She looked down at her map. “Not really. They can be anywhere between Sioux Falls and the Badlands.”
“That covers a lot of ground.”
“That should help, right?”
“In theory. Okay, let me make some calls and I’ll call you back at this number. Hang tight.”
“I owe you, Leo.”
“Nah. Consider it payback for stabbing a would-be hostage taker at my wedding.” He was still laughing when he ended the call.
7:43 AM
* * *
Leo called back in under fifteen minutes.
“Remember Manny Ortiz?” he asked without preamble.
She searched her memory. “Sure. He was one of your groomsmen. Manuel Ortiz, agent with the Environmental Protection Agency’s Criminal Investigation Division. His wife Josie is an interior designer. They have three kids. And he may still be in the doghouse with Sasha for ignoring her ‘no guns at the wedding’ rule.”
“Good thing he did. And good memory. Two updates. He and Josie have four kids now. And Manny transferred.”
“He’s a special agent?”
“Even better. He’s a special agent tracking down a fugitive for his old colleagues at the EPA. There was a sighting of said fugitive in Recluse, Wyoming, last week, so that’s where he is at the moment.”
She searched the map. “I don’t see Recluse on my map.”
“I’d imagine not. It has something like two hundred residents.”
“Not a good place to hide out, is it?”
“According to Manny, it’s a great place to hide out. As he just informed me, Wyoming is the second least densely populated state in the country and Recluse is, as you might imagine from the name, one of the least densely populated parts of Wyoming. He said those two hundred people are spread out roughly one person per square mile.”
“Talk about a needle in a haystack. He’s never going to find his man.”
“Oh, he’ll find him. The dude’s been on the run from the EPA criminal guys for five years. This is the first time he’s popped up in over three years. Manny’s all hopped up. But, more relevant to your interests, Recluse is just about three hours from Rapid City. Manny says that’s about an hour west of the Badlands, so about a six-hour drive for you. Although there’s a time change. There’s a state fairground there. He said it’ll be a good place to meet.”
She traced her finger across the square state of South Dakota. “Found Rapid City.”
“Can you meet him there?”
“Are you kidding? Yes.”
“Great. I’ll give him your number. But unless you have a satellite phone, he said coverage will be spotty out there.”
“I have a twenty dollar burner phone I bought this morning.”
“You paid cash, right?”
“Give me a little credit here. Of course I paid cash.”
“Sorry. Force of habit. What time should I tell Manny you’ll be there?”
She calculated how long she’d need to take care of business before she left town. An hour should get it done. But, her grandfather had taught her to always add a margin, so she did. Then she accounted for the time change. “I’ll be there by three o’clock.”
“I’ll let him know. When we hang up, I’ll text his cell phone number to you. I guess the two of you can work out the details of your plan later today.”
“The details are I’m going to lure the bad actor to Rapid City. So tell him to bring his handcuffs.”
“He doesn’t leave home without them. But he did say to tell you not to forget the pinking shears.”
She laughed at the memory of how she and Sasha had taken on armed bandits with a pair of scissors and a hairpin. “You guys should renew your vows someday.”
“Bite your tongue. We’d never get event insurance with our track record.” His voice grew serious. “Be careful, okay?”
“I will,” she lied.
Aroostine was done with caution. She’d been careful her entire childhood and adult life. And here she was, a thirty-year-old widow. Care could kiss her backside. She felt free and expansive.
“Wait a second—who’s driving?”
“What?”
“Who’s going to drive you to Rapid City?”
“I am.”
Leo hesitated then said, “You don’t drive.”
“I do now. Thanks a million, Leo. Tell Sasha I’ll call her soon. And give Finn and Fiona big kisses for me. I really have to go.”
“Right, of course. I’ll text you that number.” He sounded distracted, as if the most unbelievable thing about their conversation was the fact that she was moving a motorized vehicle from Point A to Point B.
A satisfied smile crossed her lips as she ended the call.
31
8:15 A.M.
Aroostine drove past the entrance to Bedrock Force’s parking lot at a crawl. She spotted Roxanne Markham’s black SUV in her reserved parking space and let out a noisy, grateful breath. Then she made a quick turn into an alley that ran behind a row of cute shops across the street from the office park. At eight o’clock on a Sunday morning, they were all dark and closed up tight.
She slipped the cell phone into her pocket and grabbed the bag from the hardware store. She tossed the chocolate bar and magazine on the seat then locked the doors. She ran through the steps in her mind over and over again during the short walk to the office park. She approached Bedrock Force’s designated lot the same way she had last night—by crossing Allied Industrial Solutions’ lot then squeezing through the screen of trees. She pulled Joe’s hat even further down over her eyes and walked at a brisk pace.
As she neared Markham’s vehicle, her palms grew damp.
You have to keep your hands steady, she warned herself, you can’t do this if you’re shaking.
She wasn’t sure whether her nerves were from fear of being caught; the knowledge that she was about to break the law; or the brutal reality that what she was preparing to do would violate the oath she’d taken as a member of the bar, the oath she’d taken as an employee of the Department of Justice, and her own personal code of ethics. She was pretty sure it was that last bit that had her teeth on edge and was causing the buzzing sound in her ears.
She had the sudden urge to turn around and look back at the trees, so she did.
A silver beaver looked out at her with unblinking eyes and a peaceful expression. She locked eyes with it for a second. With a subtle head bob, she nodded a thank you. The beaver melted into the trees, and she turned back toward Markham’s SUV, suddenly sure her grandfather approved of what she intended to do.
She glanced up at the office building, hit the stopwatch button on her wristwatch, then commenced breaking into Roxanne Markham’s vehicle.
First, she stood alongside the car facing the rear end and wiggled the door stop wedge into the top trim piece separating the driver’s side window from the back window. She jammed the wedge in as far as possible then pounded on it with her palm until she forced open a small gap between the doors.
She rolled a small piece of putty into a ball and stuck it to the end of the metal rod. Then she smoothed the wrinkles out of Mercy’s filmy scarf and lightly pressed one corner into the putty.
She fished the rod through the gap and pushed the scarf down toward the floor behind the driver’s seat on a diagonal. When the rod made contact with the floor, she gave a gentle shake. Then she eased the rod back up slowly.
No scarf. She pulled the rod through the crevice she’d created then yanked the wedge out. She peered into the back window. The scarf had floated forward and come to rest partially under the driver’s seat with about a quarter of it visible on the rear floor mat.
Aroostine exhaled and hit the button to stop the timer function on her watch. She sprinted for the trees then stopped to check how she’d done. Eighteen seconds. Not too bad.
She sent a silent prayer of thanks up to the Universe.
Last night, she’d seen Markham use a remote key to unlock her door.
If she habitually used the remote fob to lock and unlock her doors—and military veterans were nothing if not creatures of habit—and if this SUV model was anything like her parents’ car, locking the car remotely then unlocking it manually would set off the alarm. And the only way to disarm the alarm would be to insert the key in the ignition.
If she hadn’t noticed Markham with the fob, she’d have used the tip of the rod to pop the unlock button. She’d have pulled the door open to more quickly and easily plant the scarf. And the alarm would have sounded. And she’d be halfway to jail by now.
Thanks, Grandfather. He not only routinely locked his keys in his car and jimmied the locks, but he’d drilled the most basic tracking premise into her very being by demonstrating it over and over again: Attention is something you pay—it’s right there in the phrase. If you are paying attention, make sure you get your money’s worth. Notice everything. No detail is meaningless.
She ran back to the pickup truck as fast as her feet would carry her. She still had lots of work to do.
32
8:30 A.M.
Johnny Arnetto operated under the theory Roxanne Markham was smart, damn smart. Certainly smart enough to have unmuted her cell phones after their last call, and hopefully smart enough to listen to him now that she’d had time to cool off.
And he was definitely smart enough to try her personal phone first, which he did.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Did your snot-mobile set a new land speed record?”
“What?” Her greeting caught him off-guard.
“It’s only been ninety minutes since I told you to go to Des Moines. Are you already there?”
So, she was still kinda pissed. Pissed enough to be snotty and sarcastic, but maybe not so pissed that she couldn’t be jollied out of it.
“Actually, Roxie, the current land speed record has stood for over twenty years. It was set by a Brit driving a jet-propelled supersonic car. And he went over 760 miles an hour, so he’d have been to Des Moines and back by now. With time for a snack and a walkabout to stretch his legs.”
“Jet propulsion is cheating,” she complained.
But he heard the smile in her voice.
“I agree. Listen, the reason I called is I had to stop for gas so I tapped into a Des Moines property database on my phone while I was filling my tank—”
“As one does.”
He relaxed. She was definitely thawing. “Exactly. Anyway, the address listed on Rue Jackman’s driver’s license and reservation is a dog kennel.”
“Come again?”
“It’s the Happy Paws Puptel.”
“What the hell’s a puptel?”
“A puppy hotel?” he ventured. “Anyway, I called them. They’re open from eight until ten on Sunday mornings for pickups for pet parents returning from trips.”
“Pet parents? Stop talking like a brochure for this dog boarder already.”
“Sorry. Okay, nobody there ever heard of a Rue Jackman. And nobody lives on-site. The staff take turns staying overnight with the guests … er, dogs.”
He heard her swear, low, under her breath.
He steeled himself and pushed on, “By the time I get there, seeing as how the Jeep is definitely not jet-propelled, they’re going to be closed. There won’t be anyone there to talk to because they don’t have any reserva—dogs—tonight. If you still want me to go, I will. You know I will. But it seems like a fool’s errand. And, you never know, something might pop up there while I’m staring at the outside of a dog kennel.”
She sighed. “Turn around and meet me here. I doubt anything’s going to pop. But you can take a shift fielding calls about pink-haired women.”
He allowed himself a quick fist pump of victory. “I’ll be there by ten. No other calls, huh?”
“Only one crank who wanted to inform me that Mercy’s not dead. In fact, she’s a dealer in the poker room at Cadillac Jack’s in Deadwood. And she might be cheating.”
He guffawed. “Okay, that’s funny.”
“Yeah, it’s a laugh riot. Just get back here.”
33
9:00 A.M.
Aroostine read down the list she’d scrawled on the hardware store receipt with one of her own Black Warrior pencils that Joe must’ve stolen from her stash in the kitchen. She’d found it in the glove compartment. Knowing he’d used her pencils when she wasn’t around made her feel closer to him, even now. Which, she knew, was just weird.
But, as he would’ve said, it was what it was.
In any case, she’d ticked off all her tasks on her list:
Call Manny
Refuel (truck and self)
Map route to Rapid City
Except for the last one:
Call Markham
It was time. She was parked just before the entrance to Route 29, which would lead her, in less than five minutes, to Interstate 90. And after about three hundred and forty miles on I-90, running basically straight across South Dakota, she’d be in Rapid City. Nothing to it.
Stop stalling.
She removed the titanium-encased box from her bag and positioned it on the dashboard. Then she turned on the second of her two new phones, opened the camera app, and focused on the device. She took three photos. She hopped out of the truck and stood on the sidewalk to place the call. She was about to spend the next six hours inside; she might as well soak up some vitamin D while she talked to the devil herself.
She pulled out the paper with Markham’s cell phone number and tapped the screen to input the digits.
“Markham.”
“This is Rue Jackman. I have the thing you’re looking for.”
“Really? And what would that be?”
“An encrypted satellite communications device. Our mutual friend gave it to me for safekeeping.”
“Is she there?”
“No. She’s gone. I doubt you’ll ever find her. Certainly not, if the guy in the green Jeep is representative of the level of talent you have to work with.”
She felt Markham seething on the other end of the phone. Good. In her experience, emotional people made all manner of careless mistakes.
“What do you want?” Markham asked.
“Nothing. Well, that’s not true. I want to give you back your stupid little box … in exchange for your agreement to stay away from Dahlia going forward.”
“I can’t do that. She’s wanted for murder.”
“Let’s stick to reality. You’ll walk back the claim that she and I—and your pink-haired phantom—had anything to do with Mercy Locklear’s death, and she’ll move on. She won’t pick at your wound. I’ll go back home. And you can go back to your fulfilling life of harassing environmental activists and snooping on college kids. Deal?”
Silence.
Then, “How do I know you have it?”
“When we hang up, check your texts. I’ll send you a picture of it sitting on the dashboard of my truck.”
“Time-stamp it.”
“Time-stamp it? This is a prepaid flip phone I picked up for twenty bucks. I can’t time-stamp it. If you want your box, you can come pick it up at the county fairgrounds in Rapid City at three o’clock. I’ll wait until three-thirty. If you’re not there by then, I’ll just hand it over to the first police officer I see. Oh, and if I get pulled over for any reason whatsoever, I’ll do the same. So you might want to retract any all-points-bulletin you’ve had issued. See you later.”
She ended the call, tapped the icon to compose a text message to Markham’s number, attached a picture of the box, and hit send. She waited until the text showed as sent in her history then dropped the phone to the ground and stomped on it with all her strength.
The phone may have been inexpensive, but it apparently wasn’t cheaply made. It was intact. She didn’t have time to mess around. She picked it up and placed behind the truck’s rear right tire. She slid behind the wheel and reversed over the phone then put the truck in drive and rolled over it again. That had to have done i
t. She put the pickup in park but left the engine running while she got out to check her handiwork. The phone was in three twisted, flattened pieces.
She arched her back, stretched, then got back in the pickup and settled behind the wheel for the long drive west.
34
10:00 A.M.
Roxanne was watching through her office window when the neon green Jeep turned onto the access road leading to the corporate park. She grabbed her gun and her purse and took the stairs down to the lobby, double time. She pushed through the lobby doors as Arnetto brought his Jeep to a stop in the parking spot next to hers.
“That spot’s reserved for Swanson,” she informed him as he emerged from the Jeep.
He shrugged. “It’s Sunday.”
“It’s still Swanson’s spot.”
“Is he coming in?”
“No. It’s still his spot.”
He ran his fingers through his hair and stared at her with his cool blue eyes. “What’s your deal? You seem edgy.”
“I seem edgy because I am edgy. Move your car out of Swanson’s spot. Then go upstairs and take over on the phones for me. I told Homeland Security we’d staff the line until noon. At noon, you can turn on the machine and leave.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t have time to talk now, Johnny. Just, please, do what I asked.”
As she walked toward her SUV and hit the unlock button on her key fob. The vehicle made its bloop sound and she hurried inside. She pulled up the navigation system and keyed in the fairgrounds address.
“You will arrive at your destination at three-zero-seven PM,” the disembodied female voice announced.
No time to spare. She turned the key in the ignition, reversed the SUV, and shot out of the parking lot doing fifty. Johnny stood on the sidewalk in front of the building watching her with his jaw hanging open.
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