The blond man smiled. “Mexican standoff, buddy,” he warned Reid.
Reid held his fully extended arm as steady as an iron bar. His calm, cool expression broke into a small grin. “Not really. Give it up. I’ve got you surrounded.”
The man cocked his head sideways and sneered. “Hey, Cyrus. Who is this asshole?”
“A cop from Mission City,” Cyrus called back. “Put the gun down, Dorbandt, or I’ll snap her neck.”
Ansel halted her struggles as she watched this dire turn of events. Cyrus was pressed tightly against her back, and his foul breath reeked of beer and vomit. She wanted to claw his eyes out, but this wasn’t the time. She’d endure anything to keep Reid safe. They pressed up against the door to her room, and she prayed that Dixie wouldn’t sleep through all the noise. Or maybe somebody would call hotel security.
“I told you not to leave Swoln, Cyrus. After I shoot your friend, I’m going to shoot you.”
Cyrus yanked his arm tighter, and Ansel choked as her windpipe closed. “You’ll have to get the bullet past her first. Put the fucking gun down.” He started shuffling slowly down the hall, dragging Ansel with him. “Kill him,” he ordered his accomplice, “and let’s get out of here.”
Cyrus’ buddy obliged and cocked the trigger. Suddenly from around a far T-turn in the hall, Parker leaped out, feet straddled, his automatic supported in both hands, and fired. A loud blast reverberated a second after a bullet slammed into the blond man. His hoarse yelp faltered even as he hit the floor with a thump. The bullet had struck his shoulder.
Reid was dumbfounded, but safe. That was all Ansel needed to see. She instantly went rigid in Rusty’s dragging grip and stomped on his right toes with the nice square heel of her boot and one-hundred and twenty pounds of grinding torque power.
Rusty screamed and released her with surprising speed, then abandoned any efforts to subdue her further. Without a word, he half-bolted and half-limped down the short hall toward an exit stairway while she steadied herself against the wall and rubbed her sore neck.
Parker rushed past Reid and the fallen man, gun in hand, and toward Ansel. He quickly looked her over and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Ansel looked into his inquiring eyes. “Yes,” I’m fine.”
Reid took this in with a critical stare, then focused on Cyrus who was getting away. “Shit,” he exclaimed before kicking the blond man’s tiny pistol far down the hall. “Keep an eye on him,” he yelled as he bolted first past Parker and then a myriad of sleepy people who were opening their doors and sticking their heads out.
“I’ve got to go,” Parker told Ansel. “Call an ambulance and then Outerbridge.”
She nodded as he disappeared down the hall. Her room door opened, and Dixie wandered out wearing a satiny black pajama outfit, eyes half-shut and hair askew. She looked to the right, eyes going wide at the sight of the older blond haired man prone on the floor. “What’s happened?”
“He tried to shoot Detective Dorbandt. He and Parker went after a another man. Get an ambulance,” Ansel repeated as she walked slowly toward the man bleeding onto the carpet. “And Outerbridge.”
Dixie didn’t move. “Dorbandt shot him?”
“No, Parker did. Hurry up, Dixie.”
“OK. I’m right on it.” She hurried into the bedroom.
Ansel bent down beside the man. He wasn’t bleeding too badly, and his breathing was slow and even. It looked like a flesh wound more than anything else, but the man had been under the influence of either alcohol or drugs and being shot had totally zonked him out. That was good news. He needed to live so Reid could question him. Maybe he knew where Cullen Flynn was.
“Jesus,” what’s happened?” asked a skinny, old man wearing boxer shorts and a white undershirt.
“This is a crime scene. Please stand back. Help is coming. The FBI are here.”
The man scooted back about five feet. “No kidding?”
“What’s your name?”
“Jerry Atwater.”
“Listen, Mr. Atwater. I’m going to get a blanket so he doesn’t go into shock. Can you keep people away from this end of the hall?”
“Sure.” He swivelled his head toward the growing onlookers and peered over the top of his glasses. “Back off. The cops are coming.” He looked at her and grinned. “That okay?”
Ansel stood up.“Great.”
She went straight into her room so fast that Dixie, who was sitting on the far bed with her back to the entrance, didn’t even know she was there. Dixie was on the phone and Ansel couldn’t help but hear her.
“Get up here, John. Parker just shot Jessie Frost.” Dixie waited a moment, then said, “I’ll keep her busy.”
After Dixie hung up, Ansel made no effort to hide her presence as she whipped down the coverlet on her unused bed to reach the blanket beneath. Dixie twisted quickly around. “Shoot, you nearly made pee my pants, honey.”
Ansel clutched the fuzzy green blanket to her chest and glared at the woman. She was in no mood for games. “Who the hell is Jessie Frost?” When Dixie simply stared back, speechless, she said, “Go ahead, Dixie. Tell me what I should have known from the beginning.”
The paleontologist bit her lip and continued to look as guilty as sin, but said nothing.
“Fine. I’ll find out all your dirty little FBI secrets anyway.” Ansel walked toward the door, then half-turned. “Oh, and don’t you ever call me ‘Honey’ again.”
Chapter 26
“Never go to sleep when your meat is on fire.”
Pueblo
Reid shot through the second floor exit door and started down the stairs toward the lobby. He’d bounded down half a flight before realizing that the pounding footsteps he heard were actually above him. Dammit. What kind of moron ran away from cops by going upstairs?
Just as he started back up, Standback bulleted through the door onto the second floor landing, gave Reid a sour glance, then bounded ahead of him up the stairway toward Cyrus’ fleeing form. Reid cursed and took the steps two at a time, reclaiming lost ground.
The sound of an opening third floor doorway echoed through the stairwell. Flynn had gone back into the hotel. On instinct, Reid shot back through the second floor entrance and down the hall. His planned for Standback to tail Flynn while he cut the jailbird off at the opposite end.
Reid sprinted past knots of hotel hawkers and the man still lying on the floor. An old timer wearing boxer shorts yelled at him as he jumped over the unconscious cowboy, sprinted down the east hallway and slammed through the door into the stairwell. He was up the steps and through the third floor entrance in moments. This hallway was blissfully quiet and he sped down it, seeing no sign of Flynn or Standback. Suddenly Standback veered around a corner of the elevator foyer. Standback saw Reid and looked doubly exasperated.
“Where have you been? He’s on the elevator.” He darted past Reid toward the stairwell.
Reid shot into step behind him. “I’ll handle this. He’s my suspect.”
“Who says?” The agent hit the door hard and headed pell-mell down the stairs.
“I’m working the Chief Flynn case. This is his nephew.”
Reid matched Standback’s speed, and they flew down the stairs side by side. Parker held the inside railing and a distinct advantage around the turns. They made the stairwell turn just beneath the second floor landing.
“It belongs to the FBI now.”
“In your dreams, Standback”
“Just stay out my way, Dorbandt.”
Reid grinned. He knew something that was going to work to his advantage. Once they hit the ground floor, Standback raced toward the stairwell door, bee-lining for the lobby elevators.
Reid hesitated a few seconds, allowing the agent to take the lead. That’s what he wanted. As Standback tore into a hallway leading to the front desk, he stopped, turned around, and went out the first floor street exit. From there he coursed past the front side of the hotel and around a co
rner into the darker reaches of the rear parking lot.
The foul smell of rotting fish wafted into his face from the overfilled dumpster next to the kitchen entrance as he raced over asphalt, his eyes scouring the area for signs of danger. He saw his sedan and the Jeep but there was no sign of anybody, especially Cyrus. Reid slowed to a walk and pulled his gun out. Maybe the guy was faster than they thought and had already gotten into the Jeep. Once inside, Cyrus could pull a weapon from anywhere.
The sound of an ambulance siren out front wailed over the hotel roof line. Reid shook his head. The place would be a zoo in a few moments, plenty of opportunity for Cyrus to melt into the confusion and slip through a two-man search team. Where was Outerbridge?
Reid walked carefully up to his car, using the vehicle as a shield between him and the Jeep, with his gun ready. As he moved closer and could see inside the Jeep, he realized that nothing looked amiss. Everything was closed and locked. Nobody inside or under the vehicle. It looked like Cyrus hadn’t headed this way.
The thought that Standback may have collared the con in the lobby made him hitch up his mouth in disgust. Worse yet, what if that little weasel had eluded them? Cyrus knew what had happened to Cullen Flynn. He had his uncle’s Jeep. Reid knew that he should have muscled Cyrus at the house when he had his chance. Leaned on him until he popped.
Soft footsteps coming across the asphalt jarred Reid into action. He crouched beside the Jeep’s passenger door and pressed himself against it with his pistol gripped in both hands, cocked and ready. The footsteps moved around the hood of his sedan and down the length of the Jeep’s driver side opposite him.
Reid licked his lips, every fiber of his body listening and evaluating the movement of shoe leather on gritty asphalt only eight feet away. When he felt that the moment was right, he leaped up, located his target, and pointed the gun across the roof.
“Hold it right there or I’ll shoot.”
Standback, brown face criss-crossed with dread, stood across from him, his own gun raised uselessly in mid-air. When he recognized Reid, his lips puckered with disdain.
“Bang, you’re dead,” Reid said, enjoying the moment.
“Very funny.” Standback re-holstered his gun in a left shoulder strap. “You’d be dead if I didn’t shoot the other guy first. We’re even.” He glanced at the inside of the Jeep. “Chief Flynn’s missing car. When did you find it?”
Reid pushed his gun into his holster and walked to his sedan. “Thirty minutes ago. It was right under your nose. Looks like I’ve been one step ahead of you.”
“Did you happen to see the perp while you were cavorting around the parking lot?”
“Not a red hair. You?”
Standback stood beside him. “Nothing. He’s gone.”
“How could you loose him in an elevator?”
“He stopped it mid-floor. By the time I got back to the second floor, he’d taken the elevator up to the third. By the time I got up there, he was a ghost. I even checked the roof. I came out here hoping to lock onto him again. Where the hell were you?”
“Right here waiting for Cyrus Flynn to show up, of course. Outerbridge is going to pitch a shoe over this.”
“Sheriff Combs isn’t exactly going to give you a commendation.”
Reid smirked. “Oh, I don’t know. I found the Jeep. Once my department examines its contents, we may have a lot to go on. Too bad for you.”
“Mind telling me what you’re doing at this hotel in the first place?”
“Just came to Billings to get a photo of the museum poacher’s face. I don’t suppose your team has identified him yet, right?”
Standback got serious. “To tell you the truth, he hasn’t been a high priority.”
“I guess that’s a no,” Reid said. “Well, you’ll find out all about it anytime now. I brought the skull here to be digitally re-constructed a few days ago. The facial photo has already hit the police networks, especially the reservation computer banks. We should get this little loose end tied up for you Feebees in no time.”
“You know, all this macho, competitive repartee is getting old, Dorbandt. You have a personal problem with me?”
“Wrong question, Standback.” Reid crossed his arms.
“What’s the right question?”
“Is Ansel Phoenix going to have a problem with you?”
Standback shifted his feet and cocked his head sideways. “What’s Ansel to you?”
Reid scratched his temple, looked at the ground, then glared back. “I’m a friend. Just want to know what she’s been doing here with you.”
“She’s working with our task force. Since you’ve blundered into our operation, I’m sure Outerbridge will tie up that loose end for your sheriff’s department.” He walked away.
Reid didn’t move. “I’m not done.”
“Well, friend, I think you are.”
Reid didn’t like what he was feeling because he wasn’t sure what it was. Envy? Jealousy? It didn’t make any sense. Where was he going with this? Ansel was an adult. She had her own life. And he had the promise of Chloe coming into his. He was way out of line and he knew it, but the words just tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them.
“Don’t hurt her or you’ll answer to me,” he called across the parking lot as Standback went to the lobby entrance.
The Indian didn’t respond until he had one hand on the glass door. Then he turned slowly. “You’re a good detective, Dorbandt, but a lousy realist. Ansel couldn’t be any safer with anyone but me unless she was with you, which she’s obviously not.” He was gone in seconds.
Reid spun around and punched his fist against the door of his car, wishing it was Standback’s face, then grimaced in pain. He spent the next minute shaking his hand and flexing his aching fingers. He felt like a fool.
All right if Ansel had been with Standback there was nothing he could do about it. He told her to come on Outerbridge’s mission. He’d also told her to keep in touch, which she hadn’t. Deliberate evasion or not, she’d apparently been attracted to Standback during their time together. Maybe because he was Indian, and that was something he could never ever change in himself.
Two tan-uniformed men came around the hotel corner and spotted him. They approached him cautiously, hands on their belt holsters. “Excuse me, sir,” said the young, fresh-faced one. “What are you doing back here?”
“I’m Detective Dorbandt. Lacrosse County Sheriff’s Department. I’m going to reach for my badge.” He pulled his wallet from his inside jacket and flashed his shield. “I need you guys to stay here and guard the Jeep. It’s a stolen vehicle and evidence in my case. A perp associated with the shooting inside may try to get to it. Keep an eye out. I’ll be back in a bit. I’m going to leave my car here, too.” He replaced the wallet and pulled out his cell phone.
The cops nodded, radioed their position via shoulder radios, and took positions around the Jeep as he walked toward the lobby entrance. He hastily dialed the main number at the Lacrosse station and talked to the desk Sergeant, catching him up to speed with what had happened in Billings. Primarily, he was going to work with the local sheriff’s department to seize and impound Chief Flynn’s car since it was no longer occupied by a suspect and had been left in a public place.
From there, the news that Cullen’s Jeep had been found and that Cyrus Flynn and another man, as yet unidentified, were possibly involved in the Chief’s disappearance would filter up and down the chain of command. Soon a felony warrant for running from an officer would be issued for Cyrus Flynn.
Reid also received information back. There was only one pressing message. Odie had done his homework on Carigliano and Allied Beef. The Sergeant delivered a summarized version of the important info, and Reid listened with total concentration. The news was quite illuminating, and he licked his lips in anticipation. Agent Outerbridge and he needed to talk.
His last instructions to the Sergeant were to have Odie start the ball rolling on an affidavit for a search warrant on
Cyrus’ house and car, and to contact him as soon as he came on duty in a few hours. Reid closed the conversation by promising to be back in Mission City as soon as possible. He wanted to be back in Lacrosse for the house bust. Silently, he cursed.
There was no way he could make that seven-thirty breakfast with Chloe.
Chapter 27
“Listening to a liar is like drinking warm water.”
Tribe Unknown
Ansel watched from her room as the paramedics lifted the cowboy onto a stretcher and strapped him in. The hall was littered with medical equipment and excited people swarmed the area: EMTs, police, sheriff deputies, hotel security or staff, and curious onlookers.
Outerbridge had arrived a few minutes after Dixie’s phone call. He conferred with her briefly, then hustled over to stand guard beside Jessie Frost while Walthers, who’d apparently been called away from surveillance, kept the crowd away. Dixie had avoided her at all costs, slinking toward the far corner of the hallway behind Outerbridge.
She rubbed her arms and leaned wearily against the doorway to her room. Her eyes felt like sandpaper and her tight clothes chafed at her skin. She needed sleep, even if it had to be in the same room with Dixie. The only thing that kept her standing was hoping Reid would return. They had to talk, and she didn’t care what Outerbridge thought.
Ansel saw Parker first. He appeared from the west end of the hall, nodded briefly in her direction, then went straight for Outerbridge who was talking to a police Sergeant. Her heart sank. By the scowling expression on his face, it looked like he hadn’t apprehended Cyrus. At least he was safe. When Outerbridge saw Parker, he pulled him aside and began an animated conversation that didn’t look pleasant.
Ten minutes later, Reid pushed through the crowd. At least he was uninjured, too. He’d almost been shot right before her eyes. By the time he reached her through the throng, his expression was stony. No matter his frame of mind, she had to tell him what she’d found out about Operation Dragon. It might help locate Chief Flynn.
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