Expired Cache - Lisa Phillips Page 0,82
scrambled back, pale in a way that worried him. Dean moved, ignoring the sting in his side as he crouched in front of her and took her hands. “Hey. It’s okay now.”
She blinked at him, glassy eyes and nearly translucent skin. Or so it looked in the strange light. Her hands were caked with dirt, her nails crusted with it.
“It’s okay.” He kept talking, soft nonsense words that were supposed to reassure her. Instead, his mind wandered and he found himself saying, “He gave me no choice. I had to kill him before he killed one of us.”
Dean tried to shift, planted one knee and hissed at the pain in his side.
“He hurt you.”
“I’m fine. What happened? What did he say?”
“Nothing. There was something under the body he wanted me to dig out.” She sucked in a choppy breath but didn’t break down.
There was more, he thought. But she said nothing else. Dean pulled over his backpack. “Whatever is under there, we don’t have to find it. I’ll call Conroy.”
He spoke slowly since she was in shock and probably having trouble processing. She needed gentleness. Especially considering they had two options right now. Stay here with the dead body, or hike back down the mountain to get to a spot where the police would meet them. He wasn’t sure which would be better for Ellie.
“Here it is.” He showed her. “I’ll call with this satellite phone, but we need to do it outside.”
She blinked at him.
“Ellie. We should go.”
“I found what it was.” She waved at it. A mound of material.
Dean tugged himself over, pulling at the wound on his side. He unwrapped the bundle, flipping open what appeared to be a bloody shirt, revealing what was inside. “It’s old. A handgun. But I don’t recognize the style.” Buried for years next to the bloody material, the metal had tarnished.
Dean looked at the body. “Could be how this person died.”
A murder weapon. Were there prints still on it? He didn’t know the ins and outs of forensics but figured it was possible there would be physical evidence left here.
“We should go outside.” He stood, holding out his hand for Ellie to go with him. “Before we disturb anything else.”
She nodded and took his hand. Straightening her gaze, she glanced over his side. She gasped. “You’re bleeding!”
“It’s not bad.” He said, even though his shoulder was on fire. “Can you get the backpack, though? There are medical supplies in there.”
She snatched it up and then huddled close to him.
“Ready?”
“Let’s get out of here.”
He was right with her, stepping around Mark’s body. Giving the dead man and the burial area a wide berth. They left the old weapon that had been wrapped up. No one needed to touch it until the police got here.
Had whoever killed and buried this victim used that gun? They could have buried the murder weapon with the body, assuming that no one would ever discover it, keeping their secret hidden. Like it was the perfect crime.
Everyone involved had moved on with their lives, and no one ever found out that the very people who set up this town as a safe haven were complicit in a murder.
And one was the killer.
Was it her grandfather? She was in shock, but it occurred to Dean that if she was being cagey, it might be because she had figured something out and didn’t want to say.
Dean walked with her, backtracking through the tunnels until he could see the light of day. He blinked at the harshness.
Truth, brought out into the light.
“We need to look at your side. You’re bleeding.”
Dean said, “I know.” Not sarcastic. He didn’t want to get into an argument with her when he’d just saved her. She was helping him now. They were a team. “It’s not too bad. There’s nothing to worry about.”
He had her sit with him on the grass, but that hurt.
“Lie down.”
“Hand me the phone.” Dean took it from her and laid back on the grass. “Keep an eye out for anyone who comes up here. I don’t want to be caught unaware.”
She didn’t answer, though. Ellie tugged up the hem of his T-shirt, and he saw her eyes widen.
“Easy.” He said, “Breathe, yeah?” He didn’t need her passing out.
He could carry her down the mountain sure enough, even with the wound, but that didn’t mean it would be a pleasant experience. For either of them.
“This isn’t fine. It’s bad.”
“Define, ‘bad.’” Mostly he figured that was a matter of opinion. Not to mention