The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy

by Pauline Baird Jones

  Behind him the door opened. Reflected in the window, he could see Audrey, dressed in the trappings of her father’s wealth.

  “Are you ready, darling?” she asked.

  He smiled before he turned to face her. “Oh, yes.”

  * * * *

  Jake pulled his truck to a stop across the street from the apartment building and checked it against the address Matt had given him. It matched, so he got out and looked around. It was a quiet street, sort of middle-class. Clean, but the trees were on the scraggly side. Looked like they could use water. Still, it was a long way from the low-life place in Montana.

  No sign of Matt or Bryn. He looked up, but the angle was wrong for him to see anything but the sun reflecting on the windows of the apartment. All the buildings within the immediate area were similar, but the apartment house to the right of this one was a twin, right down to the trim around the windows. A narrow alley separated them. Both walls had fire escapes snaking down the sides and fire doors across from each other. It got Jake thinking. He decided to check out the non-MUD building, just for the heck of it. He had a few minutes to kill. If the buildings were identical on the outside, chances were, they were identical on the inside, too. He could get a feel for the layout without tipping his hand to anyone who might inhabit the apartment they were interested in. And have a chat with the super.

  * * * *

  Dewey was waiting for Phoebe next to a sleek black limousine. Phoebe shook her head, Dewey was a character, but he was a character with style.

  She parked her car in the mall lot next to him and got out, feeling Kerry’s dress drop softly into place, feeling Kerry all around her as she walked toward him. With each step the soft fabric whispered against her calves like echoes from the past, soothing her fear and shoring up her resolve.

  “I’d never have known it was you,” Dewey said, his eyes hidden behind mirrored glasses. His voice was flat, almost too flat. Was he worried about her? That must be it, because he hadn’t known Kerry. It was Phagan who’d known Kerry, who’d talked her into running away with him. Who’d lost her when she insisted on bringing her little sister along, too. If only—

  Phoebe cut that thought off at the knees.

  “Harding’s gonna shit a brick when he sees you.”

  “I hope so.” Phoebe smiled her sister’s smile as she slid into the limo through the door Dewey held open for her. She leaned back, not thinking about what was ahead. Not just yet. Right now was for her and Kerry.

  As if he sensed this, Dewey didn’t speak either, just directed the driver to take them to the country club. He did take her hand in a comforting grip. She held on and let the past engulf her.

  * * * *

  Jake was sitting on the stoop sipping a soft drink when Matt and Bryn arrived with some local cops.

  Matt climbed out of one of the cars—the driver’s seat of course—and looked at his little brother. He had a powerful, stocky body and blunt, weathered features that his marriage had softened some. As always, he reminded Jake of their dad.

  Jake finished his drink and tossed it into a street-side rubbish bin. “Took you long enough.”

  “Got caught in some traffic.” Matt looked tense, but compared to Bryn he was positively mellow.

  Bryn was giving off tension vibes like a hot sidewalk. Being a wise man, Jake refrained from commenting on anything but the job at hand. When they’d deployed the local cops outside the building, he led Bryn and Matt inside to the elevator.

  * * * *

  Phoebe moved through the crowd like a ghost, sliding between clusters of rich, smart people like a will-o-the-wisp. At some level her senses were on alert for a sign of Harding or his goon, Barrett Stern, but it was hard to feel real when no one even acknowledged her presence in this gathering of the powerful and moneyed of Denver.

  It was like being split into pieces. Kerry Anne was in full and firm control of Phoebe’s outside, but inside who she was now and who she’d been wrestled like twin babies in a womb. A gateway to the past had been opened. Her demons were out of the box and couldn’t be sent back because she needed them to make the game happen. She just hoped she could control them. The stakes were high. If she lost this one, she lost big, she lost it all, and she lost without hope of recovery.

  This wasn’t a news flash. She’d known the risks when she signed on to the game. What she hadn’t anticipated was meeting Jake. He was a wild card in their game, who, totally against her will, made her wild with longing for a life outside the game. Meeting him had introduced a bitter regret to the emotions seething below the surface of the Kerry Anne façade. It was like adding propane to a flame, turning it bright, hot and dangerously unstable. Unstable was not the way she wanted to be for her first meeting with her sister’s murderer.

  She found a leafy bower near a small artificial lake and sank down onto the decorative bench. There was one person she could summon right now, one identity that would bind them together into a cohesive whole.

  Pathphinder.

  With the thought came the path she needed to follow, step by careful step. She sighed, feeling the tension give way to purpose. She, they—all the people she’d been in the last seven years—would do what was necessary. No matter what the cost. No matter what she would never have because of it.

  She stood up, but before she could turn around, she heard his laugh behind her. It was charming, even infectious. Only those who truly knew him heard the edge of evil buried in its heart.

  She turned and found him standing in the full sun with the black rose on his lapel. Light loved him, though he didn’t love it. He fooled it, as he did most people, with his easy, addictive charm. Like taking a drug, being around him was intoxicating at first. Only when it was too late did you realize the pleasure of his company was a soul-destroying poison.

  She took a step back as her flight instinct overcame her fight. Then she saw him smile down at the two little girls standing next to a woman who was obviously their mother. He touched the older child, his eyelids drooping in pleasure, then lifted his glass and drank.

  It was at that moment he saw her.

  * * * *

  “Here it is,” Bryn said, stopping outside a solid wood door just around the corner from the elevator.

  “Guns and badges?” Matt asked.

  Jake shook his head. “These guys pack pocket protectors, not guns.”

  Bryn hesitated, then nodded her agreement, but she kept her hand on her weapon.

  “Ollie Smith’s death might have changed that.” Matt stepped to one side of doorjamb with his hand also on his gun.

  Jake took the other side, then knocked on the door. “Might already be an empty hole—” He stopped at the sound of movement from inside. Someone fumbled with the lock, then the door opened a crack, the safely chain still on. A young, scared face peered out.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Jake Kirby, US Marshals Service.” He held up his badge, shifting his weight to put his shoulder against the door, a precaution that proved wise when the kid tried to slam the door.

  Matt saw it coming and shoved his foot into the opening to help Jake, giving a grunt of pain when the door crunched into his foot. “I hate nice neighborhoods. The doors are too heavy.” He slammed his shoulder into the door and this time it gave as far as the chain would allow.

  “He’s running.” Jake pulled his gun, stepped back, and kicked the door. The chain gave up and the door popped open.

  “Cover me,” Matt said. He went in sideways, with his body turned to present the smallest target, with Jake and Bryn were on his heels. Moving fast but careful they fanned out. Jake took the kitchen and found the rear exit swinging on its hinges.

  “He went out the back!” Jake yelled. “I’m heading down.”

  As he went out, he heard Matt shouting instructions into his radio. Out in the hall, Jake looked down the flight of stairs, then turned and headed for the elevator. He had his own idea of where the kid would come out.

  * * * *


  Peter Harding couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Kerry Anne Beauleigh, standing in a flower and leaf frame? Could it be? The dress. He remembered it. Graduation. In a rare moment of sobriety, Norma Jean had taken her to pick it out. The girl had looked magical in it. Hopeful, ready to fly free. She hadn’t known yet that she’d never be free. Not until he’d explained her options to her. Her eyes—they looked at him now with the same expression she’d had that night.

  Wide, shocked. Accusing. Defiant even as her blood dripped her life onto the white tile. He’d left her for Nadine to find, so she’d know what would happen to her if she defied him. Instead, she’d run away.

  His hands curled into fists as a red mist formed before his eyes. It had to be Nadine. Kerry Anne was dead. He’d watched them wheel her lifeless, naked body away. Made all the arrangements to put her in the ground since Norma Jean was, as usual, too drunk to cope.

  “Peter? Are you all right?” Audrey’s face came between him and Kerry Anne.

  “I’m fine.” He lifted his arm to shove her out of the way, but someone grabbed it, the fingers biting into his flesh like a vise.

  “You’ve cut your hand,” Stern said, interposing himself between Harding and Audrey.

  Harding looked down, saw blood and drink dripping onto the broken shards of glass. Pieces of the glass still cut into his palm, but he felt no pain there.

  “Looks like you had a cracked glass.” Stern spoke again. His eyes told Harding to pull it together.

  Harding took a shaky breath, realized his heart was pounding like a piston. He licked his lips. Stern shoved a glass of water into his good hand and lifted it to his mouth. Harding drank, then pushed it away.

  “I thought I saw…an old friend. You should bring her to me.”

  “I will, when I’m sure you’re all right,” Stern said. He stepped aside for Audrey.

  In control was what he meant. Harding managed a reassuring look for her. “Sorry, darling. Those flowers over there reminded me of my mother’s funeral.”

  Behind Audrey’s back, Stern’s eyes told him it was a good save.

  Tears filled her eyes as she took his hand in hers. “You’re bleeding.”

  Her touch, combined with the smell of his blood, was intoxicating. He could feel the power, the violence rise within him. Could imagine his fist smashing into her face. Blood spurting from her mouth and nose. Seeing the look in her eyes change from love to fear—

  “We’d better find a first-aid kit,” Stern said, breaking into his thoughts with a firm voice and a vice-like grip. “Perhaps Mrs. Dilmont could hold down the fort with your guests until we get you taken care of?”

  The only thing Peter wanted to take care of was business. As if Stern sensed it, his grip on his arm tightened until Harding winced.

  “I know you don’t want to leave your guests alone for long.”

  “No, I don’t.” Now he could feel the throbbing pain radiating from the cut. Could feel the warm, wet slide of blood across his skin. He managed a smile that was almost normal, helped on by the watchful stare of her powerful father a short distance away. “I won’t be long.”

  As he turned away, he looked toward the bower. It was empty.

  He waited until they were out of range to snap, “Find her.”

  “When you’re in control.”

  Normally he’d hang on to these feelings, then take it to the red-light district and find a prostitute to pound on, but he couldn’t do that right now. Not with the glare of publicity shining on him. He had to hold it in, keep it all on a leash. He could do this. He could. He was in control. Not even his passions would master him. He was stronger than all of them. And Kerry Anne, or whoever she was, would soon find out how dangerous it was to play games with him.

  * * * *

  The kid—his name was Roger, but he carried ID that said his name was Kevin—cautiously opened the door to laundry room. Heated air that smelled of bleach surged into the stairwell. He heard the murmur of the dryer off to one side, broken by the occasional thump of something heavy hitting metal.

  The sounds of pursuit had turned away at the first floor, heading out into the street. He slipped across the room, past the spinning clothes and through the doorway to the storage area. He counted cages, stopping at the fourth one to insert a key into a padlock. It took only a moment to move the boxes within aside and expose the door just where Dewey had said it would be. He leaned against the wall to catch his breath as relief took the flight out of his legs.

  He’d wanted to trust Dewey, wanted to believe his life could be different, but he’d been fed the “We’ll keep you from your stepdad” line before. He’d gone through the system, done what he was told, then been delivered back to his mom by the same people who’d promised to help him. Each time they’d told him it would be better this time. And it just got worse. He’d run away once before, but they’d caught him.

  Then he’d happened onto Phagan’s web site, while cruising around on the school computer. A few e-mails later, he had a bus ticket and a destination. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Phagan’s gang to turn out to be some kind of male prostitution ring or something but Dewey hadn’t laid a hand on him. Had given him a key to lock his bedroom, in fact.

  So far, Dewey had been real cool. He’d almost begun to believe this could work. Then the Feds banged on the door. Well, first thing Dewey had taught him was where and how to retreat. He slipped through the door and pulled the boxes back into place behind him as best he could, feeling as clever as the fox he’d chosen to follow.

  Bet the Feds didn’t expect this, he gloated, his mind moving ahead to the next thing Dewey had told him to do if this happened. He’d taken careful mental notes because there was no way he was ever going back home. He’d die first.

  * * * *

  From where he sat, getting his hand bandaged by a doctor friend of Audrey’s father, Harding couldn’t see the gathering, couldn’t see Kerry Anne. She had to be flesh because he didn’t believe in phantoms. He’d feel more at ease, though, when Stern got his hands on her. Not that Stern made any effort to do so. He’d been staring out that window since they came inside.

  “Why don’t you get back to the party? As you can see, I’m in good hands.”

  Stern turned to look at him, his gaze both assessing and probing. It was also annoyed, though only someone who knew him very well would know it. His normal expression was stone, cold rock.

  “I have such a good view here, I thought I’d take a minute to look for our friend. So far no sign of her.”

  Was he telling the truth? Peter couldn’t tell.

  Stern wasn’t telling the truth, of course and he could tell from Harding’s expression that he suspected but didn’t dare ask. Hadn’t the idiot learned by now that it was always better to let the quarry come to you? Let her find what she was looking for, then pounce.

  Stern didn’t sigh as he turned back to the window, because it wasn’t his style. What was it about this Nadine that pushed his buttons? She’d been clever so far, poking and prodding him from a safe distance, but she had made a mistake today. Never pull a tiger’s tail in person. Even the caged ones could be dangerous.

  Behind him the doctor said, “There, that should hold, though you should go in and get a tetanus shot on Monday.”

  “Thank you.”

  Stern waited for Harding to join him, then heard his indrawn breath as they saw their “phantom” at the same moment. Approaching Audrey Dilmont. She’d chosen a good place to apply pressure. Clever girl but not clever enough.

  “Get her.” Harding started to clench his hands, but a sharp stab of pain reminded him why he shouldn’t as he forcibly relaxed his fingers and waited for Stern to move to intercept. He had to keep her away from Audrey. And her beautiful little girls. He would not let the bitch ruin this for him. He needed their innocence like a junkie needed coke. It was his reality, his imperative, and his life-giving air. There was no fighting it; he could only postpone it for a time. That time
was running out.

  Instead of following Stern, he stepped out onto the balcony. He was right above them. He could see Audrey’s smile, see the question in her eyes as “Kerry Anne” stopped her.

  “These are your daughters?” she asked in a rich Southern accent he’d thought lost in time and the warm, wet ground of Georgia. The rich timbre of it carried him back to those sultry nights when she’d been his—

  “Amy and Simone.” Audrey’s voice, filled with the pride of a mother, was a cold shower on his hot memories. He saw his girls give brief, shy curtseys. So polite. So obedient. Just the way he liked them.

  If Audrey could see the phantom, then she was flesh and bone that could be bruised and broken. He spotted Stern trying to work his way through a sudden flow of people heading for the refreshment tables. Picked a hell of a time to start serving food.

  “Getting a new stepfather. How exciting.” Some tree obscured her. The branches hung between him and her, but he could see its leaves brush her cheek as she knelt in front of the little girls and smiled the smile he’d never thought to see again.

  “Peter adores them, and they adore him,” Audrey said.

  “I’ll bet he does,” she said. “I heard he likes the young.”

  * * * *

  Kevin was relieved when the door opened under his hand, releasing him from the dark tunnel running between the buildings. It was only fear of what was behind him that had kept him walking forward in black darkness. He was surprised to find the matching storeroom dark, but it was lighter than the tunnel he’d left, thanks to a row of windows just at street level, and he moved forward without hesitation.

  He eased around another set of boxes and unlocked this last gate. Once it was locked again, he turned to leave, but a hand clamped down on his shoulder, and a gun barrel was placed against his temple.

  “Gotcha,” a voice said.

  SEVEN

  When Jake brought a handcuffed Kevin out of the other building, he saw a worried-looking Matt lower his radio.