Trace Evidence (The Heir Hunter Book 2)

by Diane Capri

  She cleared her throat again and pushed Jamie’s door open with her hip. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Okay. But I’m going to need extra expense money to find Hallman.”

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket, and after a few clicks she said, “Done. Keep me posted.”

  She slipped inside and the door closed behind her. A moment later, it opened again and a nurse stepped out.

  He walked a few feet along the corridor with her. “How’s Jamie doing?”

  “Not good, I’m afraid. If we don’t find a donor soon . . .” Her voice drifted off.

  “Can you check me? To see if I can be a donor?” Flint had donated blood before. He’d never registered to be a bone marrow donor, but better late than never.

  “Not here, but you can do it on the fourth floor. It’s a simple cheek swab to start.” One of her colleagues called to her and she gestured that she’d come along in a moment. “Are you a blood relative?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not. But I could still be a match, right?”

  “Yes, you could. There’s a lot of variation in tissue types, which means we can’t predict whether or not you’ll be a match until we do the testing.”

  “I understand.”

  Her colleague called again, urgently this time. She pointed behind him. “Take the elevator. Fourth floor. Follow the signs. They’ll explain everything.” She hurried away toward the nurse’s station.

  He took the elevator to the fourth floor. When the doors opened, Jasper Crane was waiting to board. He was as smarmy looking in person as he was in photos. But the resemblance to his father was like looking at Felix Crane through a time machine.

  Flint remained inside the elevator car. Crane stepped in and pushed the button for Jamie Beaumont’s floor. Like hospital elevators everywhere, this one was slow to move. The doors closed about a decade later and the car began its glacial descent.

  When the car reached the space between floors, Flint hit the emergency stop button with the flat of his hand. The car lurched to a bouncing halt.

  Crane glared at Flint. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Jasper Crane, right? We’ve never met.” He cocked his head. “Michael Flint. I knew your father.”

  “I know who you are.” Crane’s eyes narrowed. A dark cloud covered his features. If he’d been a different sort of man, he might have started a fight. Too bad he didn’t. As it was, he glared and demanded, “What do you want?”

  Flint stayed ready, just in case. “I heard about your dad. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Jasper barely blinked. “When they pulled him out of ten feet of snow under that avalanche in the spring, he had two bullet holes in him. Best guess is that you put them there.”

  Flint controlled the shudder that ran through his body from head to foot. He’d been buried in that avalanche, too. Only luck, and his avalanche beacon and Recco transponder nestled in a special pocket of his snowsuit, brought rescuers to him soon enough to keep him alive.

  Rescuers searched for Crane well into the night, long past the time when he might have been saved alive. They found his body only after the snow melted, months later.

  “Let’s discuss this outside.” Flint reached over and pushed the alarm button again to restart the car’s downward movement.

  Crane squared his shoulders and shoved his chin forward. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “I saw the autopsy report. He died of suffocation, not gunshot wounds.” Flint’s words were measured.

  “Tells me what kind of man you are. You shot him in the back. Twice. Otherwise, he might have made it out. You did.” Crane’s fists clenched at his sides.

  Flint braced his weight over both feet, just in case Crane had a change of heart about starting a fight.

  Crane punched the second-floor button with the side of his fist instead. When the door opened, he stalked out. Flint watched him march down the corridor to Jamie Beaumont’s room and push the door open so hard that it bounced against the wall and came back to slap him in the face.

  Under different circumstances, Flint might have laughed. As it was, he figured Crane had a right to be pissed. There would be a better time and place to deal with Jasper Crane. When his search for Josh Hallman was over. Crane could wait. Jamie Beaumont could not.

  Flint went back up to the fourth floor and found the testing center. He filled out the forms and left the cheek swab. Thirty minutes later, he was on his way. He fished his phone out of his pocket and made the first of several phone calls. The plan was more than a little crazy, but it could work. At least it had the virtue of never having been tried.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Red Maple Lake, California

  Six Years Ago

  Josh shivered with cold and shock throughout the night. He had no food, no water, and no weapon of any kind. He’d become disoriented. He didn’t know how far he’d run through the woods or even if he’d succeeded in traveling southwest. He huddled into himself as much as possible and tried to stay invisible and warm. He failed at both.

  Several times during the long, dark night he was awakened by sounds from the forest. Each time he was startled into consciousness, he listened hard for hunters. If they found him, they would kill him. He was sure of that. As soon as daylight made it safe to move, he would go.

  Exhaustion overtook him and he fell deep into oblivion for several hours. His eyes fluttered open when he heard something larger than a bird crackling through the undergrowth nearby. He didn’t know whether to stay or run again, so he waited until he could identify the threat.

  The first thing he noticed was the smell. The overwhelmingly disgusting odor of a large animal that had probably never bathed in its life. He remained motionless, and prayed the smell was not announcing the approach of a bear. After five minutes, or perhaps ten, he spied three deer rooting through the decaying underbrush for food. Relief washed over him like the warm Hawaiian waterfalls he’d enjoyed in Maui. And then he smiled when he realized he probably smelled no better than the deer, and maybe worse.

  “Okay, Josh. Use your head.” When the deer heard him talking, they flipped up their tails and bounded away, which was fine with him.

  With the morning light and the gnawing hunger in his stomach came a bit of clarity and logic. There was a driveway on Wilcox’s compound, leading to the house. There must have been some kind of a two-track or fire trail or something at the end of the driveway. The two-track must’ve led somewhere. Eventually, there must be a road.

  “Find a road, you can hitchhike. You can get out of this. All you have to do is be smart about it.”

  Of course, Ruben and Mark had access to the off-road vehicle Boyd had mentioned. Josh had not seen nor heard a motor vehicle since he ran from the compound. But he should be able to hear one approach in the woods. He listened carefully, but the only sounds that reached him were leaves blown by the sturdy wind.

  He could continue walking west. Eventually, he’d reach the Pacific Ocean. Miles and miles away. But it was there. He should find some sort of road where maybe he could flag down a truck or a car. As long as he moved south and west, he’d be putting distance between himself and Wilcox’s compound. Without a cell phone emitting a constant tracking beacon, he might get away. Possibly.

  He pushed his wobbly legs into a standing position and steadied himself, emptied his bladder, and headed away from what he could see of the rising sun. His progress was glacial. He walked a jagged path because of trees and undergrowth and holes in the ground. He looked back a few times and couldn’t see his own boot prints. Which he hoped meant no one else could see them, either.

  He slept another night in the woods. By this time, his gnawing hunger had become a constant companion. He ignored the pain because he had no food and no way to get any. No point in focusing on juicy steaks and bulky potatoes.

  On the third day, late in the afternoon, he saw the first signs of civilization. In the distance, he noticed smoke from a chimney. Then a second chim
ney, followed by a third. When he saw a truck driving past, he almost wept.

  A road. He’d found a road.

  He stayed in the woods behind the village, moving parallel to the two-lane highway. It was too dangerous to approach the homes. This could be the closest town to the Wilcox compound, and if it was, Wilcox’s men would be looking for him here.

  He snuck around through the backyards and maneuvered outside visual range until he was south of the cluster of buildings. He continued walking in the woods, within sight of the road, until he reached an area where he thought it might be safe to try hitchhiking. A few vehicles had passed. Not many. But it was afternoon again and soon it would be dark. He’d never get a ride after dark. Now was the time.

  The village was far in the distance behind him. He had to take the chance that he might be seen and returned to the Wilcoxes.

  For the first time since he’d run from Ruben’s gun, he left the cover of the dense woods and made his way to the road. He glanced around him, staying aware of his surroundings, but he saw no one.

  He crossed the road to the southbound shoulder and, hunched into his jacket, continued walking. He could hear the traffic before the vehicles approached. So far, every vehicle had been traveling northbound, and there was no way he was heading back toward Red Maple Lake. Not on a bet.

  Eventually, a farm truck came by, traveling south. Josh turned and held out his right thumb in the classic hitchhiker’s gesture. The truck slowed and pulled up next to Josh. The old man said, “Hop in the back. Save you a few miles of shoe leather.”

  “Thank you,” Josh croaked from his dry throat. He put his foot on the bumper and tossed his left leg over the tailgate and settled into the back of the truck. He slumped onto the cold metal bed and relaxed his back against the side wall. He’d give about anything for a cup of hot coffee or even a bottle of water at this point. The old guy didn’t offer him any. For now, Josh was simply beyond grateful for the ride.

  The farm truck traveled south about fifteen miles until it approached an intersection and slowed to turn west. The sun had long ago settled low in the horizon, but it wasn’t quite dark. The old man pulled over to the shoulder and slid the back window open.

  “You got anywhere to stay tonight?” he asked. His voice was dry and gravelly, but he seemed safe enough. Josh shook his head. “You running from the law? I don’t want no trouble with the law.”

  “No, sir, I’m not.” Josh shook his head more firmly this time. Quite the opposite. If he saw an actual lawman, he might embrace him instead.

  The old man nodded, seemed to decide something. “I’ll give you some supper and you can sleep in my barn tonight if you don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  Tears sprouted in the corners of Josh’s eyes. Pressure. Stress. Pure fright leaked out with the saline that streaked through the grime on his face. He nodded. “I’d be very grateful.”

  The old man said, “It’s settled then.” He pushed the window closed and returned to his driving. About five more miles down the road, he pulled into a long driveway that led farther south. Josh figured he was still going in the right direction, and anyway, what alternative did he have? Every mile the truck covered was a mile he didn’t have to walk.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Younge Farm, California

  Six Years Ago

  When they reached the barn, the old man parked the truck. He showed Josh to a room in the barn with a bed, a sink, and a toilet. He told Josh to wash up and come to the house for a bite of dinner.

  As soon as the old man left, Josh did the best he could to wash up at the sink. He stuck his entire head under the running water and let the pungent odors of sweat, blood, and tears wash away. He must’ve looked pretty scary out there on the road. He wondered briefly what kind of person would actually stop for him, but he shrugged. The old man couldn’t be any worse than the people he was running from.

  All he had to do now was find a way to get home. He had his wallet. As soon as he could find a place to use his credit cards, he would rent a car and find an airport and take a commercial flight back to Chicago.

  Josh did the best he could to knock the grime off his clothes, but that was a losing battle. Then he followed the old man’s footpath to the back of the house. He knocked on the screen and went inside, led by the heavenly scents of coffee and fried food.

  Fried bologna, fried potatoes, plain white bread, black coffee. Josh’s stomach was queasy but hunger won out. He ate like a famished bear. Like this was the best meal he’d ever eaten. He tried not to shovel in more than his share of the food, but the old man ate very little and didn’t seem to mind Josh’s appetite.

  They talked a bit across the table.

  The old man’s name was Sam Younge. He’d inherited the ranch from his father and lived alone here since his wife died. He had a few head of cattle, a few pigs, and some chickens. “My wife used to have a little vegetable garden, but I don’t bother with that anymore.”

  Josh told him he had been dropped off in the woods by a tour company for a two-week wilderness survival trip. He said he’d lost all his equipment somehow and needed to figure out how to get home. He said he lived in Denver. The story wasn’t so far from the truth, and the old man seemed to accept it.

  “I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to help you much. I don’t have a telephone or any kind of computer equipment out here. We do have a television. Gets broadcast signals when the weather cooperates. No cable or internet or nothing like that.”

  Sam poured more coffee. Josh sat back in the straight chair and crossed his ankles. He was starting to feel almost human although he shuddered to think how he must look.

  “You want to wash those clothes? Be dry in a couple hours. You could wear mine while you’re waiting.” Sam was shorter and wider than Josh. But clean clothes sounded like a luxury beyond his wildest dreams right at the moment. Sam looked him over. “Maybe you want to get a shower and shave, too.”

  Josh closed his eyes to keep them from leaking again. “That would be great, Sam.”

  The old man showed him to the laundry and the shower. He handed Josh a disposable razor, a pair of old work jeans, and a scratchy old T-shirt.

  Sam went back to the kitchen while Josh peeled off his dirty cargo pants, shirt, and everything else down to his bare skin. He set up the washer and got it going and then slipped across the hallway and into Sam’s shower.

  He stayed under the hot spray until he drained the tank and the water ran cool. When he stepped out and dried off, he felt as close to normal as he had since the Cessna crashed.

  He rummaged in Sam’s medicine chest and found a stick deodorant and swiped it under his arms. Sam’s old T-shirt was okay, but the jeans hit him midcalf. They were stiff and scratchy denim, but they were clean.

  Josh went back into the kitchen. Sam was washing the dishes. Josh pitched in to help.

  Sam said, “I generally watch the nightly news. You interested in that?”

  “I like to know what’s going on in the world.”

  Sam moved to the refrigerator’s freezer and stuck his head inside. “I got ice cream for dessert. Vanilla. You want some?”

  “Sounds great.”

  After Sam dished out the ice cream and handed a bowl to Josh, he led the way to the living room. The space was a bit old-fashioned, but clean and tidy. Probably the decorating had been done by Sam’s wife.

  A flat-screen TV took up most of one wall. Across from it, two floral-print upholstered chairs were positioned for perfect viewing.

  Sam took one chair and waved Josh to the other. Sam picked up the remote and found the broadcast news station he wanted.

  It was Monday night. Josh was startled to realize how long he’d been running and how many days had passed since he’d left Chicago.

  The local news came from Reno. After a few national and local stories, a reporter who would never make it in a top-fifteen market mentioned that a small floatplane was thought to have crashed in Red Maple Lake four days
ago. He showed video from a drone of the area where they believed the plane went into the lake. Divers were in the water.

  The reporter said there had been three men aboard, but neither the plane nor the bodies had been recovered. He said divers would continue looking, but reminded viewers that bodies should eventually float to the surface. He ended with a plea for information and a phone number for a tip line.

  “Do you know where that place is?” Josh asked Sam.

  “North of here. South of Lake Tahoe. Hard place to get to. Never been there.”

  Josh watched as the short news story unfolded. And then Boyd Wilcox’s face filled the screen. An off-camera reporter held a microphone and asked Wilcox questions. He claimed not to know much. He said he didn’t know about the plane crash and he had not seen the three men. And then he said, “Red Maple Lake is deep and cold. If those guys went down in the plane, you might never find them.”

  Josh asked Sam, “Is that possible? That they might never find those guys? I mean, isn’t that an inland lake? They’ll find them eventually, right?”

  Sam shrugged. “Hard to say. There’s all kinds of folklore about people going into those lakes up there and never coming out again. A few years ago they found a guy who had drowned about sixteen years earlier. But, yeah. If they keep looking, it’s likely they’ll find the bodies eventually. Might take a while, though.”

  Josh said, “I don’t understand that. Don’t they have equipment that can just search the bottom?”

  “Usually, the bodies float up after a while. They don’t have to go looking for them very often. But I guess it’s not as easy as you say. Otherwise, they’d have already found those guys, right?”

  Josh had not considered the possibility that Dan and Skip would not be found. If they weren’t, it would be because the Wilcoxes did something with them. Something like what Wilcox had done to that woman.

  And if that had happened, then the Wilcoxes would be looking for him, too.

  Briefly, he considered calling the authorities and telling his story. Could he be protected? Ruben had been very clear when Josh was trying to get away. The promises were stamped in Josh’s memory.