The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy

by Pauline Baird Jones

  “Five…six…seven…we’re next.”

  “I’m in.” Just as eight lit up on their panel, she managed to stop the doors from opening. “I think I’ll leave them there for the cops.”

  “It would be poetic justice.” Dewey’s chuckle was absentminded. “Download?”

  “Done. Virus uploading.” In the monitor, the two guys were punching buttons and trying to pry open the door. One pulled out a crowbar. “Oh, oh. They don’t want to wait. We’re done. Disconnect.”

  Dewey removed the satellite uplink from the computer, while Phoebe tossed her gear back in her pack.

  “Up or down?”

  “Up.”

  “You killed all the elevators, didn’t you?”

  “Didn’t have time to be selective.”

  They were at the stairwell door when Phoebe heard a shout. She looked back and saw that the two men had managed to force a crack in the elevator door. The one not holding the crowbar reached for his gun. Phoebe didn’t wait to see what he’d do with it. She slid into the stairwell barely an inch ahead of Dewey and started up the steps.

  “You just had to pull the tiger’s tail, didn’t you?” Dewey said, the words panting out between the sound of their feet slapping the concrete stairs. They had rounded the last flight when the echoing sound of pursuit reached their ears.

  * * * *

  The police file was depressing reading. According to the autopsy report, Kerry Anne Beauleigh had been pregnant and nearly flunking out of university when she apparently slit her wrists. The report assumed it was someone at school who’d gotten her pregnant. It theorized that she’d returned home despondent over that someone’s rejection and killed herself. The assumption: Nadine had come home and found her dead—her bloody fingerprints had been all over the bathroom and her bedroom—and taken off “in a fit of grief.” The sisters had been close, and Nadine had been having problems at school, too. The file also noted that their mother had been “sickly” and unable to supervise the girls closely. No mention of where she’d been when Kerry Anne slit her wrists, but the stepfather, Montgomery Justice had been playing cards with his hunting buddies—one of whom was the doctor who performed the autopsy.

  Mama was a drunk.

  The report had a sanitized feel, not exactly covering up but not telling the whole truth. On Monday, he’d call both schools and see what he could turn up. Now that they’d matched Nadine’s fingerprints to Phoebe’s, they’d have no trouble getting the necessary warrants.

  Matt had left muttering something about shaking the dew off his lily. He came back on a run. “Silent alarm at TelTech. Police are responding.”

  So Bryn’s source had played it straight. Jake silently cursed. He hadn’t expected them to move this fast and only put together a surveillance plan a few hours ago. They’d all agreed it could safely be implemented tomorrow night at the earliest, since the owner, Peter Harding, had been alerted to a possible threat.

  “So are we.” Jake was up and heading for the door before the words were completely out. “Bryn know?”

  “Alice is paging her.” Matt checked his weapon and grabbed his suit jacket as they passed his chair on the way to the door. He shrugged it on while they waited for the elevator, which seemed to take a long time, then a longer time to work its way to the ground.

  Alice and Bryn were waiting in the car for them with the motor running. Alice didn’t wait for Jake to shut his door before she put the pedal to the metal.

  * * * *

  Dewey didn’t waste time finessing the roof access door, just kicked it open and followed Phoebe through, then turned, hunting for something to block the door with. There was always something available in the movies, but not for them. He could hear the labored, pounding footsteps of their unlawful pursuers and the distant wail of sirens approaching.

  “You just had to call the cops, didn’t you?” Dewey muttered as he followed her to the edge and helped her set up the rocket launcher and their last length of rope. She fired it, and he quickly secured it on their end.

  Phoebe attached two handles and hopped onto the edge, her feet dangling over nothing.

  Dewey helped her slip her pack back on. “You know I hate going out like this.”

  “Pretend we’re astronauts and our rocket is about to blow.” Phoebe grabbed the first set of handles. “Because we’re not, but it is.”

  “No shit.”

  “Don’t wait until I’m down or your ass is grass.”

  “I’ll shake you off if I—”

  “Just do it!” She went over the side, rushing through the cold air toward the dark stand of trees. No chance either of them would have a neat, or pain-free, landing this time. She was almost there when she heard a shout. The rope bounced violently from Dewey’s additional weight. Her legs swung up over her head, breaking her grip. She experienced a brief sensation of out-of-control flight before she crashed into a tree.

  * * * *

  His gun out, Farley raced to the edge where the guy went over and looked down. He could see the rope bouncing, but no sign of anyone on it. It was like the guy was invisible or something.

  “Where they’d go?” Harley asked.

  “Down, I guess. Should we go after them?”

  “I’m not going down that rope.” Harley peered over the edge, then flinched back. “Long falls don’t agree with me.”

  Farley opened his mouth to agree, but before he could speak he realized what he was hearing. Sirens. Getting closer. “Oh, shit.” He looked at the rope, then his hands. “This is gonna hurt.”

  “It doesn’t have to.” Harley ripped off one of his sleeves from the shoulder and looped it over the rope, then doubled wrapped his hands. He sat on the edge of the building, took a deep breath and launched himself into the void.

  Sometimes Harley reminded him why Farley kept him around. Farley quickly followed suit. Might have been better to wait to see how his brother fared, he realized, when he saw flames spurt out from under Harley’s shirt where it met the rope.

  THIRTEEN

  When Jake and the others arrived at TelTech, the police were still sweeping the building. The buzzing morass of official activity outside didn’t prepare them for the eerie silence inside. No one knew where to turn on lights, so their flashlights joined a dozen other dancing, flickering beams around the dead. Added to this was a sick feeling in the pit of Jake’s stomach at the violence.

  Had Phoebe participated in this carnage? It didn’t seem possible that she or Dewey Hyatt could have done this. He hadn’t known Phoebe long, but he’d tracked Dewey off and on for years. Until Ollie’s recent demise, never once had there been any sign of violence. And Phoebe? Did he want her to be guiltless? Was that blinding his judgment?

  “This isn’t right.” Bryn slashed her beam back and forth over the scene as if it was a sword that could cut out the sight. “This isn’t their style.” Her lights stopped on the three guys not in uniform. “Who are these guys?”

  “That one asked Phoebe for a job in her bar and got himself arrested. Estes PD could probably ID him.”

  Bryn looked interested, but he could tell she didn’t know what it meant either.

  Before Bryn could respond, Luke joined them. “They took the security tape with them.” He rubbed his face wearily. “I knew one of the guards. He was retired PD. Wife, kids, grandkids.”

  Jake shoved his hands through his hair, the sick feeling growing until it started up his throat. Be embarrassing if he had to puke his guts. Hadn’t done that since his first serial killing crime scene—a killer who was into torture. He swallowed hard and took a couple of deep breaths.

  “Do we know what they were after?” Bryn asked.

  Luke shook his head. “We’re waiting for the owner and,”—he consulted his notebook— “some guy named Barrett Stern, who’s in charge of security, to get here.”

  “Hate to be him,” Jake observed, glad for the change of subject.

  “No shit.” Luke shook his head. “What a mess.”


  “And yet…” Bryn did another sweep with her light. “…not.”

  “What do you mean?” Luke asked, his frown deepening as he did his own sweep.

  “No bullet holes in the walls. Both sides appear to have had remarkably good aim during a pitched gunfight.” She showed them the walls with her light.

  Jake looked at Luke. “Downright amazing.”

  Luke nodded thoughtfully. “Downright.”

  * * * *

  “Phoebe? Come on, girl, snap out of it.”

  The voice was Dewey’s, but he seemed to be a long way away. Between her and him was this throbbing pain that seemed greatest, but not limited to her head. There was also a sense of motion, as if they were bouncing forward. A metallic creak and downward lurch vibrated through all her pain zones and narrowed the gap between them. “Don’t make me take you to the hospital, girl.”

  A jerked stop, another creak, then she felt her hand taken and patted. Something cold and wet on her face. She crawled up out of the fog and opened her eyes. Dewey loomed over her, two worry lines cutting deep furrows between his eyebrows.

  “What happened?”

  “I bounced you off the rope.”

  “Oh.” Memory returned in painful chunks. She touched her head. “I hit a branch or something.” She took the cool rag he’d used on her brow and applied it to the swelling lump. “What happened to those guys who were after us?”

  Dewey smiled. “They had a rough ride. Tried to slide down after us and caught the rope on fire. Last I saw, they were limping off into the night.”

  Phoebe grinned. It didn’t hurt, so she decided to sit up. That did hurt. A lot. But it didn’t kill her, so she didn’t stop. “How’s our hornet’s nest?”

  “Nicely stirred. Want to take a look?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” Phoebe tried out her arms and legs. They worked. “I’ll change while you drive.”

  Dewey scrambled back into the driver’s seat but looked back to say, “Make sure you clean off the blood.”

  Phoebe grabbed a mirror. There was indeed blood, a thin line creeping down her temple toward her jaw. Not to mention a lip getting fatter and a shiner in the making.

  “Great.”

  Dewey grinned. “There’s an ice pack in the first-aid kit.”

  He put the van in gear and turned it toward TelTech and their hornet’s nest.

  Hornet’s nest was a serious understatement, Phoebe decided. She’d think they couldn’t get any more officials inside and then some more would come. Then the military. FBI. US Marshals. It was a regular law-enforcement-rich zone. Enough to make a lady thief and her accomplice a little nervous.

  “What’s taking him so long?” Dewey had started doing lame magic tricks with a pencil—when he wasn’t using it as a drumstick against the dash. Phoebe was about ready to shove it up his nose, when a murmur of sound and the beginnings of new activity outside the van distracted her.

  Light from the rising sun began a slow creep across the scene as Peter Harding’s limousine nosed into the melee. It was immediately surrounded by the moderate mob of press who had been shivering over steaming cups of coffee in the predawn cold.

  Exhilaration at having achieved their first objective filtered a fine clarity over the scene for Phoebe. It was as if all her senses had been heightened and expanded until she could see not only what was apparent but also what was hidden.

  Because of her messy landing, Dewey suggested she play cameraman and hide her bruises behind a camcorder. She climbed out and did a slow camera sweep of the crowd as Harding emerged from his car and was immediately mobbed. Stern came around and tried to clear him a path with something less than courtesy. Phoebe hung back, going for the long view, while Dewey, as “reporter,” joined the pack. Harding topped the steps, his face looming in her tiny horizon. She used her zoom to frame his face and record the moment of her triumph. His mouth moved, but she couldn’t pick up his answers over the questions bombarding him from every side. She tightened her focus to just his eyes and felt a jolt, a sudden panic she couldn’t explain.

  He looked exactly as he should, exactly like any man would who’d just been burgled. So why was a cold dread spreading out from her midsection? She stayed with him until he disappeared inside, then lowered the camera.

  What was wrong with the picture?

  She stowed the camera and scrambled forward, about to climb into the passenger seat when she saw Jake come out TelTech’s door, flanked by his brothers. She shrank back, but not so far she couldn’t see him. He looked sad, tired…worried. About her? She tried to hope not, but she wasn’t that noble. She wanted him to be worried about her. She wasn’t quite ready to cut that tie, to forget this past. Maybe she knew she never would. It went deep, she realized, as deep as her sister’s loss. He…mattered.

  She leaned her cheek against the cool plastic of the seat. “Oh, Jake.” His name came out on a soul-deep sigh. As if he heard her, or felt her presence, she saw him stop. His gaze swept the crowd. She shrank back into the shadows, her heart pounding with bitter regret. He was never hers. She couldn’t lose what she didn’t have, could she?

  * * * *

  “Something wrong?” Matt asked.

  Jake rubbed his face to avoid answering the question. How could he explain the feeling that Phoebe was out there somewhere, watching the chaos she’d wrought? How to explain it when he didn’t believe she’d been responsible for the carnage inside? He felt like Jekyll and Hyde. Convinced that she and Hyatt were responsible for the run on TelTech but not the deaths. It was crazy. Insane. Madness.

  Now he knew how Alice had felt falling down that rabbit’s hole. He needed quiet and a big pot of coffee while he sorted through the chaos, but all he was going to get was the coffee.

  Maybe—he had a sudden, chilling thought—he’d never feel peace again. What if the huge rip in his heart never healed? What if the marshal never got over the lady outlaw?

  It would be dang ironic, he decided, trying to lighten his mental mood. It didn’t help much, but any improvement was welcome. As was any interruption. With a sense of reprieve, he met the approaching crime-scene tech halfway.

  “What you got?” Jake asked.

  “Their egress point.”

  Must have started his life as a lawyer, Jake decided as he followed the guy around the building. With the sun peeking over the mountains, there was enough light to see the rope hanging limply from the roof. The tech held up the burned end for Jake to see. “Rough landing. I’ll bet that wasn’t part of the plan.”

  Jake frowned. Another wrong note. Phagan and Hyatt’s ops were meticulously planned, right down to any surprises. “Where’s the other end?”

  The tech led Jake to a stand of trees where the other end of the rope trailed from a rather battered tree. Jake picked up this burned end, but he was studying the broken branches. “Looks like someone made it down before the rope burned through. Any footprints?”

  “We got two sets heading toward the road. Tire tracks toward the highway. And at least one set, maybe two, heading off into the hills. No sign of transportation that direction yet.”

  Jake frowned. “We got a stolen cleaning van in the parking lot out front. I wonder why they split up and…” Why two cars? If they were planning to come out this direction, which the get-away vehicle seemed to indicate, then why the messy landing? Surely they’d have prepared for it?

  Jake straightened. It was almost as if they were dealing with two separate events. But that was crazy. Or wishful thinking. If he peopled TelTech with two sets of thieves, that let Phoebe and her cohorts off the hook for murder.

  He saw Luke crossing the lawn with Bryn and knew it would take more than gut feelings for him to let Phoebe off the hook for this. He’d need hard proof. Facts, not fancies. When the pair got close enough for him to read their eyes, he could see neither looked particular happy, and an air of tension clogged the air around them.

  “What?” Jake asked, giving them both a wary glance before looking t
o Bryn for enlightenment.

  “This just doesn’t add up,” Bryn said, her voice tight and tense.

  “To?” Jake prompted, ignoring a frustrated sigh from his brother.

  “A Phagan op.” She massaged her temples, either because they hurt or to clear her thoughts.

  Or maybe both, Jake thought wryly. Either way, he understood. His head hurt and his brain did, too. Iron bands squeezing inside and out.

  “It’s like—” she began.

  “—we’re dealing with two different operations?” Jake finished when she didn’t.

  She gave him a relieved nod. “That or our perps were a couple of Jekyll and Hydes.”

  “Do we know what they got?” Jake asked.

  Luke answered this one. “Some kind of super chip and all relevant research files. A total wipeout. Folks were pretty closemouthed but did admit that it was something in development for the military and was due to be turned over in a few days. All very hush-hush and very, very bad it’s missing.”

  “Not something you’d want to go missing so close to announcing your candidacy for governor,” Bryn said. “That part of the crime scene, the research lab, is pristine. Clean as a whistle. No indication of how they got into the room, let alone how they were able to log on to the computers. From what we can tell, the files were downloaded to someplace offsite, then a virus was introduced. And the one scientist who held all the pieces of the chip puzzle seems to have disappeared.”

  Luke looked thoughtful. “That ought to up the street value on the chip.”

  “If Phagan did this hit, it won’t show up on any market, local or worldwide. He uses the non-cash take for leverage against his target.” Bryn’s frown was puzzled. “I just wish we could connect Harding to Nadine Beauleigh. So far, he’s still squeaky clean. He thinks his scientist is the one who stole it, because he’s gone missing. Said something about the instability of genius.”

  “You said they never go in shooting,” Luke said, ‘but we’ve got four dead guards and a missing genius.” He looked at Jake, his shoulders rising in a frustrated shrug. “What put you on to TelTech in the first place?”