Rescue Me

by Toni Leland

  He pocketed the picture and turned toward the door. Julia stared after him in disbelief. Suddenly he turned and, in one quick motion, held up a tiny camera and snapped her photograph, then strode through the door and climbed into a dark sedan.

  Julia’s feet were frozen to the floor, but her brain was on fire. Proof of life. The investigator would be on the phone with Stephen within minutes, and she needed to solidify her plan immediately. She looked at her watch again. The two hour difference between the Pacific and Central time zones made it mid-afternoon in Seattle. If he was in town, Stephen would be in his office. She bit her lip. She wasn’t ready to do this, needed time to compose herself and know exactly what she’d say. If he’d already suspected she was alive, it would be an easier conversation. But suppose he actually thought she was dead? She closed her eyes. Either way, her husband was going to be explosively angry. Could she really do this? Expose herself again and risk losing the small life she’d worked so hard to attain?

  “Ginger?”

  She jumped at the sound of Bud’s voice so near, then laughed weakly.

  He stepped behind the counter, opened the cash drawer, and handed her a couple of fifty-dollar bills. “Get some nice flowers for Casey, will ya? Tell her I’ll get up to see her tomorrow.”

  Julia nodded and pocketed the money. “She’ll appreciate it, I’m sure.”

  He hesitated. “I saw that guy in here. Everything okay?”

  She gazed at him, wondering if it would ever be necessary to tell him. She had no reason to think so. The past was over.

  “Yeah, he was looking for someone I used to know.”

  Dillon’s rig rolled along the interstate toward Indianapolis and, as the miles flew by, he examined Ginger’s plan over and over, from every angle, in every possible light. He didn’t like it. She’d become complacent over the past year as the prospect of imminent danger had faded with the passing months. She’d convinced herself that all she had to do was tell her husband she wanted a divorce and it would happen. Dillon snorted. She was probably right—Stephen wouldn’t risk murdering her, but what was to keep him from harassing her? Not a thing and, given the man’s ego, he might make it a high priority to make her life miserable, just on general principles.

  A disgusted sigh calmed Dillon’s raging thoughts. If he was truthful to himself, he’d admit that his concern also had to do with his own stake in the game. Ginger was important to him—he hadn’t realized just how important until that morning when he’d thought she was in danger. He didn’t like that feeling, but it was there and he’d have to deal with it. In a way, he was glad she wasn’t going to run away again. He’d watched her grow and bloom in her simple life. She’d stumbled a couple of times, but mostly had taken on whatever life threw at her and handled it. He shook his head. This thing with Casey and the farm—who would have thought Ginger could be so organized? She’d stepped right up, knew what to do, when to do it, and even managed to consider her own situation in the middle of the emergency. Had she always been that way? Had she been efficient and ambitious in her old life? To hear the stories of Stephen’s personality and lifestyle, Dillon doubted Julia Dorsey ever had the chance to prove she could do anything.

  On the south side of Indianapolis, Dillon pulled into a truck plaza and made a note in his logbook. Cincinnati was less than two hours away and, once he’d delivered the load, he’d be free to start tracking coffins. It felt good to be part of the team again and, if he played nice, Rusher would give him the rest of the clues to the mystery. And when that was all over, he could think about what he wanted to do next. One thing was sure—it would involve Ginger Green.

  An hour later, Dillon walked out of a truck stop diner and headed across the parking lot toward his truck. The air was unusually balmy for January, and he shrugged out of his jacket. As he reached for the door, he caught sight of another semi turning toward the eastbound exit ramp. It was a Stafford truck. Dillon started his engine and quickly maneuvered out of the lot and took the same ramp. A bird in the hand, as they say. He accelerated and moved up to within a couple of truck lengths behind the casket truck, then settled into the steady flow of the slow lane.

  A sign for Richmond came up and a mile later, the Stafford truck exited the interstate. Dillon frowned. The operation must have opened some new transfer stations. The casket truck headed north on a two-lane state highway and Dillon’s excitement grew. He eased off the gas to fall back and allow some cars to get between him and his quarry. He rolled down the window and sat back. The highway was another of those line roads that dissected the flat farmlands in the Midwest, which made it easy to keep the truck in sight without being too close. He passed through several small towns, and the landscape grew more and more rural with each passing mile. Acres of plowed fields waited for spring, and the distance between farms was vast. The Stafford truck turned right and headed east. A large farm with several silos and grain elevators loomed up ahead, and Dillon pulled over to the side of the road to watch. The casket truck pulled into the farm and drove around behind the silos.

  Dillon turned on his GPS and waited for the satellite to locate him, then wrote down the coordinates in a small notebook he’d brought along for this operation. He zoomed in on the electronic map and made a note of the road names, then grabbed his cell phone and switched to the camera mode. As he focused the farm in the screen, a familiar click immobilized him, then the chill of steel burned against his temple.

  Chapter 40

  A raspy voice, thick with accent drifted through the window. “Put the phone down and grab the steering wheel with both hands.”

  Dillon slowly lowered the phone and, as he placed it on the seat, he pressed the automatic dial button. The gun pressed harder against his skin as he took hold of the wheel, as instructed. When both hands were in plain sight, the man opened the truck door.

  “You think you’re pretty smart? Boss wants to kill you himself.”

  “I think you’ve made a mistake, Buddy. I’m just delivering some equipment to that farm up there. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Get out. Keep your hands in the air.”

  Dillon slowly removed his hands from the steering wheel and turned, grabbing hold of the edge of the dashboard to steady himself. As he stepped down, his fingers slid to the base of the dash and he pressed the remote vehicle emergency button.

  He stared at his captor. The man’s skin was mahogany brown and smooth, his hair inky black and straight, slicked back behind his ears. Dark piercing eyes stared holes through Dillon’s brain.

  The man jerked the gun menacingly. “Walk. Keep your hands up.”

  A car appeared up ahead and Dillon slowed his pace. “My hands in the air will attract a lot of attention you don’t want.”

  “Mierda. Okay, keep them at your sides, but don’t get any ideas.”

  Dillon moved slowly along the shoulder of the road. How had this happened? Had he been too obvious in tailing them? And where had this guy come from?

  Another car came up behind them, and the man nudged him with the gun. “Walk faster.”

  A sinking feeling began in the pit of Dillon’s stomach. He’d been set up. Someone must have been following him and, at the truck stop, saw the perfect opportunity to lead him into a trap. He could only hope that his phone had connected with Rusher in time to hear the conversation. Moving steadily forward, he garnered all his senses, his body responding to ingrained survival instincts.

  A hay truck appeared and rumbled toward them and stopped. A weathered face peered out the window. “You need a ride somewheres?”

  The gunman shook his head. “No, we are going right up there.” He nodded toward the farm buildings.

  “You won’t get help there. It’s been abandoned for over a year.” He shook his head. “This country’s goin’ to pot. Farmer can’t make a decent living no more.” He squinted. “You sure you don’t need some help?”

  Dillon could feel his captor’s agitation and, in a matter of seconds, th
e farmer would become a casualty.

  Without making any quick movements, he spoke. “We’re lookin’ to buy the place. Thought we’d tour the property on foot. But thanks for stopping.”

  The old man nodded. “It’s a good piece of land, if ya got the fortitude for farming. Well, good day.”

  The truck lurched forward, dislodging bits of hay that fluttered to the ground in a cloud of yellow dust.

  The gunman turned to make sure the truck was really driving away, and Dillon saw his chance.

  Julia’s heart lurched painfully at her first sight of Casey. Buried in mounds of pristine white blankets and sheets, only her face and arm were visible. An immense bruise now covered over two-thirds of her face and the swelling distorted her small features beyond recognition. The fractured arm was casted from fingertips to shoulder, suspended above the bed with pulleys and cords. Julia moved to the side of the bed and placed Bud’s flowers on the table, then gazed down at her friend. How could I have ever considered leaving?

  Casey’s one good eye drifted open and she moved her lips, her voice coming out a whisper. “Ain’t this a bitch.”

  “As long as you’re going to be okay, nothing else matters.”

  Another croaky whisper. “The horses…”

  “All under control. Volunteers around the clock. You just get well. Bud says he’ll…”

  Casey’s eye had drifted closed and she’d disappeared again into the pain killers.

  Julia passed by the nurse’s station on her way out. “Can you tell me anything about Mrs. Turner? I’m Ginger Green, and I wasn’t here this morning after her surgery.”

  The nurse glanced through a chart, then looked up. “Are you family?”

  “No, but I signed responsibility for the bill, so I guess I could know what’s going on.”

  The woman pursed her lips, scanned the chart, then nodded. “She’s being followed for possible concussion. The fracture surgery was successful. No apparent internal injuries, but she’ll be followed closely for the next few days.”

  “Thank you. Do you have my phone number there? If anything at all arises, please call me.”

  The nurse verified Julia’s number, then excused herself to answer the phone. Julia walked slowly down the hall toward the elevators. In the past six months, she’d learned the joy and satisfaction of caring for someone, more than one someone. This had to be what a real life was all about.

  Her phone rang as she climbed into the car, and her pulse jigged when she saw Dillon’s number on the screen.

  “Hi. Where are you?”

  He didn’t respond and she frowned, listening to the background noise coming through the phone.

  “Dillon? Are you there?”

  Again, he didn’t answer, but she heard voices. Men’s voices. She strained to listen, holding her breath. Someone said the words “kill you” and she gasped. Dillon wasn’t on the phone, but his phone was turned on. Another voice sounded closer. Dillon’s voice. A wave of horror engulfed her—his private vendetta! Had he stumbled into a deadly situation? She listened some more, but the voices were gone, though the connection remained open. What could she do to help? Call the police? Would they take her seriously? Maybe she should call Dillon’s boss. She stared at the screen again, watching the seconds tick by on the open line. Taking a deep breath, she disconnected and dialed 911.

  Chapter 41

  A split second of distraction was all Dillon needed. As the gunman’s head turned away, Dillon smashed his left arm into the side of the man’s neck, and knocked the gun away with his right hand. The man grunted and turned. Dillon’s hand slammed into the man’s throat and his eyes rolled back. Hooking a leg around the thug’s leg, Dillon dropped him to the ground, then checked the road in both direction. He crouched down and smashed his fist into the man’s face.

  Grabbing the gun, he stuffed it into his waistband, then pulled the body down into the ditch out of sight of the road. He had no idea how long it might be until the man’s cohorts came looking for him. He raced back to his truck, jumped into the cab, and released the brake to roll the truck forward. He grabbed a roll of duct tape and jumped down into the ditch. When the thug’s hands and feet were secured, Dillon plastered a strip of tape across the mouth. He looked up and down the road again, then hauled the body into the trailer and slammed the doors.

  Two minutes later, he rolled slowly past the farm, craning to see if there was any sign of the casket truck. Without going onto the property, he had no way to check it out. Right now, that didn’t seem like such a great idea. He accelerated a little and picked up his phone. The list of his recent calls came up.

  “Oh, shit.”

  He’d hit the wrong speed dial button. No agency back-up was on the way, but Ginger was probably wondering what was going on. He shook his head. He’d worry about that later. The phone went off in his hand, making him jump. A to Z Trucking appeared on the screen.

  His boss snarled through the receiver. “Where the hell are you?”

  “Uh, I thought I’d take the scenic route and I got lost. You said the load isn’t expected until tomorrow. Why?”

  “I just got a call from the Illinois Highway Patrol. Someone called in an emergency for your phone number, and then the remote emergency response service for the truck phoned and said they’d received activation from somewhere in Indiana, but you didn’t answer.”

  Dillon squeezed his eyes shut. How was he going to wiggle out of this one? If he lost the driving job, he’d be useless to the agency. And if he couldn’t help them, they wouldn’t help him.”

  “Jeez, Al, I must have bumped the response button with my knee when I got out to take a leak. I’m in the middle of farm country and you have no idea how isolated this is. I’m really sorry if I caused any alarm.” He checked the side mirrors to see if he was being followed. “Maybe the nine-one-one call was a prank. I’ve had my phone right here.” He chuckled. “Except when I was taking a piss.”

  “Okay, well, from now on, take your scenic detours on your own time. When will you be in Cincinnati?”

  “About two hours. I’ll call you after I make delivery.”

  Dillon laid the phone down and slowed to turn right onto a road headed back toward the interstate. Without question, Ginger had been the one who’d called the Highway Patrol. He tried to be annoyed, but the sensation of someone caring enough to try to help him, even not knowing what was going on, was too great to accommodate his anger. He’d better call her soon, after he figured out what he’d say.

  His left hand throbbed and he thought about the body in the back. He sure couldn’t deliver that to Cincinnati. He punched Rusher’s speed dial number and waited.

  He didn’t have to wait long. Dillon held the phone away from his ear, cringing at the chief’s profanities. Rusher was pissed, and rightly so. But it wasn’t as though Dillon had never ignored the rules before. It sort of came with the territory and, at one point in his life, had been the only thing that kept him from becoming a combat statistic.

  “Chief, I understand, but I had to take advantage of the situation. Now, where do I meet your men to hand off this sack of shit?”

  Rusher’s voice sounded more calm. “Put this address into your GPS. It’s a safe warehouse west of Cincinnati. We’ll meet you there in an hour.”

  “Roger that. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Dillon? Just one more question—how did these guys know to bait you?”

  Dillon winced. He really didn’t want to share what he knew, but he’d only jeopardize his tenuous relationship with the agency if he didn’t.

  “Someone saw me messing with that casket at the accident. They visited my trucker friend in the hospital and he gave them my name and who I drive for.”

  Venom dripped from Rusher’s words. “And you chose not to tell me this why?”

  “I wasn’t part of the team then. Why would I tell you?”

  A long silence ensued. “Just get the package to the warehouse. We’ll discuss this later.”
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  The phone screen faded and Dillon shook his head. This would not end well.

  He set the phone aside and his thoughts turned to Ginger. For all his good intentions, he’d done it again—lied to her, misled her, and for what good reason? Her safety? Yes and no. She might be in more danger from her own plans than his. She’d sounded so determined, but he suspected once she had some time to think about it, she would decide not to rile up the hornet’s nest in Seattle. As soon as he finished with Rusher and made this delivery, he’d lead-foot it back to see if he could be part of Ginger’s solutions, instead of her problem.

  Julia’s thoughts churned as she drove toward the farm, vacillating between her fear for Dillon’s safety and concern over her own impending problem with Stephen. Thoughts of Dillon won out and she reviewed her conversation with the highway patrol officer. He’d been dubious about her story, but had agreed to check it out. So far, she hadn’t heard back and was beginning to think he had probably hung up and dismissed her as a kook. As soon as she got home, she’d call Dillon’s boss to see if he knew anything.

  She got off the interstate and headed north toward Lakeville. As she left the more populated area, she noticed a dark sedan in the rearview mirror and her stomach lurched. She shook her head. She was so tired she was imagining things, letting the old paranoia play with her mind again. She turned her thoughts back to Dillon. Instead of calling A to Z, maybe she should just try his phone again. There had to be a logical explanation for what had happened. She turned onto Stagecoach Road and noticed the sedan again, also turning. A shiver of fear passed over her skin as the car followed her about a half block behind. Was it the private eye? Did she want to lead him to where she lived? At that moment, the sedan turned onto another road and Julia exhaled sharply. She really needed to get a hold on herself.

  The terriers raced out to meet her, barking and dancing on their hind legs, stubby tails twitching with delight. The red Volvo was still parked in the driveway and a green pick-up truck sat beside it. The troops were on the case. She stepped into the barn and was greeted with high squeals from Little Bit. A tall woman stood near the stall.