by L. T. Ryan
"I need to talk." She paced between the table and couch. "Can you come over?"
Chapter 45
I tried calling Reese several times, but never got through. Did I have the number wrong? I'd written it down, but left it with the car. There was little chance of retrieving it any time soon.
"You gonna buy something, man?" the kid at the counter said. Apparently he'd grown tired of his game and wanted to harass me. "Hey, isn't that shirt and hat from here?"
"I haven't left yet. Gonna pay on my way out."
"Yeah, well, you better, man. Don't make me come over this counter for your ass."
I choked back a smile and burned through him with my stare. The steeled look on his face cracked. He backed off and turned away.
It was dark out now. That didn't stop me from pouring a stale cup of coffee. I grabbed a couple hot dogs, and two bottles of water. I scarfed down the dogs and chugged a bottle of water at the counter.
"Hat, shirt, 2 dogs, waters, and a cup of coffee," I said to the kid.
He rang it up. "$32.29."
"You gotta be kidding me."
He tossed his hands up in defense. "Hey, I don't set the prices, man."
I rolled my eyes, handed over two twenties. "You sell phones here?"
He nodded while counting my change.
"I'm gonna take one of those, too."
I grabbed my new phone and headed out of the store, moving into the shadows before anyone spotted me. The little town was sleepier than Texline.
How could it be the two towns existed ten miles or so apart with such small populations? Why didn't the original settlers of the area combine resources and build a town together? Wouldn't that have increased their chances of survival? I thought back to Herbie and his family. They had built the place with a couple other families. That's how it started, with families that had close ties and were reliant upon one another. They didn't want to grow too big, invite too many others into their group. That's when you lost control of things. Hell, I'd seen it with my own dealings. Things always went to hell when you added one person too many. They tipped the scales. You could only watch out for so many backs at once.
My muscles continued to stiffen. I wasn't sure I wanted to take another ride on the dirt bike, so I scanned the street for a car. I had considered that Darrow might have his men cruising the stretch between the towns, looking for me. Though I wanted to stick to asphalt, heading off-road was the better plan.
I spotted a motorcycle a couple blocks away. It was a custom piece, with neon green anywhere that wasn't chrome. Too flashy for my needs. A helmet with a six-inch faux-mohawk was set on the backseat. Since it was there, I figured the owner didn't mind if someone borrowed the helmet.
I cut through an alley that led to the outskirts of town and made my way back to the dirt bike. Each step cast me further into darkness. It got to the point I couldn't see a foot in front of me. I tapped a button on the side of the phone, cut the screen on, illuminated the path.
Ten minutes later I reached the bike. I swallowed a mouthful of lukewarm coffee, then tossed the rest. No big loss. The brew tasted like the grounds had been soaked in water along with two-week old gym socks.
I hopped on the bike, depressed the clutch and went to start it. Nothing happened. Tried again. Nothing.
"Come on, baby," I said. "Start for me."
Still nothing. Guess I'd lost my touch.
I'd checked the gas when I stopped. What was going on? Using the phone as a flashlight, I fiddled with the bike, but nothing helped.
"Son of a bitch."
In one direction I saw the town. The other three directions didn't provide a damn thing but darkness. I gave the bike one last chance. When it failed, I headed back to the store. Somewhere in that little town a car waited for me. I just had to find it.
I had to get back to Texline.
Back to Reese.
Before someone else beat me to her.
Chapter 46
Reese stood in front of her bedroom window, staring at the light-washed street beyond the edge of her driveway. Passersby were infrequent, and tonight was no different. Any vehicle that passed by would be suspect. There were none tonight from the time she hung up the phone to the moment Vernon's cruiser pulled into the driveway.
He emerged from the car, a bag in one hand, leash in the other. His Malamute, Dodge, stood at his side. Reese always found it odd that someone would sell the breed used for racing in the Alaskan Iditarod in such a hot climate. The poor thing seemed to be in the middle of heatstroke every time she saw him.
Reese hurried down the stairs, opened the door and waited for Vernon and Dodge. Vernon waved at her, and then glanced back over each shoulder in turn. Perhaps her tone during their brief conversation had left him worried. That had partly been her intention. She wanted to spur him into action.
"Mind if Dodge joins us inside?" he asked, smiling and extending the leash toward her.
She minded only because the dog shed uncontrollably and her vacuum cleaner would choke on the hair. But the assistance Vernon could provide outweighed the cleanup she'd have to perform later. Later no longer mattered if there was no Jack Noble to share it with.
Upstairs, Vernon seated himself at the table. Dodge bounded into her room, came back out with a bra.
"Dodge," Vernon said, laughing. "Go put that back."
Dodge disappeared again, returning this time with an empty mouth. He wormed his way between two chairs and lay down at Vernon's feet.
"Thanks for coming so quickly," Reese said.
"Sure thing," Vernon said. "What's this all about, Billie?"
She filled two glasses with tap water, set both on the table and took a seat next to him.
"A state trooper came by a while ago," she said.
"OK," he said.
"My car was involved in a supposed accident."
He rose quickly, knocking his chair back. "Are you OK? Let me look at you. Anything hurt?"
Reese leaned back and put her arms up. "I wasn't in the car, Vernon."
"It was stolen?"
She shook her head.
"Jack," he said dryly.
"Yes, he used it."
"Is he OK?"
"I don't know. I haven't heard from him. The trooper said it was a hit and run. Literally. Like, Jack ran and someone followed him."
"That's odd." Vernon returned to his seat, scratched the short stubble on his jaw. "Would he have a reason to run? Is he in trouble with the law?"
Reese shook her head. "Come on, Vernon. Everything that's happened here. Darrow. Jail. This was intentional."
"I suppose that's possible," he said slowly, obviously choosing his words to avoid saying too much.
Reese studied him for a moment. "I need you to look into it."
"I can try."
"No, don't just try. Reach out to your contacts and get me some damn answers. Christ, call Darrow himself and ask if he had anything to do with it."
Vernon leaned forward, large arms spread across the table. "Billie, I'm sure you can understand that Darrow isn't the kind of guy you just—"
She slapped the table with both palms, missing his forearm by an inch. It was close enough he pulled his hand back. The sound echoed around the small apartment. Dodge popped out of his hiding spot, ears perked, head cocked. He didn't know whether to play or attack. Vernon reached down and scratched him between the ears, settling the dog.
"Vernon," she said. "Please do something. Anything. Call whoever you can. If someone is after Jack, I need you to buy him time. Please. As a friend, do this for me."
He nodded without making eye contact, gaze fixed on the middle of the table. His face seemed to have paled, though it was hard to tell in the lighting. Was he holding back on her? Did he already know about the situation? Had she made things worse by bringing him over?
"Is everything OK with you?" she asked.
He took a deep breath, raised his head. His gaze swept past her and continued up to the ceiling. He opened his mouth to
speak, but before he could get a word out, Reese's door banged opened.
"The hell?" she said, rising.
Vernon held out his hand and whispered, "Let me."
He secured Dodge's leash to the table, then stood. His raised shirt revealed a pistol. He reached for it, but it was too late.
A man Reese had never seen stood at the top of the stairs wielding an automatic rifle. He gestured with the barrel for Vernon to step to the side. Reese hoisted her hands over her head and closed her eyes.
Chapter 47
Crystal River, Florida, 1988
Jack had found the man's pistol in his bedroom a foot underneath his bed. He'd pocketed it and made his way downstairs, pausing at the backdoor to listen and gather his bearings.
"Got you surrounded," he heard a man with a deep southern accent call out. It was different than what he had heard in Florida and Alabama. "We're closing in on you."
No one responded.
"Just come on out," he continued. "Nothing bad will happen."
"Like hell it won't," Jack muttered. They weren't here for nothing. Chances were since Molly had seen them, they wanted her dead. No way that was gonna happen.
Jack thought about exiting the house through the front door, but then considered there were probably guards posted outside. Best to head right into the wolves' den. He crouched low and slipped out back.
"Got one," a guy shouted.
The other guy yelled back, "The girl?"
"Nah, just a boy."
"Hold your position and keep him there."
Chapter 48
There was something about the older men in these parts. Every single one I encountered went out of their way to help. I hadn't noticed a trend like that anywhere else I'd been. If anything, my past had taught me I couldn't trust anyone, regardless of age. A seventy-five year old man wasn't a physical threat, and that was precisely the reason I had to watch my back around him. It was as easy for him to put a bullet in my head as it was for a younger person.
So when an old black man named Marcus offered to give me a ride since it appeared my motorbike had failed me, I tossed the faux-mohawk helmet into the dirt and jumped in his late-seventies Lincoln. The thing looked like a boat. Cruised along the highway like one as well.
He didn't speak the entire ride, just hummed tunes from a radio that probably hadn't worked in a decade. I peeled down my window, leaned back, and closed my eyes while the cool evening air worked its way over my wounds.
"We're there, man," he said.
I opened my eyes. We'd reached the western outskirts of Texline. The drive had passed by too quickly.
"Anywhere in particular?" he asked.
I had him take me to a dead end a couple blocks from Reese's place. He made a three point turn, repositioning the vehicle so I could hop out under the shade of a tree.
"Thanks again, friend," I said.
"No problem, man." He dropped the transmission into drive and pulled away, leaving me in a cloud of gas fumes. The oversized V-8 engine rumbled on even after he disappeared from sight.
The streets weren't safe, so I cut through yards, hopping fences where necessary, and sprinting across roads. My legs burned. My stomach ached. My chest felt as though it had split at the sternum and my lungs were falling out.
When I finally reached Reese's place, I collapsed against the back wall, using the hose caddy mounted to the siding to keep myself upright. I caught my breath and tuned into the surroundings. A cat prowled the backyard, waiting to pounce. A possum stood watch on top of the fence, doing something only another possum could understand. Leaves rustled in the stiff breeze. The remains of a barbecue cookout lingered in the air, flooding my mouth and sending waves through my stomach.
Soft light filtered through the back windows of Reese's apartment. I repositioned myself at the back fence and stood watch. No movement. There was no guarantee I'd spot any either. She could've been in her room, sitting on the couch, anywhere.
After ten minutes I made my move. I stuck close to the house, using the shadows to disguise my presence. The front porch light was out, leaving only the faded street light to illuminate the area a couple shades brighter than dark.
I turned the knob slowly, cringed when the latch clicked past the frame. The door creaked open. I climbed the stairs, stopping for a moment on each. Halfway up, something scurried across the floor. I resisted the urge to call out Reese's name. Before I reached the top, something crashed, followed by someone running to the back of the apartment.
I took the remaining steps two at a time and whipped around the corner, catching sight of the source of the noise. My heart pounded against my chest wall like it was trying to escape. My breath caught in my throat.
I dropped to one knee, extended my hand.
"Hey, fella."
The large dog sauntered over, ears back, tail down.
"It's OK, buddy."
His demeanor changed after he sniffed my hand. I stroked his head a couple times, turned his collar and held his tag to the light. "Dodge."
He cocked his head at the sound of his name, then resumed panting.
His owner was none other than Vernon.
"Son of a bitch."
I rose, glanced around the apartment. It looked exactly as I had left it, nothing out of place other than the broken glass on the floor. And that had happened moments ago.
"What the hell happened here, Dodge?"
I took a look at Dodge's tag again and punched the number into my cell phone. Was I calling in the cavalry? Or signing my and Reese's death certificate? The phone rang five times, then diverted to Vernon's voicemail.
My stomach turned, sank. The hotdogs I'd devoured were close to coming back up. I couldn't shake the feeling that both Reese and Vernon were in major trouble. I was no longer in a safe place. I flipped the mattress in Reese's bedroom. Underneath I found a .22. Not ideal, but it was easy to conceal and would prove lethal if I got close enough to a target.
I left some food and water for Dodge, then set out on foot to my next stop.
Chapter 49
Reese stared at the moon through the dirty window. It hovered low and wide in the sky. Moonlight filtered in and cast a faded white hue across the wide wooden floorboards. The walls stood barren and worn. An old wood burning stove was covered in a layer of dust. The cabin was devoid of furniture aside from the chair they had tied her to. She strained against the rope that secured her ankles to the chair legs. It seemed every movement she made resulted in the knots tightening. Her wrists were bound with thick plastic zip ties, the kind they used to secure HVAC ducts. The hard plastic dug into her skin.
She'd seen no one other than the man who abducted her and Vernon at gunpoint. The guy was a mystery to her. In all her time in Texline, she'd never seen his face. At the base of the stairs, he'd placed a hood over her head. Vernon too, she supposed. There had been multiple vehicles idling outside. As she was led to one, she heard Vernon cursing his handler. His words had grown more distant by the second.
They had started off on the highway, but after a few miles had gone off-road. The car dipped and bounced and swayed for several minutes before coming to a stop. From there, she was led inside and tied up. They had removed her hood and disappeared through the doorway before she managed to catch a glimpse of them.
And now she waited in a dim room. Alone. Unable to move. Unwilling to yell out for help. There was no point. It was better to save her strength for when she needed it.
Darrow had everything to do with this. He knew her secret, but she'd upheld her end of the deal and kept quiet. So why go through with this? The obvious answer was Jack. But he wasn't at the apartment. Why not wait for him to return?
Perhaps they had planned on waiting, but she had triggered an acceleration clause by calling Vernon. And perhaps they brought Reese and Vernon out here to keep them away. At least she assumed Vernon was out there. She hadn't seen or heard him since the truck pulled out of her driveway. Had someone remained behind, lying
in wait for Jack to return?
She thought about what he had endured that day, and tried to think like him. At the first opportunity, he would have called her. And when he received no answer, he'd grow suspicious. The man had a sense for when danger waited around the corner. That was the only explanation for how he'd survived for so long. Where others used stealth and cunning, Jack preferred brute force. He took what he wanted. Survived through sheer force of will.
The door behind her scraped the floor as it opened. Two sets of boots hit the floorboards. One stopped behind her. Large hands wrapped around her shoulders, gently massaging up toward her neck, then back down to her arms. It made her want to throw up. The man said nothing. His heavy breathing was the only noise he made.
Darrow walked past, giving her a wide berth. She was bound, but he'd take no chances. That was how he had survived so long. That and having an army of idiots to do his bidding while buying off everyone he could in order to keep himself out of trouble.
Fucking weasel.
"Hello, Reese."
She said nothing.
"I suppose you're wondering why I've taken all these precautions."
"No, I think I figured that out on my own."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah," she said. "You're a low-life pussy who can't face a woman alone without restraining her."
Darrow leaned back against the wall, arms folded. He jammed his right foot into the wall, pointing his knee toward her. He laughed for a good ten seconds. Reese expected him to follow it up with a smack across her face, or some other threat. Didn't happen, though. Darrow appeared relaxed and in control of his emotions. And the situation.
"You know you're not just any woman," he said. "I mean, we've got NYPD's finest sitting here. Right? The files I reviewed back that up. One of their best detectives, until you passed away tragically when your car went careening over a railing into the river. The body was never found."
"That's a nice story," she said. "But I'm not that woman anymore. I run a bar now."
"Oh, I think you're more that woman today than you're willing to admit."