Caught

by Tessa Vidal

  “One of the caterer ladies. I said what you said. That I needed a low profile car to shake off the paps. She was thrilled to help me out.”

  “The old Tay-Tay charm.”

  “Fuck you.” He pulled out his phone.

  My right hand reached sideways to snatch it out of his hand and then out the window.

  “Hey!”

  Yukon sat up taller in the back.

  “I told you to leave the phone,” I said. “They can track phones. That's, like, in every movie we've ever done.”

  “Nobody leaves the phone, dude.” He opened my handbag. “You didn't leave your phone.”

  It was the burner, not my real phone. “Stop poking around in there, or you might find something you don't like.”

  “Holy shit.” Which meant he already had. He replaced my bag between us with exaggerated care before twisting in his seat to look backward. “You do know that fucking van ran over my fucking phone.”

  “I'll buy you a new one tomorrow.” I'd been keeping an eye on the windowless white van for another reason. If this was a movie, that would be Matt's vehicle.

  “We'll all be in jail tomorrow.” He sounded almost pleased about it. “Why did you blow up the gazebo? The fucking emerald and a fucking murder weren't big enough publicity stunts?”

  “I didn't blow up the gazebo.”

  “Uh huh. So getting me to arrange a getaway car at just the right time, that was a complete and total coincidence.” He looked back again. There were more sirens, but they were all going the other way.

  At least for now.

  “Where are we going, Clary? There's a lot of shit you're not telling me.”

  “Yep, and we're going to keep it that way because you don't need to be any deeper in this mess than you already are. You're going to the first nice, quiet neighborhood bar we see, and you're going to lay low for four or five hours, or maybe overnight.”

  “The fuck I am.” He was digging in his pocket again.

  “That better not be another phone. And you're not smoking in this car.”

  “Hey. Looky, looky what the props guy forgot to pack away.”

  “Oh, no, no, no.” Even to my own ears, I sounded so much like Ronnie when I said that.

  He was already lowering his window so he could pop off his shiny silver handgun. “It's loaded with blanks. Which is probably the total opposite of what you've got in that fucking Glock.”

  “I know that, but the guy behind us in traffic might not know that. You really want somebody calling the cops on us right now?” Glancing in the rearview mirror, I noticed the white van still tight on our tail. That better be Matt. Because if it was honest FBI, we were sunk like a rock in a pond.

  “No.” Tay sighed and elbowed the button to roll up his window again. “You have a plan to capture that FBI agent, don't you?”

  My heart skipped. He didn't mean Matt. He meant Ronnie.

  “I want in. I want to be a hero too. Nobody puts Taylor in the corner.”

  I had created a monster.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Ronnie

  Soon, I was driving across what was allegedly the longest bridge in the world. Twenty-four miles. A lot of time to think. To think, to doubt, and to second guess.

  If she couldn't figure out where I would go.

  If she did figure it out but decided not to meet me there.

  If she figured it out but somebody was following her. The real killer. Law enforcement. Or both.

  If she figured it out and told the cops. If she'd already cut a deal with the cops.

  If she thought I killed Bailey. If she thought I was dangerous.

  If she thought I was involved in the gemstone crimes all along.

  If she thought I'd used her as just another stepping stone.

  I kept seeing police vehicles going southbound into New Orleans. Some with sirens on, some not. Flicking on the radio, I soon caught the news story about a bombing in City Park. Nobody was hurt, but a lot of people were running around like headless chickens. The person or persons responsible had marked off some old structure with construction tape before they lit it up. A fraternity prank, maybe, but an irresponsible one. Everyone was asked to stay calm, get off the streets, remain in their homes. Blah-da yadda. Police presser scheduled for seven thirty.

  City Park was too close for comfort to the B&B where the cast was staying. Clary and Yukon walked in that park.

  They wouldn't say nobody was hurt if somebody was hurt. She's fine.

  Breathe.

  Drive.

  Off the bridge, through the city traffic, out of the traffic and into the country. On and on. I'd never driven this route before, and the Tundra didn't seem to be equipped with GPS. Shelly probably just used her phone, but of course I didn't have a phone. I'd have to rely on my limited memory of the area.

  After some trying, I found myself on a two-lane highway that felt dark thanks to the relentless oaks. Most of the vehicles that approached me from the north were white pick-ups or vans. Working vehicles.

  Nobody had come up behind me from the south for a long while. If Clary was coming, she was still far behind.

  If.

  Well, I couldn't worry about that now. I was all-in on the gamble that she'd get my message. The one place we'd talked about going where we'd never had the time to go. We were saving it for when we could go together.

  At last, I saw the sign in the shape of a cartoon bird with large feet. A very old sign, almost invisible in the weeds, sagging to one side, its dull paint-flaked wood pocked with bullet holes.

  Little Roadrunner.

  I didn't signal before I turned. With any luck, anyone trailing me would never see where I disappeared. Not that I'd spotted anyone behind me for some minutes.

  The road, or what was once a road, hadn't been maintained. Branches clawed at the truck as it made its determined way over the weeds and hidden potholes. I stopped at a fallen log that blocked further vehicle progress and began to walk. It was too far east for cougars, or so I hoped. Walking alone in an unfamiliar forest felt dicey to this LA girl who'd only walked this area in the company of a large Tibetan Mastiff.

  Were there bears in Louisiana? You never want to sneak up on a bear. But I couldn't risk giving up my location to any two-leggeds in the area. There was no choice but to move as soundlessly as possible.

  Birds were singing, some of them songs I'd never heard. I was moving silently enough not to disturb the birds. That was good. Maybe it was good.

  I stepped over the log and went a little farther, and there it was, the former Little Roadrunner art colony. The cottage itself was a roofless ruin, abandoned years or decades ago. The barn had already collapsed and was represented mainly as a mound of rambunctious trumpet creeper and poison oak.

  Two sculptures remained― two larger-than-life animals originally shaped from rebar. The dog roughly man-sized. No, not a dog. A coyote. The roadrunner with its foot kicked up in front was even taller. Somebody's quirky homage to their favorite cartoon characters.

  Yellow jessamine and orange trumpet creeper had twined up and grown into the rebar. If you didn't know what the sculptures were supposed to be, you might not be able to figure it out.

  I heard a vehicle. They'd have to stop where the Tundra stopped.

  Friend or foe?

  Clary or an arresting officer?

  My breath caught as I realized what I was hearing. Big dogs can't move quietly in the forest. By the time she came into view, I was already running toward her, arms open to sweep her up into my embrace.

  “Clary. Oh, God, Clary. You came.”

  “Of course, I came.”

  We were hugging hard enough to squeeze the breath out of us. She felt so good, so warm. She smelled of her old fragrance, Tahitian vanilla. I wanted to hug her even tighter, but that handbag of hers was wedged between us. It poked hard into my belly.

  “I love you so much.” Her sweet voice was sugar in my ear. “You have to know that. It's too soon but if s
omething happens and I never get another chance to say it...”

  Yukon stood on alert. Too much was hitting me at once. My head was spinning even as my hands witched the Glock out of her bag, taking care that our bodies kept it out of view of any possible watchers. She'd brought it for a reason. Someone was coming.

  That honeyed whisper tickled directly into my ear for no one but me.

  I love you so much.

  Had I heard that, or had I imagined that?

  “Love you,” she said. “Trust you. I know it's going to work out all right.”

  She was warm and here and in my arms, and she'd brought me the Glock, and suddenly I understood I didn't know where the fuck we were going from here. Both cops and criminals were likely only a step or two behind her. How did we do this? How did I get her out alive, safe, and free?

  “We've got to get out of here. Get somewhere safe, maybe get to that lawyer of yours.” I hugged her again, a one-armed hug, but still fierce as all get-out. The Glock felt good in my hand, but not as good as she did. “We'll get safe and find a way to prove who really killed Bailey.”

  “Trust me. And don't shoot just yet.”

  For one dizzying minute, I'd let myself be distracted, but now I heard him. Clary's svelte body twisted in my embrace to look back.

  “He's all right. He's on our side,” she said.

  I probably meant to say something, but no words came out. Taylor Fucking Tercelle was the last man on earth I expected to see sauntering down the path. He held a shiny handgun of unfamiliar make― a movie prop.

  He looked around expectantly. “How the fuck did you guys find this place?”

  Clary and I exchanged a look. “That's a good question,” she said. “I'm not sure I have a good answer.”

  “It was something we talked about doing but never had the time,” I said. “Clary already had two roadrunner Instagrams. The third one seemed like it might be the charm. And, speaking of not having any time, we do need to get a move on. We can talk everything through later when we're in a more secure location.”

  “Actually.” Clary took a deep breath. “We need to stay right here.”

  Tercelle looked from Clary to me. So did Yukon. We all heard a third vehicle in the distance.

  We had incoming.

  Matt Dauphin.

  “I cut a deal,” Clary said. “You for one of the stones. I told him exactly where to come, and he created a distraction. Nobody else knows because I didn't know how it would play out if I had a whole string of cops on my ass. Taylor helped me get away. There's three of us, one of Dauphin. We can do this.”

  “I'm a fantastic getaway driver.” Tercelle seemed to think he was still on a movie set.

  “I seem to remember doing most of the driving,” Clary said.

  I held up a finger to shush them.

  The vehicle's engine turned off. A door thunked open. A van? Of course. He couldn't shoot and run. He couldn't be sure who else knew about this particular location. He'd need to transport us somewhere he could feel confident of making us completely disappear.

  “He'd like to avoid shooting us here.” I pitched my voice low to keep it from carrying beyond our little circle. “He could have shot me back at the shed if he just wanted me dead. We have to disappear without a trace, and I figure that means dumping us in a body of water. If we're found, law enforcement won't stop digging until they get to the bottom of it. But if we vanish, Matt can sell the theory Clary and I conspired to kill Bailey and then fled the country.”

  “Agree,” Clary said. “He'll at least try to make us go where he wants us to go under our own steam. It's less messy that way. Besides, bodies are heavy. He won't want to drag three of them over that fucking log.”

  Tercelle went pale. “Wait. What? Ronnie was the bait to draw this guy out. Except now we're all the bait?”

  “I did offer to drop you off at the bar.” She squeezed his arm. “It's going to be fine, Tay. Our bad guy is going to get too close, and that's when Ronnie gets to make the magic happen.”

  “He's coming,” I said. “Get that prop gun out of sight. We don't want to trigger him.”

  Tercelle stuffed his toy under the waistband of his jeans and fluffed out the hem of his hundred-dollar black tee-shirt. Clary unsnapped Yukon's leash. His deceptively fluffy shoulders shifted with tension. By instinct, the three of them clumped close to me but a little behind me.

  I was on point. As I should be.

  Showtime.

  We were as ready as we'd ever be, and not as ready as I wished we were.

  “You've done your part,” I whispered. “You brought my weapon. You guys can still get away.”

  “Don't be ridiculous.” Clary's breath was hot on my neck. “I didn't come all this way to leave you behind. I can't lose you again, Ronnie. But you go, Tay. Hurry.”

  “Fuck you. There might be bears in that forest. I'm sticking with the dog.”

  The crunch of leaves down the path got louder. The choice was made for us.

  “You did the right thing,” I said to Clary. “Luring him here, making him come out into the open and leaving no doubt what he's all about... that was smart thinking. Whatever happens, I want you to know that. His game is collapsing. He won't walk away from this. I never want you to second-guess yourself about that.” There were words I couldn't say, but I knew she'd hear them anyway.

  No matter what happens to me, he won't walk away. Dead or alive, as long as I don't disappear, Matt Dauphin doesn't walk away.

  “I knew it would be dangerous, but I couldn't let him get away with destroying another life. He has to face justice, Ronnie, he just has to.”

  “He will. I promise.” And I needed to tell something else. Just in case. She was so brilliant. So brave. She'd come back from so much and refused to ever quit fighting for her dreams. And she needed to know I'd heard her, really heard her. “I should have said it before, but I'm saying it now. I never knew what love was, but now I know. Because of you, Clarissa. I love you too.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Clary

  I love you, too. I love you, too.

  My heart overflowed. We had something, and it wasn't all in my head. Veronica felt it too. We'd been torn apart for twelve years, and it wouldn't be fair if we were torn apart again. We simply wouldn't let it happen.

  This time, we knew who the enemy was. This time, we'd stand together.

  Funny how crisp and clear everything was at that last moment. The dark forest around us. The bright sky overhead. A bee buzzing around the flowers twined in the old rebar sculptures.

  Ronnie took point, and the rest of us crowded in behind her. Taylor, who probably craved a smoke, rocked on his heels. It had taken some fast talking to move him around to the idea Ronnie was the good guy, but if he understood nothing else, he understood the concept of the plot twist. He was fully on Team Veronica now.

  As for Yukon, there was never any doubt about where he stood. On my signal, his powerful muscles bunched in readiness like a tiger's.

  Matt Dauphin, emerging gun-first from the overgrown road, came complete with cuffs and a badge on a lanyard around his neck. The bulk in his shirt suggested he was wearing body armor. “It's over, Veronica,” he said. “Don't make this any harder than it has to be.”

  “I have no reason to make anything easier for you.” Her Glock materialized in her steady right hand like a white rabbit from a hat. The barrel lifted from his center of mass to his nose. “How long, Matt? How fucking long? How many years?”

  “What difference does it make now how many years?” He was too well-trained to blink. His gun held steady too, pointed at her chest, his shot more certain since Ronnie wasn't wearing Kevlar. “It's over. Your little girlfriend and I had a sweet thing working, but it was over, and she wasn't ready to let it go. When it comes to money, a woman thinks enough is never enough. A man gets tired.”

  “You and Bailey, all this time,” she said. “You were running a whole team. A counterfeiter. A guy who could fake the
lab results. You arrest somebody for swapping a gem, the gem is held as evidence, Bailey goes in and does the swap, and the poor sap accused of the crime never knows what hit her. Right off the top, I can think of at least four crimes like that over the years since Malory Maine.”

  “Brains and beauty, Ronnie. I always said you were the whole package. That's the best thing Bailey ever did, roping you in where I could keep my eyes on you.”

  “Fuck you, too, Matt,” she said.

  A head-butting contest wasn't going to get anyone anywhere they needed to be. It was time for the movie star to jump right in with both feet.

  “Bailey wasn't the mastermind,” I said.

  Both of them flicked their eyes at me, both of them surprised I dared to speak when I was armed with nothing more deadly than a Tibetan Mastiff.

  Center yourself. Take control.

  “An operation this size needed somebody bigger than a Los Angeles cop.” I sounded calm. Almost icy. “It needed a federal guy. Somebody who knew all the tricks to avoid triggering the Department of Justice when you moved the gems and cash around.”

  Ronnie's gun never wavered. Neither did Dauphin's. It felt unreal, a movie set where I'd stood a thousand times. It was easy to remain calm when it didn't seem real.

  You can do this. You can take control.

  “Hey.” I projected my voice as if I was on a Broadway stage. Matt Dauphin couldn't help looking at me, no matter how badly he wanted to keep one eye fixed on Ronnie. “This stand-off crap isn't working for anybody. I thought we had a deal. You bring me the stones, I bring you Ronnie. So why don't you hand over my stones, and Tay and I will be on our merry way.”

  That got a snicker out of him. “You're being ridiculous.”

  “The hell I'm ridiculous. That alexandrite is mine. We had a deal.”

  Annoyed, he swung the gun around to point at my heart. An improvement to my mind, although Ronnie's soft gasp suggested she didn't agree.

  “LAPD has your alexandrite,” he said. “Come on, it's been a long day already, and I'm pretty agnostic about who I shoot first. If you want to volunteer to be tribute, so be it. But I'd rather we all walked out of here under our own steam. Where's your problem with that?”