Tilting at Windmills (Claire Lance)

by Geonn Cannon

  The plane began to taxi and she turned to peer out the window. She could see the lake glistening in the moonlight, along with a line of other planes queued up for take-off. She wondered if any of them were Qantas, if any of them had delivered the now out of reach stewardess Kelly. It didn't matter. Kelly was already in the past. The future was in Saxe, Texas and Claire Lance's abandoned Mustang.

  Mallory prayed she would find what she needed to finally put Lance away for good.

  #

  After the Ranger and her crime scene team left the bar, Hadley went into the office and closed the door. The guys were all either slumped on the couch or in the chairs in front of the desk, except for Estevez. He was leaning against the wall next to the emergency exit, but he straightened when Hadley came in. "Cops, Gar? You actually called the cops?"

  "We didn't call the cops when Boris got killed," Kay said.

  "Boris was nothing. He was an unemployed drunk." He stared pointedly at Kay until the other man looked away. "But Roy Morse... You want to try covering up his murder? Or his wife's disappearance? We could have tried, but it would have ended up drawing a lot more heat than this, trust me. Claire Lance gave us the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, as it were. It was just better all around to play by the rules for now." He walked around the desk and lowered himself into Roy's seat. The changing of the guard. "Were you able to find anything on her, Garth?"

  Garth Pope was the most tech savvy member of the group. He was constantly trying to prove himself worthy to act as muscle, but he usually ended up just being the guy they went to when they needed to get something from the computer. He shrugged. "I couldn't find much, but the Rangers put her name and description out in the ether. Guess who snatched it up and called back in, like, ten minutes?" Hadley didn't like to play guessing games, so he stared at Garth until the boy said, "The FBI." He dragged each letter out until each became its own sentence, then he leaned back with a confident smirk and crossed his arms over his chest.

  "The Feds?" Kay said. "What the hell do they want with her?"

  "No clue. Didn't say. But they're sending an agent down to snoop around."

  "Fucking wonderful," Estevez said. "First the Rangers, now the Feds. Who you gonna call in next, Gar, the President?"

  Hadley fixed a level stare at Estevez, holding it until the man remembered who was in charge now. He said, "Ranger Lazareva is going to work for us. If it comes to it, the FBI agent who is sent down will be useful as well. We'll tell Lazareva what she needs to know, and then we'll let her do all the legwork. She'll lead us right to Gwen and Lance."

  "Why do we even have to go after them?" Kay said. "Good riddance to bad rubbish, right? Let Lance run off, let Gwen disappear into the ether. We don't need her, right?"

  "You think she worked in that bar, slept next to Roy all this time, and didn't find out what his real business was? You really think she was that bubble-brained? She was a lot of things, but dumb isn't one of them. She thinks quick on her feet. She knows what we were up to. That makes her a liability."

  "And Lance? What are we going to do with her?"

  "She's expendable. I never saw her before yesterday, got no reason I need to see her again. But if she gets in your way, waste the bitch."

  Chapter Six

  The sun beat down on her bare shoulders, her hair blown across her face by the gentle breeze. Lazy Saturdays in the park had never been her idea of a good time, but somehow Elaine made them worthwhile. Lance propped herself up on one elbow and watched Elaine crossing the park toward her, an ice cream cone in each hand. Elaine knelt next to Lance, offered one cone and leaned in for a kiss. Elaine's lips were soft, and tasted of the cotton candy they shared earlier.

  Elaine sat down and turned her back, let Lance pull her close. Lance rested her cheek on top of Elaine's head and looked across the park at the teenagers playing Frisbee. It wasn't often that their schedules lined up like this, so Saturdays in the park were a rare treat. For Elaine, anyway. Lance would have preferred to stay at the apartment and find some baseball on television, laze and nap. But Elaine loved the park. It was a small sacrifice to make — spending a few hours on the grass with the woman she loved. Besides, it looked like a baseball game was going to start at the Little League diamond about a hundred yards to their right. Maybe she would get to see a game after all.

  "I think this is my favorite time," Lance said, surprising herself and Elaine both. But as soon as the words were out, she found it was true. She shifted and kissed Elaine's temple. "This is my favorite time — being here with you."

  She looked into Elaine's face, but it was blurred by a bright shine. Tears rolled down Lance's cheeks as she ran her fingers over Elaine's fading features.

  She kissed Elaine's lips just before they disappeared completely and found herself falling, the world around her shifting, as dreams turned to waking.

  #

  All Lance knew for certain upon waking was that there was a warm body in her arms. Slowly coming awake, her heart rate kicked up as she flattened her palms against the small of her partner's back. She drew her lover to her and buried her face in the soft sea of hair without opening her eyes. She felt hands on her hips and a strong thigh between her legs. Lance kissed her partner's neck and whispered, "Elaine. God, I dreamt—"

  Saying the name out loud broke the spell. Lance's eyes opened and she realized that the woman she was snuggling was blonde. She pulled back as gently as she could, spread her legs and rolled her hips to escape Gwen's invading thigh. She then lay on her back and eased her arm out from beneath Gwen's body.

  Once she was free, she covered her eyes with one hand. The room was bright with early dawn, the sky turning golden as the sun slowly rose and started the day. She could hear the grinding gears of big rigs going by on the highway, heard the sounds of other guests in the motel starting their day. They were tourists, people on their way to early meetings, or maybe continuing some innocent road trip with their families.

  Lance stayed in bed for a few minutes to steady her breathing. For a few seconds upon waking, she would have sworn she was sleeping with Elaine, that this whole insane saga had been a dream. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and inhaled deeply. She fought off the memories, the warm, inviting pull the fantasy had created. The fantasy had been real enough that accepting reality almost physically hurt. She hadn't slept with anyone since Elaine, so she could be forgiven for a moment of confusion, but trying to hold onto that feeling was unacceptable. If she focused on could-have-been and might-have-happened scenarios, she wouldn't be able to function. And Gwen needed her on top of her game. She rubbed the tears from her eyes — dismissing them by telling herself they were the result of the early morning sun coming in the window — and controlled her breathing.

  She took her hands from her eyes and confronted the world. This was the world she lived in now; this was her reality. And, thanks to her, it was now also Gwen's reality.

  She sat up and checked her watch. It was just shy of six-thirty in the morning. She rolled out of bed and opened her duffel bag. She pulled a baggy pair of jeans over the shorts she had slept in, and buttoned a flannel shirt over the plain white T-shirt. When she sat down to put on her socks and boots, she saw that Gwen was awake and watching her. Lance looked away, wondering how much of her dream had been acted out physically, and how much Gwen had been aware of. She cleared her throat and said, "Good morning. We should get going soon."

  Gwen pushed herself up and rubbed her eyes. "What time is it?"

  "Almost six-thirty."

  Gwen pushed the blankets back and slowly got out of bed. She picked up her suitcase off the floor and carried it into the bathroom. Ten minutes later she returned, hair neatly combed, her nightshirt folded and held against her chest with one hand and carrying her suitcase with the other. She was wearing a white slip, her bra and panties visible through the sheer material, and she nervously sat on the foot of her bed to dress. "Who is Elaine?"

  Damn. Lance pul
led on her boots and shook her head. "No one."

  "You kissed me."

  "Your neck. I'm sorry."

  "Don't be."

  "I am," Lance said. "It shouldn't have happened." She hoped her tone told Gwen that the subject was closed.

  Gwen watched her for a moment and then turned away. She slipped her arms into the sleeves of a dress, then stood and tugged it down so that it reached her knees. She buttoned it quickly and stepped into her shoes, then walked over by the window and watched Lance.

  Lance grabbed her duffel bag, closed and zipped Gwen's suitcase and lifted it as well. She looked around the room. "You got everything?"

  Gwen nodded. "Where are we going now?"

  "Still north, as far as I know," Lance said. "We should go as far as Oklahoma City, then make decisions from there. Shouldn't take too long to reach the city."

  She opened the motel room door and took a long look at the parking lot. She didn't see any suspiciously idling cars with people sitting in them, and there were no police cars in view. She walked out and motioned Gwen forward. "Go sit in the car. I'll check us out."

  Her duffel bag over her shoulder, Lance walked to the manager's office. A different man was on duty, filling in the crossword puzzle in that morning's newspaper. She dropped her duffel bag to get his attention. "I need to check out. Room Four."

  He looked up, took her key, and turned the clipboard around so she could sign her name. She wrote Elaine Lake again, the name causing a pang. Every time she saw the name written on a piece of paper or a receipt, it was a knife to her heart. She should never have used it as a pseudonym, but it was a name she was sure to respond to. She put the pen down, smiled at the clerk, and picked up her bag. "How far is it to Oklahoma City?"

  The clerk scratched his chin. "Hunnerd-fiddy miles, give or take. Head east, take I-44."

  "Thank you." He waved and went back to his crossword. Headed for the door, Lance noticed the stack of newspapers had been refilled during the night. She gestured at the stack. "You mind if I take one of these?"

  "Go 'head," the clerk said.

  "Thanks." She took the top paper off the stack and carried it outside, relieved to see Gwen was in the car waiting for her. She got behind the wheel and opened the paper to check the headlines. Nothing on the front page. She flipped it over and cursed under her breath.

  TWO SOUGHT IN CONNECTION WITH TEXAS ROBBERY/HOMICIDE

  She ignored the text of the article, since she already knew what it would say, and focused on the pictures. The picture they used of Gwen was over-developed, bland. She was giving a forced smile and staring wide-eyed at the camera. It smacked of driver's license photographs the world over. Lance's photo was a little more polished, but she looked even worse. There were bags under her eyes and her bottom lip was split. Her hair was a mess, and she looked like every father's worst nightmare for his daughter. Anyone looking at this photograph over their breakfast cereal would see a deranged, dangerous criminal.

  The picture had been taken on the worst night of her life, so Lance knew the exact date even without the little black card she was holding up under her chin. She looked up and saw that Gwen was staring at their photographs.

  "You're a criminal."

  Lance folded the paper and tossed it onto the dashboard. "We both are now." She hated the newspaper for that picture. There were others they could have used, damn it. She knew Mallory had to have something to do with it. Maybe she had even picked that photo to run to let the people see her as a monster, to let the cops know they were dealing with a criminal, plain and simple. "We have to get rid of this car," Lance said as she pulled out of the parking spot. "They'll be looking for it."

  "Where are we going to get a new car?"

  "We'll find one," Lance said. She was furious at Mallory, and at herself for losing an entire night. Gwen could have slept in the backseat while she drove. They could have already been in Oklahoma City, picking up a flight to Maine or Washington or anywhere else that was far, far away from Saxe. It didn't matter. She was an expert at diverting attention and losing heat. The only problem was that it would eat up a lot of time. It couldn't be avoided. She could only hope that having a tagalong with her this time wouldn't trip her up.

  #

  Mallory landed at Dallas/Fort Worth Airport at midnight and an agent from the Dallas field office was waiting in the terminal when she arrived. Despite the lateness of the hour, there were still a handful of other passengers meandering through the airport. The Texas Rangers had faxed their initial report to the Dallas office and the agent handed it to Mallory as they went to the car. Mallory got into the passenger seat and spent the next half hour familiarizing herself with what had happened the day before in Saxe.

  When she finished, she checked her watch and said, "How much longer until we reach Saxe?"

  "It'll be two and a half hours, ma'am."

  She closed the file and settled into her seat. "Wake me when we get there."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  She leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes, trying to let the sway of the car put her to sleep. She had slept for an hour on the plane, but now she was too anxious about being on the ground, in hot pursuit, such as it was. For all the impact Claire Lance had on her life, they had only been in the same room together a handful of times. Every other mental image she had was taken from either fuzzy security cameras or a composite from her own memory. She was looking forward to standing face-to-face with her and burning the woman's features into her mind.

  It was close to three in the morning when the Dallas agent reached over and touched Mallory's arm. She had managed to drop off into a light doze, but she was awake immediately. Straightening in her seat, she watched the small town unfold in the darkness around them.

  Saxe, Texas was little more than a wide spot in the highway, a clutch of buildings rising on either side of the road like a mirage. A smattering of homes spotted the landscape behind the businesses, like moss on a rock. The marker outside of town announced the population was 1,025 people, and Mallory wondered whose job it was to update the number. The town was home to only one thousand twenty-four people at the moment, twenty-three if they didn't get Gwendolyn Morse back.

  They drove through the small town and Mallory took note when they passed the Four Roses Bar. It was locked up tight for the evening, but she would need to know where it was first thing when she woke up. She kept track of the streets in the town, no major feat, until they reached a small bed-and-breakfast. The front porch light was on and she could see a lamp through the lace curtains next to the front door. The Dallas agent stopped the car and said, "I guess this is where they're putting you up. You need me to stay, lend a hand? I'd be happy to hang around a while."

  Mallory didn't know, and didn't care, if the guy was coming on to her. She unfastened her seatbelt. "No. Thank you for the ride."

  "Are you sure? There's no field office around here if you need backup. Or a ride..."

  "I'll make do," Mallory assured him. She got out of the car and slammed the door, then stepped back and waited for the car to drive away before she started up the walkway to the front door. She didn't want anyone babysitting her on this job, not even if they had a car. If necessary, she would just commandeer Lance's Mustang from the garage. Reveling in the poetic justice of chasing Lance down using her own car, she smiled as she rang the doorbell.

  The front door opened and an older woman in a thick cotton robe smiled out at her. "Hello, dear. Are you the FBI agent?"

  "Special Agent Faye Mallory," she said, showing her ID. "I hope you're holding a room for me."

  The woman smiled brightly and ushered Mallory in. "Of course, of course. You're all signed in and everything. If you want to just head on up, your room is the first door on the right."

  "Thank you. Do you have wake-up calls?"

  The woman hesitated and then nodded. "For you, I could make an exception."

  "Five," she said.

  "That's in two hours." The woman said
with a confused smile.

  Mallory nodded. "I'm well aware of that. Thank you." She turned and went upstairs without another thought for the old woman. She found her room and kicked off her shoes. Inside, she emptied her pockets, and flopped down on top of the covers. She threw an arm across her face and quickly fell asleep.

  It felt like hardly a breath had gone by before her cell phone began to vibrate on the nightstand. She thought it was someone trying to call her, so she grabbed it and prepared to chew out whoever it was. She flipped it open and frowned at the screen. While she was trying to figure out why the alarm was going off, there was a knock at the door. "Dear? It's five in the morning."

  Mallory checked her watch and pulled herself out of bed. Two hours of sleep in a bed was better than no sleep at all. She got up and used the bathroom, thanking the owner as they passed in the hall. Downstairs she found a stack of local papers on the kitchen table. She picked one up, flipped through it, and smiled when she found the story. It wasn't on the front page, but it would do.

  She was particularly proud of Claire Lance's mug shot — she looked like a wild animal. Hopefully the police, wherever they found her, would keep that in mind when they were trying to apprehend her. There had been an incident in St. Paul where she convinced an arresting officer she was an undercover detective. She had confused the issue enough that they took her out of custody, and Lance managed to escape a mere half an hour before Mallory's plane landed. Mallory was never going to let something like that happen again. And it couldn't happen this time, not with this picture staring out of every newsstand and off every front porch in five states. Leaving the paper, she walked outside.

  She looked into the dusky early morning sunlight and walked down the street until she found the Four Roses again. The lights were on, the people inside probably kept awake by the Texas Ranger interrogating them. Mallory pushed through the swinging door and scanned the room. A man leaned against one of the pool tables, watching a Ranger interrogate one of his men. Despite the time, he looked as if he had been up for hours. He probably hadn't even been to bed. His hair was neatly combed and his dress shirt was crisp, ironed, and buttoned up to the throat. She walked up to him and flashed her identification. "Are you Garrett Hadley?"