Targeted: A Ray Schiller Novel (The Ray Schiller Series Book 3)

by Marjorie Doering

  She laughed. “Now that’s funny, Detective. Liz was nice enough to let me borrow her car to get to your place Friday night. Actually,” she said, “I appropriated it at gunpoint, but she deserved as much after I found out she’d broken into the trunk I was storing at her place.”

  “The trunk is yours?”

  “I thought I could trust her with it, but she let me down just like everyone else. She wouldn’t have violated Amy or Jess’s privacy like that, but then, they were her favorites, not me. I try so hard, but—”

  “Is Dunham alive?”

  “You’re wasting precious time, you know,” Nicki said. “If you want me to tell you where your kids are, let’s get this done.” She stepped closer, then stopped abruptly as twigs snapped under Waverly’s feet. “Who’s here with you?” she shouted at Ray. “That’s not Amy. You bastard! You didn’t bring her at all!”

  Ray took cover behind the SUV as Nicki got off a shot at him before turning and running toward her vehicle.

  Waverly shouted into his phone. “Move in! Move in! She’s headed to her car. It’s on a road leading into the park.” He acknowledged the response, jammed the phone into his pocket and took up the chase behind Ray.

  Closing the distance, Ray lunged to his right as Nicki spun and took a firing stance. The sound of multiple sirens grew louder as a bullet ripped into his shoulder. “Son-of-a-bitch!”

  Nicki sprinted away.

  “You okay, buddy?” Waverly said, panting to his side.

  “I’ll be all right. Dick, I’ve got to get to Chaska. Don’t let Wright get away.”

  “She’s not going anywhere; you’ve got my word.”

  Two squad cars skidded to a stop beside the SUV as Waverly helped Ray to his feet. With a hand clasped over his shoulder, Ray raced toward the police cruisers.

  Waverly jogged after him. “I’ve contacted the Chaska police, Ray. They’re searching the motels for Joey.”

  “How many motels are there?”

  “A couple…maybe three or four. I’m not sure. Can’t be too many.”

  A Belle Plaine officer approached them. “Detective Waverly?”

  “I’m Waverly. Detective Schiller here has to get to Chaska.”

  “Looks more like he needs to get to a hospital,” the officer said.

  “Forget the hospital,” Ray told him. “I need you to get me there; it’s urgent.”

  Another Belle Plaine officer stepped up. “Steve, get him where he needs to go.” He looked from Waverly to Ray and back. “Your runner’s not going anywhere…not unless she intends to swim for it. This road will take her deeper into the park, but it just sorta peters out beyond Horseshoe Lake.”

  “Get going, buddy,” Waverly told Ray. “We’ve got this.”

  Ray hurried away. “Get her, Dick. You’ve got to find out where Laurie is.”

  “I’ll do everything I can; you know that.”

  The second officer turned to Waverly. “Wanna ride with me, Detective?”

  “Damn right I do.”

  The four men got into two cars and split off in opposite directions, the light bars flashing, sirens wailing. Ray was breathing hard, trying to catch his breath as the cruiser raced toward Chaska seventeen miles away.

  “You okay?” the cop asked.

  “Yeah,” Ray said. “Chaska… How many motels there?”

  “Motels? Four or five. Let me think. There’s one on River Bend Place; a couple more on Flying Cloud Drive; a Super 8 on…” He snapped his fingers, trying to recall the location. “It’s on…um… It’s on the edge of Clay Hole Lake on Yellow Brick Road. Then there’s—”

  Ray nearly came out of the passenger seat. “That’s it! That’s the one. Get on the radio. Get every available cop to the Super 8. My three-year-old son is in one of those rooms. We’ve got to get to him fast!”

  The cop relayed the message and forced more RPMs out of the police cruiser as it flew low down 25.

  53

  Waverly occupied the passenger seat of the Belle Plaine police car, one hand braced on the dashboard, the other clutching the door’s armrest as the vehicle bucked and fishtailed over the narrow, dirt road’s rutted surface.

  “Might wanna buckle up, Detective. This road isn’t meant for a high-speed chase.”

  “No damn fooling.” Waverly squinted, trying to spot taillights in the darkness ahead of them. In the erratically bouncing headlight beams, he saw nothing but more ruts and row after row of trees crowding the edges of the road. “Got a name, officer?”

  “A few. Aloysius Anton Bamberger.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Al,” Waverly said. “How far does this road go?”

  “As the crow flies, about a mile into the park. On the ground, the distance is probably double that.”

  A minute later, they saw the first telltale signs of dust settling back on the road nearly a hundred yards ahead of them.

  “We’re getting close,” Waverly said. “We’ve gotta get this woman fast. Either she tells us where my partner’s kids are, or they’re gonna die.”

  “Geezus. Any chance she’ll tell you?”

  “I don’t have a clue. Either way, I’m gonna give it all I’ve got.” The car lurched over another rut, knocking Waverly’s head against the side window. “Holy crap.” He rubbed his temple and turned to look at the officer. “Listen, Al, this woman knows how to handle a gun. When we catch up with her, watch yourself. If we—”

  From ahead they heard a sound both men knew how to interpret. Waverly’s hands turned clammy. As the car skidded to a stop, Waverly pushed himself away from the dashboard, staring at the glow of stationary taillights shrouded in a massive cloud of churning dust. One taillight hung suspended in the air above the other. He plunged out of the car and saw Bamberger unholster his gun.

  “Put your gun away,” Waverly ordered, “I need her alive.”

  Edging closer through the thick, swirling dust, Waverly approached until he could make out the car and driver. “Oh, God, no,” he muttered.

  Several trees bore witness to the severity of the collision. Bark was shorn from the trees, deep gouges taken out of the trunks. Another tree, five inches in diameter, lay toppled across the shattered windshield of Wright’s car, marking the endpoint of the vehicle’s journey.

  The car had come to rest with the driver’s side on the ground. Partially ejected, Nicki lay on her back beneath the battered vehicle. Over the sound of steam hissing from the demolished grill, Waverly heard her groan. Bamberger got on his radio.

  Crouched by Wright’s side Waverly told her, “Hang in there. Help is coming.” Her head lolled from side to side as blood trickled from the corners of her mouth. “Ms. Wright… Nicki,” he implored, “where are Laurie and Joey Schiller?”

  She looked at him through a haze of pain, her eyelids fluttering. He realized he was running out of time.

  “Nicki,” he tried again, “you don’t want to go out this way—not with two innocent kids’ lives on your hands. Where are they? In God’s name, tell me, Nicki.”

  She raised her forearm, and motioned him closer.

  Waverly leaned nearer, his heart pounding in his chest. “I’m listening. Where are they, Nicki?”

  Looking into his eyes, her own rolled back in her head. Her last words were, “Go to hell.”

  54

  Driving at top speed, the Belle Plaine officer dared to glance only briefly at Ray. “You doing okay?” he asked for the second time in ten miles.

  “Yeah,” Ray said. “How much farther?”

  “We’re nearly to Carver.”

  “In miles! What does that mean in miles?”

  “Only three to go. Hang in there.”

  Two minutes later, the officer swung left off 61 onto Yellow Brick Road. From two blocks away, they could see police car and ambulance lights swirling outside the two-story Super 8. Ray was out of the car before it came to a complete stop. He burst through the outside doors only to be stopped by a burly Chaska officer standing in his path.


  “Hold it. You’re going to have to stay out of the—”

  Ray shoved past him. “Where’s my son?”

  “Detective Schiller?” the cop asked.

  “Yes, I’m Schiller,” Ray said. “Where is he?”

  “Upstairs.”

  Holding his arm close to his side, Ray tried to take the stairs two at a time. Halfway up, pain and loss of blood forced him to stop and brace himself against the handrail. The sound of agitated voices drew him relentlessly to Room 205.

  “Let me through,” he called, clearing his way as he rushed down the hall. “I’m the boy’s father.”

  Ray wedged himself between two first responders as several cops allowed him to pass. Joey lay on the bed, his eyes closed, his body and clothes soaked through.

  “Is he all right?”

  “Step back.” A slightly built first responder elbowed him with a determination that said he meant business.

  “Let me see him,” Ray demanded.

  The stockier attendant forced Ray into a chair. “Stay clear. Let him do his job. Sit down and let me take a look at your arm.”

  “I’m all right,” Ray argued, grimacing. “There’s no time for that.”

  “Let me patch you up…temporarily at least.” The man pulled Ray’s jacket and shirt aside as the other attendant checked Joey’s heartbeat, lung sounds, and pupillary response. Ray watched while the second man hurriedly cleaned his wound and covered it with gauze. Slipping the shirt and jacket back over his shoulder, elicited an involuntary groan from Ray.

  “He’s coming to,” an officer said.

  Ray burst out of the chair. “Let me see him.”

  The first responder stepped aside. “He’s coming out of it. His vitals look good.”

  Joey’s eyelids flickered. The boy raised a small fist and rubbed an eye.

  Lowering himself onto the mattress beside him, Ray brushed the wet hair from Joey’s forehead.

  “It’s Daddy, Joey. Come on, wake up.”

  A single eyelid crept open, then the other. Coming out of a deep sleep, he looked at Ray, confused. Seconds later, a smile broke out across his face. “Hi, Daddy.”

  Chin quivering, Ray grabbed the boy up in his good arm. “Hey, champ, you don’t know how glad I am to see you.” He hugged him to his chest, raining kisses on his head.

  Joey wriggled loose and pointed to Ray’s arm and bloody jacket. “Daddy, you have an owee.”

  “Don’t worry; it’s okay.” What had Nicki Wright put him through? How much of it would he remember? Afraid to hear his answer, Ray forced himself to ask, “Joey, what happened? Can you tell me?”

  The boy seemed to notice his own condition for the first time. He sounded puzzled. “I’m all wet.”

  “Yeah,” Ray said. “How come?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t pee my pants, Daddy.”

  “No,” Ray said, “I know you didn’t. You’re a big boy, right?”

  Joey nodded with pride.

  “Listen,” Ray said, “will you do a big favor for me? I want you to go for a ride with my friends here,” he said, motioning to the first responders. “They’ll take good care of you until Mommy comes to get you, okay?”

  Joey clung to his neck. “I want to stay with you.”

  “I’ll come meet you and Mommy soon, but first I have to get Laurie, okay?” Confused,

  Joey’s head swiveled as he looked around the room for his sister. Ray turned to the first responders. Voice low, he said, “Take him now. I’ve got to go.”

  Big boy or not, Joey wailed as they took him away.

  Still shaky, Ray turned to one of the Chaska officers. “What did she do to him?”

  “We found your son secured to the bottom of the tub. The water was running—barely a trickle, but when we got here, the water was up to his chin.”

  Stomach twisting, he stepped into the bathroom to look for himself. The black duct tape had been pulled loose and left on the tub floor, but he saw something else there as well.

  The cop stood looking over his shoulder at a sodden pillow. “If that hadn’t been under his head, he’d have drowned before we got here.”

  Ray left the bathroom, reaching for his cell phone. Belatedly, he remembered he’d left it on the dashboard in Gail’s SUV. Holding out his hand, he said, “I need a phone.” The officer who’d driven him into Chaska handed his to him. Halfway through punching in Gail’s number, Ray stopped. “Which hospital?” he asked no one in particular.

  “Two Twelve Medical Center,” someone said.

  He found it was getting harder to talk. “Directions from Eden Prairie?”

  “That’s easy. West on 212, then right on 41. Your wife will practically be on top of it when she makes the turn.”

  “Thanks.” Ray finished the number and heard Gail pick up after the first ring. “Joey’s all right, babe. He’s fine. Yes, I swear,” he told her. “There’s no time to go into details; I’ll explain later. Listen, Joey’s on his way to Two Twelve Medical Center to be checked over. I told him you’d be coming.”

  Gail’s next question was inevitable, but no amount of preparation could have lessened the impact of his reply. “I don’t know. The kids weren’t together. Dick and I are doing everything we can to locate Laurie. Yes, he caught up. Hon, listen. Concentrate on Joey. I’m going back to find Laurie.” He gave Gail the directions to the hospital, then said, “I’m in Chaska right now. I’ve got to get back to Belle Plaine. Hon, I’ve got to go right now. Hon— Gail,” he said, cutting her off, “I’ll call again as soon as I can. Babe— Babe— I’ve got to go. I love you.”

  With that, he hung up and raced from the motel to the police car with the Belle Plaine officer at his side.

  “I’m glad your son’s okay,” the officer said.

  “Yeah, thanks. Can I borrow your phone again, Officer…”

  “Pagano. Steve. You still have it.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Trying to steady his shaking hand, Ray pulled the phone from a pocket and called Waverly. “Dick, it’s me.”

  “Did you find Joey?”

  “Yeah. He’s okay.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Dick, what about Laurie? Did you—”

  “Ray…Wright’s dead. I’m sorry.”

  “Dead?” The air left Ray’s body like he’d been gut-punched.

  “She lost control of her car, hit some trees, and the vehicle flipped. She was pinned underneath.”

  Ray slumped back in the passenger seat, the hand holding the phone lying limp on his lap. A second later, he raised the phone to his ear again as the squad car continued to race down the highway.

  “What about Laurie? Did Wright say where—”

  “I tried, Ray, I swear. We pulled her out and went through her pockets, her purse. We checked the glove box, under the seats, between the seats, the trunk. We looked everywhere for anything that might give us a clue. We’re not gonna stop looking, but—”

  Over the phone, the sound of a huge, muffled explosion was followed by Waverly’s stunned silence.

  “Dick! Dick, what was that?”

  “I… Ray, I… ”

  A moment later, there was no need for Waverly to answer. In the distance, Ray saw an orange and yellow glow as flames licked the sky near Belle Plaine.

  55

  From four miles away, Officer Pagano needed only to follow the glow in the sky. It led to the out-of-the-way, five-cottage motel languishing at the end of a potholed road. The cruiser screeched to a stop as the first curiosity seekers started to show up, their cars crowding other Belle Plaine police vehicles already on the scene.

  Before Pagano had time to open his door, Ray was out, running to the burning cabin, scanning the area for Laurie. The sirens of approaching fire and medical vehicles grew louder, more insistent by the second, but all Ray heard was the cruel crackle of flames devouring the cabin.

  The structure was fully engulfed. The intensity of the heat increased with each foot of ground he covered. A cop came fro
m the side and blocked his path.

  “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t go in there.”

  “My daughter’s inside.”

  “You can’t go in; you’d never make it back out.”

  Ray struggled to get past him, but a strong pair of arms grabbed him from behind.

  “Ray, don’t do this,” Waverly said. Ray struggled to break free only to be restrained with greater force. “Ray, don’t.”

  “Damn it, Dick, let me go! I’ve got to get Laurie out of there.”

  Waverly held tight. “God, Ray, I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing you can do; it’s too late.”

  The acrid smell of smoke filled the air as the fire spit orange embers into the night. Ray sank to his knees in anguish, his body propped on his heels.

  Silent, Waverly stood at Ray’s side with a hand clutching his shoulder.

  Pagano approached. “Detective Schiller.”

  Ray didn’t seem to hear him. Waverly turned, then took a step back.

  “Detective Schiller,” Pagano said again. “I’ve got someone here who wants to see you.”

  The tears streaming down Ray’s face glistened in the light of the raging fire as he looked up.

  “Dad!” Laurie wrapped her arms around his neck. “Dad, I’m okay.”

  Half laughing, half crying, he got to his feet and held her tight. “Laurie! Oh, thank you, God. God, thank you.”

  “Dad, you’re hurt!”

  “I’ll be okay. Oh, God, Laurie, I thought we lost you.”

  Waverly stepped up and wrapped his arms around them. “We thought you were still inside.” He laughed. “I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.”

  Laurie stepped back and looked around at the crowd. “Dad, where’s Joey?”

  “He’s okay, Laurie. Your brother’s fine.”

  Shoulders sagging, she nodded and gave Ray a weak smile. He saw something troubling in her expression, but ignored it, more concerned by what he saw.

  “Your hands are cut.”

  “I know. That happened when I cut through the tape on my wrists. It’s not bad, though, Dad.”

  With his arm around her, he walked her to the ambulance to get her medical attention. The attendants assessed her injuries while Ray pulled Pagano’s cell phone from his pocket and entered Gail’s number. As it rang on Gail’s end, he handed the phone to Laurie.