She exhaled. “Oh. That. You really want to hear the story?”
I nodded slightly. “I do.”
She resumed gently sifting through my hair.
“Well, it is a long one.” Her accent rose, and her voice rose an octave or two. “First off, I am not from India. I’m from Pakistan. My father was—is—a wealthy Shiite.” She snipped away at the bandages as she talked.
I nodded, not wanting to break the spell.
“As you can see, I was raised with privilege.” She stiffened.
“I could get used to that.” I was thinking of horses, dark chocolate, fresh fruit, and servants.
“No. You could not.” She was pulling at my hair, cutting, teasing.
“Maybe not the sidesaddle part.”
“And not the finishing schools or the very clearly defined, limiting and predetermined roles for men and women.” She was pulling harder than necessary.
But I really wanted to hear more of her story. So, I said nothing.
“And though I’ve heard you know a little about bad marriages, I cannot explain to you the horror of the politically motivated marriage my father planned for me.” She was cutting now, the whisking noises of the scissors punctuating her phrases.
“I was a very smart girl, which is nothing to be proud of among some members of my family. And I was, in the eyes of my people, most desirable.” The snipping had finished—she was fluffing and examining her work now.
“You’re a beautiful woman, pretty sure that’s how any culture would see it.” How had she gone from the life of privilege in the photos to an American beauty school?
“But I wanted to be known for more. I wanted my life to count for something, for justice.” The impact of her words jarred me. “But to my father, my life mattered only as a business venture. He arranged my marriage to a very wealthy, very powerful, and very bad man.”
She stepped away from my chair for a second, admiring her work. “And I had other plans for myself. So, I fled my country and my family. And got as far away as I possibly could. I went to a place no one would ever think to look for me.” She put the scissors down on the table and retreated into the kitchen.
Lisa Bhatt wanted to make a difference with her life. She wanted to live for something bigger than herself—she wanted her life to count.
She was just like me. And she’d also paid a high price for her freedom. I decided then and there, she and I would be friends for life. The cherry-red Bugatti was icing on the cake.
Between styling what was left of my charred hair and applying what makeup she could to my injured face, Officer Bhatt told me bits and pieces of her story. Nothing could top the kicker of her being a real live Pakistani celebrity—though the harrowing emigration to get away from a power-crazy fiancé took a close second. Talk about your escape to Wisconsin …
Thirty minutes later, we were back on the road, fresh coffee in travel mugs and a brand-new attitude electrifying the air around us. C. S. Lewis and I shared the belief that friends unite around one simple question—do we see the same truth? From everything I’d heard, Officer Bhatt and I were cut from the same cloth.
“How good a shooter are you?”
She turned to me, one eyebrow lifted and grinned. “I get by.”
“You got enough room in this thing for guns and ammo?”
“I never leave home without them.” She kept her eyes on the road, composed as a celebrity. “And yes, I have an extra Glock for you, since Hector took yours away at the scene. Or if you prefer a high-powered rifle, I have that as well. And I always pack a few knives. And a Barretta over-under, just in case.”
I nodded, lips pursed in admiration. “You got anything more interesting than what we’re about to hear from the Feds?”
Bhatt shook her head, kicking her dream machine up over eighty in silence.
Admiring the feel of the sleek machine, I kept my musings to myself. They couldn’t have any new leads. Otherwise, Nick would’ve never agreed to go back to the hotel with Gino to catch a few zees. I prayed to God to heat up the trail. We had to catch this guy. Now, before …
“You have a call, Madame.” I jumped in my seat as a masculine English accent filled the car.
Bhatt laughed. “Relax, farm girl.” She pushed a button with her thumb. “Bhatt.”
“Lisa, is Jo with you?” Quinn’s voice was so clear, I expected to see him pop around her seat.
“Affirmative, sir.” Bhatt looked at me, rolling her eyes.
“Good. Meet me in Merrimac. At the ferry.”
“Sir?” Bhatt grimaced and let up on the gas.
“You heard me.” Quinn’s voice was clipped.
There had to be a break in the case. But why was he calling us? He’d sent Bhatt to pick me up, thinking I was good to go. Thought he knew me better than that.
“Roger that.” Bhatt slowed the car to around thirty, checking her rearview mirror every few seconds.
“What’s going on, Quinn?” The suspense was killing me. Before I could say another word, Bhatt manhandled the car into a U-turn without slowing down. I grabbed the handhold and clamped down a scream.
The squeal of the tires rolled around us, and acrid air filled the car. Black smoke puffed up behind us, and I couldn’t help it … I yelped.
“Should you be doing this, Josie?” Concern laced Quinn’s voice.
“How’d you know it was me and not Bhatt squealing?” I looked over at her and winked.
“You don’t know Bhatt.” Quinn ended the call.
She tossed me a wicked grin and hit the gas.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bhatt wheeled her sleek machine into an angled parking slot next to Quinn’s SUV. One looked as out of place as the other in front of the battered wooden dock extending over the Wisconsin River. I watched the waves chop over the rocks as I heaved myself out of the little car.
“Be easier to get out of a Big Wheel. How do you do this every day?”
“You don’t know Bhatt.” Quinn’s voice boomed over the sound of the waves.
I turned around to find him steps away from me, his approach rendered soundless by the wind and the crashing of the river.
Bhatt rounded the front of the car, and we both leaned in closer to Quinn.
“What’s up, boss?” Bhatt handed him the conversational ball.
“We think he’s here.” Quinn looked out at the churning water.
“On the river?” I stopped short in front of the three-point line.
“Yup. On the water.” Quinn kept staring at the river.
“But how do we know it’s him?” Bhatt asked.
“We’re not a hundred percent sure, but we’ve got some grainy images from a farmer’s drone that look pretty promising.”
“Excellent.” Bhatt started snapping up her jacket.
“Wait. Farmers have drones?” Lots had changed since I’d left home.
Bhatt and Quinn shared a look.
She rolled her eyes at me. “Everyone has a drone out here. Not the point. Go on, boss.”
“He’s ditched the Amish look, cut and colored his hair, but the facial recognition software puts him at a seventy-some percent probability for Burdock. And he’s become sloppy. Nick says forensics is having a field day with the evidence he’s left behind.” Quinn thumbed through his cell phone.
“Sounds close enough for government work. What’s the plan, boss?” Bhatt was powering up. Energy practically surged out of her.
I looked around. “Where are the Feds? Nick on his way? Want me to text Gino?” There were no other cop cars to be seen, marked or otherwise.
Quinn and Bhatt looked at each other again.
Quinn cleared his throat. “I’m heading this piece of the hunt. Rivers are what I do best. The Feds are a little tied up at the moment. Last I heard, Nick and Gino were catchin
g a little R and R after chasing down leads at a rural airport near Madison most of the night. Besides, they’re not really water boys.”
I stared at him, eyes narrowed. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your relationship with Nick, now would it?” I’d never known him to be petty, but competition could bring out the best or the worst in a person. “And isn’t this case already squarely FBI? Come to think of it, the river runs through several states, right?”
“Yes. Well, not entirely. The river is in Wisconsin. As such, the Department of Natural Resources is also involved.” The finality in his tone surprised me. Until I remembered his brother being named to the top DNR post in the state a few years ago.
I decided to go for it. “But I thought you were the one who called Nick into this case to begin with.”
He avoided my gaze. “Yeah. I did.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted—to team up with the FBI.”
“So did I.” Lines of tension creased his jaw. “But Nick wasn’t all that excited about my seventy-some percent drone sighting. And I am. This feels right to me.” He turned away from us toward two kayaks fastened to the top of his SUV. White-stenciled letters marked them as Property of the Sheriff’s Department. He started unbuckling the straps.
I watched in silence, the muscles at the base of my neck forming angry knots. One of the kayaks was a one-seater. The other had room for two.
Bhatt coughed behind me.
I turned around to face her. “What?”
“I call shotgun.”
Quinn eased the kayak gear onto the ground. He then started a quick but methodical check of each piece of equipment. I was going to give him a piece of my mind but thought it better to let him finish checking the equipment first. Then I’d lay into him.
Bhatt tugged at my sleeve and grabbed my elbow. I winced as fire ants bit into my arm from the inside out. I breathed deeply, counted to ten, let it out. Then I let her guide me back to the driver’s side of her car.
“You okay, Chief?” Her almond eyes were alive with worry.
I nodded.
She glanced over her shoulder at Quinn, still dutifully prepping our rides. “While the boss finishes looking over the equipment, give me a quick primer on the fine art of kayaking.” Her face had turned a light cream color. Was she afraid of the river?
“Oh, c’mon, Bhatt! Didn’t they teach you how to kayak in finishing school?”
She stamped her boot on the gravel. “Just shut up and teach me.”
I hoped the foot stamping had been involuntary. I decided to let it slide. “It’s easy, really. You ever been in a canoe?”
Her cheeks deepened to a taupe color. “Not really.”
I winced. “A rowboat?”
She shook her head.
“What watercraft have you been on? Let’s start there.” I was getting a slight fluttering in my gut.
“You probably do not want me to describe my father’s many yachts. Or how sailing never required my personal attendance to physical details of any sort.” Indignation covered her embarrassment as she spat the words out.
“How’d you get through the sheriff’s department training program without spending any time on the water?” I placed a hand on my hip and shifted my weight. And winced.
“I told you. I am an excellent marksman. My skills lie in other domains.” Her words were clipped.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. That why you want to ride shotgun?” A plan formed in my mind. I looked her up and down, guessing I had a good twenty pounds on her, hopefully not thirty.
“Yes, in the worst possible way. It doesn’t look too difficult. I am sure I can manage with your help.” Her tone shifted from schoolgirl back to cop. I liked cop better on her.
I took a deep breath, let it out. “Fine. C’mon, let’s go see what Quinn’s got in mind.”
We walked back to Quinn’s SUV just as he was finishing up the equipment check. I knew from experience he’d done the same thing before ever packing it up, remembering how his need to measure twice and cut once had saved my butt on more than one occasion when we’d gone on river outings in high school. He stood up and stretched as we approached, thumbing through his cell phone and sending another text.
I made a snap decision while he was texting, and I turned on my phone’s recorder. Something about the way he’d invited Nick into the fray only to shut him out as we were possibly closing in on Burdock felt wrong to me. I was the last person to pass judgment on someone else’s passions driving their actions. But, I didn’t want his jealousy standing between me and the rest of my life.
“So, a drone sends you river intel, says it got the drop on the bad guy, then tells you to put in at the Merrimac Ferry?” I cut to the chase.
“Drone and satellite images show a man matching Burdock’s general description in a flat-bottomed canoe a good twenty miles upriver from here. Conventional wisdom suggests the best way to catch a fish is with the right kind of bait.”
Red heat flamed up my neck. “We’re your bait?”
Bhatt shrugged. “We’re all we’ve got.”
“And it helps if, in addition to being close enough to the right kind of bait, you just happen to have a big net and a faster boat.” Quinn looked at us as if to gauge the effect his crazy-making had on us. “The bait has already been set. A series of fake police radio transmissions are being sent out right now, making it sound as if Nick himself is in pursuit of the suspect somewhere between Reedsburg and LaValle. Dixon thinks a river escape falls within the realm of the possible, but she’s keeping her units on the roads. Figures it keeps up the charade on their end while leaving us free to set the trap on ours. That should lull Burdock into enough security to do whatever it is he plans to on the river today. If it is him. Given his history with White, a river kayak makes as much sense as continuing on the roads.”
“And we will be there to scoop him into our net.” Bhatt tapped her boot heel. “Not bad, Boss. Not bad at all.”
I nodded my head. “If he is planning a river escapade, we’ll throw him a nice surprise party. Your little river cruise idea could actually work.” Especially with a good old Cuban-American backup plan. I turned my body away from them, stopped recording and sent the plan to Gino.
Quinn hefted his kayak above his head and started toward the river’s edge. I pawed through the pack he’d left for us until I found the life vests. I tossed one absentmindedly to Bhatt. “Put this on, oh celebrity.”
She scurried over to me, dark thunderclouds roiling in her eyes. “Do not call me that!”
“Relax. Quinn’s practically deaf as a stump. Besides, you are a celebrity.”
“Exactly the point.” She hissed at me through clenched teeth, snapping the vest into place. “Not anymore.”
“That why you drive a two-million-dollar car?” I winked at her. “Less chatter, more heavy matter. Help me lift this thing.”
I tossed the pack to her, breathing deeply while she threw it over her shoulder. I waited for her nod before lifting the front end of the kayak off the ground. She was a quick study. She grabbed her end, and together we lifted the craft up onto our shoulders. Pain bolted through me as I lifted my arms over my head. Each footstep sent fresh waves of agony up and down my body. My arms were shaking when we finally reached the rocks just in time to watch Quinn navigate a patch of sand between them. He rested while we caught up to him. My skin burned underneath my bandages, fresh blisters popping. I didn’t want to think about what lay ahead.
Samantha. Hair flying in the wind. Smile bright as the sun.
I looked up at Quinn. “So how exactly is us being here, him being up there, going to result in us actually catching him?” In spite of what I had said aloud for Gino’s benefit, I had turned Quinn’s strategy over in my mind during the portage. So far, I had nothing.
Bhatt joined in. “And why in the world would he
be on the river in the first place?”
Her question, I could answer. “Because all the roads are blocked. And no cop worth her salt is going to let him slip through the woods again. I’m liking the river route more every time we talk about it. Guy like that has to have given himself more than one escape route. At least, I hope so. Might drown himself, save us the trouble.” I thought of the tricky underwater currents that took people under every single year. The power of the Wisconsin River demanded respect. Would he understand that much? Did he have the upper body strength to match the river or skills as wily as hers? For that matter, did Bhatt? Could I make it with my battered body? Only time would tell.
“Smart money says he’s hedging his bets, hoping to make it to the busy stretch between Spring Green and Prairie du Chien. If he takes the bait, that should put him in the water heading our way right about now. Dixon concurs. Burdock’s heading south.” He turned away from the river, focusing on me.
“Wouldn’t be the worst plan in the world, though he’d have to be a heckuva sportsman to make it that far, spring river and all.” Recently melted snow made the currents all the stronger. “Then what? Boost a car, jump the line into Iowa or back into the flatlands of Illinois maybe?”
“Something like that.”
I looked from him to Bhatt. “I’m assuming you guys have roadblocks set in place just in case, right?”
“Aye, aye, Chief.” Bhatt nodded at me. “Right, Sheriff?”
Quinn nodded, phone buzzing. He pulled up a text, read it and jolted upright. “Fresh batch of drone photos from my friend at the Farm Bureau suggests he might’ve just put in a few miles north of here. It’s go time. Saddle up.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Okay, Bhatt. We’re lowering the kayak into the water, and I’ll turn it around so you can get in easier as I walk into the river. You’re going to wait until most of it is in the water. I’ll keep her steady and wait for you.”
Anchored by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 3) Page 16