Truth Avenged (Green Division Series Book 1) Read online

  “Shit,” she mumbled startled and turned on her heels. “Tuck.”

  To describe Chance’s reaction to his appearance as a surprise would have been an understatement.

  “What are you doing up here?” he asked.

  Her heart fluttered at the sight of him. She’d tried to speak with him several times throughout the week, but his phone went directly to voicemail. Her calls went unreturned. The sight of him stirred emotion she’d successfully suppressed during daylight hours.

  “I’m—I’m sorry.” Were the only muffled words she could spit out.

  He pointed to the bottom of her shirt; a mud color stain on the fabric caught his eye. “Is that blood?” .

  “I pulled my stitches.” That’s what one gets for hiking a week after getting shot.

  Tuck lowered his pack to the ground and groaned. She couldn’t read his face, if it was anger, or worry that consumed it. He unzipped the pack and retrieved a small first aid kit taking out a roll of medical tape and a compress bandage.

  “I guess we’ll patch it up and bring you back to the hospital. Would have thought you would have learned your lesson about coming up here alone.”

  She lifted her shirt slightly and he played the role of doctor, taping the bandage to her bloody side. It was a much easier sight to look at than the last time he’d seen her wound. When he was done she pulled her shirt back down. She fought to maintain her poise. He passed her his light fall fleece coat.

  “You don’t have to do that, you‘ve already ruined one set of clothes being covered in my blood.”

  He slung it around her shoulders. The memory of her bleeding out was a haunting one.

  “I’m not worried about my jacket.” He held the jacket while she slid her arms into it and zipped it up. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Not yet.”

  "Not yet? The deal we struck was when you were healed we’d go on this goose chase of yours together.”

  “You haven’t answered your phone. I left messages and never heard back. I figured the offer was withdrawn. Something you said to comfort me thinking I wouldn’t live.” Her voice caught and she looked away from him. “I didn’t expect you to hike back up here with me, you’ve done so much. I couldn’t ask more of you.”

  She brought her eyes back to his only this time he averted his. The truth was, Tuck wasn’t ready to see her. This detachment issue he had would be easier with time passing, emotions lessening. That’s why he hadn’t answered his phone. Another mission failed.

  “You walked away from this with staples in your head.” Only one of his staples was visible, not covered by his hat. “I bet you wish you hadn’t answered your phone that night, huh.” She tried for a smile, but failed. Her attempt for laughter had the same result.

  “I’m sorry you were hurt helping me. And I’m sorry you got dragged out here by Paul, again.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t expect you to babysit me and I’ll clarify that with him.”

  Babysit. He’d thought the same word earlier and felt guilt for it now.

  He picked up his pack and hers. “Let’s get you down from here and get that looked at.”

  “I’m not leaving. I need to find the compass.”

  Paul was right about one thing, she was stubborn.

  “Whatever you are up here looking for, you can come back. You’re going to go to the hospital. I’m sure hiking was on a list of things not to do while recovering from a gunshot wound. I don’t know how you could even hike. You must be in awful pain.”

  “Everything was on that list of not to do’s, except lying on the couch and watching TV. I need to find that compass.”

  “Let me guess, it’s from the plane crash.”

  She gave him a dirty look.

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone else about the plane? You didn’t tell my sergeant when he interviewed you.”

  “No one would believe me.”

  “You’re a reporter. You should be used to that by now.” He preferred this exchange to the emotionally charged one they’d had at the same location.

  “Did you see the pack I found? The one Warden Huan has, just like I told you about. And still hasn’t returned by the way. Is that all a coincidence?”

  “It’s a bag. What does that prove?” He looked at the trail beyond her. “These woods were scoured when they searched for your shooter. There were planes in the air, people on the ground everywhere. No one came upon your so called crash site.”

  Chance ignored him and went back to looking at the ground, kicking the leaves about.

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  She didn’t follow him.

  “Chance,” he called. She instead walked in the opposite direction up the trail.

  “Ugh." Tuck rolled his eyes. “What is it going to take for you to listen to sense?”

  “Finding the compass.”

  Damn her.

  Tuck caught up to her and stepped ahead.

  “Thirty minutes. After that, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you kicking and screaming back to the trailhead if necessary.”

  She contemplated the offer. “Sounds better than walking.” She regained her composure and her heart settled back into her chest.

  “You really are a case, you know that?”

  “You aren’t the first to say that.”

  Twenty minutes passed. Tuck kept a close eye on time, not keeping nearly as close an eye to the trail. Then, he kicked something with his boot. A weathered metal object peaked through the dry leaves and dirt. He picked it up. It was an old compass. He became slightly intrigued, but still didn’t believe her outrageous story.

  “Is this it?” He held it up. She walked to him and took it from his hand, studying it.

  “It is, but—” She flipped it over looking at the back and then studied the front. The glass face was spider webbed. The compass needle slid around unattached from its anchor. The white background was dirty and water sloshed when she shook it. “It is, but it didn’t look like this when I found it. It wasn’t broken and it wasn’t rusted. It wouldn’t have rusted in a week.”

  He took it from her and looked it over. No, it wouldn’t have rusted in a week. It was years’ worth of decay.

  “Maybe it’s not the same one.”

  “Read the inscription.”

  He wiped the dirt from the back.

  “Flying Squirrel.”

  “It’s the same compass.”

  “Okay, it’s your compass. Here it is, let’s go.”

  “I told you.”

  “You did. Now let’s go.”

  An hour and a half later they arrived back at their vehicles.

  “You okay to drive?”

  She nodded her head yes. “I’m okay.”

  He assessed her. “I’ll follow you to the hospital.”

  “You don’t trust me to take care of myself?”

  “No.” Straight forward and to the point.

  “I don’t need my stitches fixed. It’s not bleeding seriously and will scab over. Not a big deal.”

  “You’re scared of hospitals.” Didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why she was apprehensive.

  “They’re not a place I like to frequent, but who does.”

  “Tell you what, I’ll follow you to your house. It’s on the way to the hospital, right?”

  “Yes, but you don’t need to do that.”

  He continued without addressing her last statement. “You can call someone to bring you.” Not Paul, Tuck wanted to add, but didn’t. “Or, you can hop in with me and I’ll give you a ride. You aren’t going be driving after they pump you full of painkillers to stitch you back together, Raggedy Anne. Take your pick.”

  “Thanks for the nickname. I don’t expect you to keep saving me there warden. I’ve jeopardized enough of your time.” She pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Go home, be with your family. I’ll be fine. I’m sorry about Paul and I’ll make sure he knows to leave you out of my affairs.”

&nbs
p; He opened the driver’s door of the Jeep for her. She climbed in and grimaced at the pain caused from the motion of sitting.

  “My time is very open these days. I’ll see you at your house.” He closed her door and walked back to his truck.

  *****

  Chance chastised Paul harshly on her drive back to town. An apology was not issued on either end. She was a big girl; she didn’t need someone babysitting her. Her wish was for someone to be aware of where she was. If needed, Amy would have followed up. But no, Paul had to send Tuck to save her. Knowing how to play his cards, Paul threatened to call her family and inform them of her impetuousness. They would put her back in line and be driven up her ass in a heartbeat. That hushed Chance. On her next trip, she wouldn’t tell him, or anyone else.

  *****

  Into the driveway she pulled. The idyllic house sat peaceful and quiet. Tuck parked behind her and shut off the engine. She stepped down from the Jeep and her ankle rolled with the impact of the ground. She caught herself on the door awkwardly and nearly toppled downward. Tuck jogged over, but by the time he reached her, she had both feet solidly on the ground. She expelled a deep breath and hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  “You are a mess, aren’t you?”

  “Thanks.” She didn’t need him to point out the obvious.

  He supported her arm as she walked up the stairs.

  “What’d you decide?”

  “About what?” She unlocked the door.

  “Have you arranged a ride?”

  She would lie to him, tell him she did. She didn’t want to be the helpless girl he saw her as.

  “My friend Amy is on her way over.”

  He studied her face.

  “You won’t mind if I stay until she gets here?”

  “No! I mean, you don’t need to do that.” She walked into her house and held the door.

  “For a reporter, you don’t lie well.”

  “Outdoor Columnist.” She corrected. “There isn’t much need for lying in my line of writing.”

  “You all operate the same.”

  She scowled at him for his offensive statement. He looked past the door. Her home was as nice on the inside as it was the outside.

  “She is on her way over. Thank you for the offer.”

  He put his hand on the door before Chance could beat him to the draw to close it.

  “I can’t leave in good conscience knowing you are feeding me a line of bullshit, excuse my language.”

  He is too damn intuitive, Chance thought. She stared at the ground.

  “Come on, I’ll give you a ride. It’ll be fine, you’ve survived worse.” He tried to draw her eyes back to him. “Much worse. This is nothing.”

  “Easy for you to say. You won‘t be the one they are driving a needle in and sewing back together.” She gave him a slightly annoyed look. He raised a brow at her and then removed his hat nonchalantly, running his hand over his close cropped hair.

  “True. I don’t know much about stitches.” He pretended to cough and angled his face away from her. She gasped audibly and averted her eyes.

  His point was lost. He didn’t intend to horrify her during their friendly banter, but that was what he’d succeeded in doing. Moisture welled at the corner of her eyes. She would not cry, she would not cry. “I, I—” The ability to form a complete thought eluded her. “I’m sorry.” His staples were a reminder of everything that happened, all of which she could repress, but not at that moment. Not at the sight of his ghastly wound. She retreated inside.

  “Chance?” He peered in through the doorway, but she’d gone into the living room out of sight.

  She dropped onto the couch, head into hands, and closed her eyes. She hadn’t broken down in front of anyone and didn’t want him of all people to see her at her worst, again. She quelled the tears. She’d occupied her mind with the obsession of the plane, drowning out all memories of the shooting until she was behind closed doors with nothing else to occupy her.

  “Chance—” He entered without invitation and peered in the living room. She wiped her eyes before the tears could run down her cheek.

  “I ah, I wanted to change my shoes, my feet hurt.” Really, that was the best she could think of? She rolled her eyes in disgust for her lameness. He would see through that lie. He took a seat next to her, leaving a comfortable amount of space between them.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.” The professional line dissolved more and more.

  “You have that because of me. I’m sorry.” She spoke of the staples.

  “No, I have it because of the piece of shit who did that to you. You do know that none of this—the shooting, my little scratch—none of it is your fault. You talk as though you are responsible. Stop apologizing for things you have no reason, or responsibility to apologize for.” His words were firm.

  She clasped her hands together in her lap and expelled a deep breath. “You should go.” Before she broke down completely. Once he left she could compose herself and drown out the nightmare. The feeling of the barrel of the gun on the back of her head flashed through her memory even though she tried to keep it at bay.

  He didn’t move. Tuck knew she wasn’t holding back tears because her side hurt. She was in full blown defense mode.

  “Do you want to talk?”

  “No.” She rose to her feet, walked back to the kitchen, and opened the door. He followed her. “Please leave. Thank you again, but please go.”

  Tuck was torn between trying to console her and leaving as she demanded. He didn’t know her, but knew enough. She was a tough case. Strong, independent, and unwilling to lose her composure in front of him. But underneath her exterior, she was an end stage game of Jenga, on the verge of collapse.

  She leaned her head against the corner of the door. “Tuck.” Her voice a mere whisper. “I asked you to leave.” She refused to look at him. He stepped closer, no more than a foot away.

  “Something I said triggered you to make you this upset. You need to talk to someone—your family, a friend, Paul.” Ugh, Paul.

  She walked outside and stood in the crisp dusk air. Trigger. Not the best term to use Tuck thought in hindsight. She wrapped her arms around her center.

  “Your job is over warden.” He walked beside her. “Talking isn’t going to change what happened. It’s not going to ward off the nightmares.”

  She hesitated knowing she'd already said too much.

  “You don’t understand.” Leave. She couldn’t hide her basket-case-edness much longer.

  “You shouldn’t be alone, not with everything that’s happened. Why did your family leave so soon?”

  “I asked them to. I can’t stand being hovered over and treated like a cripple. I’m able to take care of myself. Just like you didn’t need to waste your afternoon hiking to rescue me. That’s the kind of shit I’m talking about. People worrying when they shouldn’t. I don’t want them to worry about me.”

  “The people who love you are going to worry when you put yourself in danger. And they would worry if they knew under that tough impossible exterior, you were scared, alone, hurt. Let someone help you. You’re not alone.”

  “I sure as hell feel it.” Shit. She’d done it now. She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  “You’re not alone.” Tuck pulled her into his arms. “You’re safe.”

  “How do you know that? He’s still out there.”

  “We’ll find him.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “You know I keep my promises.” He had thus far. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

  She settled into his chest and rested her head in the crook of his neck. For the first time in a week she felt comforted and protected. If only she could feel this content when she fought for sleep.

  The line his sergeant had warned about was G-O-N-E. To quote the artists Big and Rich, it was: “Gone like a freight train, gone like yesterday, gone like a solider in the Civil War bang bang.” One hundred percent dissolved
.

  Wrapped in one another’s arms, they stood as dusk fully set and darkness surrounded them. The tension in her body lifted. Her weight fully rested against him. She could stay wrapped in his arms all night.

  He pulled back slightly and she lifted her head from his shoulder. “Are you done fighting with me about going to the ER?”

  “It’s a losing battle.” She conceded.

  “Is Amy on her way over here?” He knew the answer.

  Ummm.”

  “Come on.”

  He walked beside her and opened the door to his new Chevy pickup. Why was it everyone had big damn trucks that were painful to step into? The ride over was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Country music broke the silence.

  They arrived at the Band-Aid station forty minutes later. The ER was quiet, only two other people in the waiting room.

  “Chance Phillips.” The triage nurse walked into the waiting room. Both Chance and Tuck stood.

  “Follow me.” The nurse motioned. Chance’s feet didn’t move. God, she didn’t want to do this again. “Miss Phillips?”

  She reluctantly followed leaving Tuck at the doorway of the waiting room.

  *****

  Tuck waited for the second time in a week in a dank hospital waiting room. He would prefer not to occupy these seats again anytime in the foreseeable future. He’d left his phone in the truck, or he would have entertained himself with that. Instead he read a dated worn magazine on the table at the center of the room. After forty minutes of waiting, a rough looking man walked to the opposite side of the room in dirty clothes with a woman who looked no better.

  “Hey.” The man called. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

  He’d dealt with him before in the past. What was his name?

  “I don’t believe so.” Tuck responded.

  “What’s your name?”

  Tuck ignored the question and retrieved a Pepsi from the vending machine. He needed a charge of caffeine and didn’t want to make small talk with this dirt bag. He sat back down and guzzled the soda.

  “I said, what’s your name?” The man leaned forward in his chair baring all two of his teeth. He had pock marks of a meth user and the antsy behavior to match.