If I Should Die lk-3

by Allison Brennan

  She had been so alone, even with her family surrounding her, until Sean walked into her life and taught her how to live and laugh. She was no longer lonely, in the deep, weary existence she’d had for years.

  Love was a risk. Sean made it look so easy when he told her I love you. Yet when she looked at him, he was waiting. He was scared she didn’t love him back, no matter how confident he was that she did. He needed her to admit it, because he knew she wouldn’t lie.

  She had to tell him.

  She had to first survive.

  The plane hit a boulder and forced them to an immediate stop, but the momentum kept the tail end going and she was looking at the ground through the front window. Then the plane continued to turn, and it hit the ground hard, upside down, and stopped.

  She waited a minute, unsure if the plane was still moving, her heart racing, blood dripping from her mouth and head, her body bruised.

  But she was alive.

  “Lucy!”

  “I’m okay.”

  “We need to get out.” Noah undid his harness and turned himself around so he was squatting, his feet on the ceiling. “Shield your eyes.”

  He kicked at the door and it released.

  Lucy fumbled with her harness, but her fingers weren’t working right. She couldn’t see what she was doing. Noah reached over and with one hand released the lock. She would have fallen on her head, but Noah took her under her arms and pulled her out.

  “I’m okay,” she repeated.

  “You’re bleeding and disoriented and shaking.”

  “Sorry,” she said automatically.

  He leaned her against the plane and said, “Sit for a minute. I’m going to grab what I can.”

  Her heart was racing and her hands were shaking as she brushed her hair away from her face and came away with blood.

  Noah was at her side a minute later and took her hand. She tried to focus on him. “Lucy?”

  “Fine,” she said, her voice sounding as though she were speaking in a tunnel. “I’m fine.”

  He squeezed her hand.

  “We can take a minute.” He sat in front of her. “Let me look at that cut.”

  He shined a light in her face. “Good reaction, but you might have a mild concussion. I know I do.” He opened a familiar black duffel bag. “Sean always comes prepared,” he said. “Emergency supplies, extra guns, ammo. Black clothing-he even has a jacket in your size. And of course a first aid kit.”

  He took gauze and wiped the blood from her face, folded it, poured water on it, and wiped more. He then found a clean piece of gauze and said, “Hold this against the cut. I’m going to try to find a phone, then we have to go. They’ll be able to find us real quick.”

  He stood and looked at the upside-down plane. “I don’t think Sean will ever let me drive his car now.”

  Noah stepped away and Lucy smiled at his joke. She searched her pockets for her phone, but didn’t find it.

  In the distance, she thought she heard dogs.

  “Noah?” she called.

  He was already rounding the plane. “I heard them. We have to get out of here.”

  He handed her a gun from the duffel. “I can’t find our phones, but there’s a radio in the bag and when we find cover, I’ll call this in.”

  He strapped the duffel to his back and pulled Lucy up. Her legs buckled and Noah caught her. “Okay?” he said.

  She nodded. Noah wrapped his arm around her waist and helped support her as she started walking. “You just need to get your landlegs back,” he said.

  The dogs were getting closer, and now Lucy saw lights as well, but they were still on the other side of the lake. Once they reached the downed plane the dogs would pick up their scent.

  They walked unsteadily across the field to the dirt road Lucy had seen from the air. It was easier to traverse than the rock-strewn field.

  “I’m okay now,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “Let’s pick up the pace; I want to get off this road ASAP.”

  Over the barking dogs, they heard the roar of an ATV engine and they ran.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The Lock and Barrel was nearly empty.

  Sean and Patrick sat at the bar; each had a bottled beer in front of them that they hadn’t drunk. Sean put down his phone. “That was Dillard. He knows where the Foster place is and is headed there now. ETA ninety minutes. Once Ricky is out of town, that’s one less person we have to worry about.”

  “The bartender is very interested in us,” Patrick said.

  “It’s pretty safe to say that he’s probably in on it, too.” Sean motioned for Trina to come over. She did so reluctantly. “Where is everyone?”

  “Don’t know.” She shrugged, refusing to look at him. The bartender was still watching.

  Sean smiled casually. “Odd for a Saturday night. We came in to say hi to Jon.”

  “I don’t know where he is,” Trina said.

  Sean leaned forward. Keeping the smile on his face, he whispered, “I know there’s trouble. I’m here to help.”

  She bit her lip.

  “Smile,” Sean told her.

  She did. She looked ill. “Two more?” she asked brightly.

  “We’re good.”

  Sean waved to the bartender. “Reggie, do you know where Jon is tonight?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about your boss?”

  At first, Reggie didn’t know what he meant. Then his eyes narrowed.

  “Exactly. Your real boss. Where is she?”

  “I’d tell you to get out of town,” Reggie said, “but it’s too late for that.”

  Reggie reached under the bar and Patrick had his gun out so fast Sean almost hadn’t seen him move. “Keep your hands where I can see them,” Patrick ordered. The bartender complied.

  “Where is Bobbie Swain?” Sean said. “You can get her a message for me, right?”

  Reggie glared. “I’m sure you don’t want to do that.”

  “Tell her I know what’s going on here, and there’s a price for my silence. Have her call me and we’ll talk. Got it?”

  Reggie scowled.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” He put his business card on the bar and he and Patrick walked out.

  “You bluffed?” Patrick said.

  “I have to force her hand. If she thinks whatever they’ve got planned for tomorrow is at risk, she’ll expose herself. If we can neutralize her, I can get Henry Callahan and his wife and Ricky Swain to safety.”

  “You know, it has yet to be proven that Bobbie Swain has committed any crimes,” Patrick said.

  “So she’s wanted for questioning,” Sean said. “Does that work?”

  They got into the truck and Sean headed toward the Foster property on the far side of the Hendrickson land.

  “You must know the woman is up to her neck in illegal activity,” Sean said. “Drugs, perjury, conspiracy, murder.”

  “Without any evidence-” Patrick quickly added.

  “Yet,” Sean said. “That woman has been controlling this town for a long time. I just need one person to talk-and find whatever it was that Victoria Sheffield found that got her killed.”

  Patrick shook his head. “Yeah, wish it were that easy. When are Lucy and Noah getting back?”

  “They should be done with the reconnaissance and landing at a small airstrip outside Potsdam.”

  His call to Lucy’s cell went straight to voice mail. He tried Noah’s. It rang six times, then went to voice mail.

  He hung up. Cell reception in the air or the mountains was spotty. They’d left Albany nearly three hours ago, but they were making the loop around Spruce Lake searching for the drug warehouses Sean suspected were storing marijuana. Noah hadn’t sent him a location yet to check out; maybe they hadn’t found anything. Maybe Paul Swain had lied, hooking Sean in and diverting his attention.

  Sirens cut through the air and Sean slowed down until he realized they were coming from the substation up the highway outside Spruce Lake and h
eading toward town. An engine and the chief’s truck passed him.

  “Scanner,” Sean told Patrick.

  Patrick opened Sean’s laptop and logged into the law enforcement frequency for the area. Sean’s program took the radio waves and converted them so he could listen over his computer.

  Sean pulled over before he reached the turnoff that led to both the Callahans’ and Hendricksons’ places, and impatiently grabbed the laptop. It was his program; he’d find what he needed faster.

  Small plane reportedly landed in distress three-point-two miles north-northeast of Highway 56 at marker A332. Survivors unknown.

  Sean whipped the truck around and floored it, following the fire truck.

  “We don’t know-” Patrick began.

  “We damn well know it’s them. It’s no fucking coincidence.”

  “Adam,” Ricky whispered. “I hear cars.”

  He motioned for Adam to follow him to the back door, where they could see two trucks winding down to the valley where the Fosters’ cabin sat. As they watched, the trucks rounded the last curve and turned their headlights to parking lights.

  “We need to go,” Adam said. “That’s not Sean.”

  Ricky grabbed his backpack and Adam pocketed his gun and put on his jacket. They slipped out the back and were on the porch when the trucks stopped out front.

  Vehicle doors opened and closed. “It’s dark,” a man’s voice said.

  Butch.

  Butch was working hand in hand with Bobbie, but Ricky knew no family loyalty from his uncle would save him.

  Adam motioned to the edge of the porch. The house was on a slope, so they had to crawl under the railing and lower themselves down, falling the last four feet.

  They crawled up the slope so they could observe the driveway. There were three men. “That’s Tim’s truck!” Adam said.

  “Shh,” Ricky admonished.

  They both looked for Tim, but the guy leaning against the driver’s door was Andy Knolls from the Gas-n-Go.

  “Butch, search the house,” ordered Gary Clarke. “Andy and I will walk the perimeter. Bobbie wants the kid alive, but he’s a little prick. If I find him first, I’m going to teach him a thing or two about loyalty.” Ricky hated Gary. He wasn’t from Spruce Lake; he was loyal only to Bobbie.

  As they watched, the men disbanded. Fortunately, Andy went in the opposite direction of the slope they were lying against.

  On the deck above them, Gary said, “We wait until the kid gets here-or Rogan. Whoever comes first. Bobbie wants Rogan for leverage, but either way, we can’t go back empty-handed.”

  Adam and Ricky crawled along the slope at an angle so that when they emerged on the driveway, they weren’t in the direct line of sight from the house.

  Adam squinted at the driver’s side of Tim’s truck. “That looks like blood.”

  “Was your brother at the lodge?”

  “He was looking for you at the mine.”

  Ricky didn’t know how Bobbie’s crew knew he was here, but he couldn’t think of any logical reason for Adam to turn him over to his aunt. And if it was Jon Callahan, why send him here in the first place or give him a gun?

  “It’ll take us twenty minutes to circle around to the ATV, but it won’t take long to get to the mine entrance,” Adam said.

  Ricky hesitated. Adam said, “We can’t stay here. He’s my brother. I’m not going to bail on him. He needs help.”

  Ricky followed, still unsure what to do, but he didn’t want to wait around here. “You need to warn Sean about Gary and Butch. Where’s your cell?”

  “In the house. Yours?”

  “In my car.”

  “We’ll get it when we pick up the ATV, tell Sean what happened, and find Tim.”

  Ricky hoped he wasn’t making a mistake to trust Adam but he didn’t see that he had a whole lot of options. They bolted across the driveway and disappeared into the dark.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  In the lights of the emergency vehicles, Sean saw his Cessna upside down in the middle of a small field. His heart tightened so fast he thought a heart attack couldn’t be more painful. He jumped out of the truck and trudged across the field, barely registering that Patrick was behind him. Patrick was Lucy’s brother and loved her as much as Sean did.

  But he couldn’t. No one loved Lucy like Sean. She was not dead. There had been no explosion, no fire, just the downed plane. She was unconscious maybe. Injured. But alive. She had to be alive.

  “Hold it!” the fire chief called. Sean ignored him.

  The pilot’s door was open, the cabin empty. A temporary feeling of relief washed over him, immediately replaced by fear that they’d been thrown out on impact.

  “Stop!” the chief called.

  Sean told Patrick, “There’s no one inside.”

  Patrick smoothed things over with the chief. “I’m Patrick Kincaid; that’s Sean Rogan. It’s his plane. My sister was inside.”

  “I’m sorry, you still can’t be here.”

  “The pilot is a federal agent.”

  The chief frowned. “This is still a crash site.”

  While Patrick diplomatically argued with the fire chief to buy time, Sean walked around to the back of the plane. The plane had cut a deep path in the field. He saw the boulder it hit that caused it to flip over. But he didn’t see a body. The rudder was completely broken off the tail from the crash, and he distinctly saw two bullet holes in the rear body of the plane.

  Patrick approached. “I bought you two minutes. Noah and Lucy aren’t here. They’re okay.” Patrick was trying to convince both of them.

  “The plane was shot down.” Sean pointed to the holes.

  Then he noticed that the small external storage compartment was open. His duffel bag was missing.

  “They’re in trouble,” Sean said, “otherwise they wouldn’t have left.”

  He bent over to inspect the cockpit and spotted the thermal imaging camera. He didn’t know if it had survived the crash, but he grabbed it.

  “Let’s go find them,” Sean said to Patrick.

  The chief called after them and Patrick turned around to hand him their business cards. “That’s how to reach us. I’m sorry, we have to go.”

  Patrick drove while Sean checked the camera for damage. The case had protected it, in addition to the fact that this was one of the best-made, sturdiest devices Sean had ever worked with. He turned it on. The camera stored thirty images on its chip, and Lucy had taken six pictures that clearly showed evidence of marijuana greenhouses. The camera also marked their exact longitude and latitude.

  “Paul Swain didn’t lie to me. There are four warehouses.”

  “Four? Do you know how much pot you can grow in just one?”

  “Oh, yeah, this is major. And this is just first pass. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were more. There has to be a lot at stake for Bobbie Swain to return to town. Or she’s just a psycho bitch.”

  Sean’s cell vibrated. He looked down, hoping it was Noah or Lucy, but instead it was a code that told him someone was pinging his radio frequency. He switched his phone to radio and said, “Rogan here.”

  “It’s Noah. Your plane was shot down but we’re both okay. Can you track this signal?”

  “Yes.” He started typing on his laptop to run GPS, which he had in almost all his equipment. He directed Patrick to follow the signal to Noah’s location. “Right at the main road.”

  “We’re holed up in someone’s house. They’re not home, but the bad guys who shot our plane sent dogs after us and we can still hear them. I don’t know how long I can hold them back.”

  Patrick turned on the highway and floored the gas.

  “I have you. Five minutes. Keep the line open. How’s Lucy?”

  “Bumps and bruises, nothing broken but a little skin.” He paused. “I’m sorry about your plane.”

  “I can replace the damn plane.” He paused. “But if you even think about borrowing my Mustang, think again.”

  Sean heard L
ucy laugh in the background and a weight lifted off his chest. She was alive, she was fine.

  Patrick turned right on an unpaved road, following the GPS guide. Sean wished he knew the area better, because he could find a shortcut. But he couldn’t risk it in the dark.

  Over the radio, he heard dogs.

  “Noah?”

  There were shouts, and Sean heard Noah order Lucy to cover the rear. Someone was pounding on the door.

  The two of them couldn’t secure the house alone.

  Noah shouted to make sure Sean could hear, “Four dogs and four or five suspects.”

  Sean checked his.45, then reached under the seat and grabbed his bag. Extra clips and a knife. He put the knife in his sock and pocketed the clips. “You ready?” he asked Patrick.

  Patrick nodded.

  They saw the lights from an ATV and a raised four-wheel-drive truck illuminating the house. Patrick turned off his lights and they rolled in silently, stopping to the side of the long driveway.

  They both jumped out and ran along the edge of the property, behind a fenced chicken yard. Two of the suspects were behind the door of the truck, guns drawn, only a few yards from the house. One man stood behind the truck and controlled the dogs. Two more went around back. Sean held up his hand showing five fingers. Patrick confirmed the count.

  “Dogs,” Sean motioned to Patrick.

  Patrick assessed the animals. “They’re search dogs, not attack dogs.”

  “They look vicious to me.”

  “I’m pretty certain.”

  “You’d better be.”

  The dog handler had his work cut out for him, so he wasn’t an immediate threat. Sean quickly assessed the area. There were no fences surrounding the property. “I have an idea.” He motioned toward his truck. “Drive dark behind this chicken coop to the back of the house. I’ll go on foot. On my signal, turn on the brights and that should buy us a minute. We’ll disarm those in the rear and get Noah and Lucy out that way.”

  Patrick agreed, and Sean watched him move the truck into position before he ran low to the ground.

  One of the suspects was about to kick in the door. Gunfire erupted at the front of the house, which startled him. Sean gave Patrick the signal and instantly, the back of the house was flooded with bright lights. Sean fired at each suspects’ gun hand, disabling both men. He motioned for Patrick to disarm the two while he called, “Lucy! It’s Sean!”