Chill Factor (41 page)

"Can you
believe
this?"

"Shh, Dutch. You're going to wake up the whole neighborhood."

"So what? I don't give a damn who hears me now. We're
screwed." He
slammed one fist into the palm of his other gloved hand. "I can't buy a
break."

Wes shared Dutch's exasperation, but one of them had to hold
it
together, and it wasn't going to be Dutch. The guy had been clinging to
his reason by his fingernails. This most recent obstacle just might
cause him to lose it altogether.

Wes couldn't let that happen. He needed Dutch. He needed the
authority of Dutch's badge even more. It was imperative they get up
that goddamn mountain and arrest Tierney. Better yet, kill him. For
reasons of his own, Wes had become as dedicated to that goal as his pal
Dutch was.

Now they'd been dealt a setback, but it didn't have to be as
cata-strophic as Dutch was making it out to be.

As arranged, they'd met at the school bus garage at
four-thirty,
both of them bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, jazzed on caffeine, and
freezing their nuts off even though they were dressed like Eskimos.

The snowmobiles were where Wes had last seen them, parked out
of the
way in a far corner of the garage, covered with dark green tarpaulins.
So far so good.

It was when they began looking for the keys to them that they
ran
into difficulty. They turned the garage office inside out but couldn't
find them. The keys to all the vehicles belonging to the Cleary ISD
were labeled by license number There were no keys for the snowmobiles.

Finally Wes gave up the search. "If they're here, they're well
hidden, and we're wasting time looking. We've got no choice but to go
ask Morris where the hell the keys to these things are."

Karl Morris was president of Cleary's only bank. "At this
hour?"

Wes said, "You have between here and his house to think up a
convincing story, Chief. Create an emergency that couldn't wait for
daylight."

They'd had to knock on the door several times before it was
answered
by Mrs. Morris, who was wrapped chin to ankles in some kind of horse
blanket-looking thing, the ugliest robe Wes had ever seen. She had a
face to match, made even uglier by her inhospitable scowl.

Dutch begged her forgiveness for the intrusion, saying they
had to
speak to Mr. Morris immediately. It was an emergency. She closed the
door and went to get her husband, leaving Dutch and Wes to wait on the
porch in the frigid temperature.

Eventually Morris came to the door, looking no more cordial
than his
wife. Dutch told a tale about some family being stranded in their car
and how he desperately needed to use the snowmobiles the bank had
repossessed from Cal Hawkins.

"I'd be glad to let you use them, Chief Burton. If they still
belonged to the bank. We sold them, hmm… let's see. Before
Christmas,
if I remember. We posted a notice about the auction of repos. Guess you
missed it."

"Guess so. Who bought them?"

"William Ritt. He got permission to leave them there in the
school
bus garage until he could move them, but he took the keys along with
the bill of sale."

They apologized again for getting him out of bed and thanked
him for
the information.

Now, as they were wading through the snow back to Dutch's
Bronco, he
was in a high snit.

Wes's patience with Dutch's chronic pessimism had worn thin.
"For
crying out loud, Dutch, would you get a grip? This doesn't have to be
the end of it. We go to Ritt."

"Right. Cleary's information highway of renown."

They climbed into the Bronco, and Dutch revved the motor,
which he'd
kept idling. "What choice do you have?" Wes asked. "Other than letting
Special Agent in Charge Begley steal your suspect along with your
thunder?"

Cursing, Dutch put the truck in reverse and backed out of the
banker's driveway.

They arrived at the drugstore five minutes later. There were
no
lights on inside, of course, but William's car was parked in a slot at
the curb next to Marilee's, which had been there overnight. "Told you
he'd be here," Wes remarked.

The bell above the door jingled merrily. William was behind
the
lunch counter, boiling a pan of water on the propane stove. The only
sources of light were the blue flame beneath the pan and a votive
candle William had placed on the counter. It smelled like apples.

He greeted them with a cheery good morning. "You two are the
only
other people I've seen out this morning. Would you like some coffee?
It's freeze dried, but that's the best I can do."

Wes sat down on one of the chrome bar stools and removed his
gloves.
"As long as it's hot, I'd love some."

"Me too." Dutch sat next to Wes.

"Your face doesn't look too good, Dutch."

"Yeah, I think I may need some stronger antibiotic cream."

"Then you've come to the right place. I'll get it for you as
soon as
the coffee is ready." Their unusual attire hadn't escaped him. He
remarked on it as he spooned instant coffee crystals into three mugs.
"Are you going skiing?"

Wes glanced at Dutch, yielding the floor to him. Before they
got
there, he had coached Dutch on the best way to approach William Ritt.
"He's a nerd. He's always been a nerd, an outsider who wanted to be in
our circle when there wasn't a chance in hell of his ever getting in.
So flatter him. Make him feel that he's on our team and essential to
our plan."

"He
is
essential to our plan," Dutch had
said. "That's the
hell of it."

Dutch hadn't been at all happy about having to suck up to a
weasel
like William Ritt. Now that it was time for him to make his pitch, Wes
held his breath.

Dutch began by coughing behind his hand, then assuming a grave
expression. "I didn't come here this morning for coffee or medicine for
my face."

"Oh?"

"This may seem like an odd request, William," he continued in
the
same solemn voice. "In order to even ask it, I must take you into my
confidence about an official matter."

Excellent
, Wes thought.

"You know I'd never betray your trust," William said.

"We need to use your snowmobiles."

"Thought you'd never ask."

If he had said he'd once been a body double for Tarzan movies,
they
couldn't have been more stunned. Dutch was the first to find his voice.
"Excuse me?"

William smiled. "As I was driving here this morning, thinking
how
bad the roads still are, and how long it was going to be before I could
get back up to my folks' place on the mountain and resume my
restoration, it suddenly occurred to me that I don't need a car to get
up there. I can take one of my new snowmobiles. It then occurred to me
that I could offer them to SAC Begley—"

"Not Begley."

Wes had to curb the impulse to lay a restraining hand on
Dutch's
arm. He'd spoken too sharply. William's ears perked up. They needed a
quick save, and Dutch didn't have the reflexes for it. Wes said, "This
is where the confidentiality comes in. No one's supposed to know this,
but Begley has ordered a helicopter up here later today."

"Why isn't anyone supposed to know?"

"Hell, his case got blown yesterday by those yahoos on the
radio.
Can't begin to tell you how pissed he was over that snafu. Imagine what
would happen if word of a chopper got out. One equipped with all the
high-tech gewgaws the FBI has at its disposal, guys in black suits and
ski masks, automatic weapons, ropes and stuff. Begley would be up to
his armpits in gawkers who would endanger themselves as
well
as his rescue operation."

"I see what you mean."

"This morning Begley and Wise will be busy organizing that
mission,"
Dutch said, having caught on to the manipulation tactic. "Wes and I are
serving as an advance team. That is, if we can use your snowmobiles."

"Certainly. I'm only sorry I didn't think of them yesterday.
You
could have been spared that disaster with Hawkins."

"Yesterday it wouldn't have been safe to drive them. It was
snowing
too hard, and that road is tricky on a clear day."

"I'm glad to make them available to you now."

Wes's shoulders relaxed. "Are they ready to go?"

William nodded. "Before I bought them, I had a mechanic check
them
out. They're in showroom condition. The keys for them are at my house.
We can pick them up on our way to the garage. While I'm changing
clothes, Marilee can make coffee for us to take along."

"You're not going."

Wes kicked Dutch's leg beneath the bar to prevent him from
saying
anything more. He flashed his best smile at William. "We wouldn't even
have the nerve to ask that of you. It's going to be a miserably cold
trip. Besides…" He glanced at Dutch and gave a sympathetic
wince, then
lowered his voice and said to William, "We're not sure what we'll find
when we get up there."

"Of course. There's that." William gave Dutch a smile that
even a
blind man couldn't mistake for sincere. "I'm sure she's fine."

"Yeah. Thanks. But Wes is right. We won't know what we'll be
walking
into until we get up there. We must assume that this Tierney character
is armed and dangerous. I can't ask you to share the risk."

"You didn't ask. I volunteered."

"I realize that, but—"

"I know the road, Dutch. Better than you. Better than anyone.
I
drive it several times a week and have since I learned to drive."

"All the same—"

"They're my snowmobiles."

The statement was a threat. Veiled, but a threat nonetheless.
Wes
could all but feel Dutch's hackles rise. "That's true, but I could
impound them for taking up space in a garage paid for by taxpayers."

"I have permission."

"Not from me," Wes said. Arguing hadn't worked with the little
bugger. Maybe two strong arms of authority would. "I'll ask Dutch to
impound your snowmobiles."

"The school board said I could keep them there indefinitely."

"I have more authority than the school board. They do what I
tell
them to."

William shifted his angry gaze from Wes to Dutch. He stewed
for as
long as thirty seconds. Wes gave him the glare he gave to the running
back who'd fumbled on the five-yard line. Dutch's expression was
similarly daunting.

Finally he said, "You give me no choice."

Dutch came off his stool. "We'll follow you to your house."

William turned off the flame beneath the pan of water, which
had
almost boiled dry. "I'll ask Marilee to make coffee. It'll be better
than this."

"No need to get Marilee up," Wes said.

"I'm sure she won't mind."

Dutch and Wes went out and climbed into the Bronco. Wes
grinned.
"Congratulations, Chief. You've got your snowmobiles."

They watched William Ritt get into his car and back it out of
the
slot. Dutch followed him down Main Street. Thumping the steering wheel
with his gloved fist, he growled, "After all this rigamarole, I had
better get my crack at Tierney."

"That's the plan."

"I want him to bleed, Wes."

"I hear you. If he's been boinking Lilly—"

"What?"

Wes looked over at Dutch with misapprehension. "What?"

Dutch said, "I'm worried he's killed her."

Wes moved his mouth, but for a moment no words came out.
"Well,
sure, Dutch. Naturally that's what we're all worried about."

"Do you think they—"

"Look, I don't know. All I'm saying is that anything you do to
him,
it'll be justified for whatever he did to or with Lilly."

Dutch squeezed the steering wheel. "I want him to bleed."

CHAPTER  28

I don't want to sleep. As though Lilly's simple statement had
snipped a thread holding Tierney in check, he
moved.
Somehow the blanket separating them was cast aside and he was on her,
his mouth fastened to hers even before his arm went around her, before
his other hand slid up into her hair.

His tongue was strong and bold, delicious with the taste of
him. It
was a potent kiss that freed her memory of ever having kissed anyone
else. The sexiness of it was intoxicating, making her feel as if her
bones were melting.

He raised his head and looked into her eyes. She met his gaze
without fear or misgiving. Never breaking eye contact, he reached
between their bodies and unfastened her slacks, worked his hand inside.
Her panties were damp with wanting him. He lowered his head and flicked
his tongue against her parted lips. Through them her breath was coming
hot and rapid.

He slid his hand inside the silk and fit his palm over her
mons. His
fingers tapered into her cleft. And then he just held her like that.
While they kissed. Nothing more. Only their tongues sliding against
each other as though mating, while her sex pulsed inside the warm
security of his hand.

Maybe he took his cue from the subtle arching of her back that
pressed her more tightly against his palm. Or from the moan of
heightened arousal that vibrated through her throat. Or maybe his own
desire caused him to wedge his knee between hers, separating them. He
levered himself up on one arm so he could get to his belt. He unbuckled
it, unbuttoned his jeans, while she slipped out of her slacks and
underpants.

Then in a single movement as supple as a ballet, he relaxed
his arm,
lowered himself onto her, pushed into her, sheathed himself with her.
She made an inarticulate sound of pleasure that he echoed, and then
they were quiet except for their heartbeats. Their breath mingled to
create clouds of vapor above their heads.

After a time, he began to move. At first it was no more than a
slow
rocking, his hips against hers. But then he drew out further, pushed
higher. The tempo increased gradually but steadily, until with a low
growl, he suddenly stopped. She slid her hands past his waist, splayed
them over the cheeks of his butt, and pulled him deeper into her.