A small red light flashed on the laptop at his feet. Lifting it, he set it on his lap and opened it. A man with brown curly hair, thick eyebrows, ruddy cheeks, and a reddish beard appeared on the screen. “Hey, Harry. What are the names?”
Harry had a deep Irish accent, and Alex murmured the names after him, “Passion, Best Yield, Down Under, Snowball, Spring Step, Constant Effort...” He paused, his forehead wrinkling as he closed his eyes. “Ten on Passion to win, Harry.” It was two to one odds.
“Don’t worry, lad,” said Harry. “We’ll do her.”
“Thanks, Harry.” As he shut the laptop, the Subaru closed on their bumper again and honked. “Impatient,” he muttered.
Megan accelerated to forty. “Seems like a lot of effort to bet ten dollars.” She brushed strands of her long hair back from her cheek, a quizzical expression on her face.
He felt an unexpected tug on his emotions. He hadn’t had a relationship for three years. Since Jenny. Even so, his reaction bothered him. “Ten thousand.”
She gaped. “I never liked gambling. I hope you’re not playing with your pension.”
He smiled.
She added, “What you detected at the Wheeler’s today, well, are you always right?”
Looking out his window, his mouth was suddenly as dry as the parched air. He grabbed his water bottle from the floor and took a sip.
“Most of the time?” she prodded.
“Yeah, too often.”
She glanced in the rearview mirror. “How long have you been able to do it?”
He looked out the window. “I have a vivid memory of an old person dying in my neighborhood when I was ten years old.”
“Wow. Must have been a rough childhood.” She sounded empathetic.
“Highs and lows, like most.” Finished with the chocolate, he tossed the wrapper into the glove compartment and settled back. He remembered the guilt he felt when he was young, having visions of people dying, and then witnessing their actual deaths. Sometimes running to a house to see if he was right—hoping he wasn’t. In his teens he tried to prevent the deaths from coming true, but he had always failed.
“That would have been a nightmare for anyone that age,” she added.
“Understatement.” He wondered how much Foley had shared about him. Megan was an analyst so she might have investigated him. That idea made him uncomfortable.
The Subaru dropped back fifty feet, but immediately raced up to their bumper again.
Alex pushed his feet into the floorboard. Maybe it was a stupid teenager playing around—or on drugs. “How long have you worked for the FBI?”
“A few years as an analyst. No field experience with the FBI.”
Surprised, he glanced at her. “What did you do before that?”
“Not now, all right?” Her voice had an edge.
“What’s the big deal?” His throat filled with words he wanted to spit at Foley for forcing her on him. “I like to know who I’m working with.”
“Megan Detalio,” she said stiffly.
“Great.”
She glanced at him, her voice changing gears from irritated to curious. “How do you do it? You know, get your information.”
“A crystal ball.”
She frowned. “Is it only related to cases? What you’re focused on?”
“Gambling’s intuitive. The other stuff is triggered by my emotions or what’s left over at a crime scene. I don’t have any control over it.” He swallowed. “Once I’m focused on a case everything is related to it. I usually see people die or who are going to die, but never the exact kill site.”
“That frustrates you.”
“Of course.” The Subaru honked again and he looked into his side mirror. “Someone’s in a hurry.”
“So are we,” she quipped.
He pursed his lips. Stubborn too. Damn Foley.
Her voice softened. “I’m glad you care enough to get involved. You could have remained retired on disability.”
“You investigated me.” It pushed his irritation further.
She glanced at him. “It’s called Google. You came up fast through the ranks and earned a rep as a detective who always solved his cases. You retired from the force after you were wounded and only work freelance now. The last case you solved for the FBI on missing women in Seattle is well-known, as are your psychic abilities.”
“Are they?”
She added, “This case will be explosive for the nation. Threshold is murderous, but getting attention for legitimate concerns.”
His eyebrows arched. “Sympathizing with murderers?”
“No, but Wheeler wasn’t much better. The chemicals he made are carcinogens for humans and killing our pollinators. Many countries and U.S. cities have banned glyphosate. I wouldn’t eat GMOs.”
The Subaru finally dropped back a reasonable distance and remained there.
Alex didn’t know who he was more annoyed with, Megan or the Subaru driver. He choked back a comment about her driving. “You’re an environmentalist.”
“Activist all through college. The USDA, EPA, FDA, Congress, and the presidency are in the pockets of corporations so people feel they have no representation. We’re back to the rich and elite running everything. That’s what started the American Revolution, and that’s why GMO test plots have been burned. It was only a matter of time before something worse like Threshold evolved.”
She gazed at him. “I suppose you’re a conservative?”
“I eat organic, worry about global warming and endangered species, and gave twenty grand to Greenpeace last year.”
She began to say something, but clamped her lips shut and braked before a turn. “When are we going to Montana? And why bother with San Diego?”
“San Diego felt intuitive.”
She waved a hand. “You had a clairvoyant hit on Billings. How does intuition trump that?”
Not used to being grilled, he had to admit the question was insightful. “Billings wasn’t attached to the kill site. The goal is to stop the next murder tonight, and it won’t be at Billings. Maybe Threshold is based in San Diego. If Wheeler was a random target, as Foley thinks, it makes sense the killers would use a convenient location like Del Mar. People know their own backyard best. I also want to meet Dr. Frank Crary in person to see if I get anything further.”
“I like that logic.” She looked at him, her voice eager. “Are we going to Dr. Crary now? Foley showed me the veterinarian list and I memorized their addresses and phone numbers, along with California street maps.”
“Really?” Alex stared at her. Foley hadn’t exaggerated her abilities. “Foley is obtaining warrants for phone records. Let’s see if Crary has any connection to Billings before we approach him.”
“Sounds good.”
He glanced again at the sideview mirror. The Subaru was closing in again and
pulled up within a few feet from them. His stomach tightened as the car crept closer in the mirror. “Geez.”
“Idiot.” Megan glanced at the rearview mirror.
The car smacked their bumper with a crunch, jerking Alex against his seat belt. “Damn.”
Megan scowled and eased off the accelerator. “Great. Just what we need.”
The Outback pulled into the opposing traffic lane as if to pass them.
Alex wanted to snap at Megan for not letting the car go by earlier, but instead said, “Probably underage kids drinking. Get the license plate if they don’t stop.”
A road sign showed a hairpin curve up ahead. Megan braked and drove their car partly onto the narrow shoulder.
The Subaru was taking a huge risk if it was going to pass them now. Alex turned to glare at the driver, and saw something protruding from the car’s open passenger window.
“Get down!” He gasped and spun around, hunching low in his seat.
A blast struck the rear passenger window, scattering glass shards throughout the interior. A burst of warm air swept through the car.
Taking off his seatbelt, Alex drew his 9mm. A hill loomed up in the windshield and he shouted, lifting his free arm in front of his face.
Megan looked over the dash and twisted the steering wheel. The tires bit into dirt, jerking the sedan left.
Turning around, Alex looked between the seats. A man in the front passenger seat of the Subaru wore a nylon stocking over his head and gripped a shotgun. The Outback accelerated into the opposing traffic lane.
“He’s coming again!” snapped Alex.
Megan jerked the sedan left and cut off the Subaru.
Half on his knees, Alex fired three shots, shattering their car’s rear window. The reports rang in his ears and bullet holes appeared in the front windshield of the Subaru. The Subaru veered back into the right lane.
Megan swung the sedan sharply right to keep the swerving wagon behind them. Alex slid sideways. Reaching under her jacket, Megan drew a SIG Sauer P320 and set it on her lap. She swung the car left again to block the Subaru.
They entered the hairpin curve in the wrong lane, the Subaru following. Alex scanned ahead as the Toyota’s tires screamed around the corner.
“Hey!” he yelled.
An oncoming red mini-van sounded its horn—the woman driver gaped at them.
Megan wrenched the sedan right. Wheels squealed on pavement. Alex slid against her shoulder, jamming her against the door. The minivan clipped their back fender, jolting their car a few feet sideways.
“Get off me,” snapped Megan.
Their Toyota veered across the road with Alex’s weight still trapping Megan. The Subaru veered out of the way of the van, which ran off the road and crashed into a tree.
Turning, Alex shouted as pine trees loomed over them. Gripping the wheel, he wrenched the sedan left. The turn slid him against the passenger door and he swore. Tilting sharply, the Corolla fishtailed briefly before Megan straightened it.
Alex glanced back. The Subaru had lost ground to avoid the minivan.
Relief swept him when he looked ahead. The CHP Charger was parked in a tourist lookout on the right shoulder.
CHAPTER 4
Megan slammed on the brakes and spun the steering wheel. The tires screeched and their sedan did a one-eighty in the road and jolted to a stop. The engine died.
Alex gaped. The Outback was approaching them head-on.
Megan lifted her gun and squeezed off three shots through their windshield.
“Get down!” shouted Alex.
Megan leaned sideways. Alex threw himself over her as a hard jolt pushed their car toward the east side of the road amid crunching metal. Air bags exploded, pushing them against the front seat.
An engine whined.
Alex peered over the dash. The Subaru was racing backward, its engine hood crumpled like a camel’s hump. It made a reverse turn in the middle of the road, and then sped around the hairpin curve, quickly out of sight.
He sat up. The front end of their car was pushed in on the passenger side and their car rested at an angle in the road.
Partially rising, Megan looked out their punctured windshield.
Wiping a forearm across his face, Alex said, “California drivers.”
“Get out of the car with your hands on your head!”
One of the CHP officers stood in the turn-off twenty feet from them, a Smith & Wesson M&P pistol held stiffly in his extended hands. Dressed in a khaki shirt and pants, the trooper wore a wide-brimmed tan hat. A radio hung over his shoulder. The driving officer stood behind his open car door, his left hand already on his radio as he talked into it.
Alex was irritated at the officer holding a gun on them. But the patrolmen had only seen Megan shooting at a car ramming them. Maybe they assumed it was road rage. He hoped the officers were calling to intercept the other car.
He slid his gun back into his holster beneath his shirt. Taking a deep breath, he opened his door and stepped onto the road, holding his badge above the hood. Dust and the scent of steaming blacktop hit his nostrils. Sweat coated his skin.
“FBI,” he said to the officer. “We need you to get on the radio and set roadblocks at the…” He looked in at Megan. “Do you know where?”
She spoke softly. “South end of Torrey Pines, and both directions on the 5 and Ted Williams Freeway out to ten miles. Better do Camino Del Mar ten miles north of the park too.”
Alex repeated the information to the officer.
The officer didn’t lower his gun, and instead lifted his chin at Megan. “I want to see her badge too.” His voice was hard.
Megan cracked her door, still partly hunched over in the seat.
Alex glanced in at her. She was moving slow, appearing a little dazed. Softly, he said, “Leave your gun on the seat, Megan.”
Straightening, he shuffled to the rear of the car. The trooper in the road eyed him closely, but had his M&P trained on Megan’s door. Megan sat motionless, her door still only cracked opened. Alex stopped near the trunk, wondering why Megan wasn’t getting out. Maybe she was hurt.
The officer in the road swung his gun from Megan to him.
Alex frowned. “Hey, are you deaf? We’re FBI.” He spotted the SIG Sauer in Megan’s hands behind the door as she stared at the trooper.
At the same moment, the standing officer swung his gun back to Megan, his face hardening. “Show your badge and hands.”
Alex blurted, “It’s all right, officer. I’m a special investigator on assignment with—”
An explosion cut him off.
The trooper crumpled, red darkening the belly of his brown shirt, his arms dropping as he stumbled back.
Alex gaped, lowering his badge. He swung to Megan; she lay on her back on the front seat, arms extended, her gun aimed at her window.
“Get down, Alex!” she yelled.
The officer standing behind the open CHP car door held a MP7 silenced submachine gun. The nonstandard weapon sent adrenaline into Alex’s chest.
Megan fired at the officer, who ducked down, but fired the MP7 at them through his open window.
Alex crouched behind the rear tire as bullets ripped dull pops along the car’s frame. Twisting to sit behind the tire, he drew his gun and pushed his back against the hubcap, keeping his head down. His shoulders and arms were rigid and he jammed his shoes into the tar. Bullets punched through the car doors on his side and bit the road past the trunk.
Megan belly crawled out of the front passenger door down to the asphalt, and scrambled behind the front passenger tire.
Alex rose slightly and risked a look over the trunk.
The wounded trooper was falling into the back seat of the police car. The other officer rose and sprayed them again with the MP7.
Alex ducked again as bullets ripped into the sedan in dull thuds. When the shooting stopped, he glanced at Megan. She was still crouched behind the front passenger tire.
Tires spewed gravel.
Alex glanced over the trunk, and then scrambled to the driver’s side to get a better line of sight on the fleeing patrol car. He stood and fired three shots; Megan didn’t fire. After the cruiser disappeared around the corner, his shoulders slumped, the sudden quiet at odds with his emotions.
He leaned against the car, his left knee aching. His shirt was drenched and his stomach heaved. “Megan?”
No response.
“Megan!” He quickly limped back around the trunk.
She stood up near the front end, her face ashen. Blood dripped from her left hand, staining the cuff of her white blouse.
Walking along the car in a rush, he stopped inches in front of her. “You’re shot?”
“Just grazed my fore
arm.” She took off her sunglasses and ran her gaze over him. “Are you all right?”
Relief swept his limbs and he exhaled. “I’ll make it to dinner. Sit down, keep the arm elevated. I’ll call it in.”
Dialing 911 on his cell, he gave a quick report while retrieving a clean T-shirt from his suitcase in the trunk. He strode back to Megan.
She had pulled off the jacket and sat sideways on the front car seat, her feet on the pavement. He noted the bullet hole in the jacket sleeve, and the sleeve of her blouse was mostly red.
Pulling out his OTF knife, he cut her sleeve to make it easier to pull back. She had a thin, jagged scrape along the forearm. He folded the tee into a rectangle and laid it against her wound. “Put pressure on it.”
Her eyes met his, the emotion in them reaching him. “Thank you, Alex.”
He stared down at her. “How did you know the cops were fake?”
The corners of her mouth turned down. “I caught a glimpse of the MP7 that the officer was hiding in his right hand. When he lifted it, I fired.”
“I should have seen that.” She was sharp and it impressed him. Or he was getting sloppy?
Sirens blared in the distance.
He thought about Threshold. “It’s a big risk for the terrorists to attack us. But if not them, then who?”
Her face darkened and she didn’t answer.
The set-up had been so elaborate it felt bigger than a personal vendetta. And when he ran through his past, he came up empty for suspects. “Do you have anyone in your past that would try something like this?”
“I ran through possibilities,” she said. “Nothing fits. You?”
“Nothing that makes sense.”
She looked up at him. “I saw you limping.”
“Left knee acts up sometimes. An old wound.” One of the bullets he had taken from Jenny’s killer.
He gestured to her. “Thanks.”
“For?”
“Saving my life.”
She reddened with an awkward glance that didn’t quite meet his. “You’re welcome, Alex.”
In a moment her intense eyes probed his.
“What?” he asked.
“I guess this means I now have field experience.”
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