Stranded (17 page)

“Then he started getting blackmail letters and you got credit for those, too. I gave him the same drug I gave Billy, the rest of which they’ll find in your pocket. Well, if there’s anything left of you, that is.” He held the flame next to a pile of newspapers that immediately began to burn.

“Dylan, think about what you’re doing. Not just to me but to the country.”

“I’ll be the new chief by tomorrow,” Dylan said calmly as he threw the lighter across the room. “I’ll get rid of the index cards and explain you and Smyth away.” He picked up the briefcase. “So long, buddy. All your high-flying ideals are for nothing. It’s too late. You can’t stop what’s going to happen. You should have stayed in the mountains.”

The deadly sound of gunfire cracked the air. Alex gasped before he realized he hadn’t been hit. Instead, Dylan crumpled to the floor with an unholy scream and a splatter of blood. Alex immediately slid himself across the room to grab his own weapon, exploding to his feet, ready to fire.

And met the steely-eyed gaze of John Miter, armed to the teeth. He stood over Dylan’s prone, writhing body, an impassive expression on his face. Blood covered Dylan’s now empty gun hand and his wounded thigh. Invectives and empty threats spewed from his mouth.

“The fire is spreading,” John said matter-of-factly.

Alex glanced over his shoulder. In the midst of the adrenaline-charged past few seconds, he’d all but forgotten about the flames; now the crackling, smoky blaze was already too big for them to extinguish without help. They both grabbed one of Dylan’s arms and hauled him upright. John snatched the briefcase and the three of them stumbled their way out of the burning double-wide.

“What are you doing here?” Alex asked John as they erupted into the fresh air.

“I’ve been watching your back ever since we tested your Vita-Drink,” he said. “Nate kind of asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“You’re the one who’s been following me.”

“When I can. You shouldn’t have known I was there, though. I must be losing my edge.”

Alex slapped his shoulder. “I never saw you,” he assured him. Dylan had slumped onto the wet grass and now Alex leaned over him, catching his collar in one hand. “What did you mean it’s too late?”

Dylan smirked through gritted teeth.

“Is Jessica in danger?” Alex demanded, grabbing Dylan by the collar.

Dylan groaned. “Jessica. She’s all you ever think of. No, you moron, Charles Bond is here. What’s going to happen is bigger than your precious little wife.”

“How do you know Charles Bond?” Alex demanded.

“We go way back,” Dylan said, some of the bravado resurfacing. “Back to before New Orleans. We lifted weights at the same gym but he was an old guy, at least to me. I thought he was killed in the explosion just like everyone else did. Could have knocked me over with a feather when he called here a few months ago.”

“Was he behind the bombing that supposedly killed him?”

“No way. It was just a lucky break as far as he was concerned. Gave him a nice, clean start. Then he fell in with his brother-in-law in Shatterhorn and climbed aboard the crazy zealot bus. He tried to coax me into helping him by talking about ideals. When he finally started changing the language to money, well, that’s when I started listening.”

“Is he going after the parade?” Alex said, just about ready to smash Dylan’s nose into his face.

Grimacing, Dylan waited a second, then nodded.

“You go, I’ll stay with him,” Miter said as the fire inside the trailer blew a window. “I’d appreciate you telling your buddies not to shoot me when they get here.”

Alex dropped Dylan and ran to his truck. He raced downtown with his heart in his throat while placing call after call. First the fire department, then the mayor’s office and Carla Herrera. Kit Anderson was in charge of the officers patrolling the parade that would start in less than two hours, so his call came next. Then Agent Struthers who promised to beef up federal law-enforcement involvement.

The only one Alex couldn’t reach was Jess.

Chapter Thirteen

The cemetery was surprisingly well visited in spite of the drippy skies, explained, in part, because of preparations underway for a graveside ceremony at the top of the hill. Workmen had raised an awning over a freshly dug grave. An elderly woman in a long, dark coat stood watching them, head bowed, gloved hands resting atop a cane, framed by a nearby crypt and the dark silhouette of trees.

Jessica easily found her grandfather’s grave situated close to an old grove of oaks. “Here you go, Grandpa,” she said, setting the first bouquet of the day in his flower holder. She paused, as was her habit, to draw on memories of him, but her thoughts immediately darted to Alex, and she took out her phone to text him. She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t respond and crossed her fingers that he was safe.

“Hi,” a woman said, and Jessica looked up to see a blonde in a black raincoat walking toward her. She carried a basket of small bouquets much like the one Jessica held as well as an umbrella.

Jessica recognized her from the nursery. In a way she was glad to see her; in a way she was too distracted to even think about making small talk with a near stranger.

“Are you okay?” the woman asked.

Jessica nodded.

The woman touched her arm. “My name is Nancy,” she said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, I’m fine,” Jessica said as her attention was drawn to the sight of a hearse driving through the cemetery. A long line of cars with dimmed headlights followed behind. “My husband is...working,” she explained as she watched the procession, which was hard not to view as ominous. “I...I miss him.”

Nancy nodded with understanding, her gaze following Jessica’s. “That’s one of the reasons I’m here,” she said, nodding toward the hearse. “The service on the hill is for an army nurse who died last week. There was a big write-up in the newspaper about her. She’s credited with saving the lives of two dozen orphans during the Korean Conflict.”

“I didn’t see the article,” Jessica said, glimpsing the older woman in the black coat slowly walking away from the new grave. She still leaned heavily on her cane as though the weight of the world had settled on her thin shoulders. “I haven’t read the paper lately.”

“I read about her last night and thought I’d pay my respects,” Nancy said. “Want to join me?”

Jessica started to refuse, then changed her mind. Nancy seemed to be easy company and she didn’t want to be alone. “Thanks, I’d like that. By the way, I’m Jessica Foster.”

Nancy’s brow furrowed. “That name sounds familiar.”

“Well, I did charge all those plants.”

“No, it’s not that. Wait, is your husband a cop?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“No, not really. I just met him a few days ago. He was with a walking muscle named Dylan.”

Jessica nodded. “They’re partners.”

“Are they close?”

“I suppose.”

Nancy nodded, giving Jessica the distinct feeling she was holding something back.

“Let’s walk on up the hill,” Jessica said, curious now.

As they approached the awning and the growing crowd, the older woman in the long coat had almost reached the crypt. As she slowly turned and surveyed the gathering she’d just left, her gaze met Jessica’s. Jessica sucked in her breath and looked away.

“What’s wrong?” Nancy said as she opened her umbrella to ward off the increasing rain.

“Nothing,” Jessica said, darting a glance over her shoulder.

The old woman stood in front of the crypt, seemingly oblivious to the weather, lost in thought.

* * *

B
Y
THE
TIME
Alex arrived downtown, traffic was already plugged. He parked in a loading zone and ran along the sidewalk to the fountain outside the courthouse where he’d arranged over the phone to meet Kit Anderson. Kit’s usual air of superiority had been shaken in the wake of learning what had happened to the chief and that the man no one wanted to ever come to Blunt Falls was allegedly already here.

“I called Campton,” Alex said by way of greeting. “They’re sending over all their off-duty police to help.”

“The sheriff’s department responded, too,” Kit said. “I think there’ll be more police here than spectators, especially if this rain gets any heavier.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe Dylan killed the chief.”

“Among other things,” Alex said as his phone rang. It was John. As he answered it, he remembered the text that had come back when Dylan held the upper hand and things looked really bad. He’d check his messages after this call.

“Your buddy started to laugh after you left,” John Miter said.

“Why?”

“That’s what I wondered. He didn’t want to explain what was so funny until I accidentally stepped on his shot-up hand. I can be so clumsy.”

“Who the hell are you, really?” Alex said. “Tell me the truth.”

“I’m John Miter, an old retired guy who likes to fish.”

“You know what I mean, John.”

There was a slight pause and his voice dropped. “Let’s just say I know my way around people like this. Anyway, what I wanted to tell you is that I don’t think anything is going to happen at that parade.”

“Because?”

“Because Dylan finally choked out that you were going to the wrong place.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I don’t know for sure, Alex, but there was another nasty laugh like he’d put one over on you and then the ambulance arrived, so he clammed up. Are there any other events planned for the day?”

“There’s a citywide rummage sale at the fairgrounds. I’d better get more people out there, too.”

“Or here’s another thought. What if this Bond guy isn’t coming here at all? What if Dylan is still yanking your chain?”

“And what if he’s not?”

“Okay, I see your point. Good luck,” he said and disconnected before Alex could belatedly thank him for saving his life. He checked his messages immediately and saw that Jess had tried to contact him. The first text told him she was at the cemetery, that she loved him and hoped he was okay. The second one said that she’d run across an important graveside service for a former army nurse and she was going to attend. She’d contact him afterward.

The cemetery.

A former soldier, a hero, laid to rest.

The Shatterhorn Killer had never killed in volume. It was the unexpected terror and the erosion of confidence and hope he was after. Alex began running. Thunder crashed the sky. A bolt of lightning followed soon after. Maybe the parade would be called off. If so, that would send more people to the indoor rummage sale. He called Kit and told him to make sure to think of that should the parade fizzle out. He said he’d be gone for a few minutes but refused to provide an explanation.

His intuition was in high gear now and there was no turning back. It was a long shot, way too remote a possibility to call people away from the more obvious choices, but there was no way in the world he could keep himself from making sure.

His phone rang as he drove the truck out onto the highway. The cemetery wasn’t far and all the traffic was going in the other direction so he knew he’d make good time, but he also knew Jess’s second text had come fifteen minutes earlier—how had he missed that? And why wasn’t she answering now?

He answered without looking at the screen. “Foster here.”

“Alex?”

“Jessica,” he said with such profound relief that it knocked his breath away for a second.

“Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Didn’t you get my text? Never mind. I’m at the cemetery. Listen, I have to tell you something about Dylan. I met this woman—”

“You don’t have to tell me about him,” Alex said.

“Yes, I do.”

“I already know about him. This is important. Are you at the graveside service you mentioned?”

“I’m standing apart so I don’t bother anyone with this call.”

“I’m at the gate right now. Where is it being held?”

“At the top of the hill. Why are you here? I don’t understand. What about Charles Bond? Did you see him?”

“Listen to me carefully. I’ve got this gut instinct that Bond may target that funeral. Please, just trust me. Have you seen anything or anyone unusual?”

She paused for a second. “Not really. I’m looking around now. There’s a crowd of people here under a sea of umbrellas. Mary Rivers’s pastor is speaking about her years of service. The thunder stopped but it’s raining like crazy and we’re all getting soaked so I imagine they’ll cut this short. Wait, I don’t see the old woman. She must have left.”

“What old woman?”

“There’s a tall elderly lady here wearing a long black coat. She was near a big crypt a few minutes ago. Oh, wait, okay, I see her. She’s walking toward the ceremony. Man, she’s moving fast.”

Alex frowned. “Why did this lady catch your attention?”

“It was just that her eyes... Well, I mean, when I looked at her earlier, it was like she looked right through me, like I was invisible. And her eyes were so dark and bright, they were kind of possessed. And now she’s moving three times as fast and not using her cane—”

“Are you sure it’s a woman?” Alex said, pulling the truck to a stop down the hill. He immediately jumped out. He could see the gathering up the slope but it was raining too hard to make out details. He quickly darted between gravestones, charging his way up the hill.

Jessica’s voice wavered. “Of course. And yet, I don’t know.” A slight pause, and then a gasp. “That’s not a cane.”

“Listen to me, baby,” he said urgently. “Get down low right now, down as close to the ground as you can. I’m on my way.” And then he suddenly heard shots in stereo, both over his phone and from up the hill. Jess screamed once and fell silent. He stuffed the phone in his pocket as he pulled his weapon. He heard the sickening thud of more shots as he dashed up the slope as if his feet were on fire.

He erupted on the top by the crypt. Everyone in attendance had either started running or had hit the ground. What appeared to be an old woman stood over them, an assault rifle in her hands, her back to Alex. He silently moved toward her until he was only six feet away. All of a sudden, her gunfire ceased.

“Bond!” Alex yelled.

The old woman turned and came into focus as Charles Bond in disguise. He’d popped out an empty clip and as he stared at Alex, he jammed in another.

“It’s over,” Alex said. “I know about your brush with terrorism. This isn’t making anything better.”

Bond didn’t respond.

“Put the weapon down.”

Bond reached forward to charge the rifle.

Time was up. Alex fired.

Bond immediately fell to his knees and then twisted and landed on his back, faceup. Alex approached cautiously, his pistol pointed at his target.

The killing shot had hit Bond in the forehead, knocking the wig askew, revealing a bald head underneath. Even in death, Bond’s eyes burned as the rain washed blood over his face. After taking the rifle, Alex was happy to turn away.

But what met his gaze was sobering. Those who hadn’t run or hidden behind tombstones lay on the ground, their dark clothes and the pounding rain making bloodstains hard to see. People who hadn’t been hurt were beginning to tend to those who had. Groans and whimpers increased. While he walked among everyone, he looked for Jessica but couldn’t find her. He took out his phone and placed an emergency call. He didn’t want to stop the police efforts underway at the rummage sale or the parade on the off chance there was another attack but they needed ambulances out here at once.

When he hung up, he did a one-eighty and that’s when he finally saw Jess. She was kneeling over a woman, and he veered off in her direction. The victim looked vaguely familiar. Jess held her scarf against the woman’s throat. He kneeled down next to his wife and she looked up at him, tears in her eyes.

“I got to her as fast as I could. Is she—” she began, her lips trembling.

He checked the woman’s wrist. “No, she’s not dead. Her heartbeat is strong. Keep applying pressure with that scarf. You’re doing fine.” He snatched an open umbrella lying on the ground nearby and held it over both women. The welcome sound of sirens reached them and their gazes met. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

“I think so. That old lady was really Charles Bond, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said.

They both looked around the cemetery as people came to the aid of those who’d been wounded. Ambulances arrived, and finally a team of medics came to relieve Jessica of her task and transport the woman to the hospital. Alex sent the umbrella with them.

As they wheeled her away Jessica turned to him. She was wet and pale, tears mixing with raindrops, relief and sadness at war in her eyes. His heart melted at the sight of her. He’d thought he’d lost her. He ached to hold her and yet he was oddly frozen, waiting for something he couldn’t name.

“I’m sorry I got annoyed you weren’t sharing things with me,” she mumbled. “I was afraid things were slipping back to how they had been. But that’s not going to happen.”

“No, it’s not. Never again,” he said. “I was struggling with Smyth. Dylan had been playing us against each other. It was confusing and I retreated into myself. But it wasn’t like the old days. I swear, it wasn’t. I just needed time. And as it turns out, time was the one thing we didn’t have a lot of.”

“No marriage is perfect,” she said softly, wiping rain out of her eyes with her fingers. “No relationship comes without struggles and compromises,” she continued, gripping his hands. “The bottom line is that we love each other and we want to spend our lives together. Right?”

He pulled her tight against him. Their lips met and for him, at least, the sun burst through the clouds.

“Take me home,” she said against his neck.

* * *

A
LEX
HAD
TO
go back to work, of course, as the mayor had appointed him temporary chief of police and there were a million loose ends to iron out. He’d told her about what happened out at Billy’s old house during the drive home, and she was still shocked by all of it.

She’d watched the evening news and knew an attack at a Seattle food-and-wine festival had been averted. Maybe it was finally over—for now, anyway.