“Shoplifting, not ‘knocking it over,’ and yes. I do.”
“But you don’t really know for sure, now do you?”
Sam shook his head.
“The witness could have been wrong about the age,” Johnson said. “Maybe it was her boyfriend? The pharmacists said he saw the man from more than thirty feet away. Maybe he just got the age wrong.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Let’s suppose, for a minute, it was her in the pharmacy. The man with her was considered to be an accomplice, not a captor, right? That would indicate she was there of her own free will. It would mean she was not being kidnapped.”
“She would never shoplift!” Vandy barked. “She had a credit card with a ten-thousand-dollar limit.”
“I’m sure you believe that she would never do that,” Ms. Vanderbilt. “Few people could believe it when Lindsay Lohan and Wynona Rider got caught shoplifting. Even famous people do stupid things. Maybe the boyfriend has a drug habit and they didn’t have a prescription.”
“I just don’t believe it,” Vandy shouted.
“Calm down, Ms. Vanderbilt,” he said. “We’re only trying to get to the truth here. When was the last time you tried to call her?”
“Have you not been listening?” Sam barked. “The phone went dead in Minnesota.”
“At the same time a sixty-year-old trucker was murdered,” Johnson noted. “By the way, I called that in on the way here. It was a professional hit. The trucker’s name was Avery Adams. Does that name ring a bell to either of you?”
Sam and Vandy both shook their heads, no.
“This Avery Adams had a record—illegal possession of controlled substances.”
“That sounds like he was taking uppers to stay awake on the road.”
“Well, the local police are currently investigating his relationship with a known drug dealer. The guy didn’t have a lot of money. Maybe he met Lindsay and her boyfriend at a truck stop and stole the phone.”
“I don’t think so,” Sam said. “If that happened she would have used her boyfriend’s phone to call us, don’t you think?”
Johnson shrugged, “So, if she was kidnapped, that would have been, what close to twenty-four hours ago, right? The kidnappers would be calling in with a ransom demand. Have you gotten a call like that, Ms. Vanderbilt?”
“No,” Vandy admitted. She had now gone through all her tears. She was past the anger stage. All she felt at the moment was numbness.
Johnson flipped his notebook closed, “Folks, I don’t see compelling evidence of a crime here—not yet anyway. It’s possible she’s on the road and will be home within the next five to six hours, if they drove straight through.”
“So, you’re going to do nothing?”
He stood, “We’ll stay in touch. My guess is, this is typical sixteen-year-old girl stuff—new boyfriend; cross-country trip; adventure; love… that kind of thing.”
“Thanks for nothing,” Sam scoffed.
“Here’s my card,” he said. “Call us if something new develops.”
Johnson left.
“Do you think he’s right?” Vandy said. “As I heard him play it all out, it sounded like it could be true.”
“My radar says otherwise,” Sam said. “Something’s wrong. I know it. I guess we’ll know for sure in a few hours. If we wait that long.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “What can we do?”
“I’m heading out. I’m going to find Lindsay.”
“I’m coming with you,” she said.
“No. I need you here in case I’m wrong and she comes home.”
“What way do you think she’s coming?”
“Backroads.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I think she has someone helping her get home—someone who knows what he’s doing. And if I’m right, they’re being followed.”
“Sam, you’re scaring me.”
“I hope I’m wrong, but I’m not taking a chance.”
“If you think I’m staying home, you have another thing coming. I’m coming, dammit.”
He looked at Vandy and nodded. He picked up his cell. He dialed Hank.
“Sam?”
“Hank. I need your help.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Boss, we got a hit?” Henson said.
“What is it?” Barnabas asked.
“Truck diner, about two hours north of Peotone,” he said. “A gray Toyota RAV4 was stolen.”
“How to we know it’s them?”
“Because in the parking stall next to where the RAV4 was parked was another car that had been stolen in Peotone just two hours earlier. The timeline and distance is consistent with the time they disappeared.”
Barnabas nodded, “They switched cars, but why drive south, away from Montana?”
“Misdirection,” Henson said. “They stopped at the diner and planted the girl’s phone on the truck driver. Sent us on a wild goose chase.”
“Makes sense, but where are they now?”
Henson unfolded a map and spread it out on the table, “My guess is, they knew the trucker was going north. We know they were at the diner. I’ve highlighted in yellow the path I think they’ll take.”
Barnabas looked at the map, “West, then north?”
“It makes sense, boss,” Henson said. “This will take them all the way and they don’t have to touch an interstate a single time.”
“Where do you think they are, now?”
“I think they are close to Casper, Wyoming,” he said, “if they drove straight through, and my bet is they did.”
“Do we put our resources there?”
“No,” Henson said. “I think their path will take them through Greybull, Wyoming in about four hours. I know the area. It’s isolated, perfect for taking them out. We’ll take a team on the private jet. There is a private airport close. We can be there in two and a half hours—set up, pick them off as they come through.”
“I never heard of Greybull,” Barnabas said.
“It’s a tiny town of less than two thousand,” Henson replied. “It’s flat and sparsely populated. The only cops are the county Sheriffs, a three-man crew that covers about six hundred square miles, based in Dubois two hundred miles away. It will be about four o’clock in the morning when Rainhorse and the girl drive through.”
“They should be easy to spot,” Barnabas agreed. “Do it.”
“I’m on it, boss,” Henson said.
“Henson, we’re cutting it close.”
“I know.”
“We have to stop Rainhorse and the girl, at any cost.”
“I know.”
“No matter what… or who… we have to sacrifice,” he added. “You understand?”
Henson folded the map, “I understand.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The RAV4 hit a pot hole, rousing Lindsay, who’d been fast asleep for hours.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“We’re just outside of Burgess Junction?”
“Huh, Burgess what?”
“About an hour away from Greybull,” he added.
“Never heard of either of those places,” she said. “How far are we away from Livingston?”
“About four hours,” he replied.
“I have to pee,” she announced.
“Again? You must have a bladder the size of a walnut.”
“I can’t help it. I have to pee.”
“We are not going to find any place open at this hour,” he said. “You’ll have to pee outside.”
“Get real, Jackson. I can’t pee outside.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, then.”
“There must be a rest stop, or an all-night diner someplace. If we had a working cell phone, we could GPS it.”
“I told you…”
“I know,” she said. “Just keep your eyes open.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you take your antibiotic pill?” she asked.
“No, I forgot.”
“You forgot? Do you have a death wish?”
“I’m concentrating on getting you home, remember?”
“Take off your shirt,” she said. “Let me see.”
“It’s fine,” he replied.
“It’s not fine. Take off your shirt.”
Rainhorse rolled his eyes and slipped out of the right sleeve of his shirt. She removed the bandage. “Do you have a torch?” she asked.
“Torch?”
“Oh, sorry. Torch is what they call a flashlight in England. Do you have a flashlight? It’s dark in here.”
“I don’t know. It’s not my car. Check the glove box.”
Lindsay opened the glove box. There was a flashlight in it. She turned it on and inspected the wound.
“Oh, jeez,” Lindsay exclaimed. “It really looks bad. We need to get you to a hospital.”
She reached up and felt his forehead with the back of her hand, “And you are hot. I’ll bet you have a fever.”
“No hospital,” he said.
“Jackson, this can’t wait any longer. You need professional medical attention.”
“Look, I’m not going to die in four hours,” he said. “I’ll get you home and it won’t be your problem.”
“You’re stubborn,” Lindsay barked. “And you’re a dumbass.”
“What do you care?”
“I don’t.”
“Well, good, then,” he said. “Do me a favor and use some more of that antibiotic flush and give me two of the pills—and a few aspirin.”
“What for?” she asked. “You’re intent on dying.”
“Just do it… please.”
Lindsay glared at the big Cheyenne, then reached in the back for the medicine they had stolen earlier.
“Why don’t you tell me more about this guy? Steve is it?” Rainhorse asked.
She squeezed a healthy portion of the flush onto a cloth and began dabbing the wound.
“What do you want to know?”
“How did you two meet? Does he go to school with you?”
“No, he goes to another school in London. I met him in Soho.”
“Soho? What’s a girl your age doing running around in Soho?”
“I have fake ID,” she said.
“Does your mother know you’re partying in Soho?”
“Do you want to hear the story or not?”
“Sure.”
“About six months, ago a few of my girlfriends and me went to Santos Party House. They have a killer dance scene. It was disco night and the deejay was spinning Donna Summer, the Bee Gees, the Trammps, KC and the Sunshine band…”
“All the classics,” Rainhorse said, tongue-in-cheek.
“Right,” she said. “At any rate, we were dancing to ‘That’s the Way I Like It,’ when Steve came out of nowhere and started to dance with me.”
“Love at first sight?” Rainhorse asked.
“Pretty much,” she replied. “He was tall. Not as tall as you but still really tall. He had dark, curly hair and thick eyebrows and this really sexy five-day scruff.”
“What’s scruff?”
“You know… beard stubble. Don’t you know anything?”
“I guess not. Go on.”
“The guy could dance like Travolta,” she said. “Not the Travolta of today, the Saturday Night Fever Travolta.”
“So, he’s like Travolta?”
“Yeah, only he dresses better and is not as dorky.”
“It’s the little things that count. Thank god for that.”
“All my friends were so jealous that he picked me out of the crowd.”
“I’ll bet they were. Hell, I think I love him, too.”
She giggled.
“At any rate, after that night, we started dating. It was fate, I think, me being in London and meeting a guy from Chicago.”
“He treats you well?”
“Oh yeah, for sure. He’s a great kisser; he’s funny; he’s smart and he respects the fact that…”
Her voice tailed off.
“Respects what?”
“Oh, never mind, it’s stupid.”
“Now I’m really curious.”
“He respects the fact that… I’m not… you know… ready yet.”
“Ready for sex?”
“How did you know I was going to say that?”
“Wild guess.”
“No, really, why?”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but I was actually a sixteen-year-old boy once.”
“He’s twenty.”
“Twenty? Your mom is not gonna like that.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I don’t like it, and I’ve only known you for two days. Tell me about the sex thing.”
“Most of my friends have done it. I don’t know why I haven’t. I’m just not ready. He’s been patient, but I know he’s disappointed. He said I might be frigid.”
“Of, frigid my ass,” Rainhorse said. “Everyone is different. When you’re ready, you’re ready.”
“How would you know?”
“I have a daughter, remember?”
“But I’m afraid if I don’t do it, soon, he’ll dump me.”
“He won’t dump you.”
“How do you know?”
“Girl, look in the mirror. You are a vision. You’re beautiful; you’re smart; you’re witty. You are what every boy you’re age dreams of. If he has one-tenth of the character you seem to believe he has, he’ll stay the course. Trust me.”
She smiled, “Do you really think so?”
Rainhorse returned the smile, “I do.”
“Do you really think… I’m beautiful?”
“Oh, hell yeah, of course. Your more than beautiful. I mean you have to know that, right?”
She looked down. Her hands were folded in her lap.
“Well, sometimes, the British girls I hang out with—they can be a little demeaning, you know?”
“Well, they’re jealous little bitches if you ask me. I bet they all have crooked teeth, am I right?”
She smiled, then giggled.
“You need to trust me when I tell you, you will never have to take a backseat to anyone, ever, when it comes to beauty or brains.”
She smiled, again, beaming.
“So, you don’t think I should do it?”
“I think you should wait until you’re ready.”
“You sound like my mom.”
“There are worse things to sound like.”
“Hope you’re right about it.”
“I am,” he said. “If there’s a problem, you call me. Give me five minutes with him so I can perform a minor attitude adjustment. He’ll be fine after that.”
She chuckled, “I’ll bet.”
Rainhorse smiled warmly. Her laugh was infectious, he thought.
“There,” he said. “Up ahead. There’s a rest stop. They’ll have a bathroom.”
“Fantastic. I’m about to pop.”
He pulled into the truck stop. Lindsay got out of the car and dashed to the women’s room. While she was gone, Rainhorse pulled out a map, checking the rest of the route. Six minutes later, she hopped back into the car.
“Feel better?” he asked.
“Lots,” she said. “Someone needs to treat that bathroom for tetanus, though,” she said. “Just saying.”
“Bad, huh?”
“Oh, my god. I had to pull one leg completely out of my pants to straddle the toilet and then…”
“Stop… too much information.”
“Oh, sorry.”
Rainhorse shook his head and pulled back onto the highway. They drove in silence for several minutes before Lindsay spoke again.
“I do, you know,” she said.
“Do what?”
“Trust you.”
“What?”
“Back there, a little while ago, you said trust me. I do. I don’t know what I would have done without you. You’ve been like a guardian angel.”
“You know,” he replied. “In all my years on this earth, no one ever referred to me as an angel. It just doesn’t quite fit.”
She thought for a moment, “Well, you’re a former Ranger, right? You can be my guardian ranger.”
Rainhorse smiled and nodded. It had been many years since he had felt any kind of personal connection to anyone. In his wildest dreams he never believed he could ever care—really care—about anyone again. But the girl next to him had touched him—touched his heart. He would get her home, he thought. No matter what, even if it cost him his own…
“Never been called that before, either” he said, “but I like it.”
“I think you should call her, you know,” Lindsay continued.
“Call who?”
“Your daughter.”
He shook his head, “That time has passed.”
“How do you know?”
“Because of the way we left things.”
“That was a long time ago,” she noted.
“It won’t make a difference,” he replied.
“It might. I hated my mother for a long time.”
“Hated her?”
“To the bone. She was always preoccupied with her business. She pawned me off on nannies and then sent me away to school.”
“What changed?”
“Someone tried to kill her.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, two years ago.”
“What happened?”
“There was a guy my great-uncle hired to watch over her from a distance. He was a former Army Ranger—he saved her. If not for him, she’d be dead. She ended up falling in love with the guy. She bought some land and built a house in Montana and started raising horses so they could move in together. The guy runs the place for her. Since then, she’s been, I don’t know, a good mom, maybe.”
“What’s your point?”
“Look, I know you’re a cold-blooded assassin…”
“Why thank you, especially for the cold-blooded reference.”
“Let me finish. I know you’re all that, but I also know there’s another side to you. A warm side, a caring side, a side that I see, that no one else does. I’m sure if your daughter saw that side, she’d…”
“It’s not gonna happen, girl, but thanks for the thought.”
“You’re as stubborn as a mule, you know that?”
“That may have been an observation that has come up one or two other times before,” he admitted. “Now try to get some shut eye. We’ll be in Greybull in an hour or so. There’s an all-night truck stop just outside of town. We’ll stop for gas there, then it’s three hours to home.”
Brotherhood Protectors: GUARDIAN ANGEL (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 10
