by T. K. Lukas
“I have the perfect place in mind,” said Trevor, scrolling through his contact list on his cellphone.
“Tell me why you think it’s perfect.” Aleck leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, eyes to the ceiling to visualize Trevor’s description.
“Markus Yeager, former Marine Officer with Force Reconnaissance Special Operations Unit. After he was wounded, he left the Marines and went to work for a private security company that specialized in offshore oil wells in the Middle East. I met him when he came to San Antonio to volunteer with the Wounded Warrior project. I was his assigned wounded warrior.”
“So far, so good.” Aleck lowered his eyes, settling his gaze on Trevor. “Where is Mr. Yeager’s place?”
“He has a remote ranch and hunting lodge in Alpine. It’s about an eight-hour drive, give-or-take. I’ve been several times with other Marines. Man, this place is not easy to find, but that’s what we want.”
“Yes,” Aleck nodded.
“If I needed a place to hide, that’s where I’d go. Markus is the one I could count on to have my back. He’s been out of the Marines several years, but men still talk about him. Stories about him are legendary.”
“Sounds perfect. I agree. Let me have his contact info, too, after you call.”
“Hell. My phone’s probably been traced by now. I should have gotten a replacement for mine, too. I don’t know how these James Bond bugging devices work, but if her husband thinks my number is the one she sent her 9-1-1 text to, I don’t want him somehow being able to spy on who I call.”
Don’t call him my husband, Sidney thought, one part of her wanting to enter the conversation, the other part wanting to remain silent. The silent part won.
“It’s wise to play it safe, Trevor. And, email me her new number and email address when you get it set up. In the meantime, I’m sending a friend of mine over here—Sidney, are you listening?”
“Yes, Aleck, I’m listening. Sorry.” She raised her head from the table, feeling like a small child, with the adults talking about her as if she weren’t in the room. “And one other thing—Jessi needs to be contacted. She’s expecting me to move in with her and Rafe. If I don’t call her soon, she’s going to be worried sick.”
“I’ll take care of that. And, I’m sending a policeman friend of mine to give you a crash course on personal protection. I’d feel much better if you knew the basics on how to defend yourself, maybe how to aim a gun.”
“No guns.”
“All right, a Taser, then.”
Sidney nodded. That was the best she could manage.
*****
The plan went off without a hitch. Leaving earlier than anticipated, Sidney pulled out of Fort Worth at eight on Friday morning, making one stop in Weatherford to pick up Mocha before heading west. Eli and Trevor insisted on escorting her that far, to see that she safely made it away with her horse.
The truck and trailer were ideal. She’d asked Trevor to make sure the truck had a powerful towing package, and he came through. He found a low mileage truck that had been used to haul a yacht from the Gulf of Mexico to Dallas. It came with a red and white scuba diving sticker on the back bumper—ironic, because Sidney hated scuba diving. She’d tried it once at Winston’s insistence, but with the mask on her face, her claustrophobia sent her into a panic. She’d almost drowned, trying to get the mask back on. Her ineptitude infuriated Winston who loudly hissed insults, humiliating her in front of the people at the Belize Yacht Club’s dive shop. He sure wouldn’t suspect she’d be driving a truck with a sticker on it announcing her love for scuba diving.
Trevor, on a spur-of-the-moment act of ingenuity, had purchased the trailer dealership’s plastic, life-sized display horse along with two matching sheets. What a brilliant guy, she’d said, and kissed him full on the mouth. If Winston was on the lookout for her and suspected she’d fled with Mocha after all, he’d be watching for a trailer with one horse.
Taking Sidney into her closet, Eli had pointed to a long shelf and said, “These wigs give me confidence and make me feel like the woman I used to be. Invincible. Strong. Brave. And not to mention sexy, with never a bad hair day. Choose your favorite.”
The goodbyes were difficult but she knew she must leave—she couldn’t stay and risk putting Eli and Trevor in more danger. In addition to the personal protection techniques she’d been taught by the police officer, she added a few safety tips of her own: be wary of everyone, use her camera to document trouble, revert to using her maiden name, ‘McQueen,’ and don’t let the sun go down without being behind a locked door.
With Mocha loaded in the trailer and with Fort Worth’s skyline shrinking behind her, Sidney began to breathe a little easier. Money that Aleck had secured from the trust account would allow her to pay cash for everything. She would not leave a paper trail. Once he had a new phone, she and Trevor would reconnect as soon as it was safe. He would call and give her exact directions and a phone number for where she was to go. For the time being, all she had was a name and a place, and that she was to drive to Alpine, Texas.
On the road for an hour, Sidney wondered how long it would take for Trevor to get his new phone. She picked up her cellphone, checking the volume, checking to make sure the battery was charged, checking to see if she’d missed his call. She didn’t doubt that he would call, as soon as he felt it was safe. She shivered with an accompanying thought—would she ever feel safe again?
CHAPTER 9
Alpine
Markus pushed back the silk tapestry, and going through the memorized ritual, pressed four wooden slats in the correct order. The camouflaged panels shifted outward. The bulletproof door slid into the wall. He stepped into the safe-room, secured the door behind him, and powered up the computer, eager to see if there had been an overnight response to his request for an ASAP background check on Sidney McQueen/Knight.
There was. He sat and read.
Found: Sidney Alexis Knight, PhD, age, 34. Maiden name, McQueen. Married to Fort Worth, Texas attorney Charles Winston Knight, III, age 42. His fourth marriage, her third. Petition for divorce filed in Tarrant County, Texas, Wednesday, November 14, 2012. Plaintiff: Sidney A. Knight. Defendant: C. Winston Knight.
Other Pertinent Information: Her parents died when she was eight—private plane crash in Alaska. Father, Dallas plastic surgeon Dr. Marshall McQueen, was piloting the plane; mother, Kay, the only other passenger. After crash, returned to Dallas, lived with her paternal aunt, Margaret McQueen, single mother of daughter Jessica – same age as Sidney.
Education: Highland Park High School, Dallas, TX. Undergrad degree in World Literature, PhD in Psychology, both degrees from SMU, Dallas, TX.
Cousin: Jessica Shea McQueen Cordoba, married to Rafael Cordoba. Reside in Southlake, TX.
Special Note: Rafael Cordoba was high school foreign exchange student from Madrid. He remained on a student visa. Married Jessica Shea McQueen January 1, 1998.
Found: Mountain Princess Trust, established by Patrick Donavan McQueen, now deceased, grandfather of Sidney. Initial proceeds: four million from life insurance policies paid upon death of parents, plus inheritance of father’s personal wealth, which was sizeable. With interest, sizeable investments, and real estate holdings, Trust is currently valued at forty-seven million, according to IRS. Trustee: Sidney A. McQueen, Beneficiary: Jessica S. Cordoba.
Alert: Charles Winston Knight, III, on several “watch” lists, including FBI, ATF, and DEA. Multiple contacts with the Río Negro cartel, a splinter group of the original Juarez cartel. Activity suspected: money laundering, drug smuggling, and weapons trafficking. (Arm of cartel that controls weapons also deals in human trafficking, mostly children. However, no known involvement he’s dealing in that dirty business. Not that he gets a gold star for that.)
Shall I close out this background search or leave it open and active?
Markus leaned back in his chair and clamped his hands behind his head, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. All right, h
e thought, Sidney’s a smart little rich girl with the devil on her tail, assuming she was referring to Winston Knight as being the devil that hated dogs.
That alone was reason enough for Markus to hate the man—he didn’t trust anyone who didn’t like dogs. Taking out his notebook, he jotted down a few thoughts from what he’d read. First, Winston was a successful attorney with three ex’s probably bleeding him dry, with a fourth soon-to-be-ex in the works. He’d be desperate for cash.
But, if he was in bed with the Río Negro cartel, he’s probably got cash gushing as hot and heavy as a teenage boy’s semen. He wouldn’t need to get to Sidney’s money. Unless it wasn’t the money he was after.
As always, Markus wrote in large letters: WHAT AM I MISSING? The act of writing, coupled with the act of reading the prompt, always jogged something loose in his brain. He sat and waited for the enlightening moment to occur.
Before turning off the computer, Markus answered the email with the cryptic reply: ‘O & A,’ thinking to himself, definitely, open and active. On a second thought, he added:
Find net worth of CWK, III, along with info on his previous divorce settlements and any other debts. Also, extensive background checks on both Jessica and Rafael Cordoba. Much thanks.
With the hidden door secured and the tapestry in place, Markus began his daily workout routine. It was ten minutes after four in the morning. An hour of aikido, karate, and ninjutsu would still allow him time to shower and get to the barn to feed the horses by six o’clock.
*****
Beyond a bend in the road, the barn came into view. Markus saw Mocha’s paddock was empty and no lights glowed in Sidney’s trailer. A sense that something was not right tugged at him. He quickened his steps, the only outward indication of his concern, yet his mind raced over several possible scenarios for that concern, nearly all of which disturbed him. Upon entering the barn, he saw that Mocha’s stall door stood wide open, the stall empty. Hurrying around to Sidney’s horse trailer, he knocked on the door. Banged again, harder. No answer.
He tried the handle and found the door was locked. Striding to the rear of the trailer, he checked the tack room door—it was locked, too. There was no sign of Sidney or her horse. An alarm began vibrating along each taut nerve. A cold apprehension filled his gut. Instinctively, he swept his eyes across the ground for signs of a struggle—signs of blood.
Rex growled low, followed by an abrupt, short bark. He took off toward the wide and dense tree line separating the barn from the riding arena. The big dog plunged right in and disappeared into the thick brush.
Markus sped off at a dead run behind Rex. He pulled the Glock from the holster concealed under his denim jacket and followed the dog into the shadowy thicket. While creeping through the dewy undergrowth and trying to discern things outside his field of vision, he was raked across the face by a thin, thorny branch. It drew blood. Markus ignored the sting and the red drops oozing down his cheek. He gripped the weapon tightly in both hands, holding them near his chest in the tactical posture. Pushing forward, he emerged from the other side of the tree line.
And there was Sidney. She cantered Mocha in the arena, making sweeping circles and figure eight patterns, the mare executing perfect lead changes at the center. All the while, a watercolor wash of pink and lavender teased the eastern horizon.
Markus pulled up short, holstered the Glock, and allowed his breathing to normalize. “Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me. I didn’t see you or your horse. Your trailer was dark and locked. I thought someone had—”
He physically shook the thought out of his head as he walked to the arena. With his booted foot propped on a middle rung of the pipe fence, he ran his hands through his hair, relieved to see she was safe and sound. Rex barked another greeting, playfully running up and down the fence line.
“Were you going to shoot me? Is it a crime to go for a morning ride?” Sidney’s manner was serious, her face conveying her annoyance. She trotted over to where Markus lounged against the fence.
“No, of course not. I just—”
“How dare you! Do you treat all guests at your stables with the same rudeness that you showed me last night? Who do you think you are? Your behavior went way beyond being a jerk. What if I’m a cancer survivor? What if I have a disease that’s robbed me of my hair? What if I’ve been injured by something or someone that’s caused me to have to wear this—how did you put it last night before you bolted out the door—this silly blond wig?”
With that, Sidney peeled the hairpiece off her head and flung it at him. “There. Are you happy now?”
Reining Mocha around, Sidney cantered to the opposite end of the arena where the wide gate dipped lower by a few feet than the top rails of the fence. With a touch of heel and a forward change in her body position to cue the horse, Sidney and the mare jumped the gate with fluid effort. They sailed over it with room to spare, then disappeared from sight around the tree line.
Having caught the long blond wig, he juggled it in his hands. Markus gaped after her, this time the one to be left with his mouth hanging wide open. “Rex, I believe I had that coming to me. What do you think, boy?”
Rex looked up at Markus and tipped his head left and right. His intent eye contact was evidence of the intelligent animal trying his best to understand. He gave a single loud bark, as if agreeing with his human.
Markus set off walking toward the barn, the big dog at his side. “Damn, if she’s not hot, and I’m not talking only about her temper.”
Moments later, Sidney heard the pair as they approached, but ignored them. She continued with her business of unsaddling and putting tack away. With brush and curry comb in hand, she worked over the sweaty mare’s coat, as if the sleeker the horse became, the less frustrated she herself might feel. She groomed at a feverish pace, not letting on she knew Markus was standing close behind. Not an easy task, for his presence overwhelmed her.
“Sidney, I owe you an apology,” he said, speaking to her back. “You’re right. I had no idea why you wore a wig. I had a notion that something was off about you and your story, and my suspicion caused me to act inappropriately. I hope you’ll forgive me. Are you a cancer survivor, or a survivor of any of the other issues you mentioned?”
Sidney kept up the unrelenting pace with the currycomb and brush, refusing to make eye contact or to acknowledge Markus’s apology. Begrudgingly, she said as little as she felt was necessary. “It’s really none of your business, but no, I’m not. Trevor’s mother is the cancer survivor. She loaned me the wig. Why were you suspicious? What were you thinking?”
“Ah. That’s the million-dollar question. I wish I had a million-dollar answer.”
“I counted two million-dollar questions. Why, and what?”
Sidney flung the brush and curry comb into the grooming bucket and turned around, fists on hips, ready to launch an attack against the man who’d insulted and humiliated her. Instead, she dropped her chin to her chest and scrunched her eyes closed, letting out a heartfelt belly laugh.
“Now that’s funny,” she said, and meant it. “Sorry, but you’re no more of a natural blond than I am.”
“How do you know I’m not a natural blond? Care to test that theory?” He fluttered his eyebrows up and down in a comical fashion, removed the wig from his head and handed it to her. “I could be one of those guys who dyes my naturally blond locks to a mousy brown, just to throw off the chicks.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Sidney reached for the wig.
“What? That I have naturally blond locks, or that I have chicks chasing me?”
“That you have naturally blond locks. But you’re definitely not mousy brown. I’d say chocolate.”
“Dark chocolate, I hope. It’s healthier to eat.” He gave her a look that could have been interpreted any number of ways. “So, will you forgive me for being a jerk? Can we start over?”
“It’s forgiven, but there’s no need for starting over. I’m leaving.”
“Leaving—why
?”
“Alpine’s not right for me. From the minute I pulled into town, I’ve experienced, for the most part, hostile intimidation. That’s the last thing I need in my life right now. I’ll load my trailer and look for someplace else to stay. How much do I owe you for boarding Mocha overnight?”
“I wish you’d reconsider. I had an email from Trevor when I got back to my lodge last night. He told me enough about your situation, including some pertinent details, to know you could be in serious danger.”
Sidney locked eyes with him, the stare-down moving beyond inquisitive to uncomfortable. “When did you see Trevor’s email? Was it when you went back to your lodge after I first arrived? Or, was it the second time you went to your lodge after telling me to take off my silly blond wig? Because if it was after the first time, and then you came back to the stables, you’d have known at that point why Trevor sent me here. So, which was it?”
Markus chewed the inside of his cheek and took a deep breath, his hesitation giving him time to put his thoughts in order. “After the first time. My suspicions were already ar—aroused,” he almost choked on the word.
“Your suspicions? What are you talking about?”
“I became suspicious about you almost immediately. The obvious wig, the fake horse in the trailer, the ‘I love scuba diving’ bumper sticker but you know nothing about diving and profess to hate it. The evasive answers. My intuition said something was way off.”
“Intuition’s a nice asset, as I’ve been told, if one is perceptive enough not to disregard it.” Sidney folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head. She wasn’t about to let him avoid her eye contact—not that he was trying to. The intensity of his stare was palpable.
“Touché.” Markus held her challenging gaze. “Trevor’s email mentioned the serious trouble you’re running from, but he said he’d only just met you and doesn’t really know anything about you. I felt compelled to make sure your story added up. Oh, and Trevor’s email said that your name is Sidney Knight. You introduced yourself as Sidney McQueen.” He shrugged his shoulders, palms out in an innocent gesture.