Chapter Forty-Eight
Day Three—July 14
Wednesday Morning
______________
RAVEN LET COYOTE KISS HER but only for a few seconds—partly because it was too hot and too bright—but mostly because she wasn’t sure why she was doing it. She didn’t know if she was turned on, or just curious, or whether she was trying to get in good with the woman so she could find out why she was under surveillance. When it came up that Raven couldn’t swim, Coyote said, “I can teach you in fifteen minutes.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.”
She actually did look serious.
“No, that’s impossible.”
“I’ll make you a bet,” Coyote said. “If I can, you have to buy a bottle of white wine and bring it over tonight and help me drink it.”
“And if you can’t?”
“Then you get your money back.”
Raven chuckled and said, “You’re on.”
“Okay,” Coyote said. “I’m going to teach you the same way my dad taught me back when I was eight. You’re going to have to trust me though. Will you do that?”
“Trust you how?”
“You’ll see. I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear.”
RAVEN DIDN’T HAVE A SWIMSUIT so Coyote let her borrow a white bikini. “Raise your hands above your head,” Coyote said. When Raven did, Coyote tickled her, but then got serious and tied one end of a 30-foot rope around Raven’s chest. She knotted it in the front and tied the other end to a stern cleat.
Then she stood on the swim platform and told Raven to slide into the water and hold on to the platform.
“You got to be kidding.”
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’m going to be holding you by the rope, plus you’re going to be holding on to the boat. You’ll be fine. Just scoot over the edge, get your legs and stomach in the water, and hang on to the boat.”
Raven did it.
The water was cold.
But warmed up almost immediately.
“Now move your legs around and get a feel for the water.”
She did.
For a full five minutes.
And started to get a feel for the moves that made her more buoyant.
“Okay, now here’s the part that takes a little guts,” Coyote said. “What you’re going to do is keep moving your legs but let go of the back of the boat. You’ll sink down but I’ll be holding you up by the rope so your head won’t go under the water. Then I want you to keep your arms under the surface and move them around in sort of a pushing down motion.”
Coyote moved her hands to demonstrate.
Raven swallowed.
“You sure you got me?”
“I got you. Trust me.”
Raven breathed deeply.
Several times.
And then let go of the boat.
Sinking immediately, she flailed wildly with her feet, trying to find something to stand on, but got nothing. The rope snagged her before her head went under.
“Good!” Coyote said. “Now move your arms.”
She did.
Ten minutes later she was treading water on her own.
“See if you can head out a little from the boat.”
She treaded five feet away.
Then back.
Then did it again, ten feet this time.
And came back.
“I can’t believe I’m swimming!”
AS SHE WALKED BACK TO THE SAILBOAT a half hour later, the marina took on a whole new feeling. It wasn’t as scary. Raven could fall off the dock and not drown.
Cool.
She hiked up to the payphone by the restroom, called Erin Asher at work, told her she thought she was under vice surveillance, and explained everything that had just happened.
Except for the kiss.
“Under surveillance for what?”
Raven didn’t know.
“The only thing I’ve done questionable in the last twenty years is the thing we did last night,” Raven said. “But what I don’t get is, if they know about that, why wouldn’t they just arrest us?”
“Maybe the guy who’s letting you use the sailboat has drugs stashed there,” Erin said. “Maybe vice is trying to figure out if you’re dealing for him.”
Not probable.
“Do me a favor,” Raven said. “Sometime today, go to a public phone and call the vice department. Ask if Coyote’s in and see if they confirm that she works there. Then call me and let me know what happens. My cell phone might be bugged, and yours too, so talk in code when you call.”
An hour later Raven’s cell rang.
Erin said, “You were right about the time for that meeting. It’s exactly what you said.”
“Okay. Thanks for checking.”
“Not a problem.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Day Three—July 14
Wednesday Morning
______________
WHEN THE PERSON WHO WALKED through the front door of the machine shop turned out to be Samantha Dent, Dalton sank down to the floor and leaned against the wall. Then he remembered that she was supposed to meet him here to help clean.
She still looked bad.
Maybe even worse than last night.
Her lower lip was swollen.
One eye was puffed and purple.
“What the hell happened?” Samantha asked.
Dalton nodded his head towards the body and said, “That’s G-Drop’s gopher. He came around looking for his boss and figured out what happened. He was going to go to the police unless I came up with a whole lot of money. We got in a fight.”
“Is he dead?”
Dalton shrugged.
“I certainly hope so.”
Samantha felt the man’s wrist and found no pulse. She shook him and got no response. His left eye was half open and didn’t blink when she blew on it.
“God, this never ends,” she said.
Dalton exhaled.
“It’s going to get a whole lot worse once G-Drop is a no-show for the concert tonight.”
She wrinkled her forehead.
“Can we survive this?”
Dalton cocked his head.
“You can,” he said. “The only person who knows who you are is me, and I’m obviously not going to tell anyone. As for me, it’s going to depend on whether G-Drop mentioned my name to anyone besides this freak. I kind of doubt it. He was taking a lot of pains to keep it on the DL.”
Samantha looked at the body.
Then she said, “We need to dump him where he won’t be found in a million years.”
SHE HELPED DALTON TAKE A SHOWER and clean his wounds. Four of the cuts needed stitches, but a doctor was out of the question. Samantha left and returned an hour later with needles, thread and new clothes. She stitched him up and then helped put the body in the trunk of the man’s Lexus.
Then they headed west on I-70.
Into the Rocky Mountains.
Dalton left his phone off, back at the machine shop. He couldn’t afford to have it ring a hundred times and create an electronic trail that followed him into the mountains.
His face was a mess.
“We look like Mr. and Mrs. Frankenstein,” she said.
Dalton chuckled.
“I hope a couple of mine scar up,” he said. “I need a little character.”
“Trust me—you’re already a little character.” She paused and added, “Thanks for everything. I really owe you.”
“Forget it,” he said.
THEY KEPT THE RADIO OFF and worked on their stories. As they approached Floyd Hill, Dalton had a thought. “You know what we should do? We should dump this guy at the same place as G-Drop. That way, if the police ever find them, they’ll think they got killed at the same time. That’ll give us a better alibi.”
Samantha frowned.
“Won’t that be dangerous? Going back to where you put him? Someone might see us—”
Silence.
HE PULLED OFF AT THE FLOYD HILL EXIT. As he did, the passenger-side front tire exploded and the Lexus jerked to the right.
Dalton didn’t panic.
He immediately took his foot off the accelerator, gripped the steering wheel with both hands and coasted to the shoulder. Then he killed the engine and smacked the dash with his hand so hard that Samantha jumped.
Damn it!
Damn it!
Damn it!
He turned to the woman and said, “We’re going to have to take the body out of the trunk to get to the spare.”
She swallowed.
“Maybe we should just call a tow truck.”
“Can’t,” he said. “The driver will write down the type of vehicle and the license plate number. He’ll see our faces. Plus we’ll have to pay him with a credit card, unless you have a lot of cash with you. The end result is that we’ll end up tied to a dead man’s car.”
Dalton stepped out.
And opened the trunk.
The body was already starting to smell.
Suddenly a state trooper appeared from nowhere and pulled up.
Chapter Fifty
Day Three—July 14
Wednesday Afternoon
______________
THE I-25 SOUTHBOUND TRAFFIC was so thick that an 18-wheeler rode the Tundra’s bumper, not more than ten or fifteen feet behind, and there wasn’t a thing Teffinger could do about it. It filled his rearview mirror with a mean-looking grill and made his palms sweat.
He tightened his fingers on the steering wheel.
“I have half a mind to pull this guy over,” he told Sydney.
“And how would you do that, exactly?”
“I don’t know.”
“You could slam on the brakes and puncture his radiator,” she said.
“You’re brilliant. Did I ever mention that?”
“Strangely, no.”
Teffinger spotted daylight in the slow-speed lane and scooted over. Almost immediately the truck sped up and got behind the next car.
They passed Alameda.
Then Santa Fe.
The traffic thinned but still remained heavy.
Sydney turned on the radio, got an old Sean Paul song—“Give it Up to Me”—and cranked it up. Teffinger reached over, dialed it down to medium and said, “Venzelle made an interesting comment at lunch.”
Oh?
What?
“She thinks the black woman trying to kill me is connected to the voodoo doll and that she’s probably from New Orleans because that’s where all the heavy voodoo comes from,” he said. “She said we should fly down there, let her follow, and then figure out her name from the airline manifests.”
Sydney cocked her head.
“That’s actually a pretty good plan,” she said.
“I know.”
“Brains plus beauty,” Sydney said. “Now you’re doubly out of your league. Are you going to do it?”
“I’m not doing anything until I find Lindsay Vail.”
SHORTLY AFTER THEY PASSED EVANS, Teffinger felt something brush against his leg. He looked down and saw the head of a snake.
“Not good!”
The words startled Sydney. She looked at him and then followed his eyes to the carpet.
“Oh my God!”
The head was huge.
A forked tongue darted in and out.
Sydney immediately edged as close to the door as she could. She unhooked her seatbelt and scrambled into the rear seat.
“That’s a rattlesnake!” she said.
Teffinger said nothing.
He was afraid that the sound of his voice would either attract it or provoke it. The reptile slowly climbed up the center console. Judging by what showed so far, it had to be every bit of six feet. Beady eyes stared directly at Teffinger’s face.
It climbed higher.
Now the head was next to Teffinger’s thigh, three or four inches below his right elbow. He slowly loosened his right hand from the steering wheel and then gently—almost imperceptibly—moved it until it got to the headrest of the passenger seat.
“Pull over!” Sydney said.
Teffinger’s chest tightened.
And his breath got short.
“I said pull over!”
He checked the rearview mirror. Another 18-wheeler was on his tail. No, not another one, the same one as before.
Teffinger checked the shoulder ahead.
It looked clear.
He put on the right turn signal and slowly eased up on the accelerator. The trucker wasn’t expecting that and ran into Teffinger’s bumper.
“Damn it!” he said.
A heartbeat later the snake rattled.
It climbed higher.
All the way into Teffinger’s lap.
It coiled up.
And raised its head.
And looked directly into Teffinger’s face.
Not more than ten inches away.
THE TRUCKER MUST HAVE REALIZED what he did, because he backed off. Teffinger got the Tundra onto the shoulder and let it coast to a stop.
He left it in gear.
But moved his right foot from the accelerator to the brake.
The engine purred.
Traffic shot by.
The snake rattled.
“I’m going to get out,” Sydney said. “I’m going to move real slow.”
Teffinger said nothing.
He dared not move.
“Wiggle the fingers of your right hand if you heard me,” she said.
He did.
Moving as slowly as she could, Sydney opened the passenger door, then the backseat door, and stepped out. The snake bobbed its head.
“I’m clear.”
Suddenly the rattling stopped.
And the snake loosened its coil and laid its head down.
Sydney pulled her weapon and said, “I’m going to shoot it. Move the fingers of your right hand if you want me to.”
Teffinger swallowed.
Then moved his fingers.
“Okay,” Sydney said. “I don’t have much clearance. It’s only about three or four inches above your lap. The other problem is that the bullet will go through the door. I need to wait until there aren’t any cars in the line of fire. There’s an embankment on the other side of the freeway, so I won’t be shooting into a house or anything. Do you understand?”
Teffinger wiggled his fingers.
“Do you want me to do it?”
He wiggled his fingers.
“Okay, I’m going to go for the head,” she said. “I don’t know where the venom’s going to go, so keep your eyes closed.”
Teffinger closed his eyes.
And waited.
Seconds passed.
Then more.
Sweat dripped down his forehead and into his eyes.
“THE TRAFFIC’S TOO THICK! I’ll never get a shot,” Sydney said. “I’m going to have to do it from the other side. Keep your eyes closed.”
Seconds later, a breeze came from Teffinger’s left side, and the sound of the traffic got louder, meaning Sydney had gotten the door open.
“Okay, don’t move,” she said.
He braced himself.
Don’t move.
Don’t move.
Don’t move.
“I wish the damn thing would raise its head,” Sydney said. “I barely have a shot, the way it’s sitting. This is a lot tighter than I thought.” A pause. “Okay, on three—”
“One.”
Don’t move!
“Two.”
Don’t move!
“Three!”
When the gunfire exploded, Teffinger jumped for his life in spite of himself. The snake flew up and landed back in his lap.
Unharmed.
Rattling.
Bobbing its head.
Freaked.
Teffinger closed his eyes as tight as they would go and brac
ed himself for the fangs.
Chapter Fifty-One
Day Three—July 14
Wednesday Afternoon
______________
RAVEN’S CLIENT WAIVED the potential conflict of interest that came from representing an attorney in the opposing law firm, and gave Raven authorization to represent Dakota Van Vleck. “But if she gets assigned back to my case, that wouldn’t be right, you representing me and her at the same time—don’t you think?”
Yes.
She did.
“If that happens, then I’ll have to withdraw as her counsel,” Raven said. “She understands that. The other thing we do is build a firewall, meaning that we never talk about your case, even casually. By the same token, I never talk to you about her case.”
“That sounds fair.”
Raven called Dakota and gave her the news.
“Good,” Dakota said. “I’ll have a retainer for you the next time we meet.”
“Like I said—”
“No arguments,” Dakota said.
“Hey, guess what? I learned how to swim this morning.”
“Let me see if I have this right,” Dakota said. “You live on a sailboat and didn’t know how to swim?”
“Right.”
“You’re crazier than I thought,” Dakota said. “I’m going to have to think again about you being my attorney.”
“Sorry, that’s already a done deal.”
RAVEN STAYED IN THE CABIN where the sun couldn’t get her—stripped down to her underwear with two fans blowing—and continued to input the names from the Ink Spot receipts into an Excel spreadsheet. With any luck, one of the names belonged to the man with the forehead scar; the man from the newspaper article who was wanted in connection with the abduction of Lindsay Vail; the man who followed Erin Asher on Saturday night.
The pirate.
So many names.
Over a thousand.
It would take all day just to input them.
In a perfect world, she’d be able to run background checks on them too. But she didn’t live in a perfect world and couldn’t think of how to get information, other than Google them and see what popped up.
Her thoughts wandered to Coyote.
She needed to keep her promise to the woman.
Meaning she had to buy a good bottle of wine today.
Client Trap (Nick Teffinger Thriller) Page 13