Stranded

by Alex Kava

  Both Maggie and Tully had their FBI windbreakers with them. Before they left Kansas they had bought ankle-high hiking boots. Maggie wore jeans and a T-shirt with the long sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Tully chose to look more official in khakis and a polo shirt. Both also wore their shoulder holsters and weapons.

  Tully had already spoken to Creed. He was running late and said he’d meet them at the site. This area was Creed’s backyard. His training facility was less than half an hour away. Tully agreed to text GPS coordinates as soon as they arrived wherever Otis was taking them.

  At exactly noon—right on time—two black Chevy Tahoes with Florida Highway Patrol insignias pulled into the empty back parking lot of the hotel. They stopped in the farthest corner, where the pine trees bordered them on two sides. Maggie and Tully had been waiting in the lobby and came out to greet them.

  Both of the Florida state troopers were dressed in gray uniforms and wide-brimmed black hats. They introduced themselves as Wiley and Campos. A man emerged from the front passenger side of the lead SUV. Maggie knew he had to be Warden Demarcus. Kunze had told them the man insisted on accompanying his prisoner.

  Demarcus looked like a politician—a shot of gray at the temples, square shoulders, confident gait, freshly creased trousers, white oxford with a silk tie, and expensive leather shoes that she immediately noticed were polished and shiny. It was the perfect outfit for a hike in search of dead bodies. Maggie wondered if he expected a TV news crew to meet them at the site. Instead of a warden taking responsibility for his prisoner, he looked like a man wanting to capitalize on a celebrity moment.

  Left in the backseat of the first SUV was Otis P. Dodd. Maggie was close enough that she could see him behind the tinted glass. He was watching them, smiling and eating a chicken drumstick.

  “He insisted we stop for fried chicken,” Demarcus told Maggie. “We barely get off the plane and he wants KFC.”

  “I guess he gets whatever he wants today,” Tully said.

  “Within reason,” Demarcus shot back.

  Gwen had described Otis as being a giant of a man, and just the glimpse through the window told Maggie that was true. Despite his receding hairline and droopy eyes with crow’s-feet at the corners, when he gave her a lopsided grin—one that looked quite content but with almost an innocent quality—he did remind her of a teenager.

  Maggie and Tully went to the second SUV with Trooper Wiley. Tully conceded the front passenger side to her. Campos and Demarcus got back inside the lead SUV with Otis. Before Wiley could put the vehicle in gear and follow, Demarcus was back out in the parking lot, trying to manage the fury that was taking over his face. He stomped to their vehicle and stood in front of Maggie’s door. Both she and Tully, who was sitting behind her, opened their windows.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “He wants you to ride in his vehicle,” Demarcus said through gritted teeth, not only with anger but with accusation. “I told them it was a bad idea to have a woman along.”

  His fingers reached for Maggie’s door but she opened it before he made contact. She let the heavy door swing open a bit too fast, knocking Demarcus smack in the chest.

  “Oops, sorry,” she said. “Sometimes we women can be a little clumsy and we just don’t know our strength.”

  She heard both Wiley and Tully laughing as she exited the vehicle.

  CHAPTER 54

  Maggie sat at an angle in the Tahoe’s leather captain seat, so she could see Otis. He was shackled to the floor of the SUV, sitting in the seat directly behind Trooper Campos. A metal grill separated the front from the back of the vehicle.

  The interior smelled of fried chicken. Otis’s chin was still shiny where he hadn’t wiped it. He was excited to have her in his SUV.

  “You’re Miss Gwen’s friend, ain’t that right?”

  And Maggie immediately understood what Gwen had meant when she said the man had a simple-minded charm about him.

  Now his face was turned toward the window and his gaze was intense. The nervous lopsided grin, which was as much a part of his features as his nose, was subdued. He appeared to know exactly where he was taking them. Yet it wouldn’t surprise Maggie if he had lied about a second dump site just to get a day outside the prison walls. He’d be able to take a plane ride and go for a drive. Get some fresh air and some fried chicken. When he let them pass the exit for the interstate rest area, Maggie suspected that was exactly what Otis had done.

  However, he directed Trooper Campos to the next exit and instructed him turn by turn. Ten minutes later they entered Blackwater River State Forest and Maggie thought to herself, “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

  The narrow road was flanked on both sides by tall, thin pine trees so close together daylight had to fight to get through. They passed by the entrances to a couple of dirt roads, two tracks in red clay that twisted and disappeared into the trees. Trooper Campos continued farther into the forest. He drove over a bridge and Maggie noticed that the water beneath was tea-colored but clear and shallow enough to see the bottom. A sandbar with pristine white sand appeared in the river. Surrounded by the pine trees, the beach looked out of place. In season, it would be a perfect retreat, but in March it was empty.

  “If you had mentioned the forest,” Campos said in his rearview mirror to Otis, “I would have called one of the rangers.”

  “Wouldn’t be no need for that,” Otis told him.

  “You been here before?” Campos asked.

  “No, sir. Never been to Florida before.” He was polite and soft-spoken with a pronounced Southern drawl.

  “Then how do you know where to go?”

  Otis gently tapped two fingers to his temple and grinned but didn’t take his eyes away from his side window.

  “When people tell me stuff, I remember. I don’t know why it is, but I get a real good picture in my mind.”

  Campos shot Maggie a look but thankfully he didn’t roll his eyes. The trooper looked about forty. Old enough to have heard all kinds of stories, and Maggie could see he was also beginning to wonder about the validity of Otis’s claim.

  “There’s nobody around out here,” Campos said to Maggie. “Not this time of year. Milton is canoe capital of Florida. Blackwater River runs through the forest. A bunch of other creeks and tributaries flow into it. Coldwater Creek, Juniper, Sweetwater.”

  “How big is the forest?” Maggie asked.

  “Over two hundred thousand acres. Stretches all the way north to the Alabama state border.”

  Maggie glanced back at Otis. She had a feeling of dread. How deep into the forest would he take them? How long would he have them walking in circles before he admitted there was no dump site?

  To the west through a clearing in the thick forest, she could see storm clouds gathering. It wasn’t even six months since she had spent an evening in a forest in Nebraska. She had never experienced such a sense of isolation before. She wasn’t looking forward to repeating it. Instinctively she pulled out her cell phone and checked how many bars she had. It blinked between one and two, then none.

  Trooper Campos noticed. “Should be able to get reception,” he said, then quickly added, “in most spots.” He didn’t sound convincing.

  “After that big-ass tree up there,” Otis said, pointing up ahead to a huge dead oak, “there’s a little narrow road afterward to the right.”

  It was a landmark anyone would remember. Was that exactly what he was thinking?

  Campos slowed down but still almost missed the road. It was more of a path than a road. The overgrowth hid the tire tracks and the entrance. He stopped the SUV. Made sure the one behind him had stopped and given him enough room to back up. Then he yanked the steering wheel hard to the right and drove into the forest.

  The road curved, sometimes sharply. They bounced and jerked over the ruts. The road never widened. In several places branches scraped the sides of the SUV and Campos grimaced. The overhanging ones threatened to do the same. Every once in while Maggie saw splotches of
color, spring blooms. As the sky continued to darken with clouds, so too did their path.

  “How far are we going, buddy?” Trooper Campos asked, and Maggie thought she saw Otis grimace for the first time at the term “buddy.” “You sure this is the right way?”

  “Just a little bit more,” he said.

  A few seconds later, the SUV came around a curve and into a small clearing.

  “Here we go,” he said.

  Maggie had to admit it was the perfect isolated spot to dump bodies. Remote but with vehicle access. The only problem—there didn’t appear to be anything else. No cabin, no lean-to.

  But when they got out of the SUVs, Otis told them they’d have to walk to the actual site and he pointed to a footpath.

  “It’s just up the way through them trees.”

  “Are you jerking us around?” It was Demarcus.

  “Should be about a hundred to a hundred fifty yards up that way.”

  Otis went on to ask about getting the shackles from his feet removed.

  Troopers Campos and Wiley looked to Demarcus for instruction. Demarcus looked to Tully.

  “We’ve already come this far. Let’s at least check it out before the thunder and lightning get here.”

  Otis was right. About 100 to 150 yards through the trees they came to another clearing. This one was much bigger, wider and with tall grass and yellow wildflowers, a meadow in the middle of the forest. Trooper Wiley walked beside Otis as the prisoner, with his hands still shackled, led them to the center and stopped. Demarcus was close behind them, and Tully, Maggie, and Trooper Campos were about twenty feet back, bringing up the rear.

  Again, Maggie noticed there was nothing else but thick forest surrounding the area. No shelters in sight. Although she couldn’t see beyond the dark shadows inside the forest. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the beginning rumble of the brewing storm.

  In fact, the first crack Maggie heard, she thought it was thunder until she saw Trooper Wiley fall to his knees, holding his throat. In a gulp of a breath, a second gunshot followed. Right next to her, Trooper Campos’s head exploded, splattering Maggie in the face.

  She ripped at her windbreaker as Campos fell against her, taking her with him to the ground. Her fingers yanked at her holster.

  Then a third shot. This one hit Tully.

  CHAPTER 55

  Maggie belly-crawled to where Tully lay. The tall grass offered little camouflage. But Campos’s body provided a barrier. Weapon drawn, she couldn’t see the shooter. Could he still see her? All she knew was that the shots came from the trees and they came within seconds, easy targets.

  A fourth shot and she heard Demarcus scream.

  She ducked her head, her cheek against the cold, damp earth. Everything had gone quiet except for her heartbeat thumping in her ears. Her body was drenched in sweat.

  She twisted her neck till she could see Tully.

  Blood stained his windbreaker. An entrance wound. Oh dear God. Right over his heart.

  “Damn it, Tully. No!”

  She said it under her breath. Angry tears threatened.

  She blinked hard. Pushed up on her elbows. Her pulse raced. She tried to sneak a glimpse over Campos’s body.

  No orange jumpsuit. Where the hell was Otis?

  And where was his buddy Jack? Or Buzz, or whatever the hell his name was.

  It was quiet now. Too quiet.

  And then there was one.

  The thought sent a fresh panic through her body. Tully had warned her that this guy was obsessed with her. It was her, not the scavenger hunt, that he was after. And now she was the only one left because Jack wanted it that way. He wanted her alive.

  She gripped her revolver, trigger finger ready. She pulled herself up against Campos’s body. With her free hand, she rummaged through the cases attached to his three-inch gun belt. She tucked his ASR (aerosol subject restraint) spray canister into the cuff of her left sock. His Taser went into her waistband, under her jacket at the small of her back. He was lying on his holstered service revolver. She couldn’t get to it without rolling him over.

  Something behind her moved. She turned around, ready to take aim.

  A groan from Tully. His eyelids fluttered. He blinked, trying to focus. He looked to be in shock. And in pain.

  A flicker of relief washed over her. It was quickly replaced by urgency. She needed to see how badly he was hit. She needed to stop the bleeding. But there was something else she needed to do and quickly.

  She clawed at the case on Trooper Campos’s belt, yanked it open, and removed two items. One she slid into her other sock, shoving it all the way down. Then she crawled, using her elbows to pull her so she could stay down as low as possible to the ground. Just a few more inches.

  She heard the crunch of footsteps. Close. Too close.

  She reached out and touched Tully. She had to put her revolver down for three seconds. One second—she grabbed his wrist. Two—snapped a handcuff on. Three—snapped the other onto her wrist. Then she reached for her revolver just as a shadow came over her.

  “Leave it, Magpie,” a voice said from above and behind her.

  The use of her nickname made her catch her breath. It was a term of endearment that only her father and mother had used.

  CHAPTER 56

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  Gwen hated hospital gowns. They were always three times too large. Her feet were freezing cold. Why hadn’t she thought to bring socks? She was filling her mind with trivial things to keep it from remembering the biopsy needle sinking into her flesh. She had had the procedure explained to her three or four times now. They gave her a local anesthesia and used an ultrasound-guided needle instead of a freehand needle biopsy because the mass couldn’t be easily felt. There’d be no scars or bruising. It was much less invasive than an open surgical biopsy. She’d be able to return to work or go home right away.

  She had been assured that it had “gone very well.” But they wanted her to “lie here for a short time.” All simple and fine, and yet the nurse seemed surprised that she was alone, that no one would be picking her up. But Gwen hadn’t told anyone. Only Julia Racine knew and Gwen had made her promise not to tell.

  Her clothes, jewelry, cell phone, and shoes were placed neatly on the side table beside her bed. Her cell phone—which she had set to Vibrate—now rattled against the table surface. No one had told her she could not use her phone. She reached for it and felt an ache and tenderness where the needle had gone in three times, taking three tissue samples.

  “This is Gwen.”

  “Dr. Patterson, it’s Agent Alonzo. Do you have a minute to talk?”

  “Of course,” she said as her eyes darted toward the door.

  “I’m going over some information and I’m wondering if you can tell me about something Otis Dodd said.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you remember if he told you how he knew about the body in the Iowa barn? The biker with the tattoo?”

  “I’m sure he said Jack told him.”

  “Do you remember if he said when Jack told him this?”

  Gwen stopped to think. Otis had thrown the information out at her, right before he left. He’d done it in anger when he thought she didn’t believe him. Almost out of spite; perhaps he had not intended to tell her at all.

  “I don’t think he said when exactly. He and Jack spent an evening at a bar, drinking.” Alonzo was quiet and before he responded she asked, “Do you finally know the man’s identity?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  She heard computer keys tapping.

  “He’s Michael James Earling of St. Paul, Minnesota. Did Otis ever say if he talked to Jack after that evening of drinking?”

  “No, he always referred to it as one evening, sort of a chance encounter with a stranger.” She tried to remember how Otis had worded it. “There was something he said about him and Jack being messed up. That they weren’t normal. He seemed pleased that they had that in common.”

  A
gain, she waited and Agent Alonzo was silent.

  “Why do you ask? What’s going on?”

  “Otis has been in prison for almost a year. Michael James Earling disappeared only three weeks ago. The medical examiner says that’s a fair estimation of how long the body has been in the barn.”

  The realization came over Gwen in a cold sweat.

  “Otis couldn’t possibly know about a tattooed biker in the barn,” Alonzo said. “Not unless he was still in touch with Jack.”

  CHAPTER 57

  “Just slow and gentle like,” the man told her.

  Maggie pulled and eased her body in front of Tully before she looked up at him. He was pointing what looked like a Glock, aiming it at her head. He still had the Booty Hunter cap on. But Jack wasn’t Buzz.

  It took her a moment to recognize him.

  “You had me in Iowa. Why bring me all the way down here?” she asked Howard Elliott.

  She felt Tully stirring. Heard him groan.

  “What would be the fun in that?”

  “He’s still alive,” Otis said.

  Maggie’s stomach clenched. She thought he meant Tully, but she could see Otis standing over Trooper Wiley’s and Warden Demarcus’s bodies. He had Wiley’s service revolver in his hand and it looked like a toy swallowed up by Otis’s huge fingers.

  “The executor from the farm is Jack?” Tully mumbled. “Son of a bitch.”

  “Looks like this one’s still alive, too.”

  “So do I call you Howard?” Maggie asked, surprised at how calm and steady she was able to make her voice sound when the panic continued to crawl like ice through her veins.

  “It’s John Howard,” Otis said, coming up beside his friend. “But he likes to be called Jack.” Otis’s grin hadn’t disappeared. His tongue poked out and licked his lips as he shot a glance over his shoulder. “He’s still alive.”