Françoise shifted sideways. The man didn’t seem rattled. Maybe Little Ed had been wrong. Maybe—
Kelly swung the crowbar she’d snagged from the underbelly of a truck, hitting Françoise Marin in the back of the head just above his neck. He grunted, then dropped.
Quinn grabbed the gun, then dragged the man between two parked semis.
“There’s some nylon rope in the back of my truck. Get it for me,” he said.
“I can’t get in your damn truck. I’ll hold the gun on him. You get the rope,” Kelly said.
Quinn grinned, handed her the gun he’d confiscated from the man and ran to his truck. Moments later he was back. Quickly he tied the man up, gagged him with a handkerchief, then slapped a piece of duct tape over his mouth and dumped him in the back of an empty bull hauler.
“He’s probably gonna stink some by the time he’s found,” Kelly said.
“Yeah, and judging by the tags on this truck, he’s gonna be a long way from home.”
“So they know your truck,” Kelly said. “How do you think that happened?”
“I guess Little Ed isn’t a man who can be trusted,” Quinn said.
“I’d say you were right.”
“Then what do you say we trade vehicles with our friend here?” he asked.
Kelly nodded. “At least I won’t need a ladder to get inside.”
“I’ll get our things. Pop the trunk, okay?”
“That I can do,” Kelly said, and hurried toward their new ride.
They were leaving without food and a little more anxious than they’d been when they’d arrived, but they were still alive—and they were still together.
About an hour later, Quinn handed Kelly his cell phone.
“Let’s call Will Travis. I want to check on Daryl and see if anything else has come up that we should know about.”
“Right,” Kelly said, and dialed the number Quinn gave her.
When the phone started ringing, she handed it back to him.
Travis answered on the second ring.
“This is Travis.”
“Travis, it’s me. Quinn. How’s Daryl doing?”
“He’s dead, Quinn. Threw a clot and died. They’re having a memorial service for him tomorrow, but no funeral. He wanted to be cremated. It’s a hell of a thing to burn. Don’t know if I’d have the guts to schedule it, even knowing I’d be dead.”
Quinn couldn’t think. He kept driving while struggling with the urge to cry. Travis kept talking, filling in the silence without knowing why.
“We caught the two bastards who did it. The desk clerk gave us a real good description of the two men, then identified their mug shots. We put out the call. They were spotted in Texas, then again in Oklahoma, where they were arrested. Or I should say, where one was arrested. The other one chose to shoot it out. He’s dead. As for the one we’ve got, he’s still talking. But we do know for sure that they were working for Ortega, at least indirectly. We’re looking for him now. Turns out he was treated at a Houston clinic, but we got there too late. We have a pretty good guess at where he’s gone, though.”
“Is he still in the States?”
“We think so,” Travis said. “At any rate, is there anything you need? Anything I can do?”
“Send flowers in my name.”
“Yeah. Sure. I’ll do that.”
Quinn hung up, then laid the phone down before pulling to the side of the road. He turned to Kelly. She was staring out the window.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” she said.
“Yes.”
“God. Oh, God.” Then she started to cry.
Quinn took her in his arms and cried with her.
7
About seven hours after Françoise Marin left Tuskeegee, Little Ed had a revelation. He’d thought of nothing else but the half million dollars he would get should Françoise find the woman. But he knew that was far from a sure thing, even with Françoise’s inside information, and Little Ed was not a man to waste a good thing. So he began making calls—hedging his bets, so to speak—and sold his information to a few other men he knew would be interested. If Françoise came up empty, that didn’t mean Little Ed had to lose, too.
And while he was hatching new plans, Quinn and Kelly continued their flight north. After learning about Daryl, their demeanor had taken on a somber tone. They had just under four days before the trial, and in normal circumstances could have made the drive from Alabama to D.C. in less than twenty-four hours. But that would have left them with three days to twiddle their thumbs and dodge bounty hunters around D.C. until the trial.
Once again Quinn took to the woods, so to speak, using old two-lane highways. Knowing that Little Ed had probably been the one to finger them made him nervous. Uncertain as to how far the tentacles of his involvement might reach, it was still evident that he’d put a huge dent in their plans.
They drove all night, stopping twice for gas and once for food and a rest stop. The last time they’d stopped, Kelly had taken the wheel, and she was now driving as Quinn slept. He was still sleeping when they crossed the line into West Virginia. The old highway on which they were driving threaded deep through the heart of Appalachia, winding up the mountains like an errant string that had come undone from a discarded ball of yarn. Ancient and towering trees bordered both sides of the thin ribbon of concrete, shading the pavement from the early morning sun.
Just as Kelly started up another steep incline, the red sports car started to sputter. Quinn sat up with a jerk.
“What’s happening?” he asked, looking around in sleepy confusion.
“The car…I think it’s about to give up the ghost.”
“Damn it,” Quinn said. “Maybe it’s just out of gas.”
Kelly glared. “I’m a woman, but I’m not stupid. It’s not out of gas. The tank is over half full.”
No sooner had she said that than the car clattered and died.
“Well, hell,” Quinn said, and reached for his cell phone.
He turned it on, only to find he had no signal.
“It’s the mountains,” Kelly said.
“Great. Now what?” he said, as she guided the car over toward the side of the road as it rolled back down the slope.
“I don’t know about you, but since there are no rest rooms in sight, I’m going to find a bush. After that, we’ll talk, okay?”
Quinn sighed with frustration. “Yeah, sure. I might walk up the hill a ways and see if I can’t get a signal.”
Kelly nodded, then got out of the car and quickly disappeared into the brush at the side of the road. Quinn watched until he was sure she was safely out of sight, then started hiking up the hill.
Françoise Marin came to in a pile of half-dried cow dung. He rolled over on his back, realizing he was tied and gagged, and then closed his eyes against the glare of early morning sunshine. He inhaled sharply, then flinched as the smell of cow dung hit him full force. He froze, then forced himself to think of something else instead of the overwhelming urge to puke. He would be damned before he’d die in his own vomit.
Finally his stomach settled and the urge passed. He tried to stand up, but the empty cattle trailer in which he was riding kept bouncing like a Nerf ball against a net. Every time the tires rolled over a bump in the road, he fell back to his knees. His head hurt like hell, and his clothes were matted with something dark, wet and green. As he stumbled and bounced, he mentally vowed that if he ever got his hands on Kelly Sloan, he would kill her for free.
After several false starts, he managed to pull himself upright, and as he did, he realized his troubles were about to be over. There was a van tailgating the truck, and the driver had just spotted him. He could see the man gesturing wildly to the woman beside him. Françoise leaned against the trailer, hoping they could see that he was bound and gagged, then hung on for dear life as the trucker took a turn too fast.
The driver of the van saw Françoise fall. Believing that the trucker was a kidnapper, he grabbed his cell phone an
d called the highway patrol.
When the highway patrol finally arrived and stopped the truck, no one was more surprised than the trucker himself. Not wanting to be questioned too closely by the police, Françoise explained away the incident by concocting a wild story about drinking with friends, then passing out, only to come to in the truck. He said it was just like his buddies to play a joke on him like this, and that when he got home, he was going to get them good.
Finally convinced that no real crime had been committed, the highway patrolman let everyone go except for Françoise, who was now forced to ride with the trooper to the nearest town. Only he had to undress before the trooper would let him in the car. Françoise pulled off everything except his boxer shorts and T-shirt, then crawled into the back. It was the first time he’d ever been in a cop car and not been under arrest.
The trooper had little to say except to suggest that he take a bath and get some new clothes before buying a bus ticket home. They stopped at a small town on the outskirts of Phoenix, Arizona, told the local police chief what had happened, and asked for permission for Françoise to clean up at the local jail. Since the man could hardly walk down main street in his underwear, the chief quickly agreed.
Françoise washed out his clothes and then washed himself, before asking directions to the nearest bus stop. Dressed in dripping clothes and limping from the bruises from falling in the truck, he made a hasty exit.
Once at the bus station, he made a frantic call to Little Ed, told him of the latest development, then bought a ticket home.
Little Ed quickly put out the word that Quinn and Kelly were now driving Françoise’s red sports car, and the race to Hunt the Fed took a new and dangerous turn.
Quinn was almost at the top of the hill when he heard the sound of a car coming up the grade behind him. While there was every reason to assume it was just normal traffic, he still wasn’t willing to take the chance. So he glanced down at the phone, saw that there was still no signal and darted off the road into the trees. He stood for a few moments, debating with himself as to what he should do next, then started running toward the last place he’d seen Kelly.
Kelly was on her way back to the car when she, too, heard the engine. She stopped suddenly; then, remembering the sports car from the truck stop, she darted behind a large pine tree and settled down to make sure the car went past. From where she was standing, she couldn’t see Quinn, but she told herself he was fine. As she waited, it occurred to her to go out and flag the car down. It would definitely be a way out of their current predicament. But there was also the chance that it was someone who was after her. Frustrated by the mess she was in, she decided to wait it out.
The car’s engine was pulling hard, as if the grade of the hill was too steep for it to climb. Quinn ran without stopping, dodging low-hanging branches, and jumping dead logs and brush. He saw the back of Kelly’s head just as the new arrival pulled to a stop beside their stalled car.
Oh hell. Either a Good Samaritan had arrived or it was someone looking to boost what was left of an abandoned vehicle—or worse. He stopped moving immediately and took cover behind some trees. He picked up a small rock and tossed it at Kelly. It hit her on the back of her shoulder. When she turned, he motioned for her to take cover.
She nodded, then slowly moved backward until she reached a clump of oak trees with some heavy undergrowth beneath. Without hesitation, she dropped to the ground, then belly-crawled into the thicket.
At that point Quinn took his handgun from the back waistband of his jeans and flipped off the safety—just in case.
Harley and Pointer Green were brothers. They did everything together, including steal. But theft wasn’t what they had on their minds as they came to a halt beside what was left of Françoise Marin’s red car. They’d gotten a call a couple of days ago from a cousin twice removed who lived in Oklahoma. He had told them about the woman and the two million dollar bounty, and had even faxed them a copy of the paper with her picture. They’d had to go to the tag agency in Burn County to pick it up and then been forced to endure the curious stare from the clerk who’d obviously read it before finally handing it over. Yesterday they’d learned about the change in vehicles and had been driving aimlessly ever since. Truth was, Harley Green had been more than a little stunned when they’d come around the bend and seen the very car in question parked at the side of the road.
“That’s it, Harley! I swear to God, that’s the car. Ooowee, we’re gonna be rich!” Pointer yelled.
Harley Green lifted the rifle from the back seat of their extend-a-cab truck and frowned.
“Why don’t you yell a little louder and let them know we’re comin’?”
Pointer frowned. “Hell, Harley, I didn’t mean nothin’. I was just excited, is all.”
“Yeah, well, remember what Momma always said? ‘Don’t count your chickens a’fore they’s hatched’? You don’t see no man or woman around here, do you? Chances are this car broke down and they took off on foot. Or even worse, they hitched a ride out. If they did, we ain’t gonna find them nowhere around.”
Pointer frowned. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“That’s why you got me,” Harley said, then thumped his brother lightly on the shoulder. “Now come on. Let’s see what we can see.”
They exited their truck and headed for the car. When they realized it was unlocked, they started going through everything in sight.
Quinn cursed himself and the situation in general as he watched them tearing through their things. Then he heard the taller of the two men say something that made his skin crawl.
“They didn’t take nothin’,” Harley said, as he dumped the contents of their suitcase out on the road. “Right here’s their clothes and even some money. I lay odds they’re off in them trees.”
“Maybe they’s gettin’ themselves some,” Pointer said.
Harley frowned. “It ain’t ever’one who feels the need to fuck at ever’ turn in the road. They’s probably hidin’.” Get your gun. I’ll take that side of the road. You take the other.”
Pointer Green ran back to the truck, pulled out a long-range hunting rifle with a telescopic sight and started walking toward Quinn and Kelly, while the other brother took the other side of the road.
Quinn glanced toward Kelly’s place of concealment and held his breath, knowing that a confrontation was inevitable and the slack-jawed man coming toward them was packing a rifle with a gauge higher than his IQ.
Kelly had palmed the handgun she’d taken off Françoise Marin the moment she’d hit the ground, and she was now lying as flat and still as she could, with the gun aimed directly toward the highway. When she saw a rifle-bearing stranger approaching her place of concealment, she tensed. Her finger was steady on the trigger, waiting for him to make a move, when she heard him start to shout.
Pointer was beside himself when he saw the tracks. They were small. It was the woman—the two-million-dollar woman—he just knew it. He turned toward the highway.
“Harley! Hey, Harley! I done found her tracks!”
Quinn groaned. It was all over now. He had to take this one out of commission before they double-teamed him. He stepped out from behind the trees with his gun aimed directly at Pointer Green’s chest.
“Drop your weapon,” he said softly. “Do it, and do it now.”
Harley might have done it, but Pointer wasn’t as smart. Panicked that he’d been caught off guard, he started shooting as he turned, pumping one shell after another into the chamber of the deer rifle and pulling the trigger.
Quinn dove to one side as he fired, knowing that his shots were probably going to miss. So when the man suddenly staggered and dropped with a bullet hole in his head, he didn’t know what to think. Then, before he could react, Harley Green came bursting through the trees, shouting his brother’s name.
“Pointer! Pointer! Answer me, damn it!”
“Drop your weapon!” Quinn shouted. “Now!”
Harley spun toward the sound o
f Quinn’s voice and fired off a round.
The bullet dug a hunk out of the tree behind which Quinn was hiding. He flinched and ducked as he ran toward a new hiding place. Another round of rifle shots followed him; then there was one single shot, then silence.
He turned. Kelly was coming out of the brush. He saw the gun in her hand and realized that she’d just saved his life. For a moment neither of them moved as they looked at each other, then at the two bodies on the ground.
“What are we going to do with them?” Kelly asked.
“Leave them,” Quinn said. “We can tell the authorities later.”
Kelly nodded and walked past them without looking down.
Quinn removed the hunting rifles from the men’s hands, then followed Kelly out of the woods. When he got to the highway, she had gathered up the clothes the brothers had scattered and was unloading the things from the red car and tossing them in the back of the Green brothers’ truck.
“Your turn to drive,” she said, and got into the cab without further comment.
Quinn sighed. He knew what she was feeling. He got in, shoved a can of Skoal off the seat and tossed some empty beer cans out of the car onto the road.
“You’re littering,” Kelly said.
“Arrest me,” Quinn said, then started the engine and drove away.
They’d been driving for nearly fifteen minutes, and Kelly had yet to speak. Quinn kept glancing at her from time to time, trying to read her expression, but it was hopeless. He reminded himself never to play poker with her. She would probably win. Finally he reached across the seat and took her hand.
“Thanks for saving my life,” he said softly.
She shuddered, then looked at him. “This has got to stop. If I don’t do something now, it’s only going to get worse.”
“What do you suggest?” he asked.
“Find a place where your cell phone will work. I need to make a call.”
Quinn frowned. “Are you going to call your boss? Now? After all that’s happened?”
On the Edge Page 30