by J. S. Marlo
The jacket of the driver reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. Quest nicknamed him Smelly. If his demeanor was any indication, he was the leader. He was also the one who’d asked her name, meaning this wasn’t a random abduction. The other guy, the one who’d covered their tracks with a rake and kept scratching the front of his pants, appeared to be the lackey. Calling him Scratchy fit his personality. He’d taken her skis, poles, and weapon. If she could only get her hands on her rifle, she’d put an end to his itching misery.
The snowmobile came to an abrupt halt.
She bumped her face into Smelly’s shoulder. Disgust wrenched her stomach. This training session was going down in history as the worst one. Ever.
Someone grabbed her by the arm and yanked her off the seat. She fell into the snow. Sore, undignified—and livid.
Her blood simmered inside her veins, ready to boil over. The handkerchief covering her mouth was removed and the blindfold pulled from her eyes. Blinded by the light, she struggled to sit as she blinked away the dancing stars.
A shadow suddenly blocked the sunlight. She diverted her gaze onto the figure looming over her. It was a tall and lanky white man with short brown hair and a rigid stance. “Are you Hope Craig?”
“No. Can I go now?”
A lopsided smile contorted his face. “Lexa used to be feisty too—until your father got a hold of her.”
“What?” Either she read him wrong or he didn’t make sense. “What father?”
“I read your biography on the Internet. Quite impressive for a deaf girl.”
A storm raged inside her chest. No one belittled her without suffering the consequences. “What do you want?”
The man tilted his chin toward Smelly and Scratchy. “Get her inside the cabin, boys, and be nice. I don’t want any bruises on her.”
Deeply touched by his consideration, she rolled her eyes. There would be bruises all right, but not on her. When Scratchy got her up on her feet, she kicked him where it itched. Victim of her ski boot, he fell to his knees, his mouth wide open.
Bound at the wrists, she stretched her arms in front of her and spun around. With her fists, she hit Smelly square in the jaw. As he stumbled backward, he swung back at her. The butt of his gun connected with the side of her head.
Darkness engulfed her.
***
“Let me get this straight. The guy in the second picture is not the senator. Snow Bunny is not a minor. She’s an aspiring model named Sherry Clark who was paid two thousand dollars cash on December 5th to sit naked in the cold on the lap of a guy named Joel while a photographer named Sly snapped the pictures which were destined for a calendar.”
Gil wished he could see Morgan’s face through his phone. “That’s right, Sheriff.”
Across the table, Eve munched on her donut. The glee in her eyes matched the amusement tickling Gil’s funny bone.
“Let me run Sherry Clark’s name in the DMV.” Steady breathing punctuated by clicking sounds filled the line. “That’s the girl. She has no record. Do you have a last name for Joel and Sly?”
“No, but wannabe Miss December gave us Joel’s address. We’ll pay him a visit as soon as Eve’s baby girl stops eating.”
“Baby is done.” Gobbling her last bit of donut, his partner stood. “Let’s go, Thompson.”
“This little scheme isn’t an accident, Gil.” Morgan’s voice resonated loud and insistent in the handset. “One of these guys may be our blackmailer. Be careful out there.”
With a pregnant woman in tow, being careful took a different meaning. “Maybe I should go back to the office and drop Eve before I—” An intense maternal glare struck Gil’s idea. “Nevermind. I’ll call back later.”
“I’m pregnant, not an invalid.” Eve snatched the car keys from the table. “Are you coming or not?”
They ended up in an upscale neighborhood in front of a blue house. A silver Porsche was parked in a shoveled driveway alongside a black pickup truck.
Shaking her head, Eve killed the engine. “We’re in the wrong line of work.”
“At least we get to keep our clothes on.”
A grin sneaked past her stern ‘on-duty’ demeanor. “You go first and be baby’s shield. That way we can both kick your arse.”
When she was in mission mode, Eve was a force to reckon with. Protecting her against herself wasn’t a task that Gil relished. At times like these, he didn’t envy her husband’s or Morgan’s position.
Painfully aware of Eve’s presence behind him, Gil knocked on the door.
A man in his late twenties sharing facial characteristics with Senator Norman answered the door. “May I help you?”
“I’m Deputy Thompson. This is Deputy Ford.” As he jerked his head backward, he kept an eye on the suspect in the doorway. “Are you Joel?”
“Yes. Please come in.” The door opened wide. Joel invited them into his living room, as if he had nothing to hide. “What can I do for you?”
Gil showed him the compromising picture with Snow Bunny. “Can you explain this?”
“Nice shot, hey? Sherry was a bit cold by the end of—Oh no—” Dropping the picture, he stared helplessly at the two of them. “I didn’t know. I swear. She said she was twenty-one. She had her driver license. I checked the date. I—”
“Take it easy, Winter Boy.” Eve seemed to take pity on the distraught young man. “She’s not underage. We just want to know what happened.”
“Nothing happened.” The male model seemed to relax. “I kept my clothes on. It was a sexy calendar shoot. That’s it.”
Both participants had given the same cover story, but Gil had a hard time believing either of them.
“So you’re the man in the photo?” When Joel acquiesced, Gil presented him with the other picture. The one with Black Beauty. “What about that one?”
“No. Not me...wait a sec...” Joel’s brows scrunched over his nose as he took a closer look. “That’s the old guy.”
Gil exchanged a quizzical look with his partner. “What old guy?”
“Sly gave me a close-up of that old guy. He told me I needed to look like his twin brother for the calendar shoot. Getting the right shade of gray was a challenge. It took me a few days and lots of hair color, but I succeeded. You can’t tell the difference between him and me, can you?”
While Gil hated to absolve Norman, the senator was clearly not the man in the second picture. Someone had framed him. “Okay, Joel. Who’s Sly?”
“He’s the photographer.” Suspicion washed over his face. “I did look at his credentials. He’s legit. He gave me his business card. I don’t know why you’re making a big case out of a few naked pictures.”
The reasoning didn’t impress Gil much. Any crook with a computer and a printer could look legit nowadays. “Does Sly have a last name?”
“Serpent. He said it was a French surname.”
“It means snake, Joel.” A groan of frustration rumbled inside Gil’s chest. “How much did Mr. Serpent pay you?”
“Two thousand cash, and he let me keep the clothes.”
Eve took a closer step toward their suspect. “What clothes?”
“The clothes Sly bought for the shoot. The winter jacket, the gloves, the pants...everything.”
No wonder the senator wore the same winter coat in both photos. The sheriff might not be pleased to learn the blackmailer had gone through lots of trouble to ensure the second picture looked authentic.
“Do you still have the clothes?” If Gil convinced the young man to surrender the clothes without a warrant, it would save them time. “They could be evidence in a case we’re investigating.”
With any luck, the lab might find a hair or a print on them.
“They weren’t my style. I threw them away.” Joel offered a smile that looked anything but apologetic. “I may still have Sly’s business card though. You want it?”
If the blackmailer was stupid enough to print a real address and phone number, he deserved to be arrested.
&nbs
p; ***
Coach Goldman paced the shooting range. Wind gusts from the west played havoc with his athletes’ accuracy, and he didn’t like the results.
Dammit. The weather was a factor over which his athletes had no control. It wasn’t an excuse for not focusing on the target.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced at the screen. Message from Hope Craig.
By now, she should have returned from her solo training session. After a quick snack, she was supposed to meet them on the shooting range. The girl was running late, which was out of character.
He read the message.
Finished morning practice. Something came up. Need rest of day to sort things. See u tomorrow. Hope
Hope? She never signed Hope. Whatever came up must have rattled her good. Oh well...
The girl was a dedicated athlete, and the sharpest shooter he’d ever trained. If anyone deserved a break, it was Quest.
Chapter Three
The morning newspaper wasn’t tainted with any new political scandals. So far, Norman’s blackmailer had held up his side of the bargain.
Thankful for the reprieve, Rich poured himself a second cup of coffee before flipping to the sport section.
A key rattled in the doorknob. He glanced through the window at his unplowed driveway. Maria’s car was parked beside his cruiser. His maid was early.
“Good morning, Señor Morgan. Me happy to see you before you go work. Can ask something?”
The bubbly Bolivian woman was a charming lady, but she was chattier than a blacked-capped Chickadee on a sunny spring day. Five minutes in her company was enough to send any sane person into social overload.
“Morning, Maria.” With any luck it’d be a quick request. “What can I do for you?”
“Me church collecting clothes for people in earthquake. You have lot clothes in bedrooms. Like to give some? Me stay longer and clean closets for you. No charging more.”
All the quality clothes he used to wear in his former life cluttered his spare bedroom. Had he bothered sorting them before moving to Montana, he would have given them away instead of packing them. His maid’s offer presented too much merit to ignore.
“That’s very nice of you, Maria. You can take all the clothes in the guest bedroom, but do not remove anything from mine. Do you understand?”
“Me not take clothes from señor bedroom. Understand.” She beamed with gratitude. “Me clean closet real good for señor. Thank you.”
Her joy and enthusiasm brightened his day, sparking an idea. “Maria, would you have room in your weekly cleaning schedule for another house?”
“Si. Si.” She nodded with such gusto, her head threatened to roll off her shoulders. “You have customer for me?”
“Would you go to Deputy Eve Ford’s house once a week to clean? Her husband hurt his back and she’s six month pregnant. They need help.” If Eve objected, he would tell her it was his baby gift. “I will pay you.”
“You good man, señor. Go work now. Adiós.”
Had Maria known him a decade or two ago, she wouldn’t have called him a good man. He’d been a selfish and arrogant fool, and he’d paid the price. The ultimate price.
He tossed the newspaper in the recycling bin. “I’m leaving, Maria.”
“Wait, señor.” Small, quick steps resonated in the hallway. Out of breath, his maid emerged holding a folded envelope and a few twenty-dollar bills. “Found in blue and gray line coat. Not give church.”
Having no idea which jacket she meant, Rich took the wrinkled envelope and shoved it in his pocket. “You keep the money. Have a good day.”
Four intersections and a railway track separated his house from the sheriff’s office. Depending on the amount of red lights or trains he encountered, it took him anywhere from five to twenty minutes to get to work.
Rich stopped at the railway tracks behind a green SUV. Two locomotives rolled by, pulling a chain of wagons as far as the eye could see.
With nothing to do but wait, he leaned back in his seat and dug his hands into his pockets, stumbling onto the envelope Maria had given him.
Let’s see...
He opened it. As soon as he glimpsed the folded piece of blue paper inside, his past caught up with him, jabbing an invisible knife into his chest.
Phoenix...
Eighteen years later, her name still evoked heartache and regrets. With quivering heart, he unfolded the tattered piece of paper he’d read so often he could recite it in his nightmares.
West Point, May 11th
This is a goodbye letter, Ducky.
On his third year at Harvard, he’d made the rowing team. During an exhibition race against West Point, he’d struck a duckling with his oar, catapulting the feathered baby into the crowd. After the race, which they’d won, a female cadet had approached him. It’d taken Rich an eternity to divert his eyes from her gorgeous blues eyes to the quacking duckling she held with her gloves.
From that point on, she’d called him Ducky.
Meeting your parents was a mistake I regret. Your mother refused to shake my hand and your father kept staring at my arm. Their actions made it painfully clear that you deserve a perfect woman and that I don’t belong in your family.
She’d been perfect in every sense of the word, but his parents had treated her with contempt. His cowardly silence had reinforced their positions.
I’m graduating on the 15th and I’m being deployed in Europe on the 18th. They want me to improve my Russian and German.
Only in the Army would they want her to improve something she mastered better than the local residents.
The last weekend we spent together, I asked you to come with me. You said you’d think about it. It’s been three weeks, and I still haven’t heard from you. Your lack of response speaks volumes.
He’d chosen money over love—and lived long enough to regret it.
Please take care of yourself.
Love you always,
Phoenix
Like the mystical bird, she’d risen from the ashes, and at her touch, he’d crashed and burned.
***
Gil picked up the infamous business card from Eve’s desk.
SFS Photos - Show your Fangs and Smile
Sly Serpent, PO Box 8888, Montana
The male model had forgotten where he’d put the card. By the time he found it in the glove compartment of his Porsche and drove to the sheriff’s office to drop it off, it was hours later. Too late to work on the lead.
Not a lead, a wild goose chase.
“Four slithering eights. Fangs. Snake. That Serpent guy is a creep.” Gil dropped the card next to her keyboard. “I can’t believe Joel didn’t notice the name of the town was missing.”
“An extra dose of grey matter isn’t a prerequisite in his line of work, that’s for sure.” A rosy tinge colored Eve’s cheeks. “Now, about that missing town. Nathan’s back was killing him last night, so he stayed up and did some research for us.”
“You mean hacking?” Gil’s appreciation for his shrewd partner and her techie civilian husband bordered admiration. “You know you’re corrupting the poor guy, don’t you?”
“At least he’s working for us. Now look at this.” She tipped the screen of her computer toward him. “This is a list of all the places in Montana where you can rent a postal box.”
A low whistle wisped through his lips. “Tell me you narrowed it down to the dozen locations highlighted in pink?”
“The actual number is thirteen.” An air of satisfaction enveloped her. With her hands over her belly, she glowed. “And yes, these are the only places where they have a box 8888. If the sheriff authorizes it, you and I could go on a road trip starting with this one.”
With her index finger, she pointed at the town of Anaconda.
“Anaconda?” It was a snake connection, but it sounded too easy. “I don’t know, Eve. It’s a long drive only to check the name of the owner of a postal box. Serpent could have printed that number at random. Ca
n’t we just phone the place?”
“Geez, how come I didn’t think of that?” Eve didn’t need a gun. The glare in her eyes had the precision of a laser beam and looked as lethal. “Or maybe I did try that, but the employee didn’t like my voice. I’m sure her refusal had nothing to do with the privacy laws I was asking her to breach over the phone.”
“You’re right.” For his sake, he needed to stop arguing with a pregnant redhead. “Want me to fill the paperwork for the warrant?”
“Already requested one. It should be ready by now.”
The door opened, creating a cold draft. A woman in an army uniform entered. Her gaze swiftly swept across the office before settling on him.
“I was told a mishap at the Snowy Tip Training Center falls under the sheriff’s jurisdiction.” Bouncy brown curls framed her face, adding shadows to her mystic expression. “Am I correct?”
The training center, located forty minutes north of town, fell under their jurisdiction, but Gil hadn’t set a ski on their trails since he was a reckless teenager. For as long as he’d been deputy, the sheriff’s office hadn’t had to intervene once at Snowy Tip.
“Yes, ma’am.” The silver eagles on the shoulders of her winter coat unnerved Gil. She looked to be in her thirties, too young for the rank of colonel. “I’m Deputy Thompson. How can I help you?”
“The sign by the door says Sheriff Tim Oakley. If you don’t mind, I’d like to see him. Now.” Her voice, as soft and melodious as the wind, carried her authority throughout the room.
Maybe Gil was wrong about her age...or her rank. “Sheriff Oakley retired last year, ma’am. We haven’t gotten around to changing the sign yet. Sheriff Morgan should be here shortly. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you.” Her cap tucked under her arm, she unbuttoned her coat without removing her black leather gloves. “If I drink one more cup, I won’t sleep for weeks.”
Something in the officer’s demeanor as she paced between his desk and the window suggested she wasn’t in the habit of waiting.