by D. V. Berkom
As for John Sterling, he received ten years in a federal penitentiary outside of Tucson. I'd be a distant memory by the time he got out.
The sentencing didn't give me much peace of mind. I knew Anaya would be able to contract someone to kill me from prison. Salazar could, too, but paying someone to kill me would be more an expensive nuisance, especially if Anaya was trying to do the same thing. Why duplicate the effort? Anaya would certainly have Salazar killed in prison for his betrayal. Salazar could pay for protection, as well, but Anaya was more feared than Salazar, so I assumed it was just a matter of time.
Chance offered to place me in Witness Protection, but again, I refused. One of the agencies still had a leak, and supplying either Anaya or Salazar with my contact information would paint a big red bull's eye on my back. I opted to get identification on my own, with a little help from an informant Chance knew. Both Luis and Chance pooled their resources and came up with a few thousand to get me started, for which I was grateful.
The only problem being I had no idea where to go.
I couldn’t go home to Minnesota and put my family at risk, and I didn’t want to be anywhere near Mexico, at least for a while. The money I’d buried at Lana’s could wait. Things had to cool down before I could even think about planning a trip back there.
What I needed now was another plan. A plan to get me as far away from Mexico and Salazar as possible.
Luis walked me out to the field office parking lot and handed me a set of keys.
I glanced at them. “What are these for?”
He smiled and turned me around.
“It’s yours.”
Parked in front of us was a slightly beat-up, tan colored Jeep. The two-door, sporty kind. I looked at Luis.
“Really?” I’d always loved Jeeps.
“Really. It’s got a full tank.”
“Thanks.” It was all I could say. Luis turned to go, but stopped.
“Be safe, Kate. And remember- you can call me, anytime.”
I nodded, already making plans. I walked over to the Jeep. The asphalt radiated a furnace-like heat from the hot Arizona sun, but it didn’t bother me. The Jeep's doors had been taken off and lay in the back. I’d have to buy a canvas top, if I was staying in this part of the country.
That was a big if.
I was now Kate Jones, unemployed, unencumbered, and completely on my own.
Time to go.
THE END
DEAD OF WINTER
Book 2 in the Kate Jones Thriller Series
Copyright 2011
By D.V. Berkom
eBook Edition –May 2011
DEAD OF WINTER
ONE
It never had a chance.
The burnt red of the fox's fur stood out against the white background. Blood saturated the snow. I wanted to look away, but found myself morbidly fascinated by the rabbit's death throes. The fox lifted its head from the rabbit's neck and watched, almost bemused, as the small paws kicked at empty space.
Finally, it stilled. The fox bent its head and began to rip off bits of fur. I turned and walked past the gory scene.
It fit my state of mind.
Daylight was scarce this time of year, and I quickened my pace to make it back to my rig before dark. I needed this hike today. Normally, I’d be leading a group of guests on a hike from the local hotel, but business was soft this time of year, and I wanted to keep my guiding abilities sharp. Hiking alone always honed my awareness of my surroundings and allowed me to forget my past.
For a while.
I fell into a rhythmic stride, comforted by the crunch of the snow under my feet. As I rounded the corner that marked the lonely stretch of wilderness that lay between me and the roughed in trailhead, I noticed movement to my right. Thinking it was probably more wildlife trying to break through some ice in a nearby pond, I stopped.
A series of odd grunts punctuated the silence. It was still early in the season, so the possibility it might be a late-to-hibernate bear was real, but not necessarily the only explanation. Silently, I moved in the direction of the noise, peering at the frozen pond through winter-stripped alders.
There were three men; two standing and one on his knees on a gray tarp. It took me a minute to realize what was happening. The sharp report of the gun flushed a small murder of ravens from a nearby tree. The man on his knees crumpled forward.
Unable to breathe, I dropped to a squat behind the trees, scanning the area for better cover. The barren white landscape held no place to hide.
Just sit tight, Kate. If I moved now, I’d be dead. The low murmur of voices drifted past me, accompanied by the occasional scrape of a tarp-wrapped body being dragged over the crusty snow.
They were speaking Spanish. And it wasn't Castilian, but the Mexican dialect spoken by the men who worked for my ex-lover and drug dealer, Roberto Salazar.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I didn’t recognize them, but that didn’t mean anything. The poor schmuck who bought it could’ve been someone paid to track me. They wouldn’t need him anymore, once my location had been confirmed. I’d hoped getting lost in Alaska would lessen the fear that continually stalked me. True, I’d changed my last name a couple of times in order to confuse anyone who might try to find me, and I never got close enough to people to let my guard down, but the constant fear of discovery settled warily into the recesses of my brain, like a feral cat with sharp claws.
My Jeep was in the shop and I was driving the hotel manager’s rig- a big, hulking twenty-year-old Chevy Blazer. This was a good thing. If the two thugs were looking for me, they probably didn't know I'd stopped at this trailhead.
I crouched by the trees a while longer, waiting until the men had moved completely out of sight. Not hearing anything, I stood, keeping trees and shrubs between me and the trail, in case they came back.
Satisfied I was alone, I moved back onto the trail and followed the two men’s tracks. They veered to the left at a fork that led to the official parking area. The path to the right was one the locals used for overflow parking in the summer. I turned right.
My heart had slowed to a semi-thud by the time I made it to the Blazer and started the engine. I slid the semi-automatic I always carried out of my waistband and put it on the seat beside me. I hadn’t needed a gun recently, and I didn’t look forward to the possibility of having to use it for more than target practice. An old, familiar fear crawled up the back of my neck. I did some deep breathing to keep from hyperventilating.
I turned the heater on full blast and stared out through the windshield at the slowly darkening afternoon. The word bleak came to mind. Would I always have to run, to look over my shoulder? My life had become an endless series of evasive maneuvers designed to keep me detached from people, places. My hand shaking, I picked up my cell phone and hit speed dial.
"Luis Gonzales."
"Luis. It’s Kate." Luis was one of the DEA agents who helped me get out of Mexico.
"Kate-? Is everything all right?"
"I-I’m not sure. I just saw a guy get killed, execution-style and I’m a little freaked out right now." I shifted into reverse and backed up, then threw the Blazer into gear and nosed onto the highway, checking both directions for any sign of the killers. "They were speaking Spanish."
"So? There are millions of Hispanics in the U.S."
"Not in Quilete. None, that I know of. These guys were using Mexican Spanish. Not Cuban, not Puerto Rican. Mexican. Salazar and Anaya are still locked up, right?"
"Far as I know. But you know they both have reach." He paused, then, "This might be a good time to think about leaving. Go somewhere warm. Ever been to Hawaii?"
"Hawaii’s a bunch of islands, Luis. How the hell am I supposed to run if they follow me there?"
"Hey- Alaska’s not much different. Where you gonna run? Into the wilderness? Ever see the movie? It didn’t end well." Luis paused to let the implication sink in. "And, there are way more places to hide a body."
"Thanks for that."
&nb
sp; Hawaii sounded good. This snow and ice shit was getting old. Maybe spending a little time on the North Shore wasn't such a bad idea. I had good memories from a few years back. "I’ll give it some thought. For the time being, can you put me in contact with someone up here? I’m not too far from Anchorage."
"Hold on a minute-"
The staccato click of typing was followed by silence.
"Got a pen? There’s a field agent up near you by the name of Brad Pickering. He’s a twenty-five year veteran. Used to work busting importers and such, but now he’s strictly narcotics. I’ll give him a call and brief him, tell him you’ll be getting in touch. Have you contacted anybody about the murder yet?"
"No, I just left the trailhead." I took a deep breath, glad that for once I had someone on my side. "I was going to call it in as soon as I got off the phone with you. There won’t be much evidence, though. They had him on a tarp. Very efficient."
"Jesus, Kate." There was a pause on the other end. "You still have a gun, right?"
I glanced at the Glock. "Yeah. Though it doesn’t do me a lot of good if they know where I live. As I recall, they prefer explosives." The brief silence that followed told me Luis was remembering the night they blew the safe house.
"Let me know what you decide, okay? And tell the chief to give me a call if they have questions."
"Thanks, Luis." I ended the call and put the phone in my pocket. Part of me wished I lived in Arizona, so I could be near Luis, have some semblance of protection from people who understood. The other part wanted to stay far, far away from anywhere near Mexico.
My survival instinct had led me to Alaska. Apparently, it needed to be recalibrated.
TWO
Chief Miller immediately sent a unit to investigate the scene, although it was almost dark and he doubted they'd be able to find anything until the next day. I was told to come down to the office and give a report. As I sipped a cup of watered down tundra coffee, I described the men as best as I could, and gave them Luis’ cell phone number, recounting a shortened version of my role in testifying against the two drug lords and DEA agent. Miller whistled softly when I told him I thought that the men might be contract killers hired by either Vincent Anaya or Roberto Salazar.
"That’s a little out of our depth here, Kate. Hell, there hasn’t been a killing in this community since the 1920s, when one of the Hokstrands mistakenly ran over a transient out at the old train yard." He tapped the piece of paper I gave him with Luis’ number. "I’ll be getting in touch with your friend here. Looks like we’ll need all the help we can get."
"I’m sorry to be the cause of all this, Chief. I can’t guarantee it’s got anything to do with the events that happened in Mexico, but I thought it best to tell you, in case it does."
"Well, I appreciate that." He looked over the top of his reading glasses. Despite his weathered face, he had a youthful quality; a sparkle in the eyes, something. "Have you got somewhere to stay? If these men are who you say they are your place isn’t safe. Since you haven't been directly threatened, I can't spare the resources to park one of my deputies outside your house twenty-four-seven, and I’d feel a whole lot better if you weren’t there."
"I'm staying at the Dew Drop Inn in Yarnell tonight. Here’s my cell phone number in case you need to reach me." I wrote it out on the same piece of paper as Luis’.
"Good. I'd like you to stick around a couple of days in case we get lucky and find something. A positive I.D. would expedite the case."
"As long as I feel safe. The minute I think things are going sideways, I'm on the next plane."
Miller leaned over and punched a button on his desk phone. "Sam, come on in here for a minute, will you?"
A couple of minutes later a man I assumed to be Sam walked in wearing a deputy’s uniform. His straight black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he had the lean look and carriage of a long distance runner.
"Sam, this is Kate. Kate, Sam. I want you to drive her over to her house out on Blake Road so she can pack up a few things. She’s going to be staying somewhere else for a while. Seems she’s got some unresolved issues that might've caught up with her." He held my eyes for a moment, then looked at Sam. "Be careful. If this is related, these assholes already killed one guy."
Sam gave him half a nod. His dark eyes radiated a stillness that somehow transferred to me, calming my agitated state. I’d only encountered one other person who made me feel that way, an old man I’d met briefly in Mexico. I figured I felt safe around him because he'd carried a large gun.
Miller tossed him a set of keys. "Take the four-by. Let ‘em know we know they’re around."
"Sure thing." Sam stood quietly, watching me, apparently waiting. I got up from my chair and started for the door.
"And Kate?"
I turned.
"Stay safe."
***
Sam drove to my place in silence. That was fine by me. The realization I would have to leave again had hit me, hard, and I didn’t feel like making small talk. I had just begun to carve out a kind of a life for myself here, some tiny piece of the world I could call mine. The locals had begun to accept me as one of their own, and I knew the shop keepers and restaurant owners by name. Greg, the hotel manager, set me up with clients throughout the year, and let me supplement my living tending bar in the hotel’s lounge. But now, none of it mattered.
Not if they found me.
My mind kept flashing back to the gunmen and the man who’d been executed. None of them looked familiar, but I’d been running long enough to know that Salazar and Anaya didn’t use their own people to track. Running drugs tended to be more economically rewarding, and they made sure they had plenty of folks to handle that end of the business. Murders could be outsourced to a professional. Besides, with an outside pro, there was more recourse if things went sideways.
"Stay here until I tell you it's safe." Sam got out of the marked SUV and walked up to the back of the one-story wood-slat house. I’d left the porch light on. I never used the front, preferring to park in the small detached garage near the rear entrance.
Out of habit, I always locked the door. I'd given Sam the key. He checked the perimeter with his flashlight before he came back to the porch and unlocked the door. He disappeared into the one bedroom rental, reappearing in the doorway a few minutes later to motion me inside.
"Find anything?" I asked as I walked past him. He shook his head.
"No sign of forced entry."
"That's a relief."
"There are footprints leading to the front door," he glanced at my boots, "but I can't determine the tread, or how recent they are."
I stopped. Our eyes met. "I never use the front door." Adrenaline spiked through me.
"Have you had any deliveries? Fed Ex? DHL?"
"None."
"Where do you get mail?"
I nodded toward the road. "Mailbox on the driveway."
"Neighbors?"
"I guess it's possible someone stopped by, but I don't get too many visitors out this way."
"I didn't see a basement or attic ingress."
"There's an old root cellar out back, but I don't use it for anything." I crossed my arms. Someone had been here. But when? And who?
Sam wrote something in a notebook, then flipped it closed.
"I’m going to check the garage and the cellar. You okay in here?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Sure. It shouldn't take long. I’ll meet you outside."
I retrieved my backpack from behind the couch and started to fill it with the stuff I figured I’d need. I didn’t know when I’d be able to come back, so I grabbed what I could.
Clothes and my laptop were next. I moved into my bedroom and started to disconnect the router. I’d bundled up the cords and had just tucked my computer in my pack when I noticed it. The odor was faint and reminded me of cheap aftershave. Not even close to the masculine cedar scent Sam wore.
I scanned the room. Things looked fine at first glance, but something wasn’t righ
t. The feel of the place was different. I stood quietly near the bed, trying to understand what had changed.
All the dresser drawers were shut, and my bed looked like how I’d left it that morning. I turned around and immediately realized the problem.
My closet door was closed.
I never close my closet. It’s a phobia I’ve had since I was three. I always made my parents leave the door open. I was convinced that if they ever shut it, a huge, snarling, hairy something would materialize and when I opened it in the morning it would grab onto me and rip me to shreds.
Sam has already checked. You're safe. There's nobody behind that door. He probably shut it by accident.
I ran through the living room and kitchen and was out the door and onto the porch steps in record time, almost colliding with Sam.
"What?" He grabbed my arm and turned me so he could look into my face.
"Was the closet door in the bedroom shut?" I asked, out of breath.
"Yes."
"I never shut my closet door. Child hood thing. Did you notice the cologne?"
He shook his head. "Are you sure it wasn't mine?"
"Yes." I leaned forward and sniffed, my hair falling onto his chest. "I'm absolutely positive. I smelled yours in the truck. It has a clean scent. This was cloying."
His eyes narrowed and he nodded toward the SUV. I moved to the far side of the truck and watched as he walked back to the house and disappeared inside.
A few minutes later, Sam reappeared. He walked around the yard, dropping to a squat at intervals, shining his flashlight on the ground as he went. There wasn’t much snow left, and the frozen dirt was rock hard, so I doubted he’d pick up any tracks, but I’d learned never to underestimate Alaskans. People in this part of the country continually surprised me with their resourcefulness. With such a harsh climate, death claimed the unwary and impractical with little remorse.