by Robena Grant
“The cowboy.”
“Oh, him.” Debbie swallowed hard. She shot Jack an apologetic glance. “He wasn’t my boyfriend, just some dumb private investigator from Los Angeles.” She figured if she could convince Ira she had no interest in anything but getting her daughter back, and that she was working alone, he’d play along.
When he didn’t answer, she continued. “Listen, the cops are running all over the place looking for you. Nobody is paying any mind to me. If you can give me a location, and an idea of what you’re looking for, I’ll see if I can find it and I’ll come to you.”
Jack nodded his head. Good. She’d said the right thing.
“No,” Ira said sharply.
Her eyes widened at his response. She stared at Jack. He stood so close, his head almost touching hers as he listened to Ira’s voice. Okay, okay, maybe what she’d suggested was dumb. Of course he’d guess she’d be followed. She felt the beginnings of panic and looked to Jack for help, but he was busy writing.
He held up a piece of paper. All she read was: cell phones, no tracer. She nodded.
“Here’s an idea,” she said to Ira. “We can use cell phones. They were going to put tracers on all my lines, but typical of our PD they haven’t gotten to that yet. So my line is clean. I’ll get in my car, and then I’ll call you. You could feed me directions every few minutes.”
“Did you get a package from Mexico a couple of weeks ago?”
Debbie’s heartbeat raced. He wasn’t angry, and she felt sure he’d come around to her way of thinking. She faked, as if she were pondering the question. “Um, a package…no, I don’t think so. Not that I can think of. Can you be more…oh, wait a minute. Yes. There was a new cover to my cushion, sent from a company in Cancun. You see I bought that—”
“Shut up!”
Debbie froze. Oh hell, he’d gone right back to angry again. She couldn’t afford to anger him. If Janelle was still alive then she needed to keep Ira calm.
“Where is it?”
“The cover?”
“Yes, the damn cover.”
She ran a hand over the blue cushion cover. “It’s in the storage cupboard in the spa. It’s in a plastic envelope along with a note from the business manager of the firm.”
“Get it. Get in your car and travel south on Washington and West on Avenue Fifty toward La Quinta. Now! Damn it. Leave your cell phone turned on. I’ll feed you instructions. Any sign of a cop, and the kid is dead.”
Oh thank god, thank god. Thank you, thank you, Janelle is alive. Debbie repeated the number twice. Then she and Jack ran to her car.
****
“I’ll be in the trunk,” Jack said to Debbie, as he reached to open it.
“No.”
“Yes. I’ll disengage the lock. Don’t worry.”
“But you’re hurt and—”
“I’m fine. He’ll check your car first thing. Remember he thinks I’m dead.”
“But, will you be able to breathe in there?”
“Yes. I’ve done it before.” The last thing he needed was to have Debbie worrying about his welfare. “Listen closely. When you park, try to angle the trunk toward his vehicle or house or building, so I can see what’s going on. You get out, and hold the cushion cover up so it’s visible. He’ll focus on that. Hold it up as you walk toward him, and I’ll keep the gun trained on him.”
“Okay, then what?”
“Tell him to release Janelle, and tell him that when she gets in the passenger seat you’ll put the cover on the ground and leave.” Jack got into the trunk and disconnected the lock. He opened and closed the lid. Then he left it open a slit. Perfect. “Deb,” he called out.
“What?”
Her voice was muffled. Damn, he’d hoped it would be clearer. “Wait. Hop out for a minute,” Jack yelled.
She did and walked back to the trunk. “Walk over there, a few yards away and take a look back,” he said. “Tell me if it looks like it’s open, or suspicious in any way.” He positioned himself in the small trunk and ignored the searing pain and heat that shot along the side of his face. He breathed slowly, deeply, as her jean clad legs walked a short distance. Then he got to admire almost all of her, and forgot for a moment about his injuries.
“It looks good. I can’t detect anything,” she said.
“Good. Come on back.”
He got out of the trunk, and wrapped her in his arms. Then he kissed her soundly. “You’ll need to leave your cell phone on, to stay in contact with Ira. I’ll be able to hear a bit. Make sure you end the call before saying anything. Speak loud and clear when you repeat his words. Use as few words as necessary. Okay?”
She nodded, but looked worried. “If I don’t hear, it’ll be okay. I’ll be able to see some of where we are, once I crack the trunk open. It’s just, anything you can feed me in advance…”
“Sure.” She nodded again.
“Good luck,” he said, and he released her and hurried to the back of the car. And this time when he got inside, he took it slow, and stretched out in the trunk while cradling his head.
Chapter Twenty
It was damn cramped in the trunk and Jack’s head throbbed in pain. His guess was they’d travelled about three or four miles. He remembered Janelle’s eyes when he’d found her in that back room. She was a brave little thing. Painful as this was he could live with it.
He rested on his side with his damaged forehead in the crook of one elbow, his long legs drawn up toward his chest. He heard the cell phone ring and strained to hear. There was a low murmur of Debbie’s voice, then nothing. He sensed the vehicle climbing. Now they were going uphill, but to where? He didn’t know the Coachella Valley area well, just enough to get around the central part of Almagro.
“Cove,” Debbie called out. Then she repeated it. “Cove.”
What the hell? Where was there a cove? They were in the damn desert. And they were climbing. He’d have expected mountain. But cove? Did she say cave?
“Cave?” he called back.
“Cove. Exercise.”
Exercise? What the hell?
He ran the two words through his mind looking for a connection. Then he remembered the night at Rachel’s restaurant when he’d first met the ladies. They’d spoken of a sunrise hike at the cove, and the trail had a funny name.
“Cove. Yes,” he yelled.
“Bump and Grind.”
“Great.”
If he could have snapped his fingers, he would have. That was it, a mountain hiking area. At this time of day it wouldn’t be busy. Most everyone stayed indoors in the late afternoon when the sun was at its most intense. Sunrise and sunset were the key times of day for exercise in the desert. His heart rate increased and his head pounded, and he nestled his head tighter into his forearm. They travelled for another two or three miles and he sensed the higher elevation.
Breathe deep, breathe easy, he reminded himself. Then he wriggled his shoulders to reduce the sudden adrenaline rush. Stay in the moment. Focus.
“Parking lot,” Debbie said. “White van.”
“Good.” He felt the car slow, and then it turned right for a short distance. He was ready.
He’d seen photographs of the hiking trails in the Welcome to the Desert pamphlets in his hotel room. There were several entry points. Some from the other side of the mountain, but most people apparently used the Bump and Grind trail. That part of the Santa Rosa Mountains consisted of foothills, rocky and sandy terrain, with very little vegetation.
Probably there’d be an occasional sage brush, or an old tamarisk tree with a skinny trunk, but nothing big enough to shield a man. They’d be out in the open, at the top of the mountain in a sandy parking lot. A cop car would have been highly visible, nowhere to hide, so he felt less guilty for not having called Stanton to tell him where they were headed. Besides, Stanton had been working for himself.
He had no idea what Ira’s weapons would be, but that had been a Glock he’d hit him with earlier. Who knew what else he had stashed ins
ide that van? The guy could bury their bodies easily in the sand, and they wouldn’t be found for weeks or months, or never. Stop it, he warned himself. Stop the damn second guessing.
The car came to a stop. Then the engine was turned off. He tensed his shoulders, relaxed them, tensed and relaxed. This was it, showdown. He inched the trunk up a crack and saw sand and small pebbles, lots of sand. In the distance he could see the back of the van. He held the trunk lid with one hand and steadied his gun toward the crack with the other. The driver side door opened and closed.
“Stay there,” a man’s voice said.
“Okay,” Debbie said.
Jack strained to hear but the only sound was footsteps crunching on gravel as the man he assumed was Ira, approached. He stopped at the front of the car. Jack figured Ira was looking inside the vehicle, and he moved forward a few inches and leaned his ear to the half inch crack around the trunk’s door.
“Act natural,” Ira said sharply.
The sudden warning alerted Jack to trouble. Ira sounded closer now. He imagined he was facing the car near the driver’s side door. What was up?
“Tell me how many there are.”
Jack strained to get his ear even closer to the crack. What? How many what?
“Um…One. Two. Three,” Debbie said. “They’re tourists, by the look of their clothing.”
“Are they all on bikes?”
“Yes,” Debbie said.
Shit. Jack’s arm was getting a cramp from hanging onto the door of the trunk. They had company. Debbie had seemed to hesitate in answering the number of unexpected guests, and he wondered what that was about. She’d used Juan’s code. Could it be a clue? Meant for him?
“Keep on talking until they pass,” the guy said.
“It looks like they’ll head toward the dry river bed. There’s a biker’s trail down there that leads all the way to Old Town. Hi, how you guys doing?” she called out loudly.
“Fabulous. Great day…isn’t it?” a female voice called out.
“Perfect,” Debbie said.
Someone else murmured, and there were a couple of sounds of laughter, and then the voices faded. Jack was getting itchy. He imagined Ira with a gun in his jacket pocket, his hand on it and keeping it trained on Debbie as he pushed her against the car. He raised the lid a tiny bit more, but couldn’t see anything.
“So, only two girls and one guy, and they’re almost out of sight,” Debbie said. “Coast’s clear. Where is Janelle?”
“You’ll get her, when I get the package.”
“Fair enough, you can see it’s on the front seat. Now, how about you bring Janelle out and I put the package down on that rock over there. Then I’ll step back to the car and you set my daughter free.”
There was a long silence and Jack felt restless.
“You release Janelle,” Debbie said. “And then we’re even.”
Ira laughed, and Jack flinched at the tone.
Why was Debbie changing their plan? Why the rock? He had to trust her that it was significant in some way.
“I never expected you to be packing,” Ira said.
Debbie had a gun? What the hell? Had she hidden it underneath the package with the cover inside?
“When you live alone, you learn to do a lot of things,” Debbie said. “I won’t use it, unless you fire yours.”
“Wendy,” Ira yelled. “Let the girl out. I’m heading over there. One shot from you, and your girl is dead. Wendy’s armed too.”
Jack could tell by the sound of the voice and the footsteps in the sand and crushed rock that Ira had advanced toward the van. Ira could be bluffing about Wendy being armed, but he had to consider she was, at least for the moment. He pushed the trunk lid a bit higher, and saw the man’s back. It was now, or never. He slid out. Closed the lid softly, crouched down, and inched around the passenger side of the car.
He couldn’t risk firing on Ira yet. He had to see Janelle first. Had to make sure Wendy was the only other passenger in the van. He prayed she’d be unarmed.
Beyond a substantial rock, the one he assumed Debbie would put the package on top of, he saw the slightest glint of sun on metal. He froze near the back wheel, and then crouched lower. Raised his gun and narrowed his eyes. His head throbbed and he wished he had sunglasses. He blinked a few times, and gradually his vision adjusted to the bright afternoon sun. He squinted at the rock again. What the hell was he seeing?
There was the tiniest sliver of shiny black, like a giant snake. Or was it a leg and a crouched figure behind that rock? He squinted harder. Was it a friend or foe? He cursed under his breath. Now he had to keep his eyes on three people, and all with guns, and also however many people might spill out of the van with Janelle.
****
Debbie had no idea who the guy on the bike was. But she was sure one of the females was an Almagro cop. She’d winked as she’d called out a greeting, and Debbie had prayed Ira hadn’t seen her own split-second reaction of recognition.
She’d stayed still, barely breathing as the guy had broken away from the other three higher up on the trail. He’d laid his bicycle on the path, and as swift as a snake and looking a little like one in his black shiny bike pants and snug T-shirt, he’d dropped to his belly and slithered along the path and taken up a position behind a large boulder. Her heart had pounded so loudly and her voice trapped in her throat when Ira, who’d kept his back to the bicyclists and his hand over the gun he had trained on her, asked how many people were in the group.
Ira approached his van, and glanced toward the rock, and she hoped she’d spoken loud enough for Jack to hear her hesitation when she’d said three.
“Deb.”
It was a hiss, not much more than an Irishman’s whisper, but her heart almost exploded with gratitude. Jack had managed to get out of the trunk. She knew he was on the other side of the car, and she tried to get control of her breath.
The damn gun had gotten heavy when she’d held it trained on Ira, and she relaxed her posture a little, although she kept him in her sight. He was at the back of the van now. When Janelle had gone away to college, Rachel had said it was a necessity for her to have a gun. Thank heavens she’d insisted on taking her to the firing range. Stay calm. Stay calm. She leaned her back against the door of her car and took a cautious look toward the rock, and gripped the package tight to her chest. Now it was down to them, three of them, if the guy in black was on their side.
“Mom.”
“Honey.” Debbie almost dropped the pistol. She moved toward Janelle.
“Hold it,” Ira said. He kept the gun trained on Janelle, pointing it at her temple as he moved her forward in front of him. “Put the package on the rock, then back away from it. Once it’s there, I’ll release Janelle.”
Debbie made eye contact with Janelle. Sure you will. “Where is Wendy?”
“In the van.”
Debbie swallowed hard. “I want her out here, so I can see her. And leave the back doors of the van open. I need to know there’s nobody else working with you.”
“Wendy, get your ass out here,” Ira yelled.
Wendy climbed out of the back of the van and came around to stand beside him.
“Over here,” Debbie said, keeping the gun trained on Ira. “You stand next to me Wendy, until Janelle is in the car.”
Ira pushed Wendy forward without a fight. Great father. Wendy shuffled over but wouldn’t meet Debbie’s eyes.
“Okay,” Debbie said, and held the gun to the back of Wendy’s head. Two can play the same game. She’d seen enough movies and television shows to know how it worked, but she still couldn’t stop the trembling inside, even though outwardly she appeared calm.
“Here, you hold the package, Wendy. Walk in front of me to that large rock. Put it on the top.”
Wendy whimpered, and Debbie shoved her forward.
“A daughter for a daughter,” she said, into Wendy’s ear. “It’ll be an even trade.”
If the going got tough, would Ira care two bits
about his girl? She wondered if Wendy sensed that. With the package placed on the rock she walked her back to the side of the car. It had come to the telling moment. When Ira had the package in his hands would he open fire, and then make a run for it? She sensed that he would. Her job would be to save Janelle, and if she could, Wendy.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jack positioned himself so he could see the rock clearly. Ira took long steps backward, dragging Janelle toward it, using her body to shield himself from Debbie’s gun. He still held the gun to her head, and Debbie had Wendy at gunpoint near the driver’s side of the car. Jack knew timing was everything.
The slightest movement behind the rock as a gun was raised then dropped, the universal indicator for “go” alerted Jack. Ira turned, reached for the package, and Jack had to trust the sign and the unknown entity.
He pulled open the passenger door and used it as a shield, and began firing off rounds but not with the idea of hitting Ira, and certainly not Janelle. It was a distraction to startle him. Ira spun around, but he pulled Janelle tight in front of his body. He cocked the gun, looking every which way in the direction of Debbie’s car. Jack saw a shiny black figure of a man slide up onto the rock. He cracked Ira over the head with his gun, leaped down from the rock, and shoved Janelle behind him.
Jack tore around behind the vehicle, and then dashed to the back of the van, using it as a second shield. Through the sand and dust he saw Ira was doubled over, but he still held onto his gun and he fired it randomly.
“Take cover,” the guy in black yelled at Janelle.
Jack shot a glance their way. The guy had dragged her away from Ira and shoved her back to the rock. Janelle ran behind it, and ducked down. Ira was still doubled over. Jack ate up the short space between them, pumping his legs as hard as his weary muscles could go, kicking up a small sand storm as he went.
Ira started firing blindly in his direction, then toward the rock, then toward Debbie’s car. The guy in black had taken cover with Janelle. Jack came up behind Ira, kicked him between the shoulder blades and the older guy slumped forward, but still didn’t release the gun.