On a Knife's Edge (19 page)

Standing next to Graham’s wheelchair, amidst the mourners at
the Lady of Snow cemetery in Reno, she pressed a shredded tissue to her teary
eyes and stared at the flag-draped casket.

Another boom of gunshots broke the quiet.

She never knew Todd had been in the National Guard, or that
he served two tours in Iraq. She also didn’t know he was divorced with a
twelve-year-old daughter. Seemed there was a quite a bit she hadn’t known about
the late deputy.

One last blast of gunfire sounded, then a bugler played
Taps
as the flag was reverently folded and handed to the weeping parents.

Shasta bit her lip to stem the sob in her throat, but her
tears weren’t from grief so much as remorse. She should have been nicer to
Todd. While his often disturbing and inappropriate innuendos had creeped her
out, maybe she’d misjudged him. Maybe he’d actually been a decent guy. She
watched the coffin being lowered into the ground. Now she’d never know.

She waited patiently in line with Graham to express sympathy
to the grieving family. Her husband shook Mr. Weedly’s hand, leaning in to
whisper something. The older man grinned slightly with a small nod of his head.
Leave it to her husband to know just what to say.

Graham achieved another a tiny smile when he spoke to Mrs.
Weedly. All Shasta could muster was a lame, “Sorry for your loss.”

Finished with the condolences, she walked beside Graham as
he traversed the bumpy ground toward the paved path. Adam joined them.

“Graham…might I have a word?” The look he sent Shasta
curdled her stomach.

Graham looked back at her. “I’ll meet you at the van.”

“All right.” She bent down and kissed Graham’s cheek.

As she strolled toward the parking lot, she saw Dell,
wearing his dress uniform and trying not to lean too much on his cane, chatting
with several other officers from the surrounding departments. Despite their
sunglasses, she could see the sorrow engraved on their faces. When one of their
own went down, they all mourned. She gave a small wave to Dell, who excused
himself and fell into step with her.

 “How ya doing, sis?”

She sighed. “Okay. Relieved that Graham’s home.” She stopped
at her husband’s custom-built van. “If it’s all right with you, I won’t be
coming in today. Or for the next couple of days.” She swept hair off her
forehead. “I think I’ll take Wyatt out of school early, too. I just want to hug
him. Like a lot.”

Dell’s mouth twisted in a grin. “I don’t blame you.” His
smile vanished. “I’m also glad you’re planning to stick close to home. You
should know that we haven’t been able to locate Callan.”

Shasta tilted her head. “Why would I need to know that?”

“Because of what happened on Sunday, I want you to be on
your guard. And to call if he contacts you.”

“You honestly think he’ll contact me?”

“He most likely won’t, but I want you prepared.”

She shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

He kissed her forehead. “As it should be.” He dodged her
elbow with a chuckle. “I gotta get back to the office.”

Dell left while Graham cruised up. He hit the fob and the
van lights blinked. She slid open the van door and pushed the button to
activate the hydraulics.

“What did Adam want?” she asked.

“To give me an update on the Streeter situation.”

Her husband’s brusque tone didn’t surprise her. Graham
wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but he cared deeply about anyone
working in law enforcement. Todd’s death had to be hitting him hard.

Graham wheeled himself onto the square platform, pushed
another button and was lifted into the van. He then pivoted into position
behind the wheel. She closed the door and hoisted herself into the passenger
seat.

He started the engine and through a series of hand joysticks
which controlled the gas and brake pedals, he pulled from the parking space and
drove slowly from the memorial park. At the street, he turned left and waited
at the stoplight.

“I thought maybe tomorrow we could come back to Reno and get
your broken phone replaced,” he offered out of the blue.

Icicles sprouted in her belly and she rubbed her arms. “Oh,
that’s not necessary.”

“Of course it is. You can’t live without your cell.”

She compelled a modest laugh past her lips. It sounded tinny
in her ears. “Sure I can. We’ve got the landline at the house which is all I’ll
need since I’m not going anywhere.”
And I didn’t break my phone in the first
place…
Another forced chuckle. “Besides, I don’t want to bother you.”

“It’s no bother, sweetheart.” The van moved through the
intersection when the light turned green. “We can go to lunch while we’re in
town. That new Indian restaurant. Make a date of it.”

“Lunch is a wonderful idea, but couldn’t we take care of my
phone now rather than making another whole trip back to Reno?”

“We’ll need the SIM card from your old cell.”

“Why?”

“To transfer all your contacts and pictures.” He glanced at
her. “You’ll want those, right?”

Her head spun, and she grappled for a counter-argument, but
nothing came to mind.

“Shasta…honey…is something wrong?”

She stared at her lap. “I don’t have the SIM card.”

“Oh? Why not?” He pulled to a halt at another stoplight.

She angled slightly away from him as her silence mushroomed
in the cab.

“Honey…is it because you didn’t break your phone like you
told me?”

She swung her head around to stare at Graham. He gazed at
her with an unreadable expression. “What did Dell tell you?”

He looked back at the street and eased onto the gas. “Your
brother? Nothing. However, Adam told me about your little…outing on Sunday.”

Annoyance poured over Shasta. “Why would he do that?”

“Maybe because he figured I’d be concerned about my wife.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

A derisive chuckle puffed from his mouth. “I’m your husband.
It’s
my job
to worry about you.”

“I know.” She reached over and touched his arm. “I’m sorry.”

He smacked the steering wheel with his palm, clearly and
uncharacteristically agitated. “Damn it…do you have any idea how lucky you were
that nothing happened?”

She bowed her head, her hands folded tightly in her lap, as
images from the barn hijacked her thoughts. She’d rather be staked to a
rattlesnake nest than hurt Graham…

“Nothing did happen, right honey?”

She shut her eyes at the unease in his voice and prayed for
the seat to swallow her whole.

“Did Callan rape you?” The steely edge to Graham’s voice
promised retribution.

She yanked up her head. “
No
. Nothing like that
happened.”

He gave her a sharp look. “But something did happen.”

Crap.

She swallowed hard. “Nothing happened. I swear.”

Turning the van southward onto State Route 314, he stared
straight ahead, tension rippling along his jaw line. She gazed at the passing
casinos of downtown as the uncomfortable silence prickled her skin. But she
felt powerless to alleviate it.

After several miles, he finally broke the quiet. “Shasta,
honey, I’m neither blind nor stupid to the fact that you have certain…needs.
Needs that I’m incapable—”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Graham…
please
…”

“Let me finish.” He sighed. “I know ours was never a love
for the ages, but over the years I've come to care deeply for you, and for
Wyatt. And I’d like to think you feel the same about me.”

She covered his hand gripping the steering wheel. “I do feel
the same. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Me neither. However it’s
like I said…I’m not ignorant of reality. I don’t know if you’ve sought out
physical relationships with other men…God knows no one could blame you for
having an affair—”

“I’m not having an affair.”

“I appreciate you saying that, but if you were to have a
tryst, I know you’d be extraordinarily discreet. But to sleep with a dangerous
man like Lynch Callan—”

“I did not sleep with him,” she asserted firmly
.
“I’m
not sleeping with
anyone.
I really wish Adam hadn’t said anything to you
because I’m fine. Lynch didn’t hurt me. And I’ve learned my lesson not to go out
alone until the whole new trial thing is settled. Can we please not talk about
this anymore? Today has been upsetting enough with Todd’s funeral.”

“Of course, honey…I’m sorry.”

He offered her his hand, palm open. She immediately twined
her fingers with his.

He brought her hand to his mouth, kissed the back of it then
rested it on the arm of his wheelchair. “We could still come back to Reno for
lunch tomorrow, if you want.”

“If it’s all right with you, I think I’d rather stay home.
Maybe we could keep Wyatt home too. Just have a family day. How does that
sound?”

 His smile looked more relaxed. “Perfect.”

Chapter Nineteen

BLOOD
POUNDS BEHIND
my eyeballs.

“No, you imbecile,” I snarl into the phone. “
All
the
vans have been compromised. You need to get a new vehicle for this delivery…I
don’t care. Something that’ll accommodate the shipment…Spare me your opinion
and just do as I say. I want that shipment on its way here as soon as possible,
understand? Good.”

I hang up then pause to rub the pressure at my temples. For
a moment, I fear I’m about to have a stroke—just like my doctor predicted. But
the tension eases and I inhale a deep breath. Now that transportation for the
shipment has been dealt with, I can move on to the next thing.

I slip the small cassette cartridge into the manila
envelope, seal the flap and scrawl the address across the front with my left
hand. At this point I can’t allow something as pedestrian as my handwriting
being recognized to railroad my plans.

 This consignment of girls is the biggest yet—over two dozen
with most of them cherries. Hopefully that will lessen the blow when I tell
Fuentes I’m quitting. To be honest, the Columbian has become a demanding diva,
making me glad this is my last deal with him. And the payout will be quite
substantial. Combined with the money I've already stashed in a Cayman account,
there’ll be more than enough for me to disappear. With Shasta, of course.

I've got the ideal getaway place picked out, too. A small
isle that’s part of the Marshall Islands in the South Pacific. Nothing but sun,
sand and Shasta for the rest of my life.

Thinking about my future puts a smile on my face. I stand,
envelope in hand and sauntered into the warehouse.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh accompanies the echoing
click of my heels while I stroll across the concrete floor. I savor the sight
before me. Suspended between two columns by piano wires wrapped around his
wrists, Junkyard’s feet dangle just inches from the substantial pool of his
blood. A shirtless and sweating Bowyer lands another punch to Junkyard’s
blackened midsection using weighted gloves. The soon-to-be-former Streeter VP
doesn’t react. As I approach, Bowyer steps back.

I bend forward and peer into Junkyard’s distorted face. His
eyes are so swollen, I can’t be sure he’s conscious. It wasn’t like I didn’t
warn him of the consequences should he fail me. And fail me he did. More than
once.

First he tried to hurt the love of my life, then he fails to
eliminate Callan. But to repeatedly use the same license plates on those vans?
Epic disappointment. And I hate to be disappointed.

I pick up the cattle prod from the nearby table and zap
Junkyard in the ribcage. His head lolls up with a hoarse moan. He doesn’t even
try to shift from the painful current.

“Ah, good. You’re awake.” I replace the instrument then turn
to Bowyer. “Take him back to Stardust, finish him off and bury him somewhere
outside of town that’ll be easy to find.”

“Puheeze,” Junkyard mumbles through bloated, chapped lips.
“On’t ill me.”

I cluck my tongue. “So pathetic…begging for your life. But
you’ve been a constant disappointment to me, dear boy. Perhaps it’s my fault
for having been so lenient. But no longer. I can’t afford any more mistakes.
It’s time for you to go.”

Junkyard feebly shakes his head. “Nooo…”

“Don’t despair,” I tell him. “Your death won’t be in vain.
In fact, it should ultimately lead to my victory.”

I nod to Bowyer who punches Junkyard in the face, knocking
him out cold. I grab a clean towel and wipe my hands. “Once you’ve disposed of
the body, wait a couple of days then report him missing.” I toss the towel back
on the table. “In the meantime, pick up Rolo Pruett’s daughters and bring them
and their father here. The Streeter president needs a lesson about the dangers
of crossing me. Lastly, find Callan.”

“How? No one’s seen him in days.”

“Use your imagination. Bribe every cop in Northern Nevada.
Use his mother as leverage. Just find him.”

“Want me to take care of him when I do?”

“No. He needs to suffer before I personally put a bullet in
his brain. Oh, and mail this from anywhere in Stardust.” I hand him the
envelope.

“What’s this?”

“The beginning of the end for Lynch Callan.”

Chapter Twenty

LYNCH
DESPISED HIDING
. When playing hide and seek as a kid, he always insisted
on being “it” because he loathed the hiding part. For him hiding translated
into cowardice.

Yet for six days, six long fucking days, he’d been locked in
a hotel room with Jarvis…hiding. He’d rather cut off his left nut—with a rusty
knife.

But as bad as hiding was, not being able to leave the room
proved worse. Even in prison he’d had the freedom to go to the yard for some
exercise. Not here. Not safe, or so he was told…repeatedly.

Good thing the room was slightly bigger than average. It
permitted him to set up a small workout station between the two queen beds
where he could do jumping jacks or squat thrusts along with various pushups and
sit ups. Jarvis didn’t seem to mind his activity as she kept herself
sequestered to her bed and the small table next to the window, piled high with
papers as well as her computer.

She had some new high-tech hotspot gadget which allowed for
a secure internet connection so she could work. It also gave him the
opportunity to talk to his mom each night. All-in-all, Lynch really couldn’t
complain too much about the situation, but he still wasn’t happy.

He just finished his fourth set of tricep pushups when
Jarvis slapped her laptop closed.

“Goddamn it.”

He scooted his butt onto his bed. “Problem counselor?”

She glared at him. “Yes. Finding those stolen passenger vans
is taking forever.”

He wiped his sweaty face with a towel. “Even with the plate
numbers?”

“Even with the plate numbers.”

“Maybe you can’t find them because they’re not being used.”

“No such luck.” She tapped a stack of folders. “At least two
dozen girls have been reported missing from the northwest in just the past
month.”

Lynch whistled low. “Two dozen?”

“Yeah. And the clock is ticking for them.” She reopened her
laptop and went back to typing.

He studied her as she adjusted her glasses and squinted at
the screen. With her hair slicked back from her shower and dressed in a t-shirt
and Capri pants, she looked more like a college student than a federal agent.
Except for the gun holster hooked to her waistband.

“Maybe you should take a break,” he suggested.

“Maybe,” she responded as she switched her focus to an open
folder.

“Newman should be here soon with some lunch, right?”

“Uh huh.”

Shaking his head, Lynch went back to the floor for one last
set of pushups then he’d jump in the shower. He’d say this about the two
federal agents…they kept their word.

Somehow, and Lynch had no idea how, Newman managed to get
rid of the local cops from the night of the botched assassination attempt as
well as procure a room at the Flamingo Star under yet another false name. And
Jarvis had said she wouldn’t leave his side, and she hadn’t.

A knock thudded on the door.

Lynch and Jarvis vaulted to their feet. Gun in hand, she
motioned him into the bathroom. He rolled his eyes, but complied knowing the
futility of arguing. If they’d been discovered, being in the bathroom would do
no good.

He peered through the cracked door. Jarvis checked the
peephole, unbolted the lock and turned the knob. She stepped back, her gun
still raised, as Newman came inside. Only after the deadbolt had been
resecured, did she lower her weapon.

“Clear. You can come out.”

Lynch existed the bathroom, noting Newman’s empty hands and
the agent’s grim expression. “Something happen?”

“Yeah.” Newman rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s been
another murder.”

Lynch’s gut contracted. “Who?”

“Junkyard Taylor.”

“Taylor?” Jarvis sounded as shocked as Lynch felt. “When?”

“The body was discovered in a shallow grave yesterday
afternoon on the north side of Stardust. And he was tortured—by someone who
knew what they were doing. The ME put time of death at sometime late Wednesday
night.”

Jarvis holstered her weapon. “Wednesday? That’s four days
ago.”

Newman nodded. “I know.”

“Why the hell did it take so long for you to get that
information?”

“That I don’t know, but that’s not the real interesting
part.”

“Oh?” Jarvis smirked. “And what’s the interesting part?”

“A cassette recording showed up in Sheriff Albright’s mail
on Thursday.” He leveled his gaze on Lynch. “A recording that has you
threatening Taylor.”

An icy blast hit Lynch’s stomach. “Me?”

“Him?” Jarvis moved stand beside Lynch. “That’s not
possible. He’s been with me.”

Newman nodded. “Again, I know. But listen to this.” He
extracted his cell, pressed a button and held it up.

Lynch immediately recognized Rolo’s voice—and the last
conversation he’d had with the president.
“Don’t worry about Junkyard.”
Lynch heard himself say.
“If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll put him in
the ground. Permanently.”

Newman clicked off the phone.

“That’s hardly a smoking gun,” Jarvis stated.

“True, but with this evidence, the search for Callan has
quadrupled.” Newman sighed. “And to top it off, Albright’s scheduled a press
conference for tomorrow afternoon, where he plans to name Callan as a person of
interest in Taylor’s murder.”

“Shit,” Jarvis muttered. “That’ll make things messy. You
said the cassette was mailed. Forensics get anything off the envelope?”

“Nope. And before you ask, the postmark said it was mailed
from the post office in Stardust. So that’s a dead end.”

Jarvis smirked. “You’re just full of good news today, aren’t
you? Did you at least have something new on Murphy?”

Newman shook his head. “The guy hasn’t put so much as a
toenail out of place. And his financials are squeaky clean.” He took out a
small notebook from his pocket and flipped through the pages. “He’s divorced
with no kids. Makes sixty-eight thousand a year, has a mortgage, two car
payments and owes thirty-five hundred on his Visa card.” He closed the book.
“Like I said squeaky clean.”

Jarvis paced to the window, her head bowed and arms crossed.
“Shit, shit, shit…”

“Got any ideas?” Newman asked.

Lynch sat on the bed. “Um, I hate to be the one to point
this out, but the cops coming after me isn’t the worst thing about that
recording.”

Jarvis turned to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

“That conversation with Rolo was also when he told me about
the plate numbers. So if the cops know I threatened Junkyard…”

Her eyes slammed shut. “Then whoever sent that tape probably
knows Pruett spilled about the plates.
Shit
.” She went back to the
table. “No wonder we weren’t able to locate those vans. God
damn
it.”

“But all might not be lost, counselor.”

Jarvis snapped her gaze to Lynch. “What the hell do you
mean?”

“It means that whoever has those girls will now hafta find
another means of transportation. And fast. They’ll be improvising which should
make them careless.” Lynch nudged his chin to her computer. “Use your agency
voodoo to do a search on recently stolen vehicles. Everything from passenger
vans to SUVs to semi trucks.”

Jarvis shook her head. “Using my agency connections will
compromise this op.”

“It’s already been compromised. Doing this secret agent shit
hasn’t worked. Murphy, Blackwell or whoever’s behind this, has been one step
ahead of us the entire time.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“That we go straight at the fucker.”

She snorted a laugh. “Go straight at him? How?”

“Use me.”

“Come again?”

“You use me,” Lynch repeated. “March me into Albright’s
office and tell the good sheriff I've been working with you all along. Come
clean about everything. With you vouching for me, that should clear me of any
murder charges.”

“Then what?” Newman asked.

“Hopefully it’ll cause a shit storm with everyone trying to
deal with me which might give you the chance to find the girls.”

“You’re taking a huge risk, you know that, right?” Jarvis
asked. “There’s no way we’ll be able to keep that kind of news under wraps.
Your involvement with the agency will come out and you’ll most likely end up
with a bullet in the head. Courtesy of one of the Streeters.”

“Maybe, maybe not. The only reason this scheme has worked
this far is because none of my brothers knew the truth. Once they know the
facts, they’ll be on my side.”

“Another gamble.”

“One I’m willing to take.” Lynch stood. “Besides, I’m sick
of hiding like a rat in a trap. If it’s my time to go, then I want to face it.
Head on.”

Jarvis looked at Newman. “Whatcha think?”

The agent brushed his hand over his buzzed hair. “I think
it’s dicey as hell, but I don’t see an alternative.”

“Me neither,” Jarvis conceded. She glowered at Lynch. “All
right, Callan, we’ll do it your way. But God help us—and you—if this plan goes
south.”

“Look at it this way, counselor, could things get worse?”

~*~

S
hasta leaned into the
backseat to release Wyatt’s seatbelt. The first grader banged open the door,
but she snagged his arm. “Nah, uh, young man.” She slipped the strap of his
backpack over her wrist, closed the door and hit the lock.

“But Mom…I want to see Uncle Dell.”

“And you will.” With a firm grip on her son’s hand, she
ushered him up the sidewalk. “But it’s like I told you this morning, Uncle Dell
is very busy so you will
not
run around like a crazy person. You’ll sit
quietly at my desk and not bug him or anyone else. You read me?”

“Aw, Mom.” He tugged at his hand.

“Don’t ‘aw Mom’ me.” She pulled to a stop and bent down,
giving Wyatt her best stink eye. “If you don’t behave, I’ll have Mrs. Hinckley
watch you for the rest of the week. You want that?”

Wyatt’s mouth flattened into a mulish line, but shook his
head.

Shasta stood. “I didn’t think so. C’mon…I’ll get you a glass
of lemonade.” She started walking again, Wyatt compliant by her side.

Ah the joys of conference week when kids got dismissed early
from school with more bottled-up energy than they—or their parents—knew how to
handle. And today was just the first day of early release…

Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be an issue for
Wyatt to hang out at the stationhouse in the afternoons. But these
circumstances were far from normal.

The investigation into Todd’s murder continued at full
throttle. Though the local police and sheriff deputies had returned to their
regular duties, the conference room still overflowed with the half dozen FBI
agents assigned to the case. The last thing anyone needed, especially Shasta,
was for her darling son to be a royal pain to the men and woman searching for
the murderer.

Approaching the front entrance, Wyatt gave a hard yank of
his hand, and broke free.

With a devilish grin, he sprinted to the door. “Race ya,
Mom.”

“Wyatt—no…”

Shasta hurried after him, entering the building in time to
see Wyatt bulldoze into a pair of jean-clad legs. The resulting impact bounced
the six-year-old back into her.

“Oh my gosh,” she gushed. She juggled the backpack while
recapturing Wyatt’s wrist. “I’m so sorry about that. Wyatt, apologize to the…”

Her voice trailed off when she stared at the man Wyatt
rammed into.

Lynch. His gaze darkened as it swept over her face and ever-so-quickly
down her body…

Confusion froze her brain, and her thoughts. What on earth
was he doing here? Dressed in a chest-molding, white t-shirt and low-slung
jeans, he held his cut in his right hand. Did he not think someone would
recognize him?

Her pulse rate zoomed and her breathing quickened. She
clutched the short sleeve of his shirt, glancing quickly around the squad room.
Any second someone would spot him and slap cuffs on him. “What are you doing
here?”

“Mrs. Dupree?”

Shasta dropped her hand and spun toward the female voice.
Lynch’s lawyer strolled up. “Oh…um…Ms. Jarvis.”

“Actually it’s Special Agent Jarvis. I’m with the FBI.”

Air choked Shasta’s throat. “The FBI?”

“Yes ma’am. Mr. Callan has been assisting me and Special
Agent Newman,” she pointed to the man beside her who’d left with Lynch the
morning after the discovery of Todd’s body, “in an investigation.”

Bewildered, Shasta looked back at Lynch, noting his relaxed
stance, his left thumb hooked in his belt loop. “An investigation?”

He winked as a small, crooked grin lifted the corners of his
mouth.

Wyatt turned his gaze up to Shasta. “Mom…what’s a
vestigation?”

Shasta covered Wyatt’s mouth with her hand. “Not now,
honey.”

Wyatt immediately twisted away. “What’s a vestigation?
What’s FBI?”

She looked down at her son. “I’ll tell you in a minute.”
Shasta refocused on Lynch and Jarvis “Does my brother know about this?”

Lynch’s grin grew larger. “He does now.”

“Oh…” Shasta glanced at Dell’s office where he stared back,
looking extremely pissed. She met Jarvis’s gaze. “What about Adam…I mean DA
Murphy? Does he know?”

“Not yet. We’re on our way to his office now. So if you’ll
excuse us…”

“Of course.” Shasta maneuvered Wyatt to the side.

“What’s that?” Wyatt pointed a small finger at Lynch’s cut.

“My jacket.” Lynch held it out in both hands.

Wyatt studied it for a moment. “How come it don’t got no
sleeves?”

“Why doesn’t it have sleeves?” Shasta automatically
corrected.

Lynch looked at his cut. “It came this way when I got it.”
He squatted in front of Wyatt. “Think I should take it back?”

The first grader gave a solemn nod. “Jackets are suppose to
have sleeves.”

Chuckling, Lynch stood. “Yes they are.”