Stranded with the Suspect

by Cindi Myers

  “Breckenridge,” Simon said. The popular ski town was the opposite direction of where he intended to travel.

  “They’ll be excited to see snow this early,” the clerk said. “Not enough to ski on yet, but it’s coming.”

  Andi emerged from the ladies’ room and moved toward Simon. He realized he was staring again—something he did too often when he was around her—and made himself look away. “Do you want something?” he asked, holding up his coffee cup.

  She looked around, grabbed a granola bar and handed it to him, then added a package of nuts. “I get hungry,” she said, a little defensively. “I’m eating for two.”

  “I imagine you do.” He should have thought of that before now. He added a second pack of nuts. “So do I, and I’m only eating for one.”

  He paid for their purchases, and the clerk slid his change across the counter. “You folks have a good time in Breck,” he said.

  “In Breck?” Andi asked when they were in the car. “What did he mean by that?”

  “He asked where we were going, and I told him Breckenridge.”

  “Why did you lie?”

  “In case someone comes along after us and asks where we were headed.”

  “You mean Daniel. You shot him. He’s probably in the hospital somewhere. You don’t really think he’ll come after us.”

  “I don’t see any reason to take chances.”

  His phone rang, and he checked the display. A Denver number. “Hello?”

  “Sergeant Daley, Denver Police. Is this Simon Woolridge?”

  “Speaking.”

  “I’ve got an update for you on your fugitive.”

  “I’ve got you on speakerphone with Ms. Daniels, in my car. Do you have Daniel Metwater in custody?”

  “Not such good news as that. He sought treatment at an emergency clinic near downtown, using a fake ID. He had an Oklahoma driver’s license in the name of David Michaels. The clinic treated him, then phoned us to report the gunshot wound. That’s when they found out he was wanted. He ran out a back door before they could stop him.”

  “Any idea what he’s driving?” Simon asked, making a quick check of the other vehicles in the gas station parking lot.

  “No,” Daley said. “In any case, he’s probably ditched it and stolen something else. Easy enough to do—first real cold spell and everybody leaves their car idling while they run into the convenience store to grab a cup of coffee or pay for their gas. Anyway, I thought you’d want to know he’s still in the area. And we’re looking for him.”

  “Thanks.”

  Simon ended the call and turned to Andi. She looked pale but resolute. “I heard everything,” she said. “He’s coming after us, isn’t he?”

  “That’s what we have to assume.” He shifted the cruiser into gear. “But he’s not going to stop us. Not if I can help it.”

  Chapter Seven

  Victor drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he inched his car forward in the bumper-to-bumper traffic. The heavier the snowfall, the slower the traffic crawled, until they were hardly moving at all. This was Colorado—people here were supposed to know how to drive in this weather. He ground his teeth in frustration, pain throbbing behind his eyes.

  Between trailing the ambulance to the hospital and getting an update on Andi’s condition, staking out the hospital parking lot, then following her and Officer Woolridge back to the hotel, he had grabbed only a few hours of sleep in the front seat of his rental car.

  He had stolen this one only an hour before, just in case Woolridge had somehow figured out his identity—or one of his many aliases. The traffic and weather made tailing the cop more difficult. He had thought he would have a chance to grab Andi when they stopped for gas, but Woolridge stayed too close to her.

  On the seat beside him, his phone rang. It was the sound of an old-fashioned phone, the kind almost no one seemed to own anymore. He glanced at the screen, wanting to ignore the caller, but the number belonged to a man who could not be ignored. He picked up the phone and swiped his finger across the screen. “What?”

  “What’s this about Metwater being shot?” The boss sounded annoyed, but then, he always sounded disgruntled. Life irritated him. “Did you shoot him?”

  “What are you talking about?” Victor swerved to avoid rear-ending the car in front of him, which had slammed on its brakes.

  “We have a contact in the Denver PD. They said Metwater was shot last night. Not dead. Wounded.”

  Victor grunted. “Where did this shooting take place?”

  “The Brown Palace Hotel. I thought you had the place staked out.”

  “I did.” How had he missed Metwater? He knew the answer to that one—because the cop, Woolridge—had blocked him. “He was there for the woman,” Victor said. “He tried to cut her throat. I knew I was right.”

  “Is she dead?”

  “No. I’m following her right now.”

  “Why are you following her? You should be going after Metwater.”

  “He’ll come back for her.”

  “Or he’ll be smart and head for Mexico.”

  “When was he ever smart?”

  “If you were smarter, you’d have him by now.”

  Victor ground his teeth together until his jaw ached. “I’ll get him,” he said. “He’s going to come back for her. She has everything he needs. She’s rich and he needs money to get out of the country.”

  “He has money. He has a million dollars that belongs to me.”

  “I don’t think he does have it—not where he can get to it. If he did, he would have used it by now.”

  “No, he doesn’t have it,” the boss agreed. “I have men watching the bank where he keeps it. He hasn’t come to get it. He hasn’t sent anyone else with the key either.”

  “Then that means he doesn’t have the key,” Victor said. “Or he knows you’re watching the bank.”

  “He doesn’t know. The men I put on the job are very good. They’re invisible.”

  “Then he doesn’t have the key. He needs the key to get to the money.”

  “Then where is the key? The cops tore his place apart. They haven’t come for the money either, so they don’t have it. Or if they do, they don’t know what it’s connected to.”

  Victor squinted through the thick cascade of snow collecting on the hood of his car. “Maybe the woman has the key. Maybe that’s why he’s so anxious to get to her.”

  “Then get the woman—and get the key. And get Metwater.”

  “I’m following her right now,” Victor said. “I’m going to get her, and I’ll make sure Metwater knows it. He’ll come after her.”

  “How are you going to get her? Didn’t you say she has a cop protecting her?”

  “You don’t think I can handle one lousy cop?”

  “All I’ve heard from you so far is a lot of talk. I want action. I want Metwater. I want him dead. And I want the million dollars he stole.”

  “You’ll have him. Dead. And you’ll have the key.” He ended the call and clutched the steering wheel with both hands, squinting through the thick snowfall. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense to him that Andi Matheson had the key to the safe-deposit box where Metwater had stashed the stolen money. The Prophet had sent her away not to safeguard her, but to keep the cops from getting their hands on the key and the money. Metwater had planned all along to meet up with her, collect the cash and get out of town. But the cops had been one step ahead of him.

  And Victor was one step behind. But he wouldn’t stay behind. He would catch up with the woman and force her to give him the key. Then, when Metwater showed up, he wasn’t just going to kill the lying cheat, he was going to make him suffer. Payback for all the trouble Victor was going to now.

  * * *

  ANDI STARED OUT the windshield at the curtains of wh
ite flakes coming down, obscuring the road. “Is it even safe to drive in this?” she asked.

  “We’re fine,” Simon said. “As long as the road stays open, I can drive.”

  “I guess cops are trained in things like that,” she said. “Driving in adverse conditions.”

  “Not really,” he said. “But I grew up in Colorado. I know how to drive in snow.”

  “I grew up here too, but I’m not crazy enough to take my car out in this.”

  “I guess I am.”

  He was teasing her—she got that now. He had a very dry sense of humor that some people probably didn’t appreciate, but she liked that he didn’t joke around and try to humor her. Her father and his friends had been like that—making light when she tried to discuss serious matters with them. Too often, it came across as either patronizing or shallow. Simon wasn’t either of those things.

  She looked out the window again. “At least no one is going very fast,” she said. The line of cars crept along on the snow-covered highway, brake lights barely visible in the whiteout.

  Simon glanced in the rearview mirror. “It makes it easier to spot someone following us,” he said.

  “I don’t see how Daniel could find us,” she said. “He was running away from that clinic when we were leaving the Brown Palace.”

  “He probably guessed that we were headed back to Montrose,” Simon said. “I should have thought of that and taken a different route.”

  She looked around them at the cars on either side, behind and ahead of them, drivers hunched over the steering wheel, peering through the blizzard. No one even glanced her way. “Well, I don’t see anyone following us,” she said.

  “I do,” he said.

  She froze in the act of reaching for her cup. “Who?”

  “Don’t look,” he said. “But there’s a white Kia two cars back. He’s been with us since the gas station.”

  “Just because he’s traveling in the same direction as we are doesn’t mean he’s following us.” She fought the urge to look back over her shoulder. “Is it Daniel?”

  “I can’t tell.” Simon checked his mirrors again. “I’m pretty sure it’s a man, but beyond that, he’s too far back and the snow is too heavy for me to make a positive ID.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “Wait a while, see if I can figure out what he’s up to.”

  “What do you mean ‘what he’s up to’?”

  “If he’s simply following to see where we go, that’s not much of a threat. If he’s going to try to intercept us—to get to you and maybe to kill me—then I’ll need to try to stop him before he acts.”

  “How can you possibly know what he’s going to do before he does it?”

  “I can see how aggressively he tries to keep up with us, what kind of maneuvering he does.” He nodded ahead of them. “Once we head up toward Kenosha Pass, the traffic will thin. It will be tougher for him to keep other cars between us. The weather won’t allow him to get too far back, or he’ll risk losing us. He’ll have to show his hand.”

  Snow crunched under their tires as they wound their way up a series of switchbacks toward the pass. Towering evergreens draped in snow crowded in on either side of the highway, and a few log cabins, smoke puffing from their chimneys, were visible in the distance. The windshield wipers beat steadily, clearing snow from the windshield even as it piled up on the road.

  The road widened and Simon pulled to the right, slowing the cruiser. A truck passed them, and then the white Kia. Andi stared at the driver. “That’s not Daniel,” she said, the tension in her chest easing. “His hair’s too light, and that guy had a beard.”

  Simon scowled. “Maybe I was wrong. Or maybe Metwater has an accomplice.”

  “Or maybe he’s a stranger who was never following us at all.”

  Simon sped up again. “Are you sure you didn’t recognize him?”

  She wanted to lie, to tell him she had never seen the man before in her life. But he had been right when he said she was a lousy liar. “He looked familiar to me,” she said. “Though I can’t think of where I’ve seen him. But that still doesn’t mean he was following us.”

  “I never got a good look at him. Or his license plate. Snow was covering it, though the cop in me wonders if that was intentional.”

  “You don’t trust anyone, do you?” she asked.

  “I’m in a profession that teaches you not to trust.”

  They reached the top of the pass. Eighteen wheelers were parked on either side of the summit, drivers adjusting chains, or maybe just waiting out the worst of the storm. They started down the long curve that descended into the high-altitude expanse of open prairie known as South Park. Brake lights shone crimson ahead of them, then the vehicle they were following suddenly swerved sideways, and came to rest straddling the road just where it narrowed to two lanes again.

  “What is he doing?” Andi asked, as the driver’s door opened and a figure raced to the side of the road.

  Simon braked, the cruiser fishtailing wildly on the icy road. Andi screamed as the cruiser slid into the side of the stopped Kia, the tortured scream of twisted metal mingling with her own high-pitched cries.

  Chapter Eight

  Pain exploded in Simon’s nose, Andi’s screams filling his ears as he tried in vain to see what was going on. The screams stopped—which sent panic through him. He fought to push aside the mass of the airbag, which had expanded on impact and crashed directly into his nose, which was now streaming blood. “Andi!” he shouted. “Are you all right?”

  He groped to his right and came into contact with something soft—her shoulder. “I’m okay,” she said.

  “The baby?”

  “The baby’s okay too.”

  The airbags began to deflate. Simon pushed his aside, then shoved Andi’s out of the way as well. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, resisting the temptation to examine her for broken bones.

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  She did look fine, calmer than he would have thought. “Your nose is bleeding,” she said.

  He touched his nose and winced. He felt along the ridge. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he said. “Just bruised. Better than a broken head if the airbag hadn’t inflated.”

  “Right.”

  “Wait here,” he said, unfastening his seat belt.

  Andi gripped his arm. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going after him.” He stepped from the cruiser and almost fell, feet sliding on the ice and snow that caked the road. Daylight was fading fast, the snow still coming down in a curtain, piling up on the shoulders of his coat and clinging to his eyelashes. He saw no sign of the driver of the Kia. A faint trail up the side of the road, heading into an empty field, might have been made by him, but the snow was filling it in fast. Running after him would mean leaving Andi alone. Maybe that was what the man wanted. Maybe there was someone in another car waiting to grab her as soon as Simon was out of sight.

  Bracing himself on the side of the cruiser, he made his way to the front and surveyed the damage. The pipe grille guard welded to the front of the vehicle had protected it from the worst of the damage. One headlight was broken and the license plate dangled by a single screw, but other than that, it looked okay. The engine still ran, though the air bags would have to be replaced.

  The Kia hadn’t fared so well. The impact had sent it sliding toward the ditch, its side caved in, windshield shattered. It sat, halfway in the northbound lane, canted onto the passenger side. A quick check showed no one inside—no luggage or papers or anything to identify the driver, though he had left the keys dangling in the ignition. The swirl of red-and-blue lights reflected on the snow, and Simon turned to see a county sheriff’s SUV creeping toward them. The window rolled down and a young, clean-shaven deputy looked out. “What happened?” he asked.

 
; “The Kia slid to a stop in the middle of the road.” Simon indicated the wrecked car. “I couldn’t stop on the ice. The driver bailed out just before I plowed into him.”

  “Where’s the driver now?” the deputy asked.

  “I don’t know.” Simon started walking back toward the cruiser.

  The deputy pulled alongside him and squinted at the emblem on the driver’s door. “The Ranger Brigade,” he said. “What the heck is that?”

  “It’s a multiagency task force based in Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park,” Simon said. “We deal with crime on public lands.”

  The deputy nodded. “I think I’ve heard of you guys. That case in the spring with the FBI agent who was murdered by that senator?”

  “That was us,” Simon said. He glanced toward the cruiser. Andi sat quietly, smart enough to wait in the vehicle. He hoped she hadn’t heard the deputy’s comment. The FBI agent had been the father of her baby, the senator her father. The whole thing had been a nasty business, and she had been caught in the middle.

  “Is your passenger okay?” the deputy asked.

  “Shaken up, but fine,” Simon said.

  “What about you? Is that blood on your coat?”

  “Busted my nose when the airbag deployed. I’m okay.” In the cold, the bleeding had stopped quickly.

  “Your vehicle looks okay to drive,” the deputy said. “But that Kia is totaled.” He left the lights going and climbed out of the car. “We’d better look for the driver. He gets lost out here, and he could freeze to death before morning.”

  Simon made no comment. He had a feeling the driver had someone waiting to pick him up—perhaps up the hill at the top of the pass. Maybe he had hoped to grab Andi in the confusion after the wreck, but the arrival of the county cop had scared him off.

  “Do you have a description for me?” the deputy asked.

  Simon shook his head. “I never got a good look at him, with all the snow.”

  “Guess I’d better see some ID from you,” the deputy said.

  Simon showed his badge, and braced himself for the inevitable question, which the deputy asked next. “What brings you to our side of the divide, Agent Woolridge?”