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 Jackâs 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 heâd chosen to live hereâit was quiet. Small, peaceful, beautiful and nothing to disturb oneâs 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 jobâheâd taken three bullets and had a lot of hard work getting his body back. Heâd needed Preacherâs robust food and Jackâs wife, Melâs, assistance with physical therapy on his shoulder. After six months, Mike was as close to completely recovered as heâd get.
Since moving to Virgin River, heâd been home only once to visit his parents, siblings and their families. He planned to take a weekâone day driving each way and five days 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 timeâa good 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.
âHello?â he answered.
âI need a favor,â 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 wasnât yet 7:00 a.m. He laughed. âWell, sure, but Iâm nearly in Santa Rosa, so it might be inconvenient to run over to Garberville and get you ice for the bar, but heyââ
âMike, itâs Brie,â Jack said. Brie was Jackâs youngest sister, his pet, his favorite. And she was really special to Mike. âSheâs in the hospital.â
Mike actually swerved on the highway. âHold on,â he said. âStay there.â He pulled off the road onto a safe-looking shoulder. Then he took a deep breath. âGo ahead,â he said.
âShe was assaulted sometime last night,â Jack said. âBeaten. Raped.â
âNo!â Mike said. âWhat?â
Jack didnât repeat himself. âMy father just called a little while ago. Mel and I are packingâweâll get on the road as soon as we can. Listen, I need someone who knows law enforcement, criminology, to walk me through whatâs happening with her. They donât have the guy who did thisâthereâs got to be an investigation. Right?â
âHow bad is she?â Mike asked.
âMy dad didnât have a lot of details, but sheâs 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?â
âOf course. Yes,â Mike said. âGimme numbers.â
Jack recited phone numbers for the hospital, Jackâs father, Sam, and Melâs old cell phone that theyâd charge on their way to Sacramento and then carry with them.
âDo they have a suspect? Did she know the guy?â
âI donât know anything except her condition. After we get on the road, get the phone charged and weâre out of the mountains and through the redwoods, Iâll call my dad and see what he can tell me. Right now I gotta go. I gotta get down there.â
âRight,â Mike said. âOkay. My phone will be in my pocket twenty-four-seven. Iâll call the hospital, see what I can find out.â
âThanks. Appreciate it,â 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 theyâd been together. A couple of months ago sheâd been in Virgin River to see her new nephew, Jack and Melâs baby. Mike had taken her on a picnic at the riverâto a special place where the river was wide but shallow and fishermen didnât bother with the place. Theyâd 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, teenagers, and that big old rock had seen some wonderful things on the riverbank; it protected many secrets. Some of his own, in fact. Heâd held Brieâs hand for a long time that day, and she hadnât pulled it away. It was the first time heâd realized he was taken with her. A crush. At thirty-seven, he felt it was an old manâs crush, but damned if it didnât feel awfully like a sixteen-year-oldâs.