.”