Silver linings.
While Sam Martin snickered at my failed job interview, I sidestepped toward Denver. Peripherally, I sized up the distance between us. Tried to formulate another plan. Clearly, Julia Pinkerton cleverness wasn’t working.
“Fraser, we talked about this,” said Sam. “You have a health resort to run. Our guests — people sick and in pain — are counting on you. Marriage is not going to keep her mouth closed.”
“Maizie?” said Oliver. “If we get married, you can’t talk to Roger Price. You should probably stop looking for the camper, too. At least here, anyway. It’s not Sam’s fault. Can’t you see that these other characters just let things get out of hand?”
“The police are on their way.” I hoped my irritation didn’t show in my voice. Who used spousal immunity as a proposal? “Do you even know what happened to that camper, Oliver?”
“Let the police come, they’re not going to find anything,” said Sam. “Denver’s going away for a while. The only evidence against us is your testimony.”
I wouldn’t compromise Chandler, as much as I wanted to take the burden of testimony off myself. “How about the body of Everett Lawson in the woods?”
“Everett Lawson took his own life because an ATF agent was pressuring him to become an informant in the bank robbery. That’s on the ATF, not us.”
“What?” Oliver and I said simultaneously.
“Everett didn’t bury himself. Denver took him out,” I said. “I saw them leave together from Wellspring. And if he was going to incriminate you, Denver should have done a better job at making his death look like a suicide.”
Sam gave Denver the side-eye. “We’re not trying to hide anything here at Wellspring.”
“Then let me marry Maizie.” Oliver held out his hands. “It’ll be just like she said.”
“Listen, Oliver,” said Sam. “You’re doing great work here. You can help a lot of people. But we need to proceed as planned in order to fund your dream. She wants to stop us, and you’ll end up in prison. Think long term.”
"But—”
“If you have to bring fried chicken into a vegan resort to win her over, it proves she doesn’t hold your beliefs. How long will she keep up the charade? She’s an actress. She’s pretending now.”
Oliver’s hands dropped.
“We talked about this,” said Sam. “You know I’m right.”
“I just hoped we could…before she…” Oliver plunged his hands in his pocket. “Let me give it to her?”
“Seriously?” I gaped at Oliver.
“I don’t want to go to prison, Maizie. I haven’t done anything wrong. This is my chance to really help people. You know this is my dream. I can’t let an idiot like Roger Price blow it for me.”
“Literally ‘blow it.’ As in a bomb, Oliver. Wellspring is into bombs, guns, and murder. How can you not see that?” I was having a Twilight Zone moment. Denver had hit my head harder than I thought. I had to be dreaming. “Oliver, they want to kill me.”
“Not kill you. Just incapacitate you for a while. Until this blows over. If you had just waited for me, it wouldn’t have to come to this. Sam was right. You escalated the situation.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Oliver, you’re not seeing this clearly.”
“I tried to help you find the camper, but you had to go behind my back. I tried to protect you and you won’t do the same for me. That’s pretty clear.”
“I thought you loved me.”
“I did. Even when I could tell you didn’t feel the same about me. But Sam’s right. It’s just not going to work, Maizie, is it?”
“You’re breaking up with me? You’re just going to let them kill me?”
“I keep telling you, they’re not going to kill you. I think you’re misunderstanding the situation.”
“How do I misunderstand a Glock?”
A knock thumped behind us. Denver swung his gun at the door.
“Watch it.” Sam held up a hand and checked his phone. “It’s Sakda. Let her in.”
Denver reached for the doorknob with his free hand.
Oliver swiveled and crossed the room, making Denver tense, drop the door handle, and steady his feet.
At Dr. Trident’s desk, Oliver glanced over his shoulder. “Just something for the pain?”
“Sure. Really strong,” sneered Sam. “And highly addictive, thanks to Dr. Sakda’s amazing chemistry. I heard drugs used to be your thing, Maizie.”
“Well, you got that wrong,” I said in my best Julia Pinkerton snark. “The chemical most likely to kill me is triglycerides.”
“You’ll be more useful to us as a junkie. Word will get out about what you're using. Celebrities market certain products better than anyone. And if they OD, it doesn’t seem to bother the consumer.
“Just incapacitate her for a while,” repeated Oliver. "That’s what you said, Sam.”
Dr. Sakda knocked again. Denver leaned toward the door, reaching for the lever with his free hand.
Julia Pinkerton wasn’t doing me any favors. And neither was Oliver. Time to revert to a preteen character, Kung Fu Kate.
I shifted to the ball of my right foot. Pivoted on my left. Struck my right foot out sideways. Caught Denver exposed in his wide-legged lean toward the door. Landing on my right foot, I shoved on the door, slamming it into Dr. Sakda. While she teetered, I thrust, elbowing her in the gut. She bent, gasping. I bounded down the hall, screaming “Fire” in my stage projection voice.
I hoped they didn’t kill Oliver before I could get back to save him. Because after saving him, I planned to throw that ring in his face.
Scratch that. I was keeping the ring.
At the end of the hall, I yanked the fire alarm. The alarm blared. A gunshot rang from the office and behind me, the plaster wall exploded. I faltered, then picked up speed to the stairs. Running down the grand staircase, I windmilled into the lobby and banged into the reception desk. The young woman’s eyes rounded as she looked up. Water rained from overhead sprinklers.
“Quick,” I shouted above the alarm. “Vicki Albright and Giulio Belloni. Are they still here?”
Covering her head, the receptionist yelled, “No. They checked out.” Her eyes darted to focus on something over my shoulder.
Craptastic. I could guess who was behind me.
“Go out the back,” I said. “Make sure all the employees get out of the center. Emergency exits only.”
I spun from the desk. Sam Martin had Denver’s Glock. He held it against his leg, half-hidden from employees and guests. His expression had freaked out the receptionist. Freaked me out, too.
My heart triple-thumped. Where was Oliver? Had they killed him?
Sam Martin spotted me. I sprung across the wet wood, skidded onto the oriental carpet, and darted through the heavy wooden doors. In the parking lot, I headed for Rhonda’s car. Patted my jeans and realized Denver had taken the keys with Oliver’s phone.
Universe. Really?
The Center’s front door crashed open. I crouched behind the car. Began to plot distances between my squat, the woods, and Sam Martin. Peering out behind Rhonda’s car, I spotted him standing under the portico. Holding the gun in a two-handed grip. A mistake on Denver’s part. I’d never have been able to kick him if he’d followed basic gun safety.
Sam glanced around the parking lot. I ducked my head. Leaned back against the car, trying to catch my breath.
How was I going to get back in to save Oliver?
In the distance, an engine growled. A vehicle ascending the mountain drive. The motor grew louder, accelerating into the Wellspring car park. I dropped to my belly and peered out. A pickup burned through the lot toward the front door.
My heart triple-thumped again.
Nash.
Wait. He wasn’t supposed to be driving with that kind of concussion. And he might get hit with an unexpected bullet.
I popped out from behind Rhonda’s car. “Hold up,” I screamed, waving my hands.
&nb
sp; The truck skidded to a stop. The driver’s door flew open. Nash beckoned. I shook my head, pointing at the Center’s entrance. He turned toward the passenger window and his hand moved to the gear shift.
Without taking his eyes off Sam Martin, Nash accelerated and cranked the steering wheel. The tires squealed. His door swung back and crashed against the frame. A shot sang. The truck continued the tight turn. The brakes cried and the truck jerked to a stop. I leaped toward the door. Yanked on the handle. Swung a foot onto the running board.
The gun blasted again. Nash stepped on the gas. I clung to the door, trying to gain my balance. One foot on the running board. The other trailing beneath the door.
Sam fired round after round. Metal screeched and pinged. The back window cracked.
“Hang on.” Nash reached for me. “Grab my hand.”
I shook my head, keeping my grip on the door. Using my body weight, I kicked my free leg backward and flung myself onto the seat. Nash grabbed the back of my jeans and gripped them while I hung half out the door.
“My arms are going to give out,” I cried. “I can’t shut the door.”
“Leave it.” He leaned toward me, then jerked back. My body slid toward him and I released the door. The parking lot disappeared. Cool pine air rushed into the truck. Nash took the corner onto the mountain road. The door swung back and banged against the doorframe.
I stretched to grab it, pulled it closed, then collapsed back on the seat.
“Are you okay?” He still gripped my jeans. My butt rested against his thigh and my legs dangled awkwardly below the seat.
I laid my forehead against the cool pleather. “Yes. But I have to go back.”
“No.” Nash patted my butt. “You’ve done enough. The police are on their way. Sounds like all first responders are on their way. Did you pull that fire alarm?”
“Yes.” My ears tuned to the distant sirens. “Stop here. I’ll cut through the woods. I can’t just leave him like this. They’re probably holding him hostage.”
“Who? Your teenagers showed up at the office with Chandler.”
“They never listen to me,” I spoke into the seat. “I told them to go to the police first.”
“I called the police. It’s okay. They did good. You did good.”
I shook my head, rolling from cheek to cheek. “I did lousy. I’m an idiot. I put a lot of people in danger. I got some killed. I was totally blind. And you should still be in bed.”
The truck slowed and stopped. On the opposite side of the road, a police car roared by. A fire truck followed.
“Can you sit up, so I can talk to you? Not that I mind the view, but…”
I quickly scooted to sitting and faced him. Three more police cars shot past us.
“You found your missing person. You broke that case by yourself.”
“Chandler found me. I don’t think it counts.”
Nash shrugged. “He’s still found. Sounded like if you hadn’t been wandering in the woods—”
“Like an idiot, chasing an armed man driving an ATV with bags of drug money.”
“And convinced Chandler to turn himself in,” Nash continued. “He would still be living in a tree.”
“Doubt it.” I crossed my arms. Uncrossed them. “Although he might’ve been found and killed.”
“Well, there you go. In a way, you saved his life.”
I pursed my lips, then bit them. My traitorous eyes brimmed with tears. “What about Oliver? What if they killed him because I escaped?”
“What was his role in all of this?”
“A not very good henchman. He turned a blind eye. Possibly he was keeping the books for them, laundering drug money through Wellspring. Sam Martin didn’t care about having more guests or employees. That should’ve clued me in earlier.” I sniffed and wiped a tear with the back of my hand. “Oliver really believed he was helping people with their pain. It sounded like Dr. Sakda was doing something to the kratom to make it stronger and more addictive. I don’t know if Oliver knew or not.”
“And you still want to save him?”
“We have a history.” I glanced at my ring.
Nash’s gaze followed and stopped on the ring. “Oh. I see.”
I stuffed my left hand in my armpit and stared at the truck ceiling. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.”
Nash drew away to drum his fingers against the door. Another police car and an ambulance rushed past. A tear rolled down my face. I wiped it on my shoulder.
“Do you know what happened to Dr. Trident? My therapist?”
He kept his eyes on the windshield and shook his head. “We’ll try to find out everything from Mowry when we can.”
“Roger Price was telling the truth,” I said. “The bomb wasn’t meant to go off. He was supposed to distract the police while Denver and Everett arranged the drug money pickup. They drove their ATVs up the old mountain trail and met the delivery men at the lookout on the peak.”
“Roger wasn’t robbing the bank?” said Nash.
“Crispin was working with Denver. He knew Roger liked to build things. He connected with Roger and got him to do it. Except it wasn’t supposed to be rigged to explode.”
“I’ll be damned. And we missed it.”
I laid a hand on his arm. “If Roger had used a fake bomb like they wanted, you would have taken him out and none of this would’ve happened. You’re still a hero.”
Nash studied my hand on his arm. The diamonds sparkled in the flashing lights driving past. He drew his gaze up to meet mine. “I’m no hero. I’ve been weak—”
Something slammed into the passenger door and slid along the side. I gasped and turned toward the window. Nash placed a hand on my shoulder and pushed me down.
“Call the police.” Tossing his phone into my lap, Nash leaned over me. Popping open the glove compartment, he fished out his .38. Checked the chamber. Grabbed the speed loader. Cracked open his truck door. “Stay in the truck.”
It felt like déjà vu. The most horrible kind of déjà vu. Worse than the Oliver selling me out déjà vu.
“You’re injured,” I hissed. “You can barely walk.”
“No, Maizie. Stay here.”
“But Nash—”
“That’s an order.” He slipped outside. The door snicked shut.
“Hells-to-the-no. I’m not doing this again.”
Fifty-Three
#SelfieShipFix #BigfootBeliever
Keeping his back against the truck, Nash held his .38 pointed at the ground and scanned the area. I slid to the passenger side window and peeped out. Saw nothing but the empty road curving down the mountain. I popped the door. A breeze rustled the trees. In the distance, alarms and sirens wailed. I listened for movement. Heard the scratch and slide of a foot on gravel.
And spotted a man bun peeping above the tailgate.
Dr. Trident.
Not knowing Trident’s role in the Wellspring crime group— or even if he was armed like Sam Martin and Denver — I didn’t want to call out and give Nash away. He’d ease around the truck and see Trident.
And they’d shoot each other.
Trident’s back was to me. I tiptoed to the end of the truck. Panting, he stared into the woods. A rifle hung over his shoulder. But not in his hand. I exhaled and rounded the corner to face him. “Dr. Trident. What are you doing here?”
“Maizie?” He turned his head. “There’s something out there.”
Nash rounded the other side, his revolver aimed at Trident. “Drop your weapon. Miss Albright, get out of the way.”
“Maizie, who is this?” Trident held up his hands.
“Drop your weapon,” said Nash, swaying. “Lay it on the ground and step back. This is the last time I’m going to say it.” He gritted his teeth and replanted his feet.
“Dr. Trident,” I said. “Do what he says. He doesn’t want to shoot you, but he will if you don’t follow his directions.”
Trident slipped the rifle off his shoulder, l
aid it on the ground, and stepped back. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here. What do you want? Money?”
“He’s not robbing you.” I bent to scoop the rifle and almost blacked out on the return trip. Blinking away stars, I stumbled toward Nash. I steadied a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “You’re swaying, cowboy. You shouldn’t be on your feet like this.”
Nash slipped an arm around my waist but kept his gun gripped and ready. “You’re swaying, too,” he murmured. “And you look like hell, by the way. Like some kind of zombie who’s been rolling in a hay pile.”
“That’s pine straw. And thanks to you, I haven’t slept in a week.” I refocused on Trident. “This is my therapist, Dr. Trident. Who, I believe, is not really a therapist. And to think I was doing selfie therapy until my phone was stolen.”
“How can you say that Maizie?” cried Trident. “You hung my Ph.D. certificate on the wall. We’ve been working together all week. You’ve had breakthroughs because of me.” He looked at Nash. “My YouTube series treating celebrity clients is quite popular.”
“Okay, calm down.” I didn’t want to get into any supposed breakthroughs in front of Nash. “It’s just that Sam Martin and Dr. Sakda were using Wellspring to make their hybrid drug and laundering the money. How are you not involved? You introduced me to Everett Lawson. And Denver Crosby. They do the exchange with the cartel guys.”
“Drug cartel? No.” Dr. Trident blinked a few times and rubbed his chin. “I don’t like labels, Maizie. I also don’t believe in judgment. And I can’t believe this is true of Sam Martin and Dr. Sakda. We’re hashtag-healing-revolution. Did you forget? Say it with me, Maizie, hashtag—”
“Let me point out something more compelling,” said Nash. “You were carrying a rifle and running through the woods.”
“For protection. There’s something in the woods.”
“Something like cops.” He motioned with his gun hand. “Get in the truck. We’re taking you to Black Pine PD.”
“But I really don’t understand what’s going on,” he said.
“Then they won’t arrest you,” said Nash. “But that’s for the police to decide.”
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