Illusive Witness

by S. Y. Thompson

  “Did she say how long after we left before the sedan arrived?”

  “Ms. Stanton wasn’t really paying attention so she wasn’t able to be specific. She said it was a couple of hours, but that was a best guess.”

  Emma closed her eyes and lightly thumped her head against the wall. For all she knew, Carlotti’s men were pulling into the motel at that exact moment. The blue truck was like a neon sign on the roadway announcing exactly where they’d gone. “I have to get back there, sir. How long until I can expect backup?”

  “I’ve already given the order,” Waild told her. “As soon as I heard about it, I sent the team guarding Terry Stanton your way. They should arrive within the hour.”

  Emma quickly gave her supervisor the location of the motel and their room number. Then she hung up, grabbed the food and jogged back across the street. In the event that she was overreacting and the neighbor’s visitors had nothing to do with them, she and Ruth would still need to eat. She didn’t want to overreact and scare the hell out of Ruth for no reason, but Emma couldn’t leave her alone any longer either.

  The rancher stood leaning against his truck, ready to drive Emma back to the abandoned blue Chevy. Instead, she gave him a quick excuse about “a friend” that waited for her back at the motel. He dropped her at the top of the exit adjacent to the Mountain Paradise. She gripped the handle of the plastic water jug in one hand and the sacks of food and bottled drinks in the other as she ran down the blacktop. Less than a quarter mile away, it seemed to take forever before Emma hit the parking lot.

  Roy’s station wagon remained in its previous spot and at first all seemed in order. Emma took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing pulse. Then she noticed the hood to the station wagon was ajar. As a fully trained and experienced law enforcement officer, Emma had great attention to detail. The hood hadn’t been open before.

  Emma jogged to the corner of the building, leaning her shoulder against the brick façade and peaking around the edge. Nothing moved. She slowly bent over without removing her eyes from the scene and placed everything on the ground to free up her hands. Reaching under her jacket, Emma slid the .40 caliber Glock out of the holster and held it at the ready. She listened intently, but not even birdcalls disturbed the silence. The clouds had thickened and darkened in the short time Emma spent away from the motel and everything seemed to be holding its collective breath, waiting for the storm to break.

  After crouching down to make a smaller target, Emma eased down the front of the building toward the lobby. She had a driving desire to check on Ruth, but Roy could just as easily become a victim of the relentless mobster and she couldn’t move on without checking on him. The wooden door to the motel office was ajar, only the screen keeping the insects out. Emma leaned around the frame and peered through the mesh before quickly jerking back. She hadn’t seen anything unusual like a group of hit men standing around so Emma tried for a longer look. Everything inside appeared as it had when she and Ruth first arrived. The plastic orange furniture remained and she could hear the whine of the air conditioning.

  She reached for the door handle with her left hand, keeping her gun up and her eyes moving for any signs of life. Emma slid inside the opening as soon as it was wide enough. She felt like an easy target, standing in the center of the lobby without anything to hide behind. A familiar smell struck her nose and Emma followed the scent toward the registration desk. She already knew what she’d find before she looked over the desk.

  Roy lay on the floor with a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. His death was something a coroner might call a “pop and drop.” He’d died instantly. Emma could still smell the cordite so this hadn’t happened long ago. Instinct told her she was alone inside the office, but she felt sure there had to be a back entrance. Running back out the way she’d come in wasn’t advisable and she had to get to Ruth without being seen...or killed.

  Without hesitation, Emma entered the room from which Roy had emerged earlier in the day. She found herself in a small sitting room complete with a nineteen-inch television that was currently off. As predicted, a door on the far wall promised her easy access to the rear of the motel. As she slipped carefully outside, Emma’s desperate eyes searched in the direction of their room and her breath caught in her throat. They had requested a room in the back to avoid detection. That decision had in fact worked against them.

  Emma saw a light-green four-door sedan parked a few spaces from Ruth’s unit. The door to their room was ajar and an open can of soda lay spilled on the sidewalk. Expecting the worst, but fervently hoping for the best, Emma sprinted toward the room. She burst in with the Glock up and her finger on the trigger, utilizing the element of surprise. No one was home.

  “Ruth?” she called out softly. Emma checked every place Ruth could conceivably hide. Nothing.

  “Damn it, where are you?” Emma muttered.

  A gunshot exploded from outside, echoing loudly through the trees and across the motel lot. Worst case scenarios flooded her mind. Emma feared that Ruth had just been shot and desperately needed her. She grabbed her rucksack before scooting out the door and racing into the woods toward the gunshot. Her bag contained a small first-aid kit and Lyle’s service weapon. She prayed she’d need neither.

  Emma ran toward the woods surrounding the motel as though the hounds of hell snapped at her heels. Unable to think of anything but getting to Ruth, she was only dimly aware of the rucksack bouncing against her back. Lyle’s semi-automatic resided there, but Emma hadn’t time to retrieve it as she leapt over fallen tree limbs and skirted tangled shrubs. The toe of her sneaker snagged on something and Emma pitched forward. Unable to adjust from a headlong sprint into a stumble, she landed flat on her face. The Glock sailed from her grip, but she couldn’t concentrate on that through the pain that seared the flesh of her abdomen.

  She held her breath, trying valiantly not to cry out and draw unwanted attention to her position. The effort left Emma a little dizzy and nauseated. Desperately, after the briefest of pauses, Emma gulped in a cleansing breath and scrambled to her knees. Leaves littered the forest floor and in the waning light she couldn’t see the firearm anywhere.

  Please, please, Emma silently chanted, searching with her hands as much as with her eyes. She scooted forward and her knee came down on something hard. Convinced she’d lost Ruth in her clumsiness, Emma clamped down on a sob as she grabbed the pistol and lunged to her feet. She took off again, following a narrow game trail, heedless of the spreading warmth that tracked down her torso.

  The humidity became more noticeable as she moved and the wind suddenly picked up, lifting the short blond hair off Emma’s forehead. Lightning split the sky and she smelled ozone on the air. The sun had headed toward the horizon even as the clouds darkened more, becoming ominous, thick and pendulous. Emma had to find Ruth before the sun set and the storm began in earnest. In full darkness, surrounded by a thunderstorm, she would have no chance of doing so.

  Unexpectedly, the trail vanished. Emma slowed and then stopped. She looked all around but didn’t know which way to go. Without follow-up sounds, shouted words or more gunfire, she had nothing to track. The wind caused the trees and vegetation to whip about, creating heavy rustling noises and movement that confused her senses.

  Over the strong gusts and agitated foliage, Emma caught the steady pounding rhythm of running feet. Optimistic that Ruth had inadvertently found her, Emma nevertheless fancied erring on the side of caution. She crouched low, hiding between the gnarled roots of a massive tree. By peering around the side, she spotted someone in black tactical trousers and matching boots. She couldn’t see their upper body without standing and revealing her location, but it was definitely not Ruth.

  As they passed by, Emma kept low and out of sight. She used the few seconds afforded to catch her breath and determine her next move. This was the outer edge of a national forest, a place open to the public. It was conceivable that the person in the woods was merely out for an invigorating hike.


  Yeah, out for a walk wearing heavy black clothing with an impending thunderstorm overhead.

  Emma found it far more likely that this was one of their uninvited guests, no doubt hunting for them with orders to eliminate them on sight. She intended to remain concealed, but she could also use this as an opportunity. Using the growing strength of the wind as an ally, Emma trailed her quarry from a distance in the off chance he would lead her to Ruth. Fat raindrops began to fall. At first, the treetops absorbed the moisture, but soon the rain overwhelmed the vegetation and soaked into her hair and clothing. Disregarding the water that trailed under her shirt and skittered down her back, Emma followed at a distance.

  Within minutes, Emma spotted the roof of a low-slung restroom nearby. A low wooden rail embedded in the turf before the building held an unreadable sign attached with a rope. One end of the rope still held the metal placard, but the other end lay on the ground, frayed and useless. She was close enough now to see that the person she trailed was male. He headed unswervingly for the structure and disappeared inside. Suddenly, the wind intensified to a frightening degree. Unable to resist, she looked away from the stranger to see trees tossing wildly in response. The sky around them had taken on a sickly greenish cast and a wall cloud covered the entire area.

  Leaves and debris swept off the forest floor, most blowing harmlessly away. Some not. Less than twenty feet away, on the right side of the restroom entrance, Emma watched entranced as debris churned high up in a circular motion. In a split-second, a thin, whirling tunnel dropped from the sky. Though tapered and not yet fully born, the phenomenon was clearly a developing tornado.

  Before she had time to run for cover, the man emerged from the building. Emma registered the surprise in his eyes when he spotted her and the mustache plastered to his face from the rain. Plainly oblivious to the danger, he raised the micro Uzi pistol. Emma threw herself to the side and toward the ground, temporarily forgetful of her torn stitches. The impact with solid turf was a painful reminder, but not nearly as frightening as the sound of bullets whizzing past her head. Emma scurried to her feet and toward the small bathrooms, terrified of both the whirling dervish and the mini-machine gun.

  Emma glanced toward the killer as she ran and returned fire. The first two rounds were wide off the mark, intended more to make him stop shooting so she could get to safety. She saw the tornado moving toward her attacker and made a break for the building, keeping a terrified eye on both threats.

  Undeterred and still unaware, the man aimed his weapon again. Emma saw it all, every motion taking on a surreal cast as events converged and seemed to slow. Her bullet caught him high in the chest, pitching him backward even as the tornado moved close enough to catch hold. She witnessed the exact moment the truth of his predicament permeated the assassin’s brain. He let go of the Uzi. At less than four pounds, the tornado sucked the pistol into the vortex. The killer threw himself forward, away from the tornado at the same time that Emma dove for the frayed rope on the park sign. She was too far away to make it to the bathroom and the rope offered slim hope of saving her from a horrible death, but it was the only option.

  Despite his efforts to claw away from the funnel cloud, Emma saw him sliding backwards. His boots left furrows in the saturated ground. Then he was gone, hauled away by Mother Nature’s unpredictability. One threat eliminated, Emma was more terrified than ever. The tornado slid closer, pulling everything not nailed down into the funnel. Emma wrapped the rope around her hands several times with the knowledge that she could never hold on without that added support.

  Her feet left the ground, tugging her body upward until she was slanted at a forty-five degree angle. The backpack she wore did nothing to keep her grounded. The force of the tornado stretched the rope taut, her arms extended fully. Emma screamed at the sensation of her limbs separating from the sockets, the sound snatched away on the high wind. Tears streamed from her eyes, never making it to her cheeks. G-forces sucked the oxygen away, making it difficult to draw breath.

  Without warning, the power of the tornado lessened and Emma landed face down in the grass and dirt. She spit out a mouthful of pine needles and turned her head. The tornado had fizzled out, leaving the rain, thunder and lightning in its wake. She could almost believe she’d imagined things, but the damage left behind was unmistakable. Saplings had uprooted and snapped like kindling. Her assailant lay unmoving against a massive trunk. Emma shakily stood and unwrapped the rope from her palms, wincing from the abraded skin. She walked over on unsteady legs to check on the man, discovering him very dead, either from the bullet wound in his chest or from being wrapped backward around a tree. She didn’t know which and at the moment she didn’t care. She had bigger problems.

  Emma hurried a few feet away and bent over to puke. For the first time today, she was thankful she’d only eaten a couple of fries since yesterday. She wiped her mouth and took a deep breath before turning her face up to the cleansing rain. Continuing her search for Ruth pressed Emma into moving, but she had to take a second to regain her composure.

  “Marcus, where are you?”

  The unexpected female voice caused Emma to jump. She turned in fear even as she recognized the static sound of a radio transmitter. Other than the dead body, she remained alone in the clearing. Emma scanned the ground, attempting to narrow down the radio’s location.

  “Check your GPS for coordinates, and get over here.” The woman’s urgent, low-pitched tones suggested she had Ruth cornered.

  Emma shouted in triumph and snatched the two-way off the ground. She’d never be able to pass herself off as the dead man, but by holding onto the radio, Emma might find out how many adversaries she faced. After retrieving the device, Emma hurried toward the body. She hesitated to touch the bloody form, but she needed the GPS the female dirt bag had mentioned. Trying not to notice the obviously broken back, twisted like a pretzel, Emma searched his pockets. She found an extra clip for the Uzi, useless without the weapon, and a Garmin GPS. Coordinates flashed, giving Emma hope that they would lead straight to Ruth.

  THE HAMMERING RAIN pelted down over Ruth’s head, stinging her face and obscuring her vision. Although drenched, the force of the wind still whipped her hair about. Lightning shattered the sky in multiple strobes, followed by the boom of thunder. Fog drifted low over the landscape obscuring the ground, a byproduct of the cold rain hitting the sun-warmed ground. Ruth pressed backward against a dirt and rock embankment, trying to stay out of the repeated bolts of lightning. With the storm raging all around, Ruth couldn’t hear her pursuers, but she knew they were still out there.

  She’d seen a woman and two men exit the sedan in the motel parking lot. From the way they dressed, Ruth knew instantly they weren’t knocking on doors to preach the good word. She’d high-tailed it into the woods without a second thought. Going back into the hotel room would only buy her a short reprieve. Once they searched the other rooms, these murderers would find her and the tiny sanctum would become a deathtrap since there was only one way in or out. A simple quest for a vending machine and something to quench her thirst had ended up saving her life...at least for now.

  Emma had to be back by now and searching for her. All Ruth had to do was avoid these people until Emma arrived to save the day.

  “There you are.”

  The voice was not one that she expected to hear ever again. Ruth met the dark, cold-blooded gaze and knew she wouldn’t survive to see Emma’s return. Carlotti himself had come for her. Anger and hatred warred for dominance in his visage, blurred by the rivulets of water cascading over him.

  “I’m going to enjoy taking you out myself.”

  “Wait,” Ruth cried, desperately raising her hands in a futile gesture of self defense.

  Carlotti did wait, but she saw that it was only so he could move closer. Never dropping eye contact, he climbed a small rise to get a better angle. He stopped about six feet away, aiming the gun at Ruth’s chest. Ruth thought his weapon was different than the others. The woman an
d the guy she’d previously named “Mustache Man” carried automatics of some sort. Carlotti carried a regular handgun like the one Ruth had seen Emma take from her dead partner. She didn’t know much about weapons, but it didn’t really matter. A single round would kill her just as dead.

  “Why should I? You killed the only person that mattered and now I’m going to return the favor.”

  Bright flashes of light and thunder punctuated his words. Ruth looked away when she saw Carlotti’s arm tense. A flare intense enough to hurt even through closed eyes followed quickly by a cannon-like boom threw her back against the muddy wall.

  I’m hit, Ruth thought. Dazed by terror, it took a moment to realize she remained unharmed. Ruth’s gaze shot back to Carlotti and she saw him lying face down. Emma came running out of the darkness, passing heedless by the body in her flight to Ruth. She didn’t hesitate to throw her arms around Ruth and draw her into a tight hug.

  Emma pushed away again almost instantly. Her hands trailed quickly over Ruth’s face and shoulders. “Are you hurt? I was so worried.”

  “No, I’m okay. Thank God you got here when you did. He was going to kill me.”

  A confused look settled on Emma’s features. “Who was going to kill you?”

  “Carlotti!” Ruth pointed to the motionless man. “I thought you shot him.”

  Emma walked over and knelt beside the fallen mobster. She reached down as though to touch him, but pulled her hand back at the last second.

  “He’s as crispy as a fresh batch of pork crackling. Lightning must have hit him. The gun’s fused to his hand.”

  Relief hit her so hard that Ruth felt light-headed. “Oh thank God.”

  When Emma returned to her side, Ruth initiated another hug. Her arms were high up around Emma’s neck, over the top of her wet pack. It felt so good to hold Emma’s warm body and know that she was safe. Ruth had been afraid that Carlotti or his people killed her. Emma returned the embrace and then spoke into her ear.