Steadman's Blind

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 1

Chief Deputy Randall Steadman set his jaw and ground his teeth together. Fear wrestled against frustration somewhere behind his belt buckle, stirring up a queasy tightness in his gut. For miles in front of him, traffic inched forward on streets crammed to capacity, allowing him to experience the full joys of a Portland rush hour, complete with rude hand gestures, honking horns, and blaring car stereos.

He itched to flip on the light bar and clear a path, but he wasn’t behind the wheel of his service vehicle and he was out of uniform and out of his jurisdiction. He’d made the three-hour drive south after a frantic phone call from his sister.

A phone call that left him cold.

Nan was a pretty put-together gal. Whatever happened down here in Oregon had spooked her good and that scared Steadman. He’d relied on his big sister for most of his life, and now it was plain she was relying on him. For reasons that went deep—beyond standard sibling solidarity—he could not let her down.

The late summer sun beat down through the windshield of his car, canceling out the efforts of his air conditioner, and the engine temperature gauge was creeping higher than he liked to see. He switched off the AC and powered down the windows, resigned to suffering through until traffic picked up again. According to the GPS, he only had two-and-a-half miles to go before he reached the hospital.

The hospital.

Nan hadn’t told him why she’d chosen that as their meeting place and she hadn’t left him time to ask, but Steadman knew it couldn’t be good. He dreaded what he might find when he got there. A sudden gust of diesel fumes from a truck up ahead permeated the air and Steadman felt like he might suffocate—from the smell, from the heat, from the anxious stone that pressed down inside his chest.

Whatever this was, whatever tragedy Nan faced, it surely couldn’t be as bad as his gut was making it out to be.

Could it?

The red light blinked to green and Steadman let off the brake, moving forward enough to get a slight breeze across his sweaty brow. Another ten minutes and the robotic GPS voice let him know he was arriving at his destination. He pulled into the first parking spot he came across, not caring how far he had to walk. He needed that time to decompress and prepare.

Nan had texted him a room number. After checking in at the front desk, he caught the elevator up to the third floor and passed a nurse’s station where a solitary head bent over a stack of medical files. The hallway was deserted. Only the smell of rubbing alcohol lingered there, following him as he made his way down the corridor to stop outside room 324.

He took a deep breath and let it trickle out, readying himself to push open that door and be strong for his sister. But before he could reach out a hand, the door swept inward and Steadman was staring at two cops in uniform. They hesitated, looking him over, and Steadman knew what they were thinking. It was all the things he would be thinking, the way you get after years on the job.

Nan pushed between them and folded Steadman in a tight embrace.

“I knew you’d get here quick,” she said.

He pulled away enough to look her in the face. A reddened lump swelled beside her right temple, and the eye was shadowed by bruises, black turning purple.

“What happened?” he asked. “Were you in a car accident? Is Hank okay?”

Steadman looked beyond her to the hospital bed, swathed in sheets and shadows. The sleeping form was her husband, Hank, and Steadman got a quick impression of tubes. Lots of tubes.

Nan closed her teeth over her lips in that bulldog way she had and Steadman saw a pleading look in her eyes before her gaze dropped away. He noticed she was shivering.

“This is my brother, Chief Deputy Randall Steadman,” she told the policemen. “He drove down from the Seattle area.”

Steadman shook their hands, and they exchanged professional courtesies before he turned back to Nan and lifted his fingers to her damaged cheek.

“What happened?” he repeated.

There was a pause before she answered. “It wasn’t a car accident,” she said. “We were attacked.”

“Attacked? What—”

“I’m sorry, Rand.” She staggered under his grip and raised a shaky hand to her throat. “I really need some coffee and something to eat.” She turned to the officers. “If there’s nothing else you need from me, I think I’ll go to the cafeteria.”

“Of course, Mrs. Meninger. We’ll be in touch.”

They nodded their goodbyes and left. Nan clutched Steadman’s arm as she watched the policemen stride down the corridor. He felt her tremble like a sapling in a windstorm, but she didn’t speak until the men stopped at the elevator and punched the call button.

“I’ll go get my purse,” she whispered. “We need to talk.”