The Runaway Pastor's Wife (44 page)

“All right, you two. I think it’s time the three
of us had a nice little chat.” Pete stood, waving Megan to the stool beside
him. “Have a seat, Miss Tanner.”

Her smile faded. She sat down then folded her
hands on the counter in front of her.

Pete took his seat again and drummed his fingers
on the counter. “You’ll never guess what just happened. Pastor McGregor and I
have discovered that Max is in
Colorado
. That’s right.
Colorado
.
Now I
don’t suppose you two would know anything
about that, would you?”

“
Colorado
? Max
in
Colorado
.
Imagine dat,” PJ mused.

Megan raised her brows in a sad attempt at
surprise.

“Fact is, Max called his father just a little
while ago. Seems his
mode of transportation
broke down on him.” He studied
PJ’s evasive eyes. “So he’s up there in
Colorado
, the
roads are bad, he’s thousands of miles from home, and he’s sounding pretty
scared.” He didn’t miss the fleeting trace of concern that flashed across
Megan’s face.

“And it strikes me as rather
coincidental
that your van has disappeared from out back, PJ. It’s been gone since—wow, just
about the time Max took off! So I’m wondering—could it be? Is it possible that
Max borrowed that old VW bus to try to find his mother?”

“Okay, that’s it.” PJ threw his towel on the
counter. “He got us, Megan. No use trying to hide the truth from this one, no
sir!”

Megan dropped her head into her hands. “Okay,
okay.” She looked up again. “But we weren’t trying to lie or anything. Honest!
It’s just that Max really wanted to do this all on his own. He thought if he
could just find his mother, then everything else would be all right.”

“I understand. I do,” Pete said. “But the
situation has moved beyond that. I’ve been in touch with the Highway Patrol up
there. It’s a near blizzard through that part of
Colorado
. The
roads are a mess. We need to find Max and we need to find his mother. The
McGregors haven’t heard from her in several days.

“Game over. We need your help.”

CHAPTER 34

Southeast Colorado

“
Thornton
, this
is Patterson. I’ve been trying to get through. How long have the regular phones
been back up?”

Max woke up, his neck stiff from leaning against
the cruiser’s passenger window. He looked over to see the sheriff talking on
his cell phone. Patterson continued his conversation then ended the call. “My
deputy says the road should be cleared up from that accident in just a couple
more hours. Power should be back on by daybreak.”

Max stretched, trying to wake up. “Where are
we?”

“Just a few miles out now.”

He looked out the window at the mad flurry of
snow. “Maybe so, but at this rate we’ll be another six hours getting there. How
slow are you going, anyway?”

Patterson dropped his gaze to check the
speedometer. “Looks like thirty-five miles per hour. Not bad with the roads in
this condition. We’re lucky to be moving at all.”

The wipers whipped away the flakes beating a
steady rhythm. Max watched them, back and forth, back and forth. “Would you
believe I’ve never seen snow?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Never snows in
Florida
. This
is pretty cool.”

“You certainly timed it right this trip. Lived
up here all my life and I still love the snow. It can cause a mess of things,
but I never get tired of it. You should try to do some skiing while you’re
here.”

Max rubbed his face and yawned, stalling. “We’ll
see.”

Houston
,
Texas

“I
don’t want to hear any more of your ridiculous complaints!” Elliot growled into
the receiver. “I want a visual confirmation that he’s in that cabin and I want
it now! Quit screwing around and get up that mountain!”

“
Oh, nossir, I don’t think you
mean for us to get up there
tonight,
sir. You gotta understand—the roads
here are
real
bad right now. It’s too dangerous out there to drive.”

“Then you’ll WALK up that mountain and you’ll do
it NOW!”

“You want us to
walk
up a mountain road
that’s nothing but a sheet of ice and snow at this—”

“That’s exactly what I want! And the split
second you mark him, you call me. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Right now. Me and Marcus. We’ll climb
that mountain if it kills us.”

Weber Creek
,
Colorado

“You boys back so soon?” Bob posted the CLOSED
sign on the door.

“Afraid so. Me and my friend here need us some
warmer clothes. We’re about to freeze to death. You sell clothes?”

“A few. Come on in and follow me.”

Mary Jean continued sweeping the floor, watching
the two men. She worked her way over to the fireplace where Doc Wilkins sat on
the hearth warming his back and reading a Tom Clancy novel. She tapped her
broom against his leg.

“George,” she whispered. “Look at those two.”

Doc peered over his glasses, taking in the
newcomers from head to toe. He looked back at Mary Jean, shrugging his
shoulders as if to say “so?”

Mary Jean positioned herself between Doc and the
others, her back to them. “They were in here earlier this afternoon. Said they
were stuck here on account of the weather.”

Doc tried to find his place in his book. “What’s
so strange about that and why are we whispering?”

“I don’t know. Just a couple of weird ones, I
suppose. Something strange about them. I can’t quite put my finger on it. They
were asking if we’d seen some other fellow. Said it was a friend of theirs
they’d lost track of. But I’m thinking that’s not it at all.” She swept around
Doc’s feet, straining to see them.

He inserted the bookmark nonchalantly and closed
the book. “How come?”

“I don’t know, George. Something’s just not
right.”

“Did they say who this person was they’re
looking for?”

“Didn’t leave a name, come to think of it. And I
didn’t have sense enough to ask, I reckon. Described him as a tall fellow with
dark hair. I think they said he was handsome or nice looking, or something like
that.” Mary Jean noticed a trace of alarm on Doc’s face. She was glad he was
finally starting to take her seriously.

“What else did they say?”

“Nothing.”

Doc stole another glance at the two men now
making their way to the counter with their arms full of long johns, flannel
shirts, thick socks, and wool stocking caps.

Bob rang up their purchases on the old register.
“That comes to a total of two-hundred and eighty-five dollars.” Doc, Mary Jean
and Bob all watched as the customer pull out a thick roll of crisp, new hundred
dollar bills, peeling off three of them.

“Marcus, c’mon. We gotta get going,” the other
man beckoned from the front of the store.

The one called Marcus stuffed his money back in
his jacket and lifted the oversized bags of their purchases. “Keep the change.
Thanks for the help.”

As soon as the door closed, Mary Jean dashed to
Doc’s side. “See what I mean, George? Something’s fishy about those two. Mark
my words.”

“Any idea where they’re staying? Are they over
at the
Inn
?” Doc
asked.

“I think so. Least ways, that’s where we
recommended when they asked.”

Doc put his book on a shelf behind the counter
then reached for his coat. “Well, I wouldn’t get all worked up, MJ. Just a
couple of strange ducks passing through. Aren’t the first. Won’t be the last.”

Bob helped him put his coat on. “Where are you
off to? Why don’t you stick around for dinner? MJ made her homemade chicken pot
pie.”

Doc was already heading for the door. “No
thanks. I need to look in on some of the girls before it gets too late. Maybe
I’ll stop back by later this evening.”

Doc was out the door before Bob or Mary Jean
could protest, but his thoughts were definitely not on the widows in town.

He looked across the street just in time to see
the two men turning the corner, no doubt heading for the inn. Pushing his hat
down farther on his head, Doc followed them at a safe distance.

Once the two men entered the inn, he walked
carefully over the ice-crusted road toward the inn’s parking lot on the other
side of the building. Grateful for the cover of darkness, he moved among the
few cars parked there. Most were covered with several inches of snow, like
caricatures of some weird Arctic creatures. In the far back corner near the
hotel dumpster, he spotted a black sedan. The nondescript automobile was
partially covered with snow. It was caked with dirty ice, the kind that hitches
a ride along the bottom edge of a car’s body when it travels on roads treated
with salt and sand. Clearly a new arrival.

Glancing around, careful no one was watching
him, Doc shuffled to the back of the car. With this gloved hand, he brushed the
dirty snow off the license plate. It was too dark to make out the numbers and
letters. He remembered the tiny flashlight on his keychain and dug it out of
his pocket. Muffling the jangling keys with his gloves, he aimed the penlight
at the plate as he knelt down, safely out of sight.

Texas
tags. A Houston Ford
dealership plate holder.

Bingo.

chapter
35

Houston
,
Texas

Elliot heard the tremor of anger in his own
voice. “I don’t trust those clowns and I can’t afford to have them let Michael
get away. Not when we’re this close.” He wedged the phone against his shoulder
as he continued packing his briefcase. “We’ve got to finish this and make sure
it’s done right. That’s why I need you. You’ve helped me this far and I want
you there at the finish line.”