Cold Aim

by Janice Cantore

  34

  By the time Tess and the searchers returned to Faith’s Place, the coroner had removed the body in the doorway and Steve had the false paperwork that the man had brought with him spread out on the counter.

  And Oliver was there.

  Before Tess could take a look at the fake court order, he stepped forward with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. Tess realized that she must look like a half-drowned dog. She brought a hand up to smooth down her hair.

  Until Tess looked at Oliver’s face and saw the worry in his eyes, she hadn’t realized how cold, wet, and tired she was. The earlier irritation she’d felt when he’d put her in second place faded as she took a welcome, warming drink of coffee.

  “Thank you,” she said, grasping the cup in both hands. She took a sip before explaining to Logan how they’d lost the trail. “We put out all the alerts possible for the guy, but without a better description . . .”

  “Harp came here meaning business,” Oliver said. “The guy is lucky he got away.”

  “I don’t think he’ll get far,” Steve said. “If Harp did hit him dead center with a round of double-aught buck, he’ll be hurting. It will only get worse as time goes on. I’ll send out an alert to all emergency rooms as well.”

  “Thanks, Steve.” Tess was a little chagrined that she’d not thought of that angle. She drank some more coffee and turned to Oliver, remembering Tami and the odd feeling she’d had earlier that the two situations were related.

  “How is Tami?”

  Oliver shook his head. “She was stable enough for surgery and came through that okay. They’re classifying her condition now as serious but stable.”

  “Was she able to tell you anything?”

  “She hasn’t regained consciousness. Rosita promised to tell the deputy if Tami wakes up and is able to talk.”

  He gave Tess one of his looks, a penetrating one that made her feel as if he could see right down into her soul. There was more there than worry—Tess also saw irritation.

  “What’s the matter?”

  He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Why do you always put yourself in jeopardy?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The fire, now this search . . . you always put yourself at the tip of the spear.”

  Rocked back a bit, she said, “I’m doing my job.”

  He gave her an impatient look. “You can delegate; you’re in charge.”

  Tess stared at him, wondering if this was the same man she’d been falling in love with over the past couple of months.

  “I don’t want to have this discussion right now.”

  “Of course not.” He ran a hand over his face and seemed to try to change gears. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to distract you. You’re obviously upset. What’s got you so wound up?”

  She took a deep breath, knowing that they would have to have a serious conversation soon if Oliver expected her to ever do her job from the sidelines.

  “Besides Tami’s shooting? It’s this incident here. Two vicious shootings in Rogue’s Hollow in a twenty-four-hour period? I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “But what does Tami have to do with Faith’s Place?”

  “It’s Beck—he’s desperate,” Livie Harp said.

  Everyone turned their attention to Harp. Tess noted that she’d calmed down quite a bit from her level of agitation before, when Tess was readying to leave on the search. Now she wasn’t pacing and was looking at the paperwork with Steve.

  “How can you be so certain?” Tess asked while, internally, she feared Harp was right. “I’d really like to hear a clarification on your relationship with Beck,” Tess said.

  “No relationship. I just know the type.”

  “But it’s so personal with you.”

  Harp looked around the room and folded her arms, leaned back against the wall. “I said it before, I’ll say it again: He’s got money and he thinks he’s above the law. I’d bet my eyeteeth that whoever came here to get Chevy also shot the woman you’re concerned about.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences either,” Steve said, “but how would shooting Tami and tossing her off a bridge help Beck? I have to say I don’t think the incidents are related.”

  “I believe there’s a connection—we just haven’t found it yet,” Tess said, brain burning with the realization that she was responsible for Tami as well. She stepped to where she could look at the paperwork Steve was studying.

  “No wonder Agent Takano hesitated,” he said. “I’ve seen a lot of court orders, and this one would have fooled me.”

  Everything looked legal to Tess, right down to the time stamp.

  “So brazen. I can’t believe they thought they would just walk out of here with Chevy,” Oliver said.

  “That’s Beck, brazen and shameless.” Harp walked back into the kitchen and Oliver followed. Tess heard him ask her if she was okay after shooting a man. That was a good question. Harp was shaken earlier, but now she seemed awfully calm and collected about having just taken someone’s life. True, it was obvious self-defense, and Tess had more than enough personal experience with that kind of difficult judgment call. But she had seen trained police officers break down and have difficulty with the realization they took a life, even though it was in the line of duty.

  There was more to Harp, and Tess knew that after this was all over, she was going to have to find out what that was.

  Right now, she couldn’t concentrate on Harp, but maybe Oliver could get what she couldn’t. She turned her attention to Steve. “Were you able to ID the dead guy?”

  “No, but he wasn’t Joseph Turner, though there is a federal agent by that name. An ex-agent. He’s retired and living in New Jersey.”

  “Did Chevy get a look at the guy’s ID picture? Maybe she’ll know who he is.”

  Steve stared at Tess. “Wow, I have a confession to make—the thought of bringing her into this never crossed my mind. How fragile is she?”

  Tess called out to Oliver.

  He stepped back into the living room. “She’s shook up. Nye basically yanked her into the media room, but she heard the door kicked in, then the shots fired. Dr. Peel is with her, along with Bronwyn. I’ll check.”

  He walked toward the back of the house.

  “By the way,” Steve said, “Agent Bass called while you were gone. He’s sending an agent here to help with everything, but he can’t come himself.”

  “I would have thought he’d hop right up here.”

  “He sounded stressed. I don’t think the court battle is going the way he wants it to.”

  “I hope he’s just being overly paranoid. What about the car?”

  “Rental, by a corporation. Still trying to get to the bottom of that.” He cocked his head toward a pile of stuff by the door. “Got that out of the trunk.”

  Just then Dr. Peel came down the hallway with Chevy right behind her. The girl looked cowed to Tess, as if she’d been deflated. And she looked young. She had on a long-sleeved shirt but had pulled the sleeve down over her right hand and brought her hand to her mouth and was chewing on the cuff.

  “Chevy, I have a photo for you to look at,” Steve said. “You may know the man, you may not. Just take a look, okay?”

  Chevy’s attention was on the doorway where Nye was working on repairing the damage. He’d already cleaned up the blood.

  “Chevy?” Steve prompted again.

  She turned to him and nodded. He handed her the ID card in an evidence bag. She held it close to her face and squinted, then made a face and handed it back to Steve. “That’s Gage.”

  “You know him?”

  “I saw him a lot. He was mean to girls. Cyrus used him for security.”

  Tess sucked in a breath. This was huge. The room was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

  After a moment, Tess asked. “Do you know his last name?”

  She shook her head. “He was just Gage. Cyrus liked giving nicknames to people. Where’s the other guy?”r />
  “He got away,” Tess said. When Chevy paled, she added, “But we’re looking hard for him.”

  “The other guy is probably Ice.”

  “Ice?”

  “Yeah, he’s like a lieutenant for Cyrus. He’s the one who brought me to Cyrus. I didn’t tell Agent Bass about him.” Tears started to fall.

  Oliver stepped forward and put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “It’s all right. None of these people in this room will let anyone hurt you.”

  “It’s not that. It’s . . . Well, I didn’t tell Agent Bass because . . . I thought Cyrus still loved me. That we could go back to the way things were before . . .” She sniffled, and Steve gave her a Kleenex.

  “What didn’t you tell Bass?” Tess asked.

  “Ice. He’s the one Cyrus calls when he wants people to disappear. If he’s the other guy, then that means Cyrus sent him after me.” She choked on a sob. “Cyrus really doesn’t love me.” She dissolved into tears on Oliver’s shoulder.

  Tess shot a glance at Steve. She could tell he was thinking the same thing she was. If this Ice was the second gunman and Chevy could give them a good description, they might be on their way to identifying him. Another associate of Cyrus Beck implicated in the incident today could help Bass and his case.

  35

  Ice scowled into the spitting rain, freezing and trying to keep his teeth from chattering. Besides, shivering sent pain through his body from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head. His newfound friend had stashed a sharp little Polaris RZR utility vehicle in the bushes. They’d hopped on and were heading out of the forest, so on one hand he was thankful to be taken out of harm’s way. But on the other hand, Ice hated trusting his safety to a stranger. There was no way this guy was going to get five thousand dollars.

  He lost track of time as they traveled along a rutted road. The farther he got from danger, the angrier he became. He vowed never to trust his well-being to anyone else ever again. From now on, he was solo, and he would stay that way. And along with the fact that he hated feeling disoriented and lost, it felt like his face was frozen solid by the time the rain stopped and they cut off the main path and down, eventually reaching what looked like a trailer park.

  Camo Guy drove the RZR behind a little shed and killed the motor. He turned to Ice. “You can go inside that mobile and get warm and dry. I have to pick up my truck; then we’ll head to the airport.”

  Ice nodded, not trusting his frozen mouth to form intelligible speech. He followed Camo Man to the door of a mobile home, waited as the man unlocked the door, opened it, and motioned Ice inside.

  “Shower is in the back. Help yourself to anything you need. If anyone knocks on the door, don’t answer. This place ain’t mine, but I got permission to use it.” He stepped back out the door, pulling it closed behind him.

  Ice looked around the mobile he found himself in. It was sparse and looked fifteen years out-of-date in terms of furnishings, but it was warm, dry, and his face began to thaw. He sat at the small kitchen table, wincing as pain stabbed when he tried to raise his stiff, cold shoulder. His chest had mellowed to a dull ache. But deep breaths were difficult. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and froze. All his other belongings were in his backpack—burner phone, money, favorite gun—and now the police had them.

  He closed his eyes, leaned back, and cursed. Nothing could identify him specifically—he knew that—so it wasn’t a horrible loss, just irritating and so uncalled for. Anger coursed through his veins, first at Gage and then at those stupid women. He vowed to himself that he would return and kill them all, no matter what Cyrus said or did. The two who chased him away he’d kill for free. He opened and closed his fingers several times before he trusted them to text Cyrus.

  Gage dead, court order rejected.

  An answer came immediately. Where are you?

  Safe for now, trying to get to the airport.

  Hang tight. I may have some news soon.

  It’s hot for me here. You have a plane at the airport?

  If you need a place to lay low, yes, private jet is hangared at the Rogue Valley airport. Digger will get you anything you need. But keep phone close.

  Ice sat back. He wanted to get out of this hick place and back to a big, thriving, warm city. But he’d hide in the plane until stuff calmed down if he had to. He was surprised that Digger was here. Originally completely loyal to Boss Cross, the guy became Cyrus’s personal man, kind of a valet, shortly after Cross died. Since then, Cyrus rarely went anywhere without Digger. Since Cyrus still had the monitoring anklet on, Royal knew he couldn’t be here. Sending Digger was like being here himself. He also knew that if Digger was in charge here now, Royal would have to accord him the same respect he’d accord Cyrus. That was just how it was. It was the weirdest relationship Royal had ever seen.

  Ice had to get to the airport, and he planned to do that without the Camo Man. True, he’d made a mistake getting rid of the cashier too early, but this bearded mountain man was an entirely different situation. It meant nothing to Royal that the guy had saved his life. He knew nothing about the guy and had no plans to sit down and chat about life with him.

  He slowly shed his jacket and body armor, grimacing as he took stock of his wounds. In the small bathroom of the mobile he found some antiseptic and bandages for the open wounds. The slash across his cheek was bad—it would leave a scar. Another reason he vowed to go back and hunt those women down. His chest was already a dark-purple bruise, and as he pressed around with his fingertips, he found some very sensitive spots—cracked ribs, most likely. Gingerly he rinsed off in the small shower and cleaned the injuries that were superficial. The warm water felt like heaven, but he knew he had to hurry.

  When he finished in the shower, he rummaged through the closet for some clean clothes. He found a shirt and a pair of jeans that fit, which surprised him because the Camo Man was much shorter and stockier. There was also a nice pair of boots and a warm jacket that fit. He helped himself to that as well since his jacket was ruined by pellets, blood, and mud. Whoever did own this place was about his size. About time things started working in his favor. He froze when there was a knock on the door.

  Remembering the warning not to open the door, Ice drew his weapon and stood still.

  “Blakely, I know you’re in there.”

  Pound, pound, pound.

  “I’ll call the police. I don’t care if Ron gave you permission to stay here, there is no subletting allowed in the park.”

  More pounding.

  Ice considered solving the problem once and for all and had begun to move forward slowly when a car pulled up.

  “Mr. Polk, I need your help.” It was an old woman’s voice. “My water’s leaking and I can’t turn it off.”

  He heard a sigh. “I’ll be right with you.” Then, “Blakely, this isn’t the end. If you’re not gone when I get back, I’m calling the police.”

  The man left, and the car drove away. Royal holstered his weapon, agitated now. The last thing he wanted was to be cornered here in a flimsy mobile home. Obviously Camo Man had baggage that Ice didn’t need.

  He wadded up his dirty, wet clothes and pushed them into the trash. Then he grabbed his new jacket as another vehicle pulled up. Drawing his weapon again, he peered out the window. Camo Man was back in a big, beautiful truck. He could see the guy fumbling with his keys.

  Ice looked around the mobile home; he needed a suppressor of some sort. Pillows would work, but he also needed to catch the guy off guard.

  The door opened, and the bearded man stepped inside, his gaze going directly to the gun in Ice’s hand. “Hey, what’s up with that?”

  “Some guy was just here, threatening to call the cops.” He put the gun back in its holster, wanting Camo Man at ease, planning, always planning.

  “Let him—we’ll be long gone. You look a heck of a lot better. Are you ready?”

  Ice, now warm, dry, and out of harm’s way, nodded at the guy, maybe seeing him for the first time. He nee
ded to assess the amount of force he’d have to use. Camo Man was sturdy, compact, thick across the shoulders, with a dark beard covering half his face. His deep-set eyes were focused and mean; he was guarded and dangerous. Ice knew that what he planned to do, he must do quickly. In his injured state, any slight mistake would be fatal.

  He nodded and gestured toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

  36

  Chevy described Ice as tall, older, with blond hair and really blue eyes. As for his appearance, “He changes it all the time. I heard him tell Cyrus once that he was a chameleon—he could adjust to any situation and blend into the background so that no one really notices him, and he can come and go as he pleases.”

  Emma Peel had taken Oliver’s place as support for the girl. To Tess, Chevy looked younger than her years for the first time. She was truly shaken and gripped Peel’s hand for support.

  “That’s how he gets girls,” she said, sniffling. “He’s got pretty eyes and girls fall for his lines. I did. I really thought he was taking me to a better life. He can be sweet when he wants to be, but . . .”

  “But what?” Steve asked.

  “I heard rumors while I was with Cyrus. I didn’t want to believe them.” Chevy studied the teacup she was holding. “There was one girl who got in trouble. . . . She made one of Cyrus’s friends mad.” She paused and sipped her tea. Dr. Peel had placed a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  Her voice was weak and reedy when she continued. “I didn’t see it. But I heard that Ice shot her while she was eating breakfast and then wrapped her up in a rug and dumped her in the desert.”

  Harp snorted with disgust.

  Tess, too, felt the disgust. This Ice character was truly evil. Unredeemable. Almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind, Oliver’s words came back to her, what he’d said when they discussed Beck. “Everyone matters under the law, or nobody matters. If under man’s law, everyone matters, how much more to God does everyone matter?” It gave her pause as she considered the vile actions of Ice.