Jack Frost

by Diane Capri

  He paused and checked each window on the side of the house again.

  Nothing had changed.

  Keegan took a deep breath and ran across the broad driveway to the side of the house. He flattened his back against the peeling paint, breathing heavily with tension.

  He waited a bit.

  No one called out or tried to shoot at him.

  “So far, so good,” he murmured again.

  He hurried along the side of the house, crouched low, his back close to the building.

  The sun was well above the horizon now. Even with the early morning shadows, his line of sight improved when he’d changed positions.

  Two minutes later, he made it to the back corner of the farmhouse. He took another deep breath before he turtled out and scanned the backyard.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Saturday, May 14

  Near Bolton, South Dakota

  7:05 a.m.

  The garage door was closed. No windows on this side. He couldn’t tell whether a vehicle was parked inside or not.

  Opposite the closed garage, beyond a dilapidated wooden porch, an old man was crumpled on the ground. A woman and a teenager were bent over, trying to get him up.

  The woman said, “Dad, we can’t lift you. You have to help us. Can you stand up?”

  The boy tried to leverage a firm grip under the old man’s right arm. “Come on, Grandpa. We just need to get inside where it’s warmer. Your eggs are getting cold. You know how you hate cold eggs.”

  He’d heard gunshots from the house, but none of these three had visible bullet wounds. The woman was dressed in pajamas, and so was the boy. The old man had been badly battered. Dried blood had soaked his clothes, and one of his ankles bent oddly.

  He managed to shift his weight. The other two, daughter and grandson, lifted him upright. They stood together in an awkward dance, attempting to steady the old man on shaky legs.

  While all of their hands were occupied, Keegan tucked his gun into his belt at the small of his back and pulled his jacket down to cover it. He came around the side of the house.

  “Oh, my gosh,” he said as if he was surprised by the scene. “Can I help you?”

  The woman looked up wildly, and the boy’s eyes rounded like he’d seen a monster. Both were clearly terrified and barely holding it together.

  “Who are you?” the woman screeched at decibels too loud for human ears.

  He gestured toward the road as if she wouldn’t know where it was. “I heard gunshots. I thought you might need help.”

  He moved closer and she said, “Stop. Don’t come another step. Who are you?”

  Keegan recalled the name on the driver’s license in his pocket. He put a friendly smile on his face.

  “My name is Judd. Thomas Judd. We had car trouble and had to park off the road. About a mile back. My friend is hurt. I was walking to the village when I heard the shots. I thought somebody might need help.” The explanation sounded easy and plausible to his own ears.

  The woman didn’t seem persuaded. “Got any ID?”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, reaching for the wallet. He opened it to the plastic window covering the forged driver’s license and held it out for her to see.

  “Where did you come from?” she asked.

  “I don’t blame you for being cautious.” He tilted his head vaguely southward and gave his words a friendly tone. “We passed through a checkpoint a few miles back. The officer said something about a prison break yesterday. They’re apparently checking all the vehicles for escaped inmates. Just a precaution, I guess. He said they’d already recaptured most of them.”

  The explanation seemed to calm them a bit. They might have demanded more proof, but they were probably too concerned about the old man’s situation. Whatever it was.

  “Why didn’t you just call for a tow truck?” the boy said.

  “We tried. No cell service out there for our carrier, I guess.”

  The boy nodded, relaxing a bit more. “Yeah, that’s a pain. Happens to me all the time.”

  “What’s wrong with your friend?” the woman asked, not quite ready to give up her suspicions.

  “Rattlesnake bite. He got out of the car to, uh, urinate and didn’t see the nest,” Keegan said.

  She seemed mildly satisfied or simply just too wrung out to object any further. She handed the wallet back. “Your friend needs antivenom. Soon.”

  “Antivenom?” Keegan replied.

  The boy said, “If he doesn’t get it, he could die.”

  “Right. I’d better get going, then. How much farther is it to the village?” He thought she might offer to drive him. No such luck. She said nothing.

  “Couple of miles,” the boy replied.

  Keegan looked at the old man. He must’ve been out here for a while because his lips had started to turn blue. Breathing was rapid and shallow. His skin looked cold and clammy, too. Which could have been the frigid weather. But he was probably in shock.

  “Is this your dad? Can I help you take him inside?” Keegan said, gesturing toward the back entrance. He smelled burnt bacon wafting through the screen door.

  The woman and the boy exchanged glances. Something passed between them that Keegan could not decipher.

  They needed a firm nudge to trust him even a little. That much was clear. Briefly, he wondered what the precise problem was. He wouldn’t find the answer out here.

  For half a moment, he considered killing all three of them here and now. With them out of the way, he could locate the keys to the truck or the station wagon or whatever vehicle was in the garage. Solve the problem and move on.

  But how?

  Until this moment, driving was a skill he had never once wished he’d learned.

  Now was not the time to figure it out.

  Too much at stake.

  He and Walsh had to put as much distance between them and the prison as possible. Quickly. He’d lied about passing through a checkpoint, but it was likely there were checkpoints along the roads after the cops had had time to organize and get more personnel on the scene.

  He needed a vehicle and a driver. And someone who knew the area would be helpful, too.

  The old man’s injuries prevented him from driving, and the kid was too young. Which would make him unreliable. Uncontrollable, too, probably. He’d made that mistake with the hacker.

  Which left the woman. No other options if he wanted to get where he was going. Which he did.

  He’d try charm and gentle persuasion first.

  Keegan took a deep breath and swiped a palm over his face.

  “I’ve had a few first aid classes,” he said. “I think your dad is going into shock. We need to get him warm and see about that leg and his other injuries. Please let me help you.”

  The boy said, “Come on, Mom. We can’t do this alone. We don’t want Grandpa to die out here, do we?”

  The woman still seemed unsure. But she was smart enough to know that she had no real options. She didn’t want her father to die. She shrugged.

  He nodded and approached the old man.

  Keegan tried to lift him, but the scrawny old dude was heavier than his bony frame suggested.

  The boy and the woman joined Keegan’s effort. They managed to lift the old guy enough that he could hop on his one good leg.

  Awkwardly, they made it up the stairs and into the welcoming kitchen. They seated him at the old-fashioned table. The boy went to the stove and moved the burnt bacon off the burner while the woman rummaged for a first aid kit. Keegan checked the freezer for an ice pack. He found a bag of frozen peas.

  Keegan looked the old man over. Then he knelt beside him and laid the peas on the rapidly swelling ankle. The old guy cried out with pain.

  Keegan removed the man’s flimsy slipper and said, “How about that first aid kit?”

  She brought the kit at the same time the kid brought two steaming cups of black coffee. Then she washed her dad’s face with a warm cloth and tried to clean the blood off
his wounds.

  Keegan had no idea what to do with the ankle. But it was already swollen. Every time he touched it, the old man whimpered.

  “He’s going to need a doctor,” Keegan said. “Feels like it could be a bad sprain. But it might be broken.”

  “Hospitals and clinics down in Bolton,” the kid replied. “We got one doc in Newton Hills, but he ain’t worth much, and Grandpa hates him. Might be able to help with the antivenom, though. Snakebites are pretty common around here. Just need to get the right antivenom. If you don’t still have the snake, he might need a blood test.”

  “No!” The old man groaned and shook his head wildly when the Newton Hills doctor was mentioned.

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry.” Keegan nodded and patted the old guy’s shoulder.

  Nobody was driving to Bolton while the place was still crawling with law enforcement. No chance in hell Keegan was giving up the truck or station wagon or whatever it was out in the garage, either.

  He was in over his head here. All he wanted was a vehicle and a driver. To collect Walsh and get the antivenom and get on their way.

  The rest of whatever was going on here was none of his concern.

  “You got a sofa or a bed close by? We need to get that leg elevated,” Keegan said.

  The woman tilted her head toward her right shoulder. “In the living room. This way.”

  “How about a chair or something with wheels, so we don’t risk making matters worse trying to move him?”

  The boy and the woman exchanged glances for a long minute. Then the boy said, “Yeah. It’s upstairs. I’ll get it.”

  When he’d gone, the woman picked up the hot coffee and stood to stretch her back. “Once we get my dad comfortable, how about we take the truck to pick up your friend and get him to the doc in Newton? Dad doesn’t like old Dr. Warner at all, but he’s not a bad guy. He’ll be able to administer the correct antivenom. And I can drop you at the gas station. They’ll have a tow truck and solve the problem with your SUV.”

  Keegan nodded and smiled as friendly as he could manage. “I’d appreciate that. What will you do about your dad’s ankle?”

  “He’s just upset now. Stubborn. There’s no dealing with him when he’s like this. He’s okay, though. A bad fall off the porch is all. After a while, I’ll persuade him to go to the clinic,” she grabbed a handful of unruly hair and pulled it back to the nape of her neck. “He’s not senile or anything. He’s just afraid. We took my mom to Bolton Hospital after a fall, and she never came home again.”

  “I see. Well, who wouldn’t be frightened by that? And yes, I’d be very appreciative if you’d help us.” Keegan nodded and drank the coffee, just to be sociable. “What’s your name, anyway? You never said.”

  “Sorry.” She wiped her palm on her robe and held her hand out to shake. “Fern Olson. This is my dad, Karl. And my son is Noah.”

  Keegan nearly spit out his coffee. He coughed a few times to clear his throat and cover his reaction.

  Fern Olson. He’d never met the woman before, but he knew who she was. The jailhouse lawyer. Handled work for a lot of the guys, including his cellmate, Denny.

  Which had turned out well over the years. Whenever Keegan needed intel passed along, he could count on Denny and Olson to do the job unwittingly. Denny had the IQ of a gnat. But Olson should have known better. Lucky for Keegan that she never seemed to catch on.

  She’d had a few Friday afternoon meetings with Walsh, too.

  Which could be a problem once they reached the Land Rover and she recognized him.

  Fern Olson had been an unwitting tool. Still, she knew too much. He could kill her any time now.

  Life’s little ironies, as his dad used to say. He shook his head, hiding a smirk.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Saturday, May 14

  Near Bolton, South Dakota

  7:45 a.m.

  The kid came back with the office chair. They lifted the old man into the seat and wheeled him into the other room. He settled on the sofa, with pillows to elevate his leg. By the time all that was accomplished, the old man was exhausted. He closed his eyes and began snoring softly.

  Olson covered him with a blanket and stood over him for a few moments. She was worried, but she didn’t get emotional. Keegan was glad to see that she was a practical woman.

  “I’ll just throw on your clothes and then we’ll go,” Olson said, on her way toward the stairs. She gave the kid a look. “You stay here with Grandpa.”

  “No problem.” Noah turned to Keegan, “Want more coffee?”

  “Yeah.” He followed the kid back to the kitchen, staying alert.

  Something had definitely happened here earlier.

  The source of the gunshots had never been explained, and he hadn’t asked. He didn’t care. His goal was to get on his way without further trouble. The rest of Olson’s situation was not relevant.

  He watched Noah as the kid refilled the mug. He was too polite. Too helpful. When was the last time a normal teenaged boy behaved like that? Never, in Keegan’s experience. He had kids. He knew what a pain in the ass they could be at Noah’s age.

  His gut said there was more going on here than an old man falling off the porch. Could have been a domestic dispute. Maybe gramps and the kid had a fight and the kid pushed gramps a little too hard. Maybe the kid was feeling guilty.

  Or maybe Olson did it. Maybe gramps was abusive. Maybe one of them was abusing gramps.

  Hell, it could have been almost anything. Too many variables. No way to guess, even if he wanted to know. Which he didn’t.

  But he did want to get Olson into the driver’s seat and get on the road. Fast.

  The easiest way to do that was to ignore the rest unless he had to deal with it. Which he would. Swiftly and permanently.

  Might make sense to get a little more info.

  “Anybody else here with you guys?” Keegan asked.

  Noah’s eyes widened and he sucked in a quick breath as he shook his head a little too hard. “Just the three of us.”

  Uh huh. “Where’s your dad?”

  “He lives in Bolton. Mom and I moved here after the divorce. Grandpa needed the help. We needed a place to sleep,” Noah said with a shrug.

  Keegan watched the kid. He’d interrogated plenty of guys back in Boston. Thieves, druggies, thugs. All ages. He could tell when he was being lied to. Like right now. Definitely something going on that young Noah didn’t want to talk about.

  “You seen any of those escaped prisoners up here, Noah?” Keegan asked.

  “N-no. B-but I’m worried about it. W-who wouldn’t be?” Noah shook his head again, harder, faster.

  Keegan’s instinct pinged. Bingo. “He told you not to tell, is that it?”

  “N-no. I swear. I haven’t talked to anybody. Just Mom and Grandpa. That’s all.” He was emphatic about it.

  Could have been true. Or not.

  The kid was a good liar. Most kids his age were. They had a lot of practice.

  “Is someone else here, Noah? In the house?”

  Noah shook his head wildly.

  “In the garage?”

  “No, I said!”

  Keegan decided to let it go. If he had to guess, whoever the dude was, he’d likely been the recipient of those gunshots anyway. Gave him a new appreciation for Olson. Or maybe the kid or the grandpa.

  “Because I’d help you deal with him if he was here. You know that, right?”

  Noah nodded and faced the coffee pot, desperate to end the conversation.

  Olson returned wearing a jacket that seemed to be hanging a little lower on the left, due to something in the pocket, and carrying the keys.

  “I’ll be gone about an hour, Noah,” She gave him a kiss on the head and patted his shoulder. “Grandpa should sleep until I get back. Keep the doors locked and stay inside, okay?”

  Noah turned toward her and nodded. Another meaningful glance passed between them before she headed out the door.

  Definitely
hiding something. Keegan considered searching the house. He glanced at the clock. He’d spent too much time here already.

  “Goodbye, Noah,” he said as he left.

  He followed Olson across the brown grass to the garage. She punched the code into a keypad, and the big door rolled open.

  Parked in the middle of the concrete pad was a beat-up pickup truck. A Ford 150, according to the insignia on the side. The rusty beater had seen better days. But Keegan’s instincts had been spot-on. There was no way he’d have been able to drive this beast.

  “Sorry it’s not a better ride. It’ll bounce us all to hell, too. Dad’s had this old truck since Methuselah was a pup,” she said with a weak smile. “Rusty but trusty, he calls it. I guess the best we can say for it is that it beats walking.”

  “Absolutely,” Keegan replied with a nod.

  They climbed inside and she started it up. It was a diesel, and it made quite a racket as the pulsing engine got itself running.

  “Gotta let ’er warm up,” Olson said. The exhaust filled the garage and smelled to high heaven.

  After a few minutes, she pushed in the clutch and put the transmission into reverse. She backed the truck onto the gravel driveway, where she made a three-point turn and rolled slowly down the long distance to the road.

  Keegan said, “Turn left here. We’re down about a mile or so on the right.”

  “Will do,” Olson replied, applying considerable effort to turning the big stiff steering wheel. “The damned thing has almost no power anything anymore. You’ve gotta eat your spinach if you want to drive this beast.”

  The old truck bounced along the road as if shock absorbers and springs in the bench seat were a distant memory. Between the effort of driving and the diesel’s noise, they made no further attempt to chat.

  He scanned the area repeatedly, alert for every possible danger, looking for the point where the Land Rover went off the road. It had traveled some distance before it came to a stop, hidden in the bushes.

  Keegan wasn’t sure exactly how to find it. The sun was high enough in the sky to throw off a bright reflection, which would be catastrophic if someone found the Land Rover before he did.