In for the Kill [Hawkman Series Book 9] (8 page)

Detective Williams studied the address on the license. “I see Mr. Hargrove is from out of state. Did he mention why he was in Oregon?"

"I couldn't say; you'd have to ask Charles."

He waved a hand. “That's right. You weren't here."

"If you'll wait a minute, I'll see if I can get hold of Mr. Hargrove at the motel where he's staying."

"Good idea."

Fielding opened the phone book to the yellow pages, held the receiver between his fat chin and shoulder, then punched in numbers as his finger tapped across the page. “Please ring Mr. J. Hargrove's room.” His eyebrows rose. “I see. Did he leave a forwarding address?"

He hung up and glanced at Williams. “He checked out about two hours ago, and didn't leave any information on how he could be reached."

Williams turned toward the door. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Fielding. If I find this man, I'll let you know. I have a feeling he's left you with a big bill. But I'm going to ask you not to have the car repaired until I have my lab crew go over it."

"I understand. I won't send the automobile into the shop until I get your okay.” A slight grin curled the corners of his mouth as he held up one of the sheets. “I do have Mr. Hargrove's credit card number, so he might get a little surprise on his statement."

The detective stepped into the peppering rain, stashed the report under his jacket, and dashed to his car. Once inside the vehicle, he twisted the key in the ignition, then checked the name of the motel and drove into the street. He entered the driveway of the establishment, and parked under the large fancy overhang. When he approached the plush front desk, he flashed his badge and asked to see the manager.

Williams spoke with him for several minutes, but received no more information. Back in the car, he wondered if Hargrove had left the area. Since he'd be on foot, he'd more than likely take a taxi to his destination. The detective called one of his officers and instructed him to check the taxicab businesses and the bus station while he inquired at the airport.

After several hours of studying each airline's passenger list, and finding nothing suspicious, he made copies of the pictured license and distributed them to the attendants in case Hargrove tried to board on a ‘standby’ status. He talked with his officers after he'd finished and they'd also come up empty handed. It appeared the man had disappeared into thin air. “Where the hell has he gone?” he mumbled, getting into his vehicle.

He'd done all he could today, and the hour approached midnight. Rubbing the back of his neck, his thoughts went to Hawkman. More than likely Jennifer had him home and tucked into bed by now. Williams chuckled to himself, as he pictured his friend's resistance.

At the hospital, Hawkman slowly walked into the waiting room. Jennifer jumped up and went to his side. “Have they dismissed you?"

The doctor, who'd followed him out, interrupted. “He doesn't have a concussion, only a bad lump on the head and a few stitches. But I want him home in bed as soon as you can get him there. A couple days’ rest and he should be as good as new.” He handed Jennifer a prescription. “This is for pain pills, if he needs them."

Jennifer tucked it into her purse. “Thank you.” She hung onto Hawkman's arm as they moved into the hallway. “Why don't you wait here while I run up and tell Rita goodbye."

"I'm fine. I'll go with you."

"Are you sure? You're staggering."

He put a hand to his forehead. “Okay, I think you're right,” and he flopped into a chair against the wall.

"Don't move. I'll be right back."

Jennifer hurried up to the second floor and started to enter Rita's room, but found herself stopped by the strong arm of the officer guarding the door.

"Just a moment, I need to see some identification. And may I ask why you're here?"

"I'm a friend,” she said, showing her driver's license.

He poked his head into the room. “You know a Jennifer Casey?"

"Yes, yes. Let her in, please,” Rita called out.

Jennifer moved briskly to her bedside. “I can only stay a minute. Hawkman's waiting for me downstairs."

She looked puzzled. “You keep calling your husband ‘Hawkman'."

"It's a nickname and I'll explain it to you at another time; right now I have to hurry. Just wanted you to know he's okay and I'm taking him home. Call me tomorrow when you get out of here.” She headed for the door, then turned. “By the way, who's picking you up?"

"One of my bridge buddies. Glad your hubby's okay. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Jennifer dashed out the door and down the steps. She didn't know what her better half might do if she didn't get back to him. When she arrived by his side, she found him bent over, holding his head in his hands.

"Man, I've got a terrific headache. And they've shaved off a big swatch of my hair. Where's my hat?"

"Do you want me to get the pain pills?"

"No."

"Williams has your hat at the police station. I think it's ruined, so you'll have to shape another one. Do you feel like walking to the car or do you want me to bring it around."

He stood up and swayed a little. “I think I can make it okay."

When they got outside, it was pouring rain.

"You wait here so you don't get wet,” Jennifer said. “I'll get the car."

Hawkman leaned against the side of the building without an argument and she ran into the cloud burst. She soon had the SUV at the door and he climbed inside. He pushed against the seat and lowered the back rest. Before Jennifer drove out of the parking lot, he'd closed his eyes, breathing in a soft rhythm. She smiled to herself.

The storm eased as she approached Copco Lake and had diminished to a sprinkle by the time she pulled into their driveway. She jumped out, ran to the entry, deactivated the alarm and opened the front door. When she reached the passenger side of the vehicle, Hawkman had awakened and glanced around.

"We home already? Boy, you must have broken the sound barrier."

"No, dear, I drove the speed limit. Let's get you into bed; then I'll move the 4X4 into the garage."

She got him tucked in, put the car away, then went to the bathroom to let Miss Marple out for a run. When Jennifer opened the door, she burst into laughter. “Oh, no, you've been one busy little cat."

"What'd she do?” Hawkman called from the bedroom.

"Hope you don't mind a big roll of toilet paper. She's unrolled the whole thing and it's draped all over the tub, the toilet and the sink. Our little kitten has had a heyday."

"She's probably mad at you for leaving her so long."

"I wouldn't doubt it."

Miss Marple launched out of the room like a rocket, passed Jennifer, and headed straight to where Hawkman lay on the bed. After leaping up on the end of the mattress, she sat down on her haunches and stared at him.

Jennifer rolled up the paper the best she could, giggling as she worked. Then she crept into the room and watched the feline from a distance. Miss Marple inched herself closer to Hawkman's leg and snuggled as close as possible without disturbing him. It fascinated Jennifer how the animal had taken to her husband.

When the phone jangled, Jennifer hurried into the kitchen. Her full attention focused on the answering machine.

"Guess I didn't hit you hard enough. I saw them take you to the hospital and your pretty wife brought you home. The police think I've disappeared. But have no fear, I'm still around. So watch your back,
Hawk Man
. I'm not through with you."

Jennifer hit her fist on the counter. “Who are you and why are you doing this?” she asked aloud. She left the phone and booted up her computer. Her nerves felt raw and stretched like tight rubber bands. It would take awhile to unwind, and that message didn't help.

The next morning, Hawkman awoke to see two big blue eyes peering at him. “What the heck are you doing in my bed?” he quizzed the cat.

Jennifer rolled over and took Miss Marple into her arms. “I didn't have the heart to make her go to her room. She's so worried about you."

He sat up and groaned. “Did she tell you this?"

"Not in so many words, but her actions speak tons."

"You know, you're spoiling her. Now, she'll never be happy sleeping anywhere but right here."

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better. I have a very sore scalp."

"The doctor said not to get your stitches wet. So I'll help you wash around them."

His eyes lit up. “You gonna take a shower with me?"

"I don't think I could reach your head,” she quipped.

"Darn. You're such a party pooper."

He climbed out of bed and looked over the lake from the sliding glass door. “Looks like a much nicer day than yesterday. At least the sun is shining."

"April is unpredictable. It could cloud up and snow tonight."

"You're right. I remember a couple of years ago when it snowed in May.” He turned and stretched his arms. “Man, I'm sore all over."

"You took a bad blow and probably fell hard."

"I better give Williams a call."

"Before you do, you might want to listen to the message we received last night."

He jerked around and stared at her. “Why didn't you wake me? I didn't even hear the phone ring."

"There wasn't anything you could do about it."

Hawkman padded into the kitchen in his bare feet and underwear; went straight to the phone and punched the play button. After he heard the man's voice, he mumbled. “Who is this guy?” Scowling, he punched in the detective's number, then put it on speaker.

"Williams, Hawkman."

"How are you feeling?"

"Sore and have a headache. We received another threatening phone call from our mystery man."

"Interesting, I found out his name."

Hawkman stiffened. “What is it?"

"J. Hargrove. The car rental had the information, along with the motel where he'd been staying. When I talked with the management at the inn, they informed me he'd checked out. So I hurried to the airport. Another futile trip, along with checking the bus depot and taxi drivers. It's like he disappeared into thin air. I also checked the other car rentals in the area. Nothing."

"He's obviously still around; listen to this.” He hit the play button.

"When did that come in?” Williams asked.

"Late last night, after we got home from the hospital."

"It appears our guy wants to play games."

"He can't get far without wheels. Have you checked the used car lots?"

"In the process right now. Leaving a picture at each one. I'll let you know if anything turns up. Also, Ms. Rawlings filed a hit and run report this morning after they dismissed her from the hospital, so we've got our eyes peeled."

"You've got a picture?"

"Yeah, off the license. Want me to fax it to you?"

"Please."

After Hawkman hung up, he prepared to receive the fax and within minutes it came through. He lifted the paper from the tray, studied the photo, and shook his head. “I've never seen this guy."

Jennifer looked over his shoulder. “Isn't that one of the names Bill gave you?"

"Yes, but I've never met this man. I'd remember those eyes, if nothing else."

"If he worked for the Agency, how come you don't recognize him?"

"It's a big place."

Hawkman heard a noise and glanced toward the kitchen window. “Looks like the guys are here to install the glass in the broken window. Get the bell while I run in and throw on some clothes."

Jennifer tightened the belt around her robe and ran her fingers through her hair. She deactivated the alarm and opened the door. Her knees felt weak when she looked at one of the men. “Are you guys here to replace the broken window?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Just a moment, please. I'll get Mr. Casey.” She closed the door, threw the dead bolt and dashed to the bedroom. “One of those men looks like the guy in the picture."

"Are they from the glass place?"

"That's what they said. I told them to wait outside and I'd get you."

He snatched his gun from the holster and slid it into the waistband of his jeans, covering it with his tee shirt. “I'll go take a look."

Jennifer trailed him to the kitchen. He moved to the window, and glanced out. “The logo on the truck matches the company I called."

"The shorter man is the one who looks like the photo,” Jennifer said, pointing.

The two men had meandered out to the center of the driveway and Hawkman took a moment to study them.

"His body build doesn't match Clyde and Ms. Rawlings’ description of Hargrove. That guy's not as tall. And the pot belly hanging over his belt, doesn't match what I'd call buff.” Hawkman removed his gun and handed it to Jennifer. “I don't think I'll need this. Would you put it back?"

"Sure.” Jennifer retreated to the bedroom to get dressed. She slipped the gun into Hawkman's shoulder holster and put her hands on her hips as she observed Miss Marple curled up on his pillow. “You little squirt. I think you're more fond of the mister of this household.” She ran her hand down the silky fur. “Hey, I'm the one who feeds and plays with you."

The cat gently batted Jennifer's hand, then turned and rubbed her head along Hawkman's pillow.

"Come on, time to get off the bed.” Jennifer picked up the kitten, placing her on the floor while she smoothed out the covers and tucked in the spread.

She showered, dressed, and came into the room where the men were installing the new pane. Hawkman had brewed some coffee and sat at the kitchen bar reading the paper while sipping the hot liquid.

"Looks like they're almost done,” she said, pouring herself a cup.

"Doesn't take long once they've removed all the old glass. I'd given them the measurements, so they had the piece cut. Just a matter of setting it into place."

The men soon finished the job and Hawkman handed them a check. “Thanks, fellows, nice work."

Hawkman turned to Jennifer after they left. “I talked with them awhile, and both have been with the company for over five years. So, he definitely wasn't Hargrove."

"Thank goodness. My heart almost stopped when I saw him. He really resembled the picture."