Final Words

FINAL WORDS

by

Teri Thackston

Final Words

Copyright 2017

Teri Thackston

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or used in whole or part by any means without the written permission of the author ([email protected]). That means that anyone who purchases the book—or receives it as a gift—may not then distribute any copies to other people without receiving written permission from the author.

All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, with or without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.00.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons—living or dead—or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Cover Design Copyright 2017 Teri Thackston

Base images for cover design:

Ghost

© graphicphoto / Depositphoto.com Image ID 53624443

Couple

© Kiuikson / Depositphoto Image ID 39193231

Final Words is a 2nd edition, publication and copyright by Teri Thackston 2017

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Original Electronic Book Publication: April 2008

by Cerridwen Press (Ellora’s Cave)

Original Copyright© 2008 Teri Thackston

Original ISBN 9781419915246

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Dedication

To the women in my life who have shown me that faith is endless.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Coke: The Coca-Cola Company

Discovery Channel: Discovery Communications, Inc.

Frisbee: Wham-O, Inc.

Godiva: Godiva Brands, Inc.

Hardy Boys: Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Harvard: President and Fellows of Harvard College

Jack Daniel’s: Jack Daniel’s Properties, Inc.

Mustang: Ford Motor Company

Old Spice: Procter and Gamble Company

Ramada: Ramada Inn Inc.

Seinfeld: Castle Rock Entertainment

Stoli: V/O Sojuzplodoimport Corporation

Smith and Wesson: Smith & Wesson Corp.

The Three Stooges: Comedy III Entertainment

Tony Lama: Tony Lama Company, Inc.

Yellow Pages: Yellow Pages Inc.

Chapter One

Clear Harbor, Texas

We’re losing her!

Emma opened her eyes. Fluorescent brilliance surrounded her, bouncing off white tile and stainless steel. A heart monitor keened a flat tone while latex-sheathed hands probed at a body draped in bloody sheets on a hospital gurney below her.

Below?

Bewildered, Emma looked around what was obviously an emergency treatment room.

How did I get here? Brian and I were at the restaurant and that hungry cat…

Get the crash cart!

Orders rang across the room. Wheels rattled and cables slithered. Someone shouted clear and a punch of electricity lifted the torso off the gurney. The monitor continued its flat wail.

Female, Emma noted through her confusion. Too late for her. She’ll be on my table soon.

But there was something about the body…

The body…

My body.

As she stared at it, memory struck, bringing with it the roar of a car’s engine and Brian’s shout. She recalled an instant of pain before darkness slammed over her and then—

Dread seized her. It can’t be—

Golden light cascaded over her and, as instantly as it hit, the dread eased. Relief filtered in after it, a gift of peace that Emma couldn’t help but savor. The light pulsed and she looked up. Ceiling tiles hung above her but they appeared opaque, allowing her to see up into a corridor colored in amethyst and cool sage. Scents of roses and sea grass emanated from the space and the golden light pulsed there. Drawn by the scene, eager to escape the chaos below, Emma merely thought of rising and she did.

Strangely easy, like flying…

Emma? A man appeared from the light. The cat’s okay.

She stared at his familiar blue eyes and that laughable nose. Brian? Where are we? What happened? Is that really me down—

Emma! An urgent voice shouted below. Come on, Emma!

Ignoring the call, she moved toward her friend. But Brian drifted away before she could touch him.

Tell my folks I’m okay, too, he said and then faded into the light.

Emma tried to follow but a young woman blocked her path. The stranger’s short chestnut hair shimmered as she lifted a crimson rose to her lips and said, Tell my brother to stop blaming himself.

The woman faded, too, and a richer voice spoke from the light. Go back, Emma. You have work to do.

Clear!

Something tugged inside her chest and embers of fire shot through her. Suddenly heavy, she began to sink. The lights and the soothing colors dulled. Her sense of dread swept back and she looked down.

Again!

The command came from a tall man holding crash cart paddles in the room below. Other people hovered around the man and the gurney, chattering like wild, worried parrots. Emma wished they would shut up and leave the body alone.

My body…

Double-doors at the end of the room burst open and another man charged inside. Anguish tightened his lean face. Compassion surged through Emma as the suffering that darkened his soul reached out to her. Something else reached out, too.

Help him, the rich voice said, hushing to little more than a whisper as the light faded. Go back, Emma.

She tried to shake her head. But I don’t want—

Clear! shouted the tall man.

Emma felt a tremendous jolt. Pain seared her. Her vision went dark and she began to fall.

* * * * *

We got her!

The triumphant cry coincided with the heart monitor’s blip. Detective Jason MacKenzie’s own blood started to flow again.

Let’s get her stabilized. The tall man at the gurney ran the bloodied back of one gloved hand over his forehead. Martinez, tell OR we’re sending her up.

Yes, Dr. Corbett. A dark-haired nurse reached for a phone mounted near the doors.

Jason shoved a hand through his hair. Emma St. Clair was alive. She could tell him who ran her down and left her and Brian for dead. She’d survived but Brian…

Brian.

Tyrone.

Rose.

Bright light bounced off stainless steel, making Jason’s weary eyes throb. Scents of antiseptic and blood welled in his sinuses and layered a metallic taste over his tongue. Bitter memories surged but he locked them behind the wall surrounding his heart. He couldn’t afford to let them out where they would get in the way of his job as a cop.

Approaching the gurney, he looked at the unconscious woman. Dirt and blood splotched her face, which was as still and white as the sheet beneath her. She could have been a china doll lying there for all the signs of life she exhibited. A broken china doll.

Dr. Corbett stepped near him. Who are you?

MacKenzie. Jason pulled his badge from a hip pocket and flashed it. I need to talk to her.

Corbett faced the table. Martinez, get him out of here.

The dark-haired nurse charged toward Jason. Out. Now.

Grief stormed the stone wall around Jason’s heart. Compassion climbed after it, pricking at him, reminding him that the woman on the table was probably dying. He tried to ignore both feelings, forcing himself to do what needed to be done one more time.

I just need to get a statement. It won’t take—

No, you need to leave.

The nurse pushed at him but her soft, rounded form was no match for his determination.

Look. Plagued with guilt, he forced himself to stand his ground. Every minute we waste arguing is another mile her assailant makes it down the road. We have one homicide by hit-and-run tonight. If she dies, it’ll be two. I need—

We’re losing her again! Martinez!

The monitor shrieked and the nurse whirled away. Jason saw the body on the table jerk beneath the crash cart paddles. He shoved a hand through his hair again.

Damn!

* * * * *

Emma sucked hard at the air, and the chill of it scored her windpipe. Every molecule of her body screamed in pain.

Dr. Corbett, someone said. She’s back.

Emma choked as her burning lungs struggled to process air that swept in too fast. Harsh light shimmered around her, formless shadows of green and gray moving within it. And the pain…a jagged snake of glass, it slithered through her body, coiling and piercing and strangling.

Emma, I’m Dr. Corbett. A brown face loomed above her, haloed by cold white light. You’re going to be all right.

A latex-covered thumb lifted one of her eyelids wider. The light intensified, bringing on a bitter sting of tears.

Do you remember anything? he asked.

Remember?

Her head pounded. Her chest ached. Her left leg felt as if it had been torn off at the hip and reattached in pieces.

Do you remember who you are?

Panic hit her as blankness loomed. Then memory rushed in. Emma. St. Clair. I’m… She tasted blood along both sides of her tongue. I’m a medical examiner.

Good. Stay with us now.

She tried to focus on Dr. Corbett’s face as others, multi-hued and masked, swirled around it. Confusing memories surged through her.

Where’s Brian? And that woman…the voice from the light…

Suddenly, she knew. Brian was dead and what she’d just seen must have been a dream. A trauma-induced nightmare.

Dr. St. Clair! Someone jostled Dr. Corbett aside and a new face appeared. Did you see the car that hit you?

The unkempt hair and lean, worried face. The man who needed help. The voice had told her…

Her gaze shifted to Dr. Corbett and then to the dark-haired nurse. Panic threatened again. How can these people be real when they were just inside my head?

Dr. St. Clair, did you see the car?

She stared at the man, afraid to tap into memory. She wanted to escape from pain and confusion. She didn’t even need the welcoming corridor anymore. Darkness would suffice. Darkness would keep her safe. She just had to close her eyes.

Caught between what was real and what wasn’t, Emma gave in to the beckoning darkness, going deep at last where no memories could follow.

* * * * *

I don’t give a crap about your investigation! Stripping off his gloves, Dr. Corbett threw them into a hazardous waste bin. Grabbing Jason’s arm, he dragged him through the swinging doors and into the main corridor. When I tell you to get out of my ER, you damn well better get out!

Jason jerked free of the man’s grip, unable to control his temper any longer. He’d lost two friends in the last hour and he wanted justice for at least one of them. I need information from that witness!

Corbett poked a finger into Jason’s chest. You don’t talk to her until she recovers.

If she recovers. Jason shoved Corbett’s hand away. And if she doesn’t, I need her last statement.

Rage darkened the doctor’s eyes. Get the hell out of my sight! Whipping around, he stormed back to the treatment room.

Jason started after him but his partner, Charlie Garcia, caught his arm.

Let it go, Charlie said.

But there’s a maniac out there running down—

It’s not the same guy.

Sympathy softened Charlie’s dark eyes and Jason wished like hell that his partner would stay out of his head. Ty’s death had sliced into his heart but Brian’s death cut to the soul. The way he’d died had resurrected too many memories.

Damn, who was he kidding? Memories of Rose hadn’t been resurrected because they’d never died. They lived with him every day, whispering insidious taunts that it had been his fault.

Jason clenched his fists, feeling Emma St. Clair’s blood mingle with his own sweat, feeling fresh guilt for intruding on what might have been her last minutes of life. But what choice did he have? No other witnesses had come forward and another killer was going to get away.

But Charlie was right. This had nothing to do with Rose’s case. This was nothing but a terrible coincidence.

I know it isn’t the same guy. Jason’s jaw ached as he ground out the words that didn’t lessen his pain. But this one killed Brian. And that woman in there…

In his mind, he saw the blood-splattered sheet, heard the squeal of the monitor followed by the beep as her heart had started beating again. His chest ached as if his own heart had stopped and started with hers. And hadn’t it? Every time his grief tried to escape, it damaged his heart a little more. One day the damn thing was going to stop for good. And maybe that would be all right. At least he’d stop hurting.

Weary, Jason sank into a nearby vinyl-clad chair. He stared at the blood on his hand, giving guilt a little freedom, a little jog around the prison yard inside his heart.

Charlie sat beside him and handed Jason a handkerchief. Wadding the handkerchief into a ball, Jason scrubbed at the blood on his hand.

I understand your need to avenge, Charlie said. But—

Spare me the psychoanalysis. Jason kept scrubbing but the blood wouldn’t wipe off. I know why I do what I do and why I feel what I feel. So just lay off.

Charlie molded his palms around his knees. His knuckles went white from his grip. You forget I knew Brian too. And I taught Tyrone the ropes at work, same as I taught you.

Guilt took another jab at Jason’s gut. I know. And… His voice caught but he pushed out the whisper, I’m sorry.

He and Tyrone Sharpe had joined the Clear Harbor police force on the same day. They’d patrolled together, earned their detective badges together. But they hadn’t been together in that alley at two o’clock this morning. When it had really counted, Jason hadn’t been there to watch Ty’s back.

Loss, as raw as a fresh wound, nearly overwhelmed Jason. Brian and Ty—good friends—had both died within the past hour. Both deaths brought back the memory of what had happened to Rose.

He balled Charlie’s handkerchief tighter inside his fist. I heard about Ty on my way to the hit-and-run. He controlled his words with a whisper. I should’ve been here with him.

You were where God wanted you. Charlie’s hands relaxed on his knees. You were doing your job.

Was Ty where God wanted him at two o’clock this morning?

Tyrone chose to take that security job. Charlie’s breath hitched but he went on. He knew the risks.

Jason exhaled hard. Yeah, he knew.

Two friends in one day. One felled by a bullet, the other by a stranger’s car. By now they probably lay side-by-side in the cooler room at the morgue, clothing stripped away along with their humanity.

Jason covered his face with his free hand. Dr. Brian Reiser had worked at the morgue for years. Detective Tyrone Sharpe had identified dead suspects there. Now both men lay in that cold place, waiting for their turns on the big stainless steel table. Just like Rose did a year ago.

All this death comes too fast, Charlie murmured.

Jason looked up. Grief carved deep lines around Charlie’s mouth. Red rimmed his dark eyes.

What happened to Tyrone is what happens to cops who aren’t careful. Charlie looked at Jason. And what happened to Emma St. Clair and Brian makes no sense. But we can’t blame God.

I don’t blame God.

Don’t blame yourself, either. You didn’t kill Rose.

Dragging in another lungful of antiseptic-flavored air, Jason held it, tasted it and then pushed it out. I just want to catch one idiot driver before he hurts or kills someone else.

This idiot driver won’t hurt or kill anyone else tonight. He was probably so scared, he ruined his pants. I’ll bet he’s at home right now hiding under his bed.

Or at some all-night repair shop fixing his car. Jason tried to think like a cop instead of a grieving friend. But it was too hard. Wadding the bloody handkerchief into a ball again, he whispered, Damn it, Charlie. Brian and I had lunch together just this afternoon. He told me he was taking the night off. He was gonna have some fun.

Charlie slid an arm around Jason’s shoulders. Let the anger go. Pray for your friends.

I don’t pray anymore. Jason fought the emotions roiling his gut. I just want to talk to the other victim.

There is no talking to you. Charlie thrust to his feet, dark eyes blazing. This case is not connected to your sister.

Jason didn’t respond. Since Rose had died, he’d looked for her killer in every similar case. He’d treated the victims involved as evidence instead of people. He had to for his own sanity. He couldn’t change just because Charlie told him to.

The ER doors swung open. Surrounded by hospital staff and swathed in fresh white sheets, Emma St. Clair’s body was barely visible on the gurney rolling past the two detectives.

Come on, Charlie said. Let’s get you cleaned up and then grab some coffee while we wait.

Rising with his partner, Jason watched the gurney roll into an elevator.

Charlie clapped him on the back. Veronica wants a cutting from those weeds you call a garden. Can she come by tomorrow?

Yeah. Sure. Jason wished he was working in his garden tonight, behind his small house on Trinity Bay. He longed for the feel of dirt on his hands and the smell of the sea. Those weeds had been his haven since his sister’s death, his escape from his own conscience. But he wasn’t sure there were enough miracles in the soil beneath them to help him now.

He squared his shoulders. What was important was whether or not Emma St. Clair survived and, if she did, what she could tell him about Brian’s killer. And if she didn’t survive…

She has to. Jason watched the elevator doors slide shut. Damn it, she has to!

Chapter Two

Nine weeks later…

Emma pressed a palm to her upper abs as the elevator stopped on the third floor of the Clear Harbor Medical Examiner’s facility. But the butterflies that invaded her stomach that morning wouldn’t stop fluttering. Her cast was off, she’d given up prescription painkillers and as long as she maintained good posture her ribs didn’t feel as if they were grinding corn between each other. Physically, she felt all right.

But as she stepped off the elevator and turned right, the butterflies veered in the other direction, reminding her that her job required more than physical recovery.

Back in the saddle, she murmured and carried her lively butterflies on down the brightly lit hall.

Emma! Hailey Newman, secretary to the Chief Medical Examiner, jumped up as Emma entered their boss’s outer office. She hurried around her desk, arms extended, the smile in her voice matching the warmth in her brown eyes. Welcome back!

Returning the older woman’s hug, Emma inhaled the soothing scent of vanilla shampoo. Thanks, Hailey.

Stepping back, Hailey assessed her. Wow, that Wyoming air sure put some color in your cheeks. You look terrific.

Thanks. Emma knew the pretty middle-aged blonde was just being nice. The color came from an extra layer of blush she’d applied to hide a paleness brought on by her nerves.

Here are your messages. Plucking a blue folder off her desk, Hailey handed it to Emma. Most of them are from Jason MacKenzie.

MacKenzie?

He’s the detective assigned to your case. Hailey lifted one shoulder apologetically. After six voicemails I called him back and told him you were recuperating out of state.

Oh, yes. I talked to him before I left the hospital. Emma’s head ached as she remembered the barrage of questions he’d fired at her over the phone. I told him I couldn’t remember much that happened. I still don’t.

I know MacKenzie. He doesn’t give up.

I believe it. Somehow he got my parents’ unlisted phone number in Jackson.

Hailey’s eyes widened. Nervy.

Mom gave him an earful about disturbing invalids. He left me alone after she promised I’d call him when I got back to Clear Harbor. Emma clasped the folder to her chest. I’m not avoiding him. I want to help but I really don’t remember much about what happened.

Hailey stroked Emma’s back. You call him when you’re ready. In the meantime, shall I keep answering your phone?

Maybe just today, thanks. Emma tucked the folder under her arm. Is Edgar available?

He’s waiting for you. Go on in.

Thanks.

Crossing the small outer office, Emma opened the door marked Chief Medical Examiner. Edgar Powell stood at a wide window, his attention focused on the scene outside. Through the glass, Emma saw sailboats and barges dotting the gray waters of Trinity Bay on the upper Texas coast. Sunlight shimmered through an early morning haze to bounce off the tin-roofed warehouses and trendy restaurants that lined the shore. She drew her gaze inside to a setting almost as tranquil. Seascapes adorned walls the color of heavy cream above a carpet of deep ocean blue.

Hello, Edgar, she said.

Turning, Edgar smiled a welcome but not before Emma saw the weariness that etched his middle-aged face. The bright yellow feathers of a fishing lure fluttered in his tense grip.

Guilt bit Emma hard. Losing her services for nine weeks had put a lot of pressure on him.

Emma. Putting down the lure, Edgar came around the desk, both hands reaching for her. You look wonderful.

You’re as much a liar as Hailey is. But thanks.

Behind the lenses of his glasses, concern shadowed his brown eyes. Are you sure you’re up to this? It’s been only a couple of months.

I can’t sit around my apartment doing nothing. Just one night back there had proven as much. I need to work.

He eased her into a dark leather chair near his desk. The concern in his careworn face made her eyes sting. Although she’d known him for only the year since she’d returned to Clear Harbor, he’d become more than her boss. Edgar was a friend. As Brian had been.

She took a deep breath as Edgar sat in the chair next to hers. I promise not to freak out on my first autopsy, she said, answering the expected question before he could ask it.

Edgar’s shoulders relaxed. I just don’t want you taking on more stress. You were having a rough time even before the accident.

Emma fidgeted with the folder in her lap. I know I was distracted before, and my work was affected. But my divorce is final now and Alan won’t bother me at work again.

I don’t care about your ex-husband. I care about you. He leaned toward her. You died, Emma.

His words conjured images from the strange dream she’d had in the ER. She’d decided that was what it was. Brian, the woman with the rose and the distraught man who invaded other dreams even now…they’d all been a subconscious manifestation of her trauma.

Edgar sat back. Do you remember anything else that happened that night?

Brian and I had dinner. I fed a stray cat outside the restaurant. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital with a concussion, three broken ribs and a fractured shin…all healed. She straightened her left leg gently. Well, mostly healed.

He reached out to touch her arm. Emma. Those broken ribs punctured a lung. You lost a lot of blood and your heart stopped twice.

And it started up again both times. Brian… She took a deep breath. He caught the brunt of the impact. Dr. Corbett said he died instantly.

For a long moment, Edgar didn’t reply. Then, drawing his hand back, he said, He did.

Emma looked up to see guilt ruddy his face. Edgar, please tell me you didn’t—

His gaze slid away. I had to. Hospital tests found alcohol in your blood.

Nausea rolled through her. We had one drink with dinner.

Rising, Edgar faced the diplomas and fishing awards mounted on the wall above a sleek credenza. He tucked his hands in his pockets. The DA needed to know if Brian was drunk and maybe partly responsible for what happened. You know…being careless. I could have sent his body to Houston but I wanted to make sure everything got done right. So…I did the procedure myself.

A chill ran down her spine. If the ER team hadn’t gotten her heart started, Edgar would have autopsied her body too. Only forty-some-odd miles away, the big city of Houston had a first-rate coroner’s office but he wouldn’t have trusted her to strangers. He would have taken a scalpel, laid open her chest—

She gripped the folder of phone messages. I’m sorry you had to go through that.

So am I. Edgar moved to the chair behind his desk. The leather sighed as he lowered himself into it. Shadows darkened his eyes as he considered her across the expanse of oak. You think you’re ready to start back to work?

I’m ready.

Doing post mortems right away might not be the best idea.

I have to know I’m capable of doing my job. Diving right in is the practical way to find out.

You shouldn’t be too practical, Emma.

I can’t help it. Life has taught me to be that way.

You mean your ex-husband taught you. When she frowned, Edgar went on, You did mention that your divorce was final.

Last week. She tried to smooth out the finger-sized creases she’d put in the folder. As her friend, Edgar knew most of what she’d been through with Alan. I didn’t realize it would be so easy to end a marriage. Sign a few papers, change the address on my driver’s license… I kept my own name when we married so that wasn’t even an issue.

Have you heard from Alan since your injury?

He left some messages with my folks but I didn’t call him back. She lowered her head. Oddly enough, I miss him. He was a lousy husband but Alan was also once a very good friend. Losing that friendship is what hurts the most about our divorce.

Maybe you should talk to someone.

You mean a counselor? No. She stood and tucked the folder under her arm. I’ll be fine. I just need to stay busy.

Although he didn’t look convinced, he nodded. All right. We’ve managed to keep up with the autopsies but we’ve got a backlog of paperwork. You can start there and I’ll have Hailey add you to the duty rotation on Wednesday. But you tell me if it’s too much for you.

I will. Those annoying butterflies started tickling her stomach again. Despite her determination to prove her ability, Emma wondered if she really could.

* * * * *

Damn it, Charlie, why can’t we catch a break? Jason tilted his chair back on two legs and looked across the desk at his partner. We buried Brian two months ago and still have no idea who killed him.

Seated at his own desk in a corner of the big, open detectives’ room, Charlie twirled a ballpoint pen through his brown fingers. You’re too impatient, my friend. Good police work takes time.

Jason dropped his chair with a bang against the black-and-white-tiled floor. Ignoring the glances of the other