In the Teeth of the Wind (26 page)

Cortesio, she hadn't given anyone a chance to stop her before she was out of Joey's house and into the

pelting rain. Trip hadn't even tried, but had followed her with Jamie Cullen close on his heels. Joey

handed over the keys to his car without being asked.

"What about the hearse?" Boucharde asked.

"According to the marshal at the back entrance, it came from the Quinlan and Schmidt funeral home,"

Fullick answered. He glanced over to where Marek was pacing and lowered his voice. "The funeral

home didn't even know the hearse was missing until we called."

"Who is in charge here?"

Everyone looked around to see Caitlin Greiner striding arrogantly toward them. A collective groan

issued from those who knew her.

"Well?" Caitlin snapped.

"I am," Boucharde answered. He held up a hand before Nolan's sister could start the harangue he

knew was coming. "Let's go into this office, Mrs. Greiner." Before she could protest, he had a firm grip

on her arm, guiding her toward a closed door beside the reception desk.

"That's all the hell we needed," Cortesio grumbled.

"I'm in no mood for her goddamned crap," Rhianna hissed. She turned to Samuel. "What about the

missing orderly?"

"I checked on that brother," Samuel said, his mouth tight. "The clinic hired him about a week before

Irish was transferred over here. He was a good worker and all that. We'll have to wait 'til morning to

check his references."

Jamie Cullen seemed to have calmed down on the wild ride from Joe Cortesio's house to the clinic. He

was leaning against the wall, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and was watching the others as they

moved about the reception room of the clinic. His blue eyes never strayed far from Rhianna Marek, but

his attention was riveted on every word. As Samuel made his statement, Jamie stiffened.

"A week before?" he asked, pushing away from the wall.

Rhianna watched him go to Samuel. She was surprised that Cullen was so steady. He was no longer

sweating and although he was almost as wet as she was, he didn't appear to be miserable about it. His

focus was sharp on Brett Samuel as he questioned the black cop.

"Are you sure about that?"

Samuel lifted his chin. "Sure, I'm sure, man." Cullen's jaw cocked to one side as he thought, then he

turned to Rhianna. "Then they knew he was going to be brought here after the incident at the rehab

clinic." His gaze narrowed. "I take it there are a helluva lot of other clinics in and around New Gregory."

"Yeah. So?" Fullick questioned.

Jamie was still staring at Rhianna. "So how come they picked this one to put their man in?"

"He was already here," Corbettson spoke up. He'd just come back from questioning the other night

orderly as Boucharde had ordered. "The Bochner broad probably paid him a lot of money to help her."

"No," Jamie disagreed. "This is the same bastard who got me in Florida. I'd stake my life on it."

"You're right," said Rhianna.

"How the hell did they know Irish was gonna be brought here?" Cortesio queried.

Rhianna's narrowed gaze flicked to the door behind which Boucharde had taken Caitlin Greiner.

"That's a good question," she grated, moving toward the office.

Corbettson stepped in front of her. "Where you going?"

"Get out of my way, Corbettson."

"What's eating you, Marek?" When she would have walked around him, he put out a hand to stop her.

"You ain't goin' in there."

One minute C.C. Corbettson was reaching for Rhianna, the next he was flat on his back staring up into

the steady, uncompromising eyes of DEA agent James Cullen.

"I saw you in the parking lot this afternoon," Jamie said in a pleasant voice. "You like to hurt women

don't you, you perverted bastard?"

C.C. tried to get up but found Cullen's foot squarely on his chest, pressing down with enough force to

cut off his oxygen. When he put up his hands to shove Cullen off balance, the heel of the agent's sneaker

rocked on his sternum.

"You like to dish out pain," Cullen drawled, "but can you take it?"

"Get… him… off… me!" C.C. gasped. His eyes were tearing and he thought his heart would burst

beneath the pressure.

Cullen smiled and lifted his foot. He watched the cop scramble to his feet, sag against the wall and

press a trembling hand to his aching chest. He met the furious glower of C.C. Corbettson with an amused

lift of one dark blond brow.

"Any time, anywhere, asshole," challenged Jamie.

Rhianna cast a glance at Joey Cortesio and there was pride in the look. She grinned, then flung open

the door to the office in which Boucharde was striving to quiet an enraged Caitlin Greiner.

Caitlin looked around as the door opened. She had just enough time to twist her lips into a nasty smirk

before Rhianna was on her.

The doorway filled with men as Rhianna grabbed Nolan's sister, spun her around, twisted her arm

behind her, then slammed her against the wall. With a firm forearm across Caitlin's throat, Rhianna leaned

her entire weight against the other woman. "How did they know you were going to have Irish brought

here?" Rhianna snarled in Caitlin's ear.

"I'll sue you!" Caitlin managed to get out.

"_How did they know?_"

"I have no idea!" A ragged cough exploded from Caitlin as the pressure on her windpipe increased.

"_Who told you about this place?_"

Caitlin was having difficulty breathing. "My lawyer," she gasped, gagging as the pressure became

almost unbearable. "Ronald Nysberg!"

"I'm on it," Samuel rapped out, pushing through the knot of men.

"Did you know they were going to come after him again?" Rhianna's lips were drawn back in a snarl of

fury and her hold on the other woman intensified, brooking no hesitation.

"No," Caitlin strained to answer. "Of course, not."

"Are you involved in any of this?"

Stars were dancing across the blackness swooping up around Caitlin. Her face was pressed tightly

against the wall and she could barely draw breath, but she managed to deny any involvement in her

brother's disappearance.

"One more thing," Rhianna growled. "Where is Conor's son?"

"I don't - " Caitlin gagged as the pressure increased. "Elk Grove Village!" she managed to squeak. The

pressure let up enough for her to whisper. "He's in the Alexian Brothers seminary in Elk Grove Village,

Illinois!"

Rhianna blinked. "He's a priest?"

Caitlin's cheek was pressed against the wall, but she was able to nod. "Yes."

"Why hasn't Irish been able to find him?"

Caitlin closed her eyes. "We put him up for adoption in Ireland. He just moved to the States last year."

"I want a name," Rhianna snarled. "A name!"

"Tristan McGregor!"

Rhianna let go of the woman, joy surging through her as Greiner slid down the wall and sat gasping for

breath, massaging her bruised throat. Rhianna turned to Cullen. "Does the name Ronald Nysberg mean

anything to you?"

Jamie shook his head. "If he went to NBMA, he wasn't there when Quinterras was."

Caitlin blinked, but she gave no outward sign to the others that the name meant anything to her. Her

breathing was ragged and her knees weak from the encounter, but she was able to push herself up just as

Corbettson came to her rescue.

"Are you all right?" C.C. questioned, helping her to her feet.

"I'll own these bastards before I'm through," she replied hoarsely. She sagged against him, grateful for

his strong arms as he helped her to a couch. Glancing up at him, she lowered her voice. "How is Luis

Quinterras involved in this?"

Corbettson's brows came together. "You know him?" His voice was hushed. He cast a quick look

behind them but the others had left the room.

Caitlin smiled. "Yes," she answered. "I most certainly do."

****

Silver rain slammed against the windshield of the brown van as it rolled along Interstate 80. The faint

snick of the wipers was the only sound accompanying the sloshing of the radial tires on rain-slick

blacktop. An occasional flare of lightning lit up the night to momentarily brighten the interior of the van.

Soon even that intrusion into the black mist of the rainy night ceased. Outside, the headlights cut a swath

across the road and onto the wet shoulders grown high with the uncut grasses of early summer.

Inside the van, the dashboard lights were off and the windows were tinted as dark as Iowa law would

allow, making the interior impenetrable to passing human eyes.

Five men - four white men and one black - were seated in the van. A sixth man lay huddled on the

floor his hands tied behind him.

Snapping his fingers to gain the attention of the man in the passenger seat beside him, Karl Bochner

pointed a finger at the Iowa State Patrol car passing them in the eastbound lane. Bochner had set the

cruise control at fifty miles per hour, but he felt a trickle of unease cross his spine at the sight of the

vehicle.

"They'll be looking for a hearse," Victor told him. He reached out and patted Bochner on the knee.

Both men let their eyes drift to the outside mirrors and watched for any sign that the patrol car might

cross over the median and follow them. That event was unlikely since the van's exterior - lights and tags -

had been checked and double-checked for any possible defects or problems that might conceivably

cause suspicion.

A slight groan came from the bound man and the driver glanced in his rearview mirror. He couldn't see

Luis's face, but he knew the Colombian had moved from his seat to the floorboard of the van.

Luis hunkered down beside Conor Nolan and jerked on the heavy cord binding his wrists. Satisfied

the restraint was secure, he nodded at one of the other men sitting in back with Nolan. That man moved

to the floor and flicked on a small penlight, directing its beam onto Nolan's semi-conscious face. The light

reflected in the glazed brown eyes staring back.

"Turnoff," Bochner said. The turn signal clicked on.

"I got something for you, Coni." Luis chuckled.

Nolan tried to escape the hand that came down to press the right side of his face to the musty floor.

He felt the sharp stinging in his neck only a fraction of a second before he plunged into darkness again.

The van rolled down the off-ramp and onto the asphalt of a secondary road. It traveled another

two-tenths of a mile before the asphalt became gravel that popped up and struck the van's undercarriage.

"Road's a quagmire," Victor rumbled as the van slowed down and turned off the country access road

onto a farm lane.

The road was dotted with deep potholes. Branches gouged and scratched at the sides of the van as it

veered off the farm lane onto a seldom-used path. A particularly bad rut jolted the men and brought

muffled grunts of anger.

"Can you miss a few holes?" Victor snapped.

Water splashed up and coated the windshield with sprays of thick white clay. The wipers smeared it

across the glass and Karl Bochner let out a muffled hiss. It was hard enough to navigate this road in

broad daylight, with a clear windshield. Rain-drenched, it was virtually impossible to see every hole

before the van's tires fell into them.

"_Look out!_" Victor shouted.

With a yelp of surprise, Bochner jerked the wheel, swinging the van away from a fallen black walnut

tree that hadn't been there two days before. The van slid sideways, fishtailing as he tried to get it under

control. It skidded into a soybean field, then jolted hard as it dropped into a deep rut.

"Sonofabitch!" Bochner swore, slamming his hands against the steering wheel. He tried rocking the

wheels out, but the rear end only settled deeper.

"We're stuck," said Quinterras.

Victor opened his door and stepped out into the deluge of rain. He jerked open the door and

motioned the other two men out.

Hunching their shoulders against the back of the van, the three of them strained as Bochner tried to

gain purchase on some semblance of stable ground. After nearly ten minutes of spraying mud and

grunting, the van finally hitched onto the pathway and leaped forward with a grinding of gears.

Luis grimaced with distaste as his men got into the van. The overpowering smell of mud and wet

clothing was sickening. With an angry hiss, he drew back his booted foot and slammed it into the middle

of Nolan's defenseless back.

"You could hurt him badly,
Patrino,"
Victor warned.

"What difference does it make?" Quinterras snorted. "He's a dead man anyway."

The headlights glanced off a building ahead and Bochner took his foot off the accelerator, braking as

gently as he could for fear the vehicle would slide off the roadway once more. The van rolled to a clean

stop just in front of the abandoned barn. Bochner switched off the engine and got out.

Victor got out, opened the van's rear door, and stepped out of the way of the others. He didn't mind

the rain pouring down on him for it was washing away the mud that coated his clothing.

Luis waited until there was light in the barn before he, too, got out and hurried inside. The two other

men, carrying their unconscious prisoner, followed with Victor bringing up the rear.

Seven*

Jamie sat beside Rhianna. Neither had spoken for at least ten minutes. Around them, Cortesio,

Triplett, and Fullick were busy on the phones. Samuel and Boucharde studied a detailed map of Polk

and Jasper counties. There was really little any of them could do but wait and the waiting was hell.