Collision: Book Two

by L. N. Carson

  Montu clenched his fists, and Hathor increased the pressure on his arm. She couldn’t afford to have her partner go off the rails.

  “You’re free to go, Mr. Woods,” she said.

  The man gave her a sneer as he ambled to the door.

  “Five minutes,” Montu muttered as Thomas Woods left the room. “Five minutes with that prick, and I could make him tell me everything he knows.”

  “He just did,” Hathor said. “Sam and Kathleen are still at Woods’ house.”

  * * *

  Kathleen kept her arms close to her body and her hands lightly on Sam’s waist as the motorcycle powered through the thick underbrush. The ride was exhilarating even though some of the branches and twigs left welts and scratches on her arms and legs.

  Who is Sam Garnett?

  Was everything he’d told her true? Or had it all been lies? She’d seen evidence of the controlled animals on three separate occasions, so that part of Sam’s story checked out. And the bear had obviously been deployed to kill him…and probably her too. But Sam had been hiding that gun all along. A powerful gun. With a silencer.

  It wasn’t as if Kathleen didn’t have secrets of her own. But her secrets were irrelevant to the current situation. If she were hiding something that could endanger them both, she’d tell him so. Wouldn’t she? She thought she would, and yet, she understood the need for self-preservation. After all, he didn’t know her any better than she knew him.

  Kathleen closed her eyes and listened to the rumble of the motorcycle. She smelled the earth, the gasoline, and the sweat on the back of Sam’s neck. Her initial instinct had been to trust Sam. It still was.

  * * *

  Sam knew the gun—or, more likely, the silencer—had thrown Kathleen. Lots of people carried guns for their protection, but not many lugged around silencers. For some reason, she’d decided to trust him yesterday, and now she was second-guessing herself.

  He couldn’t blame her. Why should she trust him? For all she knew, he could be the bad guy. Hell, maybe he was. He was the one who’d developed the technology.

  A clearing was ahead. The gas gauge had barely moved, so Sam knew they could travel on for a couple of hours yet.

  Once he reached the clearing, he saw two things: a service station and a sign directing traffic to Interstate 81.

  He stopped the bike, raised his face shield, and called to Kathleen. “I can drop you off at that service station. If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate a few minutes’ head start before you call your sister.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’ll notify the police,” he said. “I would, if I were her.”

  “Are we low on fuel?” Kathleen asked.

  “No.”

  “Then there’s no reason to stop. Head for I-81 north.”

  Sam heard the click of her face shield falling into place and smiled.

  Chapter FIVE

  Montu turned onto the gravel driveway that led to Thomas Woods’ house. He punched the gas, and almost immediately got a dashboard warning about damage to the front tires. He slammed on the brakes but not before the other tires had also driven over the spike strip. The dashboard indicator refreshed and flashed red to show damage to all four tires.

  Hathor exited the vehicle while Montu shouted obscenities. There was nothing to be done about four slashed tires right now, so she might as well search the property. Maybe when Montu stopped having his conniption, he’d either call a tow truck or come help her.

  She made her way carefully from the driveway to the house. If Woods had one boobytrap to deter trespassers, he likely had others. Hathor saw a bear trap to her right. She walked closer and managed to spring the trap. She didn’t want to have to take Montu’s dumb ass to the hospital because he’d bulldozed through the yard and stepped on it.

  Half-expecting Woods’ dogs to come greet her, Hathor had her hand on her gun. But the fact that she hadn’t even heard a single bark or growl yet made her think they’d probably been either badly injured or killed by the bear.

  Still carefully watching her step, she eased close to the house to avoid being an easy target to anyone who might be inside with a gun. She seriously doubted she’d find anybody in the house. Any other members of the Woods clan would’ve certainly put a bullet in Montu by now as he stalked around the SUV kicking the tires and cussing a blue streak. In fact, shooting Montu was an action Hathor was contemplating herself. The man was making entirely too much noise and was doing nothing constructive.

  From the side of the porch, she slapped her hand against the house. If Woods owned any dogs other than the German shepherd and the rottweiler she and Montu had seen earlier—especially if the dog or dogs were kept inside—then this noise would put them on alert and get them to make some noise. She listened closely but didn’t hear so much as a whimper.

  Hathor drew her Beretta from its holster as she stepped onto the porch. A guard dog might not be in the house, but she wasn’t about to underestimate a man who had hidden a spike strip in his driveway and a bear trap in the front yard.

  * * *

  Miranda was at home playing with Rachel. She was fortunate that Mark’s job allowed her to stay at home and take care of their child. The two were currently sitting on a heavy woolen blanket in the center of the living room floor. Rachel was hugging a stuffed lamb while Miranda read from a book that had buttons on the side to produce sound effects.

  When her landline rang, Miranda grabbed the phone. “Hello.”

  Silence.

  “Hello? Kath, is that you?”

  Nothing.

  “Kathleen?”

  “No. It’s me.” Her mother’s cold, raspy voice was enough to make Miranda want to wrap that woolen blanket around both her and Rachel, even though it was over ninety degrees outside. Irene Freemont’s voice bore evidence of years spent shouting, screaming, and smoking. “Why would you think it’s her? Is she missing again?”

  Her. The woman can’t even bring herself to say her youngest daughter’s name.

  “No. Everything’s fine. I was just expecting Kathleen to call, that’s all.”

  “So, where is she?”

  “She’s off on one of her trips, Mom. Does it matter?”

  “Not to me,” Irene said. “I was calling to see if you and Mark and the baby would like to come to dinner tonight.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but we can’t tonight. Mark has a faculty meeting.”

  Irene sighed so loudly that Miranda half expected to get a whiff of her stale breath. “Well, can’t you and the baby come?”

  “No, Mom. I need to make dinner and keep it warm until Mark gets here.”

  “Fine. I hope you don’t regret not spending more time with your daddy one day soon. He’s not going to be here much longer, you know.”

  Miranda rolled her eyes at the line she’d been hearing for at least a decade. It was one of her mother’s weaker attempts at manipulation. “We’ll be to visit as soon as we can.”

  The door opened and Miranda turned to see her husband striding through the door. She raised a finger to her lips and pointed at the phone.

  He stuck out his tongue and went to pick up Rachel, who laughed at her father.

  “Gotta go,” Miranda said. “The baby needs me. Talk to you soon.” She hung up with a press of a button but longed for the old days when you could give the phone a good slam.

  “Lying to darling Mummy?” Mark asked.

  “Yes. You’re at a faculty meeting.”

  He gave his wife the deep, throaty laugh she adored. “You’re an awfully bad girl. I believe you need to go to the dean’s office and be punished as soon as you take this little delinquent and put her down for a nap.”

  Miranda took Rachel from Mark, sat her on the floor, and gave her the book they’d been reading. The honking of a goose from the book’s sound effects assured her that Rachel was busy.

  She turned her back to their child and kissed Mark. “I do deserve to be punished.”

  Mark pull
ed her head toward him to kiss her more deeply. “This punishment will be meted out slowly and methodically.” He eased a hand down her pants. “Until I’m satisfied that you’ve learned your lesson.”

  He dipped his finger inside. She was already wet, and she gave a gasp of pleasure.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  Mark took his hand out of her pants, lifted the finger that had been inside her to his lips, and slowly licked it.

  Miranda whimpered in anticipation, and he smiled.

  As she took Rachel to the nursery, she wondered if she indulged her husband too much. Did she put his welfare ahead of Rachel’s? After all, Rachel wasn’t even showing signs of being sleepy and she’d already had a nap this afternoon. But Miranda knew Rachel would content herself with her toys for a few minutes, and they could hear her over the monitor. And after dinner, they’d be together as a family, and Miranda and Mark would share parenting duties.

  No, she told herself for the hundredth time. She adored Mark, but she’d never put him above the safety of her child. She wasn’t like her mother.

  * * *

  Sam stopped for gas at the only service station off the exit. They were in some rural part of Virginia, but he wasn’t sure where. They’d been on the interstate for slightly more than an hour, and he felt like they were making good time.

  He got off the bike, removed his helmet, and put it on the seat. “Do you need to stretch your legs or anything?”

  Kathleen seemed to consider this for a second before shaking her head. “No, I’m fine. We need to get back on the interstate as quickly as we can.”

  “True. But we can take a little breather if we need to.”

  “Not yet,” she said.

  He knew she was right, but he’d pushed her hard all day and was trying to be more lenient. She’d never asked for any of this. He went inside to pay for the gas.

  When he returned, he saw that Kathleen had already started filling the tank.

  “Thank you,” Sam said.

  “You’re welcome.” She still wore her helmet, but he could make out her smile behind the tinted shield. “I guess my legs did need stretching after all.”

  He had an excellent rejoinder for that but thought better of using it just yet. He merely grinned and kept his mouth shut.

  * * *

  As expected, the door to the house was locked. Hathor motioned for Montu to join her. It would be best if one of them picked the lock while the other provided cover. She crouched to the right side of the door while she waited for Montu to get to the porch. He was taking his sweet time.

  Montu likely shared Hathor’s conviction that there was nothing to find here and that they’d be better off scouring the woods. But Hathor also believed that unturned stones led to costly mistakes. And they’d be lucky if they didn’t end up losing their jobs over the mistakes they’d made already. They didn’t need anymore.

  “So, what’re you waiting for?” Montu asked as he climbed onto the porch. “Bash it in.”

  “Didn’t you see the bear trap on your way to the porch?”

  “What bear trap?”

  “The one I disarmed while you were kicking tires and pitching a bitch,” Hathor said. “It’s apparent Woods likes booby traps. If we go crashing through that door, we’re liable to set off some kind of snare. Cover me while I pick the lock.”

  “Fine.” He unholstered his gun while Hathor exchanged hers for her lockpick. “I still say I could’ve gotten the truth out of that hillbilly bastard.”

  “He doesn’t know anything. He left Atum and the girl here.” The lock clicked open, and Hathor carefully turned the knob and stayed low as she pushed the door inward. “If there’s any information to be found, this is where we’ll find it.”

  Montu nearly knocked her over as he stormed into the house. “That prick’ll wish he’d never laid eyes on me after the DEA shuts down his little operation.”

  Hathor’s eyes widened as Montu began tossing the living room. “You didn’t already call them, did you?”

  “Not yet. Thought I’d let the tow truck come and get us out of here first.”

  “You need to ask Atum-Ra before you call anyone. You know how he feels about our including other agencies in our operations,” she said.

  “We already did it yesterday.” He rolled his eyes. “Besides, this here has nothing to do with our operation.”

  “It could jeopardize it if other authorities start looking into Atum and the girl or if they discover Atum’s research.”

  “Whatever.” With a growl, he shot the television set.

  “Feel better?” Hathor asked.

  “Not yet, but I will by the time I leave here.”

  Hathor knew they wouldn’t find anything in the house using her partner’s search and destroy method. “You continue looking in here then. I’ll see what I can find outside.” When she got to the doorway, she turned back. “You did tell the tow company about the tire spikes in the driveway, didn’t you?”

  “Shit.” Montu fished his phone out of his pocket.

  Hathor stood on the porch and surveyed the area. The old green truck she and Montu had followed to the hospital had been parked near the barn. She chastised herself for the mistake. Through the drone’s camera, they’d plainly seen Atum driving the truck. Still, either she or Montu should’ve followed the truck while the other stayed here and watched the house. Sure, it would have been risky to split up—they had no idea who else might be here and if the family had been recruited to aid Atum. But had she or Montu stayed behind to watch the house, they might have apprehended Atum by now. And they wouldn’t be about to get a new set of tires and an ass chewing from Amun-Ra.

  She stepped off the porch and gingerly followed the dusty path from which the truck had come into view. When she walked by the barn, she noticed another set of tracks. She stooped for a closer look. These weren’t the tracks of a four-wheeled vehicle. These had been made by a motorcycle or a dirt bike.

  * * *

  Kathleen rested her head momentarily against Sam’s broad back.

  “Tired?” he called to her over the rumbling of the engine.

  She started to lie and say she as fine, but she simply couldn’t do it. More than anything in the world right now, she wanted to lie down and close her eyes. “Yes! Are you?”

  Sam nodded and pointed to a highway sign.

  Kathleen took that to mean they’d be stopping soon. About twenty minutes later, she was shocked when Sam drove the motorcycle around to the back of one of the most elegant hotels along the Blue Ridge Parkway.

  “Why are we stopping here?” she asked.

  “We’re going to spend the night if they’ll give us a room.”

  “Here?” She looked around.

  “Of course.” He winked. “Nothing but the best for you.”

  They left their helmets outside with the bike and walked inside. She imagined what they must look like—two dirty people who’d scrambled through the woods, been held at gunpoint, tore through those same woods on a motorcycle and wound up here with only backpacks. She was surprised the facility didn’t roll out the red carpet, run to greet them, and offer them champagne.

  Kathleen stood quietly at Sam’s side as he explained to the front desk clerk that they’d been robbed.

  “They took everything we had except these extra backpacks we keep in the trunk and the money I had in an ankle wallet.” He took an impressive wad of cash from his pocket.

  The clerk seemed to be a sweet young man. His face was sympathetic as he gazed across the counter at the couple. “Do you have a credit card?”

  “No,” Sam said. “You must not have understood me. The muggers took almost everything. We have no ID, no credit cards, no luggage.” He spread his hands. “But we do have the money to pay for our room. Surely, you can rent us a room and let us get cleaned up, and rest, and make the necessary calls.”

  “I don’t know.” The wide-eyed clerk called his manager.

  The matronly
woman in the logo-emblazoned suit gave Sam and Kathleen a wary look. She appeared to have seen everything and heard of every trick in the book. She wasn’t going to be taken in by this pair of grifters.

  Once the clerk had haltingly explained the situation, the manager asked, “Where did this assault take place? Was it on our property? If so, we’ll be happy to call the police.”

  “It happened a few miles down the road,” Sam said, “and we’ve already spoken with local law enforcement. But we appreciate your concern. Now about that room…”

  “I’m sure you’ll agree that your situation is highly unorthodox, Mr.—”

  Sam extended his hand. “My apologies, ma’am. The name’s Grant. Roger Grant.” He shook hands with her. “It’s pretty simple from where we’re standing. Either you’ll rent us a room, or you won’t. If you won’t, please say so, and we’ll try to find more sympathetic lodgings. My wife has been through an especially traumatic ordeal and needs to lie down.”

  Kathleen rested one hand on her flat stomach and swayed slightly.

  Sam took his cue as nimbly as the actor from whom he’d chosen his alias. “Darling, are you all right?” He put his arm around her shoulders. “You aren’t having any pain, are you?”

  She shook her head. “I’m…just…so…tired, Rog.”

  “I’m doing my best.” He looked back at the manager. “Do you have anything for us? We’ll take anything you have available.”

  The manager was already clicking computer keys. “We do have a room available. It’s number four-twenty-one.”

  “Thank you.” Sam breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. How much for one night?” He consulted the wad of bills in his hand.

  The manager waved her hand slightly in dismissal. “We’ll take care of that at check-out.” She handed Sam a small envelope, saying it held two keycards. “Please let us know if there’s anything else you need.”

  “The president of this fine hotel will hear about your kindness,” Sam said. “You can count on that.”