by Cindi Myers
“He can’t help you any,” Isaiah said. “He’s only been working here three days.”
The other clerk, Ray, shook his head and looked puzzled when Luke showed him the pictures of the three suspects. “Sorry, I can’t help you,” he said. Isaiah looked on, arms crossed, his eyes sending a clear message of I told you so.
Luke thanked them and started to leave, but on impulse, he took out his phone and pulled up the photo of Danny.
“Do either of you recognize this man?” he asked.
They leaned in to study the photo. Isaiah nodded. “Yeah. He came in with the other three one day.”
“You’re sure?” Luke tried not to let his excitement show.
“I’m sure. He wore a Boston Red Sox cap and I’m a Sox fan, so I said something about it, but he blew me off.”
“Anything else you can tell me about him?” Luke asked.
“His friends called him Dan.”
“Dan? You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Nothing wrong with my hearing.”
“Any last name?”
“I never heard one. He didn’t say much, you know.”
“Did you know the names of any of the others?”
“No. They never said. At least, not while I was listening.”
“Thanks. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Why are you looking for these people?” Isaiah asked. “Is there a reward if I help find them?”
Luke handed the man one of his cards. “Call me if any of them comes in here again, or if you see them around. There just might be a reward.”
Back in the car, he phoned Blessing to update him on his progress. “The woman had a Southern accent, maybe Georgia, and the clerk identified our bombing suspect as having been in the store with the three from the house at least once. He says he heard one of them call him Dan.”
“It’s not much, but it helps us start to build a profile,” Blessing said. “Anything else?”
“The clerk said Dan wore a Boston Red Sox cap.”
“A Sox fan named Dan. How many of those do you think there are?”
“I’ll keep digging,” Luke said, and ended the call.
Immediately, his phone beeped, alerting him that he had a voice mail. He clicked over to his mailbox and Morgan’s voice, thin and shaky, said, “Scott called me. He said he’s okay, but that I might be in danger. What is he talking about? Luke, I’m a little scared.”
He started the car and hit the button to return the call. As he peeled out of the parking lot, she answered. “Luke, thanks for calling me back,” she said. “Maybe I’m worrying over nothing, but...”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m on my way.”
* * *
SCOTT FOLLOWED THE faint trail along the creek bank that led to the little clearing in the underbrush where he and Danny had been camping. Well, Danny had been camping there—he’d just let Scott spread his bedroll under the trees nearby and share the campfire for a couple of nights. The men’s shelter wasn’t bad, but he liked being out in the woods. It reminded him a little of the church camp he’d attended for a few summers when he was a kid.
Danny had been really friendly at first. He’d remembered Scott from London and he was the first person Scott had met in a long time who wanted to talk about cycling. Danny was a real fan. He knew the names of all the top racers and had watched a lot of the big races. But he’d never been to Colorado before, so he was eager for Scott to fill him in on details about the Colorado Cycling Challenge. It felt so good to sit with a friend and talk like that. Scott wasn’t a weird crazy or even a has-been who couldn’t cut it. He was a veteran racer who knew the sport and was happy to share his knowledge with someone who was interested.
But something had definitely changed back there in the hotel kitchen. Danny had been doing something with the food and he’d been angry when he’d caught Scott watching him. And then he’d pulled that gun and shot at Morgan and her friend... Remembering the gun made his stomach knot. What if Danny had the gun with him now? What if he decided to kill Scott?
He froze, wondering whether he should leave while he still had the chance. He’d stay away from Danny and avoid trouble.
But he couldn’t get the way Danny had looked in the hospital out of his head. Disguised as an orderly that way. Worse, Scott couldn’t forget what he’d said. When they’d passed in the hall, Danny had leaned over and whispered, “Keep quiet or I’m going to hurt your sister.” The way he’d said that word—hurt—and the look in his eyes, sent a wave of panic washing through Scott, ice flooding his veins. It was as if one of the devils in his head had come to life and was standing before him, right there in the hospital hallway.
Scott was calmer now, and he was tired of being afraid. No person could be as bad as the devils in his head. The new medicine they’d given him at the hospital had shut up those devils, and he was feeling better. Stronger. But that might not last. He had to deal with Danny now.
He’d thought about this all last night and this morning, while he hid at various spots around the city. He and Danny had been friends. Scott could talk to him. He’d let Danny know that he knew how to keep his mouth shut—he didn’t rat out his friends. But Danny had to leave Morgan alone. She had nothing to do with any of this.
He started forward again, moving slowly and quietly, damp leaves on the trail muffling his footsteps. He stopped at the edge of the clearing and waited, watching and listening. Danny’s tent was there, on the other side of the clearing, camouflaged by the pine boughs he’d cut and draped over it. Behind that, more pine boughs covered the black metal footlocker. When Scott had asked about the footlocker, Danny said he used it for supplies, so the animals wouldn’t get to them. A heavy lock on the front of the chest kept anyone else from looking inside. Once, when Scott had sat on the footlocker, Danny had yelled at him to stay away.
That was cool. Some guys were very particular about their things. And Danny had a lot of things—backpacks and a folding table and chairs, water jugs and pots and pans and lots of canned food. How did he get all that stuff here on foot? Someone must have given him a ride. The locker was really heavy—too heavy for one person to move.
When he was certain no one was around, Scott moved closer to the tent. It was zipped up tight. He checked the locker—still locked. The ashes in the rock-lined fire ring were cold. Danny had either left early that morning, or he’d spent the night somewhere else.
Scott looked at the tent again. What if Danny was in there now, asleep? What if he was sick? Or even dead? He rubbed his hand up and down his thigh, debating what to do. Maybe he should go inside the tent and check. If Danny wasn’t there, he could leave him a note.
Heart pounding so hard it hurt, he crept to the tent and eased open the zipper. He let out a rush of breath when he saw the tent was empty. The sleeping bag was neatly rolled and tied to one side, and a backpack leaned against it.
A new backpack—not the one Danny had had before. Scott squatted in front of it and unfastened the top flap. Maybe the gun was in here. If he found it, he’d take it away and throw it in the creek so that Danny couldn’t use it to hurt Morgan.
In the top of the pack, he found a map of the race route, and a program with the racers’ bios and pictures, as well as lots of stuff about the history of the race. Scott stared at the brochures and began to get a queasy feeling in his stomach. The medicine he took sometimes made him feel sick, but this was a different kind of sickness. Danny had asked him a lot of questions about the race. He wanted to know the best place to stand at the end of the race, where the most people would be, where the cameras were. Something about those questions wasn’t right.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The harsh words made Scott jump away from the pack. He recognized the voice as Danny’s, but all he could focus on was the gun
pointed at him.
“What are you doing going through my things?” Danny demanded.
“I...I was looking for piece of paper to leave you a note,” Scott said.
“Why aren’t you in the hospital? Who have you been talking to? Who have you told about this place?” Danny fired the questions like bullets, sharp and rapid. Scott searched for answers.
“I haven’t been talking to anyone,” he said. “I didn’t tell anyone anything. I left the hospital because...because I’m fine now. I don’t need to be there anymore.” He forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “Now that I’m out, I thought we could hang together for a while. Maybe watch the race together. I could introduce you to some racers at the finish line.”
Danny ignored the invitation. He jabbed the gun toward Scott. “Who was that man in the hotel kitchen? The one with your sister?”
“How did you know she was my sister?” Scott hadn’t introduced them. Morgan hadn’t said anything about knowing him.
“I make it my business to know things. Who was he?”
“Some guy she’s dating. I don’t know his name.”
“You told her about me, didn’t you? I saw her there in your hospital room. The two of you looked real close.”
“I didn’t tell her anything.” He forgot about smiling. “She doesn’t know anything. You need to leave her alone.”
“Maybe I’ll shut you both up,” he said. “I’ll kill you now, then kill her. I won’t have to worry about either one of you saying anything you shouldn’t.”
What could Scott possibly say to that? He looked frantically around the tent for anything he could use as a weapon. Sleeping bag, backpack, clothes—everything was too soft and lightweight to stop a gun.
“Get outside.” Danny gestured with the gun. “I’m not going to shoot you in my tent, get your blood all over my stuff.”
Scott debated refusing to move, but he didn’t think that ploy would work. Danny would only get more angry, and might decide to shoot him anyway. He had started to crawl toward the door of the tent when the alarm on his phone sounded, the ascending and descending electronic notes overly loud in the enclosed space.
“What’s that?” Danny asked.
It was the reminder he’d set to take his medication, but Danny didn’t need to know that. “Um, it’s a text. Probably from my sister. I’m supposed to meet her for lunch. Her and her boyfriend—the cop.”
Danny swore. “I knew he was a cop. Get out of the tent. Now!”
He backed away, the gun still fixed on Scott, who had to crawl through the door of the tent, then stand. “Over there, against those trees,” Danny directed him.
Scott started toward the trees, but Danny put out a hand. “First, give me your phone.”
Trying to control the shaking of his hand, Scott dug the phone from the pocket of his jeans and handed it over. Danny dropped it to the ground and stomped on it, grinding his heel into the screen. Then he kicked the pieces away. Scott swallowed against the nausea that climbed his throat.
“Get over there,” Danny motioned to the trees once more.
A movie Scott had seen a long time ago came into his mind. A man—a detective or some other good guy—held at gunpoint by a villain. He threw gravel in the shooter’s face and got away. Would that really work, or did that kind of thing only happen in the movies? If he failed, Danny would shoot him. He stared at the gun, fighting fear and paralysis. If he didn’t try something, Danny was going to shoot him anyway. At least this way, he would die fighting.
He lunged forward, letting himself fall, bracing his arms to catch himself. His hand landed in the fire ring. Grabbing a handful of gravel, cinders and old coals, he flung the mess into Danny’s face. The gun went off, the sound muffled, a single pop!
Scott didn’t know if he’d been hit. He was up and running, terror propelling him back along the trail and up toward the highway on the other side of the creek. He splashed through the water and clambered up the slope, shots exploding in the dirt around him. All those years of cycling, of working out, had given him strong legs. He was fast. And he wasn’t going to let this guy kill him.
He burst onto the shoulder of the freeway and didn’t stop, running onto the pavement, hands in the air, screaming as loudly as he could, “Help me!” Horns blared and cars swerved around him. He reached the median and turned to look back.
Danny stood at the top of the slope, the gun nowhere in sight. He bent and picked up something off the ground. Something white, like a business card. He read it and stuffed it in his pocket, then looked up at Scott and smiled—a smile like the devils in his head wore when they looked out of his eyes into the mirror sometimes. A smile full of evil and loathing, and Scott began to be afraid all over again.
Chapter Eleven
Luke told himself he was going to Morgan’s hotel to calm her down, but when she opened her door and moved into his arms, he realized how worried he’d been. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “Scott sounded so certain when he said I was in danger—it really frightened me.”
“Did he say why he thought that?” Luke asked, after he’d followed her inside and locked the door behind them. “Has someone threatened you?”
“He said he had to stay away to protect me. I thought maybe he was talking about Danny—that Danny was after him and he was afraid to involve me.” She sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I don’t know what to think.”
“How did he sound on the phone?” Scott pulled the desk chair so that he could sit facing her. “Were there any background noises that might give us a clue as to where he was?”
“I heard traffic, but almost anywhere in the city you’d expect to hear that. And he sounded good, actually. I don’t mean happy, but he sounded stronger. More like the Scott he was before he got sick. He sounded more sure of himself, not as agitated. Which is funny, considering what he was saying to me. I mean, I think he was really afraid, but he wasn’t panicking. Does that make sense?”
“I think so, yes. Maybe the time in the hospital did him some good.”
“I hope so. I still worry when I don’t know where he is.”
“You’ve tried calling him?”
“Yes. But my calls go straight to voice mail.” She glanced at the television. “The one thing that gives me hope is that I think he’ll stay in town for the race finish on Sunday. He has a lot of friends and former teammates competing and I don’t think he’ll want to miss it. I’m hoping I’ll be able to find him then.”
“I’ll be looking for him, too,” Luke said. “I’ll ask the other members of the team to keep an eye out for him, as well.”
“Then I’m happy to take advantage of your talent for recognizing faces.” On the TV, footage played of crowds gathered at the finish line in Colorado Springs. “I haven’t heard anything about any threats or worries about bombings,” she said. “Is that because you’re asking the press to keep things low-key, or because the danger has lessened?”
“We haven’t had any direct threats, but our intelligence tells us the bomber has targeted this race. The Union Cycliste Internationale has asked the press to soften reports of violence, not us. We’re working with local law enforcement to make security as tight as we can, though it’s difficult when the crowds are stretched out for miles. The UCI won’t allow barriers or fences.”
“It’s against tradition. Cycling is a very fan-oriented sport.”
“Except one of those fans might be out to kill people.”
“We don’t like to believe we live in a world like that.” She switched off the TV and stretched her arms over her head. “I think I need to get out of this hotel room for a while. Being cooped up in here all day is making me nuts.”
“Let me take you out. We can grab a drink, maybe a bite to eat. I’m betting you skipped lunch.”<
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“How is it that you already know me so well?”
Her smile made him a little light-headed. He’d known she would be worried about her brother, and he knew just what that worry felt like. “I skipped lunch, too,” he said. “And I’d like to spend some time with you that doesn’t revolve around work.”
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all week.” She stood. “Give me a minute to change.”
She retrieved some items from her suitcase and went into the bathroom. Luke stood and walked to the window, which offered a view of downtown streets filled with cars and bicycles. Pedestrians strolled the sidewalks or relaxed in a small park on the corner. The bright banners advertising the cycling challenge added color to the scene. He understood why people found it hard to believe others would want to destroy such peace and beauty. Yet he and his team and the other men and women like him who worked on the front lines knew the danger was all too real.
Every day they were getting closer to the terrorists responsible for the London and Paris bombings, but would they stop them in time—before they caused a tragedy on American soil?
The bathroom door opened and Morgan emerged, young and feminine in a flowered summer dress and silver high heels. “You look beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you.” She picked up her purse from the desk. “You aren’t going to get into trouble with your boss for going out with me, are you?” she asked.
“I have a right to a personal life.” Though Blessing might not see things that way. “Should we walk or drive?” he asked.
“Walk. It’s a warm night and there are so many good restaurants downtown.”
They found a bistro with outdoor seating and ordered craft beers and an appetizer sampler. She sat back in her chair and sighed. “I could live in Colorado,” she said. “In Texas it’s too hot to sit outside like this in August.”
“One of the houses we lived in when I was a kid had a screened-in sleeping porch off the upstairs bedrooms,” he said. “Mark and I slept out there all summer long—sometimes right up until the first snow.”