Lethal Legacy

by Louise Hendricksen

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Janitors are invisible.” B.J. started the engine. “We’d better get a move on. It’ll be dark soon.”

  When B.J. brought the van to a stop in the Nguyens’ driveway, he pulled his pistol from his shoulder holster. “Let me take a look around first. If that man overheard us talking in the sheriff’s office, they know we’re here.”

  Amy took out her .38. In that case, we’ll go together. She slung the strap of her tote bag around her neck and clambered out of the van. Heavy leaden clouds hung low in the sky. Tattered blankets of fog draped the shrubbery and condensation dripped from the eaves, pinging on an overturned wheelbarrow below.

  B.J. stiffened his arms and wheeled in a slow forty five-degree turn. “We could do without this damned fog.”

  Each on the alert, they edged along the garage wall until they reached the rear corner. Amy peered toward the grove of trees where the men had spied on Mai. “Surely they wouldn’t have the guts to try something in broad daylight.”

  “I’d sure feel a hell of a lot better if Boyce had come along for backup.”

  “Some backup. He’d probably shoot us all in the foot.” She crouched down. “You all set?”

  “Keep low when we get into the open, Amy. I’ll cover you.”

  She flung an exasperated look over her shoulder. “No heroics. Dad. Let’s go.” Zigzagging in a crouched position, she headed for Mai’s topiary garden.

  Making it to the hedge, she pressed her body into its shelter while she took deep breaths that smelled of thyme crushed underfoot. Webs of gray mist clung to topiary peacocks, rabbits, and squirrels; they appeared to be floating in the air.

  B.J. crouched down beside her, puffing noisily. “Gotta get rid of some of this weight. It slows me down.”

  She grinned. “Hold that thought.”

  She pushed open the gate and hunkered down inside. The drifting mist made it difficult for her to get her bearings. Her gaze followed the hemlock balls, urns, and cubes that adorned the top of the hedge at regular intervals.

  “Look,” she said, pointing to the far end of the plot “There’s the castle and the dragon.”

  Keeping close to the hedge, she assumed a half-bent stance and shuffled through tall, wet grass. The sodden legs of her slacks flapped against her boots.

  Although her back ached and she longed to straighten up, she knew it would be foolish to risk it. She arrived at her destination, bolstered her gun, and took the tote bag strap from around her neck.

  B.J. crouched down beside her. “I have a bad feeling about this. Let’s make short work of it.”

  Amy reached up and felt along the base of the dragon. “No such luck, Dad. These yew limbs are wound in and around a chicken-wire frame.” She handed B.J. a pair of wire cutters and she took up the pruning shears. “I’m afraid we’ll have to do most of the cutting by feel.”

  B.J. held apart the dark green foliage while she wielded the shears. “I hope you’re right about this. Boyce would love it if we came up with nothing.”

  “Mai’s last words were, ‘my garden.’ She must have been attempting to tell Cam something important.”

  Amy tried to work quickly, but the yew needles prickled and the branches were tough and knotted with age. When she’d cleared a small opening, she stood back while B.J, cut into the mass of wires.

  She glanced up at the sky. “It’s getting darker by the minute.”

  “We can’t stop now. They could be here any minute.” B.J. stepped aside. “Your turn.”

  “I’ll bet our friendly janitor’s read every report I’ve sent to the sheriff.”

  “If that’s the case, they’re well aware of how close we’re getting.”

  “Maybe that’ll make them a little cautious.” She stuck her forefinger into the tiny gap in the branches they’d made. “I think…” She changed the position of her hand. “Yes! There’s something in there.”

  “Let me see.” He pushed his finger into the hole. “You’re right, there is.” He wielded the nippers with increased vigor.

  Inch by hard-won inch, they widened the gap. “I can’t see what I’m doing, Amy. Did you bring a flashlight?”

  “No, I didn’t think we’d need one.” She slid her hand inside to estimate the dimensions of the plastic-covered bundle. “If I cut a few of the branches at the sides, maybe you can pry the frame apart.”

  Fumbling in the half-dark, she snipped here, slashed there. “Try it now.” A heavy silence hung in the air between them.

  B.J. grunted as he pried. “Ouch, stabbed my hand on a wire.” The hedge rustled as he grappled the underbelly of the dragon. “Now. Get the thing out of there.”

  “I have a grip on it. Dad.” Wire scraped her skin. Sharp limbs stabbed her. “But I don’t think I can get,”

  “Quick, Amy. I can’t hold this much longer.”

  She gave the parcel a jerk. It snagged on a branch. When she yanked it again, the parcel came free so abruptly, she fell back on her rear end. “We’ve got them, Dad! We’ve got the temple jewels.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Could be a red herring. Let’s get out of here and see what’s in that thing.”

  Amy tossed their tools and the parcel into her tote bag and drew her gun. “I’m ready when you are.”

  B.J. led the way. Stopping every few minutes to peer into the gloom, they passed through the garden gate and started at a dead run for the protection of the garage.

  Suddenly, the crack of a rifle sounded and a bullet ricocheted off a garden tractor nearby. “Get down!” Amy yelled. Bullets rained all around her.

  “We’re in for it now,” B.J. muttered.

  Amy instinctively felt for the medicine bag she’d promised Nathan she would always wear. Nothing! No magic herbs. No spirits helper. Nothing to protect the twins. She froze.

  “Move, Amy!”

  B.J.‘s voice spurred her into action. She crawled through the grass, her pulse thundering in her ears, hoping rows of heeled-in rhododendrons would screen them from the rifleman’s sight.

  A bullet thunked into a stepping stone in front of her. She slunk lower, the fog and fading daylight making the sniper’s aim random.

  B.J. dodged behind an upright oil barrel an instant before a bullet clanged its metal side.

  A bullet snipped a twig off a bush beside Amy’s head. She dug her elbows into the dank sawdust mulch and inched forward. Now, ten feet of flat ground lay between her and the garage.

  B.J. aimed a volley of shots at the trees. “Run, Amy. Run!”

  34

  B.J. hunched over the wheel as the van leaned into another winding curve. “See anybody, Amy? I don’t dare take my eyes off the road in this damned fog.”

  Amy turned and glanced behind them for the fifteenth time in the last thirty-five minutes. Only three cars had passed them since they left Wheeler, and none of them had proven to be a threat.

  “I see a light.” She watched with growing apprehension as the light came closer. When a helmeted motor-cyclist roared by without slackening his speed, she took a relieved breath.

  When they entered the city limits of Ursa Bay a short time later, Amy checked behind them once again. “Maybe they didn’t follow us after all.”

  B.J. shook his head. “Hard to believe. They’ve killed four people to get their hands on the parcel we found.”

  “If someone reported the gunfire,” the police could have apprehended them before they got away.”

  “I don’t think we can count on that.” They reached a wide street lined with houses and illuminated with tall mercury vapor lights. B.J. turned his head and smiled at Amy. “Looks like we made it, kitten.”

  She smiled back. “I was afraid we wouldn’t for a while there.”

  “Me too.”

  They fell silent as B.J. drove through the main section of town and turned onto Endicott Street.

  Amy winced as one of the twins gave her a lusty kick. She patted her abdomen. Relax, boys. I promise I won’t take you an any more da
ngerous journeys.

  Guiding the van through the alley between two buildings, B.J. wheeled into their parking lot and let out a roar. “The damned floodlight has gone out again.”

  Amy picked up her tote bag. “Leave the headlights on until I get the dead bolt undone.”

  “Hang on.” B.J. retrieved a five-cell torch from under the seat. “I’d better come with you. The car lights hardly make a dent in this fog.” He got out on his side and closed the door.

  Amy opened hers and got out to meet him, but there was no sign of her father as she closed the van door. “Dad?…” she called out hesitantly. She moved to the rear of the van. “Dad, where are,”

  Suddenly, someone sprang out of the gloom. She ducked and the hooded man’s blow smacked the side of the van.

  Flinging the tote bag under the van, Amy drew her gun. She fired and missed. The man spun around, lashing out at her with his foot. The impact knocked her gun out of her hand, sent her reeling, she fell against the side of the van.

  The man grabbed her and pinned her against the side of the vehicle. “Where are they?”

  When your opponent has you cornered +distract. “What have you done to my father?” Amy .

  Uttering a guttural oath, the man smacked her head with the side of his hand. “Answer me.”

  She staggered and caught hold of the door handle, “If you’ve hurt him, you’ll pay with your life.”

  He shoved his forearm against her throat. “Tell me where they are, or you’ll wish you had.”

  With an ear splitting scream, Amy rammed her knee into the man’s groin. As he started to crumple, she bashed his nose with her head. He collapsed in a moaning heap.

  Amy snatched her keys from her pocket and rushed for the back door. Before she reached it, another hooded man seized her arm and spun her around to face him.

  “Give me the jewels.”

  “Go to Hell! she yelled and drove the point of her key into the back of his hand. When he cried out and loosened his grip, she jerked free and dashed for the alley.

  Her assailant tackled her and flung against the building. “Give them to me,” the man snarled raising his knife.

  “No!” Amy shouted and jammed her heel down on his toes.

  He let out a bellow of rage and grabbed her by the throat. “Want me to slice you open and cut out your baby?”

  She stopped struggling. What was she doing? Too much was at stake. “In a bag under the van,” she said.

  The man barked a command in the direction of the van. Amy heard a groan as the other man dragged himself to all fours and crawled toward the car.

  But as he neared it, another intruder leaped out of the darkness and whacked the hooded man in the head with his gun. As the gunman approached them, Amy recognized him and drew a sigh of relief.

  “Let go of her, or I’ll blow a hole clear through you,” Cam shouted.

  “Easy, Cam,” she gasped, “he’s got a knife.”

  “Stupid white bitch!” her attacker snarled. Lunging forward, he delivered a blow to her ribs, wheeled, and ran.

  Amy gasped and slid down the wall until she came to rest on the asphalt.

  She heard gun fire, and an agonized cry as the fleeing man pitched forward. He struggled to rise and screamed, “My leg, my leg!”

  Cam ran to him, yanked off the man’s hood, and jammed his gun barrel against the man’s belly. “Make a move, you dirty sonofabitch. I’m just itching to put a bullet in your gut and watch you suffer like my wife did.”

  “Cam?” Amy cried in a weak voice. “They did something to my father…”

  “Don’t worry, Amy, I’ll find him as soon as I get these two tied up.”

  Just then, B.J. wandered out from behind the van, rubbing his head. “Amy?” he called, “You all right?”

  A siren wailed in the distance. “Cam,” she drew in a shallow breath and pain lanced through her chest, “give … your gun … to Dad … before the police get here.”

  Cam glared at the men on the pavement and handed his pistol to B.J., who wiped the weapon clean, and stuck it in his jacket pocket. “Go check on Amy, I’ll watch these bastards until the police arrive.”

  Cam dropped down beside her. “Did he hurt you?”

  “I don’t know why I feel so weak,” Amy gasped. “He … he … only hit me.”

  “Where?”

  “Left side.”

  Cam turned her toward the light. “Jesus!” He shucked his jacket and took off his shirt, popping buttons in his haste. “Dr. Prescott, she’s got a knife in her ribs.”

  “What?” B.J. leaped up from where he sat wrapping duct tape around the men’s hands and feet and ran over to her. “Do something. Cam. You’re the trauma expert.” He patted Amy’s shoulder. “I’ll go call 911.”

  Cam unzipped her coat, ripped open her blouse, and pressed his folded shirt to the wound. “I need tape and bandages.”

  Amy clutched Cam’s arm. “I’m pregnant with twins.” Pain exploded inside her and ballooned outward.

  “How far along?”

  “Eighteen weeks.” She bit down on her lip until she tasted blood. Every word burned like fire, but she had to make sure. “Don’t … let the doctors … do anything,” she paused to gather her strength, “that’ll harm the babies.”

  Breathing hard, B.J. skidded to a halt beside Cam and Amy. “They’re on their way.” He snapped open his medical bag, spread a towel, and laid out the things Cam would need. He held his torch while Cam worked over Amy.

  Cam’s gaze met hers. “The knife has to stay where it is until we get you to the hospital.”

  Cold sweat broke out on her forehead and she fought down a wave of weakness. “I … understand.”

  B.J. squatted down and pressed his palm to her cheek. “Hang in there, kitten.” His voice cracked and he ducked his head and cleared his throat. “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.”

  Amy squeezed his hand. “I’ll make it. Dad. I have to.”

  Cam tore open a packet of four-by-four gauze sponges and crammed them around me knife handle to stem the flow of blood. Every few minutes, he tossed sodden gauze aside, added a clean pack, and applied pressure.

  A low groan escaped her as shards of white hot pain wracked her chest.

  “Sorry, Amy. This has to be done.” He taped the bandages and knife in place.

  B.J. shifted from one foot to the other. “When is that damned ambulance going to get here?”

  Amy heard a door slam, the sound of running footsteps, and then saw Mary Little Bear’s anxious face above her. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s been stabbed,” Cam said. “Did you see what happened?”

  “Yes, I live with Amy. I was in my room,” she pointed up at her window, “I saw them attack her and called the police.” She turned to stare at the two bound men. “Who are they?”

  “Kim and Tai Sen,” Cam said without looking up.

  “Their real name is Pham,” B.J. said. “Their father was conservator of a temple in Cambodia. Mai’s father was his assistant. The conservator planned to give the temple jewels to the Khmer Rouge in exchange for his family’s safety. Chantou Pran found out, took the jewels, and he and Mai left the country.”

  “Chantou Pran!” Tai Pham sneered, his mouth twisting into an evil leer, “Tuan Keo. Thief! Murderer!” Tai spat out a stream of Khmer invective. “He stole our father, our mother.” He touched his scar. “Our lives. The temple jewels belong to us.”

  The sirens drew closer. Revolving blue and red lights created kaleidoscopic patterns in the fog.

  “Let me go,” Kim pleaded. “I have done nothing.”

  Cam shook his fist at him. “Nothing! Sadistic sonofabitch. You raped and murdered my wife. You killed Chea Le. You came close to killing Amy!”

  “Lying yuon scum. Tai did it, not me.”

  “Like hell! Chea told me she was pregnant. That her lover lived in Wheeler.” Cam rolled his coat and propped up Amy to ease her breathing. “After they found Che
a, I followed you. Heard you and Tai talking.”

  Three police cars and an emergency vehicle roared up the alley, two medics converged on Amy. B.J. stroked Amy’s hand. “You’re going to be fine, honey. Just fine.” His worried expression contrasted with his words.

  “Dad,” she whispered. “Nathan mustn’t find out about,”

  Darkness closed in on her.

  35

  Amy struggled out of oblivion and opened her eyes. Nathan sat beside her bed, his face as rigid as if he’d been carved in stone. His head thrown back, his eyes closed, his lips moving silently, he tapped a steady rhythm on his thigh.

  She lay still. How did he know she needed him? After all her pleading for secrecy, had her father broken down and called him? A dark shaft of pain bore down on her. Sweat beaded her face and trickled from her scalp onto the damp pillow. An agonized moan started in the pit of her stomach and worked its way up to her lips.

  Nathan started, opened his eyes, and gazed at her with a look of melting tenderness.

  “I … hurt,” she murmured, touching her chest.

  “I know.”

  She took a shallow breath and fire seared her lungs. A tear ran down her cheek.

  Nathan raised his hand as if to reach out, then stiffened and drew back. “They’re unable to give you strong pain medication,” he said in a harsh, tight voice. “Because of the pregnancy.”

  He knew. “Nathan…” she said. “Am I, are they, all right?” She lay her hand on his arm. He stared at her with a bleak expression and nodded. “The doctor says you will make a full recovery. The babies are unharmed.” She let her hand fall back on the bed. “Thank God,” she said. “Did my father call you?”

  He shook his head. “I was asleep, I woke up … and I knew. I called your home. A young woman told me you were in the hospital. I caught the first plane to Seattle.”

  “Nathan … all of this,” she gestured to the hospital bed, “is my fault.” She tightened her lips to keep them from trembling. “I forgot, Nathan,” she said, squeezing the words through her aching throat. “After all your warnings, I forgot to”—a sob shook her—“to wear my medicine pouch.”

  “No one’s invincible, Amy.” With a deep sigh, he got to his feet, leaned over and brushed his lips across her cheek. “Other people want to see you,” he said with a sheepish expression. “I haven’t let anyone in except the nurse and the doctor. Not even your father. Neither he, nor your,” he grimaced, “your redheaded male friend is very happy with me.”