The Turn

by Carolina Mac

  Wonder if they finished Longbow’s trailer?

  Nothing yet on the Jeep. Maybe the girls were never in Lovell’s Jeep. He might have followed them on foot.

  Farrell wandered into the office with a mug of coffee in his hand and sank into the chair in front of Blaine’s desk. “Lovell ain’t going to trial.”

  Blaine didn’t need any clarification, he knew exactly what Farrell meant. “Probably not, but we need to find him. Who was the club manager you talked to?”

  “Marilyn Zimmer, want me to try her again?”

  “See if Lovell and Longbow hung with another one of the bouncers, or a bartender... even the fuckin janitor. If they were tight with somebody else, they might have gone there to hide out. It’s worth a shot.”

  “Seven fifteen too early?”

  Blaine grinned. “Not for me.”

  Farrell called and woke her up. “Morning Miss Zimmer. Farrell Donovan calling from DPS. I have a couple more questions for you.”

  Blaine went to the kitchen for a refill while Farrell prodded Zimmer.

  “She wasn’t even grumpy that I woke her up,” said Farrell when Blaine got back with his coffee. “The only other guy they hung with was a bouncer who quit a few months back, Damien was his name—Damien Longbow. Mike Longbow’s brother.”

  Blaine brightened. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Where does he live?”

  “She didn’t know.”

  “No address for him?”

  “She checked, but when he worked at the club he used his brother’s address.”

  “Okay, let’s see if I can find him.” Blaine typed a couple of keystrokes then jumped and knocked his coffee flying off his desk when Misty let out a blood-curdling scream from upstairs.

  “Jesus Christ.” He took off running with Farrell right behind him. Up the stairs and down the long hallway, he could hear her sobbing. “What, Mist? What happened?”

  Blaine sat on the side of the bed and held her in his arms. “I saw him,” sobbing, she choked out the words. “He was sharpening an axe. He’s coming to kill me with an axe.”

  “An axe?”

  Farrell rolled his eyes.

  “Where is he?” asked Blaine. “Could you see where he was?”

  Misty nodded. “At his cottage.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “He has a cottage? You never told me that.”

  “I didn’t know he had one. I saw it in the dream and it’s on a lake.”

  Blaine stroked her long blonde curls. “Okay, it’s okay. Come downstairs and have some tea. It’s all okay, sweetheart. He won’t get near you with an axe. I’ll find him first.”

  San Carlos. Panama.

  RENEE set her empty coffee cup on the small table in the corner of the porch and walked barefoot towards the ocean. The sand was already warm underfoot. She inhaled a lungful of salt air and turned to her left as she reached the hard, wet sand at the edge of the water. She’d walked a mile to the right the day before, but today she would explore the other direction.

  The warm breeze ruffled her newly styled blonde hair as she strolled along. Sea birds flew overhead, squawking and diving for fish. The bright sun glinted off the water and filled her with a desire to paint again. Something she hadn’t done since her difficult pregnancy and the arrival of the triplets.

  Tomorrow I’ll drive into town and buy some supplies.

  Canyon Lake.

  FARRELL turned off I-35 at the ramp for Canyon Lake. “How we gonna find his cottage on a road full of cottages?”

  “I’ve got the county lot number and that might help us,” said Blaine.

  “GPS lady don’t go by county lot numbers.”

  “No, she doesn’t. We’ll have to help her.”

  “When did the asshole buy this cottage?” asked Farrell.

  “Right after he got the money for his half of the house he and Misty lived in next to ours.”

  “He did it from jail?”

  “I guess he must have. If he found the property on line, his lawyer could have handled the transaction for him.”

  Farrell followed the winding dirt road around the lake. Most of the cottages were hidden from the road by trees and bushes. “Are we getting close?”

  “If you see a surveyor’s marker at any of the corners, let me out.”

  “What’s it look like?”

  “A metal rod stuck in the ground with a red rag tied on it. Not too high—maybe six or eight inches sticking up—a foot if we’re super lucky. Something like that.”

  “Ain’t never seen one of them in my whole fuckin life,” said Farrell. “You sure? And how in hell can we see something six inches high in the weeds?”

  “Maybe you never saw one because you weren’t looking for it.” At the next corner, Blaine pointed.

  “See one?”

  “No, can’t see from here. Too much tall grass. Let me look.”

  Farrell stopped the truck and they searched through tall grass and weeds first on one corner, then the other three.

  “Hey, I just kicked something,” said Farrell. He bent down and pulled grass and a couple of thistles out of the way. “Found one of those little fuckers. I’m a winner.”

  Blaine grinned. “You win. I’ll buy you a steak on the way home.”

  “Aces.” Farrell gave his brother a thumbs up.

  Blaine used the marker to figure out where they were on the map, then he pinpointed Mulligan’s property. “We’ve got it now. Turn around and go back about a quarter of a mile. His place should be on the right side of the road.”

  “Don’t think I could have figured that out,” said Farrell. “You are smarter than me in a couple of ways—maybe one.”

  Blaine grinned at Farrell and pointed. “Let’s try there.”

  Farrell parked and pulled his rifle with the scope out of the back of the cab. “He makes one move and he’s toast.”

  “Hope he does,” said Blaine. “Enough is enough.”

  “Front or back?” asked Farrell as they ran towards the cabin.

  “Front.” Blaine was out of breath. “It’s closer.”

  Farrell chuckled as he ran towards the lake and around behind the cabin.

  Blaine stepped onto the front porch and Farrell opened the door. “Not home. Figured that when there was no rental.”

  “Let’s set him up,” said Blaine. “At least we’ll know what he’s thinking.”

  “Scary thought,” said Farrell, “the guy is brain-fucked.”

  Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  JACK sat on the front porch of Blaine’s Victorian mansion with the rest of the junker team. The junkers were on an undercover assignment from one of the alphabets agencies and had become an important part of the Blackmore Agency. Jack had been instructed to keep their origin obscure and that’s what he had maintained since their arrival in Texas. Someone in a lofty position was pulling out all the stops to protect Blaine Blackmore-Powell while he fulfilled his role as crime fighter supreme in Texas.

  Andy rested in one of the dark green wicker chairs with his foot propped up on a round wicker footstool, a cold beer in his hand. “This gig is the best assignment we’ve ever had.”

  “For sure,” said Jack as he tipped up his beer and chugged it.

  Rick jumped up off the steps and ran for the gate like his ass was on fire. He turned and hollered to them, “Mulligan just went by.”

  Jack was on the phone in seconds issuing a BOLO. “Did you get the whole plate?” he hollered to Rick.

  “Yep. Rick ran back to the porch and rhymed it off and Jack relayed it to dispatch. “We’ll get him this time.”

  Jack called Blaine and told him.

  “Okay, good,” said Blaine. “We found the cabin and I’m having the local sheriff down here put a patrol on it, but if he’s coming our way maybe we can squeeze him in the middle.”

  “Want us to head down thirty-five?”

  “Let’s try it.” Blaine gave Jack detailed directions.

  Mulligan’s Cottage. Canyon
Lake.

  BLAINE ended the call to Jack and turned to Farrell. “Okay, the junkers are tailing him, and Mulligan won’t know they’re there. Those boys are highly skilled.”

  “What are we doing until they get here?” asked Farrell.

  “I’ll wait in the house with my Beretta ready, while you go down the road that way.” Blaine pointed. “Brad will come from the east with the junkers not far behind him.”

  Farrell nodded. “Uh huh.”

  “When you see Mulligan pull in the drive, block him in with your truck and we’ve got him. The only place he can go is into the lake or take off running into the woods.”

  Farrell checked the time on his cell. “How long did it take us to drive down here?”

  “Oh, about forty-five minutes, tops. Maybe a bit less.” Guessing that Jack was driving, Blaine called Greg in the truck and gave him the outline of the plan.

  “Yep, got it,” said Greg. “We’ll follow him onto the lake road and if it looks like he’s gonna do a U-ey and run, we’ll push him towards you guys.”

  BLAINE and Farrell sat in Farrell’s truck and smoked and talked for half an hour. A couple of times Blaine tried to steer the conversation towards the breakup with Mary Polito, but Farrell wouldn’t go there. He was a private person, but since the split everyone had noticed Farrell’s melancholy and foul mood.

  Farrell pointed to the clock on the dash. “Let’s get ready. You better get inside, and I’ll get the red devil out of sight.”

  Blaine jumped out of the truck, circled behind the cottage and entered through the back door. While he waited, he had time for a good look around.

  The cottage was small but looked and smelled like new construction. Coming in from the cedar deck that overlooked the water, Blaine stepped directly into the kitchen. A compact room with big windows, new white cupboards and white appliances. Room for a table in front of the windows, but the space was empty.

  He walked through a small hallway with two bedrooms and a bath down a short hall to his right, both bedrooms empty except for one narrow cot. Straight ahead facing the road was the largest room—the main living area with a stone fireplace.

  Sparsely furnished with only a recliner and a flat screen, there was nothing out of the ordinary except the wall closest to the front entrance. There, Mulligan had installed a rack to hold his arsenal. A Winchester shotgun, Mossberg Patriot, SW handgun and an axe with a blade that shone mirror bright. Freshly sharpened.

  Jesus, there’s the axe.

  The hearth had the best sightline to the front door, so Blaine sat down on the low ledge with his Beretta at the ready. Five or ten minutes passed before he heard a sound. Then he heard a motor, a vehicle coming closer.

  The car door slammed close to the cottage and Blaine hoped to hell and back Farrell wouldn’t jump the gun and scare Mulligan off.

  The front door opened, and Mulligan walked in, his hair long and wild, his clothes ripped and filthy. Mulligan had held a lofty position in the business world. He was a tri-athlete who owned a couple of gyms and coached clients as a personal trainer. A big success story—before he and Misty were divorced.

  The guy has flipped out.

  Blaine jumped to his feet and levelled the Beretta at Brad. “You’re under arrest, Mulligan. Get down on your knees, hands behind your head.”

  A startled look crossed Brad’s face as he wheeled and grabbed the axe off the wall. He let out an animal roar as he heaved the axe at Blaine. Blaine dropped to the floor and rolled out of the way as the heavy tool crashed close to him. He twisted around trying for a shot, but Mulligan bolted out the door.

  Bang.

  One shot rang out.

  Farrell.

  Mulligan’s dead. Farrell doesn’t miss.

  Blaine scraped himself up off the pine boards and strode onto the small front porch. Brad hadn’t gotten too far. Brad Mulligan lay sprawled on the steps in a pool of his own blood with half his head missing.

  Farrell leaned on his truck, smoking.

  “Call it in,” said Blaine.

  Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  IT WAS DARK by the time they finished up with the local sheriff at the cottage and made their way back to the city. Mulligan was in the morgue and Blaine had to tell Misty. Should he do it tonight or wait until morning?

  Misty and Carm sat with a bowl of popcorn between them in the front parlor of the old Victorian watching HGTV. Carm had become addicted to the reno shows and couldn’t get enough of them. It had been a boon in an unexpected way as well—her English had improved.

  Blaine stuck his head in the doorway and gave them a little wave. “We’re home,” he said, “and I need a beer.” He followed Farrell to the kitchen.

  Misty hopped up and followed him. “Have you eaten?”

  “Didn’t have time,” said Blaine, “What did you have for supper?”

  “Carm made ribs on the barbeque, potato salad and coleslaw. There’s lots left. I’ll heat up the ribs.”

  Carm hurried into the kitchen, grabbed her apron off the hook and began helping Misty get a second dinner ready.

  Farrell chugged his first beer and opened the Sub-Zero for a second. “I’m fuckin starving.”

  “We should have stopped on the way home,” said Blaine. “Didn’t think of it.”

  “You didn’t think of it,” said Farrell, “because you’re hardly ever hungry. Something seriously wrong with you, bro.”

  “I smoke too much,” said Blaine. “Kills your appetite.”

  “Shit, I smoke as much as you and I’m always hungry. That ain’t it.”

  Misty focused on Blaine and asked, “Did you find the cottage?”

  Why do I always forget she knows where I am?

  “Yes, we did, sweetheart. We found it.”

  “Brad’s dead, isn’t he?”

  Blaine nodded.

  “I felt him let go of me around four-thirty.”

  Farrell rolled his ice-blue eyes.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Monday, September 17th.

  Playa Maria. San Carlos. Panama.

  RENEE was up with the sun at six thirty and off to town to buy paints and a couple of blank canvases, if she could find such a thing in a small town. If not, she’d be patient and wait until her next trip into Panama City. This was her new life, and nothing was going to worry or upset her.

  She’d found a bar on her last walk along Maria Beach and she’d enjoyed a conversation with some tourists, a couple from Ohio. Maybe tonight she’d go there again.

  Renee parked her rented Toyota on the main street and entered an internet café. She’d been wondering how to contact her attorney without giving away her location and had stumbled on the cafe. This would be the perfect way to have him take care of a few things for her.

  She ordered a coffee and a pastry at the snack counter and paid for an hour of computer time. Near the front window were three empty spots and she hung her purse over the back of a chair and sat down.

  First, she sent an email to her Dad telling him she was fine and didn’t have phone service where she was. Partly true. Sometimes there was service and other times there was not—maybe it depended on which way the wind was blowing off the ocean. Then she sent an email to Larry Appleton at Powell and Associates advising him of Max’s death. She inquired about the length of time it would take to probate Max’s will, questions about selling the house if she was out of the country, and how long it would take the insurance company to pay out the life insurance.

  She pressed send, then went back to buy another coffee.

  At the end of her hour of paid time she hadn’t received a reply from Appleton. She had things to do and couldn’t wait around all day. She’d have to come back tomorrow.

  Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  BLAINE searched several data bases looking for Damien Longbow and finally came up with a fairly recent arrest record. Two weeks before, he’d been brought into the New Braunfels Police Department on assault charges, along with drunk and disor
derly and driving without a license. Longbow was free on bail until his trial date in October. There was a mug shot—he looked enough like his brother, Mike, to be his twin. Maybe he was.

  A current address in West Kyle was listed on the arrest. Blaine jotted it down.

  Ranger Headquarters. Austin.

  CHIEF CALHOUN nodded his head in greeting as Blaine and Farrell entered his office with Starbuck’s coffee for him. “Good job on Brad Mulligan. He’s downstairs in the cooler.”

  “Went for Blacky with an axe,” said Farrell. “Not much else I could do.”

  “It was a righteous kill,” said the Chief. “The guy was a fugitive, a lunatic, and a danger to everyone around him, especially his ex-wife.”

  “He broke Andy’s leg,” said Farrell. “Shoved him down a whole flight of fuckin stairs.”

  “And how did Misty take the death of her ex?” asked the Chief.

  “She’s relieved,” said Blaine. “I still have to stop by her house and see what needs to be done to remedy Mulligan’s trashing of her brand new bungalow.”

  The Chief frowned. “I think he was off the track more than a little bit.”

  Blaine nodded, then changed the subject. “I found an address for Longbow’s brother, and that’s where we’re headed now. Lovell might be holed up there.”

  “Where’s the brother?”

  “South. Down near West Kyle.”

  “Lovell plus two brothers,” said the Chief. “Three of them, two of you, and y’all know Lovell’s a shooter. Take more men.”

  “There will be five of us,” said Farrell. “Picking them up on the way.”

  “How’s Travis?” asked the Chief.

  “Hard to say,” said Blaine. “His doc is keeping him sedated for now. Doctor Rodriguez is sitting with him in ICU and watching over him. She said she’d call when he wakes up.”

  The Chief raised an eyebrow. “Am I out of the loop? I thought the Rodriguez thing was over.”

  Blaine shrugged. “No clue. Travis hasn’t mentioned her since the kidnapping, but I called her as a courtesy and she immediately rushed to the hospital. She’s been there ever since. Couldn’t guess what’s going on there.”