Dying Embers

by B. E. Sanderson

  When it came to dining, neither did Jason.

  “Didn’t I tell ya?” he said, dropping what must’ve been a façade of class. “Isn’t this the best steak you ever had?”

  If one has been locked up and forced to eat prison food, maybe, she thought as she smiled and nodded. “This is wonderful.” The word almost made her gag, even when the subpar dog food hadn’t yet. For Barstow, this may have been a fine restaurant. Needless to say, she longed for the restaurants of Vegas again.

  “Then why aren’t you eating? You aren’t one of those dieting chicks are you?”

  She lifted her eyebrows. Did this person really think she needed to diet? After six months without a gym, she should’ve been getting flabby, but with all the heavy lifting and long walks her mission required, she couldn’t have been more fit. “No diets. I guess I’m not hungry. Not for food, anyway.”

  His fork stalled halfway to his mouth. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” Catching the eye of a passing waitress, he fumbled for his wallet. “Check please!”

  If men had always been this easy to manipulate, her life wouldn’t have been filled with so much pain and heartache. True, she’d been a shapeless nothing in her youth, and of course, she didn’t have the awesome blonde mane, but she still should’ve been able to wrap them around her little toe.

  “Men aren’t any good unless you can walk all over them,” her mother always used to say. “You should never let them walk all over you.” If only she’d listened, Will would’ve always been under her control, instead the other way around. And without the urn she used to control him now.

  “Do you mind if we stop by the bus station? I’d like to pick up…” She paused just long enough to make her meaning clear. “A few necessary things.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that, Sweetheart. I’ve got it all covered… Or it will be once we get back to my room.”

  She traced the buttons of his shirt with one finger, letting it drift between the fabric to play in his chest hair. “Some things a girl just needs.”

  “Like what, Honey. We have everything we need right here.”

  “It’ll be my surprise. Please?” Her wheedling tone had the right effect. Once they got into his car, they headed straight for the station and the locker where she’d stashed her tools. With the lure of a surprise, she didn’t think he’d mind if she didn’t tell him what was in her bag.

  He’d find out soon enough, and he would be very surprised.

  #

  “The APB is out, but we don’t have any leads yet,” Frank said. He sat once more behind his desk, and Jace could almost hear Lynn happily tapping away at her keyboard. For the time being, all was right with the office, but she knew it wouldn’t be for long. Her go-to-guy had a taste of the field, and he wouldn’t be content to sit on the sidelines for too much longer.

  Good for him.

  “The closest city to where they located her car is Barstow. Have Lynn concentrate her efforts there.”

  “One step ahead of you, boss.”

  She laughed. “About time. So, future field agent Carruso, what’s the deal with Peter Mitchell? We’re sitting outside his house, and there’s no sign of him.”

  “He could be on vacation.” Keys tapped as Frank sent a text message. “I have someone checking his phone logs to see if he made any calls to out of town numbers. Lynn’s checking flights and hotels.”

  “The question is: Would he leave without telling anyone?”

  “From the looks of Mitchell’s life, there really isn’t anyone to tell. No family to speak of; he runs a one-man law firm. Unless…” His voice became slightly muffled as he said, “Hey Lynn? Check if he put in a mail stop or forward order.”

  “I’m on it.” Jace heard a brief break in the background typing as Lynn replied.

  “We should have an answer for you shortly. If we’re lucky, he’s already far enough away from the unsub to be safe.”

  “And if we’re unlucky, she’s already got him.”

  Frank clicked his tongue. “I thought Ben might kill that pessimistic streak you have.”

  “What can I say? Old habits and all that junk.” She glanced at her watch. Ben should be back soon with caffeine. “Just find me Peter Mitchell and do it quick. Even if Emma hasn’t gotten to him yet, we don’t have a whole boatload of time.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ben coming down the sidewalk with two travel cups. As she watched him, an idea began to form in the back of her mind. By the time he opened the driver’s side door, her idea had jelled. “Call me when you have something. And Frank?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you don’t find anything soon, get me into Mitchell’s house. I have a plan.”

  “Saints preserve us from your plans,” Frank said as he clicked off the line.

  Ben handed her a coffee and slid into his seat. “Sugar, no cream. Just the way you like it.”

  Starting with the curve of his jaw, she scrutinized every inch of her partner’s face. It’s crazy, but it just might work. Especially if Emma hasn’t seen Peter in twenty years. “And if the lighting is dim,” she mumbled to herself.

  “If the lighting is dim where? What are you talking about?”

  She shook herself. “Just an idea. I’ll tell you about it after we find Mitchell.”

  “Somehow I get the feeling I’m not going to like it.”

  Her lips spread into a smile. “Oh, don’t get negative on me now. I have a feeling you’re going to love it.”

  Ben’s forehead wrinkled in that way she found herself beginning to love. “I don’t like it when you get that look in your eye, Douglas.”

  “Don’t sweat it, Yancy. The longer you’re on this job, the more you’ll come to realize, this is the fun part.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. You know, I had a partner once back in Detroit. Whenever he had some harebrained scheme to spring on me, he would get that same look in his eyes.” He crossed him arms over his chest. “After three years with him, I can guarantee I’m not going to like it, even if you think it’s the fun part.”

  “Trust me.”

  If possible, his face got even sterner. “That’s what he used to say, too. One of these days remind me to show you where I got shot after trusting one of his brilliant plans.”

  The bleep of her cell phone saved her, but Ben’s demeanor didn’t relax an iota. Still staring into his eyes, she answered the call. “Did you find him yet, Frank?”

  “I don’t know who Frank is, but I don’t think you’ll find this one without a little help.”

  The voice made Jace’s stomach curdle around her recently sipped coffee. Holding one hand over the mouthpiece, she whispered to Ben, “It’s Emma.”

  “I don’t know why I bother with you, Agent Douglas. Maybe it’s because I know you haven’t realized what it means to be a woman yet. Don’t worry. You will. And then you won’t need that man or any other to find me. All you’ll need is yourself.”

  “I do just fine without any help, Mrs. Sweet.”

  “It’s Ms. Sweet now. Isn’t that the proper term for a widow? But I think after all we’ve been through together, you can call me Emma. And I will call you J.C.” She paused for a second. “Or is Jace more to your liking?”

  “Agent Douglas will do.”

  “You’d be better off playing nice with me, but it really doesn’t matter too much anymore. Soon you won’t have to worry about me, and I won’t have to worry about you. Soon this will all be over.”

  “Are you calling to give yourself up?”

  “Actually, I’m calling to give you another trail to follow. Thank you for getting me back on track.”

  “Who did you kill this time, Emma? Another innocent Samaritan? Or just some poor guy you picked up in a bar like Edgar Wilson?”

  “Edgar Wilson? Who was… Ohhh… Studly. And I guess by Samaritan you mean that young man in Utah. He was no innocent… but that’s neither here nor there. I guess you could say this one is more like Stu
dly… err… Wilson than the smarmy boy who wanted a little action in return for his assistance. This one wasn’t quite as classy as my Studly; not as sweet either. He turned out to be just as lewd as the kid, though—”

  “Get on with it,” she snapped, growing more irritated by the second that she had no way to trace this call.

  “Heh. Yes. I-15 south of Barstow. You know the drill. Follow the coordinates I texted you. Unfortunately, he won’t be in his car. I needed that, but you’ll be able to tell from the smoke just where he’s at. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to before you get here.”

  The line went dead, but not before Jace had another chilling scream to add to her nightmares.

  “That bitch just killed another one.” She slapped the dashboard so hard she thought she might’ve broken one of the little bones in her hand. “In Barstow, like we thought. Damn it!”

  “There was nothing you could do about it,” Ben offered, but his words sounded lame to her.

  “There’s nothing to do about it now, but if I had been awake enough to warn them a couple of days ago, he would still be alive.”

  “You can’t know that for sure.”

  “I can know it with enough certainty to feel like shit now,” she said, rubbing the edge of her hand to work out the pain. Nothing seemed actually broken—which made her want to punch something. “So just let me feel like shit. Okay?”

  Her phone beeped again, but she didn’t have the courage to pick up. She didn’t need to hear the fire crackling in the background; to maybe hear the sound of a man being broiled alive. Ben snatched the phone out of her hand.

  “Listen, you sick freak,” he shouted and then went silent. Without another word, he handed the phone back to her. “It’s Frank.”

  When she took the offensive object, she could only stare at it. Over the earpiece, she could hear her soon to be ex-assistant laughing. His humor shook her out of her funk. “Whatever you think, it’s not funny,” she told him.

  Her tone sobered him right up. “Sorry. I take it you weren’t expecting a call from me.” After Jace filled him in, he was more than contrite. “I didn’t mean to be an ass. Maybe when you hear the good news, you’ll feel better.”

  “Please tell me you found Mitchell alive.”

  “I found Mitchell alive.” The smile in his voice made her forgive him. After all the work they’d done, Frank finally had something worth smiling about. “He’s been up at his cabin for the past few days. No television, so he didn’t have any idea what was going on. I gave him the abbreviated version and told him to stay put. I’m working on getting some state troopers headed his way right now.”

  “Did you get permission to break into his house?”

  “Better than that. He’s calling his cleaning service. They should have someone stopping by shortly with keys. Now, what’s your plan?”

  She cast a glance at Ben. He’d stopped glowering at her, but not for long. “I’ll let you know when I have all the pieces in place.”

  “Ben’s not going to like this, is he?”

  “Maybe yes, but…” Another look, and the detective shook his head. “On second thought, probably no. I’ll call you once I know for sure.”

  “Tread lightly, boss,” came his final comment before he broke the connection.

  Ben’s grump renewed itself while she relayed the information about Mitchell’s safety. All good news aside, she could tell he was waiting for the other shoe to fall. Not bothering to tiptoe around the inevitable, she cleared her throat and waded in.

  “I want you to impersonate Mitchell.”

  “I figured as much,” he said, his face stony. “Like I said, the last time I went along with a hare-brained plan like this, I ended up with a bullet in my ass. From the sounds of it, Emma’s a better shot than your average crack-head, so you’ll excuse me if I’m not overjoyed with the thought.”

  “Give me some credit. Listen to what I have to say, and if you still don’t like it, you can back out. I can always get one of the local boys to play the role.”

  “Fine, but if you’re going to talk me into doing something idiotic, you’re feeding me first.”

  #

  Ben broke another breadstick in half, and gnawed on the jagged end. She’d finished speaking several minutes before, but after his fourth decimated stick, he still hadn’t answered. She nearly jumped out of her seat when he finally declared, “I still don’t like it, but I’ll do it.”

  “I told you if you didn’t like it I’d get someone else,” she said, keeping the disappointment from her face—if not from her voice.

  “That’s why I’m doing it.” He took another breadstick and broke it into pieces. When he’d created a pile of edible logs, he said, “If you send someone else in, they’re going to get themselves killed. They don’t know what Emma is capable of, and from what we know of her, she’s not above using all the female tricks she can to get her way. Put the wrong man in that house, and all she has to do is cry a little, bat her eyes, maybe wiggle her hips, and they’ll drop their guard. Then wham! She’s got another murder under her belt, and she’s long gone. I can’t have that on my conscience.” He snapped one last breadstick and dropped it on the table in front of him. “Besides, I promised myself I’d get this bitch, and I don’t plan on breaking that promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  With the Jag idling by the side of the road, Emma strolled to the bridge arching over a narrow ravine. Unless a flash flood occurred, she wouldn’t have to worry about water at the bottom putting her fire out like it had with poor Joe Dillon. As far as she knew, they still hadn’t found him glued to the seat of his cherry 1969 Camaro.

  She sucked back a wave of sadness. She always had loved that car.

  Somewhere in the backwoods of Tennessee, Joe took his last ride with the top down as the fish swam by. Maybe in another few years he would rise to the surface. It would take that long for his flesh to degrade. Lord knows, the epoxy never would.

  Leaning against the guardrail, she tried to remember what Joe had done to make her list. She tried to remember what any of them had done, but for the first time, her memories failed her. In the end, it didn’t really matter. They were men, and that was enough.

  “Never trust a man while he’s awake,” her mother said. She’d been playing cards with the girls, like she did every Friday night. A bunch of old hens cackling over cards and pitchers of Long Island Iced Tea. None of them had ever been to Long Island, but the drink made them feel like they had.

  It also made them loud and boisterous. Far into the night they would play and tell each other the truth about men. Low-down, dirty skunks they were; all of them. Emma’s father up and died; another’s ran away with the cheap tramp from the car wash. A third never had a husband, but she had enough tales to keep them all bobbing their heads as if she had preached a sermon. The fourth never said where her man went, and none of them ever spoke of it—other than in hushed tones. Listening from behind her closed bedroom door, Emma never could make out those words.

  As the night would wear on and the third pitcher got close to empty, they would begin talking about how good men were. They would tell tales about what they referred to as the only real use for men. As Emma sat in her darkened room, she heard things she only ever read about in the books her mother kept beneath her mattress.

  Those were the reasons for having a man. The rest were reasons for getting rid of him when you were through. By the time Emma had gotten old enough to care about boys, she knew this catechism better than any they taught at church. If only she’d remembered their words when Arthur didn’t want her. Or when Tom pressed her up against the backseat of his daddy’s car. If only she could’ve held to the lessons those women taught when Hugh chose his own gender over her, or when Dane used her like a toy and tossed her away. Ian, Kyle, Owen… Devin? He still lived, but the last time she checked on him, he only lived the half-life brain damage could give a man. So many men who needed to learn, who needed to
pay.

  Her fingernails were digging bloody half-moons into her palms as she stood by the side of the road, remembering the lessons she learned, and the one she had left to teach.

  “One last thing, Peter. The last thing you’ll ever learn.”

  She looked down the embankment to the rocky dry riverbed where Peter would receive his just rewards, ticking off a list in her head. “We’ll be too far out to keep the tank full. I’ll need extra gas. And more epoxy. I don’t want him getting away like Greg almost did.” This would be her last. After this she could go home and forget.

  But she couldn’t go home. Sweet Jace had seen to that. By now, all her belongings were being watched. Her money had most likely been frozen in its accounts. Everything she worked so hard for was gone.

  Don’t you mean everything I worked so hard for? Will’s voice had a hard edge that made her wish he still lived so she could slap him.

  “Keeping you happy was work enough for any woman. I earned that money, and now I can’t touch it.”

  Her husband’s deep chuckle echoed in her ears. Poor thing. You poor, poor thing. Maybe you can run home to your mother. She’ll help you. She always helped you. His words were full of venom, but they rang true.

  “Thank you, Will. I think that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

  A brief smile creased her eyes as she began singing once again. “On Wisconsin, On Wisconsin. Raise her glowing flame…”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The curtains in the front window moved for the thousandth time in two days. “Cut it out, Ben,” she said into the two-way radio, holding off hissing at him. “If she’s watching…”

  “She’s not watching,” he said, not bothering to disguise his grumpiness. “She wasn’t watching when you got on my case about stepping into the backyard for a cigarette either, you know.”