by Kylie Brant
“I understand completely,” she said gently. “I appreciate you telling me this Dr. Denholt. I know what it cost you. Emotionally.” He gave a jerky nod and she turned to join Cam.
Leaving behind her a man torn between the fear that he’d fathered a monster, and disappointment that he hadn’t been a father at all.
* * * *
Breakfast was served early in Polk County jail. Inmates in each housing unit went to the dining hall at staggered times and ate in the allotted minutes allowed before returning to their cells. Mason Vance was currently the only exception to that rule. All his meals were delivered in Styrofoam containers to his cell. He had a separate time to shower from the rest of the inmates. And before he left his cell at anytime his ankles and wrists were shackled.
Lavontae nodded to Vance as the inmates were returned to their cells from their morning meal. The day stretched ahead of him, long and empty. Same old shit everyday. The four knuckleheads in the cell next to him would swap bullshit and arguments until Lavontae would threaten to knock all their heads together to get some fucking peace. He almost looked forward to it. Broke up the monotony.
There were the familiar sounds of the cells being secured. The officers retreating. As if on cue, two of the dumbasses in the next cell started arguing about which of them had banged hotter pussy.
Something came skittering into his cell. Lavontae looked down at the folded up bill. That Vance could sling those things like tiny flying saucers right through the bars. He bent to pick it up, looked over at the man, grinning broadly. Vance was on the edge of his bunk, staring fixedly at him.
And Lavontae knew it was show time.
He turned to the next cell and sent the flying bill through the bars. It took the occupants a moment to figure out what it was. None of them, Lavontae figured, would ever work for NASA. But belatedly two of them dove for the money, fists and curses flying as they fought for possession.
Lavontae’s voice sounded over the ruckus. “Bitches, bring me that bill. You know it’s mine.”
The man who had eye-gouged his cell mate and come up with the Grant gave Lavontae a long look. Decided he liked breathing. “Yeah, sure. Here you go.” He came over to pass the bill between the bars and Lavontae grabbed him by the neck of his loose orange jumpsuit and slammed him against the bars. Once. Twice. Again.
The men in the cells erupted in cheers. Items clattered against the bars and in a burst of enthusiasm more fights broke out. By the time the jailers came pounding into the area, and Lavontae dropped his opponent to the ground, the other man’s face was unrecognizable and he was barely conscious.
He went back to his bunk and stretched out, watching the proceedings with interest. The three unharmed men next to him were secured and medical officer allowed into the cell. After a couple moments the man looked up at a jailer. “Call an ambulance. He’s lost some teeth and his collar bone needs to be X-rayed.” Then his gaze went to the cell across from Lavontae’s. “What the hell is wrong with him?”
Mason Vance was on the floor of his cell, his body jerking uncontrollably, his mouth frothing, eyes rolling in his head.
“Get two ambulances,” the medical officer shouted.
Lavontae grinned in delight. Yes, sir. He sure did admire those with know-how.
Chapter 9
“We hit pay dirt again on the Rose Macomber credit card.” Cam was standing behind his desk looking at his computer screen. Agent Samuels had just spelled Agent Patrick on the surveillance videos on the laptops. One of the screens had been split to show the camera feed at the third hotel.
“Baxter used this one before?” Sophia looked up from her laptop on which she was transcribing the notes from this morning.
“As recently as yesterday. One hundred dollars at the Walmart on Stagecoach Drive in West Des Moines. And,” his voice took on a note of suppressed excitement. “Eighty-seven dollars at the neighboring gas station.”
Samuels gave a slow satisfied smile. “Gas station means surveillance camera.”
“And reviewing the footage might mean we discover what she’s driving.” Cam nearly sprinted to the door. “I’m taking Franks with me. Soph, staying or going?”
As if there was even a choice. She stood and slipped her laptop into her briefcase and joined him at the door. And wondered as she followed him if the noose was finally beginning to tighten around Vickie Baxter.
* * * *
After the prisoner was handcuffed to the metal stretcher, EMTs Daniel Adams and Rusty Simmons lifted the gurney into the back of the ambulance with a well-practiced move before crawling in after it. Daniel expertly fitted the oxygen mask over the man’s face, while the other EMT started the IV.
Rusty looked up when the driver got in. “Hansen? What are you doing? You’ve got the other vehicle.”
The driver shrugged. “Pavlovich wanted to trade. I don’t know what his problem is.” A deputy opened up the front passenger door and climbed in. “Police escort in front of lead ambulance and following the second.” He looked back to check on the prisoner. “You guys ready to roll?”
“Give us a minute here,” Rusty said, but Hansen had already put the vehicle in gear to lurch ahead of the other ambulance. “When did that guy become such a prick?” he asked the other EMT.
But Daniel Adams was busy checking the prisoner’s vitals. His hands shook as the man on the gurney opened his eyes. Looked straight into his. Fingers fumbling, Adams reached into his shirt. Brought out the TASER® and turned it on Rusty at the same time that Hansen reached over and stunned the deputy. Both the wounded men yelped. The officer slumped forward against his seatbelt, and Hansen reached over to grab him by his shirt. Pull him upright.
“Oh fuck oh fuck,” Adams moaned. He backed away from the gurney. Kept the stun gun pointed at his partner, who was still writhing on the floor of the ambulance. “Did you disable the tracking system?”
“Why the hell do you think we’re in this one? Hang on.” Hansen hung back until the lead police escort car was through the light, before accelerating and taking a hard right, barreling down the side street.
“Turn off the siren!” Adams screamed.
“Get these fucking cuffs off me.” Mason Vance sat up on the gurney, yanking the IV and mask off. “Do it now!”
Adams shoved his hand in his pocket. Drew out the keys that had been in the box with the TASER® and a prepaid cell phone that had been delivered after the first contact had been made. The texts with attached pictures of Henry. Tied up in a trunk. Looking small and helpless. Like a child whose father had failed to keep him safe.
He wiped away the tears streaming down his face and obeyed Vance’s command. His hands shook as he unlocked the cuffs securing him to the side of the gurney, and then the shackles on his legs. “Henry. I did everything she said, now tell me where to find him.”
“What…what…” The deputy was struggling to speak, then was thrown to the side when Hansen took another right down an alley not open for traffic. The mirrors scraped the buildings as they passed through it, the vehicle bouncing over downed garbage cans.
Vance grabbed the TASER® from Adams and leaned forward to stun the officer again. A long steady stream of fifty thousand volts.
“Stop!” Adams shoved his arm. “You’ll kill him.”
“That’s the point, asshole.” The man then shot a stream into the other EMT again. The ambulance jumped a curb, careened to the left, sirens sounding close behind. Too close. Daniel looked behind him. The windows were tinted, but a flash of strobe could be seen between buildings to the back and left of them.
They sped down the streets, slamming from one side of the vehicle to the other as Hansen took a series of sharp turns. Finally, he was thrown violently against the wall as Hansen turned sharply again. The ambulance came to a shuddering screeching halt with an overhead door descending behind them.
The double back doors of the vehicle opened and a woman stood staring at them. And when she spoke, Adams heard the horrible haunting
voice from those phone calls.
“Hey, Mase,” she said to the prisoner. “How was your ride?”
* * * *
“There she is.” Special Agent Tommy Franks stepped aside to allow Sophia closer to the computer screen in the gas station’s office. She peered closely at the surprisingly clear digital feed.
Vickie Baxter was shown clearly at pump three putting the gas nozzle into a dark brown mid-size sedan. She climbed back in her car for the duration, likely to escape the heat. Six minutes ticked by on the digital clock showing on the DVR feed before she got back out, unhitched the hose and paid at the pump with her credit card. All of them drew closer to the screen as she drove away.
“AO…or was it AC…replay it,” Cam ordered. Tommy did so. Three times before Cam gave up. He looked at the gas station manager, a young man barely out of high school. “Which cameras would give us views of the car as it approached and left?”
“Six and four,” he said immediately. They all parted to allow him to the computer, where he tapped in some commands and brought up a screen split into a dozen camera shots. He zeroed in on number six. They watched as the car drove up to the pump. The screen clearly showed the entire number. A Missouri plate. ACX1207.
Sophia drew in a breath as Cam gave Tommy an enthusiastic thump on the shoulder. This was it. The biggest break in the case since Baxter had escaped minutes before Cam’s team had reached the farmhouse where she’d been staying. As much as the woman had seemed to be on the move, surely police would spot it once an alert was issued on the vehicle.
“It looks like a 2014 Impala. Maybe a 2013,” Tommy corrected himself.
“Can we get a screen shot of the car?” Cam asked the manager. “Two or three different angles.”
“No problem.” The young man’s fingers flew over the keyboard. A moment later the printer in the corner of the office began to whir. Cam’s cell rang and he took a few steps away from the group to answer it.
“They’ve got pretty sweet equipment in here,” the young man said. “And we need it, too. You wouldn’t believe how many people think they can get away with driving off without paying. It’s a real problem.”
“Where? Who’s in pursuit? God damn it. I’ll be there.” He disconnected. The expression on his face had a pool of dread forming in Sophia’s stomach. It turned to ice with his next words.
“Mason Vance escaped this morning. Law enforcement was in pursuit, but they’ve lost sight of the vehicle.”
* * * *
“Get zip ties on these assholes and gag ’em.” Obediently Vickie started digging in the oversized bag she carried while Vance checked out the place she’d rented two and a half weeks ago. The warehouse had seen better days. The windows had been broken out and replaced with plywood that was then painted a dark color. The wood was splintered, the paint peeling.
But no one from the outside would be able to see in, either.
In preparation for the ambulance’s arrival, Vickie had set up a couple battery operated LED spotlights around the area. Their brightness, and the shine of the headlights, was the only thing that split the gloom in the large interior.
Mason walked back to the ambulance. “Did you bring everything?” Vickie was finishing securing the EMTs in the back. “The rest of it’s in a pack over there. Jesus, why don’t you take care of a couple of these guys?”
“I’ll take care of the cop.” Mason Vance rounded the vehicle to yank open the front passenger door. The deputy was still jerking uncontrollably from that last blast he’d given him. “He looks like I did when I took those fucking capsules you gave Paulsen. What the hell were they anyway?”
“Your get out of jail free card,” she snapped.
Vance searched the deputy, found no weapon. “Wouldn’t you figure? Fucking pussy.” He brought up his arm to hold the TASER® against the man’s neck. The officer’s eyes rolled wildly, but he couldn’t even move away. The long jolt of electricity Mason gave him had him slumping forward. Completely still.
He went around to the other side, dragged the driver out of the vehicle. “My wife. My wife, Lisa,” the man stammered, as Vance shoved him to the back of the open vehicle. “Please. She said she’d let Lisa go. I didn’t report it. I did everything she asked. Please.”
“Yeah, we’ll let her go,” Vickie said with a frown at Vance. “The kid, too. As soon as we leave here, you’ll all be found, eventually. There’s an office here in the back. I’ll leave a note there about where to find both of them.”
Vance gave a nasty laugh, and Vickie secured the driver, as well. Crawled up front to get the keys. Then she jumped out of the vehicle with the bag and closed the doors, tossing the keys to Vance.
“You get everything we talked about? You didn’t forget nothing?”
“I got everything. I did everything.” God, she’d forgotten what an asshole Mase could be. “While you’ve been laying on your ass all day for three weeks, I’ve been taking care of things.” He didn’t need to know that she’d added to the original plan. That was her business. “You didn’t leave me enough cash to get all this done, either. I had to use some of my own and that’s fucking bullshit. You’re paying me back from your cut.”
Mason grabbed her by the hair, hauled her close. “No, what’s fucking bullshit is having to listen to you bitching and moaning the minute I finally get out of that hellhole.” He shoved her, hard enough to send her sprawling, knocking over one of the spotlights so its glare was directed beyond them.
He looked past her. “What the fuck.” He strode over and defensively she rolled away, but not quickly enough. His kick still caught her on the hip. “You only brought one goddamned set of wheels?”
She struggled to her feet. Dusted herself off. She could already feel the pain radiating from her hip. On a level no one else could ever understand, it felt good. Normal. Life was pain. Vickie never felt more alive than when she was giving or receiving it.
“The idea was two motorcycles. By splitting up we divide their attention. You stupid stupid bitch. Can’t follow simple directions.”
“Fuck you.” Her punch in the gut caught him unaware, and the breath whooshed out of him. “There’s a little thing called money, but you don’t want to hear about how much all these details cost. I’ve got a car. I traded the truck under the table to some guy in Missouri for it. They’re only going to be expecting to see one person on the cycle anyway. Most guys get busted out of jail might say thank you.” She didn’t bother to tell him that had he had his own set of wheels, she couldn’t be sure where he’d decide to go when they got out of here. This way, together on one bike, she still controlled the situation.
“Still mean as a swamp rat, aren’t you. I’ll give you that one.” He rubbed his stomach where she’d hit him, but she didn’t kid herself. He’d make her pay for it later. “Got my clothes? I’m sure the hell not leaving here wearing this fucking jumpsuit.”
“In here.”
He grabbed the bag still in her hand and pulled out the jeans and shirt she’d brought. “I gotta piss. This place have a bathroom?”
“Maybe we could head to the Ritz so you can have a fucking spa day.” Her voice was caustic. “Just take a leak in the corner, for godsakes, change your clothes and let’s get this thing done.”
She could hear the trickle of urine hitting cement as she turned her back and walked over to the backpack she’d brought when she’d parked inside here before dawn this morning, waiting. She’d checked the escape hatch half a dozen times in case the idiot driver didn’t follow the map she’d sent him and led the fucking cops here.
“Okay.” Vance came trailing over. “Where’s the other stuff you brought?”
She went to the backpack and dug around in it. Handed him a weapon.
“A Sig. Nice.” He jammed it in his waistband carelessly. She’d often wished he’d blow something off, just to teach him a lesson. “And the bombs. Don’t be bitching about what you’ve spent. I paid out the ass for those beauties a couple months ag
o. Spent a lot of time learning how to hook them up, too.”