by V. B. Tenery
Italian Restaurant
Plano, Texas
Matt asked Sara to meet him for dinner at his favorite Italian restaurant. He needed to fill her in on his conversation with Doug. After they were seated, Matt told her everything…what his boss wanted and why he’d refused.
Sara moved closer to him in the circular booth, her lovely eyes filled with empathy. She placed her hand over his. “I’m so sorry. I know how much your work means to you. And everybody knows you’re one of the best at what you do. But you made the right decision to stand up for your principles. I’ll be happy, whatever you decide.”
Before he could respond, a slender man in black jeans and a black long-sleeved t-shirt slid into the booth beside him. The man was handsome in a rugged kind of way, about forty-five, with close-cropped dark hair sprinkled liberally with gray, and a nose that had been broken at least twice. “Who’s the beautiful lady you’re holding hands with, Foley?”
“Hi, Chaim. This is my wife, Sara. Sara, may I introduce Chaim Harel. This guy used to beat the stuffing out of me on a regular basis.”
He took her hand and held it a little longer than necessary. “A beautiful name for a lovely woman. But what your husband said is not true. He’s just looking for sympathy. By the way, Foley, why haven’t I seen you at the studio? You don’t use it, you lose it.”
Sara shot him a questioning glance.
“I’ve been too busy to let you push me around,” Matt said then added to Sara. “Chaim teaches Krav Maga classes. In fact, he taught the techniques to the Israeli military before he came to the States to take it easy.”
“What does Krav Maga mean?” she asked.
The martial arts expert glanced across the table at Sara. “It’s Hebrew, and means contact combat. You should take my classes. You look athletic, and a lot of women are enrolled. Not to be melodramatic, but it could save your life.”
He turned his attention back to Matt. “One of your detectives takes classes three days a week, Lucy Turner.” He chuckled and shook his head. “That woman has a lot of pent-up rage. I’d hate to be the guy she’s holding a grudge against when she finally lets loose.”
Sara gave him a sideways glance. “I don’t know...I’ve never tried martial arts.”
“Krav Maga uses your body’s natural instincts and reflexes in a fight or flight situation, and transforms them into effective self-defense,” Chaim said. “It eliminates the need to memorize techniques.”
Matt nodded and mulled over Chaim’s suggestion. “That’s not a bad idea. Since you’re no longer working, you have some extra time. I’m sure the master, here, can arrange to give you private lessons, which would speed up your learning curve. I’d join you whenever possible.”
“Private lessons will be no problem,” the instructor said and handed her his business card. “Just let me know when and how often.”
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Matt told her. “Give it some thought and let him know if you’re interested.”
When their dinner arrived, Chaim left them to their meal. “Don’t forget about the policemen’s ball Monday night,” Matt reminded Sara.
“It’s formal, right?”
“Oh, yes. The wives love having an excuse to dress up, and the guys wear a tux. It’s a very glamorous affair. Gives me a chance to mingle with the beat cops, which I don’t often get an opportunity to do.” He smiled. “It’s a lot more fun than political and society gatherings. My guys know how to have fun. Unfortunately, some of the political types show up, but they don’t stay long. That’s when the party starts.” He chuckled, “You haven’t lived until you see a bunch of burly cop’s dance ‘the wobble’.”
As they finished, Matt’s former father-in-law, Blain Stanton, strode over to their table. “I thought I saw you when you came in.” He bent forward and kissed Sara’s cheek. “You’re looking lovely as always.”
“Thanks, Blain. It’s good to see you.” Blain’s daughter, Mary, had been Matt’s first wife and Sara’s best friend, before she succumbed to cancer three years ago.
Matt shook his father-in-law’s hand with genuine warmth. Blain Stanton was the richest and most influential political figure in the state, and he still treated Matt like a son. The man had won Matt’s respect long ago, a rare, honest politician.
“Mind if I join you?” Blain asked.
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Matt said.
Blain slid into the booth beside Matt. “What’s this I hear that you may be leaving your job in Twin Falls? I thought you were a cop first, last, and always.”
Matt just managed to keep his mouth from dropping open. “It never ceases to amaze me how you know everything that goes on in this state as it happens.”
Blain waved a waiter over and ordered Scotch on the rocks. “Not everything. But I make it my business to keep tabs on people I care about. So, why are you leaving?”
Matt filled him in on his conversation with his boss.
Blain stirred the ice with his forefinger. “I know Doug Anderson. This seems way out of character for him.”
Matt nodded and grinned. “That’s what I thought. I figure Terrance Hall has some naked pictures of Doug and is blackmailing him.”
Blain echoed a deep laugh. “I doubt that, but Hall might have enough on him to force Doug to hire the brother-in-law. I’ve heard of this fellow, Hall. Some people have been pushing to run him for state senator. But we already have too many of his kind in office.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Matt said.
Blain downed his drink and said goodbye before departing through the front entrance, where his driver waited.
Sara laughed when they were alone. “This where you come to catch up with old friends?”
“I didn’t plan it that way, but looks like that’s what happened. I need you to do me a favor.”
She gave him a sensual smile. “I’m always at your disposal.”
The smile distracted him momentarily, but he regrouped quickly. “Check with the funeral homes in Twin Falls, and find out when services will be held for Julie Landers. Send flowers, something extravagant.”
“A friend of yours?” Sara asked.
“Yes, and that’s how I want you to sign the card. No name, just a friend.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
His phone dinged an incoming text message. He held up a finger to Sara while he scanned the script. He felt the blood leave his face. “Emergency. We have to go.”
CHAPTER 13
Twin Falls Police Station
Twin Falls, Texas
Davis and his partner made it back to Twin Falls around four that afternoon. He dropped Turner at the station’s back entrance. “I’ll park and see you inside.”
As she started through the door, movement in the building’s shadow caught Davis’ attention. It happened so fast, he wasn’t sure he saw it at all. But his cop’s instinct made his gaze flash back on the spot where the movement occurred. In one fluid motion, Davis slammed on the brakes, jammed the car into park, and jumped out of the vehicle. “Turner, watch out!”
Too late.
From the snowbank nestled against the building, the shadow morphed into a man who stalked into view. He wrapped a huge arm around Turner’s throat and pressed a 9mm Glock to her neck.
“Take it easy, cowboy,” the man said.
Turner stared at Davis, her eyes wide with panic, her voice strained. “Davis, let me introduce you to my ex-husband, Hank Turner.”
P-229 Sig at his side, Davis stepped in front of Lucy and sized up the man behind her. He was as big as a bear, at least six-foot-six and solid as a steel battering ram, shoulders broad, hips narrow, and thighs like tree trunks. His shaved head bore a swastika above his right ear.
Great. Just what the situation called for. A crazed skinhead on a mission.
Hank had timed his move perfectly. The parking lot was empty of squad cars. The second shift was on the streets, and the third wouldn’t arrive until a
fter six in the morning.
Davis aimed his gun at the man, a futile gesture. He couldn’t shoot. If he did, Hank would kill Lucy. “Okay, man, stay cool. Put the gun down and let’s talk this out. That way, nobody gets hurt.”
Hank barked a laugh that raised the hair on Davis’ arms. The ex’s eyes were bright and jerky. The man was high on something, crack, heroin, cocaine, Davis couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, it upped the crisis level to critical mass. He of all people couldn’t reason with a drug-crazed racist.
“I’ll tell you how cool I am. You shoot me, my reflexes will pull the trigger, and Lucy is dead. I’m going to shoot you where you stand.”
“If you hurt him, Hank, I’ll kill you,” Lucy said through gritted teeth. “You’ll be afraid to sleep at night, because I’ll be waiting to slit your throat.”
He shoved the gun barrel into her neck and she yelped in pain. “This your new boyfriend, Luc?”
“He’s my partner, and this isn’t his fight. This is between you and me.”
A yellow Hummer screeched into the lot and stopped two feet from where Davis stood. In his peripheral vision, he saw the car door flash open and another skinhead emerge, wearing a red hunter’s jacket and armed with a Heckler and Koch MP5. These guys were better armed than the cops on the street.
The guy with the sub-machine gun yelled, “Drop the weapon and kick it away!”
Davis wasn’t going to give up his weapon. They’d probably shoot him anyway if he did.
He never got the opportunity to make that decision. He sensed a presence behind him, and suddenly realized there had been more than one person in the Humvee, just before a crippling pain hit the back of his head and darkness claimed him.
*****
Hank tightened his grip on Lucy’s neck and heaved her into the Hummer’s backseat, then slid in beside her.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid.
She’d been preparing for this confrontation for five years, and when it came, she’d acted like a novice and failed to focus on her surroundings. Whether weariness from the trip or the fact she never expected Hank to come for her at the station was immaterial. She’d been taught to always be ready.
Always.
Instead, she’d walked into his trap like a pig to a luau. “Where are we going?”
“We’re going to pick up my boys at your place, and then I have a special destination for all of us. We’ll be one big happy family again.”
“The boy’s aren’t at home,” Lucy said. “They went on a teen retreat with the church this weekend. They’re spending the night with friends.”
He grabbed her face with one hand and squeezed hard enough to make her eyes tear. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Luc?”
Of course she would lie. She’d lie, steal, and cheat to protect her sons from their maniac father. By the grace of God, it happened to be the truth. And she knew when Davis was free, he would take steps to see Charlie and Mack were safe.
Hank let go of her face and shoved her back against the seat. “No matter. I can always come back for them.”
*****
The cold was the first sensation Davis felt, then the pain in his head hit like a sledge hammer. His mouth, hands, and feet were duct-taped, and he had been stuffed into the trunk of a car. Despite the cold, sweat broke out on his brow as his muddled thoughts raced back to the scene in the parking lot. The skinheads had Lucy. And he was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, giving them a big head start. They could be a hundred miles away in any direction.
Apparently, they didn’t intend to kill her, at least not right away. Otherwise, they would have shot them both in the parking lot. Still, she was in immenent danger. Nobody in their right mind kidnapped a cop at a police station. Were these guys too dumb to know that security cameras would get it all on tape? Perhaps they were so hopped up they didn’t care.
He tried to maneuver his body so his fingers could reach the inside trunk release. No easy feat. His chest faced the release button, and his hands were taped behind his back. Footsteps outside told him someone was nearby. Friend or foe? Whichever, he had to take his chances. He couldn’t yell with his mouth secured, so he kicked the trunk hull with his feet.
Steps paused and a voice called, “Is someone in there?”
Davis kicked the hull again.
An urgent voice responded, “Just a minute, and I’ll have you out of there.”
The car door opened and Davis heard the lock pop. Heavy footfalls hurried to the back and the trunk lid lifted wide. After the darkness, the lights in the parking lot sent stabs of pain to the back of his eyes.
Ben Stein stood silhouetted against the lighted backdrop, a dumbfounded expression on his face. He ripped the adhesive from Davis’ mouth none too gently. “What are you doing in there? I thought some of the guys were playing a practical joke on me.”
“It’s no joke, Ben. Cut me loose. Lucy’s been kidnapped by her ex-husband.”
Once freed, Davis jerked his cell phone from his pocket and sprinted for the police station’s back entrance. He called dispatch to put out a BOLO on the yellow Hummer, then punched the speed dial number for Matt Foley, and sent him a text.
Lucy Turner abducted by her ex.
Stein stayed right in step by his side. “Davis, I’m in on this. Don’t try to stop me. I know what that guy is capable of. We have to stop him before he kills her. I’ll call a car to pick up her kids and take them and their grandmother to a safe-house under protective custody until we find Lucy. Sure as God made little green apples, he’ll come after his sons. He’s a possessive, narcissistic, egomaniac … among other things.”
Davis gave him a solemn nod. “Okay, you’re my partner on this until we find her.”
*****
Matt flew through the Detective Bureau entrance and strode to where Davis and Officer Ben Stein stood in front of a large Texas map. Davis had a white bandage wrapped around his head.
“You hurt?” Matt asked.
Davis gave Stein a dark look. “No, but Mother Theresa, here, wouldn’t leave me alone until I let one of the EMTs next door check me out. No concussion, like I told him; just a big bump.”
Matt slapped the officer on the shoulder. “Good work, Stein. At least one of you is thinking straight. Anything yet on Lucy?”
“Nothing. The BOLO hasn’t turned up anything, but it’s early. The yellow Hummer would stick out like a sore thumb, but they could have switched cars. Stein’s running the description to see if it might be stolen. By my calculations, the kidnappers have been gone a little over an hour.”
“We’re also checking out white supremacy groups, the Klan, and anything else we can think of,” Davis said. “I don’t believe these guys are in the Klan. They didn’t look like white-sheet types. They had no problem showing their faces.”
Matt perched on the edge of a desk and gazed at the map. “I’ll give Joe Wilson a call. Those groups tend to locate in remote areas. He might have some leads for us. If not, he can contact other sheriffs and see if they have any intel on Hank Turner. A rank-and-file member wouldn’t be allowed to pull a snatch like this, so Hank is probably the group’s leader. Any information on who the other two guys are?”
Stein grinned. “We pulled the parking lot feeds, but the faces aren’t clear. Davis has been checking out the skinhead mug shots, but he says they all look alike. We ran Hank Turner through the system, but the file is pretty skimpy, mostly misdemeanors. If he’s turned radical, the Feds might have a jacket on him.”
“Have you called them?” Matt asked. Many law enforcement chiefs shied away from bringing in the FBI or Homeland Security, but Matt never got into turf wars with the alphabet agencies. He’d always found them helpful.
Stein shook his head. “Not yet.”
“I’ll take care of that after I speak to Joe. I’ve worked with Alan Forbes, who’s in charge of the Dallas Bureau. He’s a good man. We may get lucky. If Turner has been placed on the FBI or Homeland Se
curity watch list, they may know the location of his camp.”
Highway I-20
Abilene, Texas
Hank slept from Dallas to Abilene, but not before he taped Lucy’s hands together, thankfully not behind her back. At least he didn’t blindfold her. That might be bad news. It could mean he intended to kill her and wasn’t worried about concealing the whereabouts of his hideout.
It was late when they reached Abilene. The car bounced down a potholed street and stopped in front of a paint and body shop. The driver pressed a garage door opener and the man in the passenger seat jumped out, then backed out a late-model Land Rover. The driver pulled into the vacated spot and the group made the transfer to the white SUV.
Smart move, Lucy thought. Every cop in the state would be looking for the easy-to-spot Hummer. Whatever Hank was into, it must pay well, judging by the expensive vehicles at his disposal, although they were most likely stolen, repainted, and tagged with pinched license plates.
At a nearby fast-food joint, the guy in the front passenger seat jumped out and returned a short while later with a bag of burgers, greasy fries, and a tray of drinks. Beer for them, a Coke for her.
Despite a loss of appetite, she forced down the burger. She would need all her strength for whatever Hank had planned. Past experience had taught her that, whatever he had in mind, it wouldn’t be good for her.
Hank had removed the restraints to let her eat, but as soon as she finished the last bite, he slipped plastic handcuffs back on her wrists. He pulled her close and nuzzled her neck, whispering in her ear. “You look good, Luc. Real good. I’d like to spend some time getting reacquainted, but my new wife is the jealous type.” He nodded towards the front seat. “Her brother is my driver. She’d probably cut your throat when my back was turned, and I’m not ready for that. Yet.”
Supremacist Compound
Near Big Bend National Park
They reached their destination at around five in the afternoon, or so Lucy guessed. With her hands tied, her watch had slipped under her wrist and she couldn’t see the face.