Sue stopped beside him as the aisle cleared. “I believe I'll name you mediator for the duration,” she said. “Just don't lose that coin."
He held up the quarter. “Do you want the window seat?"
“No,” she said firmly. “You know how I feel about flying. I love it about as much as dealing with an irate tenant with a plugged-up toilet. And looking out that window is not my greatest desire.” Climbing back off this glorified boxcar would be her preference.
“What are you looking for?” she asked when she realized he wasn't listening to a word she said.
“A tall, curly-headed guy,” he answered absently. “If you spot one, let me know.” He was standing in the middle of the aisle and looking at the impatiently shifting passengers toward the rear. He would have to wait until they were in the air, and then find an excuse to walk back to the tail.
“I thought you said he left town yesterday."
Taking her carry-on bag and opening the overhead compartment, he said, “A mere assumption.” Finding room, he placed his briefcase in with her bag and sat down. “You used to like flying with me.” His little single-engine had its own shelter at the ranch. But he hadn't been near it in months.
“That was different. You were teaching me to land the thing because it was what I wanted to learn the most. We're trusting someone else to get us on the ground. You weren't a stranger, and I was well acquainted with your life style.” She looked him square in the eyes. “And there wasn't room for any of your enemies to get on board.”
The first-class flight attendant stopped in front of them. “I would have been glad to store those bags for you,” she said, her brunette hair shimmering, her blue uniform a perfect fit on abundant curves.
Jacob smiled. “I needed the exercise, but thank you anyway."
“After we're in the air, we'll have croissants or Danishes, plus, if you like, a cheese-omelet breakfast. Which can I get for you?"
“Coffee,” Sue requested. “Nice, strong, black coffee."
“You could go back to sleep,” Jacob suggested. “The coffee wouldn't help much."
Sue watched the attendant take breakfast orders from the children and point to the serving tables attached to their seats—obviously explaining something-or-other, and not realizing that the two of them had flown first-class three times in the past year. “You must be joking if you think I'll be able to close my eyes for a second on this trip.” It wasn't merely the trip. She had never been able to sleep worth two cents anywhere but her own bed.
Jacob looked at the attendant. “You'd best bring the full breakfast for us,” he said as she stopped beside him. “I've a feeling we're going to need the energy.”
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Chapter 12
It wasn't until they disembarked in Denver and began boarding the plane to Fresno that Jacob spotted a man that resembled the one he'd seen enter the motel. The guy was ahead of them, and Jacob just caught a glimpse of his profile. He had seen that face before, and it had nothing to do with the curly hair or the motel. He'd met this guy somewhere, but his memory wouldn't jog. Maybe it was the mustache and the unshaven face that threw him off. The guy wore patched jeans, a denim shirt with vest, and, of all things, leather sandals on his bare feet when he ought to be wearing boots.
Either the guy was a cornball, or he deliberately tried to look different and wasn't very good at it. Always the skeptic, Jacob decided on the latter. Sooner or later he would remember where he had seen that profile. Could have been a magazine cover, he thought. Maybe he was a model or media guy who didn't want anyone to recognize him.
He nudged Sue's arm. “See that guy handing the ticket to the attendant?” When she nodded, he continued, “Ever see him before? Maybe on TV, or the movies, or in the newspaper?"
Sue ushered the kids in front of her, then studied the man for a moment. “No. But, if we're presuming he's from California, I can't imagine a westerner wearing sandals with that type of outfit. Unless, of course, he had a cut or sprained foot, or something.” She shrugged. “I guess anything goes."
Not anything, Jacob thought. Where was his hat? Then again, he would look pretty stupid with a cowboy hat perched on top all the curls. That hair went with a whole different type of garb.
“I get it,” Sue said. “The curly hair—you think he's the motel man?"
“Maybe."
He handed the tickets to the attendant. “Excuse me, Miss,” he said. “That tall man who was ahead of us, I think I know him. Do you recall his name?"
“I think it was Cane, or Crain, or something like that,” she answered, handing him back the folder for the tickets. “I only glance at names once in a while, sir. I just take the ticket and return the seat assignment."
Bingo, he thought, remembering the signature at the motel. Not that it would do much good. He would let Detective Manning know about seeing the guy, though he felt certain any tracing would come to a dead end.
* * * *
“Do we need to call a cab?” Andee asked as she yanked her suitcase from the conveyor belt. She became squeezed between the conveyor and the rush of people frantically grabbing at their cases.
Jacob took her hand and pulled her to safety beside him. “Nope,” Jacob answered. “I left the van in the parking lot.”
“Great,” Mike said, lifting his suitcase. “I love riding in the back.” He looked up at his father. “Do you think they stole my bike when they tore up the house?"
“Guess we'll find out the answer to that question together, Mike. Tim didn't have the slightest idea if anything was missing or not. Except he did say the TV, stereo, and VCR were still in the family room.” And, he thought, that equipment alone would have gotten a thief enough money to bulge his pockets, big-time.
He glanced at Sue's closed expression. “Will you come to the house with me, or do I drop you at Mom's first?"
“I might as well see the damage. Then you can take all three of us to Abby's.” Then she remembered her car. “If my Ford Mustang is still intact, I'll just use it while we're here.” She hoped it was. Sue loved that little car—charcoal gray, leather seats, four-on-the-floor—and several neat custom things Jacob had surprised her with through the years.
“Oh, it's there,” he said moving toward the door with an armload of cases.
Eleven-thirty a.m., eighty degrees and beautiful, Sue thought as they stopped beside the long, comfortable silver and blue van. Flowers bloomed everywhere she glanced. Blooms of every imaginable color, and each would smell every bit as wonderful as it looked. She missed it. But she couldn't stay, and definitely not in the same area with Jacob. That idea would never work. That was why she moved back to Iowa. If she lived in the same state with him, she wouldn't be able to stay away from him. But she was lying to herself and she knew it. Fear of failing him, the kids, seemed to conjure up all sorts of useful excuses. She intended to keep saying that to herself until she quit doing it.
Solving the problem was what she wanted. While holding each other on their wedding night they'd made a pact, compressing their wedding vows into, always and forever, I'll be there for you. She was muffing it physically, but not mentally. He'd called with his grief over Robert and for help talking with Dottie. Mentally, at least, they were still on tract. The damned guilt just wouldn't let go.
He was standing near her, stacking the suitcases beside the van as the kids hauled them over to him. The scent of his after-shave reached her; she could see his muscles rippling, feel his strength, and found herself remembering how he could make her feel when they made love. It had been so long—
She had to stop this, now. These things she would ignore, because the last thing she wanted from this trip was to fall prey to his charm or her longings until she could trust herself. Remembering why she left in the first place always helped with the ignoring. So, with the vision in her mind of him lying on their living room step, of blood oozing from his hip and a gun pointed in his face, she yanked open the van's front door and started to
climb in.
The heat from inside hit her face and so did the horrifying stench. “Oh, God, Jacob,” she yelled, making the sign of the cross.
When he saw her gesture, he was beside her instantly. He wrapped one arm around her waist, lifting her backward and away from the vehicle, bumping Andee and Michael who were trying to see inside from under his arm. “Stay back,” he ordered as he reached inside, lifted his cellular phone from its case and shoved in the battery. He shut the door, enclosing the sight, and the smell.
“Isn't that Spike?” Andee and Mike asked in unison, looking at each other, eyes rounded in confusion, anxiety.
“I think I'm going to be sick,” Andee said, moving to lean against her mother.
He dialed Tim's number as he looked at Sue. Tears were streaming down her cheeks while her left arm curled around Andee's shoulders, holding her closely. “I'm calling Tim. He'll bring another car for us."
“That's Abby's cat, J.T.,” Sue whispered, her throat raw. “How could anyone get to her cat?” Spike was a house cat. He was never far from Abby when she was home. The furthest he went was to lie on a deck chair in the back yard while she exercised in the pool. “Someone must have been in Abby's house” she added, her voice rising. “We have to find out if she's all right."
Jacob reached out and touched the tears on her cheeks as he spoke to Tim. “We have a problem, Tim. First, how's Abby?” He listened, sighing with relief as Tim said Abby was fine, that he'd spoken to her an hour ago. He gave Sue a thumbs-up sign, and some of the anxiety left her expression. “Can you get to the airport fast?” Tim's response was to pick up Abby first and they would both come. “No, don't bring Abby. You'll understand why when you get here. Oh, and bring a garbage bag, a box, if you've got one handy, and a can of air freshener."
After he hung up, he remembered he had some plastic bags and a pair of gloves stored with the spare tire. “Take the kids back inside the terminal, Babe.” Jacob opened his wallet and withdrew some bills. Handing them to her, he added, “Get us all a cold drink. It'll take Tim about twenty minutes to get here."
“I want to stay with you,” Mike said.
“Go help your mom, Mike. You can go with me later."
He watched them until they disappeared inside, then opened the back door and lifted the hatch for the spare.
The cat hung from the steering wheel, but the strap around its neck wasn't what killed it. Someone had shot the animal in the face with what he thought must have been a small caliber gun. After removing the note attached to the strap, Jacob slipped the animal into doubled garbage bags and tied them shut. Then he opened all the van doors and sat on the curb, waiting for Tim.
He left the note on the van seat, thinking that maybe Tim could get prints from it. Whoever it was, was letting him know that he, she, or they could get to anyone they wanted to, at any time, and in any place. The Iowa connection made it they to Jacob, since the culprit couldn't be in two states at the same time.
Spike wouldn't have been an easy snare. The eight-year-old animal had defended Abby more than once, even though she didn't need defending. Like the time the mailman came too close and she had to pry the cat off his leg. And, himself the day he surprised Abby by hugging her from behind. She'd had to pry Spike off his back. He had to speculate that someone out there was running around with a few deeply embedded scratches and teeth marks.
One thing was certain—he did not relish the idea of telling Abby about Spike. If it weren't a matter of safety, he would swear everyone to secrecy and let her think he got lost. That would be kidding himself. Abby was too smart to try and fool.
“See how easy this was,” the note goaded him. “Take the hint, bastard, and stick to divorce cases.” Jacob didn't think for a moment that the writer of the note was the brains behind the act. No, it was the work of a not-to-bright hireling. The writer didn't know him well either, because divorce cases weren't his cup-of-poke-into.
Tim's Lincoln Towncar pulling in beside the van interrupted his thoughts. “Hope you didn't break any speed laws,” Jacob said as Tim stepped from his car.
“Wouldn't tell you if I had,” Tim said. “What the hell's going on, J.T."
“Get a box?"
Tim reached inside his car and released the trunk lid. “Right in here. I have to tell you, this is the strangest request you've ever made. And you've made some peculiar ones through the years."
Jacob shoved to his feet and walked to the van. He leaned over and lifted the garbage bag. “Just bring the box."
As Tim approached, his nose wrinkled. “Damnation's fire, what died?"
“Abby's cat, Spike."
Tim dropped the box in front of Jacob. “Pass that by me again."
Gently, Jacob lowered the bag into the box. “Someone left me a message, Tim. A dead cat, and a note."
Tim paled, visibly. “Some sonofabitch was in Abby's house. Where's the note?"
Jacob pointed at the van. “Lying on the front seat. I haven't touched it, except with gloves. Thought maybe you could get some prints off it.” He looked at the box. “I don't know if the cat will be of any help."
“You should have left the damned cat where it was. Did you touch anything else in the van?"
“Only to remove the cat and open the doors. Sue touched the other door, but she never got inside.” He looked at Tim. “Sorry about moving the cat. But even though I knew better, I couldn't make myself leave him hanging there. All's not lost. You'll find some fur, blood, and the marks on the steering wheel made by the strap” He leaned against the van. “I also couldn't make myself leave the smell in my van."
“It's going to take more than opening the doors to help your van,” Tim said, walking back to his car. Lifting the mike from his radio, he called the precinct, asked for forensic aid from a couple of buddies. He returned to Jacob. “After they get here, I can take you all home."
Jacob shook his head. “I'd rather you stayed with them, then let me know the results. You can come get me to pick up the van.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I don't look forward to telling Abby about this."
Tim jabbed his hand in his pocket. “Abby's looked all over for the cat the past two days. Said he was playing with a stray that kept hanging around. We picked up your dogs yesterday, and she thought he was hiding out because he's not crazy about Bandit.” His hand came out of his pocket and his fist came down on the fender of his car. “Could've been Friday or Saturday, but the sonofabucks must have been in her house while we were gone.” He hesitated. “I think we'd better find out who's hating your guts this time, J.T. I don't like thinking that Abby could be a target."
Jacob lifted a hand, and then let it fall to his side. What could he say? He didn't understand, yet, just what was happening and why. But, he would.
“I'm going to tie this in with the damages done to your house as far as the investigation goes.” They heard a siren approaching, and Tim waved down the car. “I'll call you the minute I know anything,” Tim added. “You going to be home?"
Stepping up on the curb and out of the way, Jacob considered his course of action. “I'll take the family to Abby's first. If you don't reach me at home, I'll be at Abby's.” He wanted to get home and rummage through the mess. “Forget either, Tim, I'll carry my cell phone.”
Jacob glanced at his briefcase. However, he felt certain that what they wanted he was carrying with him. They had no conception of how little that really was. Though, perhaps Jacob needed to study the material more closely—there were several signatures he hadn't checked out yet. And he wasn't sure whether that was good or bad. Their not knowing what he had definitely had them busy—
Dangerously, busy.
He didn't believe the car-heisting cop he had been tailing had the kind of help it would take to reach clear to Iowa—unless he was merely one of a group into car theft.
It seemed more reasonable that the They, Jacob speculated, had to be the agent who'd harassed Robert, and any cohorts helping him. The agent who, through free
and nearly undetectable computer access, was stealing property by confiscation, selling to hired buyers, then reselling again. Serious, complicated stuff—and lots of money.
He could be wrong. But then again, Robert's was the only information stowed in his briefcase, and the thieves would have carefully gone through all his other files the first time they broke in. He patted the case firmly as he lifted it. Here was Robert's entire case. Even though his data on the agent's illegal theft activity was downright thorough, the agent had to know Jacob could never touch him with the property information, so why would he feel worried enough to go this far to intimidate him?
He had obviously struck a deep nerve—an elusive nerve that Jacob needed to expose to fresh air, after he managed to recognize it himself. When he saw agent Williams again, he wanted every puzzle piece in place. He also wanted the guy on territory totally away from any agency activity. He wanted this guy, period.
Jacob shifted his briefcase to his left hand, waved at Tim, then crossed the busy parking lot to the terminal. He hired the first cab in a line of ten parked near the entrance, asking the driver to pick up the luggage they'd left near the curb in front of the van, then to come back and get them. When the cabby drove away, he went inside to find his family.
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Chapter 13
He found them in the airport restaurant, the kids with hurt, somber expressions, munching chips in a halfhearted completely uncharacteristic manner, Sue sipping coffee; her chocolate-colored eyes—sparkling? After going through the line and getting a tall glass of limeade, he worked his way around several tables and joined them, placing his briefcase on the floor beside his feet. “I suppose no one is hungry,” he said, intrigued, and wondering what that satisfied expression on her face was all about.
“Give them a couple of hours,” Sue suggested, gesturing at the children. “Maybe by then they'll have most of their appetites back.” She sat forward. “I saw your curly man, J.T. And I followed him after he grabbed his suitcase."
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