Pirate (7 page)

“Your friend wasn't in the car?”

“Didn't see her.”

“Where are you?”

“Near the water about ten to fifteen minutes south of Beaufort.”

“Do me a favor. Don't do anything rash. I'll try to get backup from Beaufort and meet you out there.”

He disconnected, and Sam pulled over to the side of the road. “Guess all we can do now is wait.”

Remi reached for the door handle. “We might not have fifteen minutes.”

“Remi,” he said, reaching out, grabbing her arm.

She stopped, looked over at him.

He leaned in, kissed her, and said, “You didn't think I was going to let you go out there alone, did you?”

“Of course not.” She smiled at him and opened the door. “Now let's go find my friend.”

S
am slipped his revolver from its case clipped to his belt, then popped the trunk. Remi stood watch, ready to warn him if there was any movement. And though he hoped that they wouldn't need any weapon, his instincts told him otherwise. There was only one vehicle seen on that roadway. If Bree wasn't at the beach house, then she had to be in the SUV as it drove past. And, since they couldn't see her, chances were good that she was either injured or dead.

They both turned their cell phones on vibrate. Remi kept hers in hand—just in case—and Sam shoved his into his pocket. Sam gave Remi his Smith & Wesson, then took a tire iron from the trunk. “Ready?” he asked.

“Ready.”

He peered around the corner. “Clear.”

The wind gusted as they walked to the dock just beyond the first warehouse, the only sounds their footsteps on the wooden
planks and the cry of the gulls as the water lapped against the pilings.

There were no boats at the dock nor anyone working nearby. On closer inspection, the warehouses appeared abandoned, the windows broken, the doors padlocked shut from the outside.

The perfect place to take a kidnap victim, Sam thought as he and Remi made their way, keeping close to the side of the warehouse.

A faint sound caught his attention. He stopped, signaling for Remi to do the same. “Listen,” he whispered.

“Sort of a rusty, squeaking sound.”

He nodded toward the end of the warehouse they stood against. A gull cried out overhead, startling Remi as it dove down into the water just a few feet away.

Sam gave her a thumbs-up signal.

She nodded, then trailed him as he started forward again, following his lead as he ducked beneath a window to keep from being seen—on the chance someone was watching from within that particular warehouse. Unfortunately, the dock was long, and they didn't know which warehouse they might have gone into.

When they reached the end of the building, Sam peered around the corner, saw the SUV parked between buildings. A door of the warehouse on the far side of the vehicle stood slightly ajar. He stepped back. “It's there.”

“Anyone in it?”

“Doesn't look like it,” he said. “The door is open on the next building. I'm taking a stab that's where they are.”

Remi nodded, then glanced back in the direction they'd come,
hoping to see the deputy's car speeding their way. Sam didn't bother mentioning that he was at least ten minutes behind them. They were on their own.

He watched the warehouse a few moments, wishing he had something beside a tire iron.

His gaze strayed to the SUV, realizing they'd only seen the two men in the front. No other passengers.

Sam motioned for Remi to stay put. He crouched down and moved over to the SUV, rising just enough to peer into the tinted back windows.

Bree was there on the floorboard, her hands bound behind her, a gag over her mouth, her feet tied.

He tapped on the window, relieved when she looked up at him. He put his finger to his lips to let her know that they weren't going to leave her there.

Bree nodded, and Sam tried to open the vehicle's door. Locked, of course. He gave her a smile of encouragement, then checked to make sure it was clear before returning to Remi. “She's in the car.”

“Is she okay?”

“Tied-up, but appears okay,” Sam said. “We need to get a look into that warehouse first. Find out what we're up against.”

They made their way to the warehouse near the open door.

Sam put his ear against the side of the building, but couldn't hear anything. “What I wouldn't give for that mirror from your purse right now.”

“For what?”

“To see inside that door without breaking cover.”

She held up her phone. “How about a camera lens?”

“As brilliant as you are beautiful.”

“Flattery will get you—”

“Everywhere?”

“A cell phone,” she whispered as she accessed the camera feature, then handed it to him.

Sam set the tire iron on the ground, then squatted down as he held the camera close to the floor. He angled it about, using the lens to see in, as he took a movie of the interior. After about a minute, he rose, stepped back, and played the recording.

“There,” he said, pointing. They saw three men leaning on a workbench, at least two with guns in hand, looking down at something—probably the map book that Remi had turned over to Bree. The picture was small but clear.

“Our two fake cops from the hotel,” Remi said.

“And our robber from the bookshop.”

Wait? Or move in? He weighed the risks. One gun and a tire iron against three armed men. So the odds sucked. But Sam had Remi, and when it came to capable partners, he'd take her over some brainless thug any day. He grabbed the tire iron and pulled Remi away from the doorway to the other side of the vehicle. “First thing,” he whispered, “is we get Bree out of this car.”

His thought was simply to smash the car window—until he glanced over and saw the red light flashing on the dash.

“Plan B?” Remi asked.

Actually, his initial plan might still work. The vehicle looked like a base model, one he hoped didn't come with what was often an added feature to the standard motion alarm—a glass-breakage alarm. He dug out his little knife and gave it to Remi and she put it in her pocket. “You cover me while I break the window. If the
alarm doesn't go off, wait until I'm at the back of the SUV before you unlock it. If it does go off, they're going to run right toward us. You may only have seconds to cut her ties and get out of here while I rip off a few shots to slow them down.”

She moved by the front fender, aiming his gun toward the warehouse door.

Sam stood in front of the driver's window, hefting the tire iron. Vehicle safety glass was designed to shatter yet hold together under impact—which meant he had to hit it in the right spot to get it to break. He'd have one chance. The alarm would definitely be set off by movement. He pulled back, then rammed the tip of the iron into the lower right corner. It shattered, diamond-like bits raining down onto the driver's seat.

Silence. So far, so good. He set down the tire iron, took the gun from Remi, and hurried to the back of the SUV. When he was in position, his aim on the door, he nodded at her.

She reached in, popped the locks. The moment she opened the back door, a deafening wail filled the air. From the corner of his eye, he saw Remi ducking down, trying to cut Bree's ties.

Sam braced himself. The warehouse door swung open. A figure burst out, his gun aimed at the SUV and Remi.

“Hey!” Sam cried. His .357 revolver barked. The shot struck the man in the face and he went down. Something flew from his hand. The car keys.

Sam dove, scooped them up, then stood, shouting, “Remi. Keys!”

He flung them over the top of the car.

She caught them, then pushed the back door shut, opened the driver's door, and slid in. The engine revved to life. Sam jumped
into the passenger seat. He slammed his door shut just as the other two men raced out of the building, firing at the SUV.

Remi hit the gas. The tires screeched as she backed perilously close to the edge of the dock.

“Remi!” he snapped, bracing himself.

“I see it.” She turned the wheel, braking hard as she threw it into drive.

Sam looked back. The second man was aiming at them. Sam shot first and saw the third man fall and clutch his left knee.

Remi jabbed the gas pedal to a stop. The sharp report of bullets hitting metal pierced their eardrums. “Come on,” she said as though urging the SUV to move faster.

The tailgate window shattered. “Stay down.” He fired through the broken rear window. The two men dove for cover.

Remi slid as low as she could, not slowing until she reached the end of the street. She turned the corner, racing down the same road they'd arrived on, the first, fat drops of rain splatting against the windshield.

In the distance, they saw the flashing lights of the deputy's patrol car, then heard the faint sound of the siren as he sped toward them.

Remi pulled over, and they got out of the SUV, waving at the deputy.

He stopped beside them, cutting his siren.

“We found our friend,” Remi said, then opened the passenger door.

The deputy looked in, saw Bree still tied up, his mouth dropping open slightly. Then, recovering, asked, “Anyone hurt?”

Remi removed the gag from Bree's mouth. “How are you?” she asked.

“Fi—” Bree stopped, took a deep breath. “Fine. My cousin? Where is she? Is she okay?”

“I don't know,” Sam said.

Remi used Sam's pocketknife to cut her ties as the deputy drew Sam to the back of the car out of the roadway. “What's going on?”

He gave a brief explanation, showing him the video on Remi's phone, shielding the screen from the scattered rain.

“Where did this happen?”

Sam pointed north. “About five miles up. Some old warehouses on that first street near the docks. Second warehouse in.”

The deputy glanced at the bullet holes along the right rear fender of the SUV and the missing rear window, then keyed his radio, reporting shots fired at one of the abandoned warehouses outside Beaufort. “Three suspects. Description: white male adults, dark clothing.”

The dispatcher copied.

The deputy started for his car, but Bree called out, “What about my cousin?”

“What about her?” he asked.

“Did you talk to her?”

“At the house?”

She nodded.

“I'm sorry, ma'am. No one answered the door. It was locked.”

Bree turned toward Remi, her face pale. “We have to go there and check! What if something's happened to her?”

B
ree grasped Remi's arm. “Please. Larayne might be in trouble.”

“She's right,” Sam said. “We have to check on her.”

“Sir,” Deputy Wagner said to Sam. “I'm going to have to trust you know what you're doing. I have no idea what sort of backup Beaufort's sending, and I've just sent the only other deputy within driving distance to deal with three armed men. I'm not about to leave him without backup.”

“We understand.”

The deputy turned a stern gaze to Bree. “I want the three of you—four, if your cousin is there—at the sheriff's office for statements when this is done.”

He hurried to his patrol car, then sped off, the engine roaring.

“Let's go,” Sam said, opening the driver's door.

“What about our car?” Remi asked, climbing in the front passenger seat.

“We can pick it up on the way back,” Sam said.

Bree slid into the seat behind Remi, telling Sam, “Please hurry.”

“Buckle up,” Sam said as he took off toward Harlowe, turning on the windshield wipers. Wind roared through the shattered back window, and rain sluiced in through the driver's window, striking him in the face and shoulder. Even Remi felt it in the passenger seat. She turned to check on Bree. The young woman looking shell-shocked. “I'm so sorry about your uncle,” Remi called out over the rush of wind.

“I know. I—I can't believe this all happened.” After a moment, Bree leaned forward, placing her hand on Remi's shoulder. “Thank you for coming.”

Sam leaned in toward the center of the car as he drove, the rain coming down harder. He looked back at Bree. “We're just glad you're okay,” he said, before turning his attention back to the road.

Remi said, “Last we heard, you were on your way to the airport. We assumed to San Francisco.”

“I was. They ran my car off the road and I never made it.”

“Selma called us,” Remi said. “The police found your car. I was beside myself until your call.”

“They were holding a gun to me. I never would have put you in danger.”

The wind and rain rushing through the broken windows made it difficult to carry on a conversation. “Let's check on your cousin and we'll talk after.”

It took about ten minutes to reach the farmhouse. The moment Sam pulled to a stop, Bree dashed out of the SUV, then up
the front steps. She tried to open the door, then started pounding on it, crying, “Larayne! Larayne!”

Remi and Sam followed. At the steps, Sam said, “I'll see if there's any other way in.”

Remi and Bree dashed through the rain to follow him around to the back.

Sam tried that door, also locked, and Bree asked, “Can't you kick it in?”

“Might not need to,” he said, eyeing the lock. Slipping his wallet from his pocket, he removed a credit card, then shoved it between the doorframe and the lock, jiggling until it popped open. “Your cousin should get a dead bolt for this thing,” he said, opening the door.

Bree rushed past him, through the kitchen. “Larayne! Where are you?”

Remi and Sam hurried after her as she ran down the hallway opening doors, looking behind them.

Remi, brushing the wet hair from her face, was just starting up the front stairs when she thought she heard something beneath them. She stopped and listened. Sure enough, there was a thump below her. “In here!” she called out, spying a storage door below the stairs. She opened it as Bree came running down the hall.

Bree almost dove inside to get her cousin out. “Larayne!” she said, helping her to her feet.

Like Bree, the woman had been bound and gagged. Bree yanked the gag from her mouth. “Are you okay?”

Larayne nodded.

Sam cut the ties around her hands and feet, then helped her to stand.

Bree wrapped her in a hug, then drew her to the couch. “I was so worried about you.”

“How'd you get here?” Larayne asked.

“My friends,” she said. “The Fargos. They're the ones who brought the book.”

Larayne eyed them, saying, “I can't believe this. I—” Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the sky let loose, rain drumming down on the rooftop. She stood suddenly, her hands shaking. “I need something to drink.”

“Sit,” Remi said. “I can get it. Water?”

“I think I need something stronger. But thanks.”

They followed her down the hall and into the kitchen. She took a glass from the dishwasher, then opened the freezer, pulled out a bottle of vodka, and poured several fingers into the glass.

Bree gave a tremulous smile. “Are you sure that's a good idea? We still have to talk to the police.”

“It's a very good idea. Do you have any idea what it's like to be shoved in the cupboard and not know if anyone was going to come looking for you?”

Remi, acknowledging Bree's discomfort, put her arm around her. “I can't imagine what either of you must have been going through, not knowing where the other was. It must have been terrible.”

“It was,” Bree said, meeting her cousin's gaze.

Larayne lowered her glass, seemingly surprised by that statement. “Oh, Bree . . . I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?”

“For what?”

“You're the one who was kidnapped. It must have been horrible what happened to you.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm only glad that Mr. and Mrs. Fargo found me right away.”

“Yes. Very lucky.”

“The phone?” Remi asked Larayne. “We should probably call the sheriff's office. They're going to want to know if you're okay.”

“There's a couple of portable handsets around. Should be one in the hallway by the stairs.”

Sam left to find it. He was speaking with the dispatcher when he returned to the kitchen. “Yes,” he said into the phone. “I understand. We'll be here.”

He disconnected, then set the phone on the counter. “They're sending someone from investigations out here.”

Bree nodded, and Remi asked, “What about the suspects? Any word on if they caught them?”

“Maybe we'll find out more when the investigator gets here.”

Larayne eyed the vodka bottle, then asked Sam, “Why are they sending them here?”

“The police? To take our statements and to gather evidence.”

She seemed shocked at his answer. “What sort of evidence?”

“Prints, I expect.”

Larayne downed her vodka, then set the glass on the counter. “What a nightmare this has turned out to be.”

Bree reached out and grasped her cousin's hand. “They'll find who did this. Maybe they even have them now.”

Her cousin's response was to pour more vodka into her glass. Not that Remi could blame her. After all, she'd just lost her father, and now this. Remi pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, saying, “Maybe we should all sit down. Try to relax.”

“Good idea,” Larayne said, bringing the bottle with her. “Bree, get yourself a glass and join me.”

“I'm fine.”

“No you're not. They almost killed you. Have a shot.”

Bree filled a glass with water instead, then took a seat next to her cousin. “I don't know how you can drink that stuff.”

“It grows on you,” Larayne said, taking a long sip.

Remi, worried that the woman would be in no condition to speak to the police by the time they showed up, decided it couldn't hurt to ask a few questions of her own. “I hope you don't mind my prying, but what exactly is going on here?”

Larayne shook her head. “I wish I knew.”

“Something to do with your father's map book?”

Larayne exchanged glances with Bree. “Maybe if my father had sold it to the buyer I found, none of this would have happened.”

Remi asked, “You found him a buyer?”

“I did,” Larayne said. “Someone who was willing to pay way more than he could have gotten for that book.”

“Who?” Remi asked, trying to ignore Sam's pacing as he went from window to window, then down the hall to the front of the house.

“I don't remember his name.”

“I do,” Bree said. “Someone named Charles Avery.”

“Whoever.” Larayne eyed her drink. “All I know is, my father suddenly backed out and he wouldn't say why.”

“He was worried,” Bree replied. “He'd received those phone calls asking about his copy. And then that strange visit from someone asking about it. I think it was the timing of it all.”

Sam had returned to the kitchen and was peering out the window down the long drive. “Timing?” he asked, turning toward them.

Bree nodded. “My uncle learned about the theft of the endpapers from other first edition copies. I think he started to suspect that someone might be trying to target him for the same reason.”

“Reasonable assumption,” Sam said. “How was it we became involved?”

“When I started working for your wife, I told him about the Fargo Foundation and the charities that benefited from your treasure hunting. That's when he suggested that if his book could go to someone like the two of you, it would take a great weight off his shoulders.”

“That explains it,” Larayne said, sounding none too happy. “He wouldn't sell to the collector because he was looking to sell it to you.”

Remi thought about the circumstances leading to her visit at the store, telling Bree, “He didn't seem to be expecting us when we arrived.”

“Sorry about that,” Bree replied. “I called the morning you left for San Francisco, but he was so distracted when I told him you were coming. He'd received another call, this one threatening.” She gave an apologetic smile. “I guess I thought once the book was out of his store that everything would be fine.”

“Right,” Larayne said. “And now he's dead.”

Bree laid her hand on top of her cousin's. “I tried to go see him that night after I found out about the robbery.” Her eyes shimmered. “I'm so sorry. I never made it. They ran me off the road on the way to the airport. Next thing I knew, I ended up
here at Larayne's.” She brushed the tears from her cheeks, trying to smile at Remi. “They said they were going to kill us if we didn't get the book. I thought they meant it. I would never have—”

“Bree,” Remi said. “I don't doubt for an instant that you did what you had to do.”

Sam started pacing past each window again, looking out. And each time he neared them, both Bree and Larayne turned worried glances his way. Remi smiled at the two women and stood. “I think I'll get a glass of water.”

She walked over to the cupboard, found a glass, then filled it, moving to Sam's side. “What are you doing? You're making them nervous.”

He turned his back to the women, lowering his voice. “With only one gun, we're easy targets out here in the middle of nowhere.”

Lightning flashed so brilliant, it lit the kitchen, followed by the rumbling of thunder overhead that shook the windows. Bree's hand flew to her chest. When the handset on the table rang right after that, the cousins stared at it in shock.

Larayne finally reached for it, answering, “Hello? . . . Hello?” She disconnected and dropped it to the table. “Maybe it was a wrong number.”

Remi and Sam looked at each other. Apparently he was thinking the same thing she was. The bad guys were calling to see if they'd returned to the house. Remi checked the back door to make sure it was locked.

Sam drew his gun, then turned to Larayne and asked, “Do you have any other weapons in the house?”