by Aimée Thurlo
“Hey, you awake, farm boy?” Paul said. “I’ve got some interesting information for you. Why don’t you come over to my place?”
Twenty minutes later Gene picked up four breakfast burritos from the Hen House up on Twentieth Street, then drove over to Paul’s.
They emptied the sack of food on the kitchen counter, loaded up their plates, then stepped over to the small dining table. A laptop lay open on one side and Paul took the seat by it.
“Are you sure Lori Baker’s worth all this trouble? There are a lot of unattached ladies out there, bro.”
“She needs a little backup right now. She’s getting picked on by someone who doesn’t fight fair, and I’ve never had a lot of patience with bullies,” Gene said.
“Okay, let’s see what I can do for you.” He went into the next room, then came back with a small leather case. “Here. It’s a photo ID I made up for you. Take it. It may come in handy.”
“Grayhorse Investigations,” he said, opening it. “So I’m a consultant for your P.I. firm?”
“Anytime you decide to give up ranching, you can come work for me.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” he said.
Paul sat down by his computer and typed for a moment before looking up. “Harrington’s bad news when it comes to women. Last month the police broke up a fight between him and the very protective father of a twenty-year-old college cheerleader he kept hounding for a date. Though Harrington could have pressed for assault, he apparently wasn’t big on making it an issue, either.”
“He definitely sounds like the stalker type, but I drove by his house and it looks like he hasn’t been there for several days. His pickup hasn’t moved for at least that long. Of course it’s possible he has a car or another home here in town, or maybe a girlfriend.”
“Nothing I could find,” Paul said. “I’ll tell you what. Bring the ID I gave you and let’s go have a chat with his neighbors, see what else we can find out about him.”
Gene hesitated. “You shouldn’t be out in the field yet, not with that gimpy shoulder of yours. If we run into a problem…”
“You can handle it,” Paul said with a wide grin. “I’ll stand back and keep score.”
Gene choked on his coffee. “Like you could actually stay out of any street fight.”
“We’ll find out. Let’s go. You drive.”
Chapter Five
Lori went to work early the following morning, hoping that if Bud Harrington was around, he’d show up too late to follow her.
Her supervisor, Jerry Esteban, would probably be thrilled to see her come in early instead of right under the wire. Punching in the entry code on the keypad lock, Lori let herself into the building using the back door and went straight to the break room. Her best friend, Miranda Hoff, was already there, sitting at the table eating a glazed doughnut.
Seeing Lori, she smiled. “Busted. I came in early so I could eat my doughnuts in peace.”
Lori laughed. “Charlie’s still after you to stay on that health food diet?”
She patted her huge belly. “The baby will be here in six weeks, and since he knows how much I love junk food he’s watched over me like a hawk.” She made a face. “If I see one more fruit smoothie or those green health food shakes of his, I may scream and traumatize our offspring.”
Lori laughed.
“But why on earth are you here so early?” Miranda asked, eyes narrowed.
Lori filled her in, and then ended the story by telling her about Gene. “He really stood up for me when it mattered.”
“Are we talking the tall Indian man with the cowboy hat who was at your window late yesterday afternoon?”
“You noticed?”
“I’m pregnant, not dead,” she said with a sly smile. “It’s like I’ve always said, the bad things in life often lead to something good.”
“You’re the eternal optimist,” Lori said.
Miranda looked at the clock. “Time to get out there. I wanted to clean up my workstation before we open.”
Lori watched her friend walk away. She envied Miranda. Charlie adored her, and Miranda was crazy about him in return. Now they were expecting their first baby.
She wondered if she’d ever find the focused, purpose-driven life she craved. Time marched on, and with each day that came, her hopes seemed to vanish under the glare of the morning sun.
Lori walked out into the main office and saw Steve Farmer, her coworker, and Harvey Bishop, their security man, sipping cups of coffee and watching people already gathering by the entrance. In five minutes Harvey would be opening the doors.
A man in a cowboy hat was standing just outside, and Lori thought about Gene, wondering when she’d see him again. On impulse, she decided to call his cell and invite him out to lunch today. She wasn’t the kind to sit idly by a silent phone wishing and hoping. The direct approach was more her style.
GENE AND PAUL WALKED DOWN the sidewalk toward Gene’s truck after talking to the last resident on Harrington’s block. “You really should consider a career as a P.I., bro. People open up to you without even thinking about it,” Paul said.
“No, that wasn’t it. Harrington’s neighbors don’t like him very much, and they’re hoping someone will drive him out of town.”
As he slipped behind the wheel of his truck, Gene’s phone rang. He picked it up and smiled as he heard Lori’s voice. “Where and when?” he asked seconds later.
When he hung up, Gene noticed the odd way Paul was looking at him. “Let me guess,” Paul said. “That was Lori?”
“Yeah, she wants to meet for lunch. She’s buying.”
“You’ve got it bad, bro. I hate to break it to you, but you’re going down,” Paul said, shaking his head.
LORI DROVE TO SIMPLE Pleasures, looking forward to lunch with Gene at her favorite Hartley restaurant. Though it was across town, the drive was well worth it.
Realizing she was early, Lori asked to be seated at a booth by the front window. She could watch for Gene from there.
As she glanced up and down the street looking for Gene’s pickup, she spotted a maroon van parked on the south side of the restaurant.
The driver got out and Lori held her breath. He was wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses and a Scorpions windbreaker. Absolutely certain that it was Harrington again, she reached for her cell phone and called the police.
“Has he made any threatening moves or tried to approach you?” the dispatcher asked.
“No, Harrington’s just standing there by his van, probably waiting for me to come back outside.”
“Stay inside the restaurant. You should be safe there. We’ll have an officer on the scene in twenty minutes. If anything changes, call back immediately.”
Frustrated, Lori closed the phone and leaned closer to the window, trying to get a better look at the man outside. It had to be Bud Harrington, but she couldn’t figure out why he was doing this to her.
Trying to follow the dispatcher’s instructions, she fought the urge to go outside and confront him once and for all. Yet it was such a busy street. What could he possibly do to her out in the open?
She started to get out of her seat, then sat back down. She’d need to warn Gene to stay away. Afterward, she’d go. Lori reached for her cell phone, called and told Gene what was happening. “Don’t come over. I’ll buy you lunch some other time. I’ve already been in touch with the police and there might be trouble.”
“Is he still out there?”
“Yeah, and I’m going to go have it out with him. He’s not going to attack me right beside a crowded street and I’m tired of this nonsense.”
“Stay where you are. Busy street or not, you can’t be sure what he’s going to do,” Gene said. “What did the police say their response time would be?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“I’m less than five minutes away. Let me handle this. I can hold him there for the police.”
GENE HAD JUST BEEN ABOUT to leave Paul’s apartment when Lori’s call came
in. Placing the phone back in his jacket pocket, he gave his brother a quick update.
“Give me a chance to call my client and reschedule my morning meeting,” Paul said. “Then I’ll go with you.”
“It’s not necessary. If it’s the same guy I saw last night, I won’t have a problem.”
Paul, already on the phone, muttered a curse when he got put on hold. “All right, go. I’m going to need my own vehicle, so I’ll head your way in a few minutes.”
Gene ran to his pickup and drove away, mentally planning the quickest route to Simple Pleasures.
He made good time and all the lights, right up to the last intersection. When he stopped at the red light just down the block from Simple Pleasures, he saw the maroon van she’d described. A guy wearing a blue cap and a dark hooded sweatshirt with the Scorpions logo was leaning against the driver’s door.
The distinctive clatter of Gene’s big diesel engine made the man glance casually up the street. The second he spotted Gene’s truck the guy jumped into the van, and in a matter of seconds, the van had backed out of the slot and was on the move.
Pinned in by the cars ahead, beside and behind him, there was no way Gene could get through the intersection before the light changed.
Just then Paul called and Gene put the phone on speaker.
“He’s in the van now, heading toward the north end of the parking lot,” Gene said. “Where are you?”
“Coming up from behind,” Paul said. “I see you. I’ll go straight. You take the right turn and cut through the parking lot just in case he decides to turn east.”
“Gotcha.” Gene made a quick right, then a left into the front of the restaurant lot. Ahead, he could see the van cutting back left, right out into the street. Paul was now in the best position.
Gene had slowed for a stop sign when Lori suddenly rushed up and jumped onto the passenger-side running board.
“Let me in,” Lori shouted, tugging at the door handle.
He hit the button and the lock clicked open.
Lori jumped in, then scrambled for her shoulder belt.
“What is it with you and moving cars, woman? You’re an accident waiting to happen,” he snapped.
“Later. Let’s catch him before he gets away.”
Gene concentrated on his driving. He took the same route as the van, entered the next parallel street, then whipped left.
“I can’t see him anymore. There are too many cars,” Lori said, straining to see ahead.
“I’ve got him.” Paul’s voice came from the phone on the console. “He just passed through Ellison, still heading north. He’s in the center lane.”
“Great!” Lori said, looking down at the phone. “Gene, you didn’t tell me you were bringing backup.”
“No, Gene’s the backup,” Paul said over the speaker. “I’m the closest you’ve got to law enforcement here. You two are civilians, don’t forget that.”
Gene didn’t argue, focusing solely on closing the gap between him and Lori’s stalker and trying to beat the next light.
“Keep left, and I’ll take the right lane,” Paul said. “Whichever way he cuts, one of us will be in position to stay on his tail.”
“Done.” Gene raced along, sometimes throwing Lori back into the seat despite the shoulder harness and seat belt as he whipped around slower vehicles. Over the speaker, they could also hear Paul’s engine racing and tires squealing.
Gene could see the van now, as well as Paul’s Jeep. As he watched, Paul closed in.
The van ran a red light, barely missing a white utility truck. The utility truck driver, who’d spun the wheel trying to dodge a direct hit, came to a screeching stop. Gene had to stand on his brakes to keep from rear-ending a two-seater sedan not much bigger than a riding mower.
“Forget it. We’re screwed,” Paul said at last. “Traffic is snarled up here and I can’t get through.”
More vehicles entered the intersection on the cross street. All were forced to a screeching stop because the utility truck’s sudden maneuver had sent its ladder flying into the middle of the street.
“There goes Harrington,” Lori said, pointing. The van, now at the top of a low hill, disappeared to the east around a wide curve. “Can we turn right and cut him off?”
Gene looked over at her, then at the two full lanes of back-to-back vehicles on her side. “No way.”
“So he’s gone again,” she said softly, and leaned back in her seat.
“Paul, did you get a look at the plates?”
“I only got a partial, but I’m running the few numbers I’ve got against Harrington,” he said, then, after a beat, continued. “Looks like that plate might belong on his Ford pickup. Harrington doesn’t own a van.”
“Harrington had a blue pickup in his driveway,” Gene said. “But something doesn’t make sense here. Why would Harrington bother to switch the plates onto that van? The van didn’t point directly to him, but the plate does.”
“It doesn’t make any sense to me, either,” Paul said.
“I guess I might as well buy you lunch,” Lori said with a shaky smile. “You, too, Paul.”
“Not yet. We need to report this to the police. Let’s head over to the station. We’ll back up your statement, Lori,” Paul said.
“Afterward, we eat,” Lori said. “You guys have been terrific.”
“I’ll have to pass on that lunch invitation,” Paul said. “I’ve got to meet a client as soon as we’re done at the station.”
“Then it’ll be just you and me, Gene,” she said.
“Works for me,” he said, and smiled.
Chapter Six
They were seated inside a small office at the police station, preparing to sign their statements. Sergeant Chavez, waiting with them for the clerk to reappear, offered them coffee.
“Isn’t there any way you can arrest Harrington?” Lori asked, accepting the offered foam cup.
“Not on the basis of what you’ve given us,” Chavez said. “There weren’t any fingerprints on that screwdriver, either. Face it, Ms. Baker. You still haven’t been able to make a positive ID. One of our officers stopped by to interview Harrington, but no one was at home. We’ll keep trying.”
“It’s got to be him. He’s the only person I’ve had a problem with at the DMV. I grew up in this community, and I’ve lived a very quiet life. Most of the time if I’m not on the job, I’m working on my home. It’s a fixer-upper.”
“What about old boyfriends?” Paul said.
“I date on occasion, but not regularly. It’s been at least six months since I went out on a date,” she said. “That’s why I keep saying that it has to be Bud Harrington. His body type and clothing fit, too.”
“That’s not conclusive evidence, Ms. Baker,” Chavez said.
“But the absence of any other possibility—” she said.
“Is still not evidence,” Chavez said, finishing her thought. “We spoke to the suspect after your first complaint and you know how that came out. He claimed he was the injured party.”
Lori took a sip of the hot, bitter coffee, then stood and began to pace. “I’m not sure what else I can do. This isn’t going to just go away.”
“You need to seriously consider taking my advice. Get out of town for a while,” Chavez said. “Whoever’s after you is getting bolder, and that’s not a good sign.”
Just then a clerk came into the room and placed the typed statements before Sergeant Chavez.
Chavez handed them their statements. “Read them over carefully and then sign.”
When they were done, Chavez took the forms. “I’ll follow up on this and take it as far as I can,” he told Lori. “Just don’t expect miracles. You’ve given me very little evidence to go on.”
“There’s the question of how the license plate that belongs on Harrington’s pickup got on that van,” Paul said. “Is there any way you can stake out Harrington’s home?”
Chavez shook his head. “We don’t have the manpower right now. No one�
��s life is in immediate danger, so it’s not going to be given a high priority,” Chavez said. “I wish things were different, but they are what they are.”
As Paul, Gene and Lori left the building and walked out into the parking lot, Paul spoke. “I have to get on a flight to D.C. tonight and meet with my former boss. The Marshals Service has requested that I review some new evidence that’s turned up on my last case.”
“Do they have a lead on who ordered the hit on the federal judge?” Gene asked.
“I’m not sure. I wasn’t given any details on the phone. I’ll know more when I meet with my district marshal,” he said. “I’ll probably be gone for a day, maybe two, so try to stay out of trouble.”
“We’ll do our best to manage without you,” Gene said in a labored voice, then flashed Paul a teasing grin.
“Do me a favor. Just don’t do anything stupid,” Paul growled.
After Paul left, Gene and Lori walked out to Gene’s pickup. “Do you want me to drive you back to your car, or straight to work?” Gene asked.
“I asked for the afternoon off,” she said. “What I’d really like to do now is drive by Bud’s place.”
“Sure. I was going to take another pass by there again anyway. Maybe Harrington’s home now.”
“If he’s there, we can both talk to him.”
“No way,” Gene said.
“I can’t keep running from him forever, Gene. Better that I should face him when I’ve got someone beside me than run into him when I’m alone.”
For several long moments Gene considered what she’d said, then finally spoke after they’d climbed into his pickup. “Here’s my deal. I’ll take you there and stand by you if you decide you want to confront him—but if there’s trouble, I want you to run back to the truck, lock yourself in and call the cops.”
“I can’t just leave if you—”
“My way or no way,” he interrupted. “Your choice.” He placed the key in the ignition but didn’t start the engine.
She wanted to argue, but knew from the set of his jaw that his mind was made up. “Okay. I agree to your terms.”
