Finding Floyd (22 page)

Chris had a sinking feeling in the pit of his
stomach. The police officer glanced at the angry looking group and
then back at him.

"I'm County Sheriff McAndrew. I'd like to
speak with Diane..." he turned to Preston.

"Diane Vandersmoot, Sheriff."

"Yes, I like to speak with Diane
Vandersmoot." He stared at Chris and smirked. "You must be the FBI
agent I've heard about."

"Special Agent Christopher Owen," he said
with a sigh. He produced his credentials and laid them on the
table.

"Uh huh, I see. The plot thickens," said
McAndrew slowly. He sat across from Chris, removed his hat and set
it beside him. "Are you by any chance here in my jurisdiction on
official business? I wasn't aware the FBI was in town."

"Well I..."

"This idiot thinks we're all guilty of
something. He's freakin' crazy," hissed Theresa, pointing an
accusing finger at him. "He wants to arrest Diane! Can you believe
this crap?"

"Arrest Diane? For what?" asked Kyle
incredulously. He'd just taken another piece of pizza from the box
and paused with it halfway to his mouth. "He can't arrest Diane.
She was the one got kidnapped and I had to rescue her!"

"Kidnapped! Oh my god!" wailed Theresa.
"John, I told you no good would come of those lunatics coming after
us again. We gotta call a lawyer. What the hell is going on? Who
the hell kidnapped her?"

Helplessly, Chris looked passed the array of
confused and angry faces ringing him and back to Diane. She didn't
look at all well and he now noticed that she was missing some of
her long blond curls.

The Sheriff held up a hand for silence, but
his cool gaze remained on Chris.

He turned to the sheriff. "My partner, Agent
Rodriguez, must have been in contact with your office?"

Slowly, McAndrew shook his head.

"I was under the impression that..." Chris
stopped when he saw the cold anger in the man's eyes. Middle aged,
his dark brown hair was shot with gray at the temples and his eyes
were a deep brown and set wide apart. A full day's beard stubble
was in evidence along his jaw line.

"This is the first I've heard of any FBI
investigation within my jurisdiction. Frankly, I'd like to know
more about it, but first I need to speak with the young lady who
was abducted at gunpoint this afternoon and held captive for
several hours.

Julia spoke first. "She's right here,
Sheriff. Please go easy on her; she's had a bad time of it
today."

"What kidnapping?" Chris looked from the
Sheriff to Diane. He noticed the red welts on her cheeks in
addition to the missing locks of hair. "Diane, what happened to
your hair?"

"Never mind her hair asshole! At least she's
alive and safe, no thanks to you!" yelled Theresa.

"You're Miss Vandersmoot?" asked the Sheriff.
Getting to his feet, he went over and took her hands in his. "Kyle
has just told me about finding you on the road this evening. It
must have been terrible. I believe you are a very brave and
resourceful young lady."

Kyle still held onto the pizza slice. He took
a tentative bite and chewed, looking around the room curiously.
"She told me all about it. Some guy pointed a pistol at her as she
was coming out of the library." He paused long enough to take
another bite. "The guy made her get back into her car and drive him
around, or he was gonna shoot her, or even shoot some of the little
kids at the library. And then he took her somewhere and tied her
up." Kyle rattled on enthusiastically, speaking around a mouthful
of pizza.

"She was real upset when Kyle brought her
back here," said Ralph, speaking for the first time.

"Miss Vandersmoot, if you wouldn't mind, if
you feel up to it, I'd like to get your statement."

"Certainly, Sheriff." She sat up and placed
her trembling hands on the table. Her eyes were red rimmed, but the
bright blue pupils blazed defiance and anger. "Yes, I'm fine now.
What would you like to know?"

The Sheriff sat down near her and spoke in a
comforting voice. "We can do most of this tomorrow, but I just need
to know what you can tell me about this man before he hurts someone
else."

"You can ask the FBI Agent over there. He has
a picture of the man and knows all about him," she said angrily,
pointing at Chris, but not looking his way.

"Listen Diane, I thought," Chris began.

"Please Agent Owen, if you don't mind," said
McAndrew holding up one hand.

"Go ahead Sheriff. I'm very glad you're
here," said Diane, ignoring Chris.

"All right, thanks, Bob. Go ahead and notify
the appropriate people in surrounding counties." The sheriff looked
up from his cell phone and shot Chris a significant look. "We
wouldn't want them to be blindsided and left out of the loop." He
ended the call and asked, "Agent Owen, if you wouldn't mind, from
the beginning? Are you conducting an investigation in my
county?"

Chris eyed the man. His expression wasn't
exactly hostile, but it certainly wasn't friendly. He had every
right to be pissed. Agents were interfering in Floyd law
enforcement without notifying his office. Rodriguez hadn't even
enlightened them about Bruno Toricello.

"Yes, we're looking for a suspect known to be
in the vicinity. We've spotted him, but he's managed to elude
us."

"How long have you and your partner," said
Sheriff McAndrew, studying his notebook, "Agent Rodriguez been here
in Floyd?"

"Since last Thursday," he answered, knowing
what was coming next.

"You've been nosing around here looking for
some violent felon for nearly a week, and nobody had the courtesy
to let us know? Now, this perp has kidnapped an innocent young
woman. What did you think, Special Agent Owen? You didn't need help
from us hicks? You think we're all a bunch of Barney Fifes? You
professional Federal Agents can handle it on your own?" He looked
disgusted. "So the suspect gave you the slip? What if he hurts
someone? He told Miss Vandersmoot that he was going to take her for
a walk in the woods and blow her brains out."

Chris paled.

"My deputies and I know this county. We all
grew up here. Together we might have that man behind bars, but you
thought you didn't need us. If any one of my people is hurt, it's
on you." They stood on the porch, speaking in low tones. From
inside came an incessant babble of conversation.

There was no mistaking the fact that the man
was angry and becoming more so, as reality sank in. Chris was
unsure of what to do next. Even Ralph and Preston Hardwick were
pissed off at him.

"I'm very sorry, Sheriff. I assumed Agent
Rodriguez had contacted you. That assumption was my mistake."
Rodriguez never fails to make my life miserable, was what he left
unsaid.

Everyone, including the Sheriff, believed
Diane had been abducted against her will. And she certainly had the
bruises to prove it. If that was the case and Toricello was the
kidnapper, then she wasn't his accomplice after all. Ralph and Kyle
said that she'd been taken at the library, which was where
Rodriguez saw her. Rodriguez had snapped the picture of Diane
driving away from the library with Toricello. The sinking feeling
in his stomach was rapidly growing. Once again he'd made a colossal
mistake and he had Rodriguez to thank for it.

The miter saw whined as the blade bit through
the length of trim molding, grinding to a halt as Chris raised the
handle. The shelving along one basement wall was nearly complete.
He took a step back, examining his handiwork, pleased with the
results. He'd already framed out the area for his big screen TV.
Along with the wood stove and his recliner, the basement room would
be a great place to relax, but so far, the only person who'd
enjoyed his new home, was that bastard, Toricello. Even though the
evidence guys cleared out his shit, the place still stank of stale
cigar.

Chris shook his head in disgust. Just the
thought of that guy in his house drove him crazy. As he lifted the
trim and attempted to fit it in place, he realized that he'd cut
the end at the wrong angle. Swearing, he slammed it down on his
make-shift work bench and decided to quit for the evening. He just
couldn't concentrate.

Everyone at the B & B had made it clear
that he wasn't welcome there, but worst of all Diane was so hurt
and angry, she'd refused to speak to him. He couldn't blame her.
After his furious outburst, accusing her of helping Toricello, she
wouldn't have anything to do with him. Her guilt had seemed so
certain, the pictures of her driving away with Toricello so damning
and yet...it had all been a mistake. Everything had been going so
smoothly, until Rodriguez got there. That woman always screws
everything up.

A cautious man, he'd always worked hard and
played by the book, moving steadily ahead of most other agents his
age. Putting off vacation time and neglecting his personal life,
his goal had always been to reach a point where he wouldn't be
traveling or going undercover for long stretches. Then he could get
married and have some kids.

Now everything was shot to hell. Never at any
point in his career, had absolutely everything gone so wrong. The
call to his boss had resulted in an angry tirade, and the big
promotion he'd been working towards had disappeared like a puff of
smoke. Rodriguez, who hadn't been inclined to take any of the blame
for insulting the local law enforcement people, was no longer even
answering his calls. With no options left, he'd retreated to his
house to plan his next move.

Picking up his beer, he drained it, and
tossed the can towards the empty five-gallon spackle bucket he was
using for trash. It bounced off the rim and rattled across the
concrete floor. Defeated, he dropped into his chair and sighed.

Sheriff McAndrew isn't happy with me. He's
right. With the help of his deputies, we might have captured
Toricello by now. That bastard is dangerous. If he was planning to
kill Diane, then anyone who gets in his way, potentially, is toast.
I've got to find The Blowtorch and bring him in, dead or alive.
Right now, dead seems like the best way to go.

He'd kidnapped Diane, and threatened to kill
her. Just thinking about her captivity enraged him. Never before
had his job put someone he loved in jeopardy. Even though she
didn't want him, he was still furiously protective of her.
Toricello would pay dearly for what he'd done. That he could do,
even though Diane might never speak to him again.

There came a soft rap on the basement door.
He spun out of the chair and saw a man's silhouette through the
glass. He hadn't heard the approach of a vehicle, or footfalls
outside. Moving out of the line of fire, Chris snatched up his
pistol, crossed to the back of the house, and approached the door
from the side.

"Who's there?"

"Put down the damn gun, Owen. It's me,
Sam."

Chris stepped back, opened the deadbolt, and
allowed him to enter. He was actually glad to see the coal black
eyes, handlebar mustaches, and stern countenance of Sam
Woodruff.

Sam just nodded as he silently glided into
the basement.

"This is a surprise," said Chris. "Nobody
else will talk to me."

A smile lifted the enormous mustaches and the
big man's dark eyes twinkled. "Thought I'd lend a hand to the FBI,"
Sam rumbled in his deep base voice.

"Forget the FBI. I'm the one that needs
help." He indicated a cooler on the floor. "There's beer and some
bottled water if you're thirsty."

"Don't mind if I do." He lifted the lid and
rustled around in the ice, coming up with two cans, proffering one
to Chris, who took it.

Both men popped the tops and drank.

Sam wore his usual highly polished black
cowboy boots, black jeans and black leather jacket. His appraising
dark eyes darted around the room, taking everything in. "Nice
place." He said, stepping to the bottom of the stairs and peering
up at the open door. "We alone here?"

"As far as I know," answered Chris. "I didn't
hear you drive up."

For a response he received only a slight nod
from Woodruff. Sipping his beer, Sam made a circuit of the cellar.
Finally, he returned and stood, legs braced, facing Owen.

Chris studied the man in black. "You know,
I've been wondering. How did you get the idea that Toricello was
down here?"

Sam gave him a cool look. "Probably a lucky
guess. Some guy who worked for Bruno in New Jersey had a cousin
here. It's what I heard. Your boss sent you to nose around?"

Chris took a long drink and nodded. "And then
he sent Rodriguez to help me."

"They thought you ought to have some backup,
I imagine." Sam shrugged. "Nothing unusual about that."

"That woman is a menace. She's screwed up
every case we've been on together. I'd rather be on my own and take
my chances," said Chris, drinking deeply and stifling a belch.

"Yeah maybe, but that can be dangerous. And
McAndrew ain't too happy with you FBI folks just now. He's a good
man, though. Once he calms down, he'll be a big help to you and
Connie."

"Connie?" Chris smirked. "So that's how it
is. You and Agent Rodriguez pretty tight now, or what?"

Sam gave him a cool, noncommittal look and
shrugged.

Chris tossed his empty can in the spackle
bucket, pulled two more from the ice, and handed one to his guest.
"I want to find Toricello, kill him or bring him in, I don't care
which." He paused to pop open his beer and drink. Then gesturing
with the can, he said, "No, that's not true. I'd rather just kill
him."

"It would save the government a ton of money
if you did," Sam said.

"Yeah, you know that's right. Why not save
the government a few bucks. I need some help, Woodruff. Most people
around here aren't even talking to me anymore."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm here."