Chapter 26
On The Hook
"Uncle Raylan! Aunt Nona!"
The bed bounced up and down as Winona awoke, clutching the quilt around her nearly exposed breast.
"Uncle Pete is here!" Young Davis announced with great excitement. "Hey, what're you doing here, too?"
By this time, Raylan was awake. "We're here to go fishin'," he declared, very matter of fact. "What did ya' think?" He shifted his weight, equally conscious he was naked under the covers.
"Hey, Davis!" A man's voice came up the stairs.
"Peter," Winona hissed to Raylan, pulling the sheet tighter around herself.
To her relief there was no sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. Instead, Peter called again. "You gotta have some breakfast before we get in the boat. Come on down here."
Davis jumped off the bed and ran to the top of the stairs. He shouted, "Aunt Nona is here! And Uncle Raylan. Can they go fishing with us?"
"Yup," Pete said. "But they've got to have breakfast, too. So, get down here so they can get dressed.
Davis looked over his shoulder. "Hurry up," he said. He flew down the stairs, jumping the last two and landing with a thud. "Grandpa!" They heard him call. "Guess who's here!"
Winona eyed Raylan, a grin sliding across her mouth. "Still sure you want that boy?"
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
Deputy Marshal Rachel Brooks blinked her eyes open against the pounding in her skull. She reached up to touch her forehead with her fingers and found . . . blood.
She was seated on the driver's seat of her rig. There was a spider-webbed bullet hole through the driver's side windshield. She looked around to see the sun would be rising soon and to find her rig pulled off the side of a deserted rural road. The passenger door was swung wide open.
"Anna?" she called out, the sound of her own voice made her head pound even harder.
There was no answer.
Carefully, she opened the driver side door and slid out of her seatbelt and down, onto her feet, holding onto the frame of her truck to hold her steady. She was woozy. After she steadied herself for a moment, she slowly made her way around to the front of her truck, still holding onto the vehicle.
"Anna!" she tried shouting again.
She immediately reached for her firearm. It was gone. She then pulled her cell phone out of her hip pocket. "Damn it!" she swore when she found there were no bars.
She continued to carefully make her way around the front of her rig. It was chilly outside, and her hand itched like there was no tomorrow. Mosquito bites. As she made her way around to the passenger side, she reached out to grab the door that was ajar, only to lose her balance and fall to the ground that was wet with dew.
As hard as she tried to stay conscious, she could not, and the world went black.
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
The sun was just peeking over the trees and the lake was as smooth as glass as Pete guided the small craft carefully out of the shallows.
"Com'ere and let me tighten that lifejacket," the elder Davis said, beckoning to his grandson. He fiddled with the buckle and pulled the black strap.
"Ow. That's too tight," Davis complained.
"It has to be tight to keep ya' safe," Raylan said.
"I can swim," the boy proudly reported.
"You're used to swimming in a pool," Winona reminded him. "There can be waves here, and the water is deeper."
"Deeper than the deep end of the pool?" Davis asked, peering over the side of the boat. "I went in the deep end with Daddy."
"The water here goes to 65 feet in some places," Pete explained. "This part we're in now is probably about 40."
"And the deep end of your pool is probably 8 or 10," Raylan added. "So, that's why you wear that lifejacket."
"Okay," Davis finally gave in, but quickly changed the subject. "When're we gonna fish?"
Grandpa laughed. "Soon. Relax and enjoy the ride."
Davis moved to the front of the boat, and Pete stepped back to let the boy stand in front of him, guiding his hands on the wheel to steer.
Winona slid over on the bench seat, closer to her father. Even though everything had worked out fine, she knew how easily it could have gone much differently. "You gave us all a scare, taking off like that," she said, keeping her voice even.
"Raylan already talked to me about it," he said. "And your sister gave me an earful on the phone. He jutted his chin out, stubborn. "I knew you all wouldn't let me go, and I wanted to."
"We coulda arranged somethin', Davis," Raylan chimed in, taking Winona's part.
"You're always working," Davis said. "I heard my girls talking about it. So is Wade. Gayle hates fishing, and Winona has that little granddaughter of mine to take care of."
Winona stared at her father and then at Raylan. Davis Sr. certainly wasn't having any cognitive difficulties explaining himself today
"You still should have asked us, Daddy," Winona said. "Gayle was pretty frantic when you guys went missing."
"I told her I was sorry." He looked at both of them. "It's water under the bridge now. Can we just have a nice morning fishing and then, I'll behave and go back home with you."
Winona met his eyes. "Sure, okay." She leaned in and kissed his cheek and Davis pulled her into a hug.
"Thank you for not making me go right home," he said into her ear. "Little Davis was really looking forward to fishing with his grandpa." She hugged him back. It wasn't lost on Winona how important this outing was to her father, too.
After twenty minutes or so, they reached Pete's favorite spot. He said with a grin, "Remember this, Davis? This is where you caught that Striped Bass."
"34 inches and almost fifty pounds," Davis chuckled. "How could I forget?"
"I thought Striped Bass was an ocean fish," Raylan said.
"It is." Pete steered the boat around to face back toward the cabin and dropped anchor. "But they stock them in some of the reservoirs, and they've migrated to a few natural lakes, too." He shook his head, laughing. "That was a big fish."
"Biggest one I ever caught."
"What about the time you guys went deep sea fishing," Winona recalled. "Didn't you catch a swordfish?"
"That was me," Pete laughed again. "You wanna tell 'em Davis, or should I?"
"I didn't do much fishing that day," Davis said. "I was too busy worshiping the porcelain god."
Little Davis asked, "What's the por-se-lion god? Is that like a seal? Sea lions and seals are like cousins. That's what Miss Marianne said."
Raylan chuckled. "So, you were seasick?"
"What's seasick?" The boy looked at his uncle.
"Grampa was throwing up," Davis said, ruffling the boy's hair. "The ocean was choppy and sometimes that makes people feel sick."
"And beer had nothing to do with it," Pete said. He pulled a tackle box out from under the seat and opened it. "You let Raylan, or your grandpa handle the hooks, okay?"
Davis nodded solemnly.
"You want me to bait that for ya'?" Raylan asked.
"No, I wanna do it," Davis said, shaking his head. "Worms are cool."
Soon, they had all the poles baited and fixed and all that was left was to sit and wait for the fish to take a bite.
The sun was out in full now and there was very little wind. Winona pulled the hooded sweatshirt she'd borrowed from Pete off over her head. Her face was scrubbed free of make-up, and she'd pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Raylan leaned in and planted a kiss just behind her ear. "You look like you're about sixteen," he whispered.
Winona blushed and turned to him, kissing him on the mouth.
"Ewww!" Davis exclaimed. "Yuck."
"Worms are cool but kisses are yucky," Pete laughed. "Oh, to be five again."
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
"Lady?" A bright light shone in Rachel's face and the voice broke through the fog in her brain. "Hey Lady? Are you alright?"
Rachel blinked, staring up into two faces, the one covered with a scraggly beard was holding a mag flashlight in his hand. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a groan. Her head still pounded.
"We done called an ambulance," the bearded one said.
"Here's the State Trooper now," another voice, deeper. Rachel blinked again, and things became slightly clearer. She made out another man, older than the first, wearing a Cincinnati Reds ball cap and a grey hooded sweatshirt, his hands stuffed in the pockets.
"Get back," an authoritative voice, female this time. The men obeyed. The trooper knelt down by Rachel and saw the dried blood on her temple and noticed the bullet hole through the truck windshield. "Are you shot?"
"I . . . I don't think so." Rachel's eyes moved from side to side. "Anna. Where's Anna?" She pushed herself up on one elbow, and the trooper laid a hand on her arm.
"I don't think you'd better get up just now. What's your name? Can you tell me your name?"
"Deputy U.S. Marshal Rachel Brooks," she answered. "You need to call Chief Art Mullen in Lexington and tell him that an FBI agent is missing." She felt for her back pocket. "So is my service weapon." She then felt her front pockets. "And my badge."
The Trooper looked at Rachel in disbelief.
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
"I got one! I got one!" Davis called excitedly. Sure enough, when Raylan looked up the boy's pole was bent, his line taut.
"Okay, okay now," Elder Davis said, stepping in before Raylan had a chance. "Reel it in nice and slow." He put his hand over his grandson's on the handle and Winona stepped up, taking several quick pictures with her cell-phone camera. Together, Davis and Davis reeled in the fish, a respectable small-mouth bass.
The boy was beaming, ear-to-ear. "Grandpa! I caught a fish!"
"Yes, you did." Davis, winded, sat heavily on the bench and Pete stepped up, taking over. Raylan kept a wary eye on the older man.
"It's big enough to keep, if you want," he said. "Or you can throw him back."
"What happens if I keep him?"
"Well, we'd clean him up, and you could take him home for your mom to cook along with the fish your Grandpa and Aunt Winona caught."
Davis studied the struggling fish, the sunlight glistening off his scales. "But he'd be dead?"
"Well, yeah," Pete said.
"Throw him back," Davis announced. "I don't want to kill him."
Pete shook his head in disgust, but obliged, slipping his finger into the fish's mouth to release the hook and tossing him over the side.
"Bye-bye fishy," Davis said, waving at the water.
"Davis?" Raylan said, stooping next to Winona's father. "You okay?"
The man nodded. "Can't catch my breath," he said. "But I'll be okay."
"Daddy?" Winona sat beside him. "We've got plenty of fish, and its past noon. Maybe it's time to get back. We've got a drive ahead of us."
"Raylan hasn't caught anything yet," he protested.
"Not my day, I guess," Raylan grinned to show he didn't care.
"Alright," Davis said. "I guess we can head on back."
Pete turned the boat around, and little Davis ran to the front to sit where the water splashed up. Winona stayed beside her father who stared off into the distance, silent. Raylan took the seat across from her and pulled out his phone.
"No signal," he said, after a minute.
"You should get it back when we're a little closer to shore," Pete said over his shoulder.
They were all quiet for a while, enjoying the warm sunshine and the cooling spray of the water.
"I've changed my mind," Davis said, turning to his daughter.
"Daddy, I really think we should go . . ."
"No, no," he waved a hand, dismissing her assumption. "I mean, I'm going to have that surgery."
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
Rachel shivered. "The FBI Agent is Anna Rulé out of the Washington D.C. office. That's spelled R-U-L-E," she told the State Trooper. "She's down here working a case with my office."
The Trooper left Rachel alone for a moment to return to her vehicle and radio in the information, but not before removing her jacket and placing it over Rachel's chest and arms. Rachel was grateful for the warmth. The rising sunlight hurt her eyes. She tried to remember what happened, how she got where she was. The last thing she could remember was having dinner with Anna.
A few minutes later, the Trooper returned. "An ambulance is on the way. I'll accompany you to the hospital."
"Hospital?" Rachel protested and tried to stand up, only to fall back down on her backside.
"Easy there," the Trooper insisted, readjusting the jacket to cover her. "Can you tell me what happened? How did you end up out here in the middle of nowhere? You're lucky these two cemetery workers were on their way to work this morning."
Rachel sat there, on the cold, hard ground, trying to quiet her spinning head. "I'm trying to remember what happened, but I can't. The last thing I remember is having dinner with Anna last night in Lexington."
"Do you know what time that was?" the Trooper asked.
"I dunno . . . maybe nine, ten o'clock?"
The Trooper continued to pepper her with questions. "And where were you headed? You're a ways from Lexington."
"To Anna's hotel. I think. In Louisville," she answered, and then uttered, "Adam."
"Adam?" the Trooper echoed.
"Anna's fiancé," she answered, thoughtfully. "I don't know his last name."
The sound of an ambulance's siren could be heard in the distance.
"I'm sorry. That's all I can remember," Rachel winced, obviously in pain.
"How about a description of this Agent?" the trooper asked.
Rachel thought. Wanting to get this right, her marshalling instincts kicked right in. "Female in her mid-thirties. African American with a fairer complexion, dark hair and brown eyes. 5 foot 10. Thin build, maybe 125 - 130 pounds. Her hair is pulled into a bun. She was wearing jeans, white running shoes, white top with a navy sweatshirt jacket with the initials 'GU' in white lettering on the back. For Georgetown University." Then, she added, "No distinguishing marks. She's wearing a new engagement ring on her left hand. A solitaire diamond of about a carat, set in a smooth channel platinum setting. Princess cut." After a beat, she added, "She's also armed."
The Trooper, engaged herself, stifled a smile of amusement at Rachel's detail of the ring. Rachel's professionalism upon giving Anna's description made her certain Rachel was who she said she was.
"I'm State Trooper Cate Farris," the tall blonde woman offered her fellow LEO. Sorry to have to meet you under these circumstances. "I'm gonna leave you one more time to radio this information on Agent Rulé."
While Trooper Farris was away, the ambulance arrived. Rachel was relieved when the loud siren was turned off. Two men quickly approached her. One of the medics assessed her for a head injury by asking her questions about what day it was and who was the President of the United States . . . while the other systematically took her pulse, checked her pupil reactivity, tracked her vision, and took her blood pressure. She mentioned she was cold, and the medic quickly checked her nail beds. The other medic ran back to the ambulance to retrieve a gurney and a blanket, while the other stayed with her and prepared an IV."
"Do I really need that?" she asked, her eyes suddenly wide. Marshal Brooks was not fond of needles.
"You're in shock, m'am," the medic responded, snapping on a pair of non-latex gloves. "We want to get your blood volume up for transport."
He quickly rolled up her sleeve and wrapped a rubber tourniquet around her upper arm nice and tight, then swabbed the inside of her elbow with Betadyne. Rachel looked away from what was to come. The tourniquet hurt her arm. A juicy vein popped up, and the medic stabbed it with the long IV needle, taping it and the attached tubing securely at two sites down the length of her arm. After adjusting the flow of the saline solution, he placed a plastic bandage over the IV site to protect it from movement and infection before they moved her onto the gurney and covered her with a warm blanket.
The medics proceeded with what they referred to as a 'scoop and run' and loaded Rachel into the back of the ambulance. But before they took off, Trooper Farris returned to tell Rachel that Dispatch informed her that her Chief would meet her at the hospital. And that she would follow them to University of Louisville Hospital, just as soon as she interviewed the two men who found her.
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
As Pete guided the boat up to the dock, Raylan pulled out his cell phone again. The rest of the ride in had been consumed with talk about Davis' likely surgery, with Pete recommending a surgeon he knew about from his position on the hospital board of directors. The man had perfected a new, less invasive technique and was certified to practice in Ohio, Kentucky, and Tennessee. He promised to call and get his friend an appointment as soon as possible.
Now, Raylan glanced at his screen, surprised to see three missed messages from Adam. Why would he be calling? There was also a message from Art, but that was last. Adam's messages came first.
"Hey, Raylan," the first one began. "Sorry to bug you, but have you heard from Anna? It's getting pretty late, and she's not here yet. Give me a call. Thanks."
The next two messages were more of the same, with Adam sounding more and more worried. Raylan tried Anna's cell before listening to Art's message, but there was no answer. He went back to voicemail, stepping out of the boat and onto the dock behind Winona, who carried a sleeping Davis, worn out from the morning's adventure. He froze in place, as he listened to his boss.
"Raylan, this is Art. Listen, don't panic, but there's been an accident. Looks like someone ran Rachel and Anna off the road on their way to Louisville. Rachel's got a concussion, and Anna is missing. Right now, there's no way to know if she's wandered off on her own or if someone grabbed her. We're searching the area. Get back to me when you get this."
(To be continued . . .)