Mike Valenzuela was up and had his Jeep SUV packed long
before sunrise. He had a long drive to Los Angeles and meant
to get an early start. Depending on traffic around the Bay
Area, the drive would be eight to ten hours from Virgin
River. He locked up his RV, which was his home. It sat on
the property at Jack's bar and grill; Jack and Preacher
would keep an eye on it for him, not that Mike expected any
kind of trouble. That was one of several reasons he'd chosen
to live here—it was quiet. Small, peaceful, beautiful and
nothing to disturb one's peace of mind. Mike had had enough
of that in his former life.
Before coming to Virgin River permanently, Mike had made
many trips to this Humboldt County mountain town for hunting
and fishing, for gathering with an old Marine squad that was
still close. His full–time job had been with LAPD, a
sergeant in the gangs division. That had all ended when he
was shot on the job—he'd taken three bullets and had a lot
of hard work getting his body back. he'd needed Preacher's
robust food and Jack's wife Mel's assistance with physical
therapy on his shoulder. After six months, Mike was as close
to completely recovered as he'd get.
Since moving to Virgin River he'd been home only once to
visit his parents, siblings and their families. He planned
to take a week—one day driving each way and fivedays with
that crowd of laughing, dancing Mexicans. Knowing the
traditions of his family, it would be a nonstop celebration.
His mother and sisters would cook from morning to night, his
brothers would stock the refrigerator with cerveza, family
friends and cop buddies from the department would drop by
the house. It would be a good time—a great homecoming after
his long recovery.
He was three hours into his drive when his cell phone rang.
The noise startled him. There was no cell phone reception in
Virgin River so the last thing he expected was a phone call.
"Hello?" he answered.
"I need a favor," Jack said without preamble. His voice
sounded gravelly, as though he was barely awake. He must not
have remembered Mike was heading south.
Mike looked at the dash clock. It wasn't yet 7:00 a.m. He
laughed. "Well, sure, but I'm nearly in Santa Rosa, so it
might be inconvenient to run over to Garberville and get you
ice for the bar, but hey—"
"Mike, it's Brie," Jack said. Brie was Jack's youngest
sister, his pet, his favorite. And she was really special to
Mike.
"She's in the hospital."
Mike actually swerved on the highway. "Hold on," he said.
"Stay there." He pulled off the road onto a safe–looking
shoulder. Then he took a deep breath. "Go ahead," he said.
"She was assaulted sometime last night," Jack said.
"Beaten. Raped." "No!" Mike said. "What?"
Jack didn't repeat himself. "My father just called a little
while ago. Mel and I are packing—we'll get on the road as
soon as we can. Listen, I need someone who knows law
enforcement, criminology, to walk me through what's
happening with her. They don't have the guy who did
this—there's got to be an investigation. Right?"
"How bad is she?" Mike asked.
"My dad didn't have a lot of details, but she's out of
emergency and in a room, sedated and semiconscious, no
surgery. Can you write down a couple of numbers? Can you
keep your cell phone turned on so I can call you? With
questions? That kind of thing?"
"Of course. Yes," Mike said. "Gimme numbers."
Jack recited phone numbers for the hospital, Jack's father,
Sam, and Mel's old cell phone that they'd charge on their
way to Sacramento and then carry with them.
"Do they have a suspect? Did she know the guy?"
"I don't know anything except her condition. After we get on
the road, get the phone charged and we're out of the
mountains and through the redwoods, I'll call my dad and see
what he can tell me. Right now I gotta go. I gotta get down
there."
"Right," Mike said. "Okay. My phone will be in my pocket
twenty–four–seven. I'll call the hospital, see what I can
find out."
"Thanks. Appreciate it," Jack said, hanging up.
Mike sat on the shoulder, staring at the phone for a long
minute, helpless. Not Brie, he thought. Oh God, not Brie!
His mind flashed on times they'd been together. A couple of
months ago she'd been in Virgin River to see her new nephew,
Jack and Mel's baby. Mike had taken her on a picnic at the
river—to a special place where the river was wide, but too
shallow for fishermen to bother. They'd had lunch against a
big boulder, close enough to hear the water whisper by as it
passed over the rocks. It was a place frequented by young
lovers and teenagers, and that big old rock had seen some
wonderful things on the riverbank; it protected many
secrets. Some of his own, in fact. he'd held Brie's hand for
a long time that day, and she hadn't pulled it away. It was
the first time he'd realized he was taken with her. A crush.
At thirty–seven, he felt it was an old man's crush, but
damned if it didn't feel awfully like a sixteen–year–old's.
When Mike met Brie for the first time a few years back, he'd
gone to see her brother while Jack was on leave, visiting
his family in Sacramento right before his last assignment in
Iraq. Mike was oblivious to the fact that his reserve unit
would be activated and he'd end up meeting Jack over there,
serving under him a second time. Brie was there, of course,
recently married to a Sacramento cop. Nice guy, so Mike had
thought. She was a prosecutor for the county in Sacramento,
the state capital. She was small, about five–three, with
long, soft brown hair that flowed almost to her waist,
making her look like a mere girl. But she was no girl. She
put away hardened criminals for a living; she had a
reputation as one of the toughest prosecutors in the county.
Mike had immediately admired her brains, her grit, not to
mention her beauty. In his past life, before the shooting,
he'd never been particularly discouraged by the mere
presence of a husband, but they were newlyweds, and Brie was
in love. No other man existed for her.
When Mike saw her in Virgin River right after Jack's son was
born, she was trying to recover from a painful divorce–her
husband had left her for her best friend, and Brie was
shattered. Lonely. So hurt. Mike immediately wanted to take
her next day. For a man who could barely walk six ago, Mike
had given Brie a fairly decent twirl dance floor at the
wedding. It was a fantastic of that good old country food,
barbecues flam–chairs pushed back and the band set up on the
founJack's unfinished house, the frame strung with He
grabbed her, laughing, into his arms her around with
abandon, and whenever the pressed his cheek close against
hers, whisconspiratorial amusement, "Your brother is
frown–you're having too much fun with this, getting him
riled up. Don't you realize he has a dangerous temper?"
Unmistakably, she held him tighter. "Not toward me," she
whispered.
"There's a devil in you," he said, and looked death in the
face by kissing her neck.
"There's a fool in you," she said, tilting her head just
slightly to give him more of her neck.
In years gone by he would have found a way to get her alone,
seduced her, made love to her in ways she'd dream about
later. But three bullets had decided a few things. Even if
he could spirit her away from her brother's protective
stare, he wouldn't be able to perform. So he said, "You're
trying to get me shot again."
"Oh, I doubt he'd actually shoot you. But I haven't been to
a good old–fashioned wedding brawl in ages."
When they'd said goodbye he had hugged her briefly, her
sweet scent like a cinch around his mind, feeling her cheek
against his, his arms around her waist, pulling her close. A
bit more than just a friendly gesture—a suggestive one,
which she returned. He assumed she was having fun with the
flirtation, stirring things up a little bit, but it meant
far more than that to him. Brie held his thoughts in a
disturbing way that suggested if he were capable of giving
her love, she would capture his heart and mind in that
powerful way that wipes all other women out of the past. He
really didn't have that to offer anymore. Although that
didn't keep him from thinking about her, wanting her.
He could not bear to think about all that mischief and sass
lying broken and violated in a hospital. His heart was in
pieces, aching for her. Dying to know that she was going to
be all right.
He put the SUV into Drive, looked over his shoulder and got
back on the freeway. He gunned the engine and veered across
two lanes of fast–moving traffic to make the exit to
Sacramento.
When Mike got to the county hospital a couple of hours
later, he called Sam's cell phone number and left a message
to say he'd arrived and wanted to know where they were. A
prosecutor, the victim of a crime, was not going to be with
the general population—she would undoubtedly have security.
Sam came to the hospital entrance, extending his hand.
"Mike. Good of you to come. I know Jack will appreciate it."
"I was on my way south and was almost here anyway. Brie's a
special friend. I'll do anything I can."
Sam turned and headed for the elevators. "Unfortunately, I'm
not sure what you can do. She's going to be all right.
Physically. I have no idea what a woman goes through after
something like this.…"
"Tell me what you know so far," Mike said. "Did she know her
attacker?"
"Oh, yes. Remember that terrible trial she had about the
same time Jack's son was born? The serial rapist? The media
circus? It was him. She identified him for police."
Mike stopped walking and frowned. "She's sure?" he asked.
That was such a sick, bold move for someone who'd just
gotten a free pass. Brie had lost that trial and it was a
hard loss, especially coming on the heels of her divorce. It
was as if the sky was falling on her. Also, it wasn't
something men like that did. Typically, they bolted. Got
away from anyone who had the balls to go after them, as Brie
had.
"She's sure," Sam said.
Mike couldn't help but wonder—was she hit in the head?
Hallucinating? In and out of reality because of the trauma?
"Her injuries?" he asked.
"Her face is battered, there are two broken ribs and the
usual…" He paused. "The usual injuries incurred during a
rape. You know."
"I know," he said. Tearing, bleeding, bruising. "Has she
been seen by a rape specialist and police?"
"Yes, but she wants Mel. Understandably."
"Of course," Mike said. Jack's wife, Mel, was the nurse
practitioner and midwife in Virgin River and had had years
of experience in a huge L.A. trauma center. She was an
expert in battery and sexual assault and if she could be the
medical eyes and ears, maybe Mike could cover the police
angle. "I heard from them at seven this morning. They should
be here in two or three hours, depending on how fast they
got out of town."
Mike noticed a uniformed Sac PD officer standing at the
entrance to a room; undoubtedly that's where Brie was.
"Well, let me talk to some people, see if I can find out
anything at all. But first, I'll say hello to the family."
He moved to a large clot of people in the waiting area just
down the hall. Jack's three other sisters, their husbands, a
few of his nieces. Mike was embraced and thanked. Then he
got about the business of talking to nurses, got the number
of the detective on the case from the officer guarding the
room. All the detective could tell Mike at this time was
that the suspect was still at large. The doctor would
discuss her injuries, that was all. But it appeared that
apart from being horribly assaulted, she would recover
physically.
It was almost three hours later that Jack, Mel and baby
David arrived. Jack embraced his father, then looked in
surprise at Mike. "You're here?"