Ryan Lock Series Box Set 2

by Sean Black

  Something flickered across Mary’s face. It looked like fear. As far as Ruth could see, that was good. Mary hurting herself and talking about suicide was one thing. Actually confronting death was something else. It confirmed to Ruth what she’d suspected all along. Mary’s self-harming was a cry for help, not a death wish.

  “You don’t want to die, do you?” Ruth pressed.

  “No.”

  “Good. And neither do I.”

  She led Mary gently by the hand across to the splintered door. She could hear the two men talking not too far away, their words drowned in the rumble of the pick-up truck’s engine.

  “Okay, once we get out, stay close to me, and don’t pay any attention to anything else.”

  Mary nodded, her eyes fixed on the floor. “Where are we going?”

  “We’ll get down to the road. Then we’ll see if we can hitch a ride.”

  Even to Ruth’s own ears it didn’t sound like much of a plan. But it was the only one she had.

  Keeping Mary’s hand in hers, she edged toward the barn door. She squeezed through the narrow gap, pulling Mary with her. Staying close to the barn, they slipped down the side.

  Ruth stopped at the corner. She glanced back toward the pick-up truck. Her heart leaped into her throat as she saw Chris standing over the man who had been the only one to help them. He was on his knees, head bowed toward the ground. Chris had the muzzle of the gun pressed into the top of the man’s head, his finger poised on the trigger.

  61

  Even if it meant waking up his ex-wife at an unnatural hour, and perhaps because that was exactly what it would do, Don Price wanted Lock to make the call immediately. Reluctantly, he agreed. They finished their coffee, paid the check, and headed outside. The patrol car was gone. Perhaps its presence had been a simple coincidence, not a fresh reminder that Lock had worn out his welcome in the town.

  Lock leaned against the driver’s door of the Explorer, and tapped a button on his cell-phone screen. It took a moment for the call to connect. It rang three times and went to voicemail.

  He held up the cell phone so that Don could hear the message. “Voicemail,” he said. He pulled the phone back, and was about to leave his name and number when Sandra picked up. She sounded groggy. “Hello?”

  Lock introduced himself, using his real name this time. He apologized for the lateness of the call and launched into his pitch. He fudged his interest in Broken Ridge without directly lying. He told her he’d been hired by the parent of a student at Broken Ridge (true), who was concerned about the welfare of their child (true). He was canvassing other parents to see if they’d experienced any reason for concern.

  Sandra listened patiently to everything he told her. “Well, I’ll certainly look into it,” she told him, “but everything seems fine so far. I get a letter from my daughter once a week. I’m sure if she was having problems she’d tell me.”

  Lock probed a little more. He was getting nowhere.

  Next to him, Don Price was getting more and more agitated. “Did you tell her about the kid who died? The girl?”

  Lock hit the mute button so that she wouldn’t pick up the voice of her ex-husband in the background. “I swear, you interrupt me one more time, and I’m going to end this call right now.”

  “Okay, okay, but can you at least get her to call the school and ask to speak to Ruth?”

  “Hello? Are you still there?” Sandra asked.

  He tapped off the mute function. “Yes, sorry, I’m here.”

  “You really think I should be worried?” She sounded anxious.

  Lock took a breath. “I don’t wish to alarm you but, yes, I think there is cause for concern about how safe the students at Broken Ridge are. You know that as a private company it’s not subject to the usual oversights and checks that a state high school or state or federal facility would be?”

  She hesitated. Clearly she hadn’t been aware of that, but she likely wasn’t going to admit to her ignorance.

  “There have also been a couple of students die while at Broken Ridge.”

  “Die?” Now she sounded panicked.

  Lock shot Don a thumbs-up. “Yes.” He ran through the story of Jennifer Oates and her parents’ suspicions that it hadn’t been suicide. “But even if she did take her own life that still leaves a lot of questions over how they handled looking after someone who was vulnerable.”

  “Mr. Lock, can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  At the other end of the line, Sandra paused. “How much is my husband paying you to try to undermine me like this?”

  The question took Lock aback. She hadn’t given a hint that she knew he was working for Don through their entire conversation. He wasn’t about to deny it. It would get him nowhere. It would only antagonize her further. But it did make him wonder how she knew. That could be a question for another day. “It doesn’t matter what I’m being paid, Mrs. Price.”

  “It’s Ms Andrews, these days,” she corrected him.

  “I was skeptical too. But what I told you about Jennifer, and the other concerns I have, those are all genuine. I give you my word. I don’t think it’s a safe place for your daughter.”

  “Good night, Mr. Lock,” she said. “And please don’t contact me again. Oh, and you can tell Don that Ruth’s not going anywhere. And that tomorrow morning I’ll be contacting his boss at the State Department and filing a complaint.”

  Lock stared at the call-ended screen for a moment. He started to speak. Don cut him off. “I heard her,” he said.

  “How’d she know I was working for you?” Lock asked him.

  “The hell if I know.”

  62

  Gretchen sat at her desk, her head in her hands. She was coming apart. She was on the very edge of the precipice. So was Broken Ridge. Everything her father had worked so hard for was at risk. And it was all her fault for allowing things to spin out of control, like she had.

  The phone next to her rang. She started at the sound.

  She stared at it. Scared to pick it up. Fearful of who was at the other end of the line.

  This was ridiculous, she told herself. She had to gather herself. To get a grip.

  She snatched it up. She cleared her throat. She tried to find her singsong telephone voice. The one that told the world everything was fine. “Good evening, you’ve reached Broken Ridge, Gretchen Applewhite speaking.”

  “I’m sorry to call you this late, Ms Applewhite. This is Sandra Andrews, Ruth Price’s mother.”

  Gretchen didn’t say anything.

  “Hello? Are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here. How may I help you?”

  “You’re probably going to think I’m being silly. I just got a call from my ex-husband. He works at the State Department and, anyway, he’s worried about our daughter.”

  Somewhere in the back of Gretchen’s mind a loud siren began to blare. The State Department?

  “I feel ridiculous even calling you, but I wonder if perhaps I could speak to Ruth.”

  Gretchen tried to think of something. Usually she dealt with situations like this with ease. She would patiently explain to a parent that calls had to be prearranged. That unscheduled calls disrupted the routine and upset the student. There were a hundred and one ways to deal with a call like this. Especially one that was made so late.

  All Gretchen needed to do was to explain that all the students were in bed. Asleep. This time, though, she couldn’t find the words. She couldn’t find any words. She put the phone down on her desk and stared at it. She could hear Ruth’s mother ask if she was there.

  The State Department. That meant the federal government. Suddenly the new staff member and the man in town who’d been asking questions took on an even more sinister resonance. The forces conspiring against them were darker, stronger, more malevolent than even she could have imagined.

  Hurriedly, she snatched up the phone, and cut off the call. There was only one thing she could do now. Only one way of saving Bro
ken Ridge. Or, at least, buying some time.

  She would have to move fast.

  63

  His head bowed, the muzzle of his own gun pressing painfully into the top of his skull, Ty kept his eyes closed and chose what might just be his final words with extreme care. If Chris did pull the trigger, at least it would be a bodyguard’s end.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Ty had already watched Ruth Price and her friend, Mary, slip out of the barn and into the desert night. The longer he talked, the more distance they’d have from Broken Ridge. And, as a not inconsiderable bonus, the longer he talked, the longer he lived.

  There was one other factor at play. Perhaps the most crucial one of all. The longer Chris Fontaine delayed pulling the trigger, the less chance there was that he actually would.

  “Can I ask you something, Chris?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “How’d you figure out I was under cover?”

  “I didn’t. Gretchen did.”

  Ty took the risk of moving his head so that he was looking up at Chris. It was a strange feeling to be staring up the barrel of your own gun. “And how did she find out?”

  Chris smirked. “You must have thought I was a real hick, getting taken in by all your Marine Corps bull crap.”

  Now Ty had an insight into why Chris was so upset. He felt Ty had made him look stupid. He’d humiliated him. At least, that was how he saw it. It didn’t strike Ty as a good enough reason to murder someone. But then again Ty’s ego wasn’t so fragile that he had to get his rocks off sleeping with underage girls and bossing around a group of spotty teenagers.

  “That part wasn’t a lie, Chris. I was in the Marines. Served the tours I told you about. The only thing I lied about was my real name and why I was here. And I couldn’t exactly have told Gretchen the truth about either of those things.”

  “You’re a liar.”

  “I can prove it.”

  “Oh, yeah? How are you going to do that? You really think I’m going to let you up? How dumb do you think I am?”

  With a bit of luck, you’ll be just dumb enough, thought Ty.

  “You don’t need to let me go. You don’t even have to let me stand up, if you don’t want to. But I can still prove it.”

  “How?”

  Ty closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks. That was all he needed to hear. Human curiosity had come to his rescue, the overwhelming need to know. Assuming that Chris’s hands weren’t so sweaty that his finger slipped on the trigger, biomechanics should take care of the rest.

  “I have a United States Marine Corps tattoo on my right arm,” said Ty. “I got it after I finished my first tour of Iraq.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Look for yourself if you don’t believe me. It’s a pretty easy thing to check.”

  Chris seemed torn between wariness and curiosity. Ty slowly lifted his hand, ready to roll back the sleeve of his shirt. As he moved, his hand rose in a slow arc toward the barrel of the gun.

  “No!” Chris shouted.

  Ty’s arm froze.

  “I’ll do it,” said Chris. “Put your hand down.”

  Ty complied with the request. He lowered his arm so that his hand was back by his side. He’d guessed that when he’d moved first, Chris would want to take back control of the situation.

  In a standoff it was always preferable to let the other person think that what was happening was their idea.

  Ty glanced up at him. As he tilted his head so that he could see Chris, a fresh channel of sweat trickled its way down past his left eyebrow and into his eye. “You really going to kill me?” Ty asked.

  “You think I don’t have it in me?” Chris responded.

  With the gun in his right hand, Chris reached over to pull up Ty’s sleeve.

  “I don’t know. Do you?” said Ty.

  Chris stared down at him, his fingers grasping the fabric as he began to roll the sleeve up. “Maybe it’s not my first time. You ever think of that?”

  The way he’d said that was chilling. It didn’t come off like a boast. Or a threat. More as a calmly stated matter of record. There was a look on his face that Ty hadn’t seen before. It was as if a mask had melted away to reveal a completely different person underneath. Ty, who didn’t scare easily, found it chilling.

  “Know what?” said Ty, focusing all his attention on Chris’s right hand. The hand that was holding the gun that was still pointed at his head.

  “What?” Chris said, with a sneer, as he stared Ty down.

  Ty could tell that Chris was getting off on this. At having another man, a man he had been afraid of, now at his mercy.

  “I believe you,” said Ty. “I sincerely do.” He felt Chris’s fingers against his biceps as the man’s fingers eased back the sleeve of his shirt. Chris was still staring him down. Any second now, he would glance over to see if Ty had also been telling the truth about the tattoo. When he did, Ty would have one chance to save himself from getting his brains blown out.

  “So who was it, Chris? Who’d you kill?”

  Chris answered with a smirk.

  “Was it that kid Jennifer?” Ty said.

  The smirk dissolved. Maybe Ty had hit a nerve.

  “She get tired of you like Rachel had? I mean, I know you like ’em young.”

  Ty saw Chris’s hand tighten around the SIG. He glanced over at Ty’s arm.

  With his toes dug into the ground, Ty pushed off hard, using his gluteal muscles and thighs to propel himself forward. The barrel of the gun slipped over the top of his head as his shoulders slammed into Chris’s hips. Pain surged all the way down his spine from his injured shoulder. The gun went off, the noise deafening. Chris lost his balance and fell backwards. Ty went with him, launching an elbow at his face as they rolled.

  Ty’s elbow went wide. It slammed painfully into the ground. The impact sent a fresh bolt of searing pain through his body.

  Chris still had hold of the gun. Trapped under the weight of Ty’s body, he tried to wriggle back to get the distance to draw down.

  Ty followed him. Pushing off with his feet, he managed to stay on top. He drew a fist back and slammed it hard into the side of Chris’s face.

  Chris kept pushing back, trying to get out from under Ty and back onto his feet. His hand twisted round, his finger on the trigger. He started to squeeze off another shot. Ty rolled off him. Chris fired. Ty felt the round part the air next to him.

  Chris started to get back to his feet. Ty was lying on his side, facing his opponent. If Chris managed to get up with Ty still on the ground, it would all be over.

  Fighting through the pain in his shoulder, Ty shot out a hand, and grabbed Chris’s right foot. He pulled back as hard as he could. Chris swayed for a second, desperately fighting to keep his balance.

  He tried to kick his foot free, but Ty kept a firm hold it. He twisted and wrenched it as hard as he could. He hung on, twisting it hard to one side. Chris yelled in pain, and, finally, lost his balance, firing the gun again as he fell.

  A puff of dust pinged up from the ground, only inches behind Ty, as Chris toppled over backwards.

  With no time to waste, Ty scrambled toward him. He launched himself for Chris’s right arm. Pinning it under his knees, making sure he couldn’t fire another round in his direction, Ty drew back a fist and punched Chris hard in the chest. The blow caught him flush in the solar plexus.

  Chris gasped, all the air rushing from his lungs. He struggled for breath.

  This was Ty’s chance. He moved for the gun. Chris tightened his grip on it. Ty grabbed his wrist, and bent it back at the joint. His fingers opened. Ty reached over with his other free hand and lifted the gun clear of his grip.

  He let go of Chris’s wrist, and switched the gun to his right hand. It was Ty’s index finger that slipped over the trigger. He pointed the gun at Chris Fontaine’s head.

  He would have enjoyed nothing more than pulling the trigger, and blowing the man’s head off. But there were too many questions still un
answered.

  Ty’s finger drew back from the trigger. He kept his grip around the gun tight, drew his hand, and smashed the butt of the SIG hard into Chris’s mouth, taking out two of his front teeth with one mighty blow.

  Chris screamed in pain. His hand flew up to shield his face from another blow. Ty got to his feet. He stood over Chris for a moment, still tempted to pull the trigger and finish him off. Instead, he reached down, grabbed Chris by the hair and yanked him onto his feet, spun him round, and jabbed the barrel hard into the bottom of his spine.

  “Move. Before I change my mind about killing you,” Ty barked.

  64

  Both hands clamped firmly over her ears, Mary stood at the side of the road with Ruth. The sound of gunfire from earlier seemed to have tipped her completely over the edge. Ruth had had to half drag, half cajole her friend all the way there. She couldn’t leave her behind, especially not now, but it would have been a lot easier to get away on her own.

  At least now they had reached the main road, they could wait. Next to her, Mary sank into a crouching position, and began to sway back and forth. So far they hadn’t seen a single vehicle. Not that they’d been there very long. Maybe only a few minutes at most. But Ruth knew that if they saw one, and the driver picked out Mary in their headlights, they’d keep driving.

  Ruth came up behind Mary, grasped her uninjured arm and peeled her hand away from her ear. Mary’s head whipped round. “No one’s going to stop if you’re sitting here like this.”

  Mary started to make a high-pitched keening noise. It was as much as Ruth could do not to slap her. “Listen, I’m scared too,” she said. “But we both have to be strong if we’re going to get out of here. And when we do, I’m going to get you help, okay? Real help, from people who know what they’re doing.”

  The keening noise stopped. Her words appeared to be getting through. She pulled Mary to her feet. “How’s your arm?” she asked.