by Sandra Brown
“Lilly, put down the—”
“Don’t move!” She thrust the pistol forward another inch when he took a hesitant step. “I know how to fire this, and I will.”
Her voice lacked enough steam to sound convincing. Because she was trapped without any hope of rescue with a man she now suspected of kidnapping five women, probably murdering them, and because she had missed two doses of medication, her breathing had become increasingly labored.
It didn’t escape his notice. “You’re in trouble.”
“No, you are.”
“You’ve started to wheeze.”
“I’m all right.”
“Not for long.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You said that becoming emotionally overwrought can bring on an attack. Fear will do that.”
“I’m the one with the pistol, why would I be afraid?”
“You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
She made a scoffing sound and willed herself to resist his piercing blue gaze. “Do you expect me to take your word for that?”
“I would not harm you. I swear it.”
“Sorry, Tierney. You’ll have to do better than that. What were you doing on the mountain yesterday?”
“I told you, I—”
“Don’t insult my intelligence. It was a lousy day for sightseeing. Who goes sightseeing on a mountaintop when an ice storm is forecast? Certainly not someone with your experience of the outdoors.”
“I admit it was careless.”
“Careless? You? Out of character. Try again.”
His lips formed a hard, thin line, reminding her that he resented his word being challenged. “The storm rolled in faster than I expected. My car wouldn’t start. I had no choice but to walk down.”
“That much I believe.”
“I was taking a shortcut to avoid the switchbacks on the road. I got lost—”
“Lost?” She pounced on the word. “You, with the sixth sense for direction, got lost?”
Trapped in the lie, he faltered, then tried another tack. “You’ve been caught up in the mania.”
“Mania?”
“Over the disappearances. Every woman in Cleary is afraid that she may be the next to vanish. It’s a communitywide preoccupation. You’ve been here for a week. The panic has rubbed off on you. You regard every man with suspicion.”
“Not every man, Tierney. Only one. The one who doesn’t have a logical explanation for wandering around in the woods during a blizzard. The one who knew the location and layout of my cabin without my telling him. The one who refused to open his backpack last night, for reasons which are now obvious.”
“I promise to explain all that,” he said tightly, “but not while you’re holding me at gunpoint.”
“You can explain it all to Dutch.”
The features of his face turned hard and pronounced, as though the skin had suddenly been stretched tightly over the bones.
She withdrew her cell phone from the pocket of her coat. It was still showing no service.
“You’re making a mistake, Lilly.”
The words and the low, measured tone in which he spoke them chilled her blood.
“To let your imagination run wild will be a costly error.”
She couldn’t listen, couldn’t be swayed. He had been lying to her ever since that first disarming smile on the bus. He’d only been playing a role, one that must have worked well for him before. Everything he had done and said was a lie. He was a lie.
“I beg you to give me the benefit of doubt.”
“All right, Tierney,” she said. “I’ll give you the benefit of doubt if you can explain these.”
Lying at her feet were the handcuffs she’d found in one of the backpack’s zippered compartments along with the pistol. She kicked them forward. They slid across the hardwood floor and came to rest against his stocking feet. He stared down at them for a long moment before raising his head and looking at her, his gaze implacable.
“That’s what I thought.” Keeping the pistol in her right hand, she used her left to punch in Dutch’s cell number. The phone was still dead as a stone, but she pretended that the call went through to his voice mail. “Dutch, I’m in grave danger from Tierney. Come soon.”
“You’re so wrong, Lilly.”
She slid the phone back into her coat pocket and gripped the pistol between both hands. “I don’t think so.”
“Listen to me. Please.”
“I’m through listening. Pick up the handcuffs.”
“How can you possibly think I’m Blue? Because of a pair of handcuffs and a ribbon?”
She’d heard Dutch refer to the unknown suspect as Blue. Hearing it fall so casually from Tierney’s lips caused her heart to thud against her ribs. But that wasn’t what struck terror in her.
It must have shown in her expression. “Come on, Lilly,” he said softly. “You can’t be surprised I know the cops’ nickname for the culprit. It’s a small town. Everyone in Cleary knows.”
“Not that,” she said, wheezing loudly. “I hadn’t even mentioned the ribbon.”
• • •
Special Agent Wise’s question was out of context, or so it seemed to Dutch. For a moment he was flummoxed. “Ben Tierney?” They’d been talking about his investigation into Millicent Gunn’s disappearance when, out of nowhere, Wise asked if he knew Ben Tierney.
He divided a puzzled look between Wise and Begley, but he might just as well have been looking into the eyes of two dolls. Theirs were that planar and opaque. “What’s Ben Tierney got to do with the price of tea in China?”
“Do you know him?” Wise asked.
“Face with a name, that’s it.” Then, suddenly, he was seized by a chill that had nothing to do with the outdoor temperature. He felt that unease he used to feel when entering a building where a suspect was believed to be holed up. You knew something bad was bound to go down, you just didn’t know what form it would take, or how bad it would be. You didn’t know what to be afraid of but knew enough to be afraid. “What about Ben Tierney?”
Wise looked down into his coffee and carefully balanced the spoon on the rim of the saucer.
His avoidance was more telling than anything he might have said. Dutch’s heart clenched. “Look, if he’s involved in this—”
“How well does your ex-wife know him?”
Dutch’s gaze swung to Begley, who’d fired the question at him. Blood rushed to his head. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“We understand that they’re acquainted.”
“Who led you to understand that?”
“How well are they acquainted? What’s the nature of their relationship?”
“There’s no relationship,” Dutch said angrily. “She met him once. Why?”
“Just curious. We’re checking out several angles to—”
Dutch banged his fist on the table hard enough to rattle cutlery and dishes. Wise’s spoon fell off the saucer and clattered onto the table. “Cut the bullshit and tell me what you know about this guy. You’re big, bad FBI agents, but I’m a cop, goddammit, and as such I’m entitled to your respect, as well as any information you have pertaining to my investigation. Now what about Ben Tierney?”
“Calm down,” Begley commanded. “And just so you know, I don’t condone foul language and taking the Lord’s name in vain. Don’t do it in my presence again.”
Dutch slid from the booth, reached for his coat and gloves, and put them on with jerky, angry motions. Then he leaned down and thrust his face close to Begley’s. “First of all, fuck you. Second, get this, you sanctimonious prick. If you’ve got an interest in Ben Tierney related to the disappearance of these women, I need to know it, because as we speak, my wife is marooned in our mountain cabin with him.”
For once they showed reactions, which ranged from surprise to a degree of alarm that caused Dutch to fall back a step. “Christ almighty. Are you telling me that Ben Tierney is Blue?”
Casting a cautious
glance toward the rapt group at the soda fountain, Wise said in an undertone, “We’ve recovered some circumstantial evidence that warrants further investigation.”
The agent was beating around the familiar bush Dutch himself had beaten around many times while he was a homicide detective. It was what you said when you knew a suspect was guilty as sin and needed only one scrap of hard evidence to nail his ass.
He pointed his finger at Begley. “I don’t need further investigation to know that the bastard spent the night with my wife last night. If he’s touched a single hair on her head, you’d better hope to God you get to him before I do.”
Turning his back on them, he strode to the lunch counter, grabbed Cal Hawkins by the collar, and plucked him off the bar stool. “Showtime.”
• • •
“If that motherfucker’s jealous temper blows my case, I’ll wring his frigging neck.”
This from the FBI agent who’d told Dutch less than sixty seconds ago that he didn’t condone foul language.
As he and the younger agent approached the soda fountain counter, their expressions were so resolute, their bearings so intimidating, Marilee felt like backing away from them. The older one barked, “Any of you know where he’s going?”
“Up the mountain to rescue Lilly.” Wes stood up and extended his right hand. “Wes Hamer, chairman of the city council, head coach of the high school football team.”
He shook hands with them in turn as they introduced themselves. Wes waved away the small leather wallets they proffered. “No IDs necessary. We know you’re legit. I’ve seen you around town a time or two,” he said to Wise. Motioning toward her and William, who were behind the counter, he said, “William Ritt, and his sister, Marilee Ritt.”
“Can I get you anything?” William asked. “More coffee? Some breakfast?”
“No thanks.” Marilee could tell that the one named Begley had grown impatient with the pleasantries. “I understood that Burton and his wife were divorced, that she even goes by Lilly Martin now.”
“He’s had a hard time accepting it,” William said.
“They lost a child, a daughter, a few years ago,” Wes explained. “People react differently to tragedies like that.”
Begley looked over at his partner as though instructing him to make mental notes. Marilee figured he already was.
“What do you know about her being marooned with Ben Tierney?” Begley asked. “Did they plan on meeting up there?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I seriously doubt it was a rendezvous.” Wes told them about the cabin previously belonging to the Burtons and its recent sale. “They were up there yesterday afternoon clearing out the last of their stuff. Dutch left for town ahead of her. Apparently on her way down the mountain road, there was some sort of accident involving Tierney. She left a cryptic message on Dutch’s cell phone, said that Tierney was hurt but that they were in the cabin, and asked that Dutch send help ASAP.”
“Hurt how?”
“She didn’t say, or how badly. There’s been no further communication. The cabin’s phone line had already been disconnected, and the cell service in these mountains is for shit—sorry, Mr. Begley. On good days our cell service around here is crummy at best. In bad weather, you can forget it.”
Wes took Begley’s silence as a signal to continue. “Dutch called on me last night to help him find Cal Hawkins. The guy he just hauled out of here? He has the town’s only sanding truck.” He recounted the aborted attempt to drive up the mountain road. “Finally even Dutch had to concede it was impossible. He’s damned and determined to try again this morning. That’s where he’s off to now.”
Wise said, “I don’t hold out much hope for success this morning either.”
“Try telling him that.”
“I’d like to get to that cabin myself,” Begley said, pulling on his overcoat. “Last thing we need is Burton charging up there half-cocked.”
“Do you really think Ben Tierney is Blue?”
“Where’d you hear that?” The look Begley fixed on William, who had ill-advisedly asked the question, would have halted a charging rhino. It stopped the storekeeper from stating the obvious, that he would have to be deaf not to have overheard their conversation with Dutch.
Nervously he wet his lips, saying instead, “It just makes a weird kind of sense.”
“Oh? How’s that, Mr. Ritt?”
“Well, everyone else in town is well known. Mr. Tierney is a stranger. We know very little about him.”
“What do you know about him?” Special Agent Wise asked.
“Only what I’ve observed whenever he comes into the store.”
“How often is that?”
“When he’s in town, he comes in frequently. He always . . .” William cast a wary glance around at his listeners. “It’s probably not important.”
“What, Mr. Ritt?” Impatiently Begley slapped his gloves against the palm of his other hand. “Let us decide if what you’ve observed is important or not.”
“Well, it’s just that, whenever he’s in the store, he attracts attention.”
“Attention?” Begley shot Wise another look. “From whom?”
“Women,” William replied simply. “He attracts them like a magnet.” Looking over at Wes, he added, “I’ve overheard you and Dutch and your friends talking about him. Someone called him a peacock.”
“Guilty,” Wes said, raising his right hand. “I think the guy knows that women swoon over that rugged outdoorsy type.”
All eyes turned toward Marilee, who felt herself go rosy with embarrassment. “I’ve only seen Mr. Tierney on a few occasions, but I’ve read some of his articles. They’re quite good, actually, if you’re interested in that kind of thing.”
Apparently Begley wasn’t. He turned back to William. “Does he ever engage women in conversation?”
“All the time.”
“What do they talk about?”
“I don’t make a practice of eavesdropping on my customers.”
All evidence to the contrary, Marilee thought. He’d just admitted that he listened in on Wes and Dutch’s conversation.
Begley looked skeptical of William’s claim, too, but he let it pass without comment. “What does Tierney buy when he comes in? If you can tell me without it violating professional privilege,” he added, tongue in cheek.
William actually smiled at him. “Not at all, since he’s never had a prescription filled. He buys lip balm, sunscreen, toothpaste, disposable razors. Nothing out of the ordinary, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It is.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. The only curious thing is that he usually makes only one purchase at a time. One day it’s Band-Aids, the next it’s a tin of Advil, the next a paperback book.”
“Like he’s creating reasons to come in here?” Begley probed.
“Now that I think on it, yes. And it seems that he’s always in the store when I’m swamped with customers. Mid to late afternoon. A lot of people stop here before going home.”
“Millicent Gunn?”
“Sure. A lot of the high school kids come to the soda fountain after school. As long as they behave themselves, I let them—”
“Have Ben Tierney and Millicent Gunn ever been in the store at the same time?”
William was about to answer when the importance of the question registered with him and his lips snapped shut. He looked at each of them in turn, then seemed to wilt as he slowly nodded his head. “Week before last. Only a couple of days before she disappeared.”
“Did they talk?” Wise asked.
William gave another nod.
Begley turned to Wes. “Where do we find this sanding truck?”
“If you want to follow me, I’ll take you.”
Begley didn’t wait for Wes to lead the way. Turning, he strode swiftly toward the door, pulling on his gloves as he went.
“Is he always that abrupt?” William asked Wise, who was wading through his layers of clothing to get t
o his wallet.
“No. He was up all night, so his reactions this morning are a little slower than usual. What do we owe you?”
William motioned for him to keep his money. “On the house.”
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Wise nodded at William, tipped an imaginary hat to Marilee, then left to join Begley.
Wes was about to follow when she called him back and passed him the pair of leather gloves he’d left lying on the counter. “You’ll need these.”
He took them from her and playfully tapped the end of her nose with them. “Thanks. See y’all later.”
As she watched Wes leave, Marilee caught William’s knowing smirk reflected in the mirror. She ignored it, saying, “I guess no one wanted breakfast after all.”
“I’m going to fry a couple of eggs.” He turned on the griddle. “Would you like some?”
“No thanks. You shouldn’t have mentioned Blue.”
“What?”
“The code name. I’m sure you noticed Begley’s reaction. No one outside the authorities is supposed to know about the blue ribbon. You told me. Wes had told you. Who told Wes?”
William dropped a pat of butter onto the griddle, and it began to sizzle as it melted. “He got it straight from the horse’s mouth.”
“Dutch?”
“Of course Dutch.”
“He’s the chief of police,” she exclaimed. “He should know better than to tell Wes about evidence that’s supposed to be a secret.”
“They’re best friends. Bosom buddies.” He cracked two eggs onto the griddle. “They don’t keep secrets from each other. Besides, what’s the harm?”
“It could jeopardize his investigation.”
“I fail to see how.”
“If you and I know, how many other people know?”
He reached for the saltshaker and shook it over his eggs. “What difference does it make now that they’ve identified Blue?”
“None, I suppose.”
“However,” he said, flipping the eggs, “there’s a good lesson to be learned, Marilee.”
“What’s that?”
“Nobody in this town can keep a secret.” He smiled at her, but she had an uneasy sense that it wasn’t as benign a smile as he pretended.
