by Diane Capri
Membership was bequeathed to one’s heirs. When a spot opened up, which had happened rarely in the resort’s history, application criteria for replacement members were rigidly enforced. Background checks were updated annually and rivaled those for a commoner seeking to marry an emperor when she is despised by his mother.
The Peak owned its mountain and all facilities. A limited number of billionaire members were allowed a hundred-year lease for the private residences on its property. Restaurants were staffed with the world’s best culinary artists on a rotating basis. The chefs applied for the opportunity to set the menus for each season. The on-site medical facilities were operated by a team of well-qualified professionals.
The resort was accessible only by private jet or private helicopter. Which meant the Pilatus was the perfect vehicle for inbound transport.
All of which made it the perfect location for what Flint had in mind. The only thing he needed now was a place to sequester Sally Owen until the right moment.
Flint contacted a former Secret Service agent connected to a recent presidential candidate they’d both served. Ten minutes later, he received permission to land on the private runway owned by one of the world’s reigning monarchs. The monarch’s residence had also been made available for Flint and his companions.
Flint’s contact provided the landing coordinates, and he passed them along to his pilot.
Drake raised his eyebrows. “Not an easy fly in or out with those mountains this time of year. Lots of snow up there. We should land somewhere else and grab the right helicopter.”
Flint stretched his arms straight out, fingers laced together, and rolled his shoulders to ease the cramped muscles. He needed to ice his shoulder, too. “Can you set this jet down on that runway or not?”
“Maybe. Landing at these mountain resorts is always tricky under the best conditions. Depends on weather. Winds are up. It’s snowing pretty hard. Forecast is twelve more inches overnight.” Drake looked at his charts again for a good long while, thinking things through. “The runway’s long enough. We’ll need help from the ground.”
“Let’s do that.” Flint noticed the concerned look on Drake’s face. “We’ve got plenty of fuel for an approach. When we get there, if we can’t land, I’ll come up with a plan B.”
Drake nodded.
Flint unlatched his harness and made his way to the back of the Pilatus, where Sally was seated. She looked a mess. Her clothes were covered in blood. Her brown hair hung in strings. She’d cried away her makeup and smeared the tears around. She’d chewed her lips until they bled, adding to the overall horror show that was her face.
“Sally,” he said gently as he knelt in front of her. He placed a calming hand on her forearm. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head. The tears started again. She made little whimpering sounds and twisted her fingers together.
He went back to the head and ran some hot water over a paper towel and collected a fresh hand towel. He grabbed three bottles of water from the galley fridge on the way back. When he squatted down near her again, he offered her the paper towel. She didn’t reach for it, so he used it to clean up her face and remove the dried blood from her hands. She was still crying, but at least the black mascara streaks and lipstick blobs were gone now. Without makeup, she looked like a teenager.
He opened one of the water bottles and handed it to her. “Take a sip of this.” She looked at the bottle. He pressed it into her hand and lifted it to her mouth. “You know you need to stay hydrated. Come on.”
He’d already thought of a thousand problems caused by having her on board. Managing her sickle cell disease was only one of them. But he couldn’t fix anything until they landed. She was mired in confusion and shock. She’d be of little help until she could muster some healthy anger, and she had plenty to be angry about. He left her with the water and another damp paper towel and returned to the cockpit.
“How long before we get there?” He held out a water bottle to Drake, who took it and drained it greedily.
“Three hours, give or take.” Drake tossed the empty plastic bottle aside. “The snow’s getting heavier. If we don’t land the Pilatus, we won’t be able to do this tonight. And no way we’ll get a helicopter up to The Peak in this storm. We’re gonna need a hotel somewhere. We can try again tomorrow after the weather clears.”
“Understood.” Flint had no intention of waiting. Tomorrow would be too late. It was a paradox of aviation history that a strong desire to reach one’s destination could mean never arriving at all. Pushing the safety envelope was not a life-prolonging activity. Yet arrive tonight they would.
He pulled out his laptop. “I’ll figure it out. Let me know if you need assistance.”
Two hours and fifty-six minutes later, after a harrowing fight with wind shear and a missed first approach, the Pilatus was safely on the ground.
Drake looked like he’d wrestled a big bull alligator and lost the fight. “I need a drink.”
“The house is well stocked. You’ve earned it. Nice work.” Flint lowered the flight stairs. Wind gusts blew snow and frigid air into the cabin. Sally Owen barely seemed to notice.
He bundled her into the parka, picked her up, and carried her to the courtesy limo waiting on the ground. Drake collected everything else. They didn’t speak during the drive.
The limo pulled up in the driveway at the Fairview Estate on the south edge of The Peak Club property. Drake looked from side to side at the ten-thousand-square-foot home, straining to take it all in.
Three levels, six bedrooms, a bunk room, seven full baths, dining room, ski room, two great rooms—one on the first floor and one on the second—and a kitchen that rivaled a palace.
“What a pleasant little weekend cottage,” Drake said.
Flint grinned. He had picked Sally up and carried her from the limo to the front door. Drake punched in the pass code Flint gave him and the door opened after a solid click. They walked inside and Flint put Sally down on the first upholstered seat he saw.
The house was vacant but well lit, warm, and inviting. A fire burned in the monstrous fireplace. Windows filled every wall and provided majestic views of the mountains, even in the dark.
“Does this place come with servants?” Drake’s amazement was comical. He craned his neck to see the almost 360-degree view of the snow-covered mountains that made you feel as if you were standing in the middle of it all instead of warmly cocooned inside.
“Self-service only tonight, I’m afraid. But the bar’s over here. Let’s get that drink.” He turned to Sally. “You’re welcome to come with us, but you’ll need to walk.”
She followed behind, still not speaking, seeming almost unaware of her magnificent surroundings.
Flint poured drinks and raised a silent toast to their bumpy but successful landing. As they sipped, in quiet tones he quickly filled Drake in on the attack by the three men at the Owen house.
Drake listened without comment. “Locals are going to figure out soon enough that someone else was there.”
Flint nodded. “They won’t notice right away, if we’re lucky. We might have as much as a couple of days before someone comes knocking.”
“Safer to assume they’ll find out sooner and get it taken care of.” Drake refilled his glass and stood looking at the dramatic snowy mountain view through the ten-foot windows lining the back of the room.
“I’ll make the call.” Flint nodded and turned to Sally. “We can take you back home tomorrow, if you want to go. But there’s nothing you can do for your mom now. And going back will only cause problems for you, both with the police and with the man who employed those guys to kill her.”
Her sharp intake of breath surprised him. “Sally, how much did you know about your mother’s past before tonight?”
“Most of it.” It was the first time she’d focused on conversation since the shooting. The Scotch was warming her up. Maybe it would cause no harm. “I know I was born in Texas. My father died during a robbery.
My parents needed money to get away from a guy who’d tried to rape Mom.” She paused and cleared her throat. “She ran to Canada to protect me. So I could grow up near family and good doctors. You know I have sickle cell disease so I’ve been sick a lot. That’s why Mom became a nurse. So she could take care of me.”
Flint nodded. Laura had been fairly honest with her daughter. She’d left out the criminal history and the sordid parts, but maybe a mom couldn’t be faulted for that. “Have you ever been back to Texas? Met your father’s family?”
“Mom gave up everything to make sure I had a safe life. A better life than she had.” Sally’s tears started again. She hung her head and the salty drops landed on her bloody dress. “I would never have jeopardized that.”
That version was well framed so that a young girl would feel cherished but was not even close to true. What Laura Oakwood gave up in Texas was pretty easy to walk away from. She’d have been tried and convicted and probably executed. But even if her life had been spared, a sentence of life without parole wasn’t very appealing either. Sally would have been an orphan at a much younger age than the orphan she’d become tonight.
Flint kept his tone quiet. “Your mom had a loaded gun in the kitchen of your home. She must have been worried about something.”
Sally nodded, head down, rapidly falling tears spotting her dress. “She worried about everything.”
“Then you knew she was a fugitive?”
“She never said that to me, but I figured it must have been something like that.”
“Do you want to know what I’ve found out about her since I took on this case?”
“I’m tired.” Sally closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. She didn’t say anything for a while. She sipped her drink. “I think I’ll get some rest. Maybe you can tell me about it in the morning.”
“Whenever you’re ready.” Flint squeezed her hand. Sally squeezed back, which he took as a good sign. He located a guest room with a private bath for her on the west side of the house across from the rooms he and Drake would sleep in. She went inside and closed the door.
When he returned, Drake had leaned back in one of the club chairs and propped his feet on the coffee table. “You can tell me about her mother, if you want.”
Flint grinned. “You’ve got no need to know.”
“Apparently she doesn’t either.” He lifted his drink in Sally’s direction.
“They sent over some prepared food and groceries from The Lodge for us. I’ve got to make a call and get a shower. Then we’ll grill a steak.”
“Good plan. I’m starving.”
“Your room is all set up. Second door on the right down that hallway. Make yourself comfortable.” Flint went into his room and closed the door. He pulled out one of the disposable phones he hadn’t already used and dialed.
“Scarlett Investigations,” she said, distracted as always.
“We’ve run into a problem.”
“Another one?”
“A problem we can’t fix.”
“What’s that?”
“Laura Oakwood is dead.” He paused to give her a chance to focus. “And she didn’t sign the consent form. She didn’t sell her mineral rights to Shaw before she died.”
Scarlett didn’t say anything for a long time. He knew she was stunned. He was stunned, too. He’d boasted he could find anyone, anywhere. Which had always been true before. He hadn’t failed yet. Never. And, strictly speaking, he hadn’t failed this time either.
He had found Laura Oakwood.
But he hadn’t kept her alive.
Not that he’d ever claimed he could prevent murder. But in this case, the promise was implied, surely. He’d failed the mission. No question. No point in splitting hairs about how big a failure it was.
“Looks like Crane is the big winner here then. We backed the wrong horse.” Scarlett’s voice trailed off, weary.
“Not a chance.” He waited a beat to be sure Scarlett was paying close attention. “Two well-trained operatives took her out. She killed them both before she died. But make no mistake. Crane killed Laura Oakwood for a business deal. How depraved is that? Crane did this. And he’ll pay for it.”
She groaned. “What do you want me to do?”
“Did you find the original option agreement? The one that gives Shaw the field if and when he acquires Oakwood’s rights?”
“Not exactly.”
“Meaning what?”
“These are private deals, Flint. It’s not like I can go down to the registrar and pull up the documents. Shaw never gave me the paperwork. He hired me to find Oakwood and get her consent. That’s the job.” She paused and softened her tone a bit. “I don’t see what relevance any of that has now that she’s dead.”
Truth was, he didn’t know why or if it was relevant. The option contract was a loose end. It dangled out there like a dynamite fuse. He had an idea about how to salvage the entire mess, but he didn’t want it to blow up in his face, which it might still do.
“Under Texas law, what would happen to Laura Oakwood’s rights after death?”
“Depends on a lot of variables. You know that.” Scarlett took a breath. “Did she have any rights to begin with? Did she have a will? Did she leave the rights to anybody in her will?”
“We have to assume Laura had rights in that field, since we can’t see the option contract. Otherwise, neither Shaw nor Crane would want to find her badly enough to pay my exorbitant fees.” He grinned and he thought maybe she did, too. “I don’t know if she had a will. I guess we can find that out. But what I believe is that Oakwood’s daughter is her only heir. Which should mean she owns Laura’s entire interest in the Juan Garcia Field now.”
Scarlett’s response was slower than he expected. “Maybe.”
“I don’t think she would have disposed of her mineral rights, because Laura seemed genuinely surprised to hear about the field. She wouldn’t have sold or given away something she didn’t even know she owned.”
“Sometimes people don’t know what they’re signing away.” Scarlett’s breath was audible through the cheap phone. She’d been thinking it through, though. “And you’d have to find the daughter. And get new paperwork and persuade her to sign the rights over. And you’ve got less than nine hours to do all that. Which is a stretch, Flint. Even for you.”
“I’ll work on all that. But I need the paperwork for Selma Oakwood Prieto to sign pronto. Can you get the lawyers to whip up whatever magic words we need and deposit new paperwork in my secure server within the next couple of hours?”
“It’s late, Flint. I’m tired.”
“Come on, Scarlett. You’re an orphan, just like I am. We know what it’s like to have no family, to belong nowhere. And we’re both healthy. Imagine if we weren’t.” He ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes a moment. “We can’t bring Sally’s parents back to life, but that money would make the rest of her life a hell of a lot more comfortable.”
“I don’t see it working, that’s all. Could be time to let this one go.” She sounded defeated, which was unusual for Scarlett. Made Flint wonder what else was going on with her that he didn’t know about. She let out a long breath. “Look, Flint, we’ve been going balls out on this project since we took it on and we’re nowhere. What are you going to do now that’s different?”
He felt the heat rising in his face. “Crane doesn’t get to cheat this kid out of her money after killing her mother. Not on my watch.” He didn’t wait for another objection. He was doing this, with or without Scarlett on board. “Tell me what you’ve learned about Jeremy Reed. It might impact my plan here.”
“Jeremy Reed?” Scarlett paused, as if she was preoccupied with something else, but in a couple of seconds she recovered the fumble. “Right. The squatter.”
“Does he have a colorable claim to the Oakwood ranch surface land or not?” Flint held his palm over his eyes to reduce the burning of fatigue.
“Well, first I checked the bio data you gathered
. A lot of it was contaminated, but it doesn’t take much for analysis.” Scarlett began to read off a report of some kind. “Petty crimes as a kid. Mostly unemployed for the past ten years or so. Couple of hospital admissions for substance abuse. Seems like Jeremy Reed is who he claims to be.”
“Too bad for him, I guess.” Flint sighed. “But good for us. At least he’s not one of Crane’s kids or someone looking for another way to cash in on Laura’s claims. I guess you can send him home. What else?”
“In Texas, as you know, he’s got to satisfy the adverse possession statutes to acquire ownership to the ranch land. Those rules are tough. We have a lot of respect for property ownership out here in the Wild West, Flint.”
“Yeah, yeah. And?” He stood and rolled his shoulders and stretched his cramped muscles, one group at a time. Too much sitting time today on top of the physical exertion. He needed a long, hot shower to loosen up the knots.
“And it looks like Jeremy Reed is no lawyer. He’s missed a couple of important steps and he hasn’t been squatting long enough. So Oakwood’s daughter could kick him out now and she’d be okay, assuming she is her mother’s sole heir.” Scarlett paused briefly and he heard her drinking something. Booze, probably. It was that time of night in Houston, too. “She should do it soon, though. If he doesn’t go voluntarily, the back and forth can take a while to get him evicted. It’s all the usual legal crap.”
“Got it.” He was ready to get moving, but he could feel some sort of vibe coming from her that needed immediate attention. “What else is worrying you?”
Keyboard keys clacked rapidly on her end. “Tell me more about the two men who killed Oakwood.”
“Two professionals burst into the house and a third one was waiting outside. The first two shot Laura Oakwood point-blank. She returned the favor.” He continued stretching, one muscle at a time now, before he froze up completely. “They’re dead and I took care of the third guy. It’s a short story.”