by C L Rowell
4
Todd
∞∞∞
After a serious lack of success locating Miles and then seeing the story in the online version of the Shreveport Times paper about his death, I immediately decided to go see his sister and see if she knew anything. I flew to Shreveport and rented a car for a few days since I wasn’t sure how long I’d be staying in the area. I knew I wanted to attend the funeral if there was one and with that in mind, I also got a room before venturing down to Coushatta in my rented Accord to look for her.
Her address wasn’t difficult to locate, thanks to the GPS system in the car—but when I didn’t find her at her house I was at a loss. With her listed as deceased I couldn’t very well go to the authorities or hire a detective to search for her and I didn’t know the name she was going by now. I was stumped. My heart heavy, I gave in to the impulse to drive past Miles’ place to say goodbye one last time and apologize for failing him. Maybe it sounded like a hokey idea but the feeling that I’d failed him was weighing heavily on me.
I remembered him saying there was a shortcut that shaved a few minutes off if you were coming from or going to his sister’s house, but it had been a while since he’d told me about it and I couldn’t recall if he’d given me any specifics. I tried to use my GPS but apparently no one had informed them about the shortcut. It only showed one route from where I was to where I needed to go and that took me back through town and the route Miles had driven the one and only time I’d been able to go to his place with him. At first, I was pissed—what if she’d gone to his house and was on her way back and I missed her? But I decided to look on the bright side. It wasn’t like I was going anywhere anytime soon. If she was around, I’d find her. Maybe I’d failed him, but I wouldn’t fail his sister, too. Not if I had any say in it. And at that point I relaxed and started enjoying the scenery.
I was about two miles out from town on my way to Miles’ place when I saw a couple cars coming at me on the narrow two-lane country road. I wondered if the drivers were drunk, or drag racing, the way the headlights were swerving back and forth across both lanes. Just to be on the safe side, I sat up straighter and pulled way over so that I was driving on the shoulder—and even partially in the shallow grass-filled ditch—to get out of their way. I was glad I did, too. The dumbass in the rear car was apparently driving with just his parking lights on—in the dark—and chose the very moment they passed me to start coming over into my lane. As it was, the fucker barely missed the tail-end of my rental car as he pulled up to pass the other car—a newer model light colored Toyota Camry—as they flew by me. If I hadn’t decided to move over—I shook my head.
Shoving away all emotion until only anger was left, I floored it, did an abrupt U-turn in the road, and took off after them. I was determined to pull one or both over and give them a piece of my mind. I promised myself I’d call the cops if I couldn’t catch them and, depending on the situation, I figured I might call it in even if I did catch them. It had become a personal vendetta at the point, though. What if it had been someone’s doddering grandma heading home after bingo night instead of me? They could have been killed, or at the very least, scared into a heart attack. At that point I didn’t care if it was teenaged horseplay or drunk driving. They had to be stopped. If not, the risk was real—they were going to kill someone. At the very least it would be one of them but worst-case scenario, it could be a family with children.
Just as I caught up to them, as if the driver of the van sensed my intent, they tried to pull some kind of pit maneuver to cause the driver of the other car to lose control. It might have worked, too, except the lighter colored car’s driver locked up the brakes, waited till the other vehicle pulled even, and slammed into them, sending them careening off the road and into a huge oak tree several yards off the road in a field. I was reluctantly impressed with the move and fairly certain that the occupants of the second vehicle weren’t going anywhere without an ambulance, assuming they even survived the impact. The impact was probably heard from miles around.
With their driver side rear tire in flames and the ass end trashed, the Camry’s driver swerved over to the shoulder. A dark-haired young woman stumbled out with a fire extinguisher. She looked vaguely familiar in the glow from my lights as I climbed out to get a closer look and offer my assistance.
She shot me a venomous narrow-eyed glare when I got closer, obviously prepared to turn the extinguisher on me once the fire was out if it proved necessary. “Are you here to kill me, too?” Her voice could have shattered glass.
I was taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“I was asking if you were here to finish the job and kill me.”
“Why would I do that?” I felt my lips twitch.
“I don’t know. You showed up on their heels, though, so it wouldn’t surprise me none—” She turned to fully face me, and it hit me between the eyes like a two-by-four. I knew why she looked familiar. I’d recognize those features anywhere.
“You’re Millie Masterson! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The words escaped my mouth before I knew what I was saying. My only excuse was that, except for the hair, she looked exactly like the picture Miles kept in his wallet, and I was thrilled at my fortuity.
Wary and fearful, she took a step back and shook her head. “You must have me confused with someone else. My name is Ella Smythe.”
“No, I—” I saw motion behind her and froze in my tracks as a gorgeous brindle boxer stepped between us and growled low in its throat.
“Butch, no.” She gripped his collar in her hand. “Heel.”
He didn’t heel, but he didn’t lunge either. I tried to appear as non-threatening as possible.
“Sorry, how rude of me,” I raised my hands, mentally kicking my own ass. “Please allow me to start over. My name is Todd Wolfe—I was close friends with your brother. Perhaps he mentioned my name a time or two?”
Judging by the glimmer of recognition in her eyes, she recognized my name as soon as I said it. She didn’t let on in any other way, though. “My brother?”
“Your brother, Miles?” I watched her. “He carried a picture of you in his wallet and loved to brag about you to me—he never mentioned my name?”
She finally nodded, her shoulders sagging, “He might have mentioned you a time or two…or a million. In all honesty, he rarely shut up about you. He said you could trace your father’s lineage back to—” she raised a brow, obviously testing me, waiting to see if I could finish her sentence.
“Sitting Bull was my great grandfather on my father’s side of the family,” I offered, hoping to set her mind at ease. “I’ve been told I look like him.”
She shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I wouldn’t know. If they showed us his picture in History, I wasn’t paying attention.” When I laughed, she shot me a hopeful look and glanced back at her car. “Do you think you can change this tire so I can get out of here?”
“It’s melted to the rear fender.”
“Somehow, I knew you’d say that.” Her shoulders slumped again. “Is it a lost cause?”
“Nah,” I eyed her bodyguard, slightly reassured that he was sitting and grinning at me, and no longer growling. “Grab your stuff, and your pup, and I’ll give you a ride. We can call a wrecker for your car.”
“You sure?”
“Does he bite?”
She glanced down and scratched behind his ears. “Only if he thinks you’re gonna hurt me. He seems to think you’re okay, now.”
“Great! Do you need help getting your stuff?”
Shaking her head, she hurried over and collected her keys, her purse, and a small overnight bag, before shutting the door, leaving the flashers on. Eyeing the car, she asked, “Do you think it’s far enough off the road?”
“It should be—especially with the flashers on.”
“What are we going to do about—” she was interrupted by the pop of what I immediately recognized as the sound of gunfire from a weapon equipped with a high-quality silencer. A coup
le strands of golden-brown hair drifted to the ground in my headlights, confirming it. Too close. “Them.”
“Son of a—let’s get out of here.” I grabbed her shoulder and gave her a gentle push towards the passenger side of my rental, “Come on, pup.” We piled inside and I pulled out, laying rubber toward the town of Coushatta.
We hadn’t gone far when she broke the silence. “Should we call nine-one-one?”
“What would we tell them?”
“I don’t know.” She laid her head against the headrest and stared at the ceiling. “I know I can’t handle the scrutiny this will draw—thanks to Miles, the rest of the world thinks I’m dead.”
“I heard. How is that working out?”
“Playing dead?”
“Yeah. How many people know the truth?”
“Well, you—obviously.”
I nod, “Yeah, Miles told me. He was worried that if anything ever happened to him, you’d be alone and vulnerable.”
“What else did he tell you?”
“Not why he was doing it, if that’s why you’re asking. Why?”
She shook her head. “Just curious.”
“I guess you aren’t gonna tell me either.” I changed the subject before she could clam up, “How have you been surviving if the world thinks you’re dead?”
“Uhh…” she froze.
“Relax, I’m friendly—remember? Your brother liked me, didn’t he? If he was here, he’d vouch for me. Nothing you tell me will go any further than between us without your okay—I swear.”
The silence extended to the point where I wondered if she’d respond. Just as I opened my mouth to say something—anything—to fill the awkwardness, she blew out a breath and blurted, “My alter ego.”
Huh? I raised my brows in inquiry. “Your what?”
“My alter ego. I’m a writer. I blog, do freelancing, write articles for online magazines…”
“Under a pen name?” It wasn’t a guess. Miles had mentioned it, proud of her accomplishments, though he never told me what name she wrote under. Her referring to it as her alter ego threw me, though. I bit back a grin, not wanting to offend her.
“Yeah.” She lowered her head and jangled her keys. “I have debit and credit cards under both names, but I only use the ones under that one. If I have to go out in public, I wear a brown wig and glasses. My friend DeAna, helps me, too.”
That explained the color. Brown to blend in with a brown wig. Except— “You’re not wearing a wig right now.”
“That’s because my brother’s—” she jerked around to face me, finally, “Did you hear about Miles’ death?”
“Yeah,” I rubbed my chin with one hand, “that’s actually why I’m here. I was looking for him when I saw the article. Afterwards, I canceled all my plans and flew down.”
“Why?” She stared at her hands as they twisted the keys in her lap.
“To help.”
“Are you sure you want to get involved?”
“Yes,” I covered her hands with mine. “I’ll handle the stuff you can’t if you’ll let me.”
She nodded, sighing, “Like my car? I hope it’s okay. I really liked that car. It got amazing gas mileage.”
“It’s just a car. Cars can be replaced. People can’t.”
“You don’t say?” She buried her face in her hands for a few moments and I felt like an ass. Then, “I’m glad you’re here to help. I feel better about leaving, now. You can keep an eye on DeAna, too, if you will. Maybe you could help her babysit Butch while I’m gone. He intimidates her a little, I think.”
“Gone?”
Her eyes dulled and I watched her shut me out. “I really can’t talk about it. Can you drop me at the airport? I have something I need to take care of and a plane would be the quickest way to travel.”
“Does it have anything to do with what got your brother killed?” I glanced over at her and returned my gaze to the highway.
I felt the weight of her eyes on me. “What do you know about that?”
“Not a lot,” I admitted, not hiding my bitterness. “It’s classified information. I was tasked with finding him but wasn’t high enough in the chain of command to get a description of the enemy or why they were after him.”
5
Millie
∞∞∞
“That doesn’t make any sense. The bad guys could be right in front of you but how would you know if you don’t even have a nationality or general description to go on?”
“Hey, you don’t have to tell me that. You’re preaching to the choir.”
“Umm…yeah,” I peeked at his profile out of the corner of my eye and swallowed a snicker.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I bit my lip, amused. Who says that anymore? Seriously? I had to bite my lip.
I didn’t know what to think of him. I was torn. On one hand, he’d probably just saved my life. Someone had survived the crash with the tree and had taken a potshot at me. If he hadn’t been there…I hate to think what might have happened. But still—he did arrive at a mighty convenient time. Could it possibly be too convenient? Okay, so he did know my brother—and Miles had spoken highly of him. What did that mean, really? People can fool you. Money can change a person—you see it all the time. Even cops can go rogue for the right price. Maybe not all cops but enough to be scary as hell. How could I be sure I could trust him?
He spoke, breaking the silence, “Have you tried to fly since you were declared dead?”
I blinked at him, nonplussed, “Huh?”
“Have you tried to fly since—”
“I heard you the first time.”
“Then why did you say huh?”
“Because you took me by surprise,” I snapped. “I didn’t expect you to ask me that.”
“It’s a logical question.”
I folded my arms, illogically defensive. “I didn’t say it wasn’t, and no I haven’t. I’ve never flown anywhere before.”
“Ever?”
“Is that so surprising?” I felt my whole face heat up. “Not everyone flies.”
“True. Do you have ID under your alias?”
“Under my what?” I scowled.
“Your pen name?”
My cheeks had progressed past warm and were headed toward flaming. Had I really blanked on alias? I used words for a living, for crying out loud. How embarrassing. I ducked my head, “Yes, Miles helped me get a birth certificate, a social security card, and a driver’s license.”
“I won’t ask how.”
“Good,” I smirked at him, “because I couldn’t tell you. I don’t have a clue.”
“You are aware that it was illegally obtained, though?”
“Yes, I’m quite intelligent enough to deduce that, thank you. I’m also equally sure that staging my death and declaring me deceased is shady as hell, too. But he felt he had good reason. Tonight’s events have convinced me that he might have been onto something, too.”
“All it convinced me of is that he wasn’t as successful as he’d hoped. Somebody suspects your death wasn’t real—or if they didn’t, they do now. What were you thinking, driving by his house and ogling like an idiot?”
I stomped the floor in an attempt to take out some of my frustration before I ended up attacking him and turned to face the window. “If you’re just going to insult me, you can let us out right here and I’ll call DeAna to come get me.” A cold wet nose nudged my arm, followed by a pitiful whimper, and I reached into the backseat to stroke Butch’s silky ears. “It’s okay, boy.”
“I’m sorry.” Todd sighed, sounding like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “It’s just…that’s the last place you should have gone.”
“I know, but somebody ransacked the place and I wanted to be able to say I drove by and saw it when I called it in.” I saw him glance at me in the side of my vision and it was my turn to sigh. “I know how crazy that sounds, okay? It hasn’t even been three days since I saw the news that my brother died—and I had t
o read it in the local paper because since I’m supposed to be dead no one would have thought to notify next of kin. It was a hell of a shock to say the least.”
He squeezed my shoulder. “Ditto.”
I turned to face him again and reached up to squeeze his fingers in commiseration, “It’s one hell of a way to find out your friend is gone, huh?”
“Tell me. I feel like I failed him.”
I tilted my head. “Why?”
“Because…”
“If you leave it at that I will punch you.”
“Sorry.” He laughed and put his hand back on the wheel. “I was thinking. I was supposed to find him so he could be offered a deal. They were going to offer to put him into witness protection.”
“What was the deal?”
His shoulder popped up, “I don’t know. Apparently, that was need-to-know knowledge, like the identity of who was after him, and they felt I didn’t need to know.”
“Gah! I would hate that!”
“Believe me, I did.”
I came to a decision. Before I could overthink it and talk myself out of it, I asked, “Where are you staying?”
He told me the name of a well-known casino resort in Shreveport. I pursed my lips, determined to keep my opinions to myself.
“I’m not a gambler, if that’s what you’re thinking. There’s safety in numbers and a popular casino will stay crowded practically twenty-four seven.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Was that his way of saying I have an expressive face? At first, I was offended but I shrugged it off as something I hadn’t thought of earlier occurred to me, distracting me. What if the bad guys had seen DeAna nosing around, too? She was as subtle as a category five hurricane. I pulled out my phone, tapped a familiar number, and held up a finger when he would have said more. The phone rang twice.