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“Is she able to pin the Texan down?”
“Was present at several meetings between Hudson and Merrick, where plans for the resort were being discussed.”
“Resort? What resort?”
“Ah, yes, the bait and switch. The county commission’s vote of this past Thursday was to be on rezoning the west face of Lizard Mountain. The plans Merrick intended to present were for a large senior development, including a nursing home, assisted living facility, senior residences, and a few small commercial spaces. But once all zoning and permits were pushed through, construction would start on a four-season, exclusive mountain resort, complete with hotel, condos, shops, restaurants, ski lifts, you name it.”
“Holy cow.”
“Oh yeah. Hudson managed to get several investors to pitch in and commit a few billion dollars total to building this resort.”
“Billion?” I check to make sure I didn’t mishear that.
“Yup. Somewhere around two point seven five of them. Anyway,” the agent continues, a smug quality to his voice. “With what Missy told us, we were able to get a federal judge to sign off on an arrest warrant for Arlo Hudson. Early yesterday morning, I met up with local FBI agents at Manning Airfield outside of Jefferson, Texas, and drove out to the Big Cypress Creek Ranch where we found Hudson still asleep in bed.”
“I’m surprised he hadn’t already flown the coop,” I observe.
“The bastard is too arrogant. He thinks he’s above the law, that nothing can touch him. But here’s the kicker,” he adds. “As soon as we got him back to Spokane, I took a snapshot of him in shackles, showed it to Withers, and told him his father was right next door, pointing a finger at him. Let’s just say, the kid didn’t need any more prompting to start singing. Arlo Hudson is going down.”
As glad as I am we can close this case, I’m mostly relieved I can now focus my attention on what’s going on with Dana.
Dana
* * *
“That’s great. I’m glad.”
Afraid the words sound too flat on their own, I plaster on a smile.
I haven’t felt much of anything this past week. For the most part, I’ve been numb. I’m back at work, where I run on automatic, almost like muscle memory, but other than patients, I’ve been avoiding people. I’ve talked to Pops but haven’t been to the pub, and I’ve exchanged a few messages with Savvy and Beth, who are concerned about my well-being, but have steered clear of any visits. Although I know their patience is running out, and that reprieve won’t last forever.
It’s a different story at home. Here, it feels like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Rick stuck around. Even after we got the house cleaned up and livable again, he stayed. Technically, he’s not giving me any reason to think he doesn’t want to be here, but somehow, I’m still expecting him to leave. I try to stop myself from thinking catastrophic thoughts, cognizant those are probably more related to the traumatic experiences than they are to Rick, but it’s hard. For one, he hasn’t mentioned or even acknowledged the feelings I shared with him, and the other thing is my conversation with Julia on the way to the hospital. That reel keeps replaying in my head, and I can’t help wonder if perhaps she’s making a good point. Perhaps I should back out before I get my heart broken.
Or maybe it’s already too late.
So I smile at him, trying to feign a feeling of relief I don’t really experience when he tells me about the arrest of Arlo Hudson. But, as he purposefully turns off the heat under the wok he’s been stir-frying vegetables in and moves to face me, I get the sense he’s not buying what I’m selling.
“Let’s sit down.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the small room, where we moved all my living room furniture temporarily.
Is this it? Is this the moment he beats me to the punch and tells me it’s not working out for him? I don’t doubt he cares about me, but maybe not enough. Perhaps being with me was a convenient diversion, which has reached its natural end now the danger is gone.
But then he sits down in a corner of the couch and pulls me onto his lap, pinning me there with his arms around me.
“I need to know what is going on in your head, Dana,” he starts in a gentle voice. “I’m a guy, I’m not good at guessing, you’re going to have to tell me.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I try to evade, turning my eyes away.
He shifts me while twisting his torso a bit so I’m forced to face him.
“Do you want out? Is that what this is about? Because I was about to lay my heart at your feet, but if you’ve changed your mind about your feelings for me, I wish you’d rip off the Band-Aid now.”
Lay his heart at my feet?
“No…I don’t know.”
