Jack Frost

by Diane Capri

“Okay,” Judd replied. “We’ll pay with cash. You’ll stay with the Jeep. You’ll speak to no one. Understand?”

  She nodded. The town, and the gas station, were located on the other side of the old Mission River Bridge. She’d crossed it many times.

  It was a standard steel girder concrete deck design, built about 1960. A quarter-mile long and two lanes wide, each with a narrow shoulder. Nothing fancy. The point was to carry limited traffic from one side of the river to the other.

  As they approached the bridge, Fern noticed a sidewalk running beside the water. A few sport fishing boats were docked along the river banks, twenty feet below the bridge.

  When she looked ahead again to the end of the bridge, her heart skipped a beat. Sweat popped out on her forehead. She gripped the steering wheel tighter.

  Four police squad cars, lights flashing, blocked the road, checking vehicles heading to and from the town.

  For half a moment, she considered flooring the accelerator. She could get onto the bridge, and there would be nowhere else to go except straight into the roadblock. Directly into the arms of law enforcement.

  She might get away.

  Judd might be captured.

  Almost as soon as the crazy plan popped into her head, she discarded it. Before the police reached the Jeep, Judd would kill her. No doubt in her mind.

  Wildly, she ran through as many other options as she could muster.

  She had talked her way through the roadblock at Newton Hills, but that was a single cop. She’d known him, and he’d known her. He’d trusted her. So they had passed without incident.

  This was different.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Saturday, May 14

  South Dakota

  9:00 p.m.

  Before Fern could come up with a plan, Judd noticed the roadblock.

  He grabbed her forearm and squeezed like a vise. “There’s a parking lot on the right of the bridge. Pull off. Park the Jeep.”

  Fern said, “We have to get across the river. There’s no place else to go.”

  Faster than she could process his intent or move out of the way, Judd fisted his left hand and punched her right bicep. Hard. Shoving her sideways into the door. Her head hit the closed window.

  Pain, instant and intense, shot through her body. Tears sprang to her eyes and welled there.

  She bit her tongue to hold back the screams and felt the iron taste of blood in her mouth.

  Without another word, Fern pulled off the road on the right and drove down the paved driveway to the parking spot Judd had pointed out.

  “Turn off the ignition,” Judd instructed.

  Fern twisted the key to the off position. Her arm was throbbing, but she swallowed the hurt and said nothing.

  Judd said, “Get out of the Jeep. Now.”

  She did as she was told.

  Once she was free of the Jeep, she scanned the area for a place to run. The parking lot abutted a wide strip of green space beside the river. Picnic tables, benches, and a walking trail completed the idyllic park.

  For half a moment, she considered running. She saw no reliable cover that would protect her from a gunshot to the back. How far would she get?

  “Come on.” Judd grabbed her arm and dragged her along toward the pillars of the bridge close to the water. They hurried to the shadows and then made their way to the riverbank.

  The fishing boats were uncovered. Fishing was a popular pastime in the Mission River during the springtime. The boats were littered with rods and reels and tackle boxes. They reeked of dead fish, too. A few of these boat owners had had fresh fish for dinner.

  The largest boat was about eighteen feet long. They had outboard motors mounted on the back.

  Judd scanned all of the boats and chose a smaller one near the end of the row. He pushed Fern toward the boat. “Get it.”

  She climbed in from the dock and sat on the front bench. Judd untied the boat and gave it a shove into the river. He sat in the back and pull-started the motor. He gave it some gas and steered the boat westward.

  From her vantage point in the front, looking backward, she didn’t see anyone coming after them. The squad units didn’t abandon the roadblock to give chase.

  Perhaps no one had seen them. Or maybe their actions seemed normal. They could look like two people going fishing, she supposed.

  Fern turned and looked forward toward the last of the sunset. The open air was cold as it washed across her body. She wrapped her arms around her torso in an attempt to avoid hypothermia as the river widened.

  The wind across the water caused choppy waves. The boat bounced hard a few times as it crossed, sending hits of icy cold spray across her face. She felt her teeth chattering in the increasing cold.

  The boat was small and the outboard motor pushed it along at full throttle, but they were probably traveling only ten miles an hour.

  Progress was slow.

  She had no idea where they were headed. But it would take a long time to get there at this rate, and the twilight had faded into near-total darkness. She was wet and cold and scared out of her mind.

  What did Judd plan to do?

  The Mission River was a tributary. It ended a few miles from the point where they’d stolen the boat. Which meant he couldn’t take this boat all the way to Canada. Did he realize that?

  Her arm was still throbbing, and the lump on her head didn’t feel great, either.

  If he struck her again out here, she’d fall into the cold river and drown.

  The last time she’d tried to help him, he’d reacted by punching her so hard she’d banged her head against the Jeep’s window.

  So she said nothing.

  As they traveled farther along the river, they’d passed a few decrepit homes. The population out here was sparse, for sure. She couldn’t remember the geography well enough to predict where the next town might be, but she knew the elevations would start to rise the further west they traveled.

  When they’d been running west for about an hour, she saw a building ahead on the right, ablaze with lights.

  A church.

  Floodlights illuminated the spire at the top. The parking lot was also well lit and about half full of empty parked vehicles.

  Judd saw the church, too. He steered the boat toward the shore. He slowed and ran parallel to the riverbank until they passed the parking lot. Then he nosed the bow of the boat into the weeds and beached it.

  “Come on,” he said as he stepped onto the ground. “We need a new vehicle.”

  Fern scrambled to the bow, struggling to keep her balance as the boat tilted side to side in the water. She held onto the boat, swung one leg over and then the other to climb out. It took her a moment to steady herself again on solid ground.

  She scanned the area. She didn’t know where they were exactly. But they’d traveled far enough from her farmhouse. Judd wouldn’t be able to make good on his threat to her family before she could protect them.

  Judd grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the parking lot. He peered into a dozen windows before he found a late model Chevy Impala sedan with the keys in the ignition. He opened the door and shoved her into the driver’s seat.

  He pointed the gun at her head. “Try anything and you’ll die right here.”

  Fern nodded. He left her door open and walked around the front of the car, pointing the pistol toward her as he hurried to the passenger seat.

  He jerked the door open and jumped inside. “Let’s go.”

  She closed her door and turned the key. The engine started up instantly. She turned the headlights on. She drove slowly toward the exit.

  “Which way?” she asked when they reached the county road.

  “West,” he replied.

  She turned onto the westbound lane and accelerated to the speed limit, looking for an opportunity to escape.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Saturday, May 14

  Newton Hills, South Dakota

  9:10 p.m.

  “Let’s ge
t a bite to eat,” Kim had said when they left the Olson farmhouse. Newton Hills was only a few miles up the road. The village had a diner.

  Burke was driving. He parked the Navigator in the lot and they hurried inside against the cold wind blowing in from Canada.

  The diner was the usual setup. Long and narrow. Windows on one side, counter and grill on the other. Booths upholstered in red vinyl placed in a row alongside the windows. How many of these ubiquitous diners had she patronized since she started hunting Reacher? Too many.

  A burly guy in a denim shirt, sleeves rolled up above his hairy forearms, stood behind the counter. “We’re closing up, but I can get you a burger and fries. Will that do it for you?”

  “Coffee?” Kim asked.

  “I’ll make a fresh pot,” he replied.

  “Perfect,” Kim said as Burke settled into an empty booth. “I’ll be right back.”

  She walked to the restroom and washed her hands. She looked at herself in the stainless steel tray that served as a mirror. The dark circles under her eyes were vivid enough to reflect back.

  She straightened her hair into its bun at the back of her head and splashed a bit of water on her face. She pulled a couple of paper towels to dry off and then returned to the booth.

  “Your turn,” she said. Burke nodded and headed toward the back.

  While he was gone, she called Gaspar.

  “Good evening, Suzie Wong.”

  His easy humor always made her grin. But the silly nicknames they’d adopted early on had become a sort of code, too. They meant each had permission to speak freely.

  “I feel like I’m running in circles here, Chico. Got anything you’d like to tell me?”

  “Since I don’t listen in on your life every moment of every day like Cooper does, I’m gonna need a bit more meat on that question,” he said. She could hear him chewing something, which was not unusual. Gaspar ate whenever he had the chance. He ate more calories in a day than she consumed in a week.

  “Start with Fern Olson’s phone. What can you tell me about that?” Kim asked.

  “Reams of data over the past few years. But what you probably want to know is whether she was involved with this prison break in any way.”

  “Was she?”

  “Inconclusive. She’s got a lot of odd random calls and texts. Quite a few with a Rapid City phone number belonging to the dead pilot of that cargo jet,” Gaspar said. “Not likely that’s a coincidence.”

  Kim’s gut did a somersault. Partly due to hunger, perhaps. The rest was due to the usual anxiety. “Nothing overt in the texts or the voice messages, I’m guessing?”

  “You mean, like did he say he was on his way to crash into a prison in Bolton where Olson represented about thirty inmates?” Gaspar’s smile traveled across the miles with his words.

  She grinned. “Yeah, like that.”

  “Nope. But there was a lot of talk about landing to pick up a package. And how he’d get paid for the work,” Gaspar said. “I can send you the transcripts.”

  “Please do.” She nodded when the cook silently gestured with a coffee thermos and two plastic mugs. He left them on the table and went back to making the burgers. “Turns out they’ve recaptured all but four of the inmates.”

  “And they’re all connected to Olson,” he deadpanned. “What a shock.”

  “Right. One is dead. Ryan Denny. Her son says Olson shot him when he attacked her.” She heard his keyboard clacking as she talked. “The other three are still at large. We think two are with Olson now. The locals are on it, along with Smithers and his team.”

  “And those two are?”

  “Duff Keegan and Liam Walsh,” she said. “The other one, Petey Burns, was the car thief we chased down. He escaped into the woods and they haven’t found him yet.”

  “Got it. You do know that prison inmates have escaped and stayed at large for decades, right?” Gaspar said. “Remember Archuleta? He was out there for something like forty-six years before they found him.”

  “Yeah, that’s not helpful,” she replied. “The point of that story is that the FBI finally did get him. We always get our man. Haven’t you heard?”

  Gaspar chuckled. “What do you need to know?”

  “We could keep chasing Olson, I guess. But it’s smarter to figure out where she’s headed and get there before she does.”

  “How do you plan to do that?”

  “I think they may have a meeting point set up to catch a private plane. The final destination is probably Canada.”

  “They could drive there. It’s not that far,” Gaspar said, keys still clacking. “Eight to ten hours by car from Bolton. There’s gotta be places they could cross over the border undetected.”

  “Yeah, and if they do that, Smithers and his team have all the gear they need to catch them first,” Kim said. “I’m thinking that’s not what they’ll do, though. I think they want to get deeper into Canada. Gives them more breathing room.”

  “Okay. What do you want from me?”

  “Anything in Olson’s phone records that might mean she’d set up a meeting point? Somewhere they could fly out from?”

  “Why?”

  “A private jet just makes more sense. Road vehicles are slow. They’re clumsy. They’re easily traced.” She paused a few moments. “I don’t know. Just a hunch, I guess.”

  Gaspar’s heavy breathing came through the earpiece as he searched through the records. “It’s going to take me a bit to find something like that.”

  “If you find it, look for an airstrip they could use, too. It’s likely to be abandoned. That would be the safest option. The second safest would be a private airport. I guess there was an old abandoned military airstrip around here when Reacher came through seven years ago. But it was destroyed.”

  “So we need another one. Probably smaller than a military base. Say within a four-hour drive radius from the prison,” Gaspar said, thinking aloud. “Runway about a mile long would be enough for a Gulfstream that could fly deeper into Canada.”

  “Makes sense. Can you look? And call me back?” Kim said.

  “Copy that, Sunshine. Stand by,” Gaspar said as he hung up.

  She smiled and disconnected just as Burke returned. “Talking to Cooper?”

  “No.” She placed the phone on the table where she could grab it easily. “Gaspar.”

  Burke frowned. “So you’re working with Gaspar against Cooper’s orders? Sharing intel with him that’s classified?”

  “Gaspar knows more about this assignment than you do. His clearance level is higher than mine.” Kim shrugged.

  “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to visit you in Leavenworth when you’re caught,” Burke said.

  “Noted,” she snapped. And then she relented. “Look, I tried to call Cooper. He didn’t pick up. We need help now, not when he gets around to it.”

  The cook walked up with two plates piled high. The cheeseburger and fries were perfect. They looked like a television food commercial. Kim inhaled the aroma and her stomach growled with anticipation.

  “Here you go. Take your time. I’ve got plenty of cleanup to do,” he said, like a business owner who couldn’t afford to turn away hungry customers. Which he probably was.

  Kim put dill pickles and mustard on the burger and squirted a puddle on her plate. Her first bite confirmed the cook’s skill on the griddle. The burger was perfect.

  “You put mustard on fries?” Burke asked with a mock frown as he slathered everything with ketchup. “Such a heathen. I don’t know how we’re ever going to work together.”

  She swallowed the burger and dunked one of the fries into the mustard with her fingers. She licked her fingers after she ate it, too. She didn’t need to impress Burke. He needed to impress her. Whether he knew it or not.

  But she understood that he was offering an olive branch, so she teased, “Gaspar liked ketchup, too, and he turned out all right. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

  “Oh, well, if Gaspar does it, it must be o
kay,” he mocked as he gobbled his food, exactly the way Gaspar always did.

  Kim grinned. It was the first time she’d felt any kinship to Burke. Maybe this partnership would work out better than she’d feared after all.

  “Tell me why you’re so sure the Boss will help us out here,” she said, taking a break to let her food settle while she thought about Gaspar’s intel.

  Burke raised his eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t Cooper do everything he can? This is his black op. We’re following orders. His ass is on the line. It’s to his advantage if we get the job done.”

  Kim sat back in the booth with the coffee. She cocked her head. Could he possibly be that naïve? Of course, he could. She had been, back when she got that first four o’clock phone call in November.

  She was seven months smarter now. Burke would catch up. But she couldn’t give him seven months to do it.

  The phone danced on the table. She glanced at the caller ID before she picked it up. “Smithers. What’s up?”

  “Just got word. Olson’s not at the doctor’s office. Keegan’s gone too. The doc and Walsh are both dead,” Smithers said wearily.

  Kim closed her eyes and kneaded the pain at the bridge of her nose as she listened to his brief report. When he finished, she said, “Okay. Now what?”

  “Looks like Olson and Keegan took the doc’s Jeep. I’ll text you the details. Mitchell’s got roadblocks and BOLOs out. We’ve put the helos to bed for the night. Unless we find them before daylight, there’s not much we can do from the air.”

  “What do you need from us?” Kim asked, shaking her head to let Burke know they’d hit a wall.

  “Nothing tonight. We’re still working at the farmhouse. We have another crime scene here at the doc’s office. We’re gonna be here until mid-day tomorrow, at least.” Smithers was as matter-of-fact as always, but she knew he had to be exhausted. “We’ll work in shifts. Get some sleep. Recon at daylight, unless Mitchell finds the Jeep before then.”

  “Copy that. I’ll let you know if we turn up anything,” Kim said as she signed off.

  Burke had eaten every morsel of his food. Half of Kim’s cheeseburger had congealed on the plate. She pushed it aside and poured more coffee as she relayed Smithers’s report to Burke.