“If Patrice is in danger, it’s for only one reason—me. I can’t leave her.” I hugged Cara to me, but just for a moment. We didn’t have time to dally. I didn’t want whoever was in that shed to come looking for us. I was afraid of what he’d do to Patrice before he did. And what he’d do to Cara when he found us.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she insisted.
I grabbed her chin in my hand. “This is not up for negotiation. Promise me you’ll get yourself somewhere safe and call the police. It’s the only way that you can help me.”
She didn’t answer.
“We don’t have time for this. You’re the one chance we’ve got,” I told her.
“Okay, okay! I promise.”
“Now get out of here. I love you.”
I didn’t wait for her to say it back. I simply took off walking fast for the shed, drawing the gun from the back of my jeans as I went. I tucked it into the front of my waistband and let my shirt and coat cover it.
I walked directly to the window and into the light. Patrice had been watching my every move as soon as I’d come close enough for her to see my approach, but she didn’t acknowledge me until I tapped my knuckles against the glass. She hesitated, then smiled and motioned with a gooey hand for me to come in. Her eyes, looking directly at me, darted to her left and then back.
So that’s where he was, in my right-hand corner, as far away from the door as the studio would allow. I assumed he wanted me alive, or he would have already shot me through the window. I doubted that he’d brought tranquilizer darts just in case there was a dog.
James would probably only kill me as a last resort. He could have easily slit my throat that night in my condo. The prospects of being grilled about something I knew little about did not particularly appeal to me. And exactly what might follow that discussion—after he’d taken the photos and the book—was something I’d just as soon not think about.
Of course, it might not be James.
I took a good look through the window. The only other window was directly across from the one where I stood. A sink and counter ran most of the length of the wall between them. Behind Patrice was a large worktable and to the right were drying shelves. A door, ajar, led to an area that must house her kiln. He would be in there.
What the hell did I think I was doing?
I circled around to the door on the left side of the building and took the gun from my waistband. With my free hand I un-latched the door and shoved it inward.
He wasn’t in the closet. In the far right corner, well out of the way of the windows, was a lone man in dark clothing. I couldn’t see his face in the shadow but he had one hell of a big pistol in his gloved hand. It was right out in front of him, and it was pointed directly at Patrice.
Chapter 9
“You’re armed,” the man said. His voice, giving a hint of surprised amusement, sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. All I knew was that it wasn’t James.
My little .38 was no match for his cannon, but then, it only took one good shot to fell a man if it was well placed. I was a good shot—Stephen had seen to that—and I was pointing my gun straight at his head. He was sure to be wearing a Kevlar vest. I wouldn’t have minded having one of my own.
“Why don’t you just put that down,” he suggested, “and we’ll talk.” So civilized and with the faintest hint of an English accent. Blood pounded in my ears. I knew that voice.
“Ian?”
He stepped from behind the shelves, and I felt my trigger finger tense. “Read any good obituaries lately?”
“Elizabeth, please. Put down the gun. I mean you no harm.”
His gun, I noticed, stayed trained on Patrice, who had wiped her hands and stood to remove her apron.
“I’d rather you’d sit back down,” he told Patrice, who did exactly that.
“Stephen was a friend of mine,” he added to me.
“And that’s supposed to be a recommendation?”
He took another step closer.
“That’s far enough,” I warned, and he stopped.
“I was in Maryland to watch over you. Stephen knew that what he was involved in was becoming more dangerous. He asked me to make sure both you and your daughter were safe. I offered my services as an adjunct professor at Gilman and they accepted.”
I heard the van crank, and obviously, so did he. “Where’s Cara?” he asked.
“I sent her to call the police.”
He nodded. “I’d have preferred you not done that.”
I eyed Patrice. I wanted her next to me, but I wasn’t about to make things easier for him. If he shot her, it’d take him a second to swing the gun in my direction. In that second, I planned to take him down.
“So to protect us, you find some way to follow us, shoot my friend’s dog, and then hold her at gunpoint.”
“Only long enough to convince you to allow me to help you. If Patrice had been cooperative, there would have been no need for guns.”
“Right. So convince me, Ian. What was Stephen involved with? Who was he working for?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I believe he left something with you—”
Before he could say another word, the side of the building exploded. Wood flew everywhere. I closed my eyes and shielded my face as best I could with my arms. A splinter ripped through my sleeve. When I looked up, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Patrice’s VW van had burst through the door side of the old barn and was heading straight for us. I dove toward Patrice. The van swerved and plowed between the three of us to stop abruptly, leaving Ian on one side, scrambling for cover as the worktable flew toward him, and Patrice and me on the other side.
Cara beckoned to us through the side door, which stood wide open. “Get in!”
I pushed Patrice forward and tumbled in on top of her, slid the door shut and tripped the lock.
I heard something slam against the door frame of the driver’s side. Glass shattered. Then I saw Ian reach for Cara in the driver’s seat. That son of a bitch was coming in through the window.
It wasn’t much of a growl, just a soft warning, and then Odin reared up from between the seats and sank his teeth into Ian’s wrist. Ian yelled and disappeared down the side of the van.
Cara wasted no time. She threw the van into Reverse and peeled out of the shed, taking what little was left of that side of the barn with it. I lay on the floor, my hand wrapped around the steel support of the middle seat, trying hard not to add to the bruises I knew would soon cover most of my body.
I could hear the gravel of the driveway spewing as we flew over it, and then I was thrown forward as we braked.
“Which way?” Cara demanded.
“Right,” Patrice called. She had crawled between the middle and front seats where Odin lay.
“I need a turn down a back road that will take us out of here,” Cara insisted as the van lurched onto the road. “No dead ends. Now.”
“Second mailbox on the right, the dirt road. We’ll cut across the Russells’ farm. We can head toward Gettysburg and pick up the highway there.”
Fine. Just as long as the van held together long enough to get us there. And Ian—God help us—didn’t find us.
Chapter 10
The van died going up a hill on a narrow country road not ten miles from Patrice’s home and about a mile from the interstate, leaving us stranded in the dark. It was Cara’s sheer will that had kept it going as long as it had, considering the damage she’d done to it taking down the studio.
We got out, helping a none-too-enthusiastic Odin onto the grass.
“Thank you for bringing Odin with you,” Patrice said as she pulled two flashlights and a couple of tarps from the back of the van.
“I thought I wasn’t going to be able to get him into the van at first. Good thing you keep a harness on him. I’ve seen frat boys at all-night beer parties who were steadier on their feet. He weighs almost as much as I do.”
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Cara scooped up the first-aid supplies. I handed her a couple of screwdrivers from the toolbox and grinned at her. She wasn’t an animal lover, but she would never abandon any living thing in distress. Her act of kindness had been rewarded. I doubt we would have made it out of the studio without Odin’s help.
I grabbed the tire iron, just in case, and retrieved my backpack and Cara’s bags. Then Cara rescued the pizza before she took off the brake and shifted the transmission out of gear. Patrice took charge of Odin, who was still groggy from the drugs.
Somehow the three of us summoned enough strength to steer the van around and push it off the road toward some trees in the ravine below. We shone a flashlight after it. It didn’t quite make the undergrowth, but it would be hard to see. Someone looking for it, even if they had a notion as to which road we’d taken, would waste a lot of time before finding it.
A short distance away, on the lee side of the hill, we found a sheltered place among the trees near an outcropping of rock that blocked the view from the road. Odin wasn’t able to walk well yet, and we were all exhausted. We had no choice but to stop and rest. We needed strength for tomorrow.
We spread a tarp and lay down together, the dog in the middle. I took off my coat and shared it as best I could with Patrice. We pulled the second tarp over all four of us, to pass what was left of the night. Thank goodness it was warm for an April evening, or we would have been forced to find actual shelter.
“You promised me you’d leave,” I whispered to Cara. I could hear her chuckle in the darkness.
“I hate to burst your bubble, Mom, but that’s not the first promise to you I’ve broken.”
That brought me fully alert. “What do you mean?”
She answered with little snoring sounds.
I felt Patrice’s hand on my arm. “We don’t always know best,” she said softly. “And God knows you lied enough times to your parents.”
And to Cara. But guilt was a burden I didn’t need to carry that night.
“What could Stephen have been doing?” I asked Patrice, desperate to make some sense out of what was happening. “Do you know? Would Peter know?”
“Peter and I don’t talk. I haven’t seen him since Marc’s funeral. Our son’s death broke the last strand between us. Would he know? Maybe. Would he tell you? I have no idea. You’re not the only one who was lied to.”
“Peter?” I asked.
“That’s why I divorced him.”
“You never told me.”
“I never told anyone. We loved each other, Elizabeth, but not the way you and Stephen were in love. It wasn’t enough for me, not enough to make up for the deceit. He was involved in something sometime after he became a D.A., but I never knew what it was.”
“I’m sorry.” I really was. Patrice was a special person and she deserved more than life had offered her so far. “What do you think—”
“I don’t. Not since our son died. Peter and Stephen served in the SEALs together, you know. Did Stephen ever talk to you about it?”
“No. He always changed the subject when I brought up his military service.”
“Secrets. You know what you get when you press someone about a secret?” she asked. “Lies. Now get to sleep. I don’t even want to think what tomorrow’s going to be like.”
Even drugged, Odin, I was sure, would alert us if anyone approached. I cradled my gun and my pepper spray against my chest. My left hand found the dog’s neck, and I wrapped my fingers in his fur. I fell asleep before I finished my prayer.
Dawn woke us, and we got a good look at what a mess we all were. We examined our wounds, all minor, thank goodness, and applied Band-Aids where necessary.
Having slept off the tranquilizers, Odin was ready to take on the world. He was, however, hungry. We shared the cold pizza with him, but we had no water to offer him. We folded the tarps, tucked them behind the rocks and weighed them down with stones. We took with us the flashlights, the tire iron, the first-aid kit and, of course, our bags.
“What happened?” I asked Patrice. “Yesterday, when Ian came to the house.”
Cara and Odin were a few steps ahead on the narrow country road that looked as though it saw little traffic. We’d be able to hear any vehicle that approached in plenty of time to duck into the underbrush. I saw her look back at us and then turn forward.
“He knocked on the door, and, like an idiot, I opened it,” she said. “He looked…”
“Friendly, clean-shaven, intelligent—”
“Attractive,” Patrice added.
I nodded, shuddering to think how I’d actually gotten into a car with him. Somehow, I should have known. But why had he let me go then?
“He had a map. I noticed the gloves, but I didn’t think anything about it. He said he’d taken a wrong turn,” Patrice went on. “It was broad daylight. He made no move to come inside. He just stood there, pointing to the map. He seemed so…”
“Engaging,” I suggested.
“Yes. I joined him on the steps. That’s when Odin started to growl, but he was still inside the screen.”
“He must have known Ian was armed,” I suggested, “smelled the gun oil.”
“I don’t know. He grabbed my wrist and pulled a gun from his pocket. Elizabeth, I swear to God I thought he was going to kill me, but instead he shot Odin.”
“Through the screen.”
She nodded. “Then he jerked the screen open and Odin lunged, even with the dart in his shoulder. But then Odin fell like a stone. I thought he was dead, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it. I was so angry, but I was terrified, too. He made me help him carry Odin around behind the car shed. Then he forced me back to the house, locked the front door and took me out the kitchen door and around to the studio. He seemed to know about me, what I do. He didn’t talk much. Quite polite, despite his forcefulness. He had a real gun, not just the tranquilizer gun. He told me to work at the wheel. Then we waited for what seemed like forever, until you got home. Elizabeth, I’m so sorry. I should never have opened that door.”
“He would have gotten in. You know that,” I assured her. “And if you hadn’t cooperated…”
“You know him,” Patrice said. “You called him by name.”
“He’s a professor at Gilman, but anything I thought I knew about him obviously isn’t true. If it were, he’d be busy preparing to teach class, not threatening us.”
“Maybe he moonlights on the weekends,” Cara called over her shoulder.
It was a good try—to lighten the mood—but it didn’t work. We fell silent. Everyone examining their own guilt, most likely even Odin.
A little before seven we made it to a main road near an exit where we found a Cracker Barrel and its accompanying lot full of cars. We were lucky it was a warm morning. I casually strode up and down between cars in an area at the far end of the lot, trying the doors. One car had its windows slightly open, a Pontiac Grand Prix, at least three years old with in-state tags and its hood still hot to the touch. Careless. The front doors were locked, but one of the back doors wasn’t.
“What do you think it’d cost to rent a car like this?” I asked Patrice.
“Maybe two hundred a day,” Cara supplied.
I reached inside my bag and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. “You look the most presentable of the three of us,” I told Cara. She’d actually changed her clothes in the woods. I licked my thumb and dabbed at a smudge on her cheek. She squealed and drew out of my reach, just like she used to when she was five. “Go inside and buy some stationery and some kind of tape.”
“Why?”
“Just do it. Please.”
Patrice collapsed on the grass several yards from the Pontiac, her legs dangling down the slope toward the interstate. I sat next to her and Odin and a small tree that was tethered to cables to force it to grow straight.
“We’re in some kind of hellish trouble,” she said. Her face held no hint of accusation, only exhaustion, and a rather feeble attempt at a sm
ile.
“Oh, yeah,” I agreed.
“How’d he find us?” she asked.
“My guess is Ian put a tracking device on Cara’s Jeep. I thought they’d only focus on me.”
“You think Ian is working with James?”
I shrugged. “Maybe, but if he is, where’s James?”
Cara joined us and set two bags on the ground. One contained the items I’d asked for plus several bottles of water and a small bowl. The other, three large cups of coffee. “The place is packed,” she reported, pulling out the bowl and pouring Odin a drink. “All the same, I suggest we move it along. So what’s your brilliant plan?”
I took two big gulps of coffee and then pulled the screwdrivers from my bag and handed them to Cara. “I don’t know how brilliant it is, but you and Patrice need to steal a set of license plates. Look for plastic screws. They’re easier to get off. And make sure it’s another Pennsylvania plate. Take the ones off the Grand Prix and put them on the other car. We’ll do the rest down the road.”
“You’re going to steal a car?” Cara demanded, her eyes huge.
“Technically, no.” I dumped out the stationery and sighed. The paper was printed with bees and flowers.
“What? It was either that or bunnies,” she said.
“Right.”
“Technically, what are you doing?”
“Renting a car. Now scoot.”
I dug farther into my backpack and pulled out three bills from a padded envelope. Three hundred dollars. Hopefully it would be enough, although “renting” a car without permission certainly was a major inconvenience for the owner. I wrote a note on the bee stationery: “You should have your car back no later than tomorrow evening. Please accept my apologies for the inconvenience. Please do not call the police.”
Hey, it was worth a try. Then I wrapped the money in the note and stuffed it all in the envelope. I taped it shut and wrote across it: “For the Owners of Pontiac Grand Prix” and then listed the license plate number. By the time I finished, Cara and Patrice were back.
“We almost got busted,” Cara said, her face flushed a bright red. “I started to unscrew a plate and then Patrice whistled at me. Someone pulled into the parking space right next to me.”
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