Mean Streak

by Sandra Brown

  Alice made a hiccupping sound. “Jeff told you?”

  “No. But it doesn’t matter how I found out. The point is, I did.”

  “Emory—”

  “Save it. I can’t talk to you now. In fact, I want nothing more to do with you. Ever.”

  “What about the clinic?”

  “Did you take its future into account when you started sleeping with my husband?”

  “I deserve that. I deserve your scorn. More. But you must listen to me now.”

  “Nothing you say will change—”

  “I lied to the detective.”

  Emory stopped herself from disconnecting. “What?”

  “I told Sergeant Grange that Jeff was with me from the Friday evening you left for North Carolina until Sunday afternoon.”

  “He wasn’t?”

  “He was, except…except that I woke up early Saturday morning to go to the bathroom, and he wasn’t there. I thought he’d just decided to slip out, go home, and sleep in his own bed for the rest of the night. I didn’t like it. I had hoped we’d have one night to spend—”

  Caring about none of that, Emory interrupted. “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know. I went back to bed, and to sleep, and when I woke up, he was at the bedside, bearing a tray, serving me brunch in bed. He never mentioned leaving. He didn’t know I’d missed him. I never brought it up.”

  “And you didn’t tell Grange.”

  “No. When he showed up at my house unexpectedly, it rattled me. I owned up to the affair, but the idea of Jeff being implicated in a crime against you was so preposterous, I covered for him. You reappeared that same morning, so my lie was vindicated. Or so I thought. But now I think your suspicions have merit.”

  Emory’s heart rate spiked. “What makes you think so?”

  “Things he’s said, evasive answers—but I’ll save all that for later. There’s something more urgent you need to know.” In stops and starts, her speech so rapid that words stumbled over themselves, she said, “Jeff has cooked up some scheme with these Floyd brothers, using their sister to lure you and Hayes Bannock out. It’s crazy.”

  “Oh my God. Hayes got a frantic call from Lisa. He’s on his way up to their place now.”

  “And Jeff tore out of here no more than—”

  “Where is here?”

  “The suite hotel.” She told Emory about Jeff’s call to her the night before. “I got a sense that he was maneuvering me into thinking you’d gone insane. I drove up this morning to confront him about all this and caught him just as he was leaving. I faked being sick, and as soon as he was gone, I called you.”

  While Alice had been talking, Emory realized that Hayes hadn’t given her the number to his cell phone, an oversight which might have been intentional in order to protect her, but it left her with no way to alert him to the trap being laid for him.

  Then she noticed the set of ignition keys on the dresser.

  She stopped Alice in midsentence. “Do you still have Detective Grange’s number?”

  “Uh…I think…yes. He gave me his card. It’s here in my bag.”

  “Call him. Tell him what you’ve told me. Everything. Tell him to dispatch people up to the Floyds’ place. Now. Immediately. Impress on him that Hayes is in danger. In the meantime, I’m going up there to try and head him off.”

  She unplugged her phone from the charger, swept the keys into her hand, and left the motel room. Outside, she depressed the rubberized button on the remote key. The headlights blinked on a nondescript sedan parked in one of the nearby spaces. She ran toward it.

  Her phone rang. Alice again. She answered by saying, “Call Grange! Do it, Alice. You owe me this.”

  “You’re serious about going up there?”

  “I’m on my way now.”

  “Then there’s something you need to know. Jeff has a pistol.”

  That almost slowed Emory down. Almost.

  Instead, she clicked off, jerked open the driver’s door, and slid behind the wheel of Jack’s rental car, the one in which he’d gotten lost in the fog. Which was easily done when it was this thick.

  * * *

  Jeff made it as far as the door to the suite and was reaching for the knob when he thought about Knight and Grange’s visit to him this morning.

  Just stopped by to check and see if you’d heard from Emory overnight.

  That had been Knight’s explanation for their unannounced arrival. He’d accepted it at the time, but as he thought back on it, he wondered why Knight hadn’t simply telephoned to ask. Had he and Grange been checking up on him? Did they still suspect him of wrongdoing?

  Call him paranoid, but…

  The door to the suite had narrow glass panels flanking it. Keeping his body out of sight, he peered through one of the panes. On the far side of the parking lot sat an unmarked car, noticeable because it was seemingly so innocuous. The driver’s door window had been lowered only far enough to accommodate a cigarette whose smoke curled up into the fog and became part of it.

  Amateur surveillance at best. But Jeff still had to get around it. He was deliberating on how to accomplish that when he heard Alice’s voice coming from the bedroom upstairs. Maybe she’d called the clinic to check in. Or maybe not.

  He crossed the living area to the staircase and climbed the carpeted treads as lightly and as silently as possible. The bedroom door stood ajar. He heard her say in a frantic undertone, “But now I think your suspicions have merit.”

  Damn her! Damn her and Emory both!

  His outrage mounted as he listened to one incriminating sentence after another. She outlined his plan with the Floyds. Then, “Emory? Emory, are you there?” She must have been redialing as she repeated in an urgent whisper, “Come on, come on, answer.”

  Then, “You’re serious about going up there? Then there’s something you should know. Jeff has a pistol.”

  After that, silence.

  He put the tip of his index finger to the door and pushed it open, following it as it swung inward until he was standing in the door jamb. She’d been sitting on the bed. When she saw him, she came quickly to her feet, trying but failing to conceal her fear.

  “Jeff. I thought you’d left.”

  “I got sidetracked.” He looked pointedly at the phone clutched in her hand and made a tsking sound. His gaze came back to connect with hers. “As I told you earlier, Alice, your visit this morning is very untimely.”

  * * *

  Emory’s hands soon turned slick with nervous perspiration on the steering wheel.

  On her way through town, she searched for a police car, any type of official vehicle which she could flag down and ask for help, but saw none. Dialing while driving was risky, especially in the fog, but she took the chance and placed a call to Jack Connell.

  After three rings, his phone went to voice mail. In a rush, she said, “It’s Emory. Hayes tore out of here after getting an urgent call from Lisa Floyd. But it’s a trap. Jeff set it up with the brothers. Alice is calling Sergeant Grange with details. Also, she lied about Jeff’s alibi. But the important thing is, get people up to the Floyds’ place immediately. Hayes is walking into danger, and every moment counts. I’m in your rental car on my way up there.”

  Suddenly she realized that she was talking into a dead phone. She cried out in dismay and checked her LED, which confirmed that her meager supply of battery power had run out. But at what point during her message?

  She tossed the phone into the passenger seat and concentrated on driving. Lisa’s safety, Hayes’s life, depended on her getting there, but the conditions prohibited speed. Since leaving the city limits and taking the mountain road, the fog had grown even thicker. Little was visible beyond the hood of the car. She strained to see through it.

  Yesterday, on the way up to Hayes’s cabin, she had focused on the view out her window, which benefitted her now. Landmarks and signposts sighted yesterday guided her and kept her on the right road, when otherwise she would have become hopelessl
y lost. Taking a curve slowly, she saw a familiar row of rural mailboxes. Farther on, the piece of metal yard art shaped like a bear, then the house flying the US flag, the dilapidated and abandoned barn.

  She knew she was getting close when she passed a fence lined with hydrangea plants as tall as she. She could imagine a profusion of blue flowers in the summer, but the leafless branches of the shrubs were now ice-encrusted, which was what had drawn her attention to them.

  Beyond that fence, how much farther had they traveled before reaching Hayes’s cabin? Two miles? Five? She couldn’t recall.

  She drove as fast as she dared, ever in the back of her mind the malice that Norman and Will Floyd harbored for Hayes. Men who would rape their underage sister wouldn’t have any qualms against maiming or killing an enemy.

  But Grange would have responded immediately to Alice’s call. Deputies would have been dispatched, and possibly some were already at the Floyds’ place. Connell would also be on his way to help Hayes. Having just now reunited, Connell wouldn’t permit—

  The sharp curve appeared suddenly, and she saw it too late to avoid the collision.

  The car crashed into the gray wall of rock. The seat belt caught. The airbag deployed. It no doubt saved her life, but the impact was bruising. The interior of the car filled with choking powder.

  As soon as the bag deflated, she batted at it and groped blindly for the door handle. She all but fell out of the car, the hood of which had been squashed against the sheer rock face like a soda can.

  The soles of her boots lost purchase and she landed hard on her bottom. While she sat there regaining her breath, the cold and wet of the pavement seeped into the seat of her jeans. The discomfort served to revive her.

  Pulling herself to her feet, she rested against the side of the car and took inventory of all her parts. She was shaken, and her sternum hurt where the seat belt had caught it, but no bones were broken.

  She pushed herself off the car and set out at a run.

  * * *

  As they exited the courthouse and walked toward the parked SUV, Jack groused, “What kind of freaking policy—”

  “He’s the judge,” Knight said.

  Grange got behind the wheel, Knight rode shotgun, Jack climbed into the back. “Buckle up,” Knight told him. “We got laws.”

  Jack clicked on his seat belt and checked his phone, the use of which had been forbidden for as long as they’d been inside the courthouse waiting on the arrest warrant. “Emory,” he told the other two as he activated his voice mail. Then, “Oh shit! Oh shit!”

  “What?” Grange said.

  Jack rattled off Emory’s message. “Hayes is walking into danger. Then she started breaking up and went away. Check your phone, Grange. She said Alice Butler was going to call you with details. Also, Jeff’s alibi was a lie.” To Knight, he said, “Get some units rolling toward the Floyds’ place, but first see if you can get Emory back. I’ll call Hayes, and that son of a bitch had damn well better answer.”

  Grange, driving with one hand, checked his phone. “No calls from Alice Butler.”

  “Emory’s phone goes straight to her recording,” Knight said. “Buddy, keep heading for the suite hotel, but let’s amp it up.”

  Grange turned on the siren and light bar and stepped on the gas.

  “Son of a gun. When all hell breaks loose…” Knight muttered as he got on the unit’s radio to dispatch.

  Meanwhile Jack had put in the call to the burner phone Hayes was currently using. He counted one ring, two, and was just about to give up when Hayes answered. “What?”

  “I know you got a call from Lisa Floyd, and that you’re running to her rescue. What you don’t know is that Jeff Surrey is behind her plea for help.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Emory left me a message.”

  “How did she know?”

  “We think it came from Alice Butler. We’re trying to ascertain that.”

  “Trying?”

  “I called Emory again,” Knight said, speaking over his shoulder. “Got her recording.”

  “Did you hear that?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah,” Hayes said. “Her phone battery had to charge.”

  “She cut out on the message,” Jack told him, “but one thing came through loud and clear. You’re being set up for an ambush.”

  “Way ahead of you. I figured as much. I just didn’t know Jeff was behind it. Where are you now?”

  “On our way to Jeff’s hotel to serve the warrant.”

  “Stay with that. Get that bastard locked up.”

  “Will do.”

  “Tell Emory to stay put at the motel. Call the room phone if you can’t reach her by cell.”

  “Roger that. Don’t confront those hillbillies alone. SO units are on the way.”

  “I’ll handle the Floyds.”

  “Hayes, you—”

  “I’ll handle them.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “We got here in time to head Jeff off,” Grange said as he wheeled the SUV into the suite hotel parking lot. “His car’s still here.”

  Jack relayed that to Hayes, who said, “Save me a piece of him,” and then he disconnected.

  Jack was still cursing him as he scrambled out of the backseat.

  “I’ll check with our guy.” Grange struck out at a jog toward an unmarked vehicle on the other side of the parking lot.

  Knight climbed out of the SUV’s passenger side. He sounded winded. “Still no answer on Emory’s phone. Got squad cars converging on the Floyds’ place, but this goddamn weather…” He didn’t need to elaborate on the additional hazards it imposed.

  Jack said, “Well, it’ll hold up Hayes, too. That’s good.”

  During this exchange, they’d been walking purposefully toward the door of the suite. Grange joined them there. “Deputy says Jeff had company. A lady.”

  Jack said, “Lady? Emory?”

  “No. The deputy didn’t recognize her.”

  “Alice Butler?”

  “She’d be my guess,” Knight said. He pounded on the door. “Jeff? Open up.”

  They waited. Nothing.

  “Jeff!” Knight called. “This isn’t a courtesy call. We have a warrant.”

  After several more seconds and nothing happened, Knight said, “I’ve had it with this shitbag.” He took his pistol from its holster and shot out the lock.

  No one was on the lower floor. Grange headed for the stairs, pistol drawn and aimed at the partially open door at the top. “Give it up, Jeff.”

  When he reached the door, he stood aside and pushed it open. Nothing happened, so he stepped into the room. Jack slipped in behind the detective. Knight brought up the rear, huffing.

  Later Jack would recall him saying, “Aw, now that’s just ugly.”

  * * *

  Emory hurt all over. It hurt even to breathe.

  The foggy air felt full of something invisible but sharp, like ice crystals or glass shards. She was underdressed. The raw cold stung her face where the skin was exposed. It made her eyes water, requiring her to blink constantly to keep the tears from blurring her vision and obscuring her path.

  A stitch had developed in her side. It clawed continually, grabbed viciously. The stress fracture in her right foot was sending shooting pains up into her shin.

  But owning the pain, running through it, overcoming it, was a matter of self-will and discipline. She’d been told she possessed both. In abundance. To a fault. But this was what all the difficult training was for. She could do this. She had to.

  Push on, Emory. Place one foot in front of the other. Eat up the distance one yard at a time.

  How much farther to go?

  God, please not much farther.

  Refueled by determination and fear of failure, she picked up her pace.

  Then, from the deep shadows of the encroaching woods came a rustling sound, followed by a shift of air directly behind her. Her heart clutched with a foreboding of disaster to
which she had no time to react before skyrockets of pain exploded inside her skull.

  She fell, landing hard.

  When the worst of the light show subsided, she rolled onto all fours and stayed in that position for several seconds, head lowered between her arms, trying to stave off dizziness. Finally, she raised her head only high enough to bring into view a pair of boots.

  She stared at them as they came closer, growing larger until they filled her entire field of vision. When they came to within a few inches of her and stopped, she looked up past knees, torso, shoulders, and chin into a pair of familiar eyes.

  “Alice?”

  Chapter 41

  You could have saved me a lot of trouble and died the first time,” Alice said. “Acute subdural hematoma. I was certain I’d struck you hard enough to cause a slow but persistent bleed, which out here,” she said, spreading her arms wide, “would have been deadly. But not to you. Not to the Golden Girl. Haven’t you ever, just once in your charmed life, had a streak of rotten luck?”

  Emory’s brain, not even a week away from the first injury, was feeling the effects of the car crash and now a second blow to her head. She tried to stand, but her legs were too rubbery to support her, so she came off all fours and sat.

  She tried to focus on what Alice was saying, but the words made no sense. Her image was wavering, as though Emory were looking at her underwater. The fluidity was making her nauseated.

  “What are you saying? What is that in your hand?”

  “This?” Alice raised the pistol. “It’s known in every ER in the country as a Saturday night special. Your basic thirty-eight-caliber revolver.”

  Emory was beginning to grasp what was happening. “What are you doing with it?”

  “I’m about to kill you, and this time I’ll make sure you’re dead.”

  Emory’s stomach pitched. Nausea surged into the back of her throat. She was only barely able to swallow it. “Why?”

  “It would take forever to enumerate all the reasons, Emory, and it’s cold out here. To summarize, Jeff was a louse, but he was my louse. At least he was until I made the mistake of introducing him to you. You were a much greener pasture. Pretty. Rich. Coveted virtues to him. But he didn’t love you, you know. He never did.”