by Peggy Staggs
His words from earlier echoed in my head. “And you fell for it.” I raised my chin and met his eyes.
“Your father and Stan Hofstadter were in theater,” he continued. “The situation was a powder keg. All those girls, the diplomat’s daughter, the crew of the plane.” He shook his head. “One wrong move and they’d all die. Everything hinged on Trace’s influence over the headman’s daughter. Then, it went sideways. All hell was about to rain down. It would have made Blackhawk Down and Benghazi look like church picnics. None of them were going to make it out. Casualties of war. A public relations nightmare. It wasn’t my problem.”
I suppressed the overwhelming urge to slap him. A public relations nightmare? They were people. Soldiers and civilians who were in desperate need of Don’s help.
“Your dad and Hofstadter were ordered to stand down and wait for negotiations to proceed. The drug lord’s daughter discovered Trace had used her. When she told her father, he sent every man he had after Trace, his team and the others. As payback, Trace murdered the woman he’d slept with.”
He watched me as if I was a virus under a microscope. “When Trace finally radioed for extraction, it was too late. We couldn’t chance putting helicopters in there. Your father and Hofstadter disobeyed direct orders. I don’t know how they did it, but they got troops in there. Trace made it out with everyone on the plane, but with only half his men. That picture,” he pointed to the photo of smiling faces, “was taken a week before the mission. To make matters worse, the ransomed diamonds disappeared along with millions of dollars in drug money. Your father and Hofstadter were allowed to retire. Trace, of course, came out of it with a couple of medals,” Don nearly spit out the last sentence. “And it would appear millions.” He paused. “How do you think he can afford his house?”
Jack sounded as ruthless as Don. I reminded myself who was telling the story. Still, I felt my heart break a little. No, I was going to believe in Jack.
“After the failed mission, Trace moved out here three years ago. First thing he did was build his million-dollar house. You pretty much know the rest. Have you asked Lacey, the bartender, why she keeps going after him?” He considered me for a few seconds. “I did. They used to be lovers until you came along. It’s how he operates. When the next one enters the picture, you’ll end up like sad little Lacey. Wondering what happened. Hoping he’ll come back when he gets tired of his new prize.”
“I don’t believe you.” My sympathy for him vanished.
Don smiled. “See how good he is? He knew you’d say that.”
He had. I’d heard him in the bar. “This is what I’m going to do.” I didn’t keep my voice down the way he had. “I’ll get the two of them back. Then, I’ll deal with the rest of it. Then,” I pounded my fist hard into the center of his chest, “I’ll deal with you. Now, get the hell out of my way. I shoved him aside. I wasn’t sure my shaky knees would carry me out the door. I stopped, turned and demanded, “Give me the keys to Jack’s truck.”
I passed an opened-mouthed Phyllis. I wanted desperately to stop and ask her about Lacey. Ask her if Jack was as ruthless as Don had said he was. I couldn’t. I was afraid of the answer.
»§«
I slid behind the wheel of the large Ford truck. I was crying, again. Damn it. Tears blurred my vision as I pulled into the parking lot of the Gas and Gulp. I didn’t know what I’d find. Half of me was afraid this was a trap; the other half was just plain terrified. My hand shook as I reached for the truck’s door handle. I can deal with change, I’m not afraid of it. I’ve dealt with it all my life. This was one change I didn’t know if I could handle.
Don’s story had shaken me to my very core. To the very heart of me.
Dad. Uncle Stan. Had they—was it true? I’d always thought Dad’s money had come from wise stock choices, good investments. Had they all shared in the drug money and diamonds? No. It wasn’t—it couldn’t be true. I was going to hold tight to what I’d known all these years. I wasn’t going to believe anything Don said. I sure wasn’t going to be his prize.
Jack told me he inherited his money from his grandmother. I’d straighten this out when I got Jack home. Compartmentalize. “Compartmentalize,” I said out loud. If I didn’t, none of us would survive. The problem was the emotional compartment in my head was full.
I ran my hand over the new leather of the seat in Jack’s truck. Was this short chapter in my life ending? The sense of belonging, of being—I refused to let the last word form in my head. I hadn’t been here long enough. Yet I knew. I knew he was the only man I’d ever loved. Damn it to hell. Why couldn’t I fall for a nice safe scientist? Or a banker...or...?
I stepped out onto the storm. It rivaled the one raging inside me. I shivered more from my emotions than the blizzard.
The parking lot was empty. The cars and semis had taken their people home for the holiday. The twenty-foot light poles over the gas pumps were bright in the early evening gloom. A billboard at the end of the lot blinked red and green as it enticed travelers in to buy gas at the lowest price in fifty miles and wished them a Merry Christmas. At some point, a plow had scraped the new snow to the far end of the lot. By the size of the pile, it would still be melting in June. Would I be here to see it melt? It didn’t look like it.
I walked up to the store entrance.
Someone had scratched their initials in the bright green holly painted on the glass door. I pushed it open. The only person inside was a bored-looking woman slouched behind the cash register watching It’s a Wonderful Life. “Hello, this is going to sound odd, but did someone leave something here for Ensley Markus?”
“You the doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Then, yeah.” She slid an envelope across the counter to me. At least, it wasn’t covered with blood.
“Thank you.” I touched it as if it might blow up. Why not? Metaphorically, everything else in my life had in the last eighteen hours.
“You going to buy something?”
“What?”
“You want something?”
“Something?” I repeated dumbly. “Yes. Water.” I went to the refrigerated case and chose two of the largest bottles they had. People don’t think about drinking water in the winter, but it’s just as important when it’s cold. I figured the kidnappers wouldn’t have shared any with Jack or Jane.
Back in the truck, I opened the envelope. “Go to the Jessen Ranch. Drive around behind the new house. Take the road to the end.” Nothing more. The back of the paper was blank. Had they been at the ranch all along? Could this have all been over hours ago if we’d searched the whole place? I started the Ford. If only I’d insisted, no, demanded we go around to the other buildings instead of acquiescing to Don’s expertise.
I steered out onto the highway. I wasn’t sure which was churning more. My head, my stomach, or my heart. I knew Don would do anything to get what he wanted. Now, it appeared, so would Jack. I remembered Lacey’s words. “He’ll get tired of you and come back to me.” Oh, God, was it all true? Was Jack that skillful?
I remembered when we were in the mountains. He’d told me to stay behind the tractor. Not to come out unless he came back. Had it been an act? Had he known the FBI was there all along? Then there was the fact I hadn’t been able to find out much about his past. All he’d tell me was he’d been raised by this grandmother. It appeared the rest of the people in Spirit Springs had no idea who they’d elected sheriff.
A massive semi-truck screamed past me, churning up snow and causing a whiteout. I slowed.
If Jack had done everything Don said he had, I wasn’t going to be Jack’s prize either.
If it was all a lie, I needed to know.
I needed it to be a lie.
All of it.
As if it were even possible, the storm had gotten worse. I forced everything out of my mind and concentrated on the road. The tracks Don and I made this morning were gone. The snow-markers on either side of the road were my only guides. I felt as if I were floating
in a sea of cold shadows and deceit, of betrayal and deception.
Through the driving snow, I found the turnoff to the ranch. I’d assumed it was Jack who needed help. What if it was Jane? Or both of them? This could only get worse.
The main house sat still and dark. I followed the tire tracks around back, past the barn where we’d found the oil and up the slope toward the trees. The snow was deep. Jack’s truck was in four-wheel drive, and there was extra weight in the bed, so I should be able to make it.
I slowed. Through the still falling snow, I could barely make out the tracks leading straight up to the trees.
I passed a half-collapsed barn. Like a dead relic of another era, the bare bones of the structure stuck out of the snow.
Dead.
Under the tall Ponderosas behind a growth of smaller pines sat an old clapboard structure. Probably the original ranch house. Sheets of plywood covered the front windows. With no light showing the little place was invisible under the dark tree line. When I’d first seen the B&B, two of the front windows had been boarded up, broken out as a warning to my dad to stop or worse would happen. Worse had happened. Anxiety filled me, I couldn’t survive the death of the man... I sighed and gave in to the truth. The man I loved.
What would I find inside? The image of the blood-covered notes brought back the memory of my dad bleeding to death in my arms. Of his life slipping away as I held him, helpless to prevent the inevitable. Would I find more death here? And what kind of death? Physical or emotional?
With the water bottles in hand and Jack’s aid bag over my shoulders, I walked toward the house. It seemed absurd to knock.
As soon as I stepped onto the porch, the door swung open. Mrs. Shaw waved me inside with the barrel of her shotgun. “What’s in there?” She pointed the gun at the aid bag.
“You told me someone was injured. These are my supplies.”
“You have a gun?” She poked me so hard in the stomach with the barrel of her weapon I dropped a water bottle.
As I bent to pick it up, I saw a man in the far corner. His face was shrouded in shadow, but I could see him leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He wasn’t like the others. There was a kind of calm purpose about him. Everyone else had a sort of enthusiastic confusion about them. They all frightened me.
“Do you have a gun?” She asked again.
“No.” Of course, I did. I’d buried it in the aid bag right beside Jack’s cell phone I wasn’t supposed to have. “Where are they?”
She patted me down. “Open it.” She pointed to the aid bag, which is the Army’s version of a huge backpack. A heavy one.
“It’ll take too long. If they’re in as bad a shape as you say, I need to get to them. Besides, I’m not doing anything stupid with a shotgun pointed at me.”
Mrs. Shaw glanced over at the man in the shadows.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“Where’s my money?” she demanded as she turned to me.
“I still don’t have proof of life. Like I told you, no proof no money.”
“One’s in here.” Mrs. Shaw indicated the hallway. She shoved me toward the first room on the right.
I stumbled. The aid bag was heavier than I remembered. A man in a blue shirt appeared at the door. When he saw me, he stepped back. Jane lay on the dirty floor, her hands, feet, and mouth bound. I bent down and gently removed the duct tape. “Are you hurt anywhere?” I felt along her arms.
She shook her head. The tracks of tears stained her face. “Boss,” she whispered. “I think they killed Jack.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. Please, God, no. I struggled to push my emotions to the side. The effort became unbearable.
Jane leaned into me and burying her face in my shoulder. I put my arms around her. “He’s been screaming ever since I got here.” She pulled back. “They’ve done something horrible. He’s been quiet for a while.”
“I’m going to get us out of here.” I rubbed her back. “All of us.” I hoped I could. “Are you going to be okay while I check on Jack?”
“I’m all right.” She stiffened. “They haven’t hurt me.”
“Good.” I faced the two by the door. “Get the tape off her and take me to Jack.”
Chapter Twelve
The worn floorboards protested as Mrs. Shaw ushered me through the empty living room. The man in the corner was gone. In the battered kitchen, the linoleum was cracked and worn through to the filthy boards beneath. Some of the cupboard doors hung on broken hinges or were missing entirely. She pointed to a narrow paint-bare door in the corner. “He’s down there.” Jack hadn’t rated an area upstairs.
I didn’t look at her. What kind of a poisoned mind could do this?
Outside the wind screeched with fury as it battered the old structure. I could feel the frigid air bleed through the cracks and around the windows. The hinges on the battered door groaned as the rank smell of rot escaped from below.
The wooden treads in front of me looked as if they’d been traveled a million times. With each step, the boards gave a hollow groan. My heart beat harder and faster with each footstep. All I could see below was a small area of the dirt floor and the stone wall beyond.
I reached the last step and turned, the reality of Jack’s prison spread out in front of me. It was dank, cold and the stone walls were black with decay.
Suspended in the center of the miserable underground room a naked bulb dangled from the ceiling, beneath it, Jack hung by his wrists. His head drooped forward.
I knew where the blood on the notes had come from. He had a cut above his left temple. Blood hideous yellow light. He had a long bruise across the left side of his ribs. They were at least badly bruised, probably fractured.
Mr. Shaw stepped from the shadows. “Not so pretty anymore, is he?”
I moved to Jack and stood in the dirt in front of him. My hand shook as I reached up to check for a pulse. His skin felt alarmingly cold, but he was alive.
Dried blood clung to cuts on his forehead, lip, and ear. His shins were terribly beaten. I hoped he didn’t have internal injuries. What caused my heart to seize was the car battery on the floor at his feet. What had they put him through? Then I saw the burns on the inside of his thighs. My heart stopped. No wonder Jane had heard him cry out. This wasn’t retaliation for someone’s arrest. This was sadistic. “Jack, can you hear me?”
He moaned as I touched his face.
“Get him upstairs. If he doesn’t die of his injuries, he will from hypothermia.” I faced Nasty-woman aka Mrs. Shaw. “Then, it isn’t going to be jail it’ll be the death penalty. And if they don’t give it to you, they’ll give it to me for your deaths.”
“They’ll have to catch me first.”
“Well, I’m not dying for you.” Blue-shirt the man who’d stood by Jane’s door upstairs said as he stepped around me. “Jimmy, grab this guy’s other arm.”
Jimmy, the hotel clerk, moved out from behind Mr. Shaw.
“You lied to me. You little—” I stopped. The situation was bad enough. I didn’t need to be stupid and make things worse.
“Yeah, well. I’m not afraid of you. That CIA guy and his big gun aren’t here, now.”
Idiot. He was dealing with a desperate woman. I was so much more dangerous than some CIA guy with a big gun.
Blue-shirt cut the ropes holding Jack’s wrists. They just let him fall. I went to him.
“Get out of the way if you want us to get him upstairs,” Blue-shirt said. He and Jimmy struggled as they dragged Jack up the steps.
»§«
They dropped him on the floor next to Jane.
“Before you fix him up, I want my money,” Nasty-woman demanded.
“Your biggest problem right now is whether I can save him.” I had to stall her. Once they found there wasn’t any money in the truck, I wasn’t sure what would happen.
“Fine. Make sure he doesn’t die,” Mrs. Shaw said.
“Something you might have considered before your friends nearly beat him t
o death.” Behind me, I heard Jane sniff back tears. “Get me some blankets.” You stupid bitch. “I’ve got to raise his body temperature.”
She shouted at Jimmy to get a blanket. To me, “Fix him.” She slammed the door behind her.
“Is he dead?” Jane brushed tears from her eyes.
“No. I’m going to do everything I can to keep him alive.” I took off my jacket and covered him as much as I could. Then, I pulled out the space blanket and spread it over the rest of him. His pulse was weak, his breathing was shallow, and he was still unconscious. Hypothermia became my primary concern.
Nasty-woman came back and threw a dirty blanket at us. This time, when she left, she slammed the door so hard it popped back open.
I covered Jack. I was glad the space blanket was between him and the filthy blanket. “What’s with these animals?”
“I don’t know.” Jane brushed her tears away. “You didn’t want an answer, did you?”
“Talk to me, Jane. Tell me what happened.”
“Mrs. Shaw is mean. But the one who scares me the most is her skinny husband. I know he’s the one who did all this to Jack. She was up here when I heard —” Jane cradled Jack’s hand in hers.
“Why did they take you?” There was no apparent reason for targeting her.
“They said they wanted to get you to pay them.” She glanced down at Jack. “That doesn’t make sense they already had Jack.”