by Carolina Mac
“Did she have a habit for sure? That’s something we need to find out.”
“Blacky needs to run a deep check into her background,” said Farrell. “See where she came from and where’s she trying to go. Everybody has an agenda.”
JESSE AND ANNIE didn’t arrive at the cabin until dusk. The freezing rain stopped at sunrise, the roads had been sanded and were passable, but traffic was slow, and it took most of the day to travel from Toronto to Maynooth.
Jackson had fallen asleep and flopped over in the back seat of the rental Jeep.
“We’re finally here,” said Annie as she parked under the big pine tree in front of the house. We’ll have to get the wood stove going. It will be frigid in there.”
“Won’t take long to warm up, Ace. Keep Jackson’s coat on until it’s warm enough.
Jackson stirred and tried to sit up. “Are we here?”
“We are, honey. Keep your coat on in the house until Jesse gets the stove on, okay?”
“Okay. I’m hungry.”
“We brought groceries so that won’t be a problem.” Annie opened the back door, unbuckled his seat belt and helped him out of the truck. “I’ll make you a snack and some hot chocolate.”
“Look at the snow.”
“Lots of snow still here,” said Annie, “Hasn’t melted yet.”
“Let’s make a snowman. Can we Mommy?”
“Tomorrow, when its sunny, we’ll play outside.”
“I wish Daddy was here to play with me,” he said with a pouty face. “Why couldn’t he come with us?”
“Jesse and I needed some private time, just the two of us.”
“I miss my Daddy,” said Jackson. “I want to go home.”
“Well, mister, you aren’t going home for a week, so stop pouting and have some fun.”
“I don’t think I can have fun without Daddy.”
“Sure, you can. I’m fun.”
Jackson chuckled. “No, you’re sure not, Mommy. You never have time to play with me.”
Annie grabbed him and tickled him. “What? What are you saying about yo Momma?”
BEFORE GOING home to Coulter-Ross for the night, Blaine drove up to Quantrall to check on Jacko Enright. Lights were blazing from inside Jesse’s trailer. Blaine tapped twice and pushed the door open.
Enright was sitting at the pine table on a bit of a tilt, an empty bottle of Glenfiddich by his right hand. His left hand curled around an empty glass. His eyes were closed and he was snoring. Drunk.
Blaine let the dogs in, fed them and filled up their water bowl. He wrote a note to Enright who slept through the dogs barking and everything else.
Came to check on you. Talk tomorrow morning. Blaine.
AT MIDNIGHT, RACE hopped out of a cab and swaggered through the doors into the departure’s area of Austin-Bergstrom Airport. He carried a small duffel in one hand and a passport in the other. Earlier in the day, he’d retrieved the passport from his safety deposit box at Bank of America. He approached the kiosk, scanned the document and smiled as his boarding pass chugged out of the slot.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thursday, March 16th.
BLAINE ROSE at the crack of dawn, brewed a pot of coffee, showered and dressed. The house was eerily silent with Annie and Jackson gone. He wanted Annie and Jesse to be happy together, but wasn’t confident that it was possible unless Race was out of the picture permanently.
Governor Richardson had hit on a good idea and all it needed was a little research. If he was going to get Race off the ranch and out of their lives he had to find something to work with—something legal that had been overlooked when the DA’s office had dismissed the last batch of charges against him. This was an ideal time with everyone away. He filled his mug and hunkered down at his computer.
There had to be something—a loose end that could hang the big ganger—and there were several places to look. Vegas and Henderson in Nevada, Austin and Huntsville in Texas, and many other felonies scattered across the southwest. Race wouldn’t be out of bed for another hour and he’d have found something by then.
After an hour of searching every data base he could think of, Blaine found it. Blythe, California—a felony traffic warrant for causing Annie’s accident. When the Henderson police took Race into custody, their assault warrant must have taken precedence. California probably thought Race was still serving time in Nevada, and he should have been if there was any justice.
Blaine sent an e-mail, then strode happily to the kitchen to refill his coffee. Farrell sat at the island watching Rosalie make breakfast.
“It’s quiet here without Annie,” said Farrell. “And where’s Race? His bed wasn’t slept in.”
“How do you know?”
Farrell shrugged. “Didn’t see him or hear him, so I peeked in his room.”
“What?” Blaine set his mug on the island and tore down the hallway. He opened the door to Race’s room and Farrell was right. No Race.
“Where did he go?” asked Farrell. “It’s freaking me out that he’s gone right after Annie left. He wouldn’t be chasing her down in Canada, would he?”
“I hope not,” said Blaine, “that would be a disaster. I’ll let her know he’s not here and give her a heads-up, just in case.”
“Jesse is supposed to be resting,” said Farrell, “and the cause of his problems is stalking him?”
“We don’t know that for sure,” said Blaine. “Maybe Race went to Vegas to see his Daddy while Annie’s away.”
“Yeah, and I’m Daniel Negreanu.”
Blaine chuckled. “You don’t play like him.”
Farrell gave Blaine a hand signal. “We all going to the funeral this morning?”
“Yep. Suits and ties. Surveillance afterwards. Let’s eat breakfast and get ready.”
SAINT FRANCIS CATHOLIC church in north Austin was filled to capacity to say goodbye to Philip Markwood. Friends and family to a degree, but to a larger extent, the pews were crowded with navy and charcoal suits from a plethora of alphabet agencies. Feds were feds and they were cookie cutter cutouts.
Blaine stood near the back of the church, close to where Scott Richardson sat with his security detail in the row
behind. Travis had his eye on the grieving widow, JoAnne Markwood, and Farrell hovered close to the not-so-devastated mistress, Sylvia Temple-Day.
The mass proved to be long and then lengthened even more by several testimonials by Phil’s peers praising Markwood’s untiring efforts to cleanse the state of Texas of the evils of drugs.
Media vans and vehicles clogged both sides of the street, and when mourners emerged from the historic old church, they became fair game. Austin PD had uniforms in place all along the sidewalk to keep the newshounds at a respectful distance, but it was a daunting task. Reporters leading with their mics approached anyone within shouting distance and fired all manner of questions at them. “Was Mr. Markwood killed by one of the cartels? Do the police have any leads? Is Mrs. Markwood a suspect?”
The Chief paused for a moment and gave them a scrap. “The crime scene unit has provided homicide with several leads. No stone will be left unturned until we find Mr. Markwood’s killer.”
Reporters retaliated with dozens more questions and the Chief held up a hand. “I’m sorry, that’s all I have for you. I’ll be calling a press conference in a couple of days.”
The boys caught up with Blaine and Lopez in the parking lot, before the entourage moved to the cemetery. “Fuck, that was long,” said Farrell. “And it pissed me off that I had to listen to all that bullshit knowing what an asshole he was.”
“Don’t hold anything back, partner,” said Travis.
Lopez smiled at Farrell. “Let’s see who does what at the interment. Maybe we’ll pick up some good vibes.”
“Or some bad ones,” said Travis.
“At least I’ll be outside while I watch blondie,” said
Farrell, “and I can smoke.”
“You got the wife, Trav?” asked Lopez with a s
mirk.
“I’m hoping she does something right off the fuckin wall.” Travis grinned. “Make my day.”
“You guys are crazy,” said Lopez. “See you over there.”
PARKING AT THE CEMETERY was no picnic. Blaine
circled three times before he found a spot big enough for the diesel. He squeezed in between a slime green Kia and a blue Prius on a side street two blocks away. As he clunked along the sidewalk in his Harley boots, he realized he should have ridden from the church to the cemetery in the limo like the Governor wanted him to. Why did he have to be so stubbornly independent?” Must have rubbed off from Annie.
The boys both had their own vehicles, so they could go in two different directions, if need be. And Blaine hoped there would be a need. He wanted something to break.
Once inside the cemetery gates, Blaine picked a spot under an oak tree where he could observe the proceedings without being too noticeable. The last thing he wanted was Sylvia Temple-Day spotting him and rushing over like they were best friends.
JoAnne Markwood, dressed in a plain black suit and a wide-brimmed hat, stood next to two people at the gravesite, a man and a woman, who seemed to be supporting her. Perhaps her family.
Blaine turned up only one sibling for Phil, a younger brother, Barry Markwood, who was in the military and
stationed in the Middle East. It was possible that he had been given leave and transported to the funeral, but not probable.
In lieu of a formal reception after the interment, there were two separate and private gatherings taking place. Miss Sylvia Temple-Day had invited a select group to her penthouse for refreshments and JoAnne Markwood was hosting family only, in a private dining room at the Hilton.
As he walked the Governor to his limo, Blaine heard his name shouted out, and turned.
Damn it, here she comes.
“Blaine, hold on a minute.” Sylvia ran through the grass in her high heels like an Olympic track star and was breathless when she caught up. “I wanted to invite you to my penthouse for a drink. I’m having a small gathering of Phil’s friends. I’d be delighted if you would join us too, Governor Richardson. I’ve always been a huge admirer of yours.”
“You have? Thank you, dear. That means a lot.” To Blaine: “Should we go for one bourbon, son?”
Sensing the Governor’s interest, Blaine acquiesced. “Only one, Sylvia.”
“Fantastic,” she squealed and ran off.
“What’s up?” Blaine asked Scott.
“I want to see the gathering of the suspects, I guess. Like Hercule Poirot, maybe you’ll shake something loose.”
“I was so rough on her yesterday, I didn’t think she would speak to me again.”
Scott shrugged. “Apparently, you’ve made an impression.”
“I’m going to unmake it shortly.”
The Governor laughed and got into his waiting car.
Blaine waited at the cemetery gate and spoke to the boys. “Trav, stick with Lopez. He’s paying his respects at Mrs. Markwood’s family gathering. When you’re done at the
Hilton, call it a day.”
“Yep, boss. I’ll zero in on who’s close to Mrs. Markwood.”
“Farrell you’re with me. We have an invite to Sylvia’s place.”
“We do? How’d you swing that one, boss?”
Blaine grinned. “She likes me because I’m on the A-list.”
“I ain’t on any list. How will I get in?”
“You’re my date.”
BLAINE AND FARRELL waited in the lobby of the Twin Towers until the long, black limo flying the Lone Star Flag pulled up to the curb.
“Thanks for waiting for me, boys. I don’t attend too many private functions. They make me uncomfortable.”
“How did you ditch the media people covering the
funeral?” asked Blaine. “Weren’t they all over you?”
“My driver is an old hand at getting me out of tight spots. He’s had tons of practice.”
Farrell fidgeted in the elevator and jerked on his navy tie. “Don’t think I’m supposed to be here, boss. She might toss me out.”
“I’ll vouch for you, son. If need be, I’ll challenge her.”
“To a duel?” asked Farrell.
The Governor chuckled, “Something like that.”
Loud music greeted them when the elevator doors opened at the top floor. “Sounds more like a party than a sad affair,” said the Governor.
“Wakes are a celebration of life,” said Blaine. “Annie has one for everybody who dies in her life.”
“Maybe Sylvia is celebrating more than Markwood’s
passing,” said the Governor.
“You could be right,” said Blaine, “Let’s find out what she’s celebrating.”
“Cover my ass, boss,” said Farrell as they passed through the double doors.
Sylvia looked away from the knot of people she was chatting to and rushed over. She shook the Governor’s hand first. “Lovely of you to come to my humble apartment, sir. I’ll get y’all drinks straightaway.” She turned and beamed a smile at Blaine. “Blaine, I believe we’re embarking on a beautiful friendship. And who is this handsome cowboy?”
“This is my bodyguard, Farrell Donovan.”
“Aren’t you the good-looking one.” She grabbed Farrell by the hand and hustled him over to the bar in the corner of the room. “This young man would like a …?” She winked at
Farrell and waited for his response.
“Beer.”
“Shiner’s okay?”
“Fantastic. Thank you, ma’am.”
Sylvia stepped closer and tapped Farrell’s chest with her index finger. “You are required to call me ‘Sylvia.’
Farrell grinned and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He took the beer the bartender offered and looked around for Blaine.
Once Sylvia turned her attentions elsewhere, the three of them found seats in the corner of the room and observed.
“Any other agents here?” Blaine asked the Governor.
“I’ve only met a couple of them and no, I don’t see them.”
“Okay, let’s see who’s cozy with Sylvia and who is trying not to be.”
RACE OGILVIE was a stranger to Canada. He’d never been over the border to the north, only to Mexico numerous times to pick up drugs when he was the leader of The Rule. Bits and pieces of his memory had come back, but there were huge gaps. Years of his life that he had no recollection of, gone. Things he had done, people he had known, crimes he had committed—gone, like a poof of magic.
Some of the crimes—the ones he had been charged with—he knew about, because they were documented in his file. A file he had read and reread until it was dog-eared, and finger marked. When he was first recovering from his drowning
incident, he couldn’t believe he’d been that person.
Lately, it was easier to believe. He was that person—ruthless, violent and aggressive—personality traits that had been buried by his brain injury were bubbling to the surface. He had to recognize them as his true self and deal with them accordingly. Hour by hour he fought for control.
His memories of Annie were the strongest. They flooded his half-healed brain and drove him forward with a resolve he didn’t know existed within him. They were a couple and he intended to reunite them—the two of them together with their son. They were a family, and nobody would tear his family unit apart. Especially not Jesse Quantrall.
In Toronto, after a delayed landing because of the storm, Race emerged from the arrival doors at Person International not knowing where he was or where he was going. Annie’s cabin was located in Northern Ontario. He’d often heard her mention Bancroft and Maynooth when she talked about the cabin—that’s all he knew. Was Bancroft a town? How would he get there? He’d been so bent on following her and Jesse, he hadn’t bothered to figure out how he would find them when he got to Canada.
Rent a car.
He smacked his credit card down at the National desk and asked for a t
ruck. He’d be more comfortable on a bike, but the weather was terrible, and a pickup would be better. Paperwork was pushed towards him and he filled it out as best he could. What did it matter what he wrote as long as they had his money?
The clerk handed him a set of keys and told him where he could pick up the Ford F-150.
“Thanks. Got any maps? I need to get to Bancroft.”
“Sure, I’ll print you off a Google map, but I don’t think you’ll need it, sir. All our vehicles are equipped with GPS.”
“Okay, great. Thanks.”
That solves part of the problem.
Race picked up the truck. He programmed ‘Bancroft’ into the GPS and followed directions out of the airport. He drove through the city of Toronto, took the highway heading north and realized how tired he was. It was the middle of the night and he needed sleep and food. He pulled into a hotel in a town called Peterborough and crashed.
JESSE AND ANNIE cuddled on the sofa in front of the fire after dinner. Jackson was in bed sleeping and they’d had a relaxing day at the cabin.
Jesse had puttered around fixing a few things that needed fixing, and Annie had baked pies and enjoyed down time in the kitchen. Cooking was one of her favorite pastimes.
“I could stay here with you forever,” whispered Jesse. “I love it here.”
“I want our marriage to work, Jesse. There’s nothing I want more.”
“We’ll talk about how we’re gonna make that happen, tomorrow. Tonight, it’s just the two of us sitting in front of the fire.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Friday, March 17th. St. Patrick’s Day.
JESSE STOOD at the back door of the cabin peering out at the ice-encrusted evergreens. “Looks like a Christmas card out there, Ace. Come and see.” He turned around and she wasn’t in the kitchen.
“In here, Jesse,” she called from the small bedroom in the back of the cabin she used as an office. Jackson slept in the single bed in that room.
“What’s up, sweetheart?”
“Jackson doesn’t want to get up. He says he’s too tired.” Annie laid a hand on his forehead. “He feels feverish.”
