The Deputy's Lost and Found

Auteur·e

Stella Bagwell

Lectures

19,6K

Chapitres

Auteur·e

Stella Bagwell

Lectures

19,6K

Chapitres

Harlequin

Chapter One

“The woman is turning into a pest, Hank,” Deputy Brady Donovan said as he steered the official SUV around a mountain curve. “Last week I told her flat out that I didn’t want to go out with her again, but she’s still jamming my cell phone with text messages.”

The junior deputy sitting in the passenger seat offered his best explanation. “Maybe Suzie has a hearing problem?”

“Only when it comes to the word no,” Brady muttered.

Groaning, Brady’s young partner rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Man, if I could just be you for one day I’d overdose on women.”

Brady chuckled wryly. “Trust me, Hank, a daily diet of females can be hazardous to your health.”

“So is starving. And I don’t want a diet of women. I want a feast. Like you.”

Brady tossed his partner a droll look. “I don’t know where you get your ideas, Hank. If you ever expect to be a good deputy you’ve got to do a better job at sizing up people.”

“Yeah. Just like you could size up Suzie’s figure?”

Chuckling again, Brady rolled his head to ease the stiffness that had been building in his shoulders for the past hour. “You sound just like my family. They have this notion that I’m a cowboy James Bond. Thrilling chases after criminals and making love to a bevy of beauties. They don’t understand that we spend hours on the road, talking about nothing, and wishing an antelope would cross the road just to break the monotony.”

Moving to the edge of his seat, Hank twisted the rearview mirror so he could study his freckles. “Cowboy James Bond. I wish. Maybe it would change my luck if I ordered my iced tea shaken and not stirred?”

“Damn it all, Hank, straighten that mirror before it snaps off. Or do you want to explain to Sheriff Hamilton why our vehicle needs repairs?”

It was nearing ten-thirty on a pitch-black Sunday night in August. For the past two hours Brady and Hank had been patrolling the southeastern corner of Lincoln County. Not a simple feat, considering the New Mexican county covered more than four thousand, eight hundred square miles and some of the roads were rough dirt, winding through steep mountains. But Brady and his partner both knew that if criminals were out to smuggle drugs, do illegal deals or rustle some rancher’s livestock, it would most likely occur on these secluded back roads. And there was nothing that Brady liked more than catching a criminal in the act. Liked it much more, in fact, than cozying up to Suzie Pippin on a cold night, or even a hot one, he thought wryly.

But so far this evening, everything appeared to be quiet. Another quarter mile to go and they’d be at Highway 380 near Picacho. Brady would be glad to get back on asphalt. Deep winter snows, followed by unusually heavy spring rains, had washed out huge sections of this particular road. He’d spent the past thirty minutes wrenching the steering wheel one way and the other in order to dodge deep holes and road ledges that were crumbling away to the steep canyons below.

“Aw, Brady, you’re no fun tonight. You could’ve let me dream for another minute or two.” Hank readjusted the mirror to its proper position and settled back in the bucket seat.

“You can dream while you’re in bed,” Brady retorted.

Hank sighed as he stared out at the empty dirt road in front of them. “Okay, I’ll put the dreaming on hold. When we get to 70 let’s head into Ruidoso. The Blue Mesa stays open all night and I want some coffee and maybe a piece of cherry cream pie,” Hank said as the SUV bounced over another rough spot. “No. Make that apple. With cinnamon on it. And some ice cream on top of that.”

“Forget it. We’re driving on to the county line. Sheriff Hamilton didn’t send us over here to eat pie. Or dream about women. Which is all you seemed to be doing tonight.”

“Hell, what else is there to do?” Hank countered. “This night is as dead as a doornail.”

Brady slowed the vehicle as they crossed a washboard surface in a road that had narrowed down to little more than a dirt track hugging the side of the mountain.

“Okay,” he relented. “After we reach the county line, we’ll head back to Ruidoso and—” All of a sudden, Brady stomped on the brakes and the vehicle skidded to a stop in the middle of the road. “Hellfire! What’s that, Hank?”

Sensing the urgency in Brady’s question, the other man bolted upright in his seat and leaned toward the wind-shield. “Where? I don’t see—”

Before he could finish, Brady rammed the gearshift in Park and jumped to the ground. Grabbing a flashlight, Hank quickly followed and lengthened his stride to catch up with his partner.

“Over there,” Brady instructed. “To our left. In the ditch. It looked like a body to me.”

The orb of the flashlight swung to a steep cliff covered with boulders, scrubby pinyon pine, juniper and tall clumps of sagebrush, then dropped to a white object lying in the ditch.

“Man, oh, man, somebody met up with some trouble!” Hank exclaimed in a hushed tone.

“Yeah.”

Before moving to the downed figure, Brady took a few seconds to assess the situation. There were no other vehicles to be seen or any evidence of a driving mishap. No persons or animals. Nor a sound to be heard. Like Hank had said earlier, the night was dead. Brady only hoped to God that wasn’t the case for the person lying several feet away.

“Call this in, Hank.”

To the onlooker, the two deputies appeared equal and for the most part they shared duties just as they shared a friendship. But during critical calls, Brady’s position of chief deputy demanded that he take control. Thankfully Hank was more than happy to accept the protocol.

“Right,” Hank replied. “An ambulance, too?”

“Let me have a look first. We might need the coroner.”

The other man tossed Brady the flashlight, then made a quick U-turn back to their unit. Brady moved purposely forward, his gaze surveying the body lying facedown on the rocky ground. The person was slender, dark-haired, dressed in blue jeans and white shirt and unfortunately showing no sign of life.

Homicides were extremely rare in the county. In fact, during his seven years at the sheriff’s department, Brady had only worked two murder scenes. The last thing he wanted was a third.

His senses on keen alert, he squatted near the body and, using one hand, swiftly slid his finger to the artery at the side of the victim’s neck, the flashlight throwing a narrow beam of light. The faint pulse fluttering against the pad of Brady’s finger sent relief rushing through him.

Behind him, the sound of crunching gravel alerted him to Hank’s approach.

“Is he alive?” the other man asked quickly.

“Yes. But unconscious.”

Very carefully Brady rolled the person to a face-up position and was instantly whammed with shock as he found himself staring at a young woman! One side of her black hair was wet with blood, while dried smears marked her forehead.

“Hank, get a blanket from the unit and call for an ambulance,” Brady ordered swiftly. “It’s a woman. And she has a nasty gash on the forehead.”

While the other deputy hurried away, Brady carefully searched her limbs for obvious broken bones or visible injuries. Other than the head wound, there didn’t appear to be any, but he could only guess what might be going on internally. Except for a crumpled tissue, there wasn’t anything in her pockets.

Hank arrived with the blanket and as Brady folded it to make a cushion for her head, the woman suddenly made a faint groaning noise.

Encouraged by the sound, Brady stuffed the makeshift pillow beneath her head, then questioned, “Miss? Can you hear me? Wake up and tell us what happened! Is there anyone else injured?”

She groaned again and Brady glanced at Hank. “What’s the ETA on the ambulance?”

“Twenty-five minutes. When it’s time, I’ll drive to the highway to signal them,” Hank told him. “Unless you’d rather me stay with her and you do it.”

Brady wasn’t about to leave the woman. Everything about the situation was screaming that some sort of foul play had taken place and he wanted to be around to make sure nothing else happened. “I’m staying,” he said bluntly.

“What the hell could she have been doing way out here?” Hank wondered aloud.

“I can’t make sense of it,” Brady responded. “She doesn’t look like the typical person involved in drug use or trafficking. And this area isn’t a national forest with camp sites or hiking trails for nature lovers. I don’t want to start speculating, but I’m getting a bad vibe.”

“Could be she had a simple accident,” Hank suggested.

“Yeah. But why did a simple accident happen in the middle of nowhere?”

“Maybe she’s been out hunting. Her vehicle might be parked on one of the offshoot roads and we didn’t spot it.”

“Maybe. But there’s no rifle or bow and hunting season is closed. Besides, she isn’t dressed for that sort of thing. Look at those cowboy boots. Small fortune for those hand-stitched babies. And she’s wearing turquoise—the expensive kind—on her wrist and neck. A robber wouldn’t have left that behind.”

“Hmm. That’s why you’re the chief deputy,” Hank said wryly. “You don’t have to study about noticing things. You just see them.”

Brady glanced up at Hank. “Walk the edge of the road and see if you can spot a wallet or handbag lying around,” he ordered, then, turning his attention back to the victim, he lifted her hand and patted the back of it. “Come on, miss, wake up!”

This time his voice must have penetrated. Her eyelids fluttered, then slowly lifted. Brady anxiously watched her gaze attempt to focus on him.

“Hello,” he said to her. “Welcome back.”

She stared blankly at him. “What—where…am I?”

Even though her voice was dazed and weak, Brady was relieved to hear her speak. Bending near, so that she could get a look at his face and official uniform, he explained, “I’m Chief Deputy Brady Donovan.”

“A deputy?” she repeated dazedly. “Have I…been in some sort of accident?”

“It appears that way.” He squeezed her hand. “An ambulance is on the way. Other than your head, does it feel like anything else is injured?”

Her free hand slowly lifted to her temple. “My…head is…pounding.”

“Anything else hurt?”

She closed her eyes and for a moment Brady feared she was going to lose consciousness again.

“No—I…don’t think so,” she mumbled.

Encouraged that she might not be as badly injured as he’d first feared, he asked, “Can you tell me anything? What happened?”

Confusion puckered her forehead. “No. I—Where am I?”

Brady pulled a handkerchief from his pants and began to wipe at the blood trickling near her eye. If someone had deliberately struck this lovely young woman, they’d obviously left her for dead. The idea sent a shudder down his spine. “You’re on a mountain road in Lincoln County, New Mexico. You don’t remember?”

Her eyes widened and Brady could see they were a deep gray, the color of a snow cloud on a stark winter day. They were framed by black winged brows and long thick lashes that fluttered like a silk curtain caught in the wind.

“New…Mexico? I—” She broke off as her trembling fingers traveled from her forehead down to her dirt smeared cheek. “That doesn’t…make sense to me.”

“Why?”

“I…don’t know! It—” Suddenly in a panic, she attempted to rise. Not wanting her to struggle and perhaps worsen her condition, Brady helped her to a sitting position. By now, her whole body was beginning to shake, a signal to him that she might be slipping into shock.

Supporting her with an arm around her shoulders, he wrapped the blanket around her, then tucked it close to her body to help hold in the warmth. “Don’t worry about it now, miss,” he gently instructed. “You’ve had a nasty knock to your head. Just try to relax and we’ll start from the beginning. Can you tell me your name?”

She looked at him and Brady felt something twist in his gut as he watched her lips tremble with fear and uncertainty. He’d never seen a woman look so lost and vulnerable and the protective side of him ached to reassure her, yet the lawman in him yanked those emotions back and ordered him to remember that his first priority was doing his job.

“I…no! Oh, God help me, I don’t know my name!”

Over the years, Brady had learned that people who found themselves in trouble with the law oftentimes conveniently forgot their identities. That could be the case with this gray-eyed gal, but he didn’t think she was acting. The shock on her face looked far too genuine.

Before he could decide how to reply to her anguished plea, Hank walked up carrying nothing but a flashlight. Brady rose from his squat to talk to his partner.

“Nothing, Brady. Maybe we’ll find something after daylight.”

With a pointed glance at the blanket-wrapped woman, Brady gently elbowed Hank in the ribs and the two men walked a short distance away before stopping to converse in low voices.

“She’s claiming she doesn’t know who she is or where she is,” Brady told him. “I’m thinking she has a heck of a concussion. It might be tomorrow before we find out what took place.”

Frowning, Hank glanced over his shoulder at the injured woman. “Yeah. But she could be lying. Especially if there was a drug deal gone wrong. By tomorrow, she might lawyer up and decide not to tell us anything.”

Brady’s lips stretched into a grim line. He wasn’t buying that scenario. He’d sensed something innocent about the woman. No doubt Hank would laugh at that notion, so Brady kept the opinion to himself. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”

“Is she Apache? Maybe she’s from the res.”

“No. She’s white. Somewhere in her mid-twenties, I’d say.”

Hank shook his head with disbelief. “Boy, oh, boy. And I thought this was going to be a boring night.”

Brady slapped him on the shoulder. “You’d better get down to the highway. The ambulance ought to be here soon.”

Forty-five minutes later, the ambulance had picked up the injured woman and carried her to Sierra General Hospital in Ruidoso. Brady and Hank arrived directly behind the emergency vehicle and followed the paramedics as they pushed the injured woman through the swishing doors.

Once they were inside the building, Hank said, “Guess we’d better give Admitting what information we have. But that’s not a heck of a lot.”

Brady’s expression was rueful. “We have nothing but white female. Black hair, gray eyes, mid-twenties. They’ll have to admit her as a Jane Doe.”

As Brady and his partner paused in the middle of the corridor, two nurses hurried out and ordered the paramedics to take the patient farther down the hallway. As he watched the gurney and medical attendants make a sharp left and disappeared from view, Brady had the oddest urge to follow. He wanted to see for himself that the woman was going to be okay, that the nurses and doctors did everything they could to alleviate her pain and fears.

The urge was totally out of character for Brady and made him feel foolish. He’d always made it a policy to never let his emotions get tangled up with his job. It was easier that way. Easier to go home at night and forget the victims who’d been battered or robbed or abused. As a deputy, his job wasn’t to fix personal problems, but to put criminals away so that no one else might be harmed.

Sure, when a young child was involved, there wasn’t an officer on the force who wasn’t emotionally affected. But the woman he’d found on the road tonight was hardly a child and what happened to her next shouldn’t be on Brady’s mind.

“Hey, Brady, you here on official business tonight? Or just to see your sister?”

At the sound of the female voice, Brady turned to see Andrea, a nurse who often worked the night shift in emergency.

“Bridget is working tonight?” he asked.

Brady’s sister was a medical doctor with a very busy practice. She wasn’t a hospital resident, but if any of her patients needed hospitalization she treated them here at Sierra General. If he could find her, he might be able to talk her in to taking over Jane Doe’s case.

The tall, blonde nurse nodded. “I saw her a few minutes ago. She had some sort of emergency with a patient on the third floor.”

Brady turned to his partner. “Can you deal with admitting her on your own?”

Hank shrugged. “Sure. Why?”

At that moment a male nurse at the front desk called to Andrea and as she quickly excused herself, Brady told the deputy, “I’m going to look for my sister.”

Hank’s brown brows pulled together to form a puzzled frown. “Bridget?” he asked blankly. “Why in heck do you need to see her right now? Your family having problems you haven’t told me about?”

Brady had two brothers, three sisters, parents and a grandmother. And, except for one sister, they all lived in the same house on the Diamond D Ranch. Among that many relatives there were always problems arising, but thankfully usually minor ones.

“No, Hank. No problems!” Trotting toward the elevator, Brady said over his shoulder, “And don’t run off to the coffee shop until I get back!”

On the third floor, Brady stepped off the elevator and headed to the nearest nurse’s station. But before he reached the post, he spotted Bridget striding toward him.

When the petite redhead reached his side, she looked at him with faint alarm. “Brady! What are you doing here? Nothing is wrong with the family, is it?”

“Relax. As far as I know everyone is okay. I’m here on business.”

Looping her arm through his, his sister pulled him to one side of the wide corridor so as not to clog the pathway. “Oh, I hope it’s not a domestic battery,” she said quickly. “I hate to hear about those victims, much less see them in the hospital.”

Removing a gray Stetson from his head, Brady raked a hand through thick, tawny-colored waves. “Actually, I’m not sure what this woman is a victim of. Hank and I found her on a back mountain road a few miles from Picacho. The paramedics just brought her in a few minutes ago. She’s had sort of trauma to the head. And I was…hoping you’d take a look at her.”

His sister frowned. “Isn’t one of the emergency doctors dealing with her?”

Brady felt like an idiot. The hospital was full of competent doctors and no doubt Gray Eyes would get the best of care. That should be enough for any patient. So why was he trying to garner her more attention?

“Yes. She’s…being treating now. But I thought—well, I’d just feel better if you’d stop in and look at her.”

“Who is it?” Bridget quickly questioned. “A friend? Someone we know?”

Shaking his head, he said, “Never seen her before. She doesn’t know who she is.”

Bridget started to ask another question, but at that moment, a small group of people walking past them called greetings to his sister, momentarily distracting her from their conversation.

“Sorry, Brady,” she said, once the medical personnel had moved on down the corridor and away from them. “You were saying—”

“She’s blank, Brita. Not her name, where she was or why. Nothing. And no ID to tell us.”

A thoughtful frown crossed his sister’s face. “A head injury, you say?”

Brady nodded. “A bad gash near her temple.”

Suddenly she patted his forearm in a placating way. “I think Dr. Richmond is on emergency call this evening. He’s certainly capable of taking care of this type of injury.”

“I’m sure he is. But she’ll have to be handed over to the care of a permanent physician. And she doesn’t know anyone and—”

Sensing his urgency, she released a sigh of surrender. “Okay, Brady, okay. I’ll take a look. But mind you, when her family steps forward and requests another doctor, I’ll be gone. Understand?”

Smiling with relief, he clasped a loving arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Did you know that you’re my favorite sister?”

She shot him a tired look. “Yeah. Your favorite is the one you happen to be with at the moment. And do I need to remind you of the messes you’ve gotten me into? That time—”

“We don’t have time to go into my transgressions now, sis,” Brady interrupted as he urged his sister toward the nearest elevator. “I promise I’ll make everything up to you. Someday.”

The cubicle behind the plain beige curtain was cold and smelled faintly of disinfectant. Standing a few feet away, at the foot of the narrow, railed bed, a middle-aged doctor with dark blond hair and black rimmed glasses was scratching notes on a clipboard, while barking orders at the attending nurse.

Since arriving in the emergency unit, she’d been stripped of her boots and clothing, sponged clean and dressed in a blue cotton gown that tied at the back. The doctor had poked and prodded, asked her questions that she couldn’t answer and generally done little to assuage her fears.

Now that he’d ended his examination and was conversing with the nurse, her mind vacillated between sheer panic and a pit of total emptiness.

Scans. Sutures. Neurological tests. The medical words she managed to catch here and there made little to no sense to her.

Oh, God, who was she? Where was she? The questions pounded through her head, adding to the horrible throb in her right temple.

Thinking was like bouncing herself off a black wall where there was no door or crack of light to lead her either forward or backward. Other than waking up to see a deputy sheriff hovering over her, there was nothing in her mind, except icy, paralyzing fear.

She tried to push the terror back and keep from sobbing as the doctor exited the cubicle and the young nurse with a kind face bent over her. The name tag pinned to the left side of her chest said her name was Lilly.

“All right, miss,” she said warmly. “Let’s get some pain medication started and then we’ll see about taking you down to radiology. When that’s done someone will come around to put some stitches in your scalp.”

During the ambulance ride, the paramedics had started an intravenous drip. Now the nurse simply pushed a syringe full of medication into the tube already affixed to her hand.

“Why am I going to radiology?”

“To take pictures of your skull and brain,” the nurse replied. “Dr. Richmond needs to see if you have internal injuries.”

“Oh.” She didn’t want pictures or stitches, she wanted to scream. She wanted her memory back. “Will that take long? The tests?”

“No,” the nurse assured her. “They won’t hurt, either.”

She closed her eyes. “Um—the deputy who found me. Is he here?”

Lilly answered, “I saw Hank Ridell out in the corridor a few minutes ago. Is that who you mean?”

She opened her eyes to see the nurse was writing something on the chart the doctor had left behind.

“No. His name was Donovan, I think. He was tall and had on a gray hat and he had a little scar right here.” She touched a finger to a spot on her cheekbone near her eye.

Lilly suddenly smiled a knowing smile. “Oh. That’s Brady. He’s the chief deputy of Lincoln County. And considered quite a catch by most of the young women around here.”

The pain medication was beginning to course rapidly through her bloodstream, easing the pounding in her head. “Including you?” she asked the nurse.

Lilly blushed and laughed. “No. I have a boyfriend. Besides, I’m not in Brady Donovan’s league.” She placed the chart in a holder at the foot of the bed, then studied her more closely. “Did you need to talk with the deputy for some reason?”

There were a thousand things she wanted to ask the man, things that might help jar her memory. But that wasn’t entirely the reason she wanted to see the deputy again. He’d been nice and gentle. He’d held her with strong hands and soothed her with his low voice. At some point during their wait for the ambulance, he’d become her light in a heavy fog. She’d not wanted to leave him and now she fervently wished he was back by her side.

“I would like to speak with him. If you think that’s possible.”

Smiling, Lilly winked at her. “While you’re in radiology I’ll do my best to find him.”

The nurse quickly swished out the door and as she watched her go, she desperately prayed the woman would find the deputy.

Her world had gone crazy and he was the only person, the only thing her memory had to go back to. She was totally and utterly lost. And without Deputy Donovan, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to find her way back home.