by Sandra Brown
“Nothing substantive. Until a few hours ago, I didn’t even know his name.”
“What did he tell you about himself?”
“Virtually nothing. I guessed that he’d been in the military, and he more or less confirmed it. He didn’t say where he served or in what capacity, but I got the impression he saw combat.”
“He did.”
“On the subject of war, he said he didn’t recommend it.”
“He wouldn’t. He served in Afghanistan. Two deployments. Hard-core army. Did he mention his family?”
No bride. No wife. Not ever. She cleared a sudden hoarseness from her throat. “He told me he wasn’t married.”
“No, but he has a sister and niece in Seattle.”
Seattle, from where his rent was paid. “How old is the niece?”
“Twelve.”
Remembering how he’d been with Lisa, she thought he could probably easily win the affection of a twelve-year-old niece. And his sister? “Are he and his sister close?”
Connell grimaced. “Like you wouldn’t believe. In fact, just over twenty-four hours ago, I was in her house, trying to pry, cajole, wring information from her. She claimed not to know where he was.”
“Perhaps she didn’t.”
The agent shrugged, indicating it was no longer an issue. Bannock had been found. Or as good as.
“What else can you tell me about him, Dr. Charbonneau?” he asked.
He has a thunderbolt tattoo just above his groin. When I traced the design with my tongue, he warned me of consequences. I didn’t heed his warning.
“He keeps his promises,” she said softly. “He reads a lot. He repairs things.” She looked at Jeff. “He glued the stem of my sunglasses back together. He also builds things.” She described the bookshelves, the unfinished shed.
Connell said, “He holds a degree in constructional engineering.”
Beside her, Jeff had begun to fidget. “This is all thoroughly captivating, Mr. Connell. But does it have a point? What does any of this have to do with what Bannock did to Emory?”
Connell jumped on that. “You’re assuming that he knocked your wife unconscious and carried her away.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I would be very surprised,” the agent replied. “Shocked, actually.”
That took Jeff aback. Emory as well. She looked over at Knight, whose hand had been arrested in midair between the bag of popcorn and his open mouth.
Connell remained focused on her. “Is that what you believe happened to you that day on the trail?”
“When I woke up in his cabin, not knowing where I was or how I got there, my initial reaction was to be afraid of him. And for the first two days, I remained wary and cautious. I even made a couple of futile attempts to leave.”
“He stopped you?”
“Circumstances did. The weather. Then the situation with Lisa.”
“Okay. You were saying?”
“Over time, I came to believe that he hadn’t harmed me and didn’t intend to.”
“Truly, Dr. Charbonneau, I believe you were safe the entire time you were with him,” Connell said. “It would have been totally out of character for him to see a woman alone, or anyone with whom he didn’t have a quarrel, and attack them. He’s not a sexual predator either. That’s not what he’s about.”
“Then what is he about?” Knight asked.
“Punishment. I suppose some would term it vengeance, but it’s less personal than that.”
“I believe the Floyd brothers would take personally what he did to them,” Jeff said.
“Actually punishment fits,” Knight said. “The deputy who interviewed Lisa speculated that her brothers had been messing with her and that’s how she got pregnant.”
They all looked to Emory, who said nothing. But her pained expression must have given her away.
Jack Connell sighed as he dragged his hand down his face. “That would light Bannock’s fuse, all right. But his grudge against the Floyds goes back farther than the abuse inflicted on their sister.”
Looking at Emory, he continued. “His moving to the mountain wilderness wasn’t coincidental. He tracked Norman and Will Floyd here. He was out to wreak havoc on them and was only biding his time. Did he tell you that?”
“I inferred it, and when I asked, he didn’t deny it, but he also didn’t explain what he held against them.”
“We’ll get to that, too. First I want to ask you about his cache of firearms. Knight told me Bannock shot at the Floyds.”
“He didn’t,” she said. “He had a pistol, but he never used it. He never even took it out.”
In his own defense, Knight spoke up. “Norman Floyd told our deputy that Bannock fired both barrels of a shotgun at them.”
“That’s a lie,” Emory said with emphasis. “It was their shotgun, not his, and he used it to shoot out their TV.” The three men registered astonishment, prompting her to relate the circumstances.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Knight said. “He wanted to keep them from collecting the reward, but he didn’t collect it himself.”
“He’s not about money either,” Connell said.
“Wouldn’t it be far more enlightening if you told us what he is into rather than what he isn’t?”
Connell looked at Jeff, but didn’t acknowledge his catty remark. Coming back to Emory, he began asking her all the questions the detectives had already covered, but she answered them patiently. She apologized for not knowing the make and model of his truck.
“Don’t feel too bad,” the agent told her with a wry smile. “He would have ditched it by now anyway. Did he mention leaving?”
“Leaving town?” she asked.
“Leaving the area. Moving on, relocating.”
She shook her head.
“Did he mention a soccer coach in Salt Lake?”
“No.”
“A priest in Kentucky who resigned his parish and the priesthood, some believe under threat of death?”
“No.”
“A hairdresser in Wichita Falls, Texas?”
Emory shook her head in bafflement. “Why are you asking? What do these people have in common?”
The agent sat forward and propped his forearms on his thighs, speaking to her directly, as though they were the only ones in the room. “They have two things in common. Hayes Bannock.” He paused, took a breath. “And a mass shooting in Virginia that left eight people dead.”
You only thought you missed all the excitement of Virginia. His words to Norman Floyd.
Emory’s stomach lurched. Without even excusing herself, she shot off the sofa and took the stairs in record time. Upon reaching the bedroom, she slammed the door behind her and leaned against it as though to keep out the horrific thoughts assailing her.
Mass shooting. Eight people. Dead.
Feeling faint and needing air, she staggered to the sliding glass door that opened onto a narrow balcony. She went to the railing and gripped it, impervious to the biting cold of the metal.
Eight people. Dead.
She breathed deeply of the icy air. The vapor of her exhales blended into the fog swirling around her.
Suddenly sensing a presence, she turned her head.
Only a few feet away from her, standing on the neighboring suite’s balcony, was…
Hayes Bannock.
Her heart clutched with terror. And leaped with inexplicable joy.
“Don’t scream.” He spoke in the familiar whisper that always came as somewhat of a surprise. “Don’t do anything until you’ve looked at this.” He held out his hand. In the palm of his glove lay a silver trinket. She recognized it instantly.
“Where did you get that?”
“From underneath you where you supposedly fell.” He gave her a mere few seconds to assimilate that, then, “Are you staying with them? Or coming with me?”
Chapter 33
In advance of the meeting, Sam Knight hadn’t had much good to tell Jack about Emory Charbonneau
’s husband.
“Suspecting him of instant divorce, Grange and me did him a disservice. But he’s got an ego on him. Haughty, too. When we show up unannounced, you can count on him being a jerk at best.”
Jack had gone in with low expectations, and everything Jeff Surrey had said and done since their arrival had lived up to Knight’s characterization. Jack hadn’t warmed to the man, and it was clear that the feeling was mutual.
Emory’s abrupt departure upstairs, the slamming of the bedroom door at the landing, had left the three men suspended in a taut silence. After several moments passed and no one moved, Jack looked over at Jeff. “Is she all right?”
“Did she seem all right to you? After the bombshell you just dropped, would you expect her to be all right?”
“Maybe you should go up and check on her.”
Jeff expelled his breath. “Let’s give her a moment.” He got up and went over to the bar. “She declined a stiff one before you got here. She might have changed her mind.” He poured a whiskey and stared into it thoughtfully as he swirled it in the glass.
“Since you know your wife better than anyone,” Jack said, “I—”
“Possibly I don’t know her at all.”
“How do you mean?”
Jeff came around to face him. “I mean that I never would have thought she and I would find ourselves in such sordid circumstances. Emory is nothing if not stable and reliable. This Bannock must have worked some powerful mojo on her. She’s not at all herself.”
“In what way?”
“Ways, plural. Ordinarily, she’s confident and strong-willed. Now, skittish as a rabbit, nervous, agitated. She’s distracted, forgetful, absent-minded, when usually she’s centered. Almost to a fault. Shall I go on?”
“I’m listening.”
The man needed no further encouragement. “Emory is a forward-thinking person. But now she seems stuck inside that damn cabin with Hayes Bannock, still caught up in the distasteful situation he dragged her into with that family of rednecks.
“Whatever she witnessed and experienced up there maintains a grip on her. It’s changed her. I hope to God the effects aren’t irrevocable. If she doesn’t revert to the Emory Charbonneau everyone knows, the fallout from all this could be catastrophic. For both of us. Even more than it already has been,” he said, shooting a glare toward Knight.
Coming back to Jack, he added, “Of course, your appearance has been a major setback to her recovery and return to normal life. Thanks for that, Special Agent Connell.”
Using that as his exit line, he took the glass of whiskey with him and climbed the stairs. At the top, he tapped on the bedroom door. “Emory?” Getting no answer, he turned the knob and pushed open the door, closing it softly behind him as he entered the room.
Knight dusted popcorn salt off his fingers. “Told you he was a jerk.”
“You were being generous. It’s all about him, isn’t it?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“He didn’t show any compassion toward her for the ordeal she’s been through.”
“Oh, yesterday, he was all over that,” Knight said. “But after seeing the burglary video this morning, he—”
“She’s gone!”
Jeff’s shout from the landing brought them instantly to their feet.
“What?”
Jeff looked down at Knight with scorn. “What part didn’t you understand? She’s not up here,” he shouted, flinging his arms wide. “Anywhere. The balcony door is open.”
The first thing that sprang to Jack’s mind was suicide. Even a jump from a second story could be fatal if it had enough purpose behind it. He charged up the stairs, pushed Jeff out of his way, and crossed the room in only a few strides. He stepped out onto the balcony and leaned over the railing, checking the parking lot below.
“I’ve already looked,” Jeff said. “She’s not down there. If she jumped, she survived.”
Knight, having run out the front door and around the unit, came into view, huffing with exertion. “See anything?”
Jack scanned the parking lot and beyond, looking for a telltale motion, when the whole damn landscape was a kaleidoscope of snow and shifting fog. “Dammit!” He banged his fist on the railing, then turned away to reenter the room. In the act of doing so, he noticed that the door to the neighboring balcony was also open. The room beyond it was in darkness.
“Cover the front,” he yelled down to Knight.
Throwing his leg over the low stucco wall separating the two balconies, he approached the dark bedroom, wondering if he was about to intrude upon someone who liked to sleep with the window open even with a stiff north wind blowing.
But the bed was neatly made and appeared untouched.
He entered the suite, which was a mirror image to the one occupied by Emory and Jeff. He went through the bedroom, walked out onto the landing, and flipped on the light fixture above the staircase, ready to ID himself as a federal officer if he surprised someone below. But the lower floor was vacant, too, and the door to the suite…
The locking mechanism had been popped out and lay on the floor.
“Same trick as on the door to the doctor’s office,” Knight said as he pushed open the door from the other side and walked in, having approached the suite from the front.
“Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!”
Jeff came up behind Knight, but Jack noticed that he’d taken time to put on his jacket before joining them. His eyes on Jack, he said, “That’s all you have to say? Son of a bitch? What page do you find that on in the FBI training manual?”
Having had enough of him, Jack closed the distance between them. He poked Jeff in the chest with his index finger, the blow only barely buffered by the thick quilted fabric of his fancy jacket.
“Listen, asshole, if you’d gone up there immediately to see about your wife, chances are very good that she’d still be here.”
“You can’t blame this on me. It’s apparent that your fugitive has kidnapped Emory for the second time.”
“Nothing’s apparent. While we try to find out what happened to her, there’s something you should keep in mind.”
Jeff arched a brow. “Oh?”
“If Hayes Bannock has your wife, you probably top his shit list. Be afraid.”
* * *
Hayes had helped her over the low wall separating the balconies. They’d scrambled through the neighboring suite and out the door.
She was almost giddy with disbelief over what she was doing. She was fleeing into the unknown with a man being sought in connection with a mass shooting. Yet she felt much safer with him than she had with the law enforcement officers who were now kowtowing to Jeff for having suspected him of murder.
Placing her hand in Hayes’s and escaping with him had been instinctual. She had no reason whatsoever to trust that instinct, but she did. She ran with it. Literally.
Silently, and half blinded by blowing snow, they sprinted between buildings and across streets. Finally, they left the commercial area and entered a residential neighborhood that was notably run-down. Dogs barked at them from behind chain-link fences, but no one came out to check on the nature of the disturbance.
They didn’t slow down until they reached a midsize sedan parked at the edge of a rutted street. The model of the car was too old for a remote. Hayes used the key to unlock the passenger door. Without questioning him, she slid into the seat and buckled herself in as he rounded the hood and got in behind the wheel.
As Connell had predicted, he’d ditched his truck.
Staying off the main roads, keeping to streets that wound through neighborhoods, he drove carefully and within the speed limit, gradually increasing the distance between them and the suite hotel.
He’d told her he’d been successful at evading capture, and once again he was proving himself to be true to his word.
“Is this a stolen car?”
“Nope. Bought and paid for, registered in a fake name, and stored in a mini-warehouse for just
such an occasion as this.”
“Why’d you leave it in such an unsavory neighborhood?”
“That’s why. It’s unsavory. Lots of drug dealers in that area. Meth labs, I’d guess. To survive, everybody minds their own business. They see nothing; they report nothing. Main reason, somebody had busted the security camera mounted on the light pole.”
She was no longer shocked by his unique power of observation and knowledge about such things. “They know who you are, Hayes.”
Upon hearing his name, he jerked his head around and looked at her, then pulled the car to the shoulder, braked hard, and left the engine idling. For a panicked moment she feared he was going to force her to get out.
“They’ve already searched your cabin.”
“Then it seems I cleared out just in time.”
“They lifted a fingerprint from it. You were identified by an FBI agent.”
The opal fire in his eyes sparked. “FBI agent?”
“He came straight from New York.”
“Shit! Special Agent Jack Connell.”
“You know him by name?”
“Unfortunately. He’s been on my tail for four fucking years.”
“He wants you in connection with a mass shooting in Virginia. I heard you mention the excitement in Virginia to Norman Floyd.”
He studied her for a moment, then said, “Knowing that, you still came with me tonight, no questions asked?”
Huskily, she replied, “So it seems.”
He continued to look at her through the mingling vapor of their breath. Then he lifted his foot off the brake pedal and steered back onto the road.
Just outside Drakeland’s city limits, he took a state highway and made several turns onto roads that became progressively narrower and more winding. She didn’t inquire where they were going. He obviously had a destination in mind. It turned out to be a mobile home, situated semipermanently on a concrete slab fringed with dead vegetation. It was set back from the road but still in sight of it. They would be warned of anyone approaching.
He kept the headlights on as he got out and went up to the door, opening it with a key and switching on an interior light before coming back for her and turning off the car.