Tales of Chills and Thrills: The Mystery Thriller Horror Box Set (7 Mystery Thriller Horror Novels) (87 page)

He sat in the leather recliner, and looked at the mother and
daughter sitting on the couch. Riley stood in the hallway watching Tara.

The room was dark, lit only by ambient light coming from the
kitchen and dining area. It was furnished with forest green furniture and
accented with purple-framed paintings hung against warm, off-white walls. He
noticed the dark hole of the fireplace and decided that a fire would take away some
of the emptiness, but he didn’t know where the woodpile was. The silence was broken
only by the ticking of a clock on the mantle.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand.
His movement caught Tara’s attention and she glanced over at him.

“Flavio had a boat. The Treasure Trove?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Is that the boat in the painting?”

Tara glanced at the floor, then back up at him. “I don’t know.
Does it matter?”

“I thought that there might be a clue on the boat. The painting
might be leading you to the boat, not to the shore.”

Kay answered. “Yes. That’s The Treasure Trove, but the boat is
gone. It was gone long before he made the painting.”

That surprised him. He glanced over his shoulder and looked at
Riley. The ghost shrugged his shoulder.

If the boat was gone, why paint it in such detail? Why would the
inside of the boat be important enough that people could recognize it as The
Treasure Trove? He scratched at the stubble on his face as he asked himself the
questions.

Tara stood up and put her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Do you
want something to drink?”

Kay shook her head.

“I’ve got to get some air,” Tara said as she crossed the living
room.

Riley stepped aside and Tara walked past him. She opened the
front door and stood on the porch, looking down the driveway.

Bowden pushed himself out of the recliner and walked towards the
front door. He stopped when he was able to see Tara. She hadn’t put on a coat,
but stood out in the cold wearing the red turtleneck and the black slacks. The
wind whipped through her hair making it dance around her head.

Riley walked up behind Bowden. “I feel sorry for her.”

“So do I.”

“She’s learned a lot about her family today; none of it good.”

“She’ll manage.”

Riley sighed. “You’re cold.”

Bowden turned to him and smiled. “You can’t let it get to you. I
learned that a long time ago.”

“So you just let it go?”

“It’s call ‘compartmentalizing.’ The psychs came up with that
term. A beauty, huh? It’s where you put different problems and emotions into
different boxes. They tell me I’m good at it.” 

Riley shrugged. “There are some things you don’t want to be good
at.”

“I know what you mean, but I was forced to learn.”

He turned away and looked at Tara. She wrapped her arms around
herself and shivered.

Riley kept the conversation going. “Through work?”

“Kind of. I was in Israel, with my wife, between assignments in
that area. She was killed when a car bomb exploded at the market. She was
getting our dinner and never came back. The market was three blocks from our
flat. I walked down there and found her…what was left of her, anyway.”

“I’m sorry. When was that?”

“Fifteen years ago. We’d only been married one year and we’d
been separated most of the time because of my job. I had a two-week furlough
and flew her to Israel to be with me. She was young; about Tara’s age… twenty-one.”

“And never in love again?”

He glanced at Riley, and then back at Tara before answering. “I
snapped. I crossed into Syria and went to several houses where there were known
terrorists. I killed six of them before crossing back into Israel. They covered
for me; said that the killings were in retaliation to the car bombing. It was
true, of course. They just implied that the Israeli government did it.”

“Then they sent you to get help? Made you talk to a
psychiatrist?”

“That’s when I learned to put my emotions into little boxes, and
store them away.”

A car turned up the driveway, its headlights probing the
blackness between the road and the house. He glanced at his watch. Twenty
minutes since he’d called Cooper. The detective had made good time.

The car stopped in front of the house and Tara stepped off the
porch and approached it on foot. Bowden opened the front door and looked out,
wondering why the two marked units hadn’t arrived.

Tara was standing next to the driver’s door when it opened. A
young man stepped out. Bowden squinted into the darkness, realizing that it
wasn’t Cooper. The man suddenly grabbed Tara and threw her into the car, followed
her in and slammed the door. The tires spun in the gravel as the back end swung
towards the house.

12

Bowden grabbed the Glock, but stopped, releasing the grip. The vehicle
was the same black Honda Civic that had followed Andre earlier in the day. He
spun back into the house and grabbed his coat off the floor. A set of keys hung
next to the door. The dominant key belonged to a Toyota, and Bowden ran for
Tara’s car.

He jumped into the white Toyota as the Honda hit the street. The
engine roared to life and he stomped on the gas pedal. Gravel shot up behind
the tires as the back end broke free and he raced down the driveway. He hit the
street, turned left and saw the taillights of the other car about three blocks
ahead of him.

The speedometer climbed rapidly, quickly passing the 35 mph
speed limit and slowing its ascent as it neared 65. The distance between the
two cars closed until Bowden was sixty feet behind the Honda. He could see Tara
in the passenger seat flailing wildly. Her arms came up over her head several
times as she vended off blows delivered by the driver. She had moved so that
her back was against the door and she kept kicking the driver around the head,
shoulder and arms.

The cars careened around a corner, the Honda swinging wide onto
the shoulder. Bowden kept his car tight in the curve and made up a few more
feet. He didn’t want to get too close in case the lead car was involved in an
accident. He didn’t want to plow into the back of the car.

He reached for the phone in his coat pocket. No phone. It must
have dropped out when he picked up his coat so hurriedly. He swore and pounded
the dash with his right hand. Things weren’t going well. The only break he’d
caught was finding the keys.

He watched the fight continue in the front seat of the Honda.
Tara seemed to be holding her own. The driver couldn’t control her and the car
at the same time. Who was this man?

After seeing the way Barry Miller responded to his accusations
of murder, he’d believed Barry was guilty. So who was this idiot?

The Honda slid sideways in an intersection as the car turned
right. It crossed over into the oncoming lane of traffic where another car was
stopped at the light. The driver-side doors of the two vehicles smacked
together, then the Honda sped off towards the freeway.

The freeway was only one hundred yards away, packed with rush
hour commuters. He knew if the Honda made it down there, it would to be hard to
follow. It could easily get lost among the thousands of taillights.

Two King County patrol cars sat at the light for the eastbound
exit ramp. He smiled and then prayed they would follow. The Honda sailed past
the two cars and Bowden saw the officers look, but they didn’t activate their
lights. He flew by, honking, and hoped they would respond.

The black Honda hit the westbound ON ramp at 45 mph and he
followed it. He didn’t need to check his rearview mirror for the cops. Their
sirens were blaring, while the red and blue lights reflected off the road signs
in front of him.

The four cars sailed down the shoulder of the freeway, making
startled drivers look out their windows as the cars swept by. Tara stopped
fighting and sat docile in the passenger seat. Chase hoped she wasn’t hurt. He
glanced down at the speedometer. 80 mph. It was way too fast.
Someone could get
killed at these speeds
,
he thought, reaching across and grabbing the seatbelt. He
clicked it home, determined that it wasn’t going to be him.

Brake lights in the traffic lanes caused him to back off a
little. Something up ahead was slowing traffic. He passed several more cars
before he realized that the right lane was merging into the one next to it.

Suddenly, the driver in the Honda slammed on the brakes. The
nose dropped and the back end rose up into the air. The tires fought for
traction and lost the fight to the wet pavement. The car slid almost two
hundred feet before the brakes were released and the driver wedged the car
between two cars in the lane next to him. He still didn’t get stopped in time,
and rear-ended the car in front of him.

Bowden could now see that the Honda had been forced into traffic
where the shoulder ended. He applied his brakes without losing traction,
keeping his car under control. He forced his car into the few feet of room
behind the Honda.

The Honda pushed the car in front of it out of the way and
pulled into the six-foot wide slot between the two lines of cars. There wasn’t
enough room and the car stopped. The passenger door opened and Tara tumbled
out. She hit the cement with her back and rolled over. At speeds below 10 mph,
Bowden thought she would be all right. He nodded solemnly as he saw her crawl
to the side of the road.

The lead patrol car ignored her, but the second one stopped. The
three cars forced their way through traffic. It was at a standstill, something
that he hadn’t foreseen. They plowed past several more cars, scraping metal,
until the shoulder lane opened up again and the Honda cut back out to it. He
swung over too, and heard the siren of the patrol car following him.

He reached up and wiped the sweat away from his eyes. Traffic in
the right lane was moving again. An exit was coming up, and the Honda took it.
It sailed through the green light at the bottom of the exit and made a left
hand turn onto Front Street, headed into Issaquah.

The light turned yellow. He swallowed and gauged the distance,
then accelerated and turned the car early. The light turned red and the cross
traffic started to move. The back wheels of the Toyota broke free, loosing
traction, and he slid sideways out into the intersection. He removed his foot
from the brake and hit the gas. The wheels caught and the car lunged forward.

He found the Honda with the driver’s side door open behind a
line of cars waiting at a light. Bowden threw the Toyota into park and jumped
out. He saw only one person running away on foot and assumed that the runner
had been the driver. Bowden sprinted after him. The Colt Python tucked into his
waistband interfered with his running, so he removed the gun and held it in his
right hand.

He was about thirty yards behind the driver when he reached the
freeway overpass. He was off to the side, running well away from the traffic so
that he wouldn’t get hit when his right leg was struck with sledgehammer-like
force. He heard the shot as he fell and it echoed underneath the concrete
lanes.

He threw his left arm out to break the fall and the pain to the
wounded arm stopped him cold. He hit the pavement with the right side of his
face and the skin broke and peeled away.

He looked up. The man he was pursuing was gone. He rolled over
onto his back and looked behind him. The deputy stood in a bladed stance
holding his gun in both hands. He was still thirty yards away, screaming at the
top of his lungs.

“Drop the gun! Drop the gun!”

He let the Colt slide from his fingers. The revolver slid a few
feet down the decline and stopped.

The deputy ran forward until he stopped about fifteen feet from
him. “Roll over,” he commanded.

He did as he was told. He heard the scuff of the boots on the
pavement, and then a knee dropped onto his neck.

The deputy cuffed one hand and slapped his lower back. “Put your
other hand here.”

Bowden complied and felt the cold steel enclose his other wrist.
A split second later and the cuffs were double locked. The deputy grabbed his
radio and, between breaths, gave his report.

“One in custody. Shots fired. One suspect still on foot,
southbound on Front Street from I-90.”

“Your status?”

“Code four. One in custody. He’ll need an aid unit.”

“Received, and your location?”

The deputy stood up and looked around. “I’m under I-90 on Front
Street.”

“Received.”

Bowden got his feet downhill and then rolled over and sat up. He
watched as the deputy bent over and picked up the gun. The man opened the
cylinder and noticed that one of the rounds had been spent and a smile broke
across his face.

He leaned down next to Bowden, but safely off to the side.
“Don’t feel bad. You just lost to the best.”

“I just lost to the stupidest,” Bowden shot back.

“How’s that?”

“You let the kidnapper go, and stopped the one who was trying to
catch him.”

“B.S.”

“Which car did the girl bail out of?”

“So what? She didn’t like the ride.”

Bowden could hear sirens approaching. He wasn’t getting anywhere
and decided to shut up. His leg started to hurt, a dull deep aching that he had
hoped never to feel again. He knew that it would soon burn and the pain would
radiate throughout his whole leg. He couldn’t see an exit wound, so the bullet
was still inside him. That meant surgery. He’d be out of action for a while.

Blood dripped off the back of his leg and formed a small pool on
the pavement. The patrol cars arrived almost simultaneously. The officers rushed
up to the deputy, grinning and full of congratulations. He showed them the .357
and talked about the shot he’d made.

A medic unit arrived a moment later and the team dumped their
kits on the concrete.

“Where you hit?”

“The right leg.”

The medic reached under Bowden’s leg and probed the entry wound.
Bowden winced at the rough treatment.

A second medic pulled Bowden’s coat off in order to take his
blood pressure. He found the Glock, still in the shoulder holster.

“A gun!” he yelled, backpedaling away. “He’s still got a gun.”

The medics fled and the cops drew down on him. The arresting
officer stepped up and slowly removed the Glock from the holster. His face was
bright red.

Bowden smiled. “That’s two screw-ups.”

“Shut up!”

“How about you letting me go and I drop the lawsuit?”

“In your dreams.”

Bowden adjusted the cuffs behind his back to find a better
position. The metal was cutting into his wrists and his fingers were starting
to go numb. He flexed them a couple times to get blood into them, and he watched
as the officers unloaded the .45 caliber gun and search for a serial number.

An unmarked car arrived, and Cooper walked onto the scene. He
walked passed the four deputies that were standing around watching the medics
as they cut Bowden’s pant leg free.

Cooper stood over Bowden and shook his head. “Now what?”

“One of your hotshots plinked me in the leg.”

Cooper glanced back at the group and saw the two guns that they
were passing around. “Looks like you got a replacement or two.”

“Momentarily.”

Cooper indicated the wrecked cars. “That’s the rental you were
chasing? The one belonging to Bill Kent?”

Bowden nodded, knowing that Cooper already knew the answer.

“Where’d he go?”

Bowden flicked his head in the direction that the kidnapper had
fled. “I’d check the hotels in this area.”

Cooper nodded and motioned for two of the deputies. They walked
up to him, still grinning.

“Check the hotels. We’re looking for the driver of the Civic. He
uses an alias of Bill Kent.”

The smiles quickly vanished. The older officer said,  “Oh,
come on. Get some detectives out here to do that.”

“You aren’t doing anything.”

“We’re back-logged on calls.”

“They weren’t important to you five minutes ago. They can keep
waiting. Consider the suspect armed and dangerous.”

Cooper’s last words got an instant, enthusiastic response. The
deputies ran back to their cars and used their sirens to clear a path through
the traffic.

“You think they’ll find him?” Bowden asked.

“Not if they leave the sirens on.”

The medics brought a stretcher over and he stood on his one good
leg with some support from the medics. He sat on the stretcher and swung his
left leg up. A medic picked up his right leg and laid it beside the other one.

“You ever been shot?” Bowden asked.

Cooper shook his head indicating that he hadn’t.

Bowden sighed. “It’s no fun.” He flicked his wrists. “Do you
think you can take these off?”

Cooper pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the cuffs. He
ratcheted them closed and tossed them to the deputy, who came unglued.

“Don’t touch my prisoner!”

“You got the wrong one.”

“B.S. I got him with the gun and one round fired. Felony eluding
and assault with a deadly weapon. We might even be able to go with attempted
murder.”

“All you have is a royal screw-up.”

The deputy slid the cuffs into his right hand and stepped
towards Bowden. “He’s under arrest. If you want him, you get him out of jail.”

“Look, if you arrest him, you’ll have to ride with him to the
hospital and un-cuff him there. You’ll have to sit on him through the surgery
and the recovery. Your whole night will be spent sitting in a hospital ward.”

The deputy paused.