By Hook or By Crook

by Linda Morris

  She took a chance and spoke quietly. “I don’t see anything—do you?”

  “Let’s head up the ridge and down the road,” he said. “Maybe we can find the vehicle.”

  “I don’t hear it anymore,” she commented, as they set off in the direction of the Jeep.

  “Doesn’t mean it’s not there,” he said.

  They didn’t speak again for several minutes. She struggled to keep up with his punishing pace. At the ridge, she worked furiously to mount the steep rise, gasping for breath. She began to wish she’d stayed back in the cabin when she nearly collided with Joe’s back. He had stopped abruptly at the top of the ridge.

  Hearing her panting, he turned. “You okay?”

  She tried to reassure him, but she had no breath to speak. She bent and braced herself on her knees.

  “Let’s take a break,” he said. “You want to sit down?”

  She shook her head. Getting back up again would be more exertion than she felt up to right now.

  “You’re not doing too bad, you know.”

  “Thanks,” she gasped.

  He turned and surveyed the snowy landscape ahead of them. The beauty of the moonlit snow overcame her as she waited for her heart and breathing to slow.

  “Shit.”

  The single word snapped her attention back to Joe. Motionless, he fixated on the Jeep in the distance. She followed his gaze, and in a moment, she saw what had startled him. The passenger side window was clear. Someone had wiped the heavy snow off it. Even at this distance, she could see tracks leading to and away from the vehicle. Joe drew his gun, aiming it down.

  “Drop the weapon, or you’re both going to die,” An unfamiliar voice rang out in the silence.

  It came from the massive cluster of trees to their left. She strained her eyes to pick anything unusual out of the blackness, but the dark stand revealed nothing.

  After a moment, two men emerged. One of them held his hand at an odd angle. When he stepped into the moonlight, she saw why. He held a handgun, black and cold, pointed right at Joe’s head. For a moment, she feared her knees might give way. Before today, she’d never seen a gun except in the movies or TV. Joe dropped his weapon.

  “What do you want?” Joe’s voice showed no sign of fear. Either he had nerves of steel or he was one hell of an actor.

  She edged closer to him, fumbling for and grabbing his hand. He didn’t look at her, but clasped her fingertips in a gesture meant to reassure. Despite everything, it did.

  “We want Pock,” the older man said.

  “He’s not here,” Joe replied, before Ivy could even make sense of the man’s words.

  Pock? Her sister’s fiancé had gotten involved with these criminals? Disbelief crept in to mingle with her fear. What had her sister and her ridiculous boyfriend gotten them into?

  “But you know where he is,” said the man.

  She put his age at about forty-five or fifty. He looked miserable in sodden loafers and a thin jacket totally inadequate for a snowbound mountain pass. His buddy, a thirtyish Hispanic man, was equally underdressed in a Dodgers jacket and sneakers.

  The Hispanic man moved to retrieve Joe’s gun from the snow. Quelling her panic, Ivy moved her eyes over the two men, noting every detail of their appearance, searching for anything that could help her survive this. Bile rose in the back of her throat, but she swallowed, determined to keep calm.

  She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. These men want Pock, and killing us won’t help find him. Besides, Joe was a savvy, street-wise guy. He would take care of them. She had never been so glad of another person’s presence in her life. She grasped his hand even tighter, seeking reassurance. He squeezed back, hard.

  “We don’t know where he is, exactly,” Joe countered. “Do you think we’d be out here in the middle of nowhere at night if we knew where Pock was?”

  The older man laughed.

  “So you’re on his trail, too. I thought that was you, asking about him at the Bellisimo. Popular guy, that Pock. Everybody he meets ends up wanting to kill him. He rip you off too?”

  Some slight movement on her part must have let Joe know that she intended to correct him, because he quickly cut her off with a small gesture. “Yeah. We want our money back.”

  These men probably didn’t know that Pock and her sister were together, and Joe obviously didn’t want them to find out. Thank God he had silenced her before she revealed that little fact.

  The less these men knew about Daisy, the better. Why had Pock dragged her sister into this danger? She wanted to hate him for it, but then again, it never required much arm-twisting to talk Daisy into trouble.

  “So are we going to stand out here all night and freeze, or are you gonna tell us what you want from us?” Ivy’s brows rose at Joe’s audacity, and a dry laugh broke from the older man. So far, the middle-aged white guy had done all the talking—he must be the boss. His partner stood silent at his side, with a sour expression.

  “You don’t lack for balls,” the older man said. “I like that. Pock was supposed to lose a fight. He didn’t show. A lot of people, including me, had money riding on that fight. He cost me money, and made me look bad. That’s two strikes. This ain’t the big leagues. Nobody gets three strikes with me. Lead us to Pock.”

  Ivy closed her eyes and opened them again quickly when she felt the ground rushing up. She stumbled, barely avoiding going down face first in the snow.

  “Why should I help you?” Joe asked. Thank God he still had his wits about him. She certainly didn’t. “You kill him, I don’t get my money. He owes me fifteen thousand.”

  Ivy tried not to react visibly to that startling announcement. What was he up to?

  “You’re a businessman. I like that. I’m a businessman too. Tell you what.” The boss’s eyes gleamed in the crystalline cold, and Ivy felt a shiver move through her that had nothing to do with the frigid air. “I need to find Pock. You take us to him and don’t make any trouble, I give you ten thousand.”

  “I want fifteen.” The first rays of understanding penetrated her terror-fogged brain. He was framing himself as Pock’s victim. He wanted these men to see him as a potential ally, not a threat.

  Still, it might backfire. Eventually, if they caught up with Pock and Daisy, these men would realize Joe had lied. Ivy wouldn’t let herself think about that right now.

  The man chuckled. “I like your spirit, but no. I’m holding all the cards, and you’ve got a very weak hand.”

  “What if I say no?”

  The older man’s eyes sparkled in the night air. He nodded in the direction of his partner, still aiming at Joe’s head. “Then I have my friend take care of you.”

  “We can’t help you find Pock if we’re dead, either,” Joe pointed out.

  “There’s a lot of middle ground between killing you and letting you go. I think we could spend a lot of time in that gray area.”

  Torture? Ivy locked her knees to keep from sinking to the ground.

  The older man let his gaze slide over to her, moving up and down her body in a slow, suggestive perusal. Her mouth instantly dried. She closed her eyes again, hoping she didn’t lose all of her dignity and throw up in the snow. Only when Joe squeezed her hand again did she realize she had made some faint sound of distress.

  “Think about it. You get back a good chunk of the change he took you for, and you get to stay alive. Unharmed, even.”

  “And what about Pock? What are you going to do to him?” Joe asked.

  “We’ll take care of Pock.”

  Hearing the man threaten to murder Pock only intensified her nausea. She finally succeeded in swallowing. She couldn’t have spoken if she tried. She prayed Joe had an answer for this.

  If he did, he kept it to himself. “You’ve got a deal,” he said finally.

  ****

  In the cabin, they waited for the pass to open. She’d viewed the cabin as an idyllic refuge when she shared it with Joe. Now, it was a prison. She stayed close to Joe, un
willing to leave his side if she could help it.

  Ramirez, as she discovered the Hispanic man was named, ignored her thoroughly, but the boss never lost an opportunity to let his eyes run over her. Joe kept his hand in hers when they sat side by side on the sofa. He took care to always loop one arm around her shoulder, or put one hand on her knee. It was a primitive way of signaling to other men that she belonged to him, but she was grateful for it.

  The ringing cell phone snagged everyone’s attention. Ramirez had been thorough after they returned to the cabin, seizing Joe’s handgun and searching the cabin. They’d even confiscated the cell phones.

  Now, the boss pulled Joe’s phone from his back pocket and checked the display. He read the number aloud. Should she speak?

  “That’s my father,” Ivy said after a moment, hoping she was right to tell the truth.

  Boss tossed the phone to her. “Answer it. Tell him everything’s okay, and get off the phone as fast as you can.” He nodded to Ramirez, who lifted the barrel of his gun as a warning. “We’ll be listening.”

  As if she needed to be reminded.

  She took the phone and clicked it on. “Dad?” She couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice.

  “Ivy, I know it’s early, but I didn’t want to wait, considering how urgent the situation is.” You have no idea. “I spoke to the governor’s office. They checked with the head of the Nevada DOT. They assured me that the westbound roads are finally clear.”

  “So we can leave soon?”

  “That’s right. Are you all right, Ivy? You sound a little strange.” A suspicious note entered her father’s voice. “Joe isn’t giving you any trouble, is he?”

  “No, no trouble at all,” she said, forcing her gaze away from the ugly snub nose of Ramirez’s handgun.

  “All right, then. I don’t want to keep you. If the roads are clear, you’ll want to get moving right away. You don’t have a moment to lose. If they got through the pass before the storm, Pock and Daisy could be married already.”

  She agreed and said goodbye, feeling hopeless as the connection to her father, a voice outside this nightmare, ended. He hadn’t heard the fear she’d been only partially able to keep out of her voice. Intent on achieving his own priorities, he’d been deaf to the nuances that otherwise might have raised questions.

  “What did he want?”

  “He said he thought the passes would be open soon.”

  Instinct told her to hold back her father’s exact words. Did she want them to know that her father could get the head of the DOT or the governor’s office on the phone anytime he wanted?

  She weighed her choices. If they knew her father was Richard Smithson, would she be in more danger, or less? She didn’t know. She glanced at Joe, hoping she could read something in his eyes, but his gaze, steady and impassive, told her nothing. She made her decision. For now, her identity was her ace in the hole. If the situation deteriorated, she would have something to bargain with—her father’s money.

  The boss and Ramirez exchanged glances. “Let’s go,” Boss said, mouth grim.

  She let her eyes slide over to Joe’s face. His hand gripped hers and squeezed it tighter. She squeezed it back, grateful for the support. She could rely on Joe. And if they got out of this in one piece, she wouldn’t forget it.

  ****

  An hour later, the 4X4 cleared the pass. Ivy barely noticed the icy mountain dawn, streaking the eastern skies with shifting shades of orange and purple.

  Joe had told the men that he thought Pock might be at a Tahoe resort, but had claimed not to remember the name or exact location. Ivy admired his acting chops. “I’m not sure of the name, but I think it was something about a star, or a mountain. Mountain Star? Or a constellation. Mt. Orion, maybe?”

  As Ramirez drove, the boss placed a call to his assistant on Joe’s confiscated satellite phone. He fed the assistant the various bits of conflicting and confusing information Joe provided and then clicked off in frustration. “Jerrie couldn’t find any record of a resort with any name like that. She’s gonna keep looking, though.” The boss grimaced. “You sure it had ‘star’ in the name?”

  “I’m pretty sure it had something to do with stars or constellations. Or outer space.” Joe added this last new red herring with aplomb. Ivy didn’t know whether to cheer or despair over his audacity. The loaded handgun sat on the front seat, between the boss and Ramirez, within their easy reach.

  Boss laid a hand on it, pinning Joe with a stare. “You’re not jerking us around, are you?”

  Joe’s lifted his hands in a “What, me?” gesture. His baffled expression, so earnest, would have convinced Ivy if she hadn’t known he was lying through his teeth. “Why would I jerk you guys around? I want Pock as bad as you do.”

  “I doubt that. I very much doubt that,” Boss said. Ivy closed her eyes. Maybe when she opened them, these awful men would be gone, and this whole insane episode would be over. She opened her eyes. Wishful thinking.

  They weren’t gone. It wasn’t over. The black barrel of the pistol still lay between the front bucket seats, aimed right at Joe.

  The ringing of Joe’s phone drew everyone’s attention. Boss studied the readout and read the number aloud.

  “Don’t know the number,” Joe said. She couldn’t say why, but something about his carefully calm answer made Ivy sure he was lying.

  Boss seemed to have his doubts too. After a moment, he tossed the phone to Joe. “Answer it and put it on speaker. I want to hear every word of the conversation.” He pinned Ivy with a glare, and she dropped her eyes, unable to hold his gaze. Did he suspect she hadn’t told him everything earlier? Thank heavens he hadn’t made her put her call on speaker. Her father’s easy access to the governor would have raised too many uncomfortable questions.

  Joe answered the call and, at a wave of Cantor’s gun, put the call on speaker. The rich warm tones of a middle-aged woman’s voice filled the cab. “Joe, honey, Sheila here. Daisy used her credit card again. She and Pock are at a lodge in Lake Tahoe, someplace called Zephyr Cove.” The words spilled out in a torrent. She kept right on talking over Joe’s attempts to cut her short. “You can thank me later. I’m too damn good to be your secretary anymore. When you get back, we can talk about what I need to do to get promoted to investigator—”

  Joe clicked the call off, but too late. Boss’s gaze had gone sharp as a razor’s edge. “An investigator?” The sudden silence rang like a death knell. Only road noise and an occasional passing car broke the silence.

  Joe shrugged. “So what? I’m an investigator. A security consultant, if you want to know what it says on my business card. I never lied to you. Pock owes us money. I happen to be in a good position to get it back.”

  “Because you’re a detective.”

  “Yeah.”

  The boss paused a moment. His face blank, measuring, he gave nothing away. Ivy couldn’t tell whether he believed Joe or not.

  “You a cop?” He pointed the barrel of the gun straight at Joe’s heart.

  Her own heart tripped double-time. These men could kill them. Kill them without remorse and dump their bodies by the side of the road. She knew it as surely as she knew anything.

  The steep grade leveled out as they descended out of the mountains. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joe make a subtle movement with his left hand, so slow and steady, she instinctively knew he was trying to hide it. Her eyes flickered to the boss. The headrest of the front seat blocked his view of Joe’s movement. Casually, she looked again, not wanting to draw the older man’s attention.

  Joe’s hand eased, and closed on the door handle for a moment. Slowly, steadily, he pulled the handle. It gave. He pushed his forearm against the door, but it did not open. It must be childproofed so that no one in the backseat could get out. Her heart thundered as her eyes flew to his face. He remained impassive, easing his hand away to rest on his knee.

  “I asked you a question, detective.”

  They were entering a more popula
ted area now, with gas stations, tackle shops, and diners dotting the side of the road. What was Joe planning? She gazed at his green eyes, desperately wishing she could read his mind.

  “I’m no cop. You heard Sheila. I’m a security consultant. She’s my assistant.”

  “I’ll bet he’s a fuckin’ cop,” Ramirez grumbled. “I have a tingle in my ears about this guy, like my mama used to get when something bad was gonna happen. Cantor, I’m telling you—”

  “Ramirez, can it with the woo-woo crap.” The boss turned back to Joe. “Detectives—excuse me, security consultants,” he said with exaggerated solicitude, “usually know a lot of cops.”

  Joe shrugged again. “So what? I know a lot of accountants, too. Does that make me a CPA?”

  “Wiseass, you better not lie to me again.”

  “I didn’t lie to you,” Joe reminded him. “You never asked what I did for a living.”

  The barrel of the gun lowered a fraction. “From now on, I don’t want to have to ask. You keeping any other secrets I should know about?”

  “Can’t think of any.” Joe’s eyes, always changeable, had turned flat and unreadable.

  The boss seemed to be buying his denials. Ramirez had called him Cantor, Ivy realized. Cantor grunted and lowered the gun further. “See that you don’t surprise me again. I don’t like surprises.”

  He turned toward the front again after exchanging glances with Ramirez, and Ivy exhaled slowly, almost dizzy with relief. Cantor took the phone and placed a call of his own, asking someone—his assistant, maybe—for directions to Zephyr Cove. After a few minutes, he grunted an assent and clicked off.

  Joe shifted once in his seat, and then shifted again. He squirmed like a five-year-old on a cross-country road trip, and Ivy eyed him speculatively. Something wasn’t right. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and took a deep breath. He rubbed one hand across his forehead, as if wiping away sweat. “I think I’m getting car sick. Can we pull over for a minute?”

  Concerned, she peered at him closely. His color looked good, despite his words. He caught her gaze and held it for a moment, and suddenly she knew.