Committed (21 page)

“Yeah. You are.”

“Can we just stop this?” Molly asked.

“You started it.”

Molly turned to him and rested her hand on his arm. “You’re letting some misguided emotions get the better of you. I’m telling you we can make some kind of deal with him where we don’t have to do it like this.”

Nick chuckled. “This is the way I want to do it. I’m dragging his ass out of that house, having him guide us there and open that tunnel door, and that’s it for him.” Nick made like he was pulling the trigger of a gun with his finger. “It’s a little concerning that you have an issue with me wanting to kill this guy. Some smoldering feelings there, still?”

“None, actually. But you know, I’ve been wondering, should I also give you a list of all the people I used to talk to? Maybe every guy who has ever touched me? Maybe a guy winked at me once. Do you need to kill him too? My first kiss was when I was ten with a boy named Brad Pool. Should we look him up and go take care of him?”

“Don’t get smart with me,” Nick said.

“Don’t get smart with you?” Molly asked. “So we’ve circled back to you giving me instructions?”

“You know, this bickering shit has been going on for two days now, and I’m about at my limit with it. I would suggest you stop.”

“Or what?” she asked. “What are you going to do if I don’t stop?”

Nick remained silent.

“I’m serious. I want to actually know what you’re going to do. Are you going to kill me? Beat me up? What is it exactly that you plan to do? You’re just a jealous little boy trapped in a man’s body. Did your mommy not give you enough love when you were little?” Molly made baby noises and patted Nick on the head.

He smiled. “Whatever. Is this the street here?”

“Yeah,” Molly said. She took her hand from Nick’s head and sat up straight in the passenger seat. “It’s going to be the second house on your left. It kind of looks like a big barn.”

“Okay,” Nick said. “Hey, Molly.”

She turned and faced him. “What?”

Nick’s fist flew at her in a flash and made contact square with her jaw. Molly’s body slammed into the passenger-side door, and her head bounced off of the window. He grabbed her by the back of the hair and, as hard as he possibly could, slammed her face down into the truck’s dashboard twice. Then, he let her hair go and pushed her away by the side of the head. Molly’s body went limp, leaning against the corner of the dash and passenger door. Blood spilled from her face to the truck’s carpet at her feet.

“Don’t talk about my mother.”

Nick stared out the windshield as the second driveway approached. He slowed, looked to his left, and spotted the home up a long blacktop driveway. He began to turn but yanked the wheel back straight, staring down the driveway as he passed. A police car and newer white Chevy Suburban were parked next to it.

“Shit,” Nick said. “You stupid bitch. You did call from that house.”

He followed the street to the end, turned around, and put the pickup truck in park. He reached over to Molly to check for a pulse—she was alive. He slapped her on the side of the face. Molly moaned a bit before coming to.

“What the…” She brought her hands to her face, pulled them away, and looked at the blood covering them. “You asshole!” she shouted. Molly reached over and swatted at Nick repeatedly, screaming profanities.

Nick grabbed her by her forearms and held her.

“Let me go!” she shouted. “You prick! You don’t hit women!” She tried to bring her feet up to kick him.

“Quit it,” Nick instructed.

“No!” She continued. “Let me go!”

Nick let go of her arm with his right hand and backhanded her across the face.

She stared back at him, her face showing shock that quickly flashed back to anger.

Nick backhanded her again. “You did call from the house, didn’t you?” He balled his fist to punch her.

“I didn’t call,” Molly said.

“Yeah, bullshit. Why is there a cop car here, then?”

“Ugh!” Molly yelled. She ripped the arm he still held from his grasp but didn’t exit the vehicle. She opened the glove compartment in front of her and dug through it, finding some napkins. She wiped the blood from her face. “Asshole.”

Nick rolled his head to the side on the truck’s headrest and looked over at her. “Look. You deserved it. You know damn well you did. You probably deserve more than a couple love taps now that you blew this whole thing up for us.”

“Whatever.” Molly wadded up the napkins and tossed them to the floor. She ripped down the passenger-side sun visor and flipped up the cover for the lighted mirror. “Ugh. Why would you do that to me? You probably broke my nose.”

“Are you done? Get over it, already. We need to figure out what the hell we are doing here.”

Molly was quiet for a moment. She bared her teeth at the mirror and then at Nick.

He stared at her teeth and the gap between the upper front two.

“You chipped one of my teeth,” she said. “Look.” She leaned in closer to him.

Nick inspected the tooth she was pointing at. “It looks fine.”

She shook her head and slapped the sun visor back against the roof. “If there are cops here, then why are we sitting here? Let’s leave. We’ll figure out something else or come back after they leave.”

“You don’t seem to get it. If they’re all over this guy, I’m sure they know about his property on the border. It’s only a matter of time until they have people there, watching for us. Especially if they find that damn tunnel.”

“Then we’ll find a different way. Let’s just go.”

“A different way? We drove all the way across the damn United States to get out through this guy’s land. God, I should have left your stupid ass sitting at that carnival and went to Mexico.”

“Oh, that’s how you feel now?”

Nick looked at her with no emotion in his face. “If you start your bullshit bickering again, it will be the last thing you do.”

“Look, I’m sorry I called. I honestly didn’t even think they would ever look into phone records. Plus, I wiped the phone down when I was done.”

“When you wipe a phone down, you wipe all the prints from it, genius. No prints at all on a phone means they know it was wiped down and will immediately call the phone company for the records. Isn’t that kind of common sense? These aren’t some local bumpkin cops we’re dealing with. They have a federal task force hunting us. Pretty damn certain they are going to look for the obvious things. When did you even have the time to call?”

“When you were getting dressed. Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. We’ll figure out something. Let’s just go before someone sees us.”

“I didn’t drive across the United States for no damn reason. There’s only one cop car and that truck. Can’t be more than four or five people.”

“You’re not thinking about going in there,” Molly said.

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. We can surprise them. We’ll grab your shithead drug-trafficking boyfriend and be gone in a couple minutes.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Nick pulled his pistol from his waist. “I’m done screwing around. We’re getting this guy and leaving. Now, get your gun and get ready. Let’s go.” He reached for the door handle.

We started up the driveway, which was lined by small trees and random bushes.

“How are we handling this here?” Agent Kronke asked. “Is there a chance that these two might be here?”

I glanced at the time on the truck’s radio and did a quick bit of mental math. “They would have had to drive straight through. It would be extremely tight if they were here—like speeding the entire time and making one or two of the quickest stops imaginable.”

“But there’s a chance,” Beth said from the backseat.

“Slim, but yes,” I said.

We parked in front of the right of the double garage doors, at what I figured was the side of the home, and got out. The lieutenant parked his cruiser beside us in front of the left door.

I took the house in. Aside from the two garage doors staring back at me, I didn’t see any other points of entry. Above the garage doors, on what I assumed to be the second story, was a row of windows, and above them was a third floor with patio doors and a railed balcony. The roof line was that of the side of a barn. I noticed a small pea-gravel walkway leading around the side of the home to the left of the garage doors and the lieutenant’s patrol car. The chance that the couple could be there was bouncing around in my head, so I pulled my service weapon. The rest of the group did the same.

“Agent Harper and I will head left,” I said. “Why don’t you guys circle the house and keep some eyes open until we see what exactly we’re dealing with here?”

“Yup,” Lieutenant Whishaw said. He rounded the home to the right, with Kronke following.

Beth and I walked toward the pea-gravel path. Around the corner of the home was a set of steps leading up to a second-story landing, complete with patio set and umbrella. Above that, I could see the same kind of patio-door arrangement and balcony as we’d seen on the other side.

“Odd place,” I said.

“It is. Are we headed up?” Beth asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

I took the flight of stairs up to the elevated patio area of the second floor. Another pair of sliding glass doors stood to our right. On a round table to my left, under the umbrella, was a single cup of coffee. I leaned over and looked into the cup. It seemed fresh. I placed my knuckle on the cup’s side and found it warm.

“Someone is home,” I said.

The lieutenant and Agent Kronke came into view on the ground level, below Beth and me.

“There’s ground-level entry at the back and the garage doors,” Agent Kronke said.

“You guys keep eyes on those. I’ll signal you when we’re clear.”

The pair split up.

Beth took a position at the side of the patio door so she wouldn’t be visible from inside the home. She kept her service weapon ready at her chest.

I reached out and banged my fist on the glass sliding door. My gun hung from my right hand at my hip, ready but blocked from any inside view. I waited at the glass door, looking in to a kitchen area. From what I could see, the entire interior of the home looked rustic, with exposed wooden walls and a large granite-topped counter running along the edge of the kitchen and holding the sink—it appeared to double as a breakfast bar, from the tops of the barstools I could see behind it. Beyond the kitchen area was a living room. I could see out the far side of the home through similar patio doors that took up the other side. A moment later, a round, short, middle-aged man appeared. He stopped a few feet from the sliding doors and stared at Beth and me.

I spoke over my shoulder in a low voice. “He doesn’t have the build of a track star, but be ready in case he runs.”

“Yeah,” she said.

I waved him toward me. “FBI. Step out of the house, sir.”

He stood in the same position briefly before coming to the door. Then he slid it open and stepped onto the patio. The man wore a white T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. A gold cross on a chain hung around his hairy neck.

“You’re Armond Gormon?” I asked.

“I am,” he said. “Most people just call me Red, though.” He scratched at the remaining red mixed into the gray in his short beard, seemingly trying to show me how he’d received the nickname. “What’s this about, now?” He saw Beth and then noticed my weapon. He slowly lifted his hands.

“Mr. Gormon, have a seat for me right there.” I nodded to his patio set. “Check him,” I said.

Beth gave the guy a quick once-over to make sure he wasn’t armed.

“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” he asked. “Show me a badge? Something?”

“Is there anyone else inside the home?” I asked.

“Just my mother.”

“Do you mind if we confirm that?” Beth asked.

He gave us permission, and I cleared the property while Beth remained with him. Aside from his mother, who appeared to be bedridden, it was empty. I grabbed Agent Kronke and Lieutenant Whishaw from outside and let them know the home was clear. We walked back up to the man, still seated on his patio under Beth’s watch.

“Mr. Gormon, we’re with the FBI,” I said. “We’re going to need you to come back to the Great Falls office with us and answer a few questions.”

“About what?” Gormon asked. “I don’t have the foggiest idea what I’m being hounded here for.”

“We’ll discuss that with you back at our office,” Agent Kronke said.

“Um, I guess I’d be happy to answer any of your questions if I can. It will just have to take place here, though. I can’t leave my mother. She’s in poor health and pretty much requires something or another every hour on the hour—which would be why I haven’t seen the inside of my business more than a handful of times over the last six months. I have a caregiver that comes a couple times a week to lend a hand, but she’s off today. Did you want to go to the kitchen?” he asked.

He led us inside and had a seat on a barstool at the granite-topped breakfast bar.

“Tell us about Nick Frane and Molly McCoy,” I said.

“I saw the things they say they did on the news. I can’t tell you anything about Nick Frane. Never heard of the guy before the television coverage. Molly, I’m sure you know, is from these parts. She used to work at my restaurant when she was younger. Quit about…” he paused and appeared to be in thought, “six years ago or so if memory serves. Is all this about them somehow? I’ve gotten a few calls this week about them. One was from a cop or fed or something. Then another yesterday from a reporter. The person said they wanted to send a crew here for an interview or something.”

“That’s all fine and well. We’d like to know about the phone call you received from Molly McCoy yesterday,” I said.

He jerked his head back. “Phone call from Molly? Why the hell would she call me?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Beth said.

“I’m telling you, I didn’t get a phone call from her. I haven’t seen or heard from her in probably four years.”

“Four years?” I asked. “I thought you said that she quit working for you six years ago.”

“Yeah, um…” He stammered for a few more words before going silent.

“Waiting,” Beth said.