HIDING PLACE by Meghan Holloway

by Meghan Holloway

  I should have hidden Sam and stayed inside the sanctuary of the hospital, but it was too late now. There was a gas station across the street, the only other building in the vicinity. I pushed the laundry cart in that direction. There were several trucks parked at the pumps across the street. If we could stowaway in the bed of a one of the pickups and escape this area, we had a chance.

  Several people gathered along the sidewalk stared at me curiously. I avoided eye contact and walked as quickly as I could.

  “Hey!”

  I flinched at the shout behind me and kept moving, tension knotting itself tightly between my shoulder blades.

  “Hey! Stop!”

  I risked a glance back. The man pushed his way through the crowd, staring right at me, talking into a microphone in the cuff of his suit. He was closing the distance between us in long strides, pushing people out of his way. I looked around desperately, and a woman caught my gaze. She wore a nurse’s scrubs, and she stared directly at me.

  Her head turned to take in the man bulldozing his way toward me, and with a glance in my direction, she stepped directly in his path. He tried to pull up, but they went down in a tangle of limbs. Her pained cry was muffled by his shout.

  I shoved the laundry cart against the curb and pushed the linens aside. Sam peered up at me, face drained of color.

  I stripped off the doctor’s coat and tossed it into the cart. “Everything is going to be fine,” I assured him as I lifted him into my arms. “Hold onto me, and don’t let go.” His legs wrapped around my waist, his arms around my neck.

  It felt as if a knife were shoved through my ribcage. My knee and ankle threatened to give out. I was winded, my arms shaking. Nausea churned in my stomach, and my vision swam. But I hurried across the parking lot and out into the street.

  My own breath and heartbeat were so loud in my ears that the only warning I had was Sam’s arms tightening convulsively around my neck. The force with which my arm was grabbed from behind yanked me around. I reacted automatically, kicking the man as hard as I could in the knee and jerking my arm out of his grip.

  The man went down with a bellowed curse, hands clutching at his broken kneecap. I turned, took a lurching step as I tried to run, and my leg collapsed beneath me.

  I twisted as I fell to take the brunt of the impact, and the ground rushed up to meet me. I clutched Sam to me, trying to shield him. I hit the pavement hard, my right shoulder and hip taking the worst of the blow. Sam jolted against me, and I felt something pop in my ribcage. Darkness sliced across my vision, but instinct brought my arms tight around Sam.

  I screamed as the man tried to wrench Sam from me. He clung to me as tightly as I clung to him. I did not dare loosen my grip on him. I kicked out blindly, scuttling backward, struggling to push myself upright and fight the black spots that infringed on my vision.

  Tires screeched nearby, so close to me that I felt the heat of the vehicle at my back. The man made another grab for Sam and caught hold of my ankle as I kicked at him. He yanked me toward him. Gravel bit into my back, and my head bounced against the pavement.

  A figure flew past me, and then the man’s tight grip on my ankle was gone as he was thrown to the ground. The newcomer followed him down. I shoved myself backward and scrambled to get my feet under me.

  The two men on the ground were a blur of movement. The man in the suit grunted and fought wildly, but the newcomer was silent, his face set in a frozen snarl, as he straddled the other man. He delivered a series of punishing blows to the other man’s face, and when the man in the suit twisted to protect himself, the newcomer flipped to his back.

  I staggered to my feet and stumbled against the car abandoned diagonally in the street behind me. For a moment, I thought the newcomer had lost his vantage over the man in the suit now that he was on his back in the street. He was smaller and far less burly than the man now over him, but his legs were wrapped around the other man’s middle and his arms were wrapped akimbo around the other man’s neck, one arm locked around his throat, the other crossed behind his head. The man in the suit flailed against the choke hold, his face red.

  I glanced past the men on the ground and saw half a dozen more men racing toward us.

  The man in the suit went limp suddenly, and the newcomer shoved the unconscious man off of him and leapt to his feet. He spared me a single glance before turning to face the other men.

  “Get in the car, Faye, and lock the doors.”

  I did not know how he knew my name, but I fumbled with the handle on the back door. Sam’s arms were cinched tightly around my neck as I placed him in the backseat. The engine was still running. I darted a glance toward the front seat. “Let go and get down, sweetheart,” I whispered, untangling his arms from about my neck.

  I did not follow him into the backseat. I closed him in and scrambled into the front seat. I slammed the door, locking it behind me. Then I shifted the car into drive and stomped on the accelerator. The tires squealed, and the backend fishtailed before the tread gripped the pavement and we shot down the street. I glanced into the rearview mirror just as the six men who were part of Kevin’s detail rushed the man who helped us.

  Part Three

  twenty-five

  HECTOR

  “She’s gone.”

  William’s voice was winded on the other end of the line, and that snapped me to attention even more than his words. “What do you mean gone?”

  “The hospital had a visitor today. Showed up with more security than a man like that warrants right now. Your girl has more to worry about than Larson. We need to find out who she is to Kevin Hastings.”

  “Hastings?” I stood and moved to the door of my office, closing it. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  “Who is this woman? She’s smart. Bet you anything she was the one who pulled the fire alarm in the hospital. She almost escaped, but the terrain here is wide open. I clocked her as soon as she was in the parking lot, and Hastings’s men weren’t far behind me in making her.”

  “They got her?”

  “Close. I stepped in, and she stole my car while I was taking care of the situation.”

  “The boy was with her?”

  “Yep,” William confirmed. “Hastings’s men weren’t even subtle about it, Hector. They were going to take her down hard in front of witnesses. We need to find them.”

  “I can be there in an hour.”

  “No,” he said. “I’ve got this. I have a modified LoJack on my car, and my phone is busted but still working. I can track her.”

  My desk phone began to ring. “Keep me posted.”

  “Will do,” he said before hanging up.

  I picked up the receiver of the phone on my desk.

  “Can you meet me somewhere?” Arnold Baxter asked in a low voice on the other end of the line.

  “Where are you?”

  “I just left Larson’s.” Nerves lent a quaver to his voice. “He’s going to kill me if he finds out I did this.”

  “Calm down,” I ordered. I rattled off an address. “Meet me there in twenty.” I cued up the radio on my shoulder. “Romeo 3, dispatch.”

  There was a crackle of static, and then a woman said, “Romeo 3, go ahead.”

  “Take me off of calls for the next hour. Forward any non-emergent calls for me to my desk at the PD.”

  “Romeo 3, I copy that.”

  Frank followed me out to my truck, and when we turned off the state road onto the dirt drive, his tail began to thump in recognition.

  Arnold was waiting for me, pacing beside his van. “What the hell is this place?” he asked as I climbed out of the truck.

  I glanced at the burnt, twisted ruins of my Airstream. Beyond the wreckage of my home, just within the shadow of the trees, the white wolf stood watch.

  Deciding that telling Arnold it was my home before Larson’s men set it ablaze would only make him more nervous, I said, “Somewhere we can talk in private.”

  He b
lew out a breath. He studied me for a moment, and then he turned and reached into his vehicle. “Here,” he said, tossing me the object.

  I caught it midair and turned it over in my hands. “A tracking collar?”

  “On one of the grizzlies Larson called me in to process,” Harold said.

  “They shot more than one?”

  The taxidermist’s face pinched in distaste. “A sow and two cubs.” I swore, and he nodded. “They got rid of the transmitter on the collar. I’m guessing as soon as they realized she was tagged.”

  “You’ve finished the paperwork?”

  “Not yet. I’m still working on the kills.”

  I ran my thumb along the edge of the collar, noting the fraying where the GPS unit had been ripped away. “They are in the north barn?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Everything is contained there. I don’t even need to bring any of my tools.”

  “Make yourself scarce at the Broken Arrow tomorrow.”

  He swallowed. “Shit. What are you going to do?”

  I strode back to my truck. “Unless you want to be arrested, stay away.”

  I did not head back to Raven’s Gap. Instead, I headed toward Gardiner. I crossed the river and passed under the Roosevelt Arch. I flashed my badge when I reached the small cabin that served as the gateway to the north entrance of the park.

  The five miles to Mammoth were an ascent, winding up through the hills. I came around a curve and crested the ridge. The Lower Terraces gleamed like white marble in the spring sun.

  The hotel was still closed for renovations this season, though it was slated to reopen later in the year. Spring had come to the park, and with it, the crowds. This time of year was busy in the park. We crawled through Mammoth Village. Frank pressed his nose to the window, whining in excitement at the people streaming along the sidewalks. I left my truck near the visitor center and crossed the old fort grounds.

  In the years following Yellowstone’s establishment as the first national park, the Army sent men from Fort Custer to protect the land. The old structures built at the turn of the century with stone quarried from the Gardner River still stood.

  I had dealt with Amon Edwards, a ranger with the Yellowstone Law Enforcement Services Branch, on a number of cases before. When I asked to see him, it was only a few minutes before he came striding down the hall.

  “Hector.” He held out his hand and shook mine with a firm grip. The man was short and stocky with a boyish face. “What brings you to the park today?”

  I handed him the tracking collar, and his brow creased. “Can we talk in your office?”

  I told him everything I had discovered about Grant Larson’s operation. His expression grew more somber and angry as I spoke.

  “I’ll put in a call to Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks on this,” he said finally. “I’ll talk with the Interagency Grizzly Bear Study Team, too. With the GPS in those collars, they will be able to pinpoint where the signal went dead.”

  “The sow and cubs are on his ranch right now being processed.”

  “I can’t promise I will be able to get the ball rolling on this tomorrow,” he warned me. “But I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s all I ask,” I said. “As soon as I get the paperwork from the taxidermist, I will pass it on to you.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “A female with two cubs? Shit. It’s been a cluster fuck since the grizzlies lost their protected status.”

  When I left the building that now served as park headquarters, I found Jack Decker leaning against the side of my truck. He straightened as I approached and rubbed his thumb in the gouge that marred the paint from fender to bumper where he keyed my truck in January.

  “I have a buddy who can fix this for you,” he said, and I knew it was the only apology I would ever get from him.

  I shrugged. “At least it wasn’t blood poured across the seats or graffiti across the side.”

  He looked away. “Saw you when you were passing through Gardiner, and I wanted to have a word.” He met my gaze. “Something is going down.”

  “Kevin Hastings is in town.”

  His eyebrows arched. “You’re well informed. Larson called him, and he showed up today.”

  “Do you know how Hastings is connected to Faye and Sam?”

  “That’s why he’s here?” Jack said. “I know Larson and Hastings know one another. Old family friends. But I assumed he was here because of what you’ve uncovered about the poaching ring.”

  “I think it’s more than that. His men attempted to grab Faye and her boy from the hospital this morning.”

  “Christ.” He glanced toward the park headquarters. “Getting the feds involved now?”

  “That adult grizzly Boudreaux killed had a radio tag.”

  “Larson isn’t usually so careless,” he said.

  I smirked. “I guess he’s had a lot on his mind lately.”

  He studied me. “You got to Baxter, too, didn’t you?”

  I ignored his question as I climbed into the cab. “You’ll keep your ears open about the connection between Faye and Hastings?”

  “Larson doesn’t exactly share his daily gossip with me over coffee,” he said. “But I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” He put a hand on my door when I moved to close it. “Faye and her boy. They okay?”

  “They got away from Hastings’s men,” I said. “But I don’t know if they’re okay.”

  The traffic moved even slower out of the park on account of a bighorn sheep sighting. When I returned to the police station, Joan met me at my office door.

  “There’s someone here to see you.”

  “Regarding a case?”

  “I don’t think so, but he didn’t say,” she said carefully. “He asked to speak with you privately, so I left him in the victim advocate room.”

  The tone of her voice told me something was amiss, but she disappeared down the hallway before I could question her. I motioned for Frank to stay on his bed. I cut through the bullpen and down the hall, slowing when I turned the corner and caught sight of the man standing in front of the door into victim services. I recognized him immediately for what he was—a bodyguard.

  He turned as I approached. He was an oversized bruiser of a man, the fluorescent light overhead gleaming off his bald head, his suit expensive and pressed until the creases looked sharp enough to be used as weapons in their own right. “I’m going to need your weapon, sir, before you enter.”

  I ignored him and went to move around him, but he stepped into my path, blocking my way. “I don’t think you realize this is not only my jurisdiction,” I said, “but my department. You don’t have authority here.”

  He took a deep breath and seemed to swell in size, filling the doorway. I eyed him for a long moment before I shrugged and turned away. “Your boss must not be that interested in speaking with me.”

  I did not get very far down the hallway before I heard, “Wait, wait.”

  I pivoted and only William’s call earlier kept my surprise in check. Kevin Hastings was the attorney general of New York for six years before winning the Senate election in 2016. Now, his face was plastered across billboards and commercials all across the United States as the prospective candidate for the nomination for president in the upcoming election. He had come out of the gate early, the first to announce his run for the primary.

  He was in his mid-forties, composed and dignified enough to appeal to the older crowd, charming and boyish enough to appeal to the younger one. He came from wealth, and he wore it like a second skin. His smile was practiced, everything about him smooth and polished and open. It immediately put me on my guard.

  “Officer Lewis?” He strode toward me with his hand extended.

  “Yes,” I said. “And you are?”

  I hid a smile when his practiced one slipped the slightest bit before he straightened it. I accepted his handshake, noting the firmness and strength in his grip.

 
He chuckled. “Kevin Hastings. I see I have not done enough to reach the constituency of Montana.”

  I kept my face bland. “I’m afraid I don’t follow politics.”

  He grinned, and it set my teeth on edge. “No, I’m sure you have much more important matters to attend to.” He swept a hand toward the victim advocate office as if he were royalty inviting me into his chamber. “May we talk in private?”

  I glanced at the pit bull and arched an eyebrow.

  “Paul is a little overzealous at times. I apologize on his behalf. Of course you don’t need to surrender your weapon.”

  The victim advocate room was large with several couches and chairs. It was brightly lit, and the volunteers who worked in the office had made an effort to make the room less stark with landscapes on the wall and pillows with flowers on them on the couches.

  I took the chair across from Kevin and after the man nodded at his pit bull, the bodyguard closed the door and remained in the hallway. The man who was possibly the next president of the United States clasped his hands, propped his elbows on his knees, and leaned toward me.

  “What I would like to discuss with you is sensitive in nature. The woman at the front desk told me there are no microphones or cameras in this room.”

  “That’s correct,” I said.

  “I know an honorable man such as yourself will want to do what’s right and will understand why I don’t want this spread around.”

  I arched an eyebrow. He was good. He spoke to the ingrained code of corruption that a number of old timers in the force lived by. He just did not realize I did not give two shits about codes or a guise of honor.

  “Why don’t you just spit it out?” I asked, and had the pleasure of seeing his annoyance at being derailed from his script flicker across his face.