Reese tensed and closed his eyes. “Don’t let her take my arm.”
Chief Foster guffawed and slapped his hat on the hood next to Jo’s medical kit. “You’re alright, mister.”
“It’s Reese. Reese Lavelle.”
Foster lost his laughter and cleared his throat. “Listen, I’m not any good at this kind of thing.” He turned and looked at the bodies. “I’ve never even drawn my weapon before—let alone caused the death of a dozen people…”
“You didn’t have a choice—they were out for blood,” Reese said, wincing at Jo’s probing fingers. “Ow! Why are you digging—”
“Oh, quit yer bellyaching, you big baby. It’s just a scratch.”
“Just a scratch? It feels like my arm’s about to fall off!”
Foster leaned over the hood and squinted at Reese. “If that’s just a scratch, I’d hate to see your idea of a deep cut.” He looked Reese in the eye. “Seriously, you just saved my life. I owe you. Thanks.”
Jo dug a finger in Reese’s wound, making him groan with pain. “Okay, okay,” he said over his shoulder. “Chief Foster,” he added, turning back to the wounded policeman. “Can I ask a favor?”
The chief sighed. “Go ahead. You’ve earned it. I doubt those rabble rousers will be back before we get reinforcements. What can I do for you?”
“Let me and my friends buy some supplies from the Walmart.”
Jo paused in her not-so-tender ministrations and leaned around Reese’s shoulder to watch the interaction.
Foster rubbed a hand through his sweaty hair and looked down. “I suppose it’s a small price to pay for seeing another day. Alright,” he said, looking up at Reese. “You and your friends can stay the night and help me keep order until dawn. Then you can all load up—free of charge.”
“But—” Reese protested.
Foster held up a hand. “I insist. You saved my life, Lavelle. Let me do this. You wanna hang around a few more hours, you can have free run of the store. Sound good?”
“Does it sound good?” Jo parroted. “Does the sun rise in the east? Yeah, it sounds—”
“It’s a fair deal,” Reese said, evenly. He tried to reach out his right arm and clenched his teeth against the pain. Forster stuck out his left hand, and Reese grabbed it. Awkwardly, they shook on the deal.
“Ahyup,” Foster said, stepping back. “Made a right mess of things, though. Glivens, what’s the status on clean up?”
“I’ve called for the medics. Should be here any second.”
“Chief?” asked another cop, walking up with the bloodied kitchen knife in his hand. “I thought you might want this, since you know, the guy tried to kill you with it. You want me to put it in evidence?”
Foster considered the knife for a moment, then shook his head. “Lavelle, you don’t have a weapon, do you?”
“No, sir. My gun collection’s still in South Carolina. I hope.”
Foster grimaced. “Well, I’d say you earned this one. Call it the spoils of war.” He nodded, and the cop turned the bloody blade around and offered it to Reese handle first.
Reese took the knife in his left hand and looked at the red-smeared blade. It was his blood.
“Lemme see that,” Jo said, holding out a hand. “I need to cut something.”
“Stay away from me, devil woman,” Reese muttered, trying to turn away from her and keep the knife out of her reach.
Jo laughed and went back to cleaning his wound. “You big baby…”
Chapter 20
Ellsworth, Maine
It turned out, to Reese’s surprise, that one could make a passable bed from sacks of rice. He stretched in his makeshift camp and tried for the thirtieth time to fall asleep. Next to him, Ben snored softly, and Jo had already begun to breathe deep.
Reese couldn’t fall asleep, though. The pain in his shoulder was still there, but it was distant, like a faded memory. The Advil Jo had dosed him with before they’d found a comfortable spot in the store to rest had done its job. But still, he was restless.
It wasn’t the pain that kept Reese awake, nor was it the images of the riot out front that flashed through his mind every time he closed his eyes. He could still see that knife—his knife—flash in the air like lightning as the rioter raised it to plunge into Cal Foster’s back. He remembered how his legs tensed as he lunged forward and the impact of their bodies shuddered through his shoulders and down his spine. He especially remembered the flat, brutal impact of his face with the pavement.
Reese moved his left hand in the darkness and gingerly touched the still raw scrapes on his chin and cheek. Ben had said it looked like a jar of tomato sauce had exploded in his face. Compared to his shoulder, his face didn’t hurt all that much, but it was definitely tender to the touch.
Reese shifted from his back to his good side and exhaled. What was it then? What kept him awake when he so desperately wanted—needed—sleep? He closed his eyes and thought of Cami and Amber, alone in the night, thousands of miles away.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Nope. It wasn’t worry. He was definitely concerned for their safety, but Cami was a prepper. She had plans seven ways from Sunday for when things went sideways and she was a registered hunting guide. If there was any woman on the planet who could take care of herself, it was Cami. She
