Danger in Deer Ridge (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Terry Odell

  She exhumed that determination. Eventually, she’d learn the comings and goings of the neighborhood. She’d pay attention, know who drove what car, when they left for work, came home.

  Work. Grace. She dashed for her purse, fished out her new throwaway cell phones. It hadn’t taken her long to discover they weren’t worth much for voice calls until she got to the main road at the top of the hill, but texting worked fine.

  And, as Grace had pointed out, the cell phone providers didn’t store text messages. She set the phones on the kitchen counter. Red, yellow, green, and innocuous black. She put the red and yellow ones in a drawer. Those were her backups, to activate when she ran out of minutes on the other ones.

  She checked the green one. Green for Grace. The one with the number she’d given only to Grace, who’d told her she would use it for emergencies. Elizabeth trusted Grace when she’d said any calls she made to that phone would be from an untraceable source. In the brief time she and Will had stayed with Grace, Elizabeth had stopped doubting that Grace performed miracles. Undetectable miracles. From creating a new identity, to finding a home, to lining up prospective jobs—the woman seemed to have endless connections. If Grace said nobody could trace these calls, Elizabeth believed her.

  Tentatively, she braved a look at the display. Nothing. Breathing more easily, she checked the black one. The one she’d designated her normal, everyone-has-a-cell-phone phone. One text. From Grace. A normal everyday message, then. She tapped it open.

  Wi-Fi available at Fitzsimmons. Best day and time? Suggest twice a week to start.

  Elizabeth smiled. That should be perfect. Norma Fitzsimmons had already plugged the shop, so for Elizabeth to drop by would make perfect sense. If the shop had Wi-Fi, then lots of people would use it, so she shouldn’t stand out. She was starting to feel more cloak-and-dagger than suburban mom. She hit “reply” and added her response.

  Will try tomorrow morning. Eleven?

  After pressing “send”, she picked up her book, then set it down. Definitely not bedtime reading. And with no television or Internet, there wasn’t much to do. Except what she ought to be doing—getting this hide-in-plain-sight thing down pat. She found the notes Grace had given her and started reading.

  Grace had attempted to drill these instructions into Elizabeth before she left, but the events of the last few days had proven they hadn’t become second nature.

  “Who was Julie Ann Vaughn?” was the first item on the page. “List everything you know about her. Then change as much as you can.”

  Elizabeth flipped the page over and started writing.

  She filled the paper and yawned. She needed some sleep. She plugged the green cell phone into the charger next to her bed, a lifeline she hoped she’d never need.

  Tired as she was, her brain refused to shut down. She might not have the makings for chicken soup on hand, but she’d stocked up on herbal teas. After shrugging into her robe, she went to the dresser for some warm socks. She pulled out a pair and her fingers brushed the manila envelope she’d stashed at the bottom of the drawer.

  Stupid. Her underwear drawer. The first place anyone would look. She removed the envelope and tossed it onto the couch while she fixed her tea.

  Curled up on the couch, sipping her tea, Elizabeth ran her fingers over the padded leather cover of the small book on her lap. The gold lettering, faded with age, said “Ledger,” nothing more. The worn edges hadn’t miraculously repaired themselves. She opened it, as if the contents might have changed since she first saw it.

  No. The same neat columns of figures and strange abbreviations. Some personal code. Halfway through, the handwriting changed to Victor’s meticulous printing. Pages dating back to shortly after his father had died. When Victor had stopped being the man she’d married and turned into an arrogant, abusive stranger.

  She didn’t know how long she’d stared at the pages, but her tea had gone cold. She slipped the blue leather booklet into the envelope. Monday, her first stop would definitely be a bank to rent a safe deposit box.

  She crawled into bed, where visions of dancing numbers and cartoon alphabet letters danced through her dreams, chased by a spotted dog. A man, shrouded in black with the exception of a bright red hat, flew through the sky, lightning bolts zapping from outstretched arms. Flames spread, and she was running, running, but her feet were mired in quicksand. A green-masked creature appeared, riding atop some kind of rocket, zipping back and forth quenching flames with bucketloads of chicken soup. Suddenly she was sucked out of the quicksand, covered in broth and noodles, flying through the air as easily as Superman.

  She awoke to full sunlight, panting, with no comprehension of what the dream meant—no more than she understood what Victor’s notes meant. All she knew was the day she’d seen the ledger on his desk and innocently picked it up, he’d smacked her against the wall, hard enough to break her collarbone. Absently, she rubbed the spot. It had never healed exactly right. Victor hadn’t let her go to the doctor for a week, saying there was nothing they could do for a broken collarbone anyway.

  She remembered cowering on the floor, watching him put the ledger into his wall safe. The one behind the dreadful abstract oil painting by some little-known artist Victor swore would be famous someday, and would be worth a fortune. Victor and his investment collectibles. Everything tucked away in boxes, waiting for their special moments.

  Money and social standing. Victor’s world.

  Will drew better than that artist, yet Victor couldn’t see nurturing any talent other than sports in him. She’d thought about stealing the painting before she left and putting one of Will’s drawings in its place, but knew that would have only made him that much more determined to hunt her down. It had taken months of patient snooping, but eventually she’d ferreted out the safe’s combination.

  And more months before she’d had the chance to use it.

  Noise from the kitchen gave her a reality check. She went out to find Will eating a bowl of cereal, his drawing tablet at his side. When he smiled, her nightmares disappeared.

  “The deer came back. Five of them. Can we go see Dylan? And can I get some binoculars? There’s lots of birds, but they’re too far away for me to see good.”

  “Well,” she corrected automatically. Then wrapped him in a hug. “Slow down. Let me have some coffee and we can talk about it.”

  “Okay. And I was thinking. If I had a camera, then I could take pictures and draw them later. The birds don’t sit still long.” He jumped up, started for the window, then spun around and put his empty cereal dish in the sink.

  “Like someone else I know,” she mumbled.

  The house phone rang, and Will grabbed it before she stopped him. He listened, and his eyes sparkled. “Let me ask.”

  “Mom, it’s Mr. Grinch. He’s going to bring my pajamas and blanket back, and wants to know if Dylan can stay here for a little bit. It’s okay, isn’t it?”

  She swooped across the kitchen and grabbed the handset. “Let me talk to him.”

  * * * * *

  Grinch accepted a cup of some god-awful flowery drink Elizabeth had called tea. When he’d arrived, her greeting would have frozen the Everglades, and she’d immediately turned her attention to Dylan. Apparently satisfied that the kid wasn’t on death’s door, she’d turned him over to her son. Will had shepherded Dylan to his room with excited talk about pictures.

  And Dylan, bless his soul, had grinned wide enough to split his face and hustled after his new friend.

  He set the tea down on the carton Elizabeth had dragged in to serve as a coffee table. “The boys seem to be hitting it off.”

  “Will’s always been a friendly kid. I think he’s enjoying playing big brother.” She stood and picked up his half-empty mug. “I don’t want to keep you from your errands. I’m sure the boys will be fine.”

  Hint taken. “I won’t be long.”

  The details were sketchy, but Jinx had said to get close and stay close. Easy to say. Grinch couldn’t wal
k in and say, “Hi, there. I know your name is Julie Ann Vaughn, that your husband beat the crap out of you, and I’m your new bodyguard. And, by the way, even though you’re dead, your husband wants to know where you went.” When Dylan had picked up the picture of the deer Will had given him, Grinch had seen his opening.

  From her tone when he’d called, it was clear Elizabeth thought he was something to scrape off the bottom of her shoes, but she’d come around when he’d made it about Dylan.

  Which was good enough for now. What he needed was an excuse to show up. Get her used to seeing him around, then being seen with him. Because whoever was looking for her was looking for a single woman with a son.

  He called for Dylan. Both boys came running. He crouched to Dylan’s level. “Remember what we talked about. I’m going to go out for a little bit. I’ll be back soon. I promise. Less than one hour.” He slipped off his watch and set the alarm. “I’ll be here before this rings. If it rings and I’m not here yet, you ask Ms. Parker to call me okay?” He handed Elizabeth the paper where he’d written both his house and cell numbers. Elizabeth nodded and smiled at Dylan.

  Dylan took the watch and tried to fasten it to his wrist. “It doesn’t fit.”

  “That’s not a problem,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll put it right here on the counter, and you can check it any time you want.” She flashed Grinch a stern look, then smiled at Dylan. “And if you need your dad for anything, you tell me, and I’ll call him right away.”

  Grinch saw Dylan’s recoil at Elizabeth’s use of “dad.” He gave his son a quick bear hug and hoped she hadn’t noticed. “Have fun with Will.”

  “Right,” Will said. “Come on. I have something cool to show you.”

  “Will,” Elizabeth said sharply, as if she knew what that cool thing was. She shook her head briskly and brushed her hand across her chest. Showing off his scar was a possible red flag, and he should know better. But it would be the sort of thing he’d do to impress another kid.

  “M-o-m.” He drew the word out with the “Are you crazy?” intonation universal to children. “I was going to show him the deer tracks. And the poop. It’s like big chocolate-covered raisins.” They headed for the side door.

  Dylan laughed, and Grinch couldn’t suppress a grin. “Better not get them mixed up.” He turned to Elizabeth. “I don’t have much to do, but I can’t do it with Dylan around. Yard work, repairs. It wouldn’t be safe.”

  Maybe that would earn him another point or two.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  He gave her what he hoped was a grateful smile. “Thanks again. Since I left him with Mrs. Bridger and he got sick, he’s been clingy.”

  “A little separation anxiety is normal, especially if he’s been sick. It’ll be good to reinforce that you mean it when you say you’ll be back. And it’s smart to make the first trip a short one.”

  He caught the admonition in that remark. “Yes, ma’am. And I do appreciate you helping out. Back in a flash.”

  Grinch caught a glimpse of the boys at the side of the house, Dylan tagging after Will, who was darting across the yard, stopping every few seconds to point at the ground. Grinch smiled and climbed into his pickup.

  Minutes later, he was at his computer and talking to Jinx on the phone. “All right, Jinx. I’ve got forty-five minutes, tops. Give me what you’ve got.”

  “How’d it go with the Parker woman?”

  “She tolerates me—which is a step better than yesterday. I’d rather take it slow—not scare her. From what you’ve said, she’s been through enough.”

  “It’s for her own good,” Jinx said.

  “You want eyes on her twenty-four seven, then you bring in someone else. Dammit, I’ve got a kid. You don’t do surveillance with a five-year-old.”

  “Chill, man. If it was urgent, we’d deploy a team. Our intel says the husband’s looking into his wife’s disappearance. Since she’s supposed to be dead, we’re trying to figure out why.”

  Something in Jinx’s tone put Grinch on alert. “This is more than helping a runaway blend in, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you mean, ‘maybe’?” Jinx was one of Blackthorne’s top intel-gatherers. If there was information out there, Jinx would find it. His evasiveness gave Grinch a bellyful of unease.

  “I told you before, this Grace Ellsworth set everything up, and she’s got the loop closed tighter than a forty-year-old virgin. She’s been in the game since before we were born, and if she doesn’t want something out there, it doesn’t get out there. That’s one of the reasons she’s on the Blackthorne safe-house list.”

  “I can accept that.”

  “She’s definitely got her network, and I swear, they’re the equivalent of a level-five security clearance. The good news, if I do say so myself, is that if I can’t find anything to connect Elizabeth Parker to Julie Ann Vaughn, odds are nobody else can. But if you don’t trust my work, I’ll see what Zeke can dig up.”

  Zeke was Blackthorne’s second intel-gatherer. The friendly rivalry between Jinx and Zeke was long-running, but nobody in the organization would rank one above the other in terms of competence. “No need,” Grinch said. “If you can’t find it, neither can Zeke.”

  “It ain’t braggin’ if it’s true,” Jinx said. “I’ve been trying to work it backward, from the husband angle, but it’s slow going. If there’s anything hinky about him, he’s no slouch at creating the image of the model citizen, grieving husband, distraught father. Everything comes up legit. If I didn’t know Grace Ellsworth’s reputation, I’d say she was being scammed, and the man is legit.”

  “You trying to tell me Elizabeth Parker ran away from her husband for some other reason and is making up the abuse to start a new life on her own? Up here in the middle of nowhere? Forget it. I’ve seen her. She’s scared of her own shadow.”

  “Don’t get your shorts in a wad. I’m tossing out possibilities. As for the husband, I’m digging into his finances—he’s got bucks, and anyone with that much money likely has secrets.”

  “What’s the old man’s take? I can’t buy that Horace Blackthorne would let someone else call the shots on an op. Even if they do have a history.”

  The thought of Horace Blackthorne having a history made Grinch shudder. It was as scary as realizing your parents had sex. Rather than go there, he pictured Jinx at his bank of computer monitors, the ever-present can of ultra-caffeinated soda at his elbow, his fingers flying between keyboard and mouse.

  “The old man is being unusually quiet. He’s more or less ordered me to do as Grace Ellsworth says. He used the term ‘professional courtesy,’ and when he said it, it was definitely a You have your orders. Shut up and carry them out moment.

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, my ass is still smarting.”

  “I guess I’ll stick with the neighborly approach. But give me a 911 if anything turns up.”

  “I shot you an email with the URLs I’ve found that mention possibles for your Elizabeth Parker. It’s doubtful that she’s hit the grid, but it pays to be thorough. Have at ‘em while I deal with the husband.”

  Grinch set down the phone and opened his email program. He found Jinx’s message and started clicking through the links. It was possible that Grace Ellsworth had fabricated Elizabeth out of whole cloth. But there was another chance that she’d found a real Elizabeth Parker of an appropriate age who’d died, and piggybacked Julie Ann onto that identity. If so, it would help to know what anyone might find if they Googled Elizabeth.

  So what the hell was he looking for? And how would he know if he found it? He was a pilot. A pilot who was effectively grounded until Dylan was stable enough to be left with a sitter. School would start in a couple of months. Until then, he wasn’t flying.

  The thought of spending that long tied to terra firma made him twitchy. Maybe he’d take Dylan up a time or two. Maybe Elizabeth and Will would like an aerial tour of this side of Colorado. One more way to
stick close.

  He checked the clock. Arriving early would help prove to Elizabeth he was responsible. And it would definitely earn him a few more confidence points from Dylan.

  He’d gone less than half a mile when he noticed a red F-250 pull out from a side road behind him. As it followed at a proper legal distance, Grinch realized he’d forgotten to ask Jinx about the plate. A mile later, the truck hung a right down another side road. Tempted to follow, Grinch checked the time. He had ten minutes.

  No. He was a dad now. Not an operative. Just a sneak.

  Chapter 8

  Surrounded by the enticing aromas of herbs, spices, fresh-baked pastries and freshly brewed coffee, Elizabeth hurried to set up her laptop on one of the small wooden café tables. She smiled at Will, who was munching his free chocolate-chip cookie. Between that and his drawing supplies, she should have time for an uninterrupted chat with Grace.

  While her laptop booted, she surveyed the café. Although Fitzsimmons Fine Foods suggested something a little more upscale than the order-at-the-counter system they used, the place was clean and everyone seemed pleasant—unlike some of the surly cashiers they’d encountered at the fast-food places.

  It was shortly after eleven, and there were only a few empty tables, as well as lines at both the order in and takeout counters. True, there weren’t a lot of eateries in town, but from what she saw—and smelled—the food must be good. A server passed, carrying a tray laden with hot sandwiches and steaming soup. Generous portions, too. She wondered what it would be like to work here. Cooking, smiling, making people happy.

  Her stomach growled. The line at the counter hadn’t diminished. As soon as she finished with Grace, she’d get a real lunch for herself and Will.

  Her fingers drummed the tabletop while the computer found the Internet connection. When everything was ready, she painstakingly keyed in the URL Grace had insisted she memorize.

  Once she’d logged in, she took a deep breath and started typing. She focused on the screen as her message was sent.