He nodded. “May.”
She winced but went on ruthlessly. “And your name is…?”
He mumbled something that got lost in the roar of the engine as he accelerated.
“What was that? I missed it.” She leaned in.
“Emmett,” he said in a low voice. “My mother named me Emmett.”
“Emmett.” Her grin got wider. “Your mother named you Emmett.”
“Yes, Emmett!” he finally burst out. “My name is Emmett. Are you satisfied?”
“Yes, Emmett, I am,” she said politely.
There was a pause.
“May?”
“Yes, Emmett?”
“Call me Mack.”
“Yes, Mack.”
***
Ten minutes later Mack said, “We need to stop for gas. There’s a service station coming up.”
Laura sat up straighter. “Not a good idea.”
Mack turned toward her, his face a study in dark hollows and gleaming eyes in the dashboard lights.
“If I’d realized we were going on a clandestine mission tonight, I would have filled up earlier.”
Laura could see the gas station up ahead, a small island of light in a sea of darkness. She glanced at the gas gauge. It hovered on empty. With a sigh that admitted defeat, she turned to face the windshield again. “You would have made a lousy boy scout,” she said grumpily.
She thought she heard him snort, but then he pulled in at the highway service station and parked next to the far island.
“Just stay in the truck,” he said, turning off the engine and getting out. A number of cars and pickups were parked next to the dark garage, awaiting the mechanic’s attention in the morning. The only other vehicle at the gas station was a late-model, bottle green Lexus parked at the pump nearest the entrance.
She heard Mack unscrew the gas cap and insert the nozzle. Gas sloshed out, and she held her breath against the fumes.
An occasional car sped by on the highway, but none turned in. It was past the after-work rush.
Laura relaxed. It would be all right. She turned the ignition key to the battery and watched the gas gauge needle creep up toward full. Soon they’d be on their way again.
Metal rasped against metal as Mack removed the nozzle. He screwed the cap back on and snugged the nozzle into its slot in the pump. With a quick wink at her he jogged over to the convenience store and disappeared inside.
Laura followed his progress. He didn’t go straight to the cash register. Instead, he walked up and down aisles, filling his arms with food.
Bless him, thought Laura. I hope he brings something to drink, too.
The counter clerk ignored Mack completely, concentrating instead on his paperback. Even from that distance, Laura could see the eruption of pimples on his cheeks.
Then she saw the driver of the Lexus. He stood with his back to her, just beyond the counter, talking on a pay phone. He wore a black leather windbreaker and black jeans. His hair was so blond it looked almost white, and it was tied back in a ponytail.
Laura frowned, staring at his broad back. There was something familiar about that ponytail, but she couldn’t place it. Then he turned to watch Mack and she got a look at his profile.
“Jesus H.,” she whispered, and ducked down below the window.
Barney Hicklin, one of Johnny Tucker’s enforcers. She had seen him in Johnny’s company many times, most often at the Paradiso, the Montreal diner Johnny favored. Hicklin was handsome, and vain about his looks. She would recognize that chiseled profile anywhere.
They had found her.
She risked a peek. Hicklin had his back turned again.
Her first reaction was to scream at Mack to get out of there. Then she realized he was in no danger. Hicklin and Johnny T. didn’t know about Mack. As long as they didn’t realize he was with her, he would be safe.
Any minute now Hicklin would finish his conversation and come out to the car. What if he saw her? What if he knew where Fay lived and was heading out there? What if, not finding her there, he went looking around?
Dread was a lead ball in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed bile. Something hard poked her knee, and the pain galvanized her into action. She searched through the tools and instruments on the floor of the pickup, looking for something sharp. Although the service station was well lit, the pickup’s dashboard cast a shadow on the floor. That and her crouched body obscured the view. In desperation she began pulling the tools out from under her and onto the seat. Finally she found a Phillips screwdriver. It would do.
She shoved the tools back onto the floor, at the last minute grabbing a hammer. Then she inched her way up and looked out the window again. Hicklin was off the phone. He was talking to Mack. His back was to her.
“Now or never, kiddo,” she told herself, and reached over to open Mack’s door. If Hicklin looked over and saw the door open, he would assume Mack hadn’t closed it. If he saw the passenger door open, he would look around for said passenger.
She slid out of the driver side door, keeping as low as she could. Before leaving the cover of the truck, she checked again. Mack was still talking to Hicklin. What could they be talking about? The clerk still had his nose in his pocketbook.
Before she could make a run for the Lexus, reason intruded. If Hicklin found his tires suddenly flat, he would be suspicious. She didn’t want Barney Hicklin suspicious.
With a groan, she leaned her head against the cold metal of the truck. She had to get back inside and hide. It was her only chance.
Another peek revealed both men making their way to the cash register. Mack was gesticulating at Hicklin and Laura finally understood that Mack was giving him directions.
She hoped he had the sense to point him the wrong way.
She slithered back into the pickup and sneaked a look. Hicklin was counting his change. Mack was staring straight at her, his expression blank, as if he was waiting for his turn to pay. But his one free hand, out of sight of Hicklin, was gesturing madly at her, waving her away. He wanted her to leave.
Her heart sinking, Laura turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life and she glanced nervously at the station. Hicklin was still busy with the clerk, who seemed to be having trouble getting the change right. Mack caught her eye and nodded slowly, once. Without giving doubt a chance to settle in, she put the truck in gear and pulled out of the service station as quietly as she could.
Heart thudding madly, she turned onto the highway and glanced in the rearview mirror. Hicklin was just coming out of the service station. He slipped into his car without giving her a glance.
Then the road curved and she lost sight of him.
“Shit,” she said softly. She didn’t know which way Hicklin turned when leaving the station. He might be speeding away from her, or he might be right on her tail.
She stepped on the gas, hoping Mack knew what he was doing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Laura parked next to an open red dumpster and killed the lights. The alley was dark and she hesitated a few seconds before turning the engine off, too. In the sudden silence, she leaned her head against the cold steering wheel and listened to the blood pounding in her ears.
She hadn’t been followed.
In fact, she hadn’t encountered another vehicle from the moment she drove into Whitehorse’s tiny business district. If anyone was working in any of the buildings neighboring the newspaper office, they were doing it in the dark. Only a few blocks away, people would be lingering over coffee in a restaurant, or getting ready for the late show at the cinema, or enjoying a drink at the bar before heading home.
But at eight o’clock on a Thursday night, the alley behind the newspaper office was deserted and creepy. She would have preferred to use the front door on Tutshi Street, but besides being locked, it was too exposed, especially with Johnny Tucker so close.
She had been too lax, too stupid…She should never have come back home. If she’d kept moving, he wouldn’t have found her so easily.
&n
bsp; Now Barney Hicklin was in town. Or at least around town. Who else might be out there, hunting her? Any stranger on the street might be after her.
And what about Mack? How did he happen to stop for gas at exactly the spot Hicklin was making a phone call? What if she was a complete and utter fool and Mack had only pretended to give Hicklin directions?
What if Hicklin was heading for Fay?
Her mouth went dry and her empty stomach cramped at the thought. Mack had helped her escape from Hicklin. He wasn’t the enemy. He couldn’t be.
Could he?
She fought down an impulse to switch on the engine and race back to Fay. She was being paranoid. Mack was doing his level best to help her. Now she had to help herself. The only sure way to protect her mother—and herself—was to get the story out.
Finally she straightened and looked in the rearview mirror. The windows were already fogged with her breath. She rolled down her window part way to let the humidity escape and wiped at the back window with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Nobody in sight.
She opened the truck door and slid out on unsteady legs. The alley smelled one day shy of garbage pickup. The upper window of the Daily Tribune was lit, casting enough light on the alley below to reveal the back door. That window was in Seth Howell’s office. She picked her way around potholes and broken glass and tried the doorknob. Locked.
After a brief search she found a few pebbles and an empty Coors Light can. She considered the weight of each and finally dropped the pebbles into the beer can. Taking a deep breath, she swung back and let fly. The can sailed through the air and landed in a rattling slide against the brick next to the window. It fell back to the pavement.
Her second attempt was better. The can connected with the window with a resounding thunk and a clatter of pebbles. It bounced back from the window and landed in the dumpster.
She stared at the smelly container and decided against going in after the can.
With a sigh of frustration, she squinted in the dim light, looking for something else she could use to attract Mr. Howell’s attention.
Then the window slid open and she heard a man’s voice. “Who’s out there?”
Laura looked up and saw, silhouetted against the bright light, a head sticking out of the window.
“Mr. Howell?” she asked, unable to see his face.
“Yeah, and who the hell are you?” said the voice from above.
Laura blinked against the glare. Something about the hair wasn’t right.
“Are you Seth Howell?” she demanded, responding to the abruptness in the man’s voice.
Silence followed her question, and they stared at each other, Laura in the alley and the man in the window. She edged away from the pool of light. Something was wrong. That wasn’t Mr. Howell.
“Is that you, Laura?”
Laura stopped moving, trying to keep the fear inside her from mushrooming.
“I’ll be right down,” said the man, and suddenly the window was empty again.
Laura headed for the truck. Maybe he was a friend, but she wasn’t taking a chance. She climbed in and turned the engine on just as the back door to the newspaper opened. Bright light spilled through, blinding her, and a tall figure stepped into the alley. He headed for her and Laura put the truck in reverse but kept her foot on the brake. Just in case.
“Laura?” The man stepped up to the driver’s door and for the first time, she got a good look at him.
“Jason? I didn’t recognize your voice.”
“Jesus, Laura, it is you! Why didn’t you say so?”
Jason Howell waited while she turned the engine off and got out of the truck, then he swept her into a bear hug that left her breathless.
“Is it ever good to see you!” He beamed at her.
She smiled back weakly. “It’s good to see you, too,” she said. And it was. They had known each other throughout high school but only started hanging out together when she worked summers at the paper. Jason had been away at college, too, and came back to work for his dad during the summer. He followed his father into the newspaper business, just as his father had followed his.
They’d had fun together. When college ended, he went to work in Vancouver for a big daily. Jason and his dad loved each other but knew better than to try working together on a long term basis.
“This is silly,” said Jason. He took her hand and pulled her toward the door. “Why are we standing in a dark alley when we could be sitting in my dingy office? Come on.”
Laura allowed him to lead her inside. She needed a few minutes to think through what to do. She had counted on Seth Howell being there.
A bare bulb in the stairwell lit the cement steps. “Where’s your dad?” asked Laura as they reached the top floor, where the newspaper office was. The adrenaline was slowly subsiding, leaving her feeling shaky. Or maybe that was hunger.
“Geez, Laura, didn’t you know?” He turned to look at her, his wonderful, plain face somber. “Dad had a stroke about a month ago. I’m running the paper now.”
“Oh, Jason,” whispered Laura. She pressed a palm against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”
Jason placed his big hand over hers, warming her. “He’s at home, recuperating,” he said. “He’s actually not that bad, but I guess he decided it was time to take it easy. He’s sixty-eight, you know. He’d love to see you.”
Laura closed her eyes. “This isn’t a very good time. Please give him my love.”
Jason looked at her curiously, but he didn’t say anything. He led the way through the darkened layout area to Seth’s office, where a fluorescent light exposed carpets that had been decrepit a decade ago.
“When are you going to change the carpets, Jason?” she couldn’t resist asking.
He grinned at her, recognizing their old joke.
“The workers are coming next week to rip out the old carpet and lay some tile instead. Too many people were complaining about allergies.”
Laura nodded. Mr. Howell hadn’t been too keen on making changes, especially expensive ones.
As they entered Jason’s office, she caught a whiff of emulsifier from the darkroom next door. Some things never change, she thought. Most newspapers had gone all digital.
“Have a seat,” said Jason, pointing at the old-fashioned swivel chair. She sat down on the carved wooden seat, careful not to lean too far back. She remembered this chair, too.
The office was small and crowded with an oversized desk that must have been placed in the room before the walls were built. Two computers sat on the desk, although only one was on. A line of green ants marched across the screen—a screensaver program. Beneath the only window in the room was a long narrow table. Two four-drawer metal filing cabinets had been shoehorned in on either side of the table. In the days when Mr. Howell ran the paper, every flat surface had been covered in piles of photographs, old newspapers, letters and coffee cups.
Although it still looked like a working office, there were now more surfaces showing, and the piles were neat.
Jason pulled up a stool and sat down in front of her. “Now, why were you trying to break my window?”
She looked at him for a long moment, debating. His clear blue eyes stared back at her, smiling.
She had trusted his judgment as a reporter and as a friend, but was it fair to drag him into her problems like this? He could get hurt.
But how many more people would get hurt if she didn’t get the story out?
She’d been prepared to drag his father into it…
He stared back at her, a man in his prime, with just enough lines on his face to make him interesting. Laura couldn’t help comparing his brush cut with Mack’s shaggy hair. She closed her eyes, hoping Mack was all right.
“Well?
She opened her eyes. “I need your help.”
As she began her story, he sat up straighter, but by the time she finished, his forearms rested on his knees, his shoulders were hunched over and his head hung down as he stared at the floor.
Laura almost smiled at his classic vulture listening pose.
When she finally stopped talking, he looked up at her.
“Do you have the article with you?”
Laura nodded.
“Let’s see it.”
She fished in her jeans pocket, fumbled the flash drive out and handed it to him. He held it gingerly, as if it were hot. Then he frowned.
“There was a man here a couple of days ago, asking about you.”
Laura clasped her trembling hands tightly in her lap.
“Who was it?”
Jason rubbed his face tiredly then ran his fingers through his brush cut.
“Can’t remember his name. He was a tall fellow, with dark eyes and short dark hair, starting to bald a bit in back. He was slim, and according to my office manager, he was definitely hunk material.” His attempt at a smile faded when he took in her expression.
The description didn’t fit Hicklin, so that answered one question—Johnny Tucker had sent more than one thug after her. She raked her memory, trying to fit the description to a face, but came up blank.
“What did he ask about me?”
“He said he was here on a whitewater rafting trip and used to work with a girl who had worked at the Trib and did I remember you. I said yes, you used to work here summers but had left quite a while ago. His questions were a little too intense to be innocent. He fished around for names of family, but I pretended I was too thick to understand. Finally he came right out and asked if you still had family around here. I said I didn’t know.” He shrugged. “I didn’t like him. I escorted him out of the building so he wouldn’t ask anyone else.” He looked at her. “But there aren’t many Thorsens in the phone book. It’d be easy enough to find out where your mother lives.”
“Damn!” Laura stood up, longing to pace, but the office was too cramped. “Damn, damn, damn—I have to go, Jason.”
He grabbed her by the sweatshirt and forced her to sit down. “Relax. If he really is a bad guy and not some ex-boyfriend lusting after you—” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, “—then he’s had a couple of days. If he was going to do something, he would have done it already. Go get yourself a pop while I read the article.”
On Her Trail Page 7