Jack Frost

by Diane Capri

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Saturday, May 14

  Near Bolton, South Dakota

  8:00 a.m.

  Keegan noticed a misshapen tree trunk on the opposite side of the road. “I passed that tree this morning,” he said, pointing. “We’re getting close.”

  “Okay.” She slowed her speed to give him time to peer into the high weeds and trees as they passed.

  They were almost two miles from the farmhouse when Olson slowed to steer the big diesel around a sharp bend in the road. He remembered that, too.

  “Not much farther,” he said, just before his sightline cleared.

  From his perch high above the road in the bright morning light, he saw the problem ahead clearly.

  Every nerve in Keegan’s body began to sing.

  Stopped on the shoulder was a lone white SUV. The Bolton Police Department logo was emblazoned on the side. Blue lights strobed from the light bar on the roof.

  “What the hell?” Olson said.

  The driver’s door stood open.

  The vehicle was empty.

  “Where are the cops?” Olson murmured.

  Keegan peered down the road and didn’t see more vehicles coming. He didn’t hear a helicopter overhead, either. The only thing he heard was the diesel, which overwhelmed the breeze rustling in the trees.

  He noticed he’d been holding his breath and exhaled.

  One lone cruiser. One or two cops. No more. The situation was controllable if he took care of it quickly.

  “That’s a Bolton PD squad,” Olson said.

  She seemed apprehensive, which could mean he’d been right about whatever had transpired back at the farmhouse.

  Or maybe the habits of her life’s work against law enforcement had kicked in.

  Whatever her reasons, she wasn’t any happier to see the cruiser than he was. Which might be okay. Perhaps this one would be a common enemy.

  The heavy object he’d noticed in her left jacket pocket flashed across his mind, too.

  As if she was trying to reassure them both, Olson talked loud enough to be heard over the old truck’s various noises. “Maybe they can radio ahead for a tow for your SUV. They might have emergency antivenom for your friend, too. There’s several different pit vipers around here, but there’s probably a standard antivenom for field conditions or something.”

  She downshifted and slowed the truck onto the shoulder. She stopped in front of the police car and slid the transmission into park. Leaving the diesel running, she struggled out of the seat. Like the cop, she left her door open as if she expected to make a quick getaway.

  Keegan climbed down, settling his feet firmly on the earth. The pistol rested against the small of his back, within easy reach.

  “I might know the guy,” Olson said, as she struck out first, leading the way toward the Land Rover.

  From ten yards away, Keegan saw that Walsh remained precisely where Keegan had left him. Still in the driver’s seat, slumped over the steering wheel. The same position he’d been in since he’d lost consciousness last night.

  The cop had the Land Rover’s front door open and was standing near the driver’s seat. Bent at the waist, body halfway inside, the cop was probably checking Walsh’s vital signs.

  As they came within hearing distance, Olson yelled out. “Hey!”

  The cop backed away from the vehicle and turned to face them.

  He was a young guy, probably new on the job. Looked to be younger than thirty, Keegan guessed.

  He didn’t seem to recognize them, which might’ve been a good sign. He was no doubt aware of the prison break. But a couple stopping to help probably seemed harmless enough.

  There were no women housed at Bolton Prison and Keegan’s mug shot might not be circulating far and wide just yet.

  “Stand back, please,” the young cop said, holding his palm up. “I’ve got a man down here. I was just about to call for assistance.”

  “I’m Fern Olson. I live up the road,” Olson said, moving toward the Land Rover and pointing toward Keegan. “This is Thomas Judd. That guy’s his friend. He was bitten by a pit viper. He needs antivenom right away.”

  “I said, stay where you are.” The officer pulled his weapon and pointed it purposefully. He stepped away from the Land Rover.

  The cop was keyed up. He was young and lacked experience. He was in over his head all of a sudden, and he seemed to know it.

  “What’s the problem?” Keegan said continuing to advance, holding his hands wide as he walked up level with Olson.

  “This guy may have been snake bit, but he’s got other injuries, too. Where’d those come from?” His voice wobbled and so did the gun.

  Olson lost the last of her patience. “For cripes sake, man. He needs medical attention. Can’t you see that? He’s in no position to hurt you. Put the gun down.”

  Maybe he’d had good training, and maybe he hadn’t. But he seemed out of his depth. He jabbed the gun forward as if they might not have seen it.

  “I said, stay back. I’m calling for help.”

  With his left hand, he lifted the radio off his belt.

  Before he could make the call, Keegan reached behind his back and pulled his pistol. Smoothly, he leveled the barrel, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

  The first shot landed squarely in the center of the cop’s chest. The force knocked him backward. He landed flat on the ground like a turtle flipped onto its back.

  Olson screamed. “What the hell are you doing?”

  He might’ve been wearing a bulletproof vest. Which meant the first shot hadn’t killed him.

  Keegan walked up to the officer and shot him in the head. Twice. Quickly.

  Olson stood by, horrified. Tears sprung to her eyes and slid down both cheeks. “Why’d you do that?”

  Keegan ignored her. He walked toward the Land Rover and glanced inside.

  Olson’s gaze followed. She saw Walsh’s face.

  He was out of context and wearing civilian clothes instead of the orange jumpsuit. She didn’t recognize him immediately.

  Half a moment later, she gasped. Her mouth opened wide and both hands flew up to stifle her screams.

  “Just relax, Olson,” Keegan ordered calmly. “Do what you’re told and you’ll be fine. Noah will be fine, too. And so will your dad.”

  “I don’t have to listen to you!” Olson yelled. “You killed a police officer. Are you out of your mind?”

  Calmly, he pointed the gun directly at her, “I don’t want to shoot you. I need you to drive the truck. But you just saw me shoot the cop. You know I will do it.”

  Olson stood back, eyes wide, mouth still open, shaking her head. Another minute of this, and she’d be hysterical. Or dead.

  He said, “Help me get Walsh out of that seat and into your truck.”

  She didn’t move.

  He screamed, “Now!”

  She still didn’t move.

  He walked straight up to her and backhanded her hard across the face, knocking her down on top of the cop.

  Landing on the dead man seemed to shock her more than anything else. If she’d been a different kind of woman, she might’ve broken down completely.

  While she was disoriented, he pulled her jacket to the front and, pointing the pistol at her head, stuck his free hand into her left pocket. He grabbed her pistol and pulled it out.

  “What’s this, Fern? You think you’re going to shoot me?” Keegan sneered. He backhanded her again, hard enough to knock a couple of her teeth loose.

  She barely whimpered this time. She shut her mouth, widened her eyes, and scrambled to her feet. She held both hands high and shook her head. “I-I just wanted to keep the gun away from Noah.”

  “Why? Did he shoot this gun earlier? Is that what I heard as I was walking up to your house?” Keegan demanded.

  She shook her head again. “No. No. Not Noah. It was me. I was defending myself.”

  “Uh huh. From what?”

  She backed out of arm’s reach and
took a few deep gulps of air. He kept the pistol pointed at her belly while he waited.

  Once she’d calmed somewhat, he said, “What were you defending yourself from, Fern?”

  “Ryan Denny,” she said dully. “He attacked me. I killed him. I had no choice. Self-defense.”

  Keegan nodded as if he understood why she’d done it. In truth, he did.

  He’d wanted to kill Denny a few times himself.

  He wasn’t sorry Denny was dead. Quite the opposite. Another loose end tied up. One less thing to worry about.

  “How did Denny get to your house?”

  “He-he said he walked. Took him all night,” Olson replied, lifting her chin. The initial shock had begun to wear off. She was more defiant.

  Good.

  He couldn’t stand a sniveling woman.

  Besides, Denny had probably been looking for Keegan anyway. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that Denny had shown up at Olson’s house. Keegan would have killed him, given a chance. Which meant Denny would have been dead even if Olson hadn’t shot him first.

  Keegan slipped her pistol into his pocket. “Get up. Give me your cell phone.”

  She was trained now. She didn’t want to make him angry. She reached into the pocket of her jeans to retrieve the phone and handed it over.

  He held the cell phone like a major league pitcher and threw it far off to the left of the Land Rover. He heard it land with a satisfying thud.

  “We need to move Walsh into your truck and get on the road.”

  Her eyes rounded again. “Where are we going?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Saturday, May 14

  Bolton, South Dakota

  8:15 a.m.

  Personnel shuffled through the door, stopped to pick up coffee or a donut, and took their seats. Smithers called the briefing to order precisely on the hour, wasting no time asking for attention. They settled into silent anticipation quickly. There was a job to do. They were here to do it.

  The room was small and filled to capacity. Kim and Burke were not officially assigned to the team. They stood together in the back, Burke leaning one shoulder lazily against the wall.

  Kim glanced around at the unfamiliar faces. The only agent Kim recognized was Smithers. The rest were highly trained, competent strangers. The kind of people she felt most comfortable with in every situation.

  The FBI was here to assist the Bureau of Prisons and the other agencies, local, state, and federal, Smithers reminded them as a brief warm-up.

  “We have a list of items they’ve requested our help with. I’ve allocated personnel and posted the list next to the door.” He gestured toward the exit. “Damage to the building out at the FCI has been contained and is being evaluated now. Looks like we may have dodged a big problem here, but we’re still getting our arms around this thing. Personnel is on-site to assess structural issues. A determination will be made on inmate housing and transportation throughout the day.”

  One agent near the front asked, “Has a motive been determined?”

  Smithers shook his head. “At the moment, we’re assuming terrorism. It’s a precaution until we get more intel. We want all personnel alert at all times. If we find out otherwise, we’ll let you know promptly.”

  A low murmur rippled through the seated agents like a wave washing across them. Nothing was off the table yet.

  Smithers droned on about administrative issues that had nothing to do with her, and Kim zoned out for a while. When he cleared his throat and changed to a new topic, she tuned in again.

  “We have a list of escapees, complete with names and mug shots. According to the headcount, there were forty-four inmates in the exercise yard at the time the fencing came down. Four of the inmates did not run,” Smithers said like a duty sergeant might. “The other forty made a break for it. As of eight o’clock this morning, thirty-two men had been located and recaptured or voluntarily surrendered.”

  Agents snickered and laughed. Both Burke and Kim grinned. Voluntary surrender was a term of art. It meant the inmates had been found and, with relatively mild persuasion, turned themselves in. The humor died down, and attention focused on Smithers again.

  “Which means we have agreed to assist with the recapture of eight inmates still at large.” Smithers used a remote to turn on a big screen behind him. He started with a collage of mugshots.

  Kim recognized the first photo. Petey Burns. The guy Burke had run off the road and she’d chased into the woods last night.

  The other seven men were also strangers to her, but she already knew everything Smithers knew about them.

  Smithers identified each man, one by one, and offered a brief description of each. Kim had read the more complete files on the thumb drive Smithers had given her earlier. She’d shared the intel with Burke and Gaspar, too.

  When he had finished the presentation, Kim understood that Smithers also had no further information about any of the prisoners who were still at large. He glanced at the clock and a frown creased his normally congenial features.

  “Okay. We were expecting a briefing from Bolton PD, but the officer must have been delayed driving in from Newton Hills, a village north of here. So this is all I have to share at the moment. Anybody got anything else?” Smithers asked.

  A few questions were asked about equipment and allocation of resources between FBI personnel and other agencies. Smithers answered as succinctly as possible and the questions died down.

  He glanced at the clock again and shook his head.

  “Our Bolton PD officer still hasn’t arrived. So we’re going to wrap this up here. We’ll pick up with him during the next briefing later today. I’ll let you know time and place as soon as I have it,” Smithers said. “The long and the short of it is that we do whatever we can to help out. This isn’t our show. We’re here to assist, like I said, in whatever way we can. No turf squabbles involved. Got it?”

  Kim heard murmurs of understanding and no objections from the agents in the room. The meeting broke up, and they began to file out.

  Burke straightened up, stretched, and yawned like Kim wasn’t the only one who didn’t get enough sleep last night.

  After the last agent left, Smithers approached and extended his oversized paw. “You must be Will Burke. Reggie Smithers.”

  Burke was a big guy, but Smithers dwarfed him. Burke nodded. They shook hands. “Good to meet you.”

  Smithers turned his gaze toward her. “Sorry to waste your time, Otto. I was expecting Officer Miller. He’s been working on Ryan Denny’s escape. He’d called in an unoccupied vehicle off the shoulder of a county road north of here. Location is between the prison and that lawyer’s house, Fern Olson. I had expected him to have new intel for us. Officer Miller knows him. Thought he’d recognize him on sight. No such luck, I guess.” Smithers blew out a stream of frustration and swiped a palm over his tired face.

  “No problem. We’re on our way to meet up with Olson at her office. We’ll let you know what we find out,” Kim replied.

  “You sure she’s there?” Smithers asked.

  Burke said, “I confirmed that she was expected this morning. We’ve got a nine o’clock appointment on the books. She hasn’t called in sick or anything. Her secretary said she’s as reliable as the sunrise. She’s got a kid she drops off at school in the morning and then comes directly to work.”

  Smithers nodded. “Okay. Let me know if you learn anything useful. I’ll keep you updated, too.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Burke said before he nodded and walked out.

  “Guy’s got great social skills, huh?” Smithers said, annoyed.

  “Sorry. He’s new.” Kim offered an apologetic shrug and turned to follow. She caught up with Burke just outside the station. “What’s the problem?”

  “Well, that was a waste of time, wasn’t it?” he said, moving toward the SUV. He punched the unlock button on the key fob and slipped in behind the wheel.

  She settled herself into the passenger seat. She pu
t the address for Olson’s office into the GPS and Burke rolled out onto Main Street heading toward town. “Was it a waste of time? I’m not so sure. Why didn’t Officer Miller show up?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Saturday, May 14

  Bolton, South Dakota

  8:45 a.m.

  The law offices of Larson, Hanson, & Olson were three miles from the police station and on the opposite side of the street. Burke pulled into the lot and parked in one of the spaces reserved for clients.

  Kim shook her head. Violating such a basic courtesy before they even met Olson didn’t seem like the best way to begin. She had no legal leverage to apply here. Kim was a lawyer by training. She understood the ins and outs of lawyer-client confidentiality more thoroughly than most.

  She’d get nothing out of Olson unless the lawyer volunteered the intel. And when was the last time a good criminal lawyer had ever volunteered anything remotely useful to the FBI?

  Kim approached the glass doors where the name of the firm was stenciled in handsome gold letters. She pulled the door open and walked across the threshold into a comfortably warm reception area.

  The quick change in temperature from the frosty outdoors caused a shiver that started in her toes and worked its way up to her scalp.

  The young Nordic looking woman behind the Scandinavian-style wood desk looked up. “How may I help you?”

  “We’re here to see Fern Olson,” Kim replied, reaching into her pocket for a business card and handing it over. “We have an appointment.”

  A troubled look crossed the woman’s fair features. She read Kim’s card and squinted her icy blue eyes to look at her screen.

  “I see your appointment here. You called earlier, didn’t you?” She flashed a flirty smile toward Burke and he nodded. She said, “Ms. Olson hasn’t arrived yet. I’m sure she’ll be here shortly. It’s not like her to be late.”