Fugitive (A Rocky Mountain Thriller Book 2)

by Ann Voss Peterson

  They’d known a trip to the library was risky. Although he didn’t yet know what to make of what they’d found, he hoped the trip was worth it. Better yet, he hoped they were wrong about the librarian’s motives.

  He looked up at the woman and smiled.

  She smiled back as she approached, laugh lines creasing tanned skin. A short-sleeved blouse showed muscular arms. Probably in her fifties, she looked less like the stereotypical librarian and more like an outdoors enthusiast.

  “I apologize if we were too loud. We’re on our way out.”

  “That’s not why I came over.”

  “Oh?”

  “You just look so familiar. I was wondering if I know you from somewhere.”

  Yes, probably from those news reports you’ve watched.

  “That always happens to me. You’re the third person who’s said that this week. My wife says I have a generic face.”

  The librarian laughed and pushed curly hair back from her cheek. “Sorry to bother you.”

  Eric let out a breath as she walked away. When she reached her spot at the circulation desk, she turned back to take another look.

  He had to get out of here.

  Eric pushed to his feet and casually walked to the restroom. At least he hoped it looked casual. He felt like his nerves were jumping out of his skin. When he reached the hall, he bolted past the marked doors and went straight for the red exit sign.

  Sarah sat in the passenger seat of the SUV. Eric slid behind the wheel and started the engine just as the library door opened and the librarian stuck her head out the door.

  Great. He pressed the gas and drove. Not too fast. Nothing to see here.

  “What did she say?” Sarah asked as they turned on to the highway.

  “She thought she recognized me.”

  “Did she figure out why?”

  “Don’t know. But even if she didn’t just take down our license plate, we’re going to have to come up with a new ride. Driving a stolen truck is pushing our luck.”

  Too bad. Eric liked the feeling of control having a vehicle once again gave him. Of course he knew it was an illusion. He didn’t really have control of anything. But the act of researching connections, uncovering pieces of the truth, as small as they were, at least made him feel like he was getting somewhere. Taking charge of something. Fighting back.

  Taking steps to protect Sarah and the baby.

  “Maybe we can find something to drive at the Full Throttle.”

  He glanced at Sarah out of the corner of his eye. “You sure you want to go there?”

  “I don’t see how we have a lot of choice. If we can’t get help from law enforcement, maybe it’s time to try the other side of the equation.”

  He nodded in agreement, but he didn’t like the desperate tone in her voice.

  ______

  Sarah squinted through dim light and thick smoke at the half-dozen or so men spending Sunday afternoon drinking. Two wore cowboy hats. Most sported prison tattoos. None of them looked friendly. She’d dealt with hard-edged men her entire life, but she was glad Eric was with her all the same.

  She and Eric stepped to the bar. The place smelled of stale smoke, stale beer and sanitizer, probably stale as well. The bartender ran an assessing gaze over Sarah. Face overwhelmed by a handlebar mustache he must have started growing when they were in style in the early 1900s, he slapped a bar towel down and leaned forward on meaty palms. “What can I get ya?”

  “Are you Walter Burne?”

  “Do I look like Burne?”

  “I don’t know. What does Burne look like?”

  “Not like me. Now what are you drinking?”

  “Did you know Randy Trask?”

  He gave a disgusted roll of his eyes. “You sure as hell ask a lot of questions.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “Maybe. Who are you?”

  “His sister.”

  Sarah could feel Eric tense up.

  She knew it was dangerous, admitting who she was. She wasn’t sure if her name and photo were being broadcast alongside Eric’s, but she wouldn’t be surprised. Layton was pretty adamant that the sheriff wanted her just as much. He never would have encouraged her to run otherwise. But as nervous as she was about identifying herself, she doubted she’d get anywhere with this guy by playing coy games. Besides, she’d bet many of the patrons of the Full Throttle wanted a visit from the sheriff about as much as she did.

  “The rancher lady.” A smile curved beneath all the hair. “Well, Randy ain’t here. But then, you probably know that.”

  A man down the bar stood and moved several stools closer. “You looking for Randy? He’s dead.”

  “We’re not looking for Randy,” Eric said. “We’re looking for people who knew him.”

  “Ahh.” The newcomer to the conversation chuckled deep in his skinny chest, the sound infused with the rattle of someone who was a long-time smoker. He perched on the edge of the stool. His leg bounced, as if he was itching to move. “I might have known him.”

  Even though he was sitting, Sarah could tell he was close to Eric’s height. But where Eric was fit and built with more than his share of muscle, this guy was narrow as a wire. And judging from his jumpy demeanor, she’d say a live wire at that.

  The kind of nervous energy that might have come from dipping in to the drugs he produced? “Are you Burne?”

  “Me? Ha! You’ve got to be out of your mind.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Jerry.”

  “Sarah.” She held out her hand and they shook. His palm was moist, and Sarah fought the urge to wipe her hand on her jeans. “Were you here when Randy came in the other day?”

  “What, after he got out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t remember.”

  “Well, have you heard why he stopped in here?”

  “Having a drink isn’t a good enough reason?” the bartender boomed. He leveled a look on them, a clear hint they should order if they intended to stay.

  “Give us a Sprite and a tapper.” Eric threw his last ten on the bar.

  Sarah turned back to the guy on the next stool. “Was there any other reason Randy came in here? Something besides having a drink?”

  “Don’t know whatcha mean.” He folded his arms, little more than flesh stretched over bone. Tattoos marked his pale skin with thick black lines. Not the most delicate work Sarah had seen.

  “Looks like you’ve done some time yourself,” Sarah said.

  Eric gestured to the tats. “What can you tell us about a guy named Bracco?”

  The guy glanced around the bar as if his overabundance of energy had deteriorated into paranoia. “Never heard of him.”

  “He was Randy’s cell mate,” Eric supplied.

  “How would I know Randy’s cellie? It’s not like I was in at the same time.” He drew himself up and pushed out his bony chest. “Besides, Randy was just in county. I done real time.”

  Sarah did her best not to roll her eyes. But as ridiculous as this guy’s pride over his record was, maybe she could use it to her advantage. “I think you know Bracco. I think you’re scared.”

  He pulled in his chin like a surprised turtle. He shifted his weight backward and the bar stool creaked under him. “Scared? Why would I be scared of Bracco? He’s dead.”

  Eric narrowed his eyes. “You sure about that?”

  “Offed himself in his cell. Happened before Christmas.”

  Sarah added this piece to the puzzle in her mind. If Bracco told Randy something was on Saddle Horn Ridge, he must have done it when her brother was first sentenced.

  “What makes you think it was suicide?” asked Eric.

  “That’s what the papers said.”

  “And you don’t find that a little strange?”

  “I guess. Hardened guys usually don’t off themselves like that, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  Sarah lowered a hip to the bar stool next to Jerry. “What was Bracco arreste
d for?”

  Jerry spun back and forth on the stool, as if it was beyond him to sit still. “How the hell should I know? Some damn thing.”

  “You said he was a hardened guy, that he’d been in before. More than just county jail.”

  “So?”

  The bartender set her soda and Eric’s beer on the bar. He reached out for the money.

  “So what was he in for?” she asked.

  Jerry waved his hand in front of his face, as if clearing the air of the bad smell her question brought with it. He eyed the drinks sitting on the bar. “Don’t they have records you can look up? I’ve talked with you people so much, my throat is getting parched.”

  Eric motioned to their skinny, pale friend. “Whatever he wants.”

  The bartender leveled a bored look on their companion. “What’ll it be, Jer?”

  “Your best whiskey. A double. And a beer to chase it.”

  Eric fished out his wallet and threw the last of their cash on the bar.

  So that was it. They could no longer pay their way. Couldn’t buy a drink or a sandwich or a clean shirt. They were forced to be criminals all the way, now.

  The bartender plunked Jerry’s double shot and beer on the bar, and the skinny man took a long drink of whiskey. He set the highball glass down and reached for the beer.

  Eric slid the glass out of Jerry’s reach. “First, Bracco.”

  Jerry let out a wheezy sigh. “Rumor has it, he took care of problems for a price.”

  “Problems?” Sarah asked. “What kind of problems?”

  Eric kept his hand on Jerry’s beer. “By problems, you mean he killed people for money?”

  “Killed people, cleaned up messes, whatever needed to be done. Can I have my beer back?” He reached out, and Eric slid the beer into his palm.

  Sarah’s mind raced. So was that how this Bracco knew where to find Larry Hodgeson’s body? He’d pulled the trigger? Had the sheriff hired him to do his dirty work?

  “Do you know a man named Larry Hodgeson?” Eric continued.

  Jerry met his question with a blank stare. He took a chug of beer.

  “He worked in the state crime lab. He analyzed fingerprints,” Sarah supplied.

  A light seemed to come on behind those jittery eyes.

  She leaned forward. “You know him?”

  “Nah. Not me.” Jerry laughed, his lips pulling back to expose teeth that smelled as bad as they looked. “But Burne does. Don’t ya, Burne?”

  Sarah followed Jerry’s gaze.

  At first she thought he was looking at one of the two men standing at the back of the bar wearing cowboy hats. A man who from this distance looked very much like her ranch hand, Keith Sherwood. Then a man standing next to a pool table barely ten feet away turned around slowly.

  A black leather duster fell to his knees. He stepped toward them, expensive lizard boots clunking on wood plank floor.

  He skimmed his gaze down her body, but instead of the leer she got from the bartender, his expression was cold, clinical, like a rancher sizing up a steer. His black shirt was opened at the collar. Tattoos circled his throat, the ink forming intricate patterns of twisted barbed wire. “So you’re Sarah Trask.”

  It wasn’t a question, and she didn’t answer.

  “Randy often bragged about that big, profitable ranch of yours. Said you have a good business sense. Make smart decisions. Something he obviously never inherited.”

  The bad feeling that had been niggling at the back of Sarah’s neck became a full bore bite. She hadn’t liked the fact that Randy knew this guy before she’d met him. Now she liked the idea even less.

  Eric stepped around her stool so he was standing by her side. “You know Larry Hodgeson?”

  “Never met the man.”

  “He was a fingerprint analyst for the Wyoming crime lab,” Sarah said. “He testified at your trial.”

  He brought his focus back to her. His eyes gleamed cold, emotionless. As if he could kill her right now, without a second thought. Like swatting a fly. “I said I never met the man. Not that I was never in the same room with him.”

  Sarah set her chin. “Then why did Jerry say you knew him?”

  “Jerry?” Burne threw a dismissive glance the skinny man’s way. “Look at him. He don’t know what’s going on in his own mind half the time.”

  Jerry sat back on the stool and clasped his hands in his lap. Where most people twiddled their thumbs, he twiddled all fingers at once. “Okay, yeah, my bad. He doesn’t really know him. The guy just—”

  “Shut… up.”

  “The guy just…” Sarah repeated, leaning toward the jittery beanpole of a man. “What did Hodgeson just do?”

  “Listen, Sarah Trask.” Burne’s voice held an edge like a knife. “I don’t want to talk about Larry Hodgeson.”

  “Hodgeson’s dead. Murdered,” Eric said.

  Burne kept his eyes riveted on Sarah. “So? I sure didn’t do it. The guy saved my ass.”

  He had a point. Hadn’t the online article said that Hodgeson’s testimony had caused the jury to acquit Burne? It didn’t make sense for him to be involved in the fingerprint analyst’s death. So where did that leave them? She couldn’t believe Burne and Hodgeson and Sheriff Gillette and Randy were all tied together by coincidence. It had to add up somehow.

  “Like I said, I don’t want to talk about the CSI guy. I’d much rather have a chat about your brother.”

  Sarah’s pulse picked up its pace. “What about him?”

  “He owed me. And with him dead, looks like you’re the one who’s going to have to pay.”

  ______

  Eric straightened his shoulders and stepped in front of Sarah, fully blocking her from Burne. When he’d heard Randy was involved with a guy like this, he’d been furious. And now Burne thought he could pull Sarah further into this mess?

  Guess again. “Randy’s debts died with him.”

  The scumbag finally looked at him. “Not from where I’m standing.”

  The man’s hand hovered at his waist. His long leather duster reached to his knees, covering the holster Eric bet was underneath.

  He couldn’t win this argument, especially not once guns were drawn. And although the prospect of walking away sent a pain shooting through his head like an ice pick to the eye, he had to remember that Sarah was the important one in all of this.

  He had to get her out of here.

  “Sarah doesn’t know anything about what her brother was into. She can’t help you.”

  “Well, someone is going to give me back my money. If it isn’t her, who’s it going to be? You?”

  Sarah’s fingers closed around his bicep. “How much did he owe?”

  Burne leaned his face inches from Eric’s and grinned. “See? No need for bluster, friend. The lady believes in paying her debts.”

  It was all Eric could do not to push his fingertips into the guy’s eyes. He didn’t know what Sarah had in mind, but if she thought this debt was a small thing she could take care of like a bar tab, he had a feeling she was going to be unpleasantly surprised.

  “How much?” Sarah repeated.

  “Twenty thousand.”

  Sarah gasped. “Twenty… Why?”

  “He screwed up. Lost the money I fronted him for a sporting goods shop he wanted to open.”

  “Sporting goods shop, my ass,” Eric growled under his breath. He hadn’t heard anything about a sporting goods shop. More likely the money was meant for expanding Burne’s current business, making drugs. And knowing Randy, he’d probably blown the money. Bet it in Vegas or on football games, sure that he was going to win big, have enough to set up Burne’s new meth lab and extra for himself.

  Sarah’s eyes glistened. “Randy told you he could get that much money?”

  “The day he got out.”

  It all added up. Eric could hear Randy on the cliff now… explaining he didn’t think Bracco’s warnings of danger were real… swearing the only reason he’d risked it was he owed a guy a lot
of money. And apparently that guy was Burne. “How did he say he was going to do it?”

  “Told me he heard about an opportunity while in county. Told me he just had to take a little hike and he’d have the money, just like that.”

  A little hike led by his sucker of a friend. “So that’s why Randy stopped by the night he got out of jail?”

  “He knew I’d be looking for him, so he came looking for me first. I like a man who shows initiative. I like a man who pays better.” He motioned to Jerry and the skinny man slipped off his bar stool and stepped toward the door. Sliding into the vacated spot, Burne leaned toward Sarah and rested a hand on the bar, blocking the path in front of her. “But since sister Sarah is going to take care of that now, I guess I have no cause to curse his damned memory. So where’s the money?”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “Wrong answer.”

  Eric’s heart slammed against his ribs as if fighting to get free. Burne was a violent man, an unpredictable man. Eric could tell by the way he moved, the cold deadness in his eyes. He had to come up with a way to get Sarah out of here. “She can get it.”

  “Good. I’ll go with you.” He glanced in Eric’s direction, then returned his focus to Sarah. “Just the two of us.”

  “There’s no way in hell that’s happening.” Eric balled his hands into fists.

  The man gave him a smug glance. His hand moved under his duster. “Really?”

  Sarah shook her head. “You can’t come with me. Not unless you want to catch the sheriff’s attention. He’s watching my ranch. I don’t even know if I can get into my house without being seen.”

  “Ah, yes. The two of you are wanted for your brother’s murder, aren’t you? All the more reason for you to pay up now. I’ve already waited for my money long enough. Twenty-to-life more? Not a chance. So I suggest you find a way.” He pushed the duster back with one hand, flashing a semiautomatic handgun strapped to his hip, buckle of the holster popped open, ready to draw. Just as quickly, the duster settled back over the gun.

  The move was fast, fluid, even casual, as if showing the gun was an absentminded accident. Eric knew it was anything but. It was a threat, pure and simple. If Sarah didn’t get the money, she was dead.