“Operation Your Cheatin’ Wife just stormed the front,” Kip reported.
Jack returned to the first door and used his other favorite tool and zapped the lock. He opened the door and heard the sounds of crying, whimpering women. Taking precaution, he entered and shined his light around, revealing a bare bones room with six cots shoved together, each occupied with a young woman wrapped in a thin blanket. Desperation etched their faces.
“Do any of you speak English?” Jack asked.
“I do,” said one. She didn’t look more then twelve.
He explained he was there to help and asked her to get everyone up and not to be afraid.
“What about the room next door? More women?”
“Yes.”
“What about rooms three and four?”
“No, mister. Those rooms are bad. Bad things.”
“Can you get everyone up?”
“Yes.”
Jack zapped the door next to it, opened it, and listened. The sounds were slightly different, but they echoed desperation. He shined his light and sucked in his breath; it was difficult to remain calm, anger simmered through his body. He returned to the first room and took the English-speaking woman to the room to explain. Six other young woman or girls, he couldn’t tell, appeared drugged. She spoke in a language Jack did not recognize. One out of the six was coherent. Jack motioned for her to come and closed the door.
“Are they drugged? Can they walk?”
“Please, mister, please don’t leave them,” she pleaded. “Please.”
Back in the first room, the women were up. They had no shoes and no clothes other than a T-shirt and a skimpy blanket.
“Can you each help one from the next room?”
They all nodded. He took the women to the next room where they partnered up.
“Where are your clothes?” he asked.
“They take them away at night.”
Jack called Kip for ideas. Cassie said to pad their feet with towels and wrap them in as many plastic bags as possible. He headed back to the kitchen, looking for anything. Thank god for Washington State recycle laws, thought Jack. Bag after bag of canvas-style grocery bags hung on the back of a door. He grabbed them all and then found several rolls of paper towels. He pulled drawers open, looking for scissors and tape and found duct tape. Jack showed the women how to bind their feet. He went hunting for any sort of clothes and found the laundry room with clean men’s clothes. Filling his arms, Jack headed back to the room. The women snatched up the clothes, put them on, and helped the others. They used the blankets as shawls. Everyone was ready to leave.
Out the back, up the ramp, he stopped and listened. By the sounds of it, Operation Your Cheatin’ Wife was in full action. The rat-a-tat-tat of spitting gunfire erupted.
“Come,” he said.
They looked like a small herd of deer moving slow across the acreage. The drugged women kept pace better than Jack expected, but it was still slow going. Near the fence, Jack had the women lay flat on the ground. He signaled Kip to start cutting.
Kip, Jeannie, and Cassie cut the fence fast and furiously. Kip pulled it apart and whistled to Jack it was a go. The women sprinted across the last fifty feet and through the opening. Jack was last. They hustled them behind the big boulder.
“We need to get these women out of here and up to the barn. You two take the Jeep and bring back the Tahoe. We can make a couple of trips.”
Jeannie and Cassie left.
Three trips later, everyone was inside the barn. The women were huddled together on old bales of hay. Some were crying softly, others held each other.
Jack knelt down in front of the woman who spoke English, “You’re safe.”
“Thank you.” Tears streamed down her face.
“You can’t leave them here. It’s cold, and my guess is they are hungry,” Jeannie pointed out. “Why not take them to the café. It’s secure, it’s safe.”
After conferring with everyone, they agreed that the Ferry Dock Café would be a good spot to hold the victims. Jeannie and Cassie went ahead to open it up, while Kip and Jack figured out how to transport the twelve women.
Deep in mediation, Montana continued to chant softly. It was her will up against his. Further and further she cleared the black aura that surrounded the two of them until she disconnected his possession of her. Wailing, horrific screams vibrated around her. Exhausted, with her heart pounding, Montana took several breaths, slowly coming out of meditation. Rage like she’d never felt before surrounded her. Outside the choir room in the hall, Margery Anne screamed profanity. A door slammed and then another.
Montana pushed aside the choir robes and listened at the door. Silence. She sprinted down the hall to the back door. Locked. At this point, she didn’t care and ran to the front and unbolted the lock and slipped out just in time to see Margery Ann drive into her garage. The door closed. So where did Rob Armstrong go? Running, Montana made it to her car in record time. She squealed out of the parking lot and raced down the road, heading to Blue Heron Lane. Not until she had accurate information did she want to call Kip.
Chapter Forty-Four
Jack left Kip with the District Attorney, who was also a Deputy Sheriff, at the Ferry Dock Café. Cassie had just served the women a big bowl of steaming rice and a pot of tea. Jeannie placed an entire apple pie and a coffee pot on the men’s table. From what Jack could tell, everyone seemed content for the moment.
When he arrived at the compound, they’d just cuffed four men and read them their rights. As far as Jack was concerned, they didn’t have any, but that was his opinion. He walked up to the first guy and took his knife, sliced his shirt open, and ripped it off.
“If it’s good enough for the women, it’s good enough for you.” Jack proceeded to yank open all the men’s shirts. “Don’t let them have any shoes either.”
“Little pissed are you?” Ray grinned. “Any word on Armstrong?” Before Jack answered, Ray’s cellphone rang, and when he finished listening, he jammed it in his pocket. “Got my answer, you’re driving.”
Jack parked next to Montana’s Saab by the Ryan’s shed. The men jogged to the neighboring property and dropped behind the stacked wood.
“Psst. Up here.” She waved her hand through an opening of the deck.
Jack and Ray joined her.
“I’m thinking of cuffing you to a tree,” whispered Ray.
“Seriously?”
“Very.”
“He’s in the house by himself. The security lights aren’t on.”
“Do not get off this deck. Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly.”
“Let’s go knock and talk,” said Ray.
Ray and Jack pounded on Armstrong’s door, demanding he open up. A porch light came on, and Armstrong looked out the window. After a moment, he opened the door with only a towel wrapped around his hips.
Before Ray got one word out, Armstrong sneered and said, “You don’t have a fuckin’ thing on me.”
Ray asked him a couple of questions, and Armstrong answered with derogatory comments. Fed up, Ray said, “We’re done. You can do your talking at the station.”
Jack cuffed him while Ray read him his rights.
A car slammed into the garbage cans by the house, and the driver’s door flew open. Margery Anne exited, screaming profanity, marching towards them.
“Mrs. Black, stay back. Stay back now,” Ray shouted.
She stopped. “You lying piece of shit.”
“Mrs. Black, I’m ordering you to stay back.”
“You’re nothing but a fucking whore. You couldn’t get enough of me,” Armstrong mocked her.
She remained motionless for a moment. “You will rot in hell!” Her rage fueled her forward, and her trench coat gapped open,
revealing complete nudity.
“Ah, Christ,” muttered Ray, attempting to stop her, but she plunged forward, around him.
“Hell will not be good enough for you,” she screamed, pulling a gun out of her pocket and shooting Armstrong three times in the chest.
He slumped forward, and her last shot hit Jack. Blood gushed everywhere.
“Shit,” yelled Ray. He kicked Margery Anne’s feet away and grappled her to the ground. After he cuffed her, he shouted, “Montana, I’m ordering you off the deck and over here.”
She ran across the yard. “Ray?”
“Call Kip.”
“I already did.” She knelt down by Jack’s head, touching his forehead. “Jack?”
He opened his eyes and groaned. Blood covered his body. Montana unzipped his jacket, looking for the wound but found none, other than a pierced hole in his vest.
“I’m okay.” He let out a long, loud breath. “It’s not my blood. See if he’s dead.”
Montana leaned over Armstrong’s body. There was nothing left of his aura to even check. His spirit was on its way to being caught in a web of hell, just like Margery Anne predicted, never to be released.
“Is he dead?” asked Ray.
“Yes,” she replied without checking for a pulse.
Kip handed Cassie his phone and nodded for Jeannie to join him. She grabbed a plate of heaping cookies and came through the swinging doors.
“She needs her privacy.” Kip put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “How much more baking are you going to do?” He smiled at her. “Not that we’re complaining.”
“When I calm down.” She placed the plate on the women’s table. They all smiled shyly and took one quickly. Jeannie walked back over to where Kip stood. “What’s going to happen now?”
“Not much until the ferries start running in the morning. Margery Anne will go in one cell and the men in the other. The volunteer firemen are wrapping up Armstrong. Everybody needs to be transferred over to Friday Harbor. It’s going to be a long morning.”
Cassie wiped her eyes before pushing through the swinging doors. She managed a smile, trying to hide how shaken she was and handed Kip back his phone. “Jack wants to talk to you.”
She returned with Jeannie to the kitchen. The timer buzzed for the next batch of cookies to come out of the oven. Neither woman said much. They prepped another cookie sheet, and Jeannie popped it in the oven. Cassie stuffed pieces of cookie in her mouth.
“Is this how you deal with it?” she asked Jeannie, pointing around. “I mean baking, not eating.”
“Yes. But I do both. To me, food is comfort.”
She finished the cookie and grabbed another one. “He likes his job and he’s good at it. Everyone should do what they like to do, right?”
Cassie sighed, shaking her head gently. “I might need to buy bigger jeans if this continues. Who would have ever thought?” She stuffed another cookie in her mouth.
Chapter Forty-Five
Freshly showered and in a change of clothes, Jack entered the brightly lit Ferry Dock café. The twelve rescued women had their heads on their arms and were asleep at the table by the window. Montana was in the corner giving a statement to the Deputy Sheriff. Jeannie and Kip sat together at a table in between it all. Jeannie put her finger to her lips and pointed to the kitchen.
He flew through the swinging doors like a football player scoring a touchdown. Not even the noise of the doors banging woke her. Cassie had her head cradled on a pillow at a small table. After watching the vile temper of MAMW and Armstrong, more than anything he just wanted Cassie, the way her eyes crinkled with a smile when she saw him and how she kissed him with so much enthusiasm. At this point, he didn’t care if she spoke in one of her goofy accents. Nothing like being shot to remind you what you want. And he wanted her.
Jack knelt next to her and touched her cheek. “Hey.”
Her eyes fluttered, so he touched her cheek again.
Now wide opened and focused, she cried, “Oh, Jack.” She threw her arms around him.
He winced but didn’t care. Jack picked her up and cradled her in his arms and kissed her like tomorrow would never come. Finally, he pulled away and held her face, but he wanted to taste her all over again.
“Someone’s going to tell us to get a room,” she murmured. Resting her head on his chest, she sighed and then choked. “I hear your heart.” Cassie burst into tears.
He’d been impressed with her calmness earlier when he told her he’d been shot. Her reaction now seemed more normal. Slowly, she calmed down and sniffled a few times, wiping her nose on his T-shirt.
“Where does it hurt the most?” she asked.
“Where your hand is pressing on my chest.”
“Oh.” She moved it. “You could have been killed.”
His voice was calm, his gaze steady. “But I wasn’t. I had my vest on. That vest is like MasterCard. You don’t want to leave home without it.”
She laughed and hiccupped at the same time.
“Are you ready to go home? I told Ray I’d be back here at ten.”
“Yes. I think I’m too tired to even walk.”
Jack grinned. It was so nice to hear her being normal. “Climb on my back and I’ll give you a piggy-back ride.”
Through the swinging doors they went. Cassie waved to Kip and Jeannie.
At Blue Heron Lane, Jack stopped. “Guess what?”
“I don’t have to duck down.”
Instead of concealing the truck, Jack pulled up left of the house with a view of the water. For a moment, they sat quietly, looking at the water. He reached for her hand and held it.
“It all seems so innocent,” remarked Cassie. “Tranquil.”
“You never know what goes on behind closed doors.”
“Hmm. Speaking of closed doors…exactly how tired are you?”
Jack laughed. “I thought you were tired.”
She grabbed his face and kissed him with a hotness that surprised him, and he didn’t hesitate to return it.
“Push the seat back,” she demanded and started climbing over.
“Will you do this every time I get shot?” he asked, his voice ragged, pulling at her top.
“Is that what this is about?” She yanked at his pants.
“Hell, I don’t know, but it works for me.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Cassie snuggled into the covers. The morning sun streamed through the window. She stretched and sighed, knowing it was time to get up. Jack was on the phone with someone, and she needed a shower.
The hot water felt good, energizing her tired body. Where in the world did Jack get his energy? At the moment, she felt like she could sleep all day.
“Hey,” he called.
Cassie peaked around the shower curtain. With his phone to his ear, he held up a cup of coffee. She stuck her hand out and took it. Yeah, Mom, it’s the little things isn’t it? Sipping her drink, she let the water beat against her back. Invigorated, she shut off the water, got dressed, and headed to the kitchen.
Looking like he’d had eight hours of sleep, Jack smiled when he saw her.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“It’s still early. Seven thirty. Would you like to take a walk on the beach? It might be the only time we’ll have alone today.”
“Love to. I’ll grab some boots.” Next to the boot box was a wadded up black garbage bag. She peeked inside and gulped. Jack’s blood covered clothes and his vest. She closed it and called, “Do you want boots too?”
“Sure.”
Hand in hand, they walked along the wet sand with the waves coming up around by their ankles. Jack wadded up pieces of bread and threw them up in the air. The Seagulls swooped down, chattering up a storm. They walked until they came to a
driftwood log where they sat.
“We need to talk about last night.” He nudged her with his elbow.
“Do you mean once we got home or before that?”
“Before.”
She sighed and squeezed his hand tight, not letting go. “You mean getting shot.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re worried about my reaction.”
“Yes.”
“You know,” Cassie held his gaze, nodding. “I’m okay with it all. I really am. That’s just part of your job, and I wouldn’t want you doing anything else. You like what you do, and I think they’re really lucky to have you.”
A slow smile formed on his lips.
“I can’t promise you I won’t fall apart once in a while. Can you handle that?”
“Oh, yeah. I can.”
“Then I can handle you being Wyatt Earp, lawman of the west.” Cassie wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed, but more than anything she just wanted to kiss him, so she did.
He didn’t seem to mind. Grinning, Jack grabbed her hand and they headed back.
The Ferry Dock café buzzed with activity. Three news trucks were parked out front: one from Bellingham and two from Victoria, B.C. Seattle hadn’t arrived yet. Kip had a coffee pot in his hand going from table to table. Jeannie stood behind the counter looking exhausted. Edwina poked her head through the window, calling for Jeannie with another order.
“Just give me an apron, a piece of toast, and I can help,” said Cassie.
“Thank you. Montana is also helping. She’s in the back.”
Cassie found Montana adjusting a blond wig over her own hair. She glanced at Cassie. “That’s just too many news people and reporters for me. I’d just as soon stay anonymous.”
The feeling was mutual. Cassie tucked her hair up under the auburn wig she found in Montana’s box. Stuffing a piece of toast in her mouth, she tied up her apron and started through the swinging doors and paused. She turned back to Montana and with her best southern drawl she said, “Just call me Sammi. That’s Sammi with an i.”
Deep Into The Night (Hartz Island Series) Page 28