Monroe, Melody S. - Verdict (Siren Publishing Classic) (24 page)

Her eyes widened. “Yes.”

Her fidgety hands alerted him something was quite right. “Something wrong?”

“You’re the second person to ask about her.”

Shit. “Who else did?”

“The person who did this to me.” She pointed to the bruise on her face.

“Does he have a name?”

“None he was willing to share. He and a friend came to the restaurant last night. They’d come in once before, but I really didn’t pay attention to them. Taylor waited on them.”

“What did you tell them?”

She cast a gaze downward and pressed her lips together.

Harrison stepped forward. “Miss, we’re the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We’re the ones trying to keep Taylor safe. Can you tell us where to find her? We think her life might be in danger.”

Her hand flew to her chest. “I knew her story about being hit by a drunk driver was fishy. Is Stone her bodyguard or something?”

“Stone works for me,” Harrison said. “We sent him here to protect Taylor.”

She smiled. “I knew it. He kept telling everyone they were engaged.”

Richard didn’t have time to discuss her crush-of-the-day. “Did you tell this guy what he wanted to know?”

“He would have killed me if I hadn’t.” She scrunched up the hem of her apron.

“Did you tell the Sheriff what happened?” He wanted to see if the cops had checked out the cabin.

She touched her cheek. “No. He said he’d burn down the diner if I told anyone. You’ll make sure that doesn’t happen, right?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get to him before he has a chance to do any more harm.” Richard couldn’t keep his nice-guy attitude going much longer. “Can you give us directions to the cabin?”

“Sure.” She took a napkin and drew a map. “It’s only about five miles from here.”

He grabbed the paper. “Thanks.”

“You’re going to stop that men, aren’t you?” The waitress’ brows creased so deeply, he thought she might get permanent frown lines.

“That’s our plan.”

The directions were simple enough. Take the only road out of town four miles south, turn right at the red mailbox. Great.

To his surprise, her instructions were dead on.

“I see the red mailbox,” Harrison announced without any emotion.

A red Mustang was parked half on, half off the road, ten feet beyond the mailbox. “This must be the place.”

“You sure?” Harrison said. “Stone wouldn’t drive this kind of car.”

It was too impractical for Tom Traynor’s old man. “Let’s check it out anyway.”

He turned up the drive. The car bounced on the rough gravel road as they climbed the mountain. Dust billowed behind them.

“This must be a bitch when it snows,” Harrison said, hanging onto the overhead handle for dear life. “I sure as hell wouldn’t want to live here.”

As the road narrowed, a cabin came into view. Two cars were parked, one behind the other.

“Someone has company,” Harrison said.

Richard cut the engine, slipped the weapon from his shoulder holster and eased open the car door. The wind slapped him in the face, but he kept his focus on the living room window. He motioned for Harrison to check out the back.

Once his partner, if he could call him that, disappeared around the side, Richard pressed against the front door and peered through the window. No one was in sight. He tested the doorknob. Not locked.

With his gun ready, he burst in and scanned the kitchen and living room area. Nothing. A hallway led to the back. Walking as softly as he could, he inched down the hall and checked both rooms.

“Damn.” Empty. Richard returned to the front just as Harrison strode past the kitchen window. “Harrison.” He waved him inside.

He ran in a little out of breath. “Nothing out back.”

“They were here. Susan’s stuff is on the bed.”

“You think they’re spending the night in the woods?”

Given it was close to five and getting dark, he didn’t know what else to conclude. “With two cars here and one by the entrance, I can guess that was the plan. I imagine one of the cars is Stone’s rental, but who owns the other two cars?”

“Let me see if I can run down the owners of the car.”

Harrison dashed outside and returned ten minutes later. “The Jeep is registered to Stone. The other one is registered to a Gina Stenoff from Arlington, Virginia. I had the office find her number. I called and she said her husband, Ronnie, took off in her the car.”

“She know he came here?”

“No. Said she didn’t know when he’d be home either.”

“And the red Mustang?”

“They’re running the plates now.”

Richard paced in front of the sofa. “Doesn’t give us much to go on. I wonder if Peter Caravello hired this Ronnie guy.”

“To kill Susan?”

“I’m guessing. I’m sure he won’t stop at Susan either.” Now wasn’t the time to push the Stone-is-guilty claim. Richard decided to toss the proverbial ball into Harrison’s court. “How do you think we should proceed?”

“We’ll need some gear if we want to go after them.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. We passed a hiking store on the way in. The place might still be open.”

“I hope they have a map of the woods.”

Richard wondered how far Harrison would make it in the forest, given he sat at a desk all day and his middle was spreading. Wouldn’t it be a shame if he slipped off a mountain and died?

His own life meant little. Ending up in a jail cell for the rest of his life wasn’t on his to-do list. He’d take them all down, then disappear. Who better equipped at creating a new identity than him?

* * * *

Susan had wrapped his leg twice now, but the damn thing kept seeping blood. If they didn’t rest now, he’d have to stop shortly.

Stone spotted an indent in the side of a hill, partially covered by an outcropping of rock. “It looks like we might get a little snow. I think we should call it a night and hunker down here.”

If he didn’t insist he needed the rest, Susan would have wanted to keep moving. From the way she was favoring her right leg, she had blisters on her feet, which, if they became infected, could cause a lot of trouble.

“We can’t stop now, not when someone is chasing us.”

“We need our strength for the big push tomorrow. It’s nearly dark, and I think we’re pretty safe from capture for a while. Without the proper gear, they won’t last the night out here. Besides, we took about four forks. The probability they could find us is like thirty percent.”

“Which means there’s a one in three chance they will find us. Not a good stat.”

He almost chuckled at her attorney logic. “Move it, lady.”

After climbing the rather steep embankment, she dropped her pack when they reached a flat area. “Ouch.”

“You okay?” He stepped next to her.

“The backpack straps rubbed against my chest.”

Damn it. He should have been more considerate. “I can carry both for us.”

“Don’t be silly. Your leg is worse off than my injuries.”

They didn’t need to waste the energy over who was more debilitated. He should have seen Blondie’s arm swing low and gotten out of the way. He was slipping, and that fact was eating away at him.

She sat on her pack and leaned against a tree. “Not to complain, but how must farther do we have tomorrow?”

He was glad they were on to future plans. “Probably six or seven miles. And before you ask, at about one miles per hour, it will take us most of tomorrow to reach the highway.”

She faced him, the scant light defining the drawn lines on her face. “We can move faster than that. When I power walk, I can go a good four miles an hour.”

“Not when we’re going up and down mountains. Besides, your feet are hurting and my leg isn’t at full strength.”

“Sorry.” She hugged her middle and dropped her chin into the top of her jacket for warmth. “Do we have a tent or something? Or do you expect us to sleep sitting up? I was the only girl in my town who flunked Girl Scouts.”

He chuckled. He doubted she failed at anything. “I don’t know what’s in the gear bags. I never had time to look, but Tom was always Mr. Ready. He’ll have some kind of protection against the elements.”

He dumped out the contents of his pack and fumbled through the gear until he found a flashlight and clicked it on.

“Wow, that’s bright,” she said.

“Our eyes have gotten used to the darkness. Help me look through your stuff.”

She stood up and tilted the bag upside down. He found a nylon tarp that would keep out the snow but not any wandering animals, two sleeping bags, a water purifier, a collapsible shovel, and a cook set.

“Score one for Tom.” Her eyes widened. “No stove?”

“Can’t pack everything. Besides, we don’t need to cook the sandwiches or the power bars.”

“Good point, but I was thinking more for warmth.”

“The sound of a WhisperLite is really loud. We can’t afford the light either.”

“Why do you always have to have a good reason for everything?”

He could tell she was teasing. Good. “I’m a man.”

She slapped him on the arm.

As if they’d worked together for a lifetime, they set up the tarp by stringing the covering between four trees. The overhang would help keep the rain or snow at bay from the east.

“We’ll be warmer,” he said, “if we zip the two bags together.”

Her brow rose. “Take your mind out of the gutter. I’m not getting naked.”

He closed the space between them and lifted her chin. “While I’d like nothing more than to make love with you in the woods, I don’t think my leg could handle the stress.”

“I forgot.”

They didn’t need to dwell on more negatives. He broke the connection. “Let’s split the sandwich. Afterwards, I want to safeguard our little camp.”

“How?”

“You’ll see.”

When they finished their meal, he dug out his pocketknife. “I need you to collect sticks, maybe half-inch in diameter and ten inches long.”

“How many do you need?”

“Maybe twenty.”

“I better hurry.”

“Take the flashlight, but only aim it at the ground.”

He appreciated her not wasting time to question his request.

Keeping one ear on the sounds of her footsteps as she gathered the wood, he picked up the shovel and headed back down the path. Good thing the moon was nearly full, allowing him to see where he was headed.

The ground would be too hard to dig, except near the stream. When he located the perfect spot, he scratched the dirt with the knife tip, stabbed the near frozen ground with the small shovel and cursed at the difficult task. With continued digging, he managed to cut a small trench two feet wide and one foot deep in less than half an hour. Sweat beaded off his forehead from the exertion, and his thigh rebelled when he squatted, but the manual labor took his mind off their situation. At least he was being proactive and not the victim.

Stone trekked back to their small camp and met Susan coming from the opposite direction.

“Here.” She handed him a pile of perfect sticks.

“Great. Now we need to whittle the ends into spikes.”

She slapped her hands on her hips. “Why?”

“You’ll see.” He handed her a knife. “There’s another knife in one of the packs. Be right back.”

Susan found a log to sit on while he made it back up to their makeshift campsite. He scrounged through the side pockets for the extra Leatherman. When he returned, he sat across from her and carved away. In less than twenty minutes, all of the sticks were seriously sharp.

“Now what?” she asked with less agitation in her voice. “These look really dangerous.”

“They are. But we’re dealing with killers. Shine the light over this trench.”

He stabbed the non-pointed ends of the sticks into the hole. Some were horizontal to the ground, others straight up.

Susan’s eyes had widened every time he glanced up at her. “Gather some leaves to cover the pit, will ya?”

She raced off. With her sharp mind, she seemed to understand how this trap worked.

After a few trips, the hole was completely camouflaged.

“You sure this will work? Someone could step over this trap.”

He’d expected the question. “The person will jump across the two-foot wide stream. I dug the hole one step past the river edge. He can’t step right or left since the trench is the width of the path. He’ll step in the hole. Trust me. The sudden drop will either break his ankle or cut him severely either going in or pulling out.”

“Where did you learn to make this kind of thing?”

He snickered. “Actually, Nick Caravello taught me.”

“Figures.”

“Uncle Nicky isn’t a bad person. When he served in Nam, he told me the Army instructed them to dip the sticks in animal dung. The enemy would land in the hole, the sticks would break the skin’s surface and the feces would get into the bloodstream. Death followed shortly thereafter.”