The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy

by Pauline Baird Jones

  Books were stacked around the room in little piles that probably meant something to her when she had all her faculties. She squatted down. Action-adventure. The Tom Clancy she’d mentioned to Luke. All the Harry Potters. Romance. Mysteries. Some nonfiction piles devoted to flight and rock climbing. No self-help. Did that mean she felt okay or that she was beyond help?

  A closet held a few clothes. Jeans, sweaters and tee shirts. A couple of jackets. In the corner behind the jackets, she found a little black dress that sent her eyebrows up. She fingered the silky material, wishing she could wear it for Luke. He wouldn’t think she was a kid in this.

  A cheap set of plastic drawers held knickers, jams and socks. On the floor was a pair of cowboy boots next to pairs of climbing shoes, snow boots and running shoes. A pair of strappy black heels, presumably to wear with the dress, huddled in the corner partially out of sight. A couple of pairs of skis and rock climbing equipment propped in the opposite corner. Nice stuff. Expensive stuff. There was also a little pile of bedding neatly folded on top of the makeshift dresser. Apparently she slept on her couch.

  There was also a sort-of kitchen area. A few cupboards, a tiny counter, a half-size refrigerator and a mini-microwave oven. The food in the fridge was fossilized. The cupboards held a few spices, a couple of single-serving microwave meals. One had a stash of candy, chips and cookies. Did that make her a junk-food junkie or very hospitable?

  The desk drawers were a bit more interesting. Bank statements and paid bills were neatly lined up in one drawer, a partially used checkbook at the front. In another, she found a purse with a wallet containing her driver’s license—awful picture—a bus pass, discount cards for several bookstores and a pilot’s license. According to the driver’s license she was thirty-four. And beneath the purse was an envelope with—

  “A thousand dollars in cash? And I leave the key on the jamb above the door? I must be nuts.”

  To her relief, she’d found no sign of weaponry of any kind. She turned her desk chair to face the room. There was no phone, which was kind of odd, since she’d found no sight or sign of a cell phone. Maybe she hated phones?

  It looked like… a hideaway or a retreat, not a place where someone lived. A few clothes, enough toiletries and food to make do. Something to read. A pad on the desk had a shopping list started. A few doodles around the words.

  “I doodle?” She tilted the pad, studying the doodles. She’d made the words at the top into little, quirky people. “Not bad.”

  But if she had another residence, wouldn’t her bank statement reflect it? She pulled out several, but the only expenses seemed related to this apartment. Nor did they indicate how she earned her money, what her job might be. What deposits she’d made all seemed to be in cash and most of them just enough to pay the bills. The bank statements went back only two years.

  So what did she do for a living? If she was a hit woman or a criminal, she didn’t seem to be a successful one. Could she be hiding from something? Like the law? Or was it someone?

  She remembered that feeling she’d had when she said she hated lies. It had surged out of the fog in her head, the pain of it far deeper than the merely physical. For just an instant, her heart had hurt, too, like someone was squeezing it.

  Okay, what do I know, she asked herself, pulling the pad of paper toward her, she flipped a page and grabbed a pencil.

  I hate lies, she wrote at the top, under the logo that took top billing.

  She frowned. But who doesn’t? Maybe a liar, but that would be it. Okay, so maybe someone she’d cared about lied to her. And then she got kidnapped or something and had been shot at. That could give anyone traumatic amnesia.

  I hate helicopters, she wrote next. But not planes, since she seemed to be a pilot of some sort and climbed rock walls. It couldn’t have been a fear of heights that had prompted that brief panic attack on the mountainside. For an instant she could hear the chop-chop of the blades and feel the panic rise again, choking her, driving her—

  She had brief sensation of…flight.

  She hesitated, then shook her head. Not flight. Falling. She couldn’t fly, at least not without a plane. Unless she was the alien or cyborg Luke had wondered she was. If she was a cyborg, would she know it? She felt the bump at the back of her head. Take some clever engineering to make her bruise and swell. Okay, let’s forget flights of fancy and stick to what you know.

  You’re afraid of helicopters. Why?

  The fog in her memory gave her nothing but a stab of pain in response. She rubbed the spot, doodling with the pen on the pad. Doodling a tiny cartoon of Luke. Did that mean the other people were people she knew? She flipped the sheet back and studied it. Little faces that might of meant something—if her brains hadn’t been scrambled.

  All the sudden she froze, as she realized that there was something behind her doodles, like a shadow. A logo and an address of a company.

  Merryweather Biotechnologies.

  It may mean nothing. No way to know. At least it was a place to start. She looked at the cheap clock on the desk. If it was right, then it was something to do in the morning. More than anything, even finding out who she really was and where she belonged, she wanted a shower and then bed. Well, couch.

  She stared at the couch, wishing Luke were sitting on it. Missing him was a new ache to add to her others, this one right in her heart. This was their first night apart. At least, it was her first night. It was better this way, but it didn’t feel better.

  It was good that she didn’t know how to get in touch with him, since Dewey had kept the beeper. She remembered the number it had beeped, but Dewey said that was his work number. What message could she leave him? I miss you. That would go over big at his work. She didn’t even have a phone book, which made sense when she didn’t have a phone. She stood up. A hot shower would help wash away some of the aches. Help her take back herself.

  The water felt as wonderful as she’d hoped it would, and her jams were soft flannel that hugged her. Almost as good as a friend to talk to—

  A knock at the door cut that thought off at the knees. Amelia peered through the peep hole and saw a dark-haired, multi-pierced young woman in a caftan of many colors. Cautiously she opened the door.

  “You’re here! Cool!” the woman said as she surged inside, sweeping Amelia aside, then pulling her in her wake. “I’m so in the mood for a girl’s night in. Hilly’s popping the corn, and I made cookies and An Affair to Remember is in the machine.” She spun and faced Amelia with a wide, friendly smile. “We could order some pizza?”

  As if on cue, Amelia’s stomach rumbled. “Let me get my key.”

  “Hey,” the woman caught Amelia’s chin. “What happened to you? Though I must say, I love the new do.”

  Amelia smiled. “I ran into a tree.”

  “Better than a door, hon. Hey, Hilly!”

  A head topped by riotous red hair peeked around the corner. “Oh, hi, Melly. Tweeks thought she heard you in here. You coming?”

  Tweeks. Hilly. Amelia grabbed her key and some of the cash. This could be interesting, but wasn’t that how life was supposed to be? “Of course I’m coming.”

  Tweeks looked at Amelia’s couch before following her out the door. She shook her head. “Wish you had a TV and VCR. I love that couch.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Amelia promised. She locked the door and pocketed the key, feeling her spirits lift as she followed Tweeks and Hilly to their apartment next door.

  She had friends.

  * * * *

  Dewey’s cell phone rang, ruining his aim. The alien mutants took advantage of his distraction and blew him out of the sky, chunks of him and his craft raining down on the surface of Mars.

  “Your ass is ringing, mister,” one of the kids glaring at him pointed out.

  “Right. I’m done anyway.” Dewey stepped back, and a ring of boys crowded into his spot. Dewey pulled out his phone, wondering if his pay would stretch to pay for the game system. Maybe if he cut back on r
oses and stuff for Bryn. She never thanked him for his offerings anyway. She always thanked Phagan, but he wasn’t paying for the stuff. Life was so not fair.

  “Hyatt?” Luke’s voice cut across his musings. “You and Amelia all right?”

  “Yeah, sure…” Dewey trailed off, as he looked around and realized Amelia was nowhere in sight. That might not have been too troubling, she’d been wandering off without him since entering Wal-Mart, but she’d never abandoned her cart the other times. He eyed the cart, with its carefully selected little pile of woman stuff, with rising anxiety. It was possible that Luke would kill him well before Bryn got a chance— “Shit!”

  He looked at his watch. He was late meeting Bryn.

  “What’s wrong?” Luke asked.

  “Everything,” Dewey said. They say confession is good for the soul. He hoped “they” were right, whoever “they” were. “Look, I’m late for an appointment with Bryn. Got something important to tell her—”

  “You’re finally going to tell her?”

  “Tell her…you knew?”

  “Let’s just say I suspected. If I’d known, I’d have had to do something about it.” Luke sounded amused, but his voice was serious when he added, “Why don’t you take Amelia to a hotel?”

  Dewey took a deep breath. “She ditched me. Sorry about that.”

  And he hung up. He didn’t need to hear him swear. Bryn filled that function for him. He dialed Bryn’s cell.

  “Bailey.”

  “It’s me.” Silence. “I’m really sorry. Luke asked me to—”

  “Luke?” A hint of curious took the edge off annoyance in her voice. “Is he back from the mountains?”

  “Oh yeah.” He’d promised not to mention Amelia to the brothers Kirby, but Luke hadn’t said anything about Bryn. Not that he knew a whole lot about Amelia, but what he did know, he’d throw out there in hopes of saving his ass—at least until he’d had a last meal. “Very interesting, very mysterious. Tell you when I get there?”

  A sigh. “I’ll give you twenty minutes.”

  God bless curiosity. It may just save his life. Then he’d have to hope Bryn’s lust for access to Green would do the rest.

  * * * *

  As the reports came in from his men, Grady grew more and more perplexed. No sign of Prudence Knight at her home or at the office, which Luke Kirby and his partner had just left. No sign of her at his brothers’ or his mother’s place. She hadn’t left the bus station with Kirby, but none of his men had noticed who she had left with because they weren’t looking for her. They were looking for Kirby. She hadn’t left by cab, like Kirby. His men had checked.

  Kirby had called someone. That had to be it. But who? Not one of his brothers or his mother. He’d gone straight from the bus station to the police station where he met his partner. Maybe another cop? Details on the contact were sketchy and would take days to pull together. What he really needed was access to Kirby’s cell phone records. He needed to know who he’d called. Those files were tough to get into, but an obstacle was just something to go around. And he knew just the man to do it. He reached for the phone, but it rang under his hand.

  “Yo.”

  “Hey, man.” It was Leslie. “Why are your guys watching my dad’s company? I don’t remember that being part of the plan.”

  Grady hesitated, then trotted out, “They’re watching Kincaid. Don’t want him going to ground now, do we?”

  “Really.” He was quiet for a short beat. “Odd that they didn’t follow him when he left. And the two Feds did. Did you forget to tell them who they were after?”

  “You know how hard it is to get good help, Les,” Grady said soothingly, as his mind raced. Feds? Following Kincaid?

  “We should bring him in. We don’t want the Feds jumping on him. We need him,” Leslie said, an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before.

  That was the basic problem with Les. He looked at the surface of people and thought that’s all there was.

  “We don’t need to bring him in. He’ll come to me,” Grady said.

  “How will he know?”

  “He’ll know, once he starts thinking,” Grady said. Something you should try, Les. “So, you’ve been with your father?”

  “Yeah.” Grady could hear him struggle with wanting—and not wanting—the change of subject. Les was easily distracted. “My old man is starting to spin. He knows Shield is gone. Though Knight’s doc was smarter than we gave him credit for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A couple of homicide cops paid him a visit. I was brilliant when they asked who might want him dead. Mentioned prim Prudence.”

  “Clever of you. Muddies the water nicely.” Grady smiled, even as his thoughts spun too fast to collect. Homicide detectives. It couldn’t be, could it? “You catch the names of the homicide dicks?”

  “Oh, um, one was named Corby or—”

  “Kirby? Luke Kirby?”

  Leslie’s voice sharpened again. “You know him?”

  “Heard of him. You sure you covered your tracks? He’s got a rep for getting his perp.” It felt good to twist Leslie’s nerves a bit. Grady didn’t like feeling out of control.

  “I’m sure that all roads lead directly to my old man. Or prim Prudence, who isn’t exactly around to defend herself, now is she?”

  Grady flicked an amused look at the pic he had of homely little Prudence. “No, she’s not.” Though he didn’t know why not, if Kirby had her, why hadn’t he produced her? Unless he also suspected someone inside Merryweather? Wouldn’t that be an unexpected hoot. And absolutely true.

  “I can’t wait to meet her.” Leslie’s voice turned dreamy, with an unbalanced edge to it as he added, “I did it, Grady. With my own hands.”

  “Who?” he asked. Trust the idiot to risk releasing his serial killer instinct now.

  “No worries. Just some hooker.”

  “Where is she?”

  He chuckled, like a small, bad boy. “Sent her out with the laundry.”

  “Can they—”

  But Leslie cut him off. “I did my homework, Grady. I know what to do. It’s taken care of. No worries. None.”

  Grady released a silent, frustrated sigh. “Just don’t do it again—wait until the op is finished, okay?”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Leslie sounded dreamy again. “I finish the op with it. I want to do her myself, Grady. Me. Alone with prim Prudence.”

  “No problem, Les.” Grady didn’t worry about that promise. He didn’t expect Les to be around to keep his date with Prudence Knight. Funny how getting what he wanted was unraveling Les.

  He hung up the phone. It was useful to have him on the inside, tracking the players, but it was obvious he didn’t plan to wait long before trying out his killing skills again. If he found out that Grady didn’t have her, he wasn’t sure what Leslie would do.

  It wasn’t a feeling he liked.

  ELEVEN

  Luke considered himself a patient man, thought he’d learned it the hard way as Rosemary wasted away before his eyes. Now he realized it was easier to be patient in the face of death, than in the face of life. Death was the rock and the hard place. It didn’t move much, sometimes in increments toward you or your loved one. Sometimes it pounced, but it was an absolute. Life, on the other hand, was fluid, shifting, and in motion. You thought your feet were firmly planted in patience and then the ground shifted, taking your feet right out from under you.

  He didn’t like being stuck with this investigation right now. Knight was dead, Amelia was alive and needed his help. He was sure she’d headed for her apartment. Now that he thought about it, he understood why she left. He’d have a hard time waiting for someone else to look into his life, his past. Of course she’d go there. He just wished she’d taken Dewey along with her. Unless the apartment address was bogus? That was a reason to give Dewey the slip. Damn, his head was spinning with unanswered questions and he didn’t like it one bit. His heart was telling him that she wouldn�
�t, that she couldn’t, lie to him. His head, the cop part, called him a fool.

  When he and Mann left the stifling air of the office building, his head was aching. He inhaled the crisp, fresh air with relief. Merryweather Biotechnologies was not a happy place, despite all the money spent making it look pretty, which should have suited his mood but didn’t. Not much would.

  “Think we should check out Merryweather’s native son,” Mann had said as they crossed to the car. “I don’t like him. And we need to go to the hospital. See if we can find out what the fight was about.”

  “We should check out her car, too,” Luke said, fingering the key again.

  “Don’t want to find her in the trunk,” Mann said, cheerfully, “but it would prove the little bastard wrong.”

  Luke bit back a sharp retort. It wasn’t Mann’s fault Luke couldn’t appreciate his gruesome sense of humor.

  The trip to the hospital seemed slow. With the setting of the sun, the streets were slick and treacherous. Donovan had given them the same info he gave Bryn, so Luke had a description of Prudence Knight’s car, the plate number and its general location. He looked at the picture of her again. It didn’t seem possible this could be Amelia. Prudence Knight wore glasses, while Amelia had shown no sign of needing aids to her vision. No way could she have skied down the mountain if she needed glasses that thick. The chin could be hers, though. The picture was so bad, it was hard to tell anything from it.

  When they pulled into the hospital parking lot, Luke said, “You go on inside. I’ll check the car.”

  Mann nodded. He wasn’t sorry to get out of the cold. He never was. He always talked about heading south when he retired, but Luke doubted he would. Mann wasn’t a guy to make big changes in his life. Luke retrieved a flashlight from the jockey box and started across the lot, checking the rows of cars until he found a gray Neon. A sturdy, reliable car, no flash, no dash. Went with the picture of Prudence and the name, but not with Amelia. In his mind, he saw her sailing through the air, her untidy landing, and the way the cold had flushed her cheeks. They couldn’t be the same person, could they?