by CJ Lyons
Her sigh was punctuated by static. "All right. We'll go this morning."
"Thank you. Tell him I love him—" The line went dead before he could finish. He stared at the phone for a moment, then flipped it shut.
Julia gave him a half-hearted smile. "Your boy, Josh, he's all right?"
"He is for now," Sam muttered, trying to think of a way out of this mess. His brain was fried with lack of sleep and every thought he had seemed fuzzy and out of focus. Mrs. B would keep Josh safe. All he had to do was save Sarah, and stop Alan, Logan and Korsakov from going after her. A bitter laugh escaped him. Alone, unarmed, how was he going to stop three killers? "Could you guys keep an eye on Sarah? Call me on Julia's phone when she leaves the police station, let me know where she goes?"
JD's eyes went wide. "You mean tail her? Sure."
"You couldn't let anyone know what you're doing. Not even Chief Waverly. Don't try to talk to her. Just let me know where she is."
"My dad would kill me if I lose my phone," Julia said.
"I just want to borrow it," Sam reassured her. "Just for today." He considered his options. "Can you get a message to the Colonel for me?"
"The Rockslide will be open in a little bit, he's probably already there. What do you want us to tell him?"
"Don't tell him it's from me. Ask him to come to," he thought for a moment, "the caretaker's cabin below the dam."
"That's no good," JD put in. "What if the cops come back to search it or something?"
"Or maybe the terrorists have been using it as a base of operations," Julia added. "You'd be walking into a trap."
"All right. You tell me where. I can't be seen in town."
They exchanged glances. "How about the clearing above the dam?" JD suggested. "You know, the one where—"
"The one where I almost died. Yeah, think I remember it." An expression of chagrin clouded JD's face and Sam regretted his harsh tone. "I'm sorry. Okay, the clearing above the dam after the lunch rush is done." He paused, knuckling his temple, trying to force a coherent thought into his frazzled brain. Much as he hated the damned thing, he felt naked without the gun. "Ask him to bring a gun—a pistol, not a rifle. Got it?"
"Sure thing, Mr. D." They swung onto their bikes, balancing as they turned to look at him. "You going to be all right until then?"
"We have some left over sandwiches if you want them." Julia rummaged around in her backpack and handed over a brown paper bag.
Sam had to smile at their combination of youthful enthusiasm and heart-warming naivety. He'd just risen from the dead, been beaten up, had his wife and child threatened at gunpoint, and they thought a few bologna sandwiches would make everything all right.
"Thanks, kids. Don't let anyone hear you when you talk with the Colonel."
"Not even his wife?" JD said with a grin.
Sam rolled his eyes and both kids smiled. "Lordamighty. Especially not the Colonel's wife."
They pedaled down the trail. He began his lonely tramp through the woods and back to his hidey-hole of a cave. It was warm and dry and safe enough that he'd be able to catch a few hours of sleep before meeting the Colonel. To Sam that made it worth more than any five star hotel.
He just wished he knew what the hell he was going to do afterwards.
CHAPTER 39
The sun was rising as Alan steered his Volvo onto the Interstate. He headed south, thinking that a guy like him could find plenty of places to hide in a big city like New York. And plenty of opportunities.
It wasn't a setback, he'd told himself after almost running into the police when he'd returned to pick up Sam and Logan. No, rather an opportunity.
Because there was no way in hell Korsakov would let Sam or Logan live. Hell, having seen the Russian when he worked himself into a frenzy, he wouldn't be surprised if Korsakov torched the entire town in retribution for Hopewell giving sanctuary to Sam all these years.
But Alan still had a chance. He'd hightailed it back to his house, tossed everything of value into the car and headed off into the fog. Alive without a hundred million was better than being a dead man with it.
Still, all that money...the things he could do with it cascaded through his mind, torturing him with could-have-been scenarios.
His cell phone rang, breaking his reverie. He looked at it in its perch on the dashboard and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. What if it was Korsakov? Or what if Logan rolled on him? The cops could track those phones.
It rang again and again. What if it was Sam? Maybe he'd gotten clear of the cops and still wanted to deal? After all, as far as he knew, Alan was on his way to Bumfuck, Quebec right now, ready to kill his kid.
His hand hovered over the phone. He knew the safest bet was to ignore it, toss it out the window and buy a new one at the next Walmart. But one hundred million dollars, that was a helluva payoff. Least he deserved after spending two years setting this up.
He grabbed the phone and flipped it open. "Yeah."
"Alan?"
Christ, it was Sarah. What the hell did she want? He didn't have time to play Sir Galahad—but she might still be a key to get him the money. "Yes? What's up, sweetheart? Having trouble sleeping again?"
"I'm in jail. With your friend, Logan." Her voice was clipped, rushed.
"Logan?" What the fuck had gone wrong? How had Logan and Sarah ended up together, much less in jail? And where the hell was Sam?
"It's a long story. I need your help, Alan. Can you come down to the station? Please?" He couldn't resist a smile when he heard her pleading. In two years, she had never asked anything of him, had always been the one taking care of everything herself. But now Miss Self-sufficiency was begging him for help.
"I'm on the road. It will take me awhile to get back. Maybe you should call someone else." There was an emergency vehicle turn-around ahead. He slowed the Volvo and pulled onto the gravel path that connected both sides of the interstate.
There was a long pause before she answered. He could hear her breathing, it sounded raspy as if she was panicking. Good. The more desperate she was, the more she would follow his orders. All of them.
He stepped on the accelerator, now anxious to return to Hopewell.
"I'm scared, so much is going on. I can't trust anyone but you, Alan," she said. He pumped a fist in the air, excited that he finally had her exactly where he wanted her. "Please, Alan. I'll do anything. Please come and get me out of this."
"I'm on my way, sweetheart. Don't worry, I'll take care of everything."
Sarah hung up the phone feeling as if she needed a long, hot shower. Even then she might never feel clean again. The tone in Alan's voice…she shivered at the memory. It had been as if he'd been fantasizing about taking control over her, owning her body and soul.
Sam had said he'd been planning to kill her. She hugged herself with her free arm. To kill her after the marriage—after she shared his bed, vowed to love, honor, and cherish.
"What happened to my life?" she whispered.
Her only answer was Logan's cackle coming from behind her. She covered her face with her hand and rested her elbow on the edge of the desk.
Hal knocked and came in. "All done?" he asked in a too-bright voice.
Sarah raised her head and nodded. "Alan's coming. I don't know how long he'll be."
Caitlyn appeared behind Hal, hands on her hips in a defiant posture reminding Sarah of the first time she'd first seen her two years ago. She and Hal had clashed then as well. Caitlyn remained at the door, standing apart from the rest.
Hal plopped down in his desk chair. "This is how we're going to work this. Mr. Logan, do you still want to press charges?"
"I'm not sure. I'm going to wait until the lawyer gets here and see what my options are."
"Uh-huh," Hal said as if expecting this. "In the meantime, as soon as the government offices are open at nine, I'll check out your permit and gun registration. If that's all clear, you'll be free to go."
"That's not for hours," Logan protested.
"I
know. So, I'd suggest you get comfortable." Hal looked across his cluttered desk at Sarah. "You all right? I can move the cuffs, if you'd like."
She noticed that he didn't say "remove" the cuffs. Caitlyn tensed, watching. "I'm fine."
"All right, then." He settled back, propping his feet on the desk, and crossed his arms behind his head. "So we wait."
Sarah looked up as Caitlyn made a disgusted snort and left, banging the door behind her.
"Nicely done, Chief," Logan said, applauding. "Now you want to let me out of here?"
"Shut up," Hal snapped. He dropped his feet to the floor with a thump and came around to Sarah's chair. "Sarah, I've covered all I can for you. What the hell is going on?"
Caitlyn turned on the lights to the post office section of the building and considered her options. She glanced back through the window into the police department. Hal was crouched down on the floor, head to head with Sarah Durandt.
Definitely something fishy. She wished she hadn't left her cell phone behind at Hal's house. Ahh, there was a phone jack right beside the computer on the service counter. Even better, there was a phone attached to it, cleverly hidden on a shelf behind the counter. Sitting on top of the thinnest municipal phone book Caitlyn had ever seen.
She'd written field reports that took more pages than the Clinton county directory. Within minutes she had Gerald Merton on the line.
"The bullet?" he asked, his voice groggy. "It's gone."
"I know," Caitlyn repeated for what felt like the tenth time. "I need the name and contact information on the officer who signed for it."
"No one signed for it."
"Sure they did. When the state police came to collect the evidence and the body."
"They haven't. They won't—not until Chief Waverly calls them."
Her grip on the receiver tightened. "They haven't been called yet?"
"Nope. And I'd know because as county coroner, I have to release the body to them."
"What happened to the bullet?"
"The Chief's got it." He sounded exasperated as if he were explaining the obvious. "He dug it out while you were on the phone. Took it with him. Guess you were so sick, he didn't want to bother you."
She could almost hear Merton's sneer through the phone. A junior Jack Logan in the making. "You're sure about that? The bullet isn't there?"
"Of course I'm sure. Saw him button it in his pocket, didn't I?"
She hung up and patted the breast pockets of Hal's shirt that she had appropriated. No, couldn't be that lucky. She'd grabbed one from a kitchen chair, he'd ended up with the same one he'd had one last night.
Caitlyn pursed her lips, glared at the closed door to the police office. Her headache was gathering, but wasn't any more than a dull roar. Nothing she couldn't handle. Yet.
She called Clemens. His voice was muffled and she could hear someone snoring in the background when he answered. The fiancée, no doubt.
"It's Caitlyn," she said, pacing as far as the phone cord would allow her. She couldn't sit still, felt as jittery as if she'd devoured a gallon of espresso. "I need another favor."
"Sure." His voice emerged in a sleep-choked rasp. He cleared his throat. "What do you need?"
"A trace on a gun's serial number." She dug out the scrap of paper she'd scrawled the Glock's registration onto before Hal whisked the gun out of sight. "How long will it take you?"
"A few days or so."
"Sooner would be better."
"I could put a rush on it if you have a priority case number."
She was silent. She should have contacted the nearest field office as soon as she suspected the body Sarah found might be Leo Richland. But she hadn't and now she was screwed until she had his identity confirmed.
"I take it you're still off the books," he said when she didn't answer. "On that camping trip up in the mountains."
"More like a fishing expedition. And I'm hooking some whoppers, just nothing concrete yet."
His sigh resonated over the phone line. "I'll get it as fast as I can."
"Thanks, Clemens."
"Just be careful. All right?"
"Always." She hung up. If Hal was stuck in the office waiting with his prisoners, then that gave her a chance to go to his house. To pick up her phone, of course. And maybe get a look at those files he'd distracted her from last night.
CHAPTER 40
JD flew down Main Street, screeching to a halt in front of the Rockslide, feeling like James Bond. Julia pulled up alongside him, looking prettier than any Bond girl he'd ever seen—even Hallie Berry in her skimpy bikini.
"What are you going to say?" she asked, her cheeks flushed with the wind and excitement.
"I'll tell him I need his help with the documentary."
"All right. I'll go check and see if Sarah is at the police station."
JD leaned his bike against the lamppost and sauntered inside the café. Once he was out of Julia's sight, he wiped his palms on the legs of his jeans. Even James Bond got nervous, he thought. The trick was to never let 'em see you sweat.
"Hey, kid," his dad called from his usual place at the counter. "Come to have breakfast with your old man?"
JD nodded and smiled, taking a seat beside his dad. The Colonel was manning the grill, running his spatula through a mound of hash browns.
"You want the same as your dad?"
"Yes, please."
"How's the movie coming?" The Colonel asked. "You figure out where those lights come from yet?"
"Maybe." JD nodded his thanks as the Colonel poured him a glass of orange juice. He hadn't realized how dry his mouth was until he had finished it in three quick gulps.
"Don't encourage him," his dad put in between bites of sausage and French toast. "Kid's wasting his whole summer tramping through the woods when he could be making decent money working with me."
"Dad—"
"Don't you 'Dad' me. I told you—"
The Colonel raised an eyebrow and they both fell silent. "Seems to me that your dad and I wasted a lot of our summers tramping through these woods when we were kids. Didn't hurt us any."
"That was different. We didn't have big dreams of going to some fancy college. And college costs money. Lots of it."
"I know what I'm doing, Dad," JD said, exasperated that these old guys just didn't get it. "I'll find the money. My way."
His dad threw his hands up in the air. "Your way. Running through the woods, chasing ghosts and thinking anyone would want to buy a movie of it."
"Excuse me, dad. Ever hear of The Blair Witch Project? Anyway, I'm not trying to sell my movie. It's to help me get a job next summer. If I can get that internship Mrs. Durandt told me about—"
He stopped, suddenly remembering why he was there. Grown ups, why couldn't they stay on track?
The Colonel set his plate down in front of him. "Actually, that's why I came in this morning. Do you think you could spare a few hours this afternoon to help me out? No one knows these woods better than you do."
The Colonel actually smiled at the suggestion. Gee, maybe he should think about acting or something instead of journalism. "Course not. That all right with you, George?"
His dad speared a piece of French toast and dunked it into his coffee. "Sure, why not? Sooner the kid's finished with this crazy movie of his, sooner he'll be ready to see reality."
"Dad—"
George Dolan spun off his stool and threw a ten-dollar bill on the counter top. "I've got to get to work."
He stalked out, his back rigid. The Colonel stared down at JD, making him feel like a cockroach under a microscope.
"I asked him for help first," JD muttered, his head hung low. "He said no."
"Yeah, well, you gotta remember he just wants what's best for you."
"Then why won't he ever listen to me?"
The Colonel laughed. "You figure that one out, you let me know. My kid's all grown up and she still never listens to me. Finish your breakfast. I'll meet you after lunch."
"Up in t
he clearing above the dam. At two?"
"Deal. Then tomorrow you help your dad out with his deliveries. Maybe he can knock off early and you guys can go fishing or something."
JD shoveled his food in. He was starving. Then he remembered the second part of Sam's request. How the heck was he going to get the Colonel to bring a gun with him?
Before he could think of anything, the door opened and a short man with a full head of dark hair entered. He didn't just walk in, he made an entrance as if he owned the place. With his black suit, black shirt and ruby red tie, he looked rich enough to plunk down enough cash on the counter to buy the cafe here and now. Hell, buy the whole damn town.
The Colonel straightened and approached the man, placing himself between the stranger and JD as if he sensed something wrong with the guy.
Was this one of the terrorists? The hash browns and sausage JD had devoured now threatened to come back up. A lump formed in his throat and he couldn't swallow, leaving him gulping.
"Can I help you?" the Colonel asked.
The stranger smiled. Perfect white teeth. He looked like he'd stepped out of a movie: James Cagney meets Jaws.
"I seem to be lost," he said with a deprecating shrug of one shoulder. "Can you tell me what town this is? I was following the road and it just," he shrugged again, but his eyes remained lasered on the Colonel's, "dead-ended here."
The Colonel laughed at that and seemed to relax. "People often miss the turn off at the base of the mountain. This is the Village of Hopewell and you're right, the road stops here. Only one way in and one way out. Unless you're a mountain goat. Why don't you pull up a stool, have some breakfast before you head back down?"
"That sounds good." The man eased himself onto a stool at the end of the counter and perused a menu. His voice had a slight accent, one that JD couldn't place. He seemed in no rush. Didn't act like a terrorist, just another dumb, lost tourist from the city.
But those eyes, deader than a fish's left in the sun for too long. The stranger slid his glance over to examine JD, lingering longer than need be, taking in the sweat that had broken out on JD's brow, the quiver of his pulse along the sides of his neck, the sound of his heartbeat ratcheting into overdrive.