by Kylie Brant
“Honey, I don’t know what happened in there. But Atwood’s isn’t the only private driving instruction outfit in town.”
Eryn drew a deep breath. Forced herself to sit upright. “It’s all right.”
“Maybe it is.” Lucy was watching her in the rearview mirror. “But something seemed important enough for you to come here this morning. Does it matter enough to check somewhere else?”
She wanted to say no. But the burn that had taken root inside her last night flared just as hot this morning. If she could drive, she could sign up for some college classes. Go to scenic areas for inspiration. The only way she was ever going to improve her painting was by furthering her instruction.
After a long moment, she said, “Can you take me to a different one?”
Lucy’s smile was wide. “Give me a minute to search online.”
Ike Masterson had twenty years on Gary Atwood, and it was soon clear his driving school was a one-man show. Eryn sat woodenly through his spiel, steeling herself for a repeat of the earlier scene.
“How much?”
If he was surprised by her abrupt question, it didn’t show. He stroked his bearded jaw and quoted her a price. “I require a four hundred dollar down payment.”
“I don’t have that much with me.” She’d spent some money when Mary Jane had taken her shopping. The woman had steered her to the sales racks with the admonition never to pay full price for anything if she could help it. “I can give you two hundred today.”
Ike looked amused. “You drive a hard bargain.”
She reached into her coat pocket for the cash Uncle Bill had given her. Peeled off two hundreds and handed them to him.
“Looks like we’re in business.” He got up to rummage in a desk drawer. “I’ve got a contract in here somewhere. Nothing much to fill out, really.” Smiling, he handed her a slightly creased paper and a pen.
He has a nice smile, Eryn thought numbly as she stared at the contract. She was unable to return it.
“How much experience do you have?” Ike asked.
“None.”
“Not a problem. No bad habits to unlearn.”
She only half heard him. Her eyes were fixed on the contract. NAME. The first line jumped out at her, while the other print faded. She set the pen to the paper. Couldn’t manage more than the E before she stopped again.
“My name is Eryn Pullman,” she said defiantly. There was no use filling out the contract if it was just going to be torn up like the last one.
There was a flicker of recognition in the other man’s eyes. “Okay. Would you prefer I did the writing for you?”
Eryn stared at him, nonplussed. Family tragedies like hers might fade from memories, but she’d seen the television vans outside their drive on her first day home. Although she hadn’t tuned in, she was certain her history had been splashed all over screens in the area. Even people who didn’t personally know her family would recall their name.
“When you get done filling out the contract, go ahead and turn it over. Write your schedule on the back.” Ike’s teeth flashed. “Pretty sure I won’t have a problem accommodating you, but if we have a conflict in our schedules, I can work something out most days.”
“I only have appointments on Wednesdays.” That was the day she went to Dr. Ashland. She quickly filled out the contract and then wrote her appointment days on the back. “How many days a week are the lessons?”
“Up to you. We’re required by the state to provide a certain number of contact hours. The quicker we get them done, the faster you can apply for a license.”
A thread of excitement entered her veins. She was in charge of determining how long it would take to be permitted to drive a car. The knowledge was heady. “Can we try for two days a week? In the mornings?” Mornings were the best time for painting, before the medication kicked in. She was decidedly more sluggish by noon.
But the road to independence was going to take sacrifice.
“Did you put your cell number down?” Ike peered at the paper before nodding in satisfaction. “You might want to put mine in your contacts, in case you need to reschedule.” He recited it for her. “How about Mondays and Fridays? Is ten o’clock okay?”
“All right.” Dizzy with relief, she smiled at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She got up and strode to the door, anxious to get to the car, but for a different reason this time.
“Coincidence, you coming here.”
She stopped, his words acting like a dash of ice water on her enthusiasm.
“Some time back, I did driving instruction with your mama.”
Warily, Eryn met his gaze. He was smiling again. And the kindness she saw in his eyes had a bit of her tension seeping away. “She’d been mandated to attend driving classes. These days they’d just yank your license for too many moving violations, but back then you could avoid losing it by taking part in remedial driving instruction.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Your mama had a lead foot.”
“She did?”
“Yep. She had a sparkle about her. Drew people in, you could say. I still remember how her face would light up when she talked about you. Proud as punch, she was. If people round here get you down, maybe it’ll help to just hold on to that.”
Ryder
Laura Talbot set a steaming mug of coffee in front of Ryder before sitting next to him, cradling another cup in her hands. He took a sip, wincing at its temperature, but appreciating the flavor. The coffee maker in his office was pretty great, but nothing matched his mom’s brew.
“Heck of a thing when I have to bribe my only son with coffee to get a visit these days,” she teased. It wasn’t six yet, but she was dressed with her hair and makeup done. No one saw Laura Talbot before she had her face on for the day. Her habit of early-bird mornings was a standing joke in the family.
The hour suited him fine. In twenty minutes, Ryder would head to the office and take a stab at the mountain of county matters unrelated to Samuel Aldeen. By seven fifteen he’d be at the community center room they’d confiscated for a command center, which he’d left shortly before three this morning. At this point, he may as well move in a cot.
“I’ve been keeping long hours. Hopefully it will end soon.”
His mom’s pretty face sobered. “I know you have. It makes me feel better knowing you’re in charge. People in town are getting mighty jumpy with that murderous pervert on the loose.”
Ryder gave a wry smile. “We’ve got so many alphabet agencies gathered to assist in this thing, I can’t say for sure who’s running what.” SBI. FBI. The regional fugitive task force. USMS. And after they’d found Bush with a couple of bullet holes in him, the ATF had joined the team. Coordinating the actions of all the groups was a staggering task.
“Your sister is planning to bring the kids for a few days this weekend.” Seeming oblivious to Ryder’s expression, his mother sipped from her mug. “Seems like forever since I’ve seen Ronda and the boys, even if it’s really only been a few weeks.”
“Why don’t you go there?”
His mom’s mug paused mid-descent. “What? Why?”
“I don’t want the kids here while Aldeen is still free.” The odds were stacked against the man ever being within miles of this home. But the fugitive had been riding the wheel of Lady Luck since he drove out the Fristol gates. There was no way in hell Ryder’s nephews were going to be anywhere close to this area. He realized his fear was more emotional than logical. But caution cost them nothing.
“You’re right,” she sighed. “Of course, you’re right. I’ll call Ronda later today and ask if she minds switching plans.”
He almost regretted his words when worry replaced his mom’s smile. But not enough to rescind them. He didn’t mind knowing his family would be safely away on the other side of the state.
“You’re certain he remains in the area, then?”
The question was like touching a bruise. The fugitive’s best chance at leaving the state had b
een right after he escaped. Ryder couldn’t figure what was keeping him in the vicinity. The manhunt grew more focused by the hour. As yesterday had proven, it was only a matter of time before he was recognized.
Ryder’s mood darkened when he thought of how the new sketch of Aldeen had come about. The next time he tried to entice a child, there might not be a smart ten-year-old brother in the vicinity to stop him.
His mom smiled. “Your mind is already on the case. Go on, then. Go out and save the world.”
“My cape and tights are with my other uniform,” he deadpanned. But with another look at the clock, Ryder took a big gulp of coffee before rising. A familiar band of tension was forming across his shoulders. It was one he wouldn’t shake until Aldeen was in custody again.
His mom stood, too, and he kissed the top of her head. Easy enough to do; he’d been a foot taller than her since eighth grade. “I’ll call you before you leave for Cary,” he promised.
“Uh-huh. Heard that one before too.” She smoothed a hand down his shirt and smiled up at him. “I’ll never get over the sight of you wearing the same uniform your daddy did. He would have been so proud, Ryder.”
His answering smile was tight. Butch Talbot’s idea of pride had usually taken the form of unrelenting pressure and unrealistic expectations, followed by ridicule and belittlement when those expectations weren’t met. He’d treated Ryder’s mom like she was wrapped in gossamer, which was perhaps his only redeeming quality. Ryder had never doubted Butch’s love for his wife. But that was negated by his history of being a serial cheater. As far as Ryder knew, his mom had never discovered her husband’s sexual proclivities. God willing, she never would.
“Thanks for the coffee.” He headed for the door.
“Thanks for the suggestion,” his mom called after him. “I’ll pass it on to Ronda. But you know your sister. She’s stubborn.”
Ryder did know. But if it came to it, he’d call his younger sister himself. He waved to his mom as she watched him from the window. He didn’t ask his family for much. But it’d be nice if they’d give him some peace of mind until this case wrapped up.
Ryder had gotten exactly thirty minutes of peace before there was a rap at his office door.
“Come in if you’re bearing doughnuts.”
Cady Maddix entered, her mouth curled into a smile. “Sorry. I’ll have to remember for next time.”
Ryder stared. “Holy shit.” Not especially eloquent, especially when addressing a female. But damn. Instead of the ponytail she’d sported the other times they’d met, she was wearing her hair loose, probably in an effort to shield the brilliant bruising along one side of her jaw. He winced a little at the explosion of color there. He could only imagine what her sunglasses were hiding. “Was that from flying debris, or did you hit something in the blowback?”
“Both, I think.” She moved, rather stiffly, he noted, and sank into a seat across from his desk. “Do you have time for a quick update, or are you going to make me wait for the official one later this morning?”
He leaned back in his chair. They had a team of people working on a twice-daily coordinated dissemination of information. It was essential to let all the different law enforcement entities involved with this case know what the others were doing. But he appreciated the way she’d sent him quick summaries on her daily results. Didn’t mind doing the same. “You heard we missed Aldeen again.” At her nod, he continued: “He had a ninety-minute head start on us. We don’t have a license plate number, but Highway Patrol is doing a stop and search on all similar vehicle make and models. Every law enforcement entity in the area has the same information.”
And so far, it had yielded jack shit. The quick flare of frustration was familiar. The Highway Patrol helicopters had spotted a few matching vehicles, but none of the sightings had panned out. After the news alert, the tip line had been overwhelmed. There’d been close to a thousand reported sightings of Aldeen scattered throughout the surrounding states since his escape. Hundreds since yesterday. But while the task force was following up the most credible tips, so far they’d all fizzled.
“He has to know the vehicle he’s driving is no longer viable,” Cady said thoughtfully.
Ryder tapped the stack of paper on his desk. “Which is why we’re collecting stolen car reports.” He was wishing now he’d brewed a pot of coffee when he’d come in. His caffeine fix hadn’t been satisfied with the single cup at his mom’s. “We got word of a home burglary report outside Gatlinburg. The witness who called it in described a car that might match Bush’s but couldn’t give much of a description of the intruder, other than the guy was wearing a hat. We sent some people to check it out. Aldeen would have had time to get there, but . . .”
“Why would he have chosen now to leave the state?” Cady wondered. “He’s had plenty of opportunity.”
He shrugged. “The cabin wasn’t safe for him any longer. He had to go somewhere.” He stifled a sudden yawn with his fist. “On another note, ATF reports are back on the ballistics from Joe Bush’s homicide. The gun had been used in a shooting in Charlotte in 2017. The ATF team on the task force is tracing the lead. And . . . I think that catches you up.” He straightened in his chair. Reclining even slightly would put him to sleep. “Did you discover anything else linking Aldeen to the Pullmans?”
In answer, she took out her cell and scrolled through some pictures before leaning forward to set it on his desktop. “Samuel Aldeen, Sheila Preston, and David Sutton worked together at a restaurant-slash-bar in Charlotte twenty-three years ago. It’s still in operation and the owner has pictures.”
Ryder picked up the cell and studied the photo closely. “Okay. Who’s the blonde on Sutton’s lap?”
“His girlfriend from the time—Aurora Pullman.” His expression must have reflected his shock. Cady gave a slow nod. “Yeah, that was our reaction too. It’s our first clue as to why the fugitive showed interest in Eryn Pullman’s progress notes. He knew her mother.”
“But not Eryn. At least not then.” Ryder handed the cell back to her, his mind racing. “Anything that links Aurora Pullman to either Sutton or Aldeen after Eryn was born?”
“Not yet.” Cady slipped the phone in her coat pocket. “But when I spoke to the Pullmans again yesterday she mentioned the name of one of her mother’s friends from the time. We’ll talk to her today.” She stretched her legs out and crossed one booted foot over the opposite ankle.
It was totally inappropriate and undoubtedly due to lack of sleep that he noticed just how long and slender her denim-clad legs were. “Maybe William Pullman . . .”
She was already shaking her head. “He claims he didn’t know much about his sister’s life when she was in Charlotte. He hasn’t been a lot of help. And the daughter, of course, was too young at that time to remember much of anything from her time there. Have you cleared the IT employee at Fristol yet?”
A dull throb started in Ryder’s temple. “I sent his computer to the feds, and they didn’t find any trace he uploaded those patient process notes disguised as audio files. I should hear about Joe Bush’s computer today.” Sutton. Preston. Bush. The help with the audio files probably originated with one of the three known accomplices. He got a text message then and picked up the cell on his desk to read it. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to go.” Rising, he shoved the reports he’d been going through in a file folder and rounded the corner of the desk. “The new shift is starting to roll in at the command center.”
“Okay.” He noticed the caution with which she moved as she straightened and shoved out of the chair. “I had a personal reason for stopping, if you can spare another minute.”
Something in her tone alerted him. “Sure.” Ryder backed up a step and hitched his hip on the desk.
“There was a break-in at Blong Rentals a few days ago. Just outside of city limits, north of Waynesville.”
Intrigued now, he nodded. “Okay. We’ve had a string of burglaries of local businesses.” He vaguely recalled seeing the Blo
ng report, although the break-in had been crowded from his mind by the Aldeen investigation.
“I was wondering if your officers took prints.”
“Yes, and they’ve been submitted to the state crime lab. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they belong to the same person. Preferably one in the system. But with the lab’s backlog and no suspect in the burglary, it’ll be a low priority.”
Cady nodded. “Okay. If you get a suspect, let me know.”
He eyed her shrewdly. “What’s this about?”
“Someone broke into my home. Well, not broke in,” she corrected herself. “Waltzed in, more like. I found out later keys had been stolen at Dorothy’s place. It would explain how the intruder entered. She said the keys were in a cupboard on hooks with the addresses above them. Maybe you’ve had other break-ins at some of her other rentals.”
“I can look into it, but I don’t recall offhand.” He pushed away from the desk to grab his coat from the rack by the door as she started moving in that direction. “No reason we can’t print your place, too, if you want. Was anything taken?” She shook her head. “You’ve changed the locks?”
A smile flickered across her lips. “One benefit from being forced to take the day off yesterday. Got a dog too. The way he carried on last night about a raccoon in the yard, I’m pretty sure he’ll be a deterrent.”
“Both are good ideas.” If other rental keys had been taken, the most likely explanation was Blong’s burglar intended B and Es of the rental properties. But an intruder who hadn’t taken anything when he or she had the chance put the idea to rest. And left a far more serious one.
Cady could have been targeted by someone she’d arrested. Or someone who thought a woman living alone was an easy mark. But she was a Deputy US Marshal. And he took possible threats to law enforcement damn seriously.
His hand on the knob, he looked at her. “Give me your address. I’ll send a patrol past your house a couple of times each shift.”