by David Archer
“That makes two of us, then,” Sam said. “I've just been sitting here and thinking about the article we read, and something about it struck me as odd when we saw it, but I couldn't put my finger on. It finally hit me that his story about how Mrs. McGill came to him wanting to sell information to the police just doesn’t make sense. I mean, if you had information the police wanted, I don’t think too many people would be stupid enough to think they would pay for it, or at least not a lot of money. If you wanted to sell it to a tabloid, that might be profitable, but the only way to really make money off the kind of information he says she claimed to have would be to sell it to either C-Link to help them get their property back, or offer to sell her silence to whoever ended up with the chip. And if you look at it that way, the only reason I can think of why the lawyer wouldn’t have cooperated with her would be if he wanted to keep all the profits for himself.”
“Yeah,” Indie said, “and I was thinking about another part of that story. He said she hit him with a Taser, but the average person can’t even get a Taser. What they get is a stun gun, and that’s not something you’re going to use to attack someone. I’m not buying his claim that she flipped out and attacked him, not for a second. I’d almost bet you this guy knows something about the theft of the chip.”
“I completely agree,” Sam said. “I’m going to send someone out to work on him. Any further developments on Mrs. McGill?”
“Oh! Oh! Oh, I’m so glad you mentioned her again. I got to thinking about it, and wondering why she never turned up again after getting into that taxi. I mean, it’s possible the taxi took her somewhere completely out of sight of any cameras, but she certainly wouldn’t go home and it would probably be hard for her to hide successfully around San Francisco if the police are looking for her. That made me think about the surrounding area, so I told Herman to scan for her in the suburbs. He picked her up again in Oakland, getting out of the same taxi and going into a shopping center. Now, I thought about what I’d be doing in a shopping center under these circumstances, and I’d be looking at clothes and ways of changing my appearance. Herman couldn't spot her, but I looked at the camera that got her going into the mall and ran its archives fast-forward a bit. I’m not a hundred percent certain, but I think I spotted her coming out, wearing baggy clothes and what looks like a gray wig. I fed the image back into Herman and told him to check around that area to see if she had somewhere to stay over there, and he found her again few minutes later. Want to guess where she went?”
“I’ll bite,” Sam said. “Where?”
“She walked into a Greyhound bus station,” Indie said. “And she didn’t come back out.”
Sam was quiet for a moment, then he grinned into the phone. “She’s on the run,” he said. “How hard is it going to be for Herman to find out where she went?”
“Well, I took a chance that she might have gotten on one of the next few buses to leave the station, and that would mean going to Los Angeles, San Diego, Tucson, or any of the thousand minor stops those buses might make. There’s not much chance he could find her in Needles, California or Benson, Arizona, so I told him to check security video in all of the major Greyhound terminals on the route. It’ll take a while, but if she got off the bus and went into the terminal, he should find her.”
“That’s good,” Sam said, “but I’m just curious. Why didn’t you check the security video in the Oakland station?”
“I did, silly,” Indie said. “Unfortunately, that one was down. I mean, it happens, whether you like it or not. I did check L.A., San Diego, and Tucson, and all of those seem to be up and working. I just don’t know which bus she might have been on, so Herman has to scan all of the footage for yesterday afternoon and last night. He’ll probably have something in an hour or so, and if he doesn’t, then that means she got off at one of the side stops.”
“All right, babe, let me know.” They blew kisses at one another through the phone, then Sam ended the call.
He punched button one and waited for Jenna to answer.
“Yes, sir?”
“Jenna, can you get Summer down here, please?” Sam asked.
“Yes, sir, just one moment.”
It was actually less than thirty seconds before Summer tapped on the door and Sam called out for her to come in.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes,” Sam said. “I need to change your assignment. I've got a lead on a lawyer that may know something about this case, but he’s a scumbag. I remembered what you said earlier about using your appearance as a tool, and I think you might be exactly the person to see what he knows.”
Summer grinned, and Sam was reminded of the smile the shark gives its victim just before it bites. “It’ll be my pleasure, sir. Who is it I’m going after?”
“It's an attorney, Jonathan Landry. He’s in San Francisco, and may be connected to Steven McGill. I’m actually sending you out on a hunch, because my gut tells me this guy may have some knowledge about what happened to that chip. Think you can handle it?”
“Oh, scumbags are my specialty, sir. How soon do you want me to leave?”
Sam thought for a moment, then smiled. “Steve and Walter are flying out shortly, on a charter. See if you can catch them and ask them to hold the flight while you get whatever you need.”
“I keep a travel bag here,” Summer said. “I think we all do. There’s no need for any delay, I can leave as soon as they’re ready.”
“Good,” Sam said. “Let me know the minute you make contact with him, and if you get any kind of information about his connections to McGill, get those to me ASAP.”
“You got it,” she said, and then she turned to leave.
The door opened just then as Joel returned from his snack. He froze in the doorway and Summer had to squeeze past him, but then he turned and followed her with his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.
“Close your mouth, Joel,” Sam said. “That woman could break you into a dozen pieces, and she probably wouldn’t even work up a sweat doing it.”
Joel shut his mouth, then turned and looked at Sam. “You know,” he said, “it might just be worth it.”
9
The bus pulled in to the old gas station that was the scheduled stop in Grand Junction, and the driver announced a fifteen minute layover. Becky stood up and stretched, then stepped past the woman in the seat beside her and into the aisle. There were snack machines outside, and she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Since it was getting close to three, she decided a bag of chips and a bottle of water would tide her over until they got to Denver at eight. She could look for something more substantial there, and then find a room at a cheap hotel. She needed one that didn’t ask too many questions or demand ID, and prayed there would be one near the terminal.
She was walking past where the driver was unloading baggage for a couple of people who were getting off when his cell phone rang. She didn’t think anything of it until she heard him say, “She’s how tall? Man, there’s a couple dozen women on here, I don’t know how tall they are.”
A chill went down her spine as she guessed that someone was trying to find her. It probably hadn’t been that hard to track her to the bus station, after all; if they knew she got on a bus, they probably saw her on a security video. The caller was undoubtedly asking if she was still on board.
She turned back to the bus and forced herself to walk on the balls of her feet, adding another inch to her already inflated height, then climbed on and retrieved her bag from the overhead compartment and went back to the door. She glanced and saw that the driver was busy loading bags for new passengers, then she slipped off and around the front of the bus and speed-walked to the side of the building.
As she passed a plate-glass window, her reflection caught her eye. If the bus driver had any kind of memory, or if whoever was hunting her spoke to other passengers, they’d know about her disguise, and would be prowling around Grand Junction looking for a graying lady who was about five foot two. The
wig went quickly into a nearby dumpster, and she used the window as a mirror to brush out her hair and tie it back into a ponytail. The paper in her boots followed the wig, dropping her height back down to five feet even, but all she had accomplished was returning to looking like herself.
Well, what else could she do? Maybe she could dye her hair if she got into a hotel room, and swap out the boots for some sensible shoes, but she was low enough on money to make her worry. She let a few ideas run through her mind as she made her way toward a small cafe just down the street.
She made it inside the cafe just before the bus pulled out again, and took a booth that was off by itself. When the lone waitress approached, she asked for coffee and a menu, then allowed herself to relax.
Okay, maybe I overreacted, she thought. It's always possible they were asking about someone else. I mean, there were half a dozen teenage girls on the bus, and at least four of them were no taller than me. Maybe they were looking for a runaway.
Somehow, Becky thought it was far more likely that a call like that would be asking about her. She had been sure that someone would be out to find her, which was why she had gone to such extremes in the first place. Even if it had nothing to do with her, she felt it was wiser to take the precaution of getting off the bus than to wait and see who might be waiting at the next terminal.
Of course, that meant she was now two hundred and fifty miles from her destination with no way to get there. She carefully counted her remaining cash and found that she still had almost four hundred dollars, but buying another bus ticket would probably be a bad idea. She needed to think of another way to get to Denver, but at the moment she was simply tired. After more than seventeen hours on the bus, unable to sleep through most of it, what she needed more than anything else was to rest.
Okay, she took that back. The menu in front of her reminded her that she was hungry, so first she would eat. She ordered an open face roast beef sandwich and managed to eat every bite even though it was spilling over the sides of the plate.
The waitress, whose name tag said “Rhonda,” came over as she finished and refilled her coffee cup, and Becky smiled up at her.
“Hey,” she said. “Can you tell me if there’s any cheap hotels around here?”
The woman looked bored, but she tried to smile. “There’s a motel four blocks over,” she said, pointing to the east. “It's pretty cheap, but you get what you pay for. You here on business?”
“No, just passing through,” Becky said. She thought quickly and added, “I was on the way to Denver to see about a job, but my car just fell apart. I’m trying to figure out how to get there, but I have a natural aversion to buses.” She grimaced, but tried to make it look humorous.
“Denver? You got a certain time you’re supposed to be there?”
“No, they just said as soon as I can.”
Rhonda looked her up and down. “Tomorrow be soon enough, then? Reason I ask, my old man’s got to go to the VA over there tomorrow, and I’m sure he would be glad of the company.”
Becky’s eyes went wide. “Your husband? I don’t know, I might feel a little uncomfortable…”
Rhonda burst out laughing. “Honey, I ain’t seen my husband in four years. I’m talking about my daddy. He goes over to Denver about once a month so they can keep an eye on some shrapnel in his body, make sure it’s not moving and causing him problems. Just happens he’s going tomorrow, and I’m sure he would be happy to give you a ride. Want me to call him?”
Becky smiled nervously at her. “If you’re sure you don’t think it would be any problem,” she said. “That would really be a big break for me. I could help with gas money, if he’s okay with it.”
“He wouldn’t take your money, but he might flirt with you a little bit. Don’t worry, he’s completely harmless, but he does tend to think he’s younger and better looking than he really is. If you can put up with him telling you how cute you are, he’ll take you right to wherever you want to go and probably buy you lunch while he’s at it.” She patted Becky on the shoulder. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
Becky sipped at her coffee and waited, barely able to believe the luck. A chance encounter with a stranger who would give her a ride, as dangerous as it might seem under other circumstances, struck her as the best possible solution at the moment. She couldn't imagine any way that her pursuers could have arranged such a thing, or could find out about it.
Rhonda was back about three minutes later. “You in any kind of hurry to get out of here?”
“No,” Becky said, shaking her head. “I just want to get a room pretty soon.”
“Good. Pop is coming down to meet you. If you need to save your money, he said you can use his guest room tonight. I know that sounds a little crazy, but you really would be perfectly safe. Pop likes to look at pretty girls like you, but he’s never been known to lay a hand on anyone, and he doesn’t actually make a pass.”
Becky grinned. “You almost sound like you want me to take him up on it,” she said. “Is he pretty lonely?”
“He is, but the real reason I suggest it is because he needs to leave out real early in the morning. His memory ain’t what it used to be, so he might forget to stop and pick you up. If you stay at his place, you’ll be sure to get a ride.”
Becky nodded. “Okay, well, let’s see what he thinks when he meets me. Okay?”
Once again, Rhonda laughed. “Honey, when he meets you, the only thing he’s gonna be thinking is what you’d look like in a bathing suit. He’ll be here in just a few minutes, and then you can make up your mind.”
She walked away, leaving Becky alone with her coffee. She took another sip, and tried to guess what the old man would be like. She didn’t have anything against older men, and she had always enjoyed their attention, even when she was a young girl. If Rhonda’s father wasn't blatantly offensive, she thought staying at his place for the night might be a pretty good idea.
Patrick Gordon, Rhonda’s father, showed up just five minutes later and Rhonda led him over to Becky’s booth. “Here you go, Pop,” she said. “Honey, I forgot to get your name, this is my daddy. His name is Pat.”
Becky smiled as he slid into the other side of the booth and extended her hand. “Hi, Pat,” she said. “I’m Becky, Becky Downey.” She used her pre-marriage name automatically, and it made her wonder if she had a flair for the clandestine. She looked at Pat; he was about six feet tall, and she thought suddenly that he looked like one of those old western movie heroes, with his mustache and chiseled features.
Pat shook her hand and smiled back. “Pat Gordon,” he said. “Rhonda tells me you need a ride to Denver tomorrow?”
“Well, it would sure help me out. I’m going to see about a job over there, but my car gave out on me a few miles back. It was on its last legs, anyway, so I sold it to the guy with the tow truck.”
“That’s too bad,” Pat said. “I’ll be glad to give you a lift, though, long as you don’t mind me saying you’re an awfully pretty girl.”
Becky surprised herself, because she actually blushed. “Why, thank you, sir,” she said. “Coming from a handsome gentleman like yourself, I take that as quite a compliment.”
Pat’s smile looked like it might cut his head in half. “Oh, I’m in trouble,” he said. He looked up at his daughter, who was still standing beside the booth. “You done found one that can dish it out as fast as I can.”
“Good, maybe you’ll learn a lesson. I told her you were a nice guy, don’t let her find out I’m lying.” She touched Becky’s shoulder and winked at her. “I think you can handle this the rest of the way.” She turned and walked off, leaving the two of them alone at the booth.
Becky turned back to Pat. “I really do appreciate the ride,” she said. “I hate the idea of riding a bus, it’s so cramped in together, you know?”
“Well, my truck is not cramped. Listen, Rhonda said you might need a place to stay tonight. I've got an extra room—hell, I've got four extra bedrooms, since all the kids ar
e grown and gone, and the wife passed away. If you’d like to stay at the house tonight, you’re welcome, and you don’t have to worry about any shenanigans from me.”
The little instinct down in her belly that she always listened to was telling her Pat was harmless, and Becky was surprised at how much he reminded her of Mac. A little older, yes, but the same confidence, the same strength, even the same build and the same big, brown eyes. She smiled and was about to say she would be delighted to, but then Pat cocked his head the same way Mac always did when he was trying to be flirtatious, and suddenly it all piled in on her.
The first tear made it halfway down her cheek before either of them noticed it, and then Pat’s eyebrows lowered as he became concerned. Becky tried to hold them back, but the gate had gotten open, and more tears began to follow it.
“Becky?” Pat said softly. “What’s wrong, girl? And don’t say, ‘nothing,’ I ain’t stupid. Those are tears of grief, I reckon.”
She sniffled and wiped at her eyes with a napkin, then managed a small smile. “Yeah,” she said, “they are. I’m sorry, I just recently lost my husband. He was in an accident a couple of weeks ago, and he didn’t make it.” The lie came so easily to her that she was ashamed of it, but she didn’t dare tell him the truth. He would either run away or call the cops, and she couldn't afford either one at the moment.
“Aw, I’m so sorry,” he said. “And here’s me acting like a damn fool and flirting with you. I’ll stop that, right now.”
“It's okay,” she said. “If you want to know the truth, it made me feel good. Hard to believe you might still be attractive when you’re a widow, so you made me smile.”
“Well, I’ll be on my best behavior from here on out. You got enough to deal with, what with that and now trying to start over with a new job in a new place. What kind of work is it you’re gonna be doing?”