The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy

by Pauline Baird Jones

  * * * *

  Hickey saw the half-buried, half dug-out truck and the deep tracks heading into the trees before Larry. He grabbed his arm and pointed down. Larry nodded, turning the chopper toward the clear space beyond. The whirling blades blew the snow in all directions as they landed. This time, Hickey took the Uzi with him, though he concealed it inside his coat which he left hanging open, as they trotted toward the truck. The wind from the spinning blades whipped up the snow, but not enough they couldn’t see that someone had tried to dig the truck out, then given up. The chopper blurred the ski tracks, but it didn’t matter, since the tracks couldn’t tell them who had made them.

  They cautiously approached the front door. Two sets of tracks didn’t mean someone hadn’t been left behind. Hickey took up a position against the wall, Uzi still hidden, but accessible, as Larry banged on the door.

  No one answered so he tried the door. It was locked, but he had his pick out, and the door open before Hickey could suggest they kick it in. Supplies were stacked neatly by the front door, ready to be loaded in the stranded truck, but there was an air of emptiness about the cabin, the silence complete.

  Still, it paid to be careful. Larry took point, his gun out, but barrel down as he moved into the living area. The fire was out and none of the lights worked, but the cabin didn’t have that stale smell usually associated with being closed for a long time. The air was rich with the scent of the bacon and eggs someone had cooked for breakfast.

  “Check all the rooms,” he directed Hickey. “See if there’s something to tell who was here.” He didn’t want to waste time tracking them down if Knight wasn’t one of the two. Upstairs he found drawers rifled through, as if they’d left in a hurry, but nothing to tell who the cabin belonged to.

  A shout from Hickey had him trotting back downstairs.

  “I found this in the trash.” He held up a tee shirt. One sleeve had been cut past the elbow, stopping at a jagged tear surrounded by a brown blood stain. “Told you I got her.”

  “They’re heading for the highway. Let’s see if we can cut them off.”

  * * * *

  Grady stared at the empty sky, a deep frown furrowing his brow. It had cleared up hours ago and still no word from Larry. News of Knight’s death had rated a short mention on the morning news out of Denver. Leslie’s dad must be freaking about now, he thought, with a grin. His top scientist dead, the research assistant missing. Unless she wasn’t? She hadn’t been mentioned on the news, either as the grieving or the missing daughter. No way to tell what that meant. No mention of the robbery yet either, though that wasn’t too surprising. They’d counted on the confusion of Knight’s death to disguise the theft of the Shield prototype for a few days. He planned to have the information out of Prudence and be out of the country before Merryweather, and Les, knew what had hit them.

  He looked at the empty sky. Maybe radio silence had been a bad idea. Of course, there was another way to find out if Prudence Knight was missing. Donovan Kincaid would know. Maybe some judicious bluffing was a good idea right now. If his guys hadn’t picked her up last night, then his call would tip Kincaid off that she was a target.

  It wasn’t like Larry to botch a job. Grady had sent his best man. Larry could have had engine trouble, or it might not have cleared where they were. Except his gut was telling him that something had gone wrong. But, how wrong?

  He turned. If Larry had mucked it, it would be a major heads up to Kincaid and he’d already be on the alert. This wasn’t the time to hesitate. He grabbed the phone, activated an anti-trace device, put an apparatus over the mouthpiece to disguise his voice and dialed Kincaid’s number. It was answered on the first ring.

  A good sign. So was the worry in his barked, “Kincaid.”

  “Lose something?”

  “Where is she you bastard? You hurt one hair on her head…”

  Bingo. Or, as Leslie liked to put it, check and possibly a mate. Now he needed to find out where Larry was. Unless—

  A sudden thought put a cold chill down his back. Had Leslie found out his real plans and bought his guy? Leslie, who didn’t need the money, wanted her dead, all traces of the technology destroyed. He’d only agreed to keep her alive to put pressure on Kincaid. Could he have diverted delivery somewhere else?

  No, there’d been no sign of it in Les’s voice the other night. Les couldn’t hide his dark side from his good buddy, Grady. He’d have turned bi if Grady had asked him to. The hero worship was sickening, but useful. It would be a relief when he could end it.

  SEVEN

  Bryn had barely walked into the office when her cell phone and her desk phone rang at the same time. Hers wasn’t the only phone getting a jump on the day. Everyone seemed to be either on the phone or answering one, the empty desks of last night a memory. She dropped her purse in a drawer, bumped it closed with her knee, then dumped the pile of messages and files the assistant had handed off to her on the top of her desk.

  “Give me a royal break,” she muttered. She grabbed the desk phone. “Hold, please.” Pushed the hold button and answered the cell. “Bailey.”

  “Someone grabbed her. I just got the call from the bastard who has her,” Donovan Kincaid said in her ear.

  It took Bryn a minute to figure out who he was talking about, then her brain clicked in. “They make any demands?”

  “Not yet. Just asked if I’d lost something and then hung up.”

  Not much to launch an investigation on. She did a little mental cussing. His voice was grim and strained. This wasn’t just a job for him, but what was it? What was his interest in Prudence Knight?

  “Hang on.” She muted the cell and picked up the desk phone. “Bailey.”

  It was Matt. “I called Luke’s contact in the coroner’s office this morning. Knight died of unnatural causes. Looks like someone slipped him a digitalis Mickey. Did the girl turn up?”

  “Kincaid’s on my cell phone. Looks like she was grabbed.” And I’ve got a headache. She rubbed one temple with her free hand. “I’m supposed to be on a flight to California in an hour with Dewey. I only came in to grab some files.” She’d already packed. A swimsuit tucked guiltily in one pocket. The thought of some sun time was too appealing to resist when faced with the arctic view outside. “Hang on.”

  To Donovan she said, “I have information Knight was murdered.”

  He wasted a few second cussing. “Did your source tell you Miss Knight is now the only person who can deliver Knight’s research?”

  “How can that be?”

  “Knight was a weird old bird. Didn’t trust computers or vaults. Kept all his research data in Miss Knight’s head. She has a photographic memory. If they are after his work, all they need to do is dope her up and it’s theirs.” She heard him sigh. “I’m meeting with Merryweather in an hour. He’s flying in from California now that the storm has cleared. He’s got to do whatever it takes to get her back and I’m not sure he knows that. But he will. I gotta go pick him up at the airport.”

  “Kincaid, wait,” Bryn was tired, but not so tired she couldn’t see the huge flaw in his reasoning. “Why did they call you?”

  “Merryweather’s out of town—”

  “They’re looking to put pressure on you. Why?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Liar.” She sighed in frustration. “Damn it, Donovan. You came to me, remember? Be straight with me now, or I can’t help you.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  “Both.” She paused, then added, “I got someone waiting on the office line. Make up your mind or I’m hanging up.”

  She heard his growl. Donovan did not like to be pushed, but right now she didn’t care. Too much was happening too fast for her to worry about protecting his love life.

  “She’s my daughter, okay? She’s…my daughter.”

  No question it was a pop in the chops. She tried to gather her scattered thoughts.

  “And they know?”

  “I don’t know how. Probably think sh
e’s my girlfriend. Like you did.”

  “Well…you’re sure?”

  “Not blood test sure, but she’s the spitting image of my grandmother. And I knew her mother at the crucial time.”

  And all that really mattered was what he believed, she realized. “Are they after Knight’s work or you, Donovan?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ll do whatever I have to, Bailey. Whatever I have to do to get her back.”

  “Don’t lose your head now, Donovan. You and I both know it’s too late for that. Don’t go down that road—”

  But he’d hung up.

  “Shit.” She didn’t realize she’d picked up the other phone until Matt spoke.

  “How deep?”

  “Deep. Real deep.” She gave him the short version of what she’d just learned.

  “Deep indeed. I wonder what they want him to do?”

  Bryn felt a cold chill snake down her back. “Matt, he used to be a sniper.”

  “Damn. You gonna put someone on him?”

  “For all the good it will do. If Donovan doesn’t want to be followed, he doesn’t get followed. Look, to be on the safe side, can you find out if anyone important is coming to town?”

  “Will do.”

  “Thanks.” She sighed again. “I’d better go. I’ve got to arrange a babysitter for Dewey.” It was wrong to be disappointed about not getting to go with him. It was business, but business in the sun seemed so much more appealing than business in snow drifts.

  “He’ll love that,” Matt said, before ringing off and leaving her with her thoughts.

  She talked to the agent in charge, who agreed she had to hand Dewey Hyatt off and stay on top of the situation here in Denver. It didn’t help that the only agent free to leave on such short notice was a cute little red head who flirted with Dewey every time she passed by Bryn’s office and found Dewey in.

  Oh man, she wasn’t feeling jealous, was she? Why should she? The best thing that could happen is for both Dewey and Phagan to find someone else and leave her alone. She was glad Dewey was heading to warm, balmy California without her.

  Really.

  * * * *

  Leslie sat on the bed watching the news. Next to him, the woman lay face down, her skin no longer the lovely alabaster that had attracted his attention as he drove by her street corner. Her clothes had been classier, though still more revealing, than her companions. She’d taken one look at his car, given him a quick advance preview of her assets and jumped in the car when he thrust open the door.

  She’d been adequate in the sack, but last night adequate hadn’t been enough. As she labored to satisfy, he’d wrapped his hands around her neck. He’d taken his time, squeezing until the thrashing of her body slowed, easing up, then squeezing again, until she quit moving. He didn’t know it was so easy kill. Far easier than he’d imagined. He didn’t know why he had waited so long to try it. He felt better than he had in a long time—maybe since the first time his father had belittled him.

  As if his thought had conjured up his father, his cell phone rang, the display showing his father’s private number. He didn’t mind. It would be amusing to talk to his father while sitting next to a dead woman.

  “Bob’s Bar and Bordello,” he said into the phone.

  “How soon can you fly into Denver?” his father said, in that dead, but important tone he used with his son and other lesser beings.

  “Why?”

  “John Knight died last night. I believe you two were friends.” He said the words but the tone of his voice said he didn’t believe it.

  The old man was no fool, though Leslie hoped to make him feel like one before he was finished with him. “I’ll take off as soon as I find my pilot—”

  “I already talked to him.”

  Leslie felt that familiar frustration rising, but one look at the woman he’d killed and it subsided. Bet the old man had never killed anyone. At least not a human. He’d managed to off plenty of animals.

  “You can leave any time,” his father went on.

  Leslie fondled the woman’s hand. “I have a few things to take care of first, but I’ll be there as fast as I can. Thanks for letting me know, Dad—”

  But his father had already hung up.

  Leslie shrugged. He’d have to postpone his visit with Miss Prudence. Odd the old man hadn’t mentioned her disappearance, but then he might not know that old Knight was using her for a storage cabinet. And how come Grady hadn’t called? Had the snatch gone as planned? So many questions without answers, and no time to puzzle them out. He had a body to dispose of.

  How did the average, yet brilliant, murderer get rid of the odd, dead body?

  He heard a sound in the hall, padded to the door and looked out. The maid was cleaning the room next to his. On the floor by her cart were bundles for the laundry. It seemed fate was determined to deliver him a way out.

  He waited until the maid went back in the room, then grabbed one of the sacks. As he started stuffing her into the sack, the news story he’d been waiting for aired. The only surprise was the death of the security guard. He stared at the television, until the anchor moved on, then looked at the woman, partially in the bag.

  “Sorry, darling, I guess you weren’t my first, but so far you’re the most satisfying.”

  * * * *

  He was going to have to tell her, Dewey realized, staring down at his half-packed suitcase. Ever since he’d gotten the invitation to meet Green’s leadership from his contact, he’d been trying to find a way around it, but even he couldn’t be in two places at once. Face-to-face with the Green leader while wearing his electronic jewelry was not possible. It would be noticed, which would seriously mess with his mysterious and invincible image.

  He’d examined the problem from every direction and had even asked Phoebe, his Pathphinder, on the QT—a direct violation of his parole and hers—if she could see another way. Her response had been incredulous to say the least.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” she’d said. “Even I can’t figure out how to make you into two people outside of VR.”

  It wasn’t just this situation bringing it all to a messy head. He’d spent the last year trying to find the right way to tell Bryn that he was Phagan. She was going to be so pissed. At him and Phoebe. The fact that Phoebe hadn’t known but guessed right after they had gotten arrested wouldn’t matter to her. Lucky for him that Jake had never asked Phoebe about Phagan. No way she’d give him up, though she threatened to when he pissed her off. Jake was smart. He knew what to ask and what not to. He knew there were things he didn’t want to know. If only Bryn could be more like him.

  Every time he got close to spilling his guts, he chickened out, mostly because he liked his head where it was. And he was afraid he’d never see her again. He’d thought about not ever telling her. Phagan could disappear. But he didn’t want her to think he was the kind of guy that would lead a girl on then just vanish without a word. She’d really hate him then.

  Of course, she’d probably hate him and Phagan when she found out, he decided, as he looked through his stuff for his swimsuit. He didn’t have a lot to look through. His digs were a far cry from his usual when on the run. Spartan and middle class. He was sure Bryn had put him here on purpose.

  He didn’t mind, not when it gave him daily contact with Bryn, but it was hard to believe she’d want to share any of it with him. It was difficult to be optimistic about a happy outcome, despite hanging around Matt’s romance writer. The trip to California would be a good chance for them to talk. She couldn’t kill him in public, and he could sound her out first on where she was with Phagan. It felt odd to be your own competition. He’d even felt jealous of himself, which was weird. If his life ever approached normal, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it.

  The phone rang. He knew it was her before he answered it. Her rings were always imperious and sort of royal.

  “Hyatt’s Megalomaniac Criminal Enterprise.”

  “Ha, ha.”

  �
��Miss Bailey?” It was so cute the way she insisted he call her that, as if the formality would keep things from getting personal. “Oops. I thought it was one of my criminal cohorts.”

  “I don’t have time for crap, Hyatt.” She hesitated, then said, “Someone else will be picking you up and escorting you to California. Something has come up here that I have to deal with.”

  “Which someone?”

  “That red-head, Carlotta something or other.”

  She was jealous. He could freaking hear it in her voice. This was too great. She didn’t want him to go without her. She’d never admit it, of course. They’d be celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary, and she’d still be claiming she’d only married him to keep an eye on him.

  “As charming as it would be to travel anywhere with Carlotta something or other,” he said. “I can only go with you, Miss Bailey. I only belong to you, Miss Bailey.”

  “You only belong to the United States Government until your parole ends.”

  “Why don’t you see if Phoebe can go? Or that Sebastian guy that does Matt’s crap for him?”

  “They asked for you.”

  “It’s flattering, of course, that they think I’m the only one that can do this, but Phoebe’s actually better at unraveling computer viruses than I am. Besides,” Dewey took a deep breath and then took the first step into the abyss. As Phoebe was wont to point out, there was no going back, only forward. If he hadn’t wanted it to come to this, he should have stayed out of Green’s business. “I need to talk to you about Phagan. As soon as possible.”

  The silence was so long, he thought she’d either hung up on him or fainted.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Then she rang off. With a loud enough snap to make him wince.

  Phoebe kept telling him that love would find a way, but he had the feeling Bryn regularly kicked Cupid’s butt. A world of women to fall in love with, and he had to fall for a Fed. He should kick Cupid’s butt, too.

  * * * *

  Amelia’s wipe out hadn’t been nearly as spectacular as Luke’s, but it had taken her further downhill from him. By the time she’d collected her poles and skis, she’d heard him shout her name from the tree he’d disappeared under. He’d lost his nifty radio headset, too. She hoped they weren’t too expensive to replace, since she had no idea if she had any money.