“Sorry, boss.”
I wondered what my chances were of getting out of the cellar alive. And if they were any better than my chances of getting off the property alive.
I worked my left arm into Pezzani’s sweatshirt and pulled it over my head. Then I raised the gun and reached for the doorknob. Any hope I’d had of opening the door without notice was wiped away practically the instant my hand touched it. It creaked loudly, and the hinges squeaked.
Quickly, I pulled the door open.
“Hey, boss,” the guard started, not attempting to hide his voice. He was on the third step when he stopped and made to turn around.
I rushed forward and pressed the barrel of the gun into his back. He froze, instinctively bringing his hands up.
“Back down the stairs slowly,” I directed.
I couldn’t see it, but I swear the guy rolled his eyes.
“I should have known,” he said as he obeyed.
“Walk backward into the cellar.”
I moved with him, keeping the gun steady at his back.
“What’s the plan?” he asked.
“Ask you a few questions and hit the road.”
He scoffed. “You won’t get anywhere.”
“We’ll see. Now, where am I?”
“Take a peek.”
“Neighborhood or a compound of some sort?”
He shrugged. “Neighborhood, but very rural. That’s the appeal.”
“How many people are here?”
“Just you and me. Well, Joe, too, unless you killed him. Did you kill him?”
“No. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t like killing people. How many people are outside?”
“I told you, it’s just us.”
Yeah, right.
In one quick move, I swung the gun toward his head. It cracked against his skull solidly, and he went down with a small groan.
Keeping my eye on the door, I ripped the ski mask off his face. It was the guy I’d seen leave the motel with Tyler Jay, the one who had driven the white Saturn, the one who looked familiar. Actually, he kind of looked like Pezzani.
I made quick work of emptying his pockets, stuffing his cell phone and the two sets of keys he had into my pockets. I found little else of interest, aside from a gun and pocketknife, which I also took.
I hadn’t found another pair of handcuffs. I guessed he was out for the count, but I thought it was a wise move to ensure there was one less bad guy to contend with on my daring escape. I untied his boots then pulled the laces free. I used my foot and rolled him toward Pezzani unceremoniously. Then I used the laces to tie his hands and anchor him to Pezzani.
Bad guys neutralized, I moved toward the door, took a breath, and left the cellar.
_______________
One set of keys I’d taken from the second guy fit the cellar door. I locked it then pocketed them. I paused long enough to pull on the black ski mask I’d taken. I was already wearing the black sweatshirt. It wasn’t a complete costume—my jeans were blue—but I thought it might be enough to cause even a small amount of confusion. Which I would then exploit to the fullest.
I listened for any sounds around the stairs but heard none. Of course, my pulse was pounding so hard in my ears I probably couldn’t have heard anything else anyway. Trying for casual, I simply climbed the steps, holding the gun at my side. I moved slowly, taking in everything as I emerged out of the ground.
I had been right about the cellar stairs leading to a backyard. From what I could see in the dark, it was expansive, with no visible fence. The temperature was significantly lower and it was chilly. I thought this was weird, but I couldn’t settle on why. Big, dark, heavy-looking clouds had settled over the area, and I could hear the low, deep rumblings of thunder. It was going to rain, and it was going to rain soon.
The cellar was directly under the house, which rose behind me. To the left of the cellar stairs were two steps leading up to a backdoor. The light beside the door was on, but the dim bulb did little to penetrate the darkness.
I shivered against the cold (maybe the exhaustion and blood loss, too) then hurried up the last few steps and out into the yard. The house stretched in both directions from the cellar, with most of it sitting to the right. I hurried that way, cautiously rounding the corner away from the backdoor.
Now that I was really thinking about it, there were a lot of evergreen trees here. With the pinecones covering the ground, the absence of nearby neighbors, the drastic drop in temperature, I now suspected I was no longer in town. I was in the mountains somewhere. Great.
I stopped and leaned against the house, pulling out the second confiscated phone. No bars. I waved it up and down through the air in front of me several times, then checked it again. Bingo. Now it was roaming. Of course, I didn’t care; it wasn’t my bill. I started to dial Ellmann’s number until I realized I wasn’t sure what it was. I’d programmed it into my cell phone and just selected his name from my contact list when I called him.
Shit.
I closed my eyes against the tears and took a ragged breath, trying to steady myself. I was on the verge of falling apart. I was tired, I was in pain, I was cold, I was scared, and I was feeling very alone. The monotonous life I’d had a few short weeks ago suddenly seemed very appealing. Obviously, the fatigue and panic were affecting my perception.
A door banged shut, then there were voices. Color me surprised; there were still others here.
“Where’s Paul?”
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and took up the gun again. I eased back over to the corner I’d just come around and peered through the dark at two black-clad figures approaching the cellar stairs from the backdoor.
“I don’t know.”
They drew their weapons and descended the stairs, pounding on the door and calling Pezzani’s name.
I saw a huge flaw in my bad-guy neutralizing plan. These guys could simply unlock the door and free Pezzani and his friend.
“Hey, man, you got a key?”
“No. Don’t you?”
“No. Why don’t you have a key?”
“What? There are only three keys.”
Perfect.
So far my luck was holding.
I didn’t hang around. These guys didn’t seem like great problem-solvers, so I thought I would maximize my head-start. Mindful of my step, I worked my way along the side of the house, which seemed more like a cabin, toward the front. I squatted down then rolled my head around the corner.
It had started to rain big, fat drops that fell slowly at first. I’d found the front of the house. The yard here was equally as expansive. At the edge of the yard, a gravel driveway sloped to the left and away from the house. It was too dark and there were too many trees to see beyond the edge of the yard.
To the right, vehicles were parked randomly in front of a large three-car, unattached garage and into the grass. A sidewalk led from the front porch to the garage and driveway. There were lights mounted beside the front door and on the garage, but like the one on the back of the house, they provided very dim light.
From what I could see, there was no one standing guard, no lookouts, no one around at all. Wincing, I struggled to get my left hand into my pocket and dig out the keys I’d taken. Pezzani’s key ring held several dozen keys, one of which I imagined was for the cellar. There was also a remote-entry keypad for a car. I pointed it at the cars and hit the unlock button, as I didn’t recognize any of them as belonging to him. A Volvo station wagon parked on the far side of the driveway chirped and its lights blinked.
Next I tried the keys I’d taken from the other guy. This time a Chevy Tahoe parked in front of the garage beeped in response. As I took in all the vehicles, I guessed them to have one thing in common: four-wheel drive. And I had a feeling four-wheel drive would be an important feature before all was said and done. I pocketed Pezzani’s keys, choosing the Chevy, not because I thought it was superior in four-wheel drive or off-road capability, but because I’d driven a lot o
f Chevys in my time (which I suddenly realized was too shot) and couldn’t recall ever having been in a Volvo. I would be familiar with the Chevy. It was a safe bet I was going to be pretty distracted; I thought one less thing to figure out was a good idea.
The Tahoe was a few years newer than the truck I’d once owned, but the dash arrangement would be identical. Holding the keys and trying to think several steps ahead, I stood. The car alarms beeping off and lights flashing hadn’t seemed to call any attention. I hoped that was true and that they weren’t just lying in wait. Although, I did still hear banging on the cellar door, so I wasn’t convinced they even knew I was missing yet.
I took a fortifying breath and moved around the corner. Keeping my eyes peeled and my ears open, I marched across the lawn toward the Tahoe. I shot a glance back at the house; the front door was closed and the curtains drawn. Now I heard more voices from the back, including a woman’s. Their focus was on the cellar and the absence of someone they called Paul. (Probably the guy I’d boot-laced to Pezzani.)
I reached the Tahoe and pulled the door open with my left hand, but just barely. As expected, the dome light came on. A quick look at the dash confirmed it was a familiar arrangement. I hit a button and the light blinked off. Using the running board, I climbed inside and closed the door. I tossed the flashlight onto the passenger seat and placed the gun in my lap while I started the car.
The radio came on, blaring. I jumped and immediately punched it off. I made quick work of the heating controls, then put the Tahoe in gear and hit the gas pedal, angling the nose around the cars that had blocked it in the driveway and cutting across the front yard. I struggled with the controls, trying to move the seat forward, then with my seatbelt. I was just about back on the driveway when several figures—some in masks, some not—came flying around the corner of the house, guns drawn. I saw one face clearly, and I felt the tickling sensation vanish after recognition bit me.
I ducked down, trying to keep an eye on the road, as the bullets started spraying. The sound of glass shattering was all I could hear for a moment. The passenger-side mirror ruptured and then banged against the door, dangling by the control cabling. The rear window shattered, and several bullet holes appeared in the front windshield. Several more shots bounced off the Tahoe and hit the trees around me. Then I was far enough down the slope I was out of range. For the moment.
Must have found Pezzani and Paul.
25
As the Tahoe barreled forward, down the unfamiliar road, with the windshield wipers working against the rain, I harbored no illusions the reprieve was temporary. Pezzani’s cronies were no doubt piling into their cars and giving chase. And, they had every advantage. They knew where they were. They knew the terrain. They were greater in number. I suppose this was a note-to-self moment. The next time I find myself in a life-and-death situation where bad guys are going to give chase, I should spend a little time incapacitating their vehicles.
I took a corner a bit fast, and the SUV drifted on the gravel. I flipped the switch to 4H and regained control. Keeping my eyes open for pursuers, I pulled out the cell phone and checked for service. Mercifully, it was still roaming. I dialed a number, my best guess as to Ellmann’s number, then put the phone to my ear. The line rang three times before it was answered.
“Hello?”
It was a sleepy-sounding older woman. The connection wasn’t that great, I noticed.
“Is there a Detective Ellmann at this number?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“Who? No, I’m so—”
I wanted to apologize, but every second counted. I punched the end button and tried again, dialing my next best guess of Ellmann’s number. This time there was no answer. When the machine picked up, I heard a man’s voice I knew was not Ellmann’s tell me through the periodic crackle of static I had reached the Wright family.
Giving up, I dialed the police station. That is one number I know by heart.
“Dispatch. Do you have an emergency?” The dispatcher, a woman, was calm, with an efficient way of speaking.
It was tempting to say yes.
“No. But it is urgent. I need to speak with Detective Ellmann.”
“Who’s calling?”
“Zoe Grey.”
“Is he expecting your call?”
“Yes.” More or less.
Behind me, in the mirror and through the shattered window, I saw the first flash of headlights.
In the light of the high beams, I judged the road in front of me. Deciding on distance, I switched back to 2H and toed the gas. The SUV picked up speed, and I worked to avoid and then compensate for any loss of traction.
I heard nothing to indicate I was on hold and frequently checked the display to ensure the call was still connected. After what felt like a lifetime, the dispatcher came back on.
“Ma’am? I’m sorry, I can’t reach Detective Ellmann. Would you like to leave a message?”
Not good.
“Listen, I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass, but I’m in more than a little trouble here. Did you try all his numbers?”
“What did you say your name was again?” she asked. I heard some shuffling.
“Zoe Grey.”
“Ah. I thought that sounded familiar. Okay, Ellmann let us know you might call. He said if you did, we were supposed to do whatever it took to get ahold of him. I’ve tried all his numbers—no answer. I don’t have any word of him being out in the field, but let me see if I can reach his sergeant. There is a chance he might know where Ellmann is. Slim, but possible.”
I was back on hold. The headlights flashed behind me, and this time they stuck. The first of my pursuers had caught up.
I approached the first crossroad I’d seen since leaving the cabin. The road I was on looked relatively untraveled. By contrast, this crossroad, I could see even from a distance, looked well traveled. I shot a glance left then right. I had absolutely no bearings. It would have been more accurate to toss a coin. Holding the wheel with my knee, I reached out and flicked the switch to 4H, then pulled right. The rain was coming down fast and hard, turning the gravel roads to soup. But the wheels bit and gripped, pulling the SUV around the corner.
I could see the other headlights behind my nearest pursuer now. They were coming in force. The nearest, a Subaru, slid across the road as the driver jerked the wheel to the right. There was a momentary pause while the driver regrouped, and then the chase was on again. The sound of several gunshots rang out, only one of them hitting the Tahoe.
“Ms. Grey?” the dispatcher said.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“The sergeant doesn’t know where Ellmann is. Not surprising. But I talked to another guy he works with. Apparently Ellmann is working with Koepke. They had a lead on a kidnapping case and went to check it out. I’m trying to reach them by radio. Unfortunately, it’s not too difficult for the radios to get out of range, especially in areas like the mountains.”
I had very little doubt I was that kidnapping case.
The Subaru was gaining, as were the others. I studied the road ahead and made another decision. Gambling, I switched back to two-wheel drive and hit the gas. I wanted to put as much distance between us as possible on the straight shots. I saw several more crossroads coming up, and I was calculating, trying to formulate a plan.
Several more shots rang out, this time most of them hitting the Tahoe.
“Were those gunshots?” the dispatcher asked. She managed to maintain her calm.
“Uh, yeah. Say, listen, is it possible for you to trace this call?”
“Yes.” I heard some rapid-fire typing. “Who’s shooting at you?”
“I’m not sure.”
Not complete truth. I had recognized one face. But by far the shortest answer.
“Is it a cell phone?”
“Yes. And it’s roaming.”
“Okay, that just takes more time. Do you know where you are?”
“No. The mountains somewhere, but I don’t know anything more spec
ific. I haven’t seen a road sign or a mile marker. Did you leave messages for Ellmann?”
“Yes. Stay on the line. It takes a couple minutes for the trace. I should ask if you’re okay. Except for the gunshots, you sound pretty good.”
“I’m okay for the moment, but I have no doubt my luck is about to run out.”
“We can work with that. Let me try Ellmann again.”
The line was silent again.
I had watched as the other cars had hurried around the corner, nearly all of them sliding as the Subaru had. This could mean they were so excited about the chase they had forgotten how to drive. It could also mean they had deliberately chosen speed over traction. But, I hoped it meant at least some of them didn’t really know how to drive.
I chose the road I wanted and shifted down one gear as I held the wheel with my knee and switched straight to 4H. Without touching the brakes until I was already into the turn, I pulled the wheel to the left, the tires holding to the road. I shifted back up and switched out of four-wheel drive, allowing the downward slope of the road to pull me forward and increase my speed. I realized I was at incredible risk for losing control, a risk that increased proportionately with my increase in speed, but it was a risk I was willing to take. I had few options available to me, so I decided it was time to go for broke.
In the rearview mirror, I watched as the lights turned after me. I saw some sliding, but overall everyone seemed to have learned their lesson. Except one. Someone near the end whipped around the corner and slid off the road. The car started down the hill, back-end first, and slipped out of sight.
One down.
“Ms. Grey?”
“Please, call me Zoe.”
“Okay. I left another message. No word yet. The trace is—”
There was a crackling sound and then nothing. The phone winked off. Cursing a blue streak under my breath, I redialed. The damn thing kept blinking no service, no service.
Shit.
_______________
The change in direction and elevation had caused me to shake one pursuer but cost me my lifeline. I wasn’t sure it was worth it.
The Trouble With Murder Page 31