by Karin Story
Quickly, Maris threw everything into the van and climbed behind the wheel. She watched as the man backed out of his parking space, then she followed suit. She waited behind him as he pulled out on the street, then turned in the same direction, trying to keep a discreet distance behind. But not too far behind.
With a burst of adrenaline pounding in her veins, she realized triumphantly that she could swing down this side street and pick up the main street a little farther ahead. Her wanderings this morning had come in handy after all.
As conservatively as she could, she turned the van down the smaller street. Then she floored it and zipped to the end, where it met up with the main artery again. She could see the green Suburban coming down the street, still a half-mile away. The van careened to a stop under a drooping evergreen, and Maris yanked off the coveralls and hat as she watched the Suburban approach.
Do or die time, Rhodes. Can you do it?
Without hesitation, she answered out loud. "Hell yes."
Grabbing her backpack, she made a dash for the stop sign that the Suburban would have to obey. She snatched up several handfuls of dirt and smeared them on her jeans and coat, then crossed her fingers and prayed madly that her tossed together plan would work.
When the big vehicle slowed to a stop at the intersection, Maris limped up to the driver's side window, and smiled her best smile, tempered—she hoped—with enough pain to make him believe her. If this didn't work, she was out of luck.
She nearly cheered when the window slid down. Friendly, hazel eyes in a handsome, weathered face peered out at her.
"Hi," she said apologetically. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm in a real quandary. I was riding my mountain bike on the way home from work this afternoon, and I wrecked it a ways back. I don't have a cell phone, so I was hoping maybe I could get a ride to a pay phone so I can call my boyfriend to come get me."
The man smiled at her, then opened his door. "Sure. Let me help you. It looks like you hurt yourself."
Maris smiled back. "Thanks, I think I just twisted my ankle. I'll live, but it probably hasn't helped to hike on it."
The man took her arm firmly in his and helped her into the big captain's chair on the passenger side of the Suburban. "Would you like me to pick up your bike? I've got plenty of room to carry it."
"Oh, thanks, but Danny and I can come back and get it this evening. I stashed it behind one of the buildings back there. I don't think anyone will mess with it. Besides, it's nice enough of you to give me a ride, I don't want to put you out any further."
He was back in the driver's seat now, and turned to her. His smile and demeanor were charming. Familiar almost, although Maris was sure she'd never seen him before in her life. He probably just reminded her of her dad.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "I wouldn't mind getting it for you."
"Thanks, but really, we'll take care of it later."
"Okay. Next pay phone it is then." He smiled broadly, and Maris's heart clenched.
He seemed so nice. How could she follow through with her plan? It would be like kidnapping her own father. Good grief.
Get over it, Rhodes. This man knows something about Trent Montgomery.
With a sigh, she slowly pulled her gun out of her pack.
The man was concentrating on the road, so she took a brief moment to study him. She knew from standing next to him outside that he was over six feet tall. Maybe not quite as tall as Tom was, but close. He was a big man, but not overweight, just big boned. Brawny, like an old football player. His thick, wavy dark hair was graying at the temples, and the backs of his hands, his face, and neck were brown from sun exposure. His blue jeans were neat and clean, and the white western shirt he wore under his parka stretched across his muscular torso as he steered the big vehicle through the streets. This wasn't a city dweller.
"You seem like a very nice man," she said in a gentle, but firm voice, "and I don't want to do anything to hurt you, so just keep driving and don't do anything foolish, okay?"
He stared at her in confusion, then saw the gun pointed at his midsection. Shock and hurt flooded his face, and another wave of guilt washed over Maris.
"I'm sorry," she told him. "But you and I need to have a chat."
"Okay," he said slowly. "Where do you want me to drive?"
"North, but stay off the interstate." She picked a direction at random. It didn't really matter where. She wasn't planning on being with him for long.
He nodded. She could see his white knuckles, tight on the steering wheel.
This was the first time she'd held someone at gunpoint and wasn't quite sure how to go about doing it. It was some kind of weird power trip, holding a gun on a person and forcing them to do your bidding.
She shivered.
"What do you want to chat about?" he asked, breaking into her thoughts.
Maris eyed him warily. What if he was an agent? She'd been joking to herself earlier about kidnapping an agent, but what if that's exactly what she'd just done? Damn, damn, damn. If he worked for the DEA, she was in a shitload of trouble.
But no. She'd guessed as soon as she saw him walking to his vehicle that he wasn't an agent. He just didn't have that law enforcement kind of demeanor. And when he'd come out of the building earlier, he hadn't been talking to the other man as one who was a peer. The furrowed lines on his forehead told a tale of one who was in emotional distress. This man was hurting, and it wasn't all because she'd just carjacked him. No, she didn't believe he was an agent.
"Keep driving," she told him calmly.
He shrugged and sighed. Those worry wrinkles on his face didn't look new. They were deeply etched, as if he were a man who'd been worrying a long time.
She saw a park coming up in the distance. It looked deserted.
"Pull over here." She pointed to a side street next to the park, and he obediently did as he was told.
He parked and turned to her expectantly.
She gazed into the hazel eyes, not seeing any obvious fear. Mostly just curiosity, and something else. Pain?
She felt like a miserable wretch for doing what she was doing.
Keep your act together. This man has information you need.
"I need you to tell me everything you know about a man named Trent Montgomery," she said in a measured voice.
First she saw surprise, then his eyes hardened. "How do you know Trent Montgomery?"
"It doesn't matter how I know him. I asked you a question. Start talking." She held the gun a little closer to him for effect.
He glared at her a moment. "Wait a minute. You're the person who was raking grass outside the DEA office a little while ago."
Maris shrugged. "Tell me about Trent Montgomery."
He regarded her for several moments, then with a tired sigh, he spoke. "Trent Montgomery was a friend of my son's. At least I thought he was a friend. Now I'm having second thoughts about that."
"What do you mean? How did your son know him?"
"He and my son worked together. He trained my son when he joined the DEA. Then they were partners for a while.
"So your son's an agent, too?" Damn, she couldn't let this man even guess at who she was or he'd sic his son on her. She hadn't kidnapped an agent, just an agent's father. Great. Really great.
"My son was an agent. He's no longer alive." His voice deepened, as did the pain in his eyes.
"I'm sorry." That explained the pain. "What did you mean when you said you're having second thoughts about Trent Montgomery?"
He stared at her without answering.
"I asked you a question." Maris aimed her weapon higher, until it was pointed directly at his chest.
The man looked at her steadily. "You know, you can put that gun away. I'm not going anywhere. I would have answered your questions without force.
"I'll do this my way if you don't mind. Answer my question. Why are you having second thoughts about your son's friendship with Trent Montgomery?" God, she was so calm. How could she be holding a loaded gun on a ma
n and be so calm?
Now he looked uncomfortable, like maybe he was unsure whether she would actually use the weapon or not. He obviously decided not to take a chance because he finally answered. "A couple of things have come up that have made me wonder. For one thing, Montgomery disappeared a while back. Rumor has it he's joined up with some outfit in Mexico. And then this past weekend we heard on TV that a man named Trent Montgomery was wanted for two murders in New York and Connecticut. A security guard and a woman who hasn't been identified yet. They're having trouble because apparently her body was mutilated."
Maris gulped at this information. "Mutilated?" Sarah had said Elise was strangled.
"Yeah, her fingerprints had been removed."
A ghastly vision of what had happened to the poor woman momentarily blackened Maris's vision. My God, that woman might have been Tom's wife. She hoped with all her heart that Tom didn't know about any of this yet.
"So, this makes you suspicious about Trent's relationship with your son?"
"What's your interest in Montgomery?" he asked quietly. "He's clearly important enough to you for you to kidnap me and hold a gun on me while you question me about him. The least you could do is tell me why you're interested."
Maris gazed at him. Did she trust him? Hard not to when he reminded her of her own dad. "I guess you could say I'm looking for him," she told the man honestly.
"Why?"
"He's…stolen away someone very dear to me." That was the truth. The ache inside her that she'd been holding at bay, suddenly sprang to the forefront again. "Do you know where he is, or how I might find him?" knowing as she asked, that this man wouldn't be able to give her what she wanted to know.
He confirmed it when he said, "No. That's exactly why I was at the field office this afternoon. Hell, I drove up here from Colorado Springs only to get bureaucratic run around."
"Your son, how long ago did he die?"
"Thirteen months ago. He went out on a special assignment and didn't make it back. Shot in the line of duty."
"And you think Trent Montgomery might have had something to do with it?"
"I hadn't really thought much about it until I heard the news on TV about him a few days ago. He shrugged. "I don't know. I just had a strange feeling, so I figured I'd better drive up here and check into it. I should have known the DEA would be closed-mouthed about this whole affair. The publicity about Montgomery probably doesn't look good for them, since he used to be one of them."
Maris nodded in agreement, but disappointment flooded through her. Back to square one. This man obviously couldn't tell her what she desperately wanted to know, because he was looking for answers of his own. She didn't believe he was hiding anything from her. His pain was in his eyes. He'd lost his son and was now blaming Trent.
"Give me your keys," she told him.
"What?"
"Give me your keys," she said forcefully, holding out her hand.
He pulled the keys out of the ignition and handed them to her.
She glanced at the engraved gold key ring.
Jess Eberson. Double J Ranch.
"One more thing before I'm on my way. Have you ever met Trent Montgomery in person?"
"Once." He nodded slowly, a faraway look in his eye.
She had to know. "What does he look like?"
The man appeared to be startled at her question. "He was tall, blond. Had these striking golden eyes."
A wave of nausea hit Maris, and she had to swallow hard to force it back. "Uh, I'm sorry about your son."
She shoved the gun into her pack, threw open the door of the Suburban, and dropped to the ground at a run. She sprinted across the park, and when she got to the far side, she tossed the man's keys toward the children's playground.
Only then did she risk looking back. The man was still sitting right where she'd left him, the passenger door gaping open.
Why? Why was he just sitting there?
Damn it, Rhodes! Who cares. Get the hell out of here while you still have a chance.
Kicking her feet into motion, she ran across the street and turned onto a side street. She had to get to a phone and try to reach Sarah again. She was starting to get worried because Sarah still wasn't answering her calls today.
The next thing she knew, strong arms grabbed her from behind and a hand closed over her mouth.
Fighting and kicking with every ounce of energy she had, she was dragged into a dark, nondescript sedan.
Chapter 17
* * *
He'd about had it with this damn splint, he thought, as he wedged his hands more deeply under his armpits. Because of it, he couldn't get his left hand into the pocket of his coat, so he'd finally settled for keeping his hands warm under his arms. The wind ate through the layers of clothing he wore, and into his bones. The farther south they got, though, the warmer it would get. He hoped. That thought comforted him for two or three seconds.
The old flatbed truck hit yet another pothole, and he balanced himself against the bounce and lurch. His muscles were already tired, but he couldn't let them relax or next time the driver hit one of those damn holes, he'd tumble off and then he'd be stuck out here for God knows how long before he found another ride. Then again, maybe he should fall off. Maybe with the next ride to come along, he'd be able to sit inside.
He shifted around, trying to get his back more comfortably situated so the gun wasn't gouging into him. One of the farmer's sons in the cab of the truck noticed his movement, and the youth grinned a snaggle-toothed smile at him through the window and waved.
Of course the kid was happy. He was up there where it was warm, sitting on a nice padded seat, inside the goddamned truck.
He supposed he should be glad to have a ride at all. Otherwise, he could still be up at the border. He'd contemplated taking another car, but didn't want to get caught by the border patrol. So he'd opted to hitch.
It had been amazingly easy to get across the border between New Mexico and Mexico. It was almost eerie, like he'd done it before.
When he'd left the cabin, he'd gone into Denver to check out the DEA connection Sarah had told him about. He knew there was no way he'd get near the actual office, though, without setting off bells and whistles, so instead he'd made a trip to the public library and done a little research about the Cardoza cartel. Then he'd taken his knowledge out onto the street until he found someone who would talk.
Enrique Salazar. There hadn't been much doubt that the kid had recognized him as El Tigre. And he'd known then that he didn't have any choice but to go to Mexico and face the head of the organization, Juan Cardoza.
He'd abandoned the truck he'd taken from the cabin, then "borrowed" another car, a discreet looking 1978 Buick Limited. But, he'd left it near the border. It was safer to go across on foot. His destination was still quite a distance ahead, but luckily, he'd found a ride with the farmer and his gangly sons as far as Torreón.
Leaning his head back against the truck, he closed his eyes. Damn he was tired. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. Too damn long, he knew that much.
Sleep deprivation was starting to take its toll on him. He'd been having momentary bouts of dizziness for the latter half of the day. And his head pounded nonstop. He'd do just about anything right now to have some of Genny's natural, or medical, hocus-pocus. Between Genny and Maris, one of them would be able to help.
Maris.
For the first time since he'd left the cabin, he allowed himself to think of her. He'd pushed all thoughts and images of her away for the past two days. For one thing, because he'd vowed to himself that he had to leave and not look back.
The real reason? It just hurt too damn much.
But now, visions of her rolled through his head.
He could almost feel her, smell her, touch her. He could see her again, bent over the chair at May's house, trembling at his touch. The way her forest green eyes, deep with passion and emotion, had looked at him in trust and love at the cabin. And he'd gazed back into them
, knowing what she was thinking, experiencing the depth of her emotion—and his own. And knowing that as soon as she was asleep, he was leaving her.
He'd betrayed her in the worst possible way, allowed her to trust and love and believe that everything was okay.
But everything wasn't okay. Nothing had been okay since he'd first opened his eyes at her house. He'd made some serious mistakes, made a hell of a lot of wrong decisions, and as soon as he'd talked to Sarah on the phone, he'd known it was time to hit the road on his own.
Yet Maris was with him anyway. Somewhere down in his gut, in his soul, she was there. And damn, he wanted her still.
He kept hoping that maybe he was going to wake up and discover this whole mess was a nightmare. Kept hoping that somewhere, somehow, he'd find some good news. Something that would tell him he wasn't a low-life scumbag.
Yeah right. His lip curled in contempt.
What did he find instead? He found out he might be married to a woman he couldn't remember. That his existence was hiding in dark alleys, intimidating people at gunpoint, and being caught up in some damn drug organization's murderous intrigue.
But most of all, although he knew in his gut the security guard's murder and the death of the John Doe in the morgue were a set-up…
He was still a killer.
A sudden cold sweat beaded his brow at the memory of Genny talking him through meditation. He'd relived that dark terror over and over again, until it was burned into his brain. In that dreamlike state, he distinctly remembered sneaking up on someone, wrapping his arm around them, and with no remorse whatsoever, severing their throat with a knife. He felt the resistance of the skin and flesh as he slid the blade just under the chin. Felt the hot spurt of blood against his hand. And he smelled the stench of death.
He'd taken another's life. And had no memory of who it was. He only remembered that it had felt good.
Shrugging deeper into his coat, he dragged in a deep, painful breath.
No…he didn't dare stay with Maris. His past haunted him day and night. His life was too dark. Her destiny lay in a different direction from his.