THE GIRL WHO KNEW TOO MUCH: A Suspenseful Action-Packed Thriller

by Nolan Thomas

  The jacket! The jacket the gray-haired black man wore looked exactly like Vince’s jacket.

  Rolinska turned and headed back to the bakery counter. The man exchanged pleasantries with the ladies behind the counter. Clearly they knew him—some sort of regular. Three more people had gotten in line. She wanted a closer look at this guy, so Rolinska joined the line.

  A closer look didn’t help. She shifted her attention to his cart, which held a large quantity of coffee as well as a couple of magazines—the type that appealed to preteen girls.

  “Why don’t you give me a couple a dozen of your glazed doughnuts,” the man said. He pointed to some chocolate covered doughnuts with multi colored sprinkles. “Throw in half a dozen of these, too.”

  “That’s a mighty big order for you, Jeremiah,” the stocky, friendly-faced woman behind the counter said, wiping her hands on her batter-smeared white apron. Her hair was stuffed unflatteringly in a white-paper bonnet. “You got company or something up at your place?”

  “Yeah, I got a house full.”

  “Well, I’ll be. All the times you’ve been in here, and I’ve never known you to change your order or mention company.”

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Jeremiah laughed.

  She grabbed a piece of waxed paper from a dispenser and began to efficiently pluck the plump, freshly baked doughnuts from the case, and put them in boxes.

  “You must have some kids up there with you visiting,” she said. Grabbing a fresh piece of waxed paper, she started putting the sprinkled doughnuts in a box. “These here are the kind kids like. I see it must be a girl, judging by your cart.”

  “Martha, you’re in the wrong line of work. If I ever start a detective agency, I’m hiring you,” he teased.

  “I’ll hold you to that,” Martha teased back, handing him the boxes. “You enjoy your company and those doughnuts.”

  Jeremiah happily took the three boxes of doughnuts from her, and headed for the checkout lanes.

  Rolinska moved past the checkout lanes and waited for Jeremiah in the area just beyond the greeter, an elderly woman who appeared to want to be anywhere but here. Rolinska stood next to the exit doors, just out of range of the security camera.

  Jeremiah thanked the clerk, wished her a pleasant day, and grabbed the two plastic bags. His mouth filled with saliva just thinking about those kick-ass glazed doughnuts. He walked past the dour-faced greeter, and wished her a pleasant day. She didn’t nod, smile, or acknowledge him in any way. Jeremiah saw her push a cart at an incoming customer without uttering a single word. Clearly this woman had trouble with the concept of greet.

  As he approached the exit, the automatic doors opened. Out of the corner of his eye he caught some movement, but before he could turn or react, a woman grabbed and twisted his empty arm behind his back. Nearly his height, Rolinska leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Nice jacket. Where’d you get it?”

  Jeremiah felt the steel barrel jab into his back.

  60

  “WE’RE GOING TO TAKE A ride in my car,” Rolinska said.

  “Who are you?” Jeremiah demanded, surprised at how hard she gripped his arm.

  “You know exactly who I am. I’m your worst nightmare.”

  “Hey. This must be a case of mistaken identity. I’m just a guy on a doughnut run for the family. Let me go, and I won’t say anything.”

  “Nice try,” Rolinska said. She shoved the gun harder into Jeremiah’s back. “Don’t fuck with me. Although I’ll give you credit for being convincing. If you weren’t wearing that jacket, I might almost believe you.”

  “What’s so special about this jacket? A million guys must own one like it.”

  They reached her car.

  “Give me your phone,” Rolinska demanded.

  “What phone? I don’t have a phone.”

  Rolinska reached inside the jacket and pulled a cell phone from the breast pocket of his shirt.

  “This phone.”

  She dropped Jeremiah’s phone on the pavement and ground her heal into it. Rolinska then opened the passenger door; twisted Jeremiah’s arm in a way that forced him to automatically bend at the waist from the pain; and slammed his head on the edge of the door while shoving him down into the passenger seat.

  The jolt of pain left him dazed and lightheaded. He barely resisted as she expertly tied his hands together. She tied another piece of rope around Jeremiah’s neck, anchoring it to the headrest. She then tied his feet together.

  “There, that should do it,” she said. Rolinska walked around to the other side of the car and got in the driver’s seat.

  Jeremiah’s head cleared. His wrong-guy act didn’t work. Rolinska leaned over and looked at him—a full-faced, straight-in-the-eyes kind of look. A look that told him he was a dead man. No one saw her face and lived. She reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, she looked at his driver’s license.

  “Jeremiah Robinson,” she said, more to herself than to Jeremiah. “Now why is it I know that name?”

  Rolinska called her contact. She went through the verification sequence, and provided Jeremiah’s Illinois driver’s license number. She listened intently as the Voice provided background information.

  “I thought I recognized your name. You’re a big-shot newspaperman. That explains the Billy Daniels connection, but why are either of you in DC?”

  “Russian? You spoke Russian on that call. Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m asking the questions,” she barked. “And the big question is why are you helping Riley Sinclair?”

  “Who?”

  Rolinska flashed a smile as she struck Jeremiah in the left temple with her knuckles. A little more force behind the blow and she would have killed him.

  Agonizing pain preceded the blackness. He heard her say, as if through a tunnel, “I told you not to fuck with me.”

  Jeremiah had difficulty lifting his head, but he was fully awake now and shockingly aware of his predicament.

  “Shall we try this again, Mr. Robinson? Why are you helping Riley Sinclair and Casey Callahan?”

  Surprised, he snapped his head in Rolinska’s direction.

  “Yes, Jeremiah, I know the woman helping Riley escape is Casey. I also know she works for Senator Hennessey.”

  Jeremiah looked away. He had no way out of his situation. She knew all of their identities. He didn’t know if she was a spy or what, but he did know there was no way she was going to let any of them live.

  “A penny for your thoughts?” Rolinska asked.

  “I knew they needed a place to hide. I have a place out in this neck of the woods. I figured no one would connect Riley with me, so I brought them here.”

  “So tell me Jeremiah, how did you end up wearing Detective Amato’s jacket? You’ve done well so far. Don’t start feeding me some line of bullshit now. I know Amato had it on when he and the FBI agent left the hotel this morning.”

  Jeremiah couldn’t help but show his surprise.

  She smiled again. “Yes, I stayed in the room across the hall from them. They didn’t have a clue.”

  Jeremiah said nothing. He looked straight forward, peering out the windshield.

  “I want to know why you’re wearing that jacket, and I want to know now,” Rolinska demanded.

  “We were out of coffee this morning. I need my caffeine to function. When Vince and Jackson showed up I figured I could leave. Riley and Casey would be safe with them. They told me no one followed them. Our jackets were all hanging in the closet together. I didn’t even realize it wasn’t my jacket.”

  Rolinska considered what he said. Her concern had been that Amato somehow had become aware of the device and sent Jeremiah out as a decoy while they changed locations. Based on what Jeremiah told her, Amato and Jackson were completely unaware of the device. Jeremiah wearing Amato’s jacket appeared to be happenstance.

  Rolinska scrutinized Jeremiah’s face, and looked into his eyes. She held his gaze, mentally
analyzing his words as though she were a human lie detector. She saw no evidence of subterfuge in his eyes, and nothing in his story thus far contradicted anything she knew as fact. If Jeremiah was merely a decoy, he was doing a damned good job of it, right down to his shopping cart. He had coffee, doughnuts, and some magazines for Riley. He didn’t deny he was with them. He also didn’t deny that Jackson and Vince were at his place now.

  Rolinska turned the key in the ignition. “Now Jeremiah, you’re going to give me directions to your place. It’s time I met Casey Callahan.”

  61

  “NO,” JEREMIAH SAID.

  “What do you mean no?” Dixon said softly. “You do know I’ll kill you if you don’t tell me.”

  Jeremiah turned and looked at her. “You’re going to kill me whether I tell you or not. You might as well just do it now because I’m not going to be the one who leads you to them.”

  Bravery. How impressive. I so seldom see it in my line of work. I thought it didn’t exist anymore.

  “I won’t kill you if you just tell me what I want to know. I like you. You help me, I’ll give you a break.”

  “Don’t bullshit me!” Jeremiah said, anger and frustration getting the best of him.

  He didn’t want to die, but he could accept it. What he couldn’t bear was the idea of Riley being murdered by this stone-cold killer. He would do whatever he could to save Riley—even if that included dying right now. This woman could torture him, and he hoped to God he’d hold up, but there was no way he would lead her to their hiding place.

  Jeremiah knew Dixon would be able to make some calls and find out where his place was, but that would take time. Jackson would know what his being late meant. Jeremiah just needed to buy them all some time.

  As if reading his mind, Dixon said, “I know how you feel about Riley. She lived with me for a while. She’s an incredible young girl. I’ve grown close to her. I don’t want to kill her.”

  “Then don’t!” Jeremiah blurted, straining against the ropes that held him captive.

  “Maybe I won’t have to. She’s young, and although she can identify me, I’ll disappear, so maybe she’s not as big a threat to me as I think. I’ll make a deal with you, Jeremiah. You’re right. I will kill you. Clearly you know too much. But if you take me to your house, I’ll let Riley live.”

  Jeremiah knew she couldn’t be trusted, but it was all he had. He wanted to believe that Dixon had developed some fondness for Riley during the time they had lived together. My God, he’d barely been around her at all and had fallen in love with her. If there was even the slightest chance Riley could survive this, he had to take it.

  “Turn right out of the lot and get on the freeway going north.”

  “Good decision.” Dixon pulled out of the lot.

  In a flat, almost robotic voice of resignation, Jeremiah said, “Go for five miles. When you reach Exit 13A, Black Hill Road, go west.”

  Without a word Dixon proceeded. She didn’t have to travel far on the freeway. After about five minutes she exited onto the ramp and stopped at the stop sign. She flipped her left turn indicator on. The pulsating sound of the signal sounded abnormally loud in the absence of any other sound inside the car. Jeremiah thought it was a desolate sound. It seemed to mirror what he imagined Dixon’s heart must sound like. Pulsing, methodic, and devoid of all human emotion. Jeremiah thought of his sweet Gloria. They would be together soon.

  Dixon turned left onto Black Hill Road, which rounded and curved further into the mountains.

  “How far?”

  The question brought Jeremiah back from thinking of his Gloria, and made him focus on the only thing that mattered right now, Riley.

  “I don’t know the exact mileage, but you’ll go about ten miles. There’s a large rock on the right-hand side of the road. You turn right onto that road, County Trunk H. You go north for only about a mile and a half. You’ll see a couple of wooden black-bear cutouts by a driveway. That’s the place. Turn at the bears.”

  She looked over at Jeremiah. He sat there, drooped in his seat as much as the rope around his neck would allow, a defeated man who accepted his imminent death. He didn’t whine and beg for his life. She respected that. She would reward him for his dignity with a quick death after he witnessed Riley’s fate.

  DIXON SLOWED BUT didn’t pull into the driveway when she reached the bears. Instead she pulled the car to the side of the road and parked. She got out of the car and went to the back and opened the trunk. Jeremiah heard some rustling. When Dixon walked past the passenger side of the car he saw she carried a backpack.

  He watched as Dixon ducked through the pine trees covering the front lot of the property. As soon as her attention focused on approaching the house, Jeremiah managed to wriggle his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans. Dixon had left some play in the ropes binding his hands, most likely because she had also created a noose around his neck that severely limited his range of motion.

  It seemed like an eternity before he felt the tips of his fingers touch his trusty Swiss Army knife. He struggled against the restraint, dipping his shoulders, and moving his hips to allow for access to the pocketknife. The ropes cut into his hand and his neck. He felt light-headed, but he kept an image of Riley fixed in his head, and continued to reach for the pocketknife, elongating his fingers—willing them to become werewolf-like in their transformation.

  He pushed the pocketknife against his pocket and created enough force to move it. He was able to get hold of the treasured knife. He released his position and relieved the pressure on his throat. He coughed and gasped, but held the prize solidly in his hand. Out of all the wonderful sensations he had experienced in his life, the feel of that pocketknife in his hands was the best.

  Jeremiah pulled his hand out of his pocket, and managed to pull out the blade. He quickly cut all the ropes that bound him, closed the pocketknife, and slid it back into the pocket of his jeans.

  He opened the door and slipped out of the car.

  62

  ROLINSKA MOVED THROUGH THE TREES quickly but quietly. She stopped at the edge of the trees to survey the scene. A long gravel driveway led to a semi-circle drive. A small home with a charming look about it stood at the edge of the drive. This looked exactly like the type of house Rolinska expected Jeremiah to have. No cars were parked in front of the house, but that didn’t surprise her. Surely Jackson and the others were smart enough to have parked the cars out of sight.

  In stealth mode, Rolinska walked around the perimeter of the property, careful to stay in the cover of the trees, searching for the best place to leave the explosive device. It had been a long time since she’d been able to blow anything up. She looked forward to it.

  The house was small so Rolinska’s bomb would blow up the entire house wherever she placed it. She had to make sure no one saw her before she was able to detonate the bomb. Rolinska determined the west side of the house offered the best cover because the tree line came closest to the house, and some evergreen shrubbery next to the house provided additional coverage. She crept up close to the house and unzipped her backpack, removed the bomb, and then armed it to explode when she hit the detonator.

  Nestling the bomb close to the house, Rolinska scurried back into the woods. She waited a few moments and watched the house. No one pulled back curtains. No faces peered out the windows. They would never know what hit them. Rolinska moved through the woods back in the direction of the car. She wanted to be as close as she could to see her pyrotechnics, but not so close she would be in any danger. She calculated that halfway through the wooded area between the house and her car would be sufficient. Not only would her bomb blow up the house, but she had also made sure an incendiary agent would quickly engulf the house in flames. No one would be able to survive this. So few remains would be left that the coroner might not be able to make positive identifications of all the victims.

  Rolinska found a spot that offered her maximum protection from any flying debris. She laid flat on her belly
and pulled a pair of tinted, protective goggles from her backpack. She pulled the goggle strap over the back of her head and positioned the goggles comfortably around her eye sockets. Reaching into the backpack she took out the detonator.

  Holding it in both hands, she pushed the button.

  The house erupted instantly, spewing wood and furniture skyward. The ground rumbled beneath her like an earthquake. Then whoosh—a fireball erupted. Flames completely engulfed the house in a matter of seconds. Rolinska soaked up the vision of orange, red, and yellow flames battling to reach the sky, as if she were watching an erotic movie. To her the explosion and fire were all in slow motion, causing her nerve endings to tingle with pleasure. Her warm skin became covered with beads of perspiration from the exhilaration and excitement.

  Rolinska lay there watching the fire consume every morsel of what was once Jeremiah’s lovely home. She finally picked herself up from the ground and headed for the car. By now Jeremiah would have figured out that she’d lied about saving Riley. Rolinska couldn’t remember the last time she had this much fun. Maybe she wouldn’t make Jeremiah’s death painless. She picked up her pace, anxious to see the agony on Jeremiah’s face, knowing his friends were all dead.

  63

  “HE’S BEEN GONE TOO LONG,” Billy said. “Something’s wrong.”

  Jackson nodded his agreement.

  “Look,” Vince said, “None of us knows how far away the store is. Maybe there weren’t enough checkout people, or the trip took longer than he thought. I don’t think we should jump to conclusions.”

  “I think that’s exactly what we should do,” Billy said.

  “You’re both right,” Jackson intervened. “We don’t want to overreact, so let’s give Jeremiah ten more minutes. In the meantime, let’s come up with a contingency plan in case he doesn’t show up by then.”

  Billy and Vince shook their heads, agreeing with the agent.

  “If Jeremiah’s in trouble, it means Dixon has found him,” Billy said. “If she found him, it’s just a matter of time before she finds this house.”