Page 29 of Preying Heart
At least at that moment.
“Do you need more time to think about it?” Dr. Cole asks. “I can remove the IUD as carefully as I can. You’re still early enough that we can do a relatively uncomplicated termination.”
“No termination. I’m still unsure what the father of the baby wants.”
She drills me with a pointed look. “I know it’s not Heath.”
I’m surprised she uses his real name, or maybe Heath is also a pseudonym.
“I didn’t say it was,” I sputter. “But he thought it better to protect me.”
“I get it, but that’s how he is. Protective to the point of sticking his own neck in a noose.” She sounds bitter.
No wonder Heath didn’t want to hang around.
“Anyway, it’s my decision about the baby, and I do appreciate you helping me out.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” she says. “I suppose Heath told you what he does.”
“Not in much detail,” I hedge.
She huffs with a smile. “He’s always bringing by strays. They don’t stay long, but he keeps trying.”
“What do you mean trying?” Alarm bells jangle at the presence of the women’s clothing in his closet. I wonder where the strays have gone, or does he bury them somewhere? Should I be worried?
“I shouldn’t talk.” She looks away from me. “It’s not easy living the way we do. I understood him, but I’m too independent. Rather stay out here by myself.”
“You’re not afraid?” I didn’t notice security cameras or bars on her windows.
“When you give free medical care, the locals tend to protect you.” Dr. Cole slips on gloves. “Okay, let’s get you undressed and we’ll have a look.”
Heath
It’s midday and Riley’s Tavern, or the Bluebird as the locals call it, is mostly empty except for a few of the regulars. They know me by sight and believe I’m one of those Silicon Valley expatriates who chose seclusion over big city life. Out here, if a man wants to be left alone, the locals oblige him, especially if he pays cash at their business establishments and donates to their food banks.
A large-screen TV over the bar is tuned into the regional news, and the bartender, Nate Riley, is polishing glasses while keeping an eye on the two troublemakers, Phil and Devon, both tricked out in their Harley gear, complete with outlaw patches and wallets on chains.
I order a beer and hang out on the barstool near the taps.
“Heard anything about those two missing hikers?” I wet my lips on the beer.
“They’re still out there searching,” Nate says. “Kind of strange though. The sisters weren’t wearing hiking boots.”
“What were they wearing?”
“Flip-flops. Maybe they took off their boots to go for a dip in the river.”
“Did they find their campsite?”
“Nope. That’s the other thing. None of the campers saw them.”
“Then how do we know they’re missing?”
Nate leans across the bar counter. “A couple of well-dressed guys came by looking for them. They went around the campgrounds asking if anyone saw them. One of the hikers said he saw them take off down the river way, and these suits went as far as they could before they gave up. A good Samaritan called the sheriff, and rumors spread that the girls ran away from the suits.”
“Heard something similar happened in Washington state.” I slide that one by over easy and take another sip of beer.
“Yeah, no leads. That was different. A brother and sister on the lam,” Nate says. “Bet they’re all the way to Canada by now.”
