by Toni Leland
He looked at her for a moment, then squinted one eye. “I could help you with that.”
She moved toward the counter. “Meaning what?”
“I know people. If you need some papers or whatever.”
Julia’s thoughts raced. This could be the answer to all her problems. She bit her lip. But every single person who knew anything about her posed a potential threat of exposure. She nodded, trying to act only mildly interested. “And that would happen, how?”
Bud pushed back from the counter. “Next time Ace Anderson comes in, pay close attention. He’ll ask you to give him an inflated invoice to turn in to his company. He can get anything a person might want for identification. I can tell him you need his services.”
Though a little wary about Bud’s interest in her situation, she relaxed. “Thanks, Boss.”
“One thing—whatever you need, it’ll be expensive. Will you be able to pay?”
She leveled a cool look at him. “Yeah.”
Five minutes later, she pulled into a parking space in front of the restaurant. Without thinking, she pulled down the visor and checked her hair in the mirror, then chuckled. Like Handsome Hector would have any interest in a fat, frowzy parts clerk.
Inside the building, the restaurant had only a handful of customers, but Dillon was not among them. Julia walked toward the trucker’s lounge area that offered televisions, arcade games, telephones, recliners, and the entrance to the showers. Dillon sat in one of the recliners, a newspaper spread across his lap, his head tipped back, his eyes closed. In that vulnerable state, he looked far less intimidating.
She approached, pondering how to wake him without scaring the hell out of him. His eyes flew open as though he’d sensed her presence. He straightened up and smiled, sending a wallop through Julia’s chest. Each time she saw him, he seemed to grow more attractive. Not a good thing.
“Your truck’s ready.”
“Good. I’ve read every word in this paper.”
He gathered the sections, stood up and walked toward a waste barrel.
“Wait, I’d like to read that.”
He turned back and handed her the thick sheaf. “It’s a pretty comprehensive newspaper. Covers news all over the country.”
Julia tucked it under her arm and started toward the exit, Dillon falling into step beside her.
His tone was teasing. “So, out for another illegal drive?”
“I’m working on that. I just haven’t had time to get the darned thing.”
They climbed into the truck and headed back down the hill. Julia glanced over at his profile. He seemed more relaxed than he had earlier, and she took a chance on conversation.
“Where-all do you drive?”
“Mostly the northeastern states to St. Louis, sometimes down to Oklahoma and Arkansas.”
“Your license says home is Massachusetts. What’s it like there?”
“I don’t see it much, but it’s beautiful, especially in winter. I have a cabin in the Berkshires, a perfect place to hibernate during my downtime.”
They pulled up in front of the garage and Julia hesitated, wondering how far she should go. What the hell…
“Being on the road so much must be tough on family life.”
Dillon’s smile vanished and his tone hardened. “I’m alone. It suits me just fine.”
He opened the door and stepped out. Julia kicked herself for spoiling a pleasant conversation with a fishing expedition.
A few minutes later, Dillon pocketed his credit card and invoice, said goodbye, and walked out the door. An inexplicable sadness came over Julia. Her own loneliness had driven her to invade the man’s privacy and, clearly, she’d touched a raw nerve. Alone. He’d said it with bitterness. Was he the victim of a cheating wife or girlfriend? Or worse, a widower? She watched the back of the truck disappear up the road toward the interstate and wondered why she kept feeling the need to apologize.
That night, after what had to be her hundredth hamburger, French fries, and milkshake dinner, she settled into a chair to read the newspaper. She found no further items about her disappearance, but there was an interesting article in the financial section.
“Seattle Electronics Firm Experiences Huge Investor Gains”
“Dorsey International reported their highest quarterly net income this week as investors clamored to buy stock in the second largest electronics development firm in the U.S. The company has developed some of the leading edge hardware for the energy industry, and rumors abound that a new product will be announced soon. However, the company’s owner and CEO, Stephen Dorsey, declined comment on this. DI’s third-quarter net income rose 4% to $391 million, or 80 cents per share.”
Julia laid the paper aside and gazed at a spot on the dingy carpet, remembering the folder she’d seen on her husband’s desk. The energy project was real and could generate millions of dollars for Dorsey International. Stephen’s wealth and potential earnings were almost unbelievable. No wonder he drove himself the way he did—the money was everything. Did he even know what he’d lost through his ambition? Thoughts of her old life renewed memories of her horses, and the tears began, slowly at first, then escalating into sobs that racked her body. She had nothing. No life, no love, only the constant fear of being found. She couldn’t do this any longer.
“Stop!” she cried, launching herself out of the chair. “Julia Dorsey is dead!”
She wiped the tears from her cheeks, then ran a hand through her hair. Frustrated. Angry. She had to stop thinking like the woman she used to be. Her only salvation was to follow the path Ginger Green had chosen and see if she could make something of herself.
The next morning, Julia trudged down the dirt road toward the garage, squinting to identify the truck parked outside the office. As she neared, she saw that it was a dually truck and stock trailer. When she got close, she peered through the slats and gasped. Four horses of assorted colors and sizes gazed balefully back at her. They were all thin with dull, rough coats and lackluster eyes. One gray horse had a bandage on its foreleg, and a large, bony horse had scars all over its body. Julia shuddered and stepped back. What had happened to these animals? Where were they headed? Slaughter?
She turned and hurried into the office, calling out to Bud. He appeared, followed by a short stout woman with straggly salt-and-pepper hair. She had a face that had seen some hardship, but her eyes were kind.
“Ginger, this lady needs an invoice for a wheel repair.” He gave her a pointed look. “Make it twenty-five dollars even. No tax.”
Julia blinked. Twenty-five dollars to repair a wheel? That’s almost a 75% discount.
“Okay.” She turned to the woman. “Need your name, address, phone number.”
“Casey Turner, Old Stagecoach Road, Lakeville. I’m just north of here.”
Julia looked up. “What happened to those horses?”
The woman shook her head. “You name it, it’s happened. The poor pitiful things. I run a rescue operation and these trips just break my heart. A couple of years ago, most of these animals would have been sent to the killers, but now it’s illegal here and most owners don’t want to pay for shipping to Canada or Mexico.”
Julia’s heart thumped. Were her beloved horses being neglected or abused? Or worse, had Stephen sent them to be slaughtered? Her head swam with the new notions of what she’d left behind.
Turner was speaking. “I have a tax exempt number, if you need it.”
Julia nodded, then handed over the invoice. “What do you do at your rescue place?”
“Just take care of ’em, nurse ’em back to health, hope to find new homes for them. That’s the hard part. With this stinkin’ economy, folks can’t afford to feed themselves, let alone a large animal.” She brightened. “You have horses?”
“Not any more.” Julia’s pulse skipped. She’d just goofed again with too much information. “Not since I was a little kid.”
Casey Turner peeled off twenty-five ragged dollar bills and laid them on the counter
along with a grubby business card. “Come visit any time. The horses love the attention.” She turned toward the door. “Tell Bud thanks for me. He’s a gem.”
Julia watched the old truck and trailer pull away, carrying its damaged goods on a mission to save and protect. She looked at the business card. She would definitely be paying a visit to Sunny Hills Equine Rescue.
But first she needed to figure out a way to find out about her own horses. She might have to break down and contact Chet. She had to know—her peace of mind depended on it.
Late that afternoon, a tall, barrel-chested man in a tan cowboy hat ducked through the front door, then stopped to stare.
“Whoo-ee, Bud’s really prettyin’ up this place!”
Julia tried not to frown. “Can I help you?”
“Oh, boy, darlin’, you sure could.”
He stepped closer and Julia read the name embroidered on his work jacket. Ace. Oh great!
He pushed his hat back and leaned on the counter. “Bud around? I got a problem.”
The boss came through the door and snorted. “What’s wrong with that piece of junk now?”
Ace chuckled. “Nothing a new engine won’t fix. Can’t get any power going up the hills. That doo-dad you put in last time didn’t do no good.”
Bud came around the counter and they both went outside to look under the hood. Julia groaned. How badly did she need that ID? Enough to fend off this creep? Her shoulders sagged. Unfortunately, yes.
The two men returned to the office and Bud grabbed the schedule. “I can get to it on Saturday, but it’ll cost you overtime.”
Ace grinned. “No problem. I’m between loads, got some time to kill.” He winked at Julia. “Could use some pretty company while I wait.”
She gave him a dirty look and walked away down the hall toward the restroom. It’d be a cold day in hell before she did anything with him other than negotiate for some ID. Maybe not even that. The whole idea was beginning to worry her. At this point, she was officially a missing person, but technically she was a fugitive. Buying and using counterfeit identification was a federal offense, which would make her a criminal. This whole thing was getting out of hand.
When she returned to the front desk, Ace was gone and Bud gave her a long look. “He’s your man, but you’ll have to be a little nicer to him to get what you want.”
Julia gazed at her boss for a moment. “I appreciate your help, Bud, but I don’t mix business with pleasure. I need a driver’s license and I’ll pay for it, but that’s all.”
He nodded. “Well, he’ll be here Saturday if you feel like coming in.”
She pursed her lips. “I might. Listen, could I borrow the truck one of these days to go up to that horse rescue place?”
He grinned. “Sure. Just don’t attract any state troopers.”
Chapter 14
Dillon guided the Freightliner tractor into one of the slots at a rest area outside Terre Haute. He left the engine on slow idle, then climbed down and stretched, twisting his head and feeling the bones crackle in his neck. After locking the truck, he strode across the parking lot toward the restrooms, inhaling the icy air and watching his breath curl away on the light breeze. He glanced at the line of parked trucks, taking mental inventory. So far that morning, he’d only seen three of the casket company trucks on the road. He thought it strange, as the holiday season traffic usually meant an increase in truck movement too.
“Hey, Dillon!”
He stopped and turned toward the voice. A husky black man stepped up beside him, a wide grin puffing out his cheeks like an oversized chipmunk.
“Leon, what the hell are you doin’ clear out here? I thought you gave up doin’ the Midwest in winter.”
“I got a good load to DC, with a return pick-up. Can’t turn down money like that these days.”
The two men walked toward the services building, talking amiably. Dillon smiled. As solitary as a trucker’s life was, they all had a string of acquaintances and friends across the country. The variety was appealing: dinner with a buddy in the East, wee hours breakfast with a group in the Midwest, on-the-road conversation over the CB radios at any given hour. The life was what you made of it.
Leon grinned. “So where you goin’ this time?”
Dillon fed a dollar bill into the vending machine and a can rattled down the shoot and slammed into the access door. “Vermont, then DC.”
“Hey, beep me when you get there an’ we’ll grab a beer. I got some waitin’ around to do until the return load is ready.” He winked. “Hopin’ I’ll get a little sugar.”
Dillon threw a light punch at the man’s shoulder and grinned. “Will do. Good luck in DC.”
Ten minutes later, his truck eased into the steady stream of traffic on the interstate, and his thoughts turned to the woman at Bud’s garage. Something about her was off. She looked rough, but it didn’t ring true. She seemed to be hiding something important. Her reaction to the man in the restaurant had been a gut response, nothing she could have controlled. She knew the guy, so why had she acted like she didn’t? Dillon’s train of thought moved to the brief exchange in the truck when she’d picked him up. He’d let himself get suckered into conversation about his personal life—how had that happened? What did she care about where he lived or with whom? He grinned. Maybe she was interested in him. Maybe she was alone too. Maybe he could get lucky next time.
A small car raced up on Dillon’s left, then changed lanes directly in front of him, fish-tailing a little on the wet pavement. Dillon let loose with a blast from the air-horn and took his foot off the gas. The driver of the offending car stuck his hand out the window and gave Dillon the finger, then accelerated, producing a spray of dirty water as he again changed lanes and raced ahead through the traffic.
“Asshole.”
Dillon’s focus returned to the road and the long trip ahead.
Julia located a public library in Granite City, a thirty-minute bus ride from her apartment. The town was old and some parts had seen better days, but the library building was the charming Carnegie style that had been so popular during the early 1900’s. She smiled as she walked up the steps. It was like visiting an old friend, a very knowledgeable one who could help her find anything she needed to know.
The first thing she wanted to do was find the most recent news of her disappearance. She typed in her name, then hesitated. Would anyone be able to track her down based on this search? Every computer had its own identifying address and, if one knew how to go about it, the computer could reveal everything that had been done on it. But since it was a public computer, it wouldn’t reveal who had searched what. Would it? Could the library be forced to say who had used the computer? She sat back and looked toward the reference desk. She could ask, but then they’d remember her, and she’d have to find another library for her next session. Not worth it.
She hit “search.” Five-hundred hits. She took a deep breath and began looking through them. The first twenty were old news, a rehash of the day of her disappearance and Stephen’s play-acting on television. She glowered. His only problem with this whole thing was that her disappearance was something out of his control, and he was fanatical about wielding his power over everything. Going through five hundred hits wasn’t the answer, so she clicked on the advanced search option and narrowed the request to news items confined to the past three months. The return offered only five pages, but those articles were what she wanted.
The Seattle newspaper had interviewed Stephen a month earlier, and the crux of the conversation was that he would keep private investigators on retainer indefinitely, though there was little hope that Julia would be found alive. She clenched her jaw as she read his phony statement. “After so long, the police are certain that my wife is dead, but I can’t give up. She was the light of my life and I am lost without her. I need closure.”
The article went on to mention the farm and Julia’s horses, but gave no real information about them. She clicked on the next two articles, but the
y were similar to the first one. She sat back and sighed. At least there was no news of a sale. She sat up and leaned toward the screen. She could go to the Morgan Horse Registry site—that would be the best place to get information on sales and transfers. She caught herself just in time. She’d have to use her owner registry number to access the records, and that would be a sure way to have Stephen on her doorstep.
All she could do was try to keep up with the news on a more regular basis. She closed the browser window, and a tear trickled down her cheek. Even if she found that he’d sold the horses, what could she do about it without revealing herself?
She took the bus to a shopping center on the outskirts of town to stock up on groceries, then climbed back on the bus for the ride home. Tomorrow she would go in to the office and see if she could negotiate with Ace Anderson for some ID, and do it without giving up her integrity. She gazed out the window at the tidy houses and small neighborhoods, feeling more alone than she had since leaving Oklahoma.
The next morning, Julia took a deep breath and entered the garage office, prepared to be as charming as necessary to Ace Anderson. She peered through the garage window. A rig was parked in one of the bays, but she didn’t see him anywhere. She stepped into the garage just as Bud came around the corner.
“Ginger, take Ace up to the motel, will ya?”
She shuddered. Alone in the truck with that guy? Ugh.
“Sure, where is he?”
“Takin’ a piss.” Bud stepped up close. “I told him you needed some paperwork, so it’s up to you now.”
Ace swaggered around the corner, zipping up his jeans. His ruddy face broke into a big smile.
“Hey, darlin’!”
Julia forced a smile and gestured toward the door. “I’ll start the truck.”
A minute later, Ace heaved his bulk into the passenger seat of the pickup. “Bud tells me you’re lookin’ for ID. Whatcha need? License? Birth Certificate?”
