Dead Aim

by Anne Woodard

  “I was afraid you were going to deck the bastard, then drag him in for questioning,” he admitted as she fastened her seat belt without taking her eyes off the laptop’s screen.

  “I thought about it,” Maggie admitted. “I really, seriously thought about it. But this is better.”

  He frowned at that tantalizing blinking light that indicated the truck’s location and tried to ignore the knot of tension in his gut.

  “Maybe. At least we won’t scare him off by tailing him too close.”

  “What’d you do? I saw you disappear behind his pickup, but that’s all I could see.”

  “I fastened one of the satellite radio collars I use for bears around a strut under his back bumper. He’s not going to see it unless he gets right up under the truck.”

  “And the computer?”

  “Stashed behind the seat with the rifle and some other equipment. I carry it with me most of the time, just in case I need it.”

  She shook her head in amazement. “You use a satellite tracking system, yet you don’t even own a cell phone. Seems crazy to me.”

  He shrugged. “Most places I go, cell phones don’t work. GPS does. The computer runs off the cigarette lighter. This cable here connects it to the receiver there,” he added, pointing to the electrical equipment mounted on the truck’s dashboard.

  “But the screen’s only showing a topographic map. No streets. No roads.”

  He picked up the folded maps they’d used the day before and tossed them in her lap.

  “Trucking companies go for road maps. Biologists don’t. You did just fine yesterday, and this is a whole lot easier. There’s more than enough information there that we can compare maps where we need to.”

  He picked up the computer. “I’ll drive, you navigate. And you can tell me what happened out there while you do.”

  “Deal.” She eagerly took the computer from him. “Come to Mama, baby. Come to Mama.”

  He released the emergency brake and put the truck into gear. He was glad Maggie was here beside him. Glad and very, very grateful.

  “Let’s go see where this fellow’s leading us.”

  “Yes. Let’s.” Maggie shifted the computer on her lap so he could see it, too, “Mama’s coming to get you, Mr. Mike, you lying jerk,” she crooned softly, eyes avid as she watched the blinking light moving steadily across the screen. “Mama and the Bear Man are definitely coming to get you.”

  The man called Mike led them to another heavily wooded subdivision, this one closer to town. The houses were older and smaller, but just as secluded as the luxury getaways. Street signs and numbers on mailboxes gave them an address.

  To Maggie’s relief, her cell phone worked. While Rick looked for someplace to pull the truck off the road where it wasn’t likely to be spotted, she picked a comfortable spot in the shade of a gnarled old pine that was off the road and out of sight of the drive to the house. Then she called the location in to Bursey’s office.

  To her even greater surprise, Bursey himself came on to the call while an assistant tracked down information on the house.

  “Bear collars?” he said when she’d finished explaining. “You aren’t planning on going in there alone, are you, Manion?”

  “Of course not.”

  The man might be difficult, but he wasn’t dumb. “A wildlife biologist, even one who plays with grizzly bears for a living, is not adequate backup, dammit.”

  “I just want to see who’s in there, find out what we’re dealing with. I’m not planning on storming in, guns blazing.”

  “You might have to.” He sounded tired. Angry and tired. “We had a murder here last night, Manion. Guy named Jason Taublib. That ring a bell?”

  Maggie sucked in her breath. “You know it does. We figured he was Jerelski’s main man, that he got the stuff into the system. Your people agreed.”

  “Right. And this morning Jerelski’s office and house were found turned upside down, as if someone packed in an awful big hurry.”

  “I heard about that.”

  “You would.” Oddly, the comment sounded more admiring than annoyed.

  Maybe she needed her ears checked.

  “We don’t have any more information,” he added. “Not yet, anyway. But even without knowing more, it pays to be cautious. This fellow you followed—”

  “Might be inclined to shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “He might.” Bursey swore tiredly. “It’d help if we knew where he fitted into this whole thing. Him and Dornier’s sister.”

  “Yes,” Maggie agreed curtly. “It would.”

  She didn’t want to think about Rick’s reaction when she told him.

  “I don’t know if— Hang on.” Bursey must have covered the mouthpiece on the phone because all she could hear was a murmur of voices. The words themselves were too muffled to make out.

  Her own thoughts were whirling. Taublib murdered. Jerelski missing, his business closed. All the work she and the others had been putting in to break up Jerelski’s business was clearly beginning to pay off, but right now that didn’t matter nearly so much as their increasingly urgent need to find Tina.

  Bursey came back on the line. “The house you’re looking at is a vacation rental. We got lucky—the owner handles the rentals, and he was home when we called.”

  “We’re due for a little luck.”

  “Yeah, well… About a week ago, a fellow named Fritz Hoenig took it for a month. The thing rents for a thousand a week plus deposit.” Bursey paused significantly. “Hoenig paid cash. In advance.”

  The bottom dropped out of her stomach. “That’s a lot of cash.”

  “It is for cops like you and me. It’s not very much if you’re in some other line of work.” Again Bursey paused. “Take a look around, Manion, see what you can learn. But don’t do anything, all right? You find anything, you let me know. We’ll get warrants and backup up there, pronto.”

  “Thanks. In the meantime, you’ll tell my people?”

  “They’re already in. What?”

  That last was directed to someone in Bursey’s office. Once again Maggie could hear the sharp-edged murmur of urgent conversation, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  Bursey came back on the line. “I’ve got to go, Manion. But you be careful, you hear? I don’t much like you, but I wouldn’t like to see you dead.”

  “That makes two of us, Chief.” She cut the connection, then just stood there, blindly staring at nothing. “That makes two of us.”

  Rick appeared a few minutes later, strolling along the road like a man out for a tranquil walk. Only someone who looked closer would notice the hard set of his jaw or the alertness alive beneath the calm exterior. Rick Dornier, Ph.D., was not a man she’d want to meet in a fight, but he was someone she’d be very, very glad to have at her back if one developed.

  Or in her bed anytime.

  Heat licked through her at the thought, raw, distracting and elemental.

  Shaken, she tamped it down, then pushed her way back through the bushes to the road. He came to a stop beside her.

  “I left the truck around that bend in the road.” His gaze sharpened. “What happened while I was gone?”

  Maggie told him Bursey’s news. She kept it short, but he had no trouble connecting the dots.

  She’d hate to be the one on the receiving end of the thin-lipped, hard-eyed look he shot at the silent drive and the hidden house.

  “Guess we’d better go see who’s home,” he said softly.

  Maggie unzipped the jacket pocket where she kept her gun. “Guess we better,” she agreed.

  As they had before, they kept to the cover of the trees, paralleling the drive. It was a short drive and ended in front of a neat green frame house with no garage. The only vehicle in sight was the black pickup.

  Rick fought against the urge to simply race across that open yard, break down the door, then storm in. He probably wouldn’t have won the battle if the front door hadn’t swung open just then and the
driver of the black pickup hadn’t stepped out.

  The expression on the guy’s face had Rick’s insides turning to ice. What he saw there was fury, grim determination and fear. Especially the fear.

  To hell with Maggie or with anyone who might still be in the house, watching them. The bastard was not getting away this time.

  Pulling out the specialized pistol he’d brought from his truck, Rick stepped out of the trees and into the fellow’s path.

  At the sight of Rick, and the pistol he held, the man stopped dead.

  Behind him, he could hear Maggie curse, then shift position so she could cut the guy off if he decided to run back toward the house. Or shoot him if he pulled out a gun.

  Rick didn’t worry about that. His attention was fixed on the man himself standing frozen, right there in front of him.

  If there was anyone in the house, Maggie would have to deal with them.

  “Where is she?” Rick kept his voice steady, but it cost him an effort.

  The other man didn’t even try to pretend he didn’t understand. “Gone.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Rick fought back the sudden fear churning in his gut. The hollow, haunted look in the other man’s eyes wasn’t the expression of a man who feared for his own safety, but of a man terrified for the safety of someone else. A man terrified for Tina.

  “Is there anyone else in the house?”

  “No.”

  He didn’t move, didn’t change expression as Maggie, gun up, darted into the house, but Rick had the sense that something in him hardened, as if he’d just determined on fighting his way out of this, if necessary, rather than talking.

  For an instant, Rick considered jumping him now, before he had a chance to go for a gun.

  “You’re Rick Dornier, aren’t you?” the man said. “Dr. Rick Dornier, Tina’s brother?”

  “That’s right. Who are you? And where’s my sister?”

  The stranger didn’t bother answering either question.

  “You do know she’s dealing drugs, don’t you?” he said instead.

  “Tina? Tina’s dealing drugs?” Fury squeezed Rick’s throat. He’d throttle the bastard right now if he didn’t need to know what he knew, first.

  “No. Her.” The man cocked his head in the direction of the house where Maggie had disappeared, but kept his hands down and away from his sides to indicate he wasn’t reaching for a weapon.

  “Maggie?” Rick stared at him in disbelief.

  “From the Cuppa Joe’s, right? Maggie Mann? She’s some sort of informant. A go-between.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “No, I—”

  “All clear!” Maggie came around the side of the house, her gun held loosely at her side rather than in a two-handed grip in front of her. “There’s nobody else. At least, not now.”

  Her angry gaze raked the stranger. From the expression on her face, she would happily have shredded him bare-handed, but the need for information stopped her, too.

  “Meet DEA agent Maggie Manion,” Rick said softly. “Undercover agent Manion, actually.”

  “DEA!” That shook the man far more than the guns had.

  “That’s right. Who are you?”

  “Fritz Hoenig.” He regrouped fast. “I’m a private investigator specializing in tracking stolen art. There’s a business card and ID in my wallet, hip pocket.”

  Maggie handed her gun to Rick, then warily retrieved the wallet. She was almost disappointed he didn’t give her an excuse to take him down. He didn’t move as she riffled through his wallet’s contents, either.

  Through it all, Rick just stood there, that odd, long-barreled pistol of his still pointed at the stranger’s chest. He looked like he was seriously hoping Hoenig would give him an excuse to use it.

  “Nice wad of cash.” At a guess, Maggie would say two or three thousand, but she wouldn’t swear to it. She wasn’t used to seeing quite so many hundreds in one man’s pocket.

  “The ID says Fritz Hoenig. Berlin.” She glanced up. “You’re German?”

  “Dual nationality, German and American. I grew up in Germany, but went to Harvard like my father. Yale for graduate work.”

  There was a faint trace of accent in his English, but it was very faint. If the ID hadn’t said Berlin, she probably wouldn’t have caught it at all.

  Maggie flicked the edge of the plasticized, holographic card. “Nice picture. If the ID’s fake, it’s a good one.”

  She frowned at the business card. “Hoenig and Bruck, Art Retrieval Specialists. Business cards are very easy to fake.”

  “You can check. Interpol knows me. I’ve worked with them often enough. You can also confirm my identity with some of the people I’ve worked with in Washington, among other places.”

  He listed a few names and titles. Some of them she recognized. A couple she knew personally. Or, rather, she’d met them a time or two. They were way too high up the ladder for her to be talking about a really personal acquaintanceship.

  If Hoenig was telling the truth, and she was beginning to think he was, the man was well connected. Unfortunately, the people he was connected to did not spend their days wandering through art galleries; they spent them chasing down some of the world’s really unpleasant people.

  She didn’t much like what that might mean about Hoenig’s presence here, or his connection with Tina. She deliberately didn’t look at Rick because she was afraid of what she’d see in his face, in his eyes. He didn’t have to recognize Hoenig’s connections to know they boded no good for Tina—the titles alone would have been enough to warn him.

  Maggie pocketed the wallet and retrieved her gun from Rick. “I’ll keep the wallet. And unless you can produce Tina Dornier for us, pronto, you’ll accompany us to town so we can verify your ID.”

  Rick reluctantly lowered the pistol, but didn’t bother returning it to whatever pocket he’d gotten it from.

  “And while we’re on the way,” he growled, “you can tell me what in hell has happened to my sister.”

  Maggie had the strangest feeling she now knew what a grizzly sounded like, just before it devoured its prey whole.

  Chapter 13

  T hey strapped Hoenig’s hands behind him with duct tape that Rick dug out of his tool chest, then belted the man into the front passenger seat so Maggie could keep an eye on him from the back seat while Rick drove. They’d already called Bursey’s office asking for a priority ID check. His secretary had promised to get someone on it, pronto.

  Right now, pronto didn’t seem anywhere near fast enough.

  Before they’d left, Rick had searched the house and surrounding area more carefully, but the second search hadn’t revealed any more than the first: Tina’s clothes, books and the few personal items she’d brought with her were still spread out as though awaiting her return. The graveled drive and paved road beyond wouldn’t have held any footprints.

  A trained search-and-rescue dog might have found some trace of her. To the human eye, however, there was no hint of where she’d gone, or why, or when she might be back.

  Her absence made their interrogation of Hoenig just that much more pointed.

  “Tina attended a lecture I gave on international art theft at a conference in Denver a few months ago,” Hoenig said. “She knew my company specializes in the recovery of stolen art, so when she began to suspect that her academic advisor was importing more than cheap knockoffs, she contacted me.”

  Rick snorted. “She thought of someone based in Berlin first? There’s no one in all these fifty united states and Canada who could have done as well?”

  Hoenig went still. Even with his eyes on the road, Rick could see the flush that rose to the man’s face. His own upper lip trembled in an incipient snarl. He could guess what came next.

  “She came up after my lecture,” Hoenig said softly. “We got to talking, I invited her to dinner…” He shrugged. “We spent a week together in New York, just before the semester started.
I’ve already bought tickets for her to come to Germany in December.”

  Tina was involved with him?

  Not my business, Rick reminded himself harshly. But he couldn’t prevent the stab of guilt that he hadn’t known, that Tina hadn’t felt she could share that part of her life with him, and that he hadn’t thought to ask.

  “Why hide out?” Maggie demanded. “Her disappearing like that just attracted attention, rather than the reverse.”

  Hoenig shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but froze when Maggie yanked back on his seat belt.

  “Keep still and answer my question. Why hide out?”

  “At first,” he said, “all we intended was to spend a few days together. Her work for Jerelski had been some sort of academic cataloging of important pieces of Indian and Asian art held in various museums and private collections around the world. By chance, she got to know the young woman who clerked in Jerelski’s import business—”

  “Sarah.”

  Hoenig shook his head. “Not Sarah. Shana.”

  Rick sensed Maggie relax, just a little. It didn’t prove that Hoenig really was who he said he was, but it was something.

  If Hoenig caught the change, he was smart enough not to show it. “Anyway, the two of them got to talking about what they did, and that’s when Tina realized there were some odd coincidences in timing between the reported theft of a piece of art and Jerelski’s receipt of merchandise. She told me, and I did some checking of my own. That’s when I flew out here.”

  “Just like that?”

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “There’s usually a very fat finder’s fee for anyone who provides information that leads to the return of an important piece of stolen art. And it’s very good for our business to be there first. Besides, it was a good excuse to see Tina.”

  Rick’s grip on the steering wheel tightened—many more days like this and he’d turn the thing into a pretzel—but he managed to keep his mouth shut and his eyes on the road. Not his business.

  It was crazy, but he’d swear he could hear Maggie’s soft voice, somewhere in the back of his brain, chiding him for being a fool. She knew all about guilt and obligation, and how crazy they could make you.