Chilling Effect (An Aroostine Higgins Novel Book 2)

by Melissa F. Miller

  Plastic soda bottle. Chlorine. Improvised incendiary device.

  The words scrolled across her mind. Jumping out at her from a national security bulletin that Homeland Security had shared with the Department of Justice about a year earlier. Apparently, terrorists had learned that filling a soda bottle with swimming pool tablets and rubbing alcohol wasn’t just a juvenile delinquent prank. Add some nails, strap the bottle to the bottom of a car, and you have yourself a reasonably serviceable weapon.

  She scrabbled out from the under the car, screaming Joe’s name.

  “Get out! Hurry!”

  He swiveled his head toward the sound of her voice. The wild look on her face must have put off any thought of asking questions. He jerked the car door open and dove out. She grabbed his hand, and they half stumbled, half ran toward the meadow, the Jeep still running.

  As they cleared the fallen log, the Jeep exploded in a ball of flame and twisted metal. The heat of the blast hit their backs. Aroostine glanced over her shoulder as she ran, but all she saw was a cloud of black smoke undulating through the waves of the flames. She ran harder.

  They ran until they couldn’t run any further, then they collapsed, their legs shaking and spent, their lungs burning. Aroostine surveyed the wide open plain and the empty sky. They were miles away from any signs of civilization, unlikely to be spotted by a farmer or hiker. But that wouldn’t matter if a drone flew overhead. They needed to rest, but they had to stay out of sight. She gestured toward a canopy of low-hanging tree branches, just a few yards away.

  “Under there.”

  She trudged toward the trees. Joe trailed her. Once she reached the copse, she ducked under some branches and slid down to rest against a tangle of trunk and roots. Joe sat across from her, his long legs stretched out toward hers so that the soles of their feet touched.

  She wiped the sweat from her forehead with a grimy hand and took a long look at her husband by the light filtering through the leaves. His face was gray, his eyes clouded, and his mouth set in a hard line.

  “You okay?”

  He nodded. “That was close.”

  Joe Jackman, master of understatement.

  “Yeah.”

  “Thank God you have the nose of a bloodhound.”

  She managed a wan smile, unwilling to imagine what would have happened if they’d pulled out and started to drive away with the chlorine bomb unnoticed under the gas tank.

  He tried to smile back, but his lips tugged down into a sudden frown. “Our phones were in the car.”

  She nodded. Another habit. As soon as they’d entered the Jeep, they’d both plugged in their smartphones to charge.

  Panic flooded his eyes.

  “It’s better, anyway,” she told him. “We need to stay off the grid.” She tried to keep her tone casual, but her stomach was jumping and jerking like a colt on unsteady legs.

  “What? Like hide?”

  “Run and hide.” As she said the words, their rightness resonated. Someone on the reservation wanted them dead. Sid was thousands of miles away and limited by rules, regulations, and committee oversight in how much help he could provide. They had to stay alive—and keep Ruby and Lily alive. The way to do that was to disappear.

  “You think it’s Buckmount, don’t you?”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t much matter at the moment. Whoever set that bomb wants us out of the picture. By now, I’m sure the EMTs have responded to the scene and ascertained that there are no bodies. Someone’s going to be looking for us—whether it’s Buckmount, drug dealers from Eugene, or someone else, we have to lay low. But, yeah, I think it’s someone from the reservation. Don’t you?”

  He chewed on his lower lip and answered with a question of his own. “What about Ruby?”

  What about Ruby? And Lily? Their names had run through her brain like a mantra as she and Joe had hauled themselves through the fields. She’d made a promise to Ruby. But their going back to the reservation with targets painted on their backs wasn’t going to help either mother or daughter.

  She wet her dry lips. “We’ll have to count on Boom to take care of them until we can get our feet under us again. We need to neutralize the threat against them, and we can’t do that if we’re dead. We have to disappear at least until Sid comes through with plane tickets for them.”

  “You have a plan, don’t you?”

  Her heart ached at his optimistic tone. She evaded the question, unwilling to destroy his hope.

  “Right now, the plan is to find us some drinking water. Maybe some edible plants, berries if we’re lucky. We’ll stay here just long enough to rest and then push on until nightfall, find a spot where we can make a fire and get some sleep.”

  “Ahh, water. That sounds amazing.”

  “Okay, water’s easy. You want to stay and rest or come with me?”

  She pushed herself to her feet, crouching to avoid the branches overhead.

  He groaned but hoisted himself to standing. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  Despite her aching body and parched throat, a warm tingle started in her chest and spread through her entire body at his words. She smiled. “Good. Come on.”

  He laced his fingers through hers and let her lead him out from under the trees.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Aroostine thrashed through the tall weeds as if she had a destination in mind. Joe knew that was impossible, though, because they didn’t have the faintest idea where they were.

  Or at least he didn’t.

  He picked up his pace, trotting a little to catch up to her.

  “Where are you heading? Not back to the reservation?”

  “Definitely not,” she muttered, her head down as she scanned the ground below her feet.

  He tried to picture the GPS map he’d followed from their resort to the reservation. The closest town to White Springs was Boylestown, but that had to be a good forty-five miles to the west of the western edge of the reservation.

  “You don’t think we can walk to Boylestown, do you?”

  She stopped and turned to face him. “Right now, we’re heading for the nearest stream. Have you noticed we’ve been walking uphill?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So, the safest drinking water we’re likely to find will be a fast-running stream at a high elevation. I’m following these tracks—probably an opossum—through this wet, marshy grass because it’s going to lead us to a stream.” She peered more closely at the tracks. “Maybe a skunk.”

  Her tone was gentle, but he felt useless and stupid just the same. Here he’d been trying to remember a GPS map, and she’d been observing their environment—something actually helpful to them in their circumstances.

  “Oh.”

  “We don’t have anything to carry water in, though. So we’re going to drink up and then follow the stream as far as we can, keeping it nearby. Okay?”

  “Okay. Sure, of course.”

  She leaned in and kissed him, slightly off-center, her lips grazing the side of his mouth.

  “Trust me on this part. We’ll be fine. It’s not going to be the height of luxury or anything, but I won’t let you die of thirst, starvation, or exposure. Deal?”

  Her serious brown eyes painted him with a long look.

  He nodded slowly. “Deal. This isn’t exactly what I meant when I proposed a romantic getaway, but we can make the best of it.”

  Her eyes danced with sudden humor. “I think you’ll find the not dying of exposure part kind of enjoyable.”

  He raised a brow into a question mark. “Really?”

  “We’ll have to think of a way to conserve body heat while we sleep.”

  She scrunched her face up and winked. He laughed harder than he thought he was capable of under the circumstances. She waited until his smile had faded and then cracked the whip.

  “Come on, we’re getting close.”

  Spurred on by the promise of fresh, cold drinking water he started forward beside her.

  He h
eard the stream before it came into view.

  He’d always thought “babbling brook” was just a saying. After all, the creek behind their place back home sounded like tinkling water, if that. But as they walked on, he heard something that sounded like the high-pitched chatter of a couple children.

  “What’s the noise?”

  “Rushing water.” Aroostine pushed ahead, excited, and he raced to keep up. They followed a bend in the earth, and there it was: a ribbon of white water, streaming and foaming over the rocks.

  “This is perfect. Fast moving means it’s probably clean.”

  “Probably?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t make any guarantees. But high elevation, quick-moving water, animal tracks that show the local wildlife drinks from it—it’s pretty much the best we can do, unless we boil it, but we don’t have a pan or anything.”

  She knelt and cupped her hands, scooping the water into her mouth. He hesitated. As he stood there focusing on how thirsty he was, his throat seemed to constrict and fill with dust. The more he thought about it, the drier it felt.

  He sent a quick prayer heavenward and crouched beside his wife. The cool water flowed over his hands for a few seconds, then he formed his palms into a bowl and slurped the water. It tasted like a crisp fall day, fresh and clear. He dipped his hands into the stream again and again, and drank greedily.

  She laughed at his transformation and plopped down on the bank, legs outstretched, supporting herself with her elbows. He joined her in the grass.

  “What if you hadn’t found this stream? Or if it had been polluted? What would we have done?” He asked mainly to satisfy his curiosity. She was such a different person out in the woods—calm, decisive, completely sure of herself.

  “There’s lots of ways to get water. If we hadn’t found a clean source, we could get water from plants or rocks. Or even by waiting until morning and gathering the dew.”

  She said it in a casual tone, as if harvesting dew drops for hydration was the most natural activity in the world.

  He smiled down at her, taking in her upturned face, high, slanted cheekbones, the curved hollow of her neck. Memorizing her in this moment.

  “What?”

  “I was thinking it might be time to conserve some body heat.”

  She laughed and smacked his arm.

  “Oh, please. First we find something to eat and then push on until it gets closer to sunset. We need to cover as much ground as we can before dark if we want to get to Boylestown by tomorrow evening.”

  “Tomorrow evening?” His light-hearted innuendo dissipated as reality set in.

  “Yeah, tomorrow. It’s not like there’s a straight path between here and there. Not to mention, I’m not exactly sure where there is. I have a general sense, but we should plan on twenty miles a day, minimum. And we have to stay off the main roads.”

  Her eyes clouded, and he knew she was thinking about the car bomb. Someone was willing to kill them to keep them from uncovering whatever was going on at White Springs. And they both knew that whoever wanted them dead wasn’t going to give up after the first attempt failed. Someone—or maybe a team—was probably out there, somewhere between the shadow of the distant mountain and the dusty roads of the reservation coming through the fields, stopping at every gas station and roadside stand, searching for them. By now, they’d probably set up a sentry at their hotel to attack them if they ever made it back to their suite.

  His heart thumped in his chest. “This is insane. Suicidal even.”

  “We’re going to be okay, Joe. I promise. No one’s going to find us out here. I just hope tomorrow night isn’t too late for Lily and Ruby.”

  The drummer in his chest sped up, double time. Cut off from everyone, with no way to contact Ruby or Sid, they had no way to know what was happening on the reservation.

  “Boom will take care of them.”

  “I hope so.”

  They sat in mutual, brooding silence for several long seconds. He stared out at the water as it tumbled past them down the hill, mesmerized for the moment by its rolling motion over the rocks. Then he shook himself back to action and rose to his feet.

  “Come on. I believe I was promised a gourmet meal of berries and weeds.” He bent and extended a hand. She grabbed it and pulled herself up.

  “Chef Aroostine’s special of the day, coming right up.”

  Aroostine cradled the mound of fat, gem-like currants and the two large fistfuls of salsify leaves in the bottom of her shirt and hiked back to the spot where she’d left Joe. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps.

  “Lunch is served.” She plopped down next to him and displayed the fruit and weeds, like a shopgirl showing her wares.

  “Um. What is it?”

  She plucked a currant from the pile and held it between her thumb and forefinger, turning it so the sun filled its translucent shape with light.

  “This baby is a golden currant, like the jam. Even though some are yellow and the rest are red and black, they’re all ripe golden currants. The plants are meadow salsify. I just brought the leaves because the stalks are kind of tough and bitter. This is enough to make a decent salad.”

  He still looked uncertain, so she popped the globe of fruit in her mouth and bit into an explosion of sweet, honey-like fruit. It was much less tart than she’d expected, which was good—Joe liked sugary fruits.

  “Mmm, try it.”

  She offered him a berry. He eyed it suspiciously but took it. As he chewed it, his face relaxed.

  “Not bad,” he admitted.

  “Good. You might want to wrap the leaves around some berries and eat them together, because—I’m not gonna lie—the leaves aren’t quite as tasty. But they’re filling, so eat them, okay? Fill your belly and then we’ll get another drink of water and push on.” She squinted at the sky. “We have maybe five more hours before we have to stop and make camp for the night.”

  “Then what? What’s our ultimate goal?”

  He reached for a leaf and the fattest remaining berry. She dropped a currant into a leaf of her own and ate it as she considered his question.

  “I’m hoping Boylestown will have a semiprofessional police presence. We’ll report the car bombing and ask the police to call Sid so we can get an update on what’s going on at the reservation. Then we’ll call the hotel, get the driver to come fetch us and enjoy some indoor plumbing and soft beds while we figure out what to do. How’s that sound for a plan?”

  His eyes crinkled as he grinned. “It sounds great, except for one little snag.”

  She furrowed her brow. What had she missed?

  “I give up. What’s the snag?”

  He shoveled another berry/leaf bite into his mouth and shook his head. “I love that you’re still so trusting, but really? Think about it. If Lee Buckmount did kill Isaac Palmer to cover up the embezzlement and tried to kill us, what do you think he’s doing now?”

  “Swimming in a bathtub of gold ducats like Scrooge McDuck?”

  “Uh, no. If he’s smart, he’s concocted a story that paints us as mixed up with Isaac and drug dealers. If I were him, it would go something like this: We met with Isaac to sell him drugs, and it went bad. We killed him and you called it in, pretending to be some prosecutor from back East. The drug lords are angry that we brought attention to them, so they tried to kill us with the car bomb. He’s probably working the phones as we speak, putting the word out to every small town between here and Eugene. I’m sure there’s someone sitting outside our hotel room right now.”

  He sat back, obviously pleased with the narrative he’d spun. She stared at him wordlessly.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “What? Really? That’s demented. It makes no sense. He’d have to be—”

  “Evil? Arrogant? Powerful enough to believe he could get away with it?”

  She faltered. “Well . . . yeah.”

  “And which of those descriptions doesn’t apply to him? Let’s at least be realistic. There’s no honor am
ong thieves, Roo. You of all people should know that, you’re a freaking prosecutor.”

  Her stomach cramped, and a sour metallic tang filled her mouth. He was right, of course. And yet it hadn’t crossed her mind—the notion that Buckmount might have painted an even bigger target on their backs. A sort of “shoot first, ask questions later” kind of target aimed at law enforcement personnel.

  “Well, I would hope that when Sid can’t get in touch with me today, he’ll put out some feelers of his own.”

  Her words rang weak and hollow even to her. But Joe gave a brisk nod of his head, as if it sounded convincing to him. Then, in an obvious effort to change the subject, he leaned forward and snaked the last berry out of the hem of her shirt.

  “Open up!” he ordered and dropped it in her mouth.

  She shook off the worry that had dropped over her like a cloud and ate the currant.

  “Thanks.”

  “Any time.”

  She leaned into him and gave him a long, tight hug. Reflexively, she glanced up, scanning the bright blue sky for drones. She didn’t really think that anyone would unleash a drone attack against unarmed civilians in Central Oregon. Did she? Over Joe’s shoulder, up on the ridge line, she spotted the silhouette of a tall, sleek animal with silver eyes. She blinked, and when she reopened her eyes, the beaver was gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The clock on Boom’s mantel chimed four o’clock. He walked to the front window and stood, shaded by the fluttering curtain, and watched the tribal police walking around the chalk marks that they’d placed around what was left of the rental Jeep while he waited for Ruby and Lily to appear at the corner. Officer Hunt scratched his chin and scribbled something on his notepad before pulling a tape measure from his pocket and hunching over the debris.

  Boom was sufficiently curious that he almost stepped out the front door and asked the man what he was doing, but then two thin figures rounding the corner caught his eyes. One small, one tall. He snagged his keys from the table and hurried outside, pausing to lock the house up tight even though he was only going to be two doors away. As a rule, Boom left his front door unlocked—an open invitation to his people to visit any time they felt moved to do so. But in light of Isaac’s murder and Aroostine and Joe’s exploding car, no one could fault a man for taking all reasonable precautions—especially a man who lived in this particular corner of the reservation.