by Toni Leland
Her phone chimed softly and she pulled it from her pocket. Dillon’s number glowed on the screen and Julia closed her eyes.
His voice was almost a whisper. “Did I wake you?”
“No, I’m still standing. Where are you?”
Dillon’s voice sounded strange, almost furtive.
“Something’s come up and I have a rush load to deliver. I’m not gonna be around for a few days. I just thought I oughta tell you, so you didn’t think…well, I just wanted you to know.”
Was he telling the truth? Or just trying to let her down easy. If he simply never came back, she’d know, but for now, she wasn’t ready for that to happen.
“Dillon, I wish I’d finished telling you my story. Whatever happens, I want you to know who I really am and how much…uh…I’ve enjoyed your company.”
“Ginger, I will be back. And I have things to share with you too, but right now, the most important thing is for you to stay safe. Don’t take any chances, don’t become complacent about your situation. If you need to talk, just call me. Okay?”
Chapter 32
At dawn the next morning, Julia entered the barn. King whinnied long and loud, bobbing his head and banging his foot against the door. Julia laughed and scratched his chin. From the end of the barn, Little Bit’s squeals commanded the airwaves. Julia headed down the aisle toward Casey, who was already throwing hay into the stalls.
“You better feed your baby. She ate her grain during the night, and I gave her a bottle about two a.m.”
“Oh, Casey, I am so sorry. Why didn’t you get me up? Aw Jeez…”
“It’s okay. I know you’re not used to the routine yet, but you can take over right now. I’m tired of listenin’ to her holler.” She grabbed a flake of hay. “We might be getting some more inmates today. I need to play musical stalls.”
Julia strode toward the end of the barn, taking mental inventory. The place was already bursting at the seams—how could they accommodate more horses? How could they not? As she warmed the goat’s milk and filled the bottle, she thought about her Internet search the night before. How easy it was to find information if you knew the right keywords. She could keep track of Stephen’s continuing search for her, and his business status, and possibly the disposition of her mare. Unfortunately, the search capability worked both ways. She would be as vulnerable as anyone if she wasn’t careful. She headed toward Little Bit’s stall, then stopped in mid-stride, a cold chill passing over her shoulders. If her identification papers were ever found, it would take someone mere seconds to find her on Google. The reality hit her hard—she had to assume the papers would eventually surface. Staying in Illinois was out of the question.
Casey was peering at her. “You okay?”
Julia nodded. “Yeah. Just started thinking about the break-in again. Not a good feeling.”
Casey nodded. “I can imagine. Well, King can go outside now. He’s good enough to be unrestricted. When you’re done there, put him in the small paddock with the run-in shed. We’ll keep him isolated for a couple more days, just in case he gets frisky. You can ride him now, if you want.”
Julia looked back at the dark horse and a thrill ran through her. It had been so long… Her excitement ended abruptly and she turned away from King’s bright eyes.
The foal came right up to Julia as she entered the stall. The husky little baby whickers were heart-warming and Julia stroked her soft furry coat while she held the bottle. All the thoughts whirling in her head made her almost sick to her stomach. Leaving Casey, King, Little Bit. Starting over again someplace else. She didn’t want to run anymore. It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t she have some semblance of normalcy in her life? Was there any way she could solve her problems, other than disappearing from this life into another? Dillon’s words echoed in her brain. “Don’t become complacent.” He had no idea.
All the chores were done by eleven and Julia headed for Bud’s. As considerate as he was, she couldn’t continue to use his truck indefinitely. Maybe she’d go car-shopping today. Something small, with good gas mileage. Something cheap. She thought about the two thousand dollars in her pocket. It was all she had left of her original cash, thanks to the person who’d robbed her. She turned into Bud’s driveway, then hit the brakes. Ace Anderson’s rig was parked at the garage doors. She threw the gearshift into reverse and backed up, then drove toward the truck plaza. She’d go have a look at that warehouse. Maybe Anderson would be gone by the time she came back.
The line road seemed to go on forever into the horizon. Twenty minutes later, she saw a building on the left with semis parked along one side. She slowed down and scrutinized the scene. All the rigs were Stafford trucks, but there was no sign on the property or building that identified the facility. It certainly wasn’t a mortuary. It seemed strange that a warehouse or distribution center wouldn’t at least have a sign. She drove on past, pondering Dillon’s apparent interest in the place. Those thoughts gave way to more personal thoughts and, as she made her way back to Bud’s, she relived her few private days with the mysterious man who’d entered her life.
Anderson’s truck was still in the parking lot, so Julia headed for the outskirts of St. Louis to see if she could find a car.
Dillon tossed the phone onto the seat and sighed. He hated like hell lying to Ginger, but with his discovery, he had to get out to D.C. and hand off the money to Treasury. He left the Pennsylvania Turnpike at Breezewood and paid the toll, then drove to the nearest service station. While he waited for a pump to open up, he thought about the reaction he’d stirred up at headquarters. For one thing, his former boss had almost had a coronary when he found out Dillon had been working on his own.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he’d shouted.
Dillon had shouted right back, “Trying to find out who killed Sal Marino. Remember him?”
His pulse jerked with anger again at the memory. The division chief had calmed down after that and they’d had a normal conversation. Within about an hour, the chief had called Dillon back with bad news. The supposed owners of the casket company trucks had gone to the wreckage and transferred all the coffins to a new truck and hauled them away. The chief surmised that Leon’s truck had GPS and whoever had hired him knew exactly where he was at any given time. How they’d gotten to the site so quickly was a mystery, but the Secret Service agents had come up empty-handed. Dillon’s bundle of evidence would be critical to the operation.
As he headed south through the thickening traffic, he reviewed everything he knew about the counterfeit operation that had taken up almost three years of his professional life, and two more in the private sector. Not long after the start of the new millennium, high-quality hundred-dollar counterfeit notes began showing up in the mainstream, fakes so real even the most experienced investigators admitted that they, too, could be fooled. A quirky twist of fate had opened a new lead, refocusing the agency’s attention on the South American operations.
Dillon shook his head. The poor schmuck who’d inadvertently provided the clue had gone through hell before he’d been exonerated. He’d been traveling in Peru, making the trek to all the out-of-the-way archaeological spots, exchanging his dollars for Peruvian currency at various street changers along the way. When it came time to return to the States, he’d exchanged the Nuevo sol back into U.S. dollars and gone home. A couple of days after his return, he’d purchased something at a Home Depot, paid with a hundred-dollar bill, and, within twenty-four hours, found the Secret Service standing on his doorstep with a warrant for his arrest.
With that innocent transaction and the man’s subsequent detention for two days, the Secret Service had learned, for a fact, that a known Columbian counterfeit operation had moved into Peru where government controls were not as stringent. By the time Dillon was involved, the agents in South America had maneuvered to shut down the operation. Dillon and his crew had been assigned to find out how the money was getting into the United States in large quantities. And from then on, the chas
e had been the fox and the hound. And somewhere in the mix, there’d been a rat.
His phone hummed and he squinted at the number. Pittsburgh Mercy Hospital.
A husky voice came through. “Dillon, it’s me, Leon.”
“Hey buddy, how are you feeling?”
“Like a truck ran over me.” He laughed, then began coughing.
“Anything broken?”
“Nah, I’m so fat I got protection. Hit my head pretty hard, so they’re keepin’ me another day. Hell if I know how I’m gonna get home. You know anything about what happened to my truck?”
“Damn, I’m sorry, I don’t. I expect your company will pick it up. In fact, I’d say it’s their responsibility to see that you get back home.”
“Yeah, well I’m not gonna hold my breath on that. Hey, did you know I made the national news?”
“No, where’d you see that?”
“On TV. Guess I caused a chain-reaction pile-up. Coupla people died.” Resignation colored his tone. “That’s probably gonna end my driving career.”
Dillon frowned. “Leon, it was an accident. I think you should wait to see what the police report says before you hang up your driver’s license.”
Leon sounded doubtful. “Yeah, you’re probably right…Dillon?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for pulling me outta the truck. Boy, some coincidence, huh? You being right there when it happened.”
“Yeah, ain’t that somethin’?”
That night, Dillon sat in a booth at one of his favorite Georgetown haunts, nursing a Manhattan and listening to the background laughter and music. The word “exhausted” didn’t come close to the way he felt at that moment. He hadn’t slept for over thirty hours and, now, the false stamina brought on by adrenaline was fading quickly. He took a sip of the sharp, sweet cocktail, savoring the burning sensation down his throat. At least Chief Rusher had been supportive about the whole deal. He’d even apologized for flying off the handle earlier. After nearly two hours of discussion and paperwork, Dillon had left the Secret Service building, trying to decide what to do next. The confiscated money would be taken to the analysis lab in the morning, but he doubted much would happen before next week. The agency tended to grind to a halt about noon on New Year’s Eve.
He took in a deep breath, then let it out, long and slow. There was a time when he’d have been psyched to be in D.C. for the holiday, but this wasn’t one of them. He should be at his mother’s right now, but he didn’t want to do that either. Maybe he’d just head up to the cabin for a couple of days. He could use the rest, and certainly some time to think. Ginger’s face appeared in his mind, her skin warmed by the glow of the fire, her eyes dark with desire. For all her problems, she had proven to be good for his soul. Maybe it was time to stop being afraid and see what life held in store for him.
“Heck Dillon, you old sonofagun!”
A chunky man with a crew-cut and a wide smile stood next to the table. Dillon grinned and jumped up, grabbing him in a bear hug.
“Angel! What the hell are you doing here?”
“You kiddin’? Partytown U.S.A. is where it’s at on New Year’s. You here for the bash at Tenner’s?”
Dillon shook his head. “Just got into town.”
“Well, the whole unit’s gonna be there. We didn’t know where you were, or you’da got an invite.” He grinned. “But you got one now.”
Dillon gazed at his Army buddy, remembering the good times and the frightening times. He needed to reconnect with these men more than he needed to go to Massachusetts to mope.
“Tell me where and when, and I’ll be there.”
Angel clapped him on the shoulder. “Excellent. Well, I gotta go take care of that pretty little thing in the corner.” He winked. “See ya, buddy.”
Dillon downed the last of his drink and headed for the door, his step lighter than it had been in a long time.
An hour later, he threw the bath towel on a chair and crawled into bed. As tired as he’d felt earlier, he now had a second wind and didn’t feel like sleeping. He flicked on the television to watch the late evening news. As he listened to the anchor man talk about a shooting in Virginia, Dillon thought about Leon’s accident. Why would it have been on the national news? Dillon muted the sound and rolled out of the bed. Sitting down at his laptop, he checked to see if the story was online. It was, and he read through the details of the wreck, then clicked on the video.
“Shit!”
The accident scene hadn’t been filmed by news crews, but by someone on the highway with a cell phone. Dillon was staring at himself on YouTube.
Julia scratched Little Bit’s chin, laughing at the filly’s aggressive nuzzling as she looked for more milk.
“You’ve had enough. You’ll get the runs.”
She left the stall and walked to the feed room, painfully aware that Dillon had not called again since yesterday morning. It looked as though she’d usher in the New Year on her own. As she measured out Little Bit’s grain pellets, she reflected on the last New Year’s Eve she’d spent with Stephen, a night-long gala at a mountain lodge in Champex-Lac. Fabulous food, live entertainment, and the best champagne money could buy. She shuddered. And Stephen’s ravenous sexual appetite. She’d stayed in bed most of the next day.
Little Bit was on her hind legs, peering over the stall door as Julia approached. The sight sent a flood of love through her heart, enough emotion to heal even the worst wounds. This little girl would be Julia’s answer to Coquette. A quick glance at her watch reminded her she still had time to call Cooper Carter’s farm. She placed the feed tub in the stall, gave the filly a pat on the rump, and headed toward the house. After long thought, she had realized what a mistake it would be to actually go to the farm. It would have been one of those dumb mistakes she’d promised herself she wouldn’t make again.
She shook her head as she walked past her new car. How naïve she’d been—two thousand dollars didn’t buy much. The dark blue Ford Contour had no style, but it was clean, had fairly low mileage, and new tires. Best of all, she could now come and go as she pleased, take a trip if she wanted to. The car gave her a sense of identity. She patted the keys in her pocket and went into the house.
Casey was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. “You like chili? We always had chili on New Year’s Eve.” She turned. “Oh, you probably have plans, huh?”
Julia laughed. “Yeah, right. I have a date with my bed!”
Casey chuckled. “You’ll get used to it. No one ever believes how much work is involved in keeping horses.” She set the spoon on the counter. “This’ll be ready in about an hour.”
“Good. I need a shower and clean clothes.”
A few minutes later, she closed the bedroom door and pulled out her phone. Her fingers trembled as she dialed the number for Cooper Carter’s farm. She immediately disconnected and plopped down on the bed. What am I doing? Why am I doing this? She took a deep breath, realizing the telephone call would not put her in physical jeopardy, and she needed to know. She dialed again and waited. A young girl’s voice came on the line.
“Cooper Carter Morgan Horses, Beth speaking.”
“Hi, I was wondering if you have any horses for sale. I’m just starting to look.”
The girl’s voice took on an irritated edge. “No, we don’t. Besides, Mr. Carter is the only one who can talk about that, and he ain’t here.”
Julia clenched her jaw. “Well, excuse me. I guess if this is the way you treat prospective customers, I’ll buy a horse somewhere else.”
“Aw jeez, no, I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, it’s been crazy around here. Two new horses that Mr. Cooper bought were stolen on the way out here from Washington. He’s really pissed and taking it out on the rest of us. If you want to call back next week, it would probably be a better time. Or I could take your name and number and have him call you.”
Julia’s voice wouldn’t work, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
“Hello? Are
you still there?” asked the girl.
“Ah, yes, um…I’m sorry about your problem.” She swallowed hard. “How could something like that happen?”
“We don’t know the details yet, but apparently the hauler was inside a restaurant getting some dinner and when he came out, the trailer was gone.”
Julia’s body had started to shake. “Gosh, that’s awful. You said the horses were coming from Washington. You mean, Washington State?”
“Yeah, and one of them was a mare Mr. Carter has had his eye on for a long time, so he’s not happy. Hey, listen, I gotta go if I’m gonna get out of here early. Got a party to go to.”
Julia crumpled onto the bed. Her poor, lost Coquette!
Chapter 33
Dillon drove out Rockville Pike toward Bethesda. After his initial shock at the crude video on the Internet, he’d calmed down and gone to bed, sinking into a dark abyss of deep, hard sleep that was his only protection from the battering dreams. Now here he was, eighteen hours later, physically rested, but still uneasy about his exposure. He’d played the video clip four or five times, pausing and scrutinizing every aspect of what he saw. He clenched his jaw. At the accident site, he’d made a special point of checking his position, looking for anyone who could see him, but obviously, after he began searching the coffin, someone had moved to a good vantage point. Dillon’s shape was visible in the video and, though his face didn’t show, it was easy to see that he was examining the casket. Could he count on the Internet video fading from interest in the next day or so, replaced by more recent news? If the wrong person saw the clip, and had sophisticated enhancing software, would Dillon become a target? The chief’s disclosure that the caskets had been quickly collected and hauled away made Dillon very nervous. For all he knew, someone had been following Leon and saw the whole thing.