On the Lam

by SUE FINEMAN

  Several minutes later, as they walked up behind the barn, Greg whispered, “Is that gasoline I smell?”

  “What’s he planning to burn?” asked Bo. “The house?”

  Callie sniffed around the back of the barn. “It’s not around the barn.”

  Greg crouched behind the barn and called the fire department. After identifying himself, he said, “We’ll need you at Callie’s ranch any minute, so be ready to roll.”

  Dave called his men to provide the diversion, Greg pulled the gun from his shoulder holster, and Callie and Bo slipped into the barn. Callie climbed into the loft with Skeeter and took aim out the window with a rifle. Bo stood out of sight beside the open barn door, his gun in his hand. When the patrol car—their diversion—pulled into the driveway, lights flashing, Dave and Greg opened the outside entrance to the basement and stepped inside.

  Seconds later, Bo saw the fire’s glow in Brady’s bedroom window. The hair rose on the back of his neck as he called Greg. “Get the hell out of there right now. He set the house on fire.” Would he burn the barn next? Could Callie and Skeeter get out of the hayloft in time? What about the horses?

  Where in the hell was Tommy Ray? What was the son-of-a-bitch up to now? He sure as hell didn’t stay inside a burning house.

  Greg and Dave came out of the basement and pressed themselves against the side of the house on either side of the kitchen window. Flames licked out the bedroom windows and smoke poured out the kitchen window. Bo hoped the sparks from the house didn’t catch the barn on fire.

  The hair on the back of Callie’s neck prickled. Tommy Ray wouldn’t have stayed in the house after he set it on fire, so where did he go?

  She glanced at Bo standing near the barn door and then she spotted the shadow of a man creeping up behind Bo. He had a beard, but she knew who it was. Tommy Ray. The knife blade in his hand flashed in the stream of moonlight, and Callie turned cold.

  While Skeeter watched out the window, Callie saw Tommy Ray creep past Betty Grable’s stall. She’d never shot a man before, but she had to shoot this one before he stabbed Bo. She prayed she didn’t hit the wrong man or her horse.

  Tommy Ray’s foot slid on the barn floor, making a scraping noise, but he was on Bo’s left side, and Bo couldn’t hear in that ear. Callie took aim, waited until the right moment, and squeezed the trigger.

  Bo spun around as Tommy Ray howled and hit the barn floor.

  Callie and Skeeter scrambled down the ladder while Bo kicked the knife away from Tommy Ray. She hadn’t killed him, but she’d given him a new part in his hair.

  Dave and Greg ran out to the barn. “Who fired that shot?” asked Dave.

  “I did,” said Skeeter. “He had that knife raised to stab Bo.”

  Bo looked right at Callie and shook his head slightly. They both knew who fired that shot, and it wasn’t Skeeter. She gave Skeeter a long, warm hug.

  Skeeter looked straight at Bo. “She loves me.”

  “Yes, I do,” said Callie. “As a good friend.”

  A smile pulled at Bo’s mouth, and she couldn’t help herself. She kissed him.

  Tommy Ray lay in the barn, moaning with pain and bleeding from his head and his left arm, but his suffering was just beginning. A former law enforcement officer wouldn’t have it easy in prison.

  The fire department arrived. Callie said, “Let the house burn, just don’t let it spread to the barn. I got two prize horses in there.”

  Bo stood with his arm around Callie and they watched the house burn to the ground. She had warm feelings about growing up there with her family, but after her parents gave her to Tommy Ray, that house turned into a torture chamber. Just as well that it burned. It would save them tearing it down, and there wouldn’t be as much to haul away.

  She sighed deeply and put her head on Bo’s shoulder. He held her there, stroking her back and shoulders, giving her the love and comfort she needed.

  Dave said, “FBI agents in Dallas found witnesses to the murder of Tommy Ray’s partner fifteen years ago. Tommy Ray Caldwell fired the fatal shot himself. He’ll spend the rest of his natural life in a prison cell.”

  Flames licked through the holes in the rusty metal roof and smoke poured into the clear night sky. Callie watched the nightmare burn up with the house she’d shared with the meanest man in Caledonia County.

  The nightmare, the fear, had ended.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sunday afternoon, Callie sat on one of the new benches in the park in the town square with Neen. The sun shone brightly, the leaves were turning gold and rust and brown, and the crisp fall breeze nipped at her face. The statue looked better than it had in years, and the park would soon be covered with leaves from the big maple trees. The men from church had a work party scheduled this afternoon to finish the new gazebo. How she loved this town now that Tommy Ray was gone. It felt like home again.

  Greg tossed a ball to Brady nearby, but Bo had gone to Austin for his swim. He was doing so well with his recovery now that he’d accepted his limitations.

  Brady pointed and yelled, “Mama, look.”

  She twisted to look. The most magnificent palomino horse she’d ever set eyes on pranced down the middle of the street. The man sitting astride the horse was an even better sight. “Ohmygod!”

  “He’s gorgeous,” said Neen.

  “Yes, he is, and the horse ain’t bad, either.”

  Neen laughed.

  Bo plucked the white hat off his head and waved it. As if she could miss such a sight. Brady jumped up and down and Greg held him back. The beautiful stallion could easily trample a little boy.

  Turning into the path through the park, Bo walked the horse right on up to the bench. Callie couldn’t keep the smile off her face. He dismounted and pulled her into his arms for a long, deep kiss.

  Greg walked over with Brady, who asked, “What’s his name?”

  “His name is about a block long and the only part I could remember was King, so I call him Elvis.” Bo turned to Callie. “He’s yours, honey.”

  “My prince rides in on a beautiful horse and gives me the horse?” It wasn’t quite the way she’d dreamed it, but she liked Bo’s version of the fairy tale.

  Bo toggled his head back and forth. “Well, actually, he’s more a present for Buttercup and Betty Grable.”

  “Elvis?”

  He shrugged. “I sang to him on the way to the park and he liked it, so—”

  “What did you sing?” Neen asked.

  He sang, “Love me tender, love me true.” The horse shook his head. Bo stopped singing and, his eyes sparkling, asked the horse, “You don’t like that song?”

  The horse shook his head again, so Bo sang, “You ain’t nothing but a hound dog,” and the horse nodded.

  Greg laughed. Bo pointed to his brother. “Bite him, Elvis.”

  Greg jumped back. “Quit picking on me or I’ll tell Mom.”

  “Go right ahead, but she’ll blame you.”

  Albert and his wife, Junior, Rev. Bickley and his wife, and a few other people walked up to admire the horse. Mary Bickley didn’t say a word. She was out on bail pending trial. The preacher’s wife would probably spend some time in prison for helping Tommy Ray.

  Ignoring the others, Bo dropped to one knee and took Callie’s hand. “I love you, Cinderella. I want to grow old with you and love you until the day I die. Will you marry your Prince Charming?”

  It took Callie a minute to find her voice, but not Brady. He cheered like the quarterback on the winning football team.

  “Yes,” she whispered, and then said it louder, “Yes, I’ll marry you.” And then, surrounded by the laughter of her friends, she shouted it. “Yeeessss.”

  After a long hug and kiss, Bo mounted Elvis and reached for Callie. Albert and Junior lifted Callie, Sunday dress and all, to sit on Bo’s lap, and she pulled her skirt down to cover her knees.

  “Glad to have you back, son,” said Albert. “I ‘spect you’ll be staying in Caledonia?”

 
With a wide grin, Bo said, “Yes, sir, I ‘spect I will.”

  “I hear tell they need a part-time swim coach over at the high school.”

  Bo nodded. “I’ll look into it first thing in the morning.”

  Callie nodded her thanks. They’d come up with a way to give him a place to swim. How could anyone not love the good people of Caledonia?

  Greg held Brady up to rub the horse’s nose. “Mama, do we really get to keep him?”

  Bo smiled. “Hey, I thought you wanted a black horse.”

  Brady grinned. “Yeah, but I like this one, too.”

  Callie scanned the smiling faces of the people in the park. All but one. Mary Bickley’s lips pressed together tightly. She was green as grass, and Callie pitied her.

  Nothing would bring Callie down that day, not even Mary Bickley. Her dream had become reality. Her Prince Charming rode in on a magnificent horse to sweep her off her feet. She’d never in a million years expected a proposal like this. It was absolutely the best day of her life.

  Bo held her close. “How long do we have to wait to get married?”

  “Thirty days after my divorce became final, and there’s a waiting period of three days after we get the license.”

  “Your divorce was final over three weeks ago, so we can get married in—”

  “Ten days,” she said with a grin. “I counted.”

  Bo’s laughter danced into the air, and she knew he’d finally found where he belonged. They’d build a new castle with a swimming moat, a home for Prince Brady and Princess Katie to grow up in.

  A house with no ghosts in the bedroom.

  A place to live happily ever after.

  ** I hope you enjoyed On the Lam. Please turn the page for an excerpt of the next book in the Gregory Series, On the Hunt **

  ON THE HUNT

  by

  Sue Fineman

  “Administrative leave,” said the captain. “Avoid the press until the situation blows over and make an appointment to see the counselor.”

  “Yes, sir.” The situation wouldn’t blow over anytime soon. Not for her. Every time Mia Gregory closed her eyes, she saw the kid coming at her, blood dripping off the knife he’d just used to kill another kid. The crack of her partner’s gunshot still echoed in her head.

  Maybe a change of scenery would end her nightmares. Aside from her brother’s wedding in Texas last year, she hadn’t taken a vacation in years. She’d used all her vacation time on ballroom dance competitions and the visit to her former fiancé’s home in Boston. But that disaster was best forgotten.

  Her brother, Chance, suggested she check out the little house in Clover Hills Aunt Leona had left to Mia and her three brothers. It was a good time to go. In mid-October, the summer hikers and campers should be gone. Although an early snow wasn’t unusual in the mountains, it was too early in the season to get snowed in by a heavy snowstorm.

  Mia packed a few things, left a message with Chance’s paralegal, and headed for the cabin. Clover Hills was in the Cascade Mountains, a two-hour drive from Tacoma. The tension in her neck eased as she pulled out into traffic. She could almost smell the fresh mountain air.

  The drive into the mountains lifted her spirits. She loved this time of year, when the leaves began to change color. Tendrils of smoke rose from chimneys along the way, and Halloween decorations on porches reminded her of the upcoming holiday. She couldn’t wait to build a crackling fire in the big stone fireplace in Aunt Leona’s house and settle in the rocking chair beside it with a cup of hot cocoa and a good book.

  Mia pulled up in front of Aunt Leona’s house and stared. It looked more run-down than she remembered, but she hadn’t been here in three or four years. From the looks of the place, no one had been here since then. She glanced over at the neighbor’s house to see Mrs. Snyder peeking around her drapes.

  Ignoring the snoopy old woman next door, Mia walked up the porch steps and unlocked the front door. A stale, musty smell assaulted her nose, and she propped the door wide open to get some fresh air inside. As she walked through the house, she realized she’d have to clean out some of the dust before she could even sleep here.

  After she put the sheets and towels in the washer, Mia ran the vacuum cleaner in the living room. She looked up and saw a police officer standing just inside the front door, gun drawn and pointed at her. Momentarily stunned, she froze. What in the hell did he think she intended to do, suck him into the vacuum cleaner?

  Mia slowly reached down and turned off the vacuum. “You’d better have a damned good reason for coming into my home and threatening me.”

  He lowered the gun. “You own this place?”

  “Damn right I do. My Aunt Leona died and left it to me and my brothers.” Mia suddenly understood what happened. “Did Mrs. Snyder call you?”

  “Do you know Mrs. Snyder?”

  “Yes, and she knows me. I haven’t been here in a few years, so maybe she didn’t recognize me.”

  What was with Mrs. Snyder anyway? When Mia was a little girl, she used to watch the Gregory kids through her window. When her husband yelled at them, she cried. Mia had always felt a little sorry for her because she looked so sad.

  The cop holstered his gun and asked for her ID. She walked to the kitchen, took her license out of her wallet, and handed it to him. He examined it and handed it back. He didn’t ask if she was the cop involved in the shooting in Tacoma. With any luck, he wouldn’t make the connection.

  <>

  From his appearance, FBI Special Agent Dave Montgomery looked like any other mountain climber. He had all the equipment and proper clothes, right down to his plaid flannel shirt and well-worn hiking boots. He’d already decided not to announce his presence in Clover Hills until after he scoped out the town and the residents, including the police officers who protected the citizens of the little town.

  He flew his private plane into the Tacoma Narrows Airport in Gig Harbor, and drove the late-model SUV his people had rented for him through Tacoma and into the Cascade Mountains.

  He checked into the only hotel in Clover Hills, the Four Leaf Clover. The building had a restaurant on the main floor, a game room in the back with an ongoing poker game that fleeced soldiers from Ft. Lewis, and a bar that provided adult entertainment. The female agent he’d sent last month didn’t get past the bouncer at the door of the game room. She’d told Dave women weren’t permitted in the back unless they worked there, and she didn’t want to blow her cover by pushing her way in. She was on another assignment now.

  The second and third floors of the building each held twelve rooms. The only elevator looked and sounded like a relic from the past. Hearing the squeak and grind and thump of the mechanism had convinced him not to use it. He walked up two flights with his backpack, the only luggage he’d brought from the plane.

  The room, like the building, had a certain appeal, if you liked the rustic look. The red and blue plaid bedspread matched the drapes, and the worn brown carpet looked like it should have been replaced a generation ago. The headboard, dresser, and nightstand were all made of natural-finished pine. A tiny pine table and two hard chairs sat under the window. Every stick of furniture in the room had cigarette burns on it, and one of the legs on the table was shorter than the others. Someone had stuck a book of matches under the short leg, a disaster waiting to happen.

  He looked around and sighed. At least it wasn’t a hole in the ground.

  Why couldn’t he get the cushy assignments, with the luxury hotels, gourmet restaurants, and elegant women? Every woman he’d seen here had been the outdoor type, sturdy and solid. Granola girls. They had about as much appeal as men with boobs.

  Dave’s neck itched. He’d never liked wearing a beard, especially a scruffy, untrimmed one. His friends wouldn’t recognize him if they saw him looking like this, and his family would most likely disown him. He didn’t like the disguise himself, but it served the purpose.

  He unpacked his laptop with all the information on the missing girls and spent severa
l minutes shaking out clothes and hanging them up. And then he went to work, sending and receiving emails, reviewing detailed maps of the town showing locations of the homes of the three missing girls, and scratching his face. Damn beard itched like crazy.

  The restaurant offered room service, but he wanted to scope out the people and find the game room and bar. It was Tuesday, and he expected the middle-of-the-week clientele to be different from those who came here on the weekends. According to the desk clerk, the hotel didn’t do much business during the week, which suited him just fine.

  After he put his laptop away, Dave locked his room and walked downstairs to the restaurant, which was one big open room with the kitchen behind a high counter. No one sat in the small non-smoking section.

  “Are you eating alone?” asked the waitress whose nametag read Peggy. “We normally put single folks at the big table in the middle, so they have someone to talk to while they eat.”

  “Sounds good to me.” What better way to get to know the citizens of Clover Hills?

  He sat with two other men, locals he assumed, and one women he recognized. The way her eyes widened when she looked at him, he knew she recognized him, so before she could speak, he said, “I’m David Daniels.”

  The men both introduced themselves. His best friend’s sister said, “I’m Mia Gregory. It’s nice to meet you, David. What brings you to Clover Hills? Are you here on vacation?”

  “In a way,” Dave said, relieved she hadn’t blown his cover. “I lost my job and thought I’d bum around until the job market picked up. What about you? Are you here on vacation?”

  “My brothers and I inherited my aunt’s house here in town, so I came up to spend a few weeks, get it cleaned up and maybe put it on the market.”

  Dave cocked his head. “You know, my brother has been looking for a second home. He’s always bragging about how he got in on Microsoft in the beginning. The way he talks, he can afford to buy the whole town.”