by Cindi Myers
“He’s a fugitive I’ve been pursuing. Victor Krayev, a Russian hit man.”
“You take him out?”
“No. He was killed by a man who goes by the name of Daniel Metwater.” The real story was too complicated to go into now. “I need you to put a guard on Ms. Matheson at the hospital. She could still be in danger from Metwater.”
Schwartz and his partner exchanged looks. “We can do that,” Schwartz said. “But we’d like a few more details.”
“It’s a long story,” Simon said.
“This is a story I want to hear,” the other man, a trim Hispanic with black-rimmed glasses, said.
“It’ll have to wait,” Simon said. “I have some things I have to do right now.”
“Sir, we’ll need you to make a statement,” Schwartz said.
But Simon was already in his cruiser with the engine running. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, and drove away.
He waited to make sure no one had come after him, then pulled out his phone and dialed Ranger Headquarters. Carmen Redhorse answered. “Simon! What’s going on? We were expecting you hours ago.”
“I ran into a little trouble. I need to speak with the commander.”
“Simon.” Graham Ellison’s voice held more warmth than Simon had expected. “Are you all right?” the commander asked. “Is Andi all right?”
“She’s doing okay. She had her baby—a little girl.” He looked down at his hands. “I delivered it.” The idea filled him with wonder.
“Good job. Where are you now?”
“I’m still near Fairplay. She and the baby are on their way to Breckenridge in an ambulance.”
“Why didn’t you go with them?”
“They’ll be okay. Victor Krayev is dead, and the local police agreed to put a guard on her.”
“Did you kill Victor?”
“No. Metwater did. Victor was sent by the Bratva to kill him and to retrieve a key to a safe-deposit box that apparently contains money the Russians think belongs to them.”
“So Daniel Metwater shot him?” Graham asked.
“Not Daniel—David. Apparently David Metwater killed Daniel and assumed his brother’s identity in an attempt to get away from the Russians. But they learned the truth and came after him anyway.”
“You’re saying the man who died in Chicago wasn’t David, he was Daniel?” Graham asked. “Back up and start over. Slower this time.”
So Simon told him the story of the two brothers, one who stole a million dollars from the Russian mob and tried to get away with it by switching identities with his straight-arrow brother. “Apparently, the body was so deteriorated from a week in the water that the chief means of identification was the distinctive tattoo,” Simon said. “David, as next of kin, essentially identified the body as himself.”
“How did he get around having an autopsy performed, since the body was that of a murder victim?” Ellison asked.
“Maybe he bribed someone?” Simon said. “I don’t know. But he somehow convinced authorities to take his identification as final proof of identity, then he had the body cremated.”
“And he declared himself so transformed by his brother’s death that he turned his back on his old life and hid out in the wilderness with a bunch of followers,” Ellison said.
“Except the leopard couldn’t completely change his spots,” Simon said. “He got greedy. He wanted Andi Metwater’s money, and he wanted the million dollars he had hidden away in a safe-deposit box. The Bratva hadn’t forgotten about that money either though. And they figured out the truth about which brother had really died.”
“How did they do that?” Graham asked.
“I don’t know. But they found the guy David paid to give his brother the tattoo. Once they knew the truth, they sent Victor to retrieve the key to the safe-deposit box where David had stashed the money, and to exact revenge for trying to double-cross them.”
“But Metwater killed him first. And he got away?”
“He would have killed Andi and me if the police hadn’t arrived. He got away, and he has the locket that belonged to Michelle’s sister. He hid the key to the safe-deposit box in it, though he’ll soon find out the key isn’t in it now. Andi was afraid to carry it around, once she knew its significance, so she hid it in her uncle’s cabin.”
“When Metwater finds out, he’ll come after Andi again,” Graham said.
“Maybe. The local police have agreed to put a guard on her at the hospital. But Metwater strikes me as a smart guy—good at figuring out puzzles. I have a feeling he’ll check the cabin first, so I’m headed there now.”
“You should wait for backup.”
“I should, but if I do that, he’ll get away. And I don’t want to risk him coming after Andi again. I want this to end now.”
“I can’t authorize a solo pursuit,” Graham said.
“I’m not asking permission, sir. I’m only advising you of what I’m doing.”
“Simon.”
“He tried to kill the woman I love, and her baby. I’m not going to give him a second chance.”
The commander was silent for a long moment. Simon was getting used to those silences—it meant Graham was thinking, coming up with a plan. “I’m going to contact state patrol when I get off the phone and send them after you,” he said. “If they get to you before you find Metwater, they’ll be under orders to take you with them.”
“Fair enough, sir. But tell them not to hurry. I want a piece of this guy.”
“Good luck, Simon. But remember that luck will take you only so far.”
“I’ll remember, sir. And thank you.”
He hung up the phone, and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. He wasn’t nervous or afraid. His instincts told him he was doing the right thing. Metwater was going to be at the cabin. And Simon was going to be there, too, to take him down.
The Prophet might have thought he had gotten away with murder, but Simon was determined to prove him wrong.
* * *
SIMON FOLLOWED THE TRACKS of Metwater’s tires all the way down the forest service road that led to the cabin. The snow had stopped and the sun had come out, glinting off ice crystals so that the whole world looked as if it were coated in white sugar.
He passed the turnoff for the cabin and drove a half mile farther, then parked on the side of the road. The tracks he had been following had turned off at the cabin. Either Metwater hadn’t expected anyone to follow him or he was so focused on the key—and the million dollars it led to—that he didn’t care.
Simon cleaned his hands and drank some water, then began working his way toward the cabin. He would approach it from the back and try to catch Metwater by surprise. The Prophet wouldn’t give up without a fight, so Simon would have to use every advantage.
He hadn’t gone very far before he was wet to the knees, melting snow soaking into his clothes. Branches caught and tugged at his coat and a crow cawed indignantly overhead. Simon ignored the bird and the wet and kept going, gun drawn, carefully placing each step, yet moving as swiftly as possible.
He heard Metwater before he saw him. The thud of something being dropped was followed by the crash of breaking glass. More thuds and crashes. Once, the Rangers had been called to deal with a bear that had become trapped inside an RV. The bear had destroyed the interior of the trailer before the Rangers succeeded in freeing him. Metwater sounded as if he was wreaking the same kind of havoc. Good. The noise would help cover Simon’s approach.
At the edge of the trees behind the cabin, he paused. He detected no movement outside, though the crashing sounds continued inside. He counted to ten, deliberately slowing his breath, then darted forward, to a position to the left of the big back window.
The glass of the window was shattered, a slight breeze stirring the curtains. Simon remembered that Victor had entered the cabin this way when he had tried
to kidnap Andi. He waited, listening to the muffled slamming doors and clatter of items falling.
Simon leaned over and looked inside. The mattress was half off the bed, the covers on the floor. All the drawers had been removed from the dresser, the contents scattered. No sign of Metwater—though Simon could hear him in the front of the house.
He climbed in the window and moved toward the source of the commotion, stepping around mounds of winter clothing and tumbled stacks of magazines. At the door to the bedroom, he paused, peering around the jamb.
Metwater was crouched in front of the kitchen sink. He pulled out a small metal toolbox, the red paint scratched, rust showing in spots. He opened the lid and began pawing through the contents, then, with a growl of frustration, upended the whole thing on the floor. Wrenches and screwdrivers bounced across the wood floor, and nails and screws rolled in every direction.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, and picked up something from the floor. The small brass key glinted in the sunlight as he held it aloft.
Simon stepped from the bedroom and leveled his gun at the other man. “David Metwater, you’re under arrest,” he said.
Metwater froze, then turned slowly toward him, the key still in his hand, his gun tucked into the waistband of his trousers. “It was a mistake to come after me,” he said. “You should have quit when you had the chance.”
“Lay your gun on the floor and stand up with your hands where I can see them,” Simon said.
“Do you know what this key is?” Metwater asked.
“Your gun,” Simon said. “Drop it.”
“This is the key to a safe-deposit box that contains a million dollars. Money I took from the Bratva. Can you imagine the audacity? No one steals from them and gets away with it. But I did.”
“I’m arresting you for the murders of Daniel Metwater and Victor Krayev,” Simon said. “You have the right to remain silent.”
Metwater sneered. “You don’t think I’ll come quietly, do you?” he asked. “Not after all I’ve been through to get here. I’m going to kill you, and then I’m going to find Asteria and kill her. Then no one will know I’m not really Daniel Metwater, the prophet who was persecuted by the authorities.”
“Plenty of people know the truth now,” Simon said. “Put down your weapon and keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Have you ever seen a million dollars?” Metwater asked. “Stacks and stacks of bills. More money than many people will see in a lifetime.”
“You are entitled to consult an attorney,” Simon said. “If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you by the court.”
“Shut up.” Metwater shifted his focus from the key to Simon. “I know my rights. I have been arrested before—or rather, David was arrested. Daniel has a clean record. But we don’t have to do this. We can come to an agreement that will satisfy us both.”
“I’ll only be satisfied when you’re behind bars,” Simon said.
“Hear me out.” Metwater held up the key again. “Let me go and I will give you half of the contents of this box. Half a million dollars. Think of that.”
“Your words are worthless to me,” Simon said.
“You think I will cheat you, but no. Half a million dollars, Officer. Cops don’t get paid that much, do they? Think of what you could do with half a million dollars.”
Half a million would build a new wing on the orphanage his aunt managed on the border. It would buy supplies and medicine for the clinic his uncle ran. It could fund a scholarship in memory of his father and mother.
“Put down your gun,” Simon said.
“Of course.” Metwater drew the gun from his waistband, extended it in front of him, and fired.
Simon dove for the floor, the bullet thudding into the wall behind him. His own shot caught Metwater square in the chest. He fired a second time, and a third, until Metwater dropped his weapon and sank to the floor. The brass key clattered on the wood and came to rest in a beam of sunlight by the table.
Sirens whined in the distance, moving closer. Simon rose to his knees, heart pounding, his breathing coming hard. He was still sitting that way when the state patrol officers burst in, guns drawn. Simon laid his pistol aside.
“He’s dead,” he said. “It’s over.”
* * *
ANDI SMILED DOWN at the baby in her arms, who looked up at her with wonder in her eyes. The nurses had dressed her in a pink onesie and a little pink hat, and wrapped her in a flowered flannel blanket. All the trauma surrounding her birth hadn’t harmed her. The doctors had pronounced mother and baby both healthy, and free to go home as soon as all the paperwork had been processed.
Home. Andi had no idea where that was now. With the Prophet still on the loose, would she need to go to the safe house? And then what? Her twenty-fifth birthday had passed, so she supposed she was a rich woman. She could buy a house—one with a sunny room for a nursery, and a backyard where her little girl could play when she was older. But the idea didn’t excite her. A house by herself sounded so lonely. Empty.
A knock on the door interrupted her contemplation. She looked up and Simon stepped into the room. Her heart beat wildly at the sight of him. He was back in uniform, his hair neatly combed, his face close shaven—this was the Simon she remembered from all his visits to the Family’s compound in the woods. Except that this time he carried a bouquet of flowers—red daisies and orange mums and purple lilies spilling from a twist of green tissue. He wasn’t smiling as he walked toward the bed, his eyes focused first on the baby, then on her. Dark eyes that made her melt a little inside. But right now they also made her want to cry. She was afraid of what he would say to her—and what he wouldn’t say.
She spoke first, rushing to get the words out. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said. “I’ve been worried.” As the hours passed when he didn’t come to see her, she had imagined everything from him being killed to him deciding he never wanted to see her again.
“You didn’t have to worry about me,” he said.
“What happened?” she asked. “The Prophet?”
“He’s dead. He won’t have a chance to hurt you again.”
His face was grim, and she wondered if he had been the one to kill Metwater. But she wouldn’t ask. She didn’t want that kind of ugliness in this room—not now.
Simon stared again at the baby. “Is she okay?” he asked. “Are you okay?”
“We’re both doing great. Would you like to hold her?”
She half expected him to say no, but instead, he laid the bouquet at the foot of the bed and carefully took the baby in his arms. She looked impossibly tiny there—and so right. Andi’s eyes stung and she swallowed past a lump in her throat.
“She’s beautiful,” he said, and looked up at her.
“I named her Caroline, after my mother.”
“It’s a beautiful name.” He looked down at the baby, who stared back up at him, as if trying to figure him out. “She’s so tiny,” he said.
“You look just right, holding her,” she said.
“I don’t know anything about babies,” he said.
“Neither do I.” We can learn together, she thought, but was afraid to say it.
“I should tell you what happened after I left you,” he said, his eyes still on the baby.
“You don’t have to,” she said.
“I want to.” He hesitated, then added, “I think I need to.”
“All right.”
“I went back to your uncle’s cabin. I figured once Metwater discovered the key was no longer in the locket, he would go there to look.”
“Was he there?”
“Yes. He had found the key. He tried to bribe me, offering me half of the money if I would let him go.”
“But you turned him down.”
“Yes.” He folded the blanket back from little Caroline’s face. “He
tried to shoot me and I shot back. He’s dead now.”
“Oh.” Was it wrong that the news made her feel relieved? “What will happen to the money now?”
“That will be up to the authorities in Chicago. They’ll have to figure out which bank issued that key and where the box is located. The money will probably end up going back to the government.”
“I’m so glad you’re all right,” she said again. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done. If you hadn’t been there when I went into labor, I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Don’t thank me. I didn’t do anything special.”
“I wouldn’t have made it without you. Caroline wouldn’t have made it.”
“Don’t look at me like I’m a saint,” he said, his expression angry. “I’m not. I’m not going to save you or be as good as you want me to be. I know good people—truly good people. My aunt is a nun who runs an orphanage on the border. My uncle is a doctor who gives away thousands of dollars’ worth of medical care every week. Both my parents died because they stood up to help others. I’m nothing compared to them.”
“Stop it!” It was her turn to be angry now. “I know you think I’m a naive, starry-eyed girl,” she said. “And I was that once. But I’ve done a lot of growing up in the last few weeks—mostly in the last few days with you. I know you’re not perfect—you’re grumpy and reticent and impatient and you snore. But those things don’t matter to me. Because I see beneath all that stuff you use to keep other people from getting too close. I see it because I used to be that way too.”
“You were never grumpy, and you don’t snore.”
“No, but I know how to keep people at a distance by remaining aloof. They think it’s because you believe you’re better than them, but I know it’s because you think you’ll never be good enough. You can’t let anyone get close enough to find that out.” She leaned toward him. “But we let each other get close, Simon. We couldn’t help it. And what I found out is that we’re a lot more alike than you give us credit for.”
His gaze met hers, pinning her in place. “All I want to know is, did you mean it when you said you love me?”