“We’ll have to get out separately. I’ll go first, try to draw them off you. Leave your jacket off, and reverse the hat. Tuck all your hair under it. Stuff the jacket in your bag, out of sight.” He handed her his beeper. “If I get clear, I’ll beep nine-one-one. Dewey should be waiting not far from the exit.” He described Dewey. “Head straight for him. Pretend you know him. If I send you nine-nine-nine, forget Dewey, get into a stall in the bathroom and stay there until you hear me or see a police badge shoved under the door. Okay?”
She nodded, her face calm but pale. “Will you be all right?”
He looked up from checking his weapon. “They need me to lead them to you.”
It was the second hardest thing he’d ever done, walking away from her. He stepped ahead of a woman about the same age as Amelia. When he stepped down, he turned and offered her his hand. She smiled and thanked him. When she walked inside, he followed her, close enough that it looked like they were together. Like magnets and nails, he noted he was pulling the surveillance inside with him, including the one who’d seen Amelia. So far, so good.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Dewey. Be there, he thought, the relief intense when Dewey answered right away.
“Where are you?”
“Outside, by my car,” Dewey said. “Why?”
“I seemed to have picked up a tail. I need you to get Amelia. She should be in the ladies room.” He didn’t dare look back or draw his tail’s attention to her in any way. He gave him a quick description of her. “Get her out of here.”
“What—”
“No questions. Just do it. If it looks safe, call my beeper and punch in nine-one-one. If it looks dicey or you feel something’s wrong, send a nine-nine-nine, then call the cops and get security in there to keep an eye on her. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Luke rang off, stowing the phone and strolling toward the men’s room. With a thrill of adrenaline, he noted that at least two of them were following him inside. The lady he’d used as a decoy was greeting a husband and kids, leaving the rest of his tail with nothing to do.
* * * *
Amelia stared at herself in the mirror of the gritty bus station ladies room, surprised to find she was very good at hiding her feelings. None of the turmoil she felt at being separated from Luke was apparent on her face. Not even her eyes betrayed the feelings churning her insides. They were tranquil, purple pools, an odd contrast to the scratches and bruises she knew lurked beneath the make-up and the pounding of her heart. She’d seen men follow Luke into the bathroom, but not all of them. She hoped he was right, that they’d leave him alone as long as they believed he’d lead them to her. No one had given her a second look. The last off the bus, she’d attached herself to a small group of –chattering women, making a beeline for the ladies room.
Panic had bubbled up inside her, but it seemed unable to break through to the surface. The calm façade appeared impenetrable. This ability to disguise her fear might have pleased her, if it weren’t for the flash of memory from the gun shop, the feeling she’d pointed a weapon at a shadowy figure and pulled the trigger. The bullet speeding toward the dark silhouette. The rifle had felt comfortable, normal in her grip. If it had only been that, she might have been able to shrug it off as a hobby. This was the wild, wild West, after all, but her head was a veritable treasure trove of statistics about guns, and not just the ones in that shop. She could have lectured at length on the history and development of weapons but had managed to contain the urge, thanks to a throat dried with panic.
Who was she? What was she, that she knew so much about guns? And how could she be so calm and controlled? On the inside it felt like she was fetal with fear. And it wasn’t just the fear she couldn’t see on her face. The pain wasn’t there either. There was lots of pain that should be there. She’d stiffened like mud in the sun while slumbering in Luke’s arms. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t normal. What if she was some paranoid paramilitary type with a huge stash of guns? Or a hit woman? And what would Luke find when he went to her apartment?
If only she could remember, but every time she tried to pierce the veil of her memory, she got slapped back by the pain. You can’t hide from the past, not even in your own head, Luke had said, but how could she fight what she didn’t remember?
Luke’s beeper vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out. Nine-one-one. Time to emerge. Well, she looked around her. There was nothing more to learn about herself in this place. She turned and left, the last glimpse of her face still eerily serene.
Outside, the scene was moderately chaotic and intimidating, as her gaze swept the crowd for a glimpse of Luke, or his friend, Dewey. A man, tall and kind of lanky, waved at her cheerfully, a charming smile nicely breaking up the ordinary in his face. His brown hair fell across his forehead with small boy insistence, and he walked toward her as if his body couldn’t quite keep up with his thoughts. He fitted the description Luke had given her. She started to smile. She had just a moment to process the sudden wicked look in his brown eye, before he swept her into a hug and planted a kiss on her shocked mouth. She resisted for a moment and he whispered in her ear, “I’m Dewey. Play along. We’re being watched.”
So she hugged him back and found the tension in her stomach ease.
“Darling, welcome home.” He kept one arm around her waist, turning her toward the exit. “Denver was a desert without you.”
“A very cold desert,” Amelia said, a bit dryly.
There was no sign of Luke anywhere. Please let him be all right, she prayed, then she wondered if she believed in God.
* * * *
Larry nodded for two of the men to follow Kirby into the bathroom, while he figured out what to do. He hadn’t expected him to get off the bus alone. As soon as he’d seen Kirby’s picture, he remembered seeing him with the looker outside the antique store. Could the Knight woman have changed her looks that much? Didn’t seem possible, and not just the upgrade in the babe factor. He hadn’t seen a scratch on her.
He’d explained the problem to Grady, who had dispatched someone with a digital camera to discreetly snap all the women getting off the bus. He was so discreet, in fact, that Larry couldn’t tell who it was. But that only worked if she’d gotten off the bus. It was possible, she’d gotten off en route to Denver. Kirby didn’t look like a fool. Wouldn’t be that hard to lose them here, then double back and pick her up somewhere. He signaled a couple of the boys.
“Check the bus. Make sure everyone got off.”
They nodded and left. After a moment’s hesitation, he realized he needed to whiz. Always nice when the body and the brain were in sync, since he was curious to see what was happening inside the crapper. What he found was Kirby calmly washing his hands. And no sign of his men.
Two stall doors were closed. Surely they both hadn’t needed to take a dump right now? Larry stepped back and tried to see if there were legs under the doors.
“Lose someone?”
He turned to find Kirby’s chest inches from his nose. He looked up. Kirby’s face was blank but dangerous. Definitely not a fool.
“Um, my friends came in here…”
“Two guys went into stalls. I’m sure they’ll be out soon.”
“Um. Thanks.” Larry stepped back. Tried not to look nervous. The guy was built like a tree. He raised his voice. “I’m sure they will be out soon.”
Kirby smiled, but there was no amusement in it. “And I’m sure we won’t be seeing each other again.”
Larry tugged at the neck of his shirt, which had tightened around his neck. “Uh, no. Definitely not. I’m catching the bus out as soon as—” he nodded toward the closed stalls.
“Right.” Kirby turned without further comment and walked out.
Larry sagged back. “What’s with you two? Get the hell out here!”
Nothing.
Uneasy again, Larry approached one door and pushed. It opened. Guy one was laying next to the toilet, his jaw rapidly swelling, his lights out. In the
next stall, Guy two was dragged across the toilet. He wasn’t showing lights either.
Maybe it was time to find a different business.
* * * *
The door let a blast of cold air swirl around Amelia as she and Dewey exited the station. Outside the sun was high and blindingly bright. The snow might have been a pretty white blanket, but the city had wasted no time in dirtying it up as it went about its business. The heaped piles of snow were pushed to the side by plows where they’d melted slow and messy. The car he directed her to was small and battered, but it warmed up once Dewey got the motor running.
“Luke said you’re probably hungry. Drive-through all right?”
After all the cloak-and-dagger, it seemed sort of anticlimactic, but she was hungry. She nodded, still a little bemused by the current of energy he radiated like a mini-sun. He plunged the car into traffic as if he were piloting a craft in space. To her surprise, Amelia felt a kick of excitement as the car fishtailed taking a corner. Maybe she raced cars in her other life?
It was a strange feeling to have traits, or maybe it was personality quirks, floating to the surface of her mind like this. She felt like one of those bubbling pots of mud in Yellowstone Park. Kind of murky, with hidden depths and globs of information erupting at unexpected moments—none of which made sense, even taken all together.
Her computer-like brain. Working knowledge of wounds and anatomy. Extensive knowledge of guns. An apparent inclination towards thrill-seeking. Bullet graze on the arm. A feeling of betrayal. A longing to be free—of something. Maybe that prim, annoying voice urging her to behave? And her, well, warm feelings for Luke. The cop. It was all very troubling.
“I’m under strict orders, with the potential for painful retribution, if I ask you any questions or tell anyone about you while you’re staying with me, so anything you want me to know, you’ll have to volunteer. Luke has promised to reimburse any expenses I incur, so if there is anything you need, just tell me and your wish is my command.” He punctuated this by speeding up to make a light, the rear of his car fish-tailing again before the wheels dug into the snowy street. She also noticed that he checked behind them regularly, as if watching for a tail.
“I’ve been separated from my luggage,” Amelia said, “so a stop where I could buy some basics would be helpful.”
“Wal-Mart, okay?”
Amelia hesitated. “Is it inexpensive?” She only had a few dollars left of her hair money.
He looked surprised. “Downright cheap. How—oops, that would be a question. I’ll just observe, for the sake of my knees, that you must be from out of town—possibly even out of country.”
Amelia met his curious look with a bland smile. It was interesting that Luke trusted Dewey to transport her for him, but he didn’t trust him with her story. For now, she would follow Luke’s lead, though she felt he was being too careful. Dewey seemed okay to her and was entertaining. She had a feeling she’d never met anyone like him before, but what she knew of him, she liked.
They were just parking at Wal-Mart when Luke’s beeper sounded. The quick, annoyed feeling she felt told her she wasn’t a stranger to a beeper’s summons. One more thing to add to the bits and pieces of disconnected facts. She pulled it out and showed it to Dewey.
“What should we do?”
“That’s his work number. I’d better call and tell him.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call. You grab a cart.”
She didn’t move until she heard Dewey say, “Luke-ster, you got a beep.” He gave him the number, then asked, “You all right?” A pause. “Good-o. We’ll catch you later then.”
He was okay. Amelia gave a huge sigh of relief and grasped the handle of a shopping cart. It was icy cold from the outside air and sent a thrill through her, similar to kissing Luke, but not quite that good. She rolled it forward, then back, testing the wheels. All she’d wanted was to clean up and stop moving. But now she felt energy flowing back into her body at the feel of the cart. She pushed it toward the doors, which swished open at her approach. It was lovely. She felt important. It was even better inside. Goods stacked almost to the ceiling. Aisles to explore. Time slowed down. Exhaustion faded. Aches and pains dimmed to a dull murmur. It was just her and a big store full of things to see and buy.
Dewey looked at her, his expression slowly turning resigned. “Luke owes me more than money for this gig.”
* * * *
“Sorry I had to interrupt your day off, but it’s an odd case, no question, buddy.” Luke’s partner, Mannfred Gage was short and stocky, with a bright, cheerful gaze that saw everything, but gave nothing away. They’d been partners since Luke transferred to homicide and Luke wouldn’t have it any other way. Mann was solid as a rock with a puckish sense of humor and great instincts. Though he was a little quick with the beeper. “Not much to go on.”
An understatement, Luke thought, setting aside the file on Dr. John Knight as they pulled into the parking lot at Merryweather Biotechnologies. So far it was a thin file because of the blizzard that had shut down the city for most of the day. Basically they knew he was dead and that he had worked for Merryweather prior to his death. A preliminary coroner’s report listed the cause of death as an overdose of digitalis. Knight’s personal physician had requested the autopsy. If he had an unexplained heart attack, he wanted this guy to be his doctor, Luke decided. Very quick on the uptake. Merryweather had only arrived back in the area an hour or so ago, so maybe now they’d learn something useful. Not that Luke wanted to be here. It felt wrong to be dealing with the dead, when Amelia was alive, in danger and with Dewey. It also frustrated him to wait to visit her apartment. To himself he could admit he hoped it would answer the big question, the one he shouldn’t want to know—was she involved with someone else?
Damn duty called. It was a hard habit to break. And he did need his paycheck.
“Let’s go shake some trees, see if we can plump this file up some,” Luke said, opening his door. And put a quick end to this, he silently added.
The place looked quiet, almost deserted, but they knew the owner, name of Hamilton Merryweather, was waiting for them. Mann had called and set up the meet while he waited for Luke to join him. Dark was settling in fast as he walked with Mann to the entrance. He glanced around and thought for a minute he saw a match flare inside a van, but decided he was seeing things. Easy to do in the near-dark.
Inside, a guard waved them to an elevator. The place oozed money. Marble floors in the hallways. Lots of chrome and crystal and thick carpets in the offices. The elevator swished them to the top floor, the doors opening with a discreet hiss.
The lower floors were nice, but they were nothing compared to the opulence of the boss’s floor. The gray carpet was so thick and deep, he felt like he was sinking in it up to his knees. Mahogany desks, original paintings and fancy sculptures. Place was like a museum and proclaimed a very important person worked here. What Luke found most interesting was how cold it felt, as if it all had no soul, no life. He almost expected to find a corpse inside the big, double doors Mann was pushing open. He wasn’t far wrong. Hamilton Merryweather would have made a great mortician or corpse. Tall and wilted, despite being impeccably dressed, he had a long, pale face, his expression appropriately mournful for the occasion. Graying, thinning hair was combed carefully back off a high, well-bred forehead. His brows were so light, Luke thought he had none until he got close enough to exchange a chilly handshake with him.
“Luke Kirby.” Luke showed him his badge, then nodded toward Mann. “My partner, Mannfred Gage.”
“This is my son, Leslie,” Merryweather said, the careful neutrality of his tone revealing a great deal about their relationship.
“Gentlemen.” Leslie shook hands, trying too hard to achieve the right level of firmness. He had the look of his father, but with the life stamped out of him and a weaker chin. Luke wondered how long it would take him to give up the unequal battle for supremacy with his father. A slight air of decadence told him the rot had
already set in.
“I presume you’re here about Prudence?” Merryweather said, leading them to a frosty looking conversation area off to one side. Leslie strolled over and assumed an attitude of casual alertness against the bar. A certain watchful look in his eyes put Luke’s antenna up. He exchanged a look with Mann, before taking a seat across from Merryweather.
Mann pulled out a notebook and pencil and looked at Merryweather, “Prudence?”
“Prudence Knight.” Merryweather looked at Mann, then at Luke. “Isn’t she why you’re here?” His voice was as funereal as his aspect. “I know she hasn’t been missing forty-eight hours, but under the circumstances, I think we should move ahead.”
Luke felt a chill snake down his back when Merryweather said, “missing,” but this Prudence was, well, Prudence. Not Amelia. It was strange, though. A missing girl. A found girl.
“When did she go missing?” Luke asked, earning himself a surprised look from Mann. He thrust his hands in his pockets, his fingers closing around the keys he’d taken so he could check out her apartment.
“Yesterday morning. Outside the hospital. I believe her vehicle is still there.”
This has nothing to do with Amelia. Focus on the job, damn it, he mentally muttered, annoyed with himself.
“Kincaid says he turned over the vitals to the FBI,” Merryweather was saying.
Luke looked at Mann, who gave a slight shake of the head. “Kincaid?”
“My chief of security. He should be joining us soon, as soon as he checks on some items for me.”
“Here, Dad,” Leslie said, the concern in his voice perfectly pitched, as he handed his father a drink.
Something about him rubbed Luke the wrong way.
“Can I get something for either of you?” Leslie asked, with a charming smile.
Did the guy ever hit a wrong note?
“Coffee for me, if you have it,” Luke said.
“Same here,” Mann said. “On duty and all that.”
“Of course.” He picked up the phone and in a few minutes a secretary entered with a tray and cups. When she’d poured and left them, Leslie perched on the couch behind his father, causing a small flicker of annoyance to break the expressionless expanse of his father’s face. What had it felt like to be his son? Luke wondered. There were worse things, it seemed, than losing a father.
The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy Page 72