GUARDIAN ANGEL

by Jesse Jacobson

  "I just want you to let me out," she sobbed. "I'll find my own way home."

  "Sorry, girl," he said. "If it were that easy, I'd do it, but if I let you out here, you'd be dead within the hour. You have to trust me on this."

  Rainhorse made a sharp left turn.

  "I don’t understand,” she said, with growing urgency. “Why can't you just drop me off at the police station?" she asked.

  "Because if I did that, I'd be the one dead within the hour. I like you and all, but not enough to die for."

  "I don't get it," she said.

  "As soon as you tell them who you are, they'll pick up my trail with their street cameras. I wouldn't make it another ten miles."

  "Then drop me off a couple of miles away, where there are no cameras," she said. "I'll walk from there. I won't tell them what car you are in or anything about you. I swear."

  "I can't," he said.

  "Why?"

  "Here's our situation," Rainhorse began. "My boss, and the organizer of this whole affair, is a man named Barnabas Quince. He is a former Military Intelligence Officer, a very smart man gone very bad. He is well-funded and well-organized. He's been planning your kidnapping for a year. He’s planned for every contingency. He can’t let you live. He can even get to you in a police station. I know. The man has FIM-92 Stingers, AT-4’s and an entire arsenal of military-grade explosives. To save himself, he’d blow up the entire police station where you would be held. Hell, he could blow up a whole city block from the air. He’ll find you at any cost. If I drop you off, it would be the same as if I killed you myself."

  "Holy shit!" Lindsay exclaimed. “Won’t they just find me at my mother’s house and kill us all?”

  “No,” Rainhorse said, emphatically. “When we get you home, you’ll call the FBI and tell them everything. They’ll swoop in and offer you protection. You’ll be ok.”

  “Let’s call them now,” she insisted.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “What part of me telling you that I don’t want to be caught or killed, is not connecting with you? Look, you’ll be home safe within twenty-four hours.”

  “Maybe this Barnabas guy won’t find out anything’s wrong for a while,” she supposed.

  He looked at his watch, "Not likely. Within fifteen minutes from now I am supposed to meet a guy at a pickup point and exchange vehicles. When I don't show up, they'll call me. When I don't answer, they'll call my partner. When he doesn't answer they'll know something is wrong. That's when they'll come for us. When they come, they'll come—all guns blazing. Between now and then we have to get as far away as possible."

  “Won’t he realize you’re taking me home?”

  “Not right away. He’ll think I’m trying to collect the entire ransom myself.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, that’s the way he thinks.”

  "What are we going to do now?" she asked.

  "There's a small town up ahead, called Peotone," Rainhorse said. "We have to get out of this van. I'm going to switch cars..."

  "You mean steal one?"

  "Yes, I'm going to steal a car," he said.

  "Then what?"

  "Then I'm going to drive you home," he said.

  "All the way to Montana?"

  "Yes."

  "Then what will you do?"

  "I'm going to disappear."

  "Just like that?"

  "Just like that.”

  “I want to call my mom,” she said.

  “Can’t do it,” he replied. “Barnabas has the technology to triangulate cell signals. I left my phone back at the house, anyway. If I had brought it with me, he’d find us that way. He’s also monitoring your mother’s phone.”

  “He hacked my mom’s phone?”

  “I told you he was good.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Forty-five minutes later, Rainhorse pulled into the small town of Peotone. He drove slowly through town, looking in all directions.

  “What are you looking for?” Lindsay asked.

  “I’ll tell you when I see it,” he said. They drove slowly for another several minutes. “There,” he said, pointing.

  Lindsay looked at the large building, flanked by a parking lot.

  “D’Andrea Custom Cabinetry?” she said, confused. “You really want to build a kitchen right now?”

  “Nope. I want to steal a car.”

  “Why here?”

  “Because the employees will not get off until five o’clock.” He looked at his watch. “That’s going to give us five and a half hours before someone notices their car is missing. We’ll be long gone by then. We’ll start at the back end of the parking lot, as far from the building as possible.”

  “I like that one,” Lindsay said.

  Rainhorse shrugged, “A 2016 bright orange Dodge Challenger, huh? Good choice but we need something a little less… noticeable, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, yeah, I didn’t think about that,” she said. “How about that one?”

  Rainhorse looked. “That’s a green Prius. You’re getting better, but that one is a hybrid.”

  “Good on gas,” she said. “We won’t have to stop as much.”

  He nodded, “Good thinking, but what if we have to get away, really quick?”

  “Oh,” she said again. “The Prius is not so fast, is it?”

  “We would not be able to outrun a ten-speed bike in that thing,” he said. “Look to your right. It’s perfect.”

  Lindsay saw the SUV, “What is it?”

  “It’s a 2015 Ford Explorer,” he replied, “eight cylinders, lots of horses and plenty of pick up.”

  “It’s a Ford,” she said. “Haven’t you ever heard of Ford—‘Fix Or Repair Daily?’ If we’re going on a trip, can’t we go in a little more… style?”

  “Look, we’re not stealing a BMW or a Mercedes,” he said. “We’re stealing a Ford.”

  She sighed heavily, “I guess the good part is, the owner will probably not give a flying shit. At least it’s better than this rolling turd. Ok, let’s get this over with.”

  “You’ve got quite the potty mouth on you,” Rainhorse said. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

  She glared at him, “I don’t kiss my mother at all.”

  “It’s a good thing. You’d give her dysentery.”

  “You’re a funny man,” she mocked.

  Rainhorse pulled into the open space next to the Ford, then turned to Lindsay, “Ok, I don’t see any cameras or guards—that’s good news. This is going to go really fast. I’m going to hop out and jimmy the driver side door open. I will unlock the doors electronically, slip under the dash and hotwire the vehicle. After I leave, you’re going to count to twenty. You’re going to grab your travel case and carry it to the passenger side. Throw the bag in the back seat and slip into the passenger side as quickly and as quietly as you can. By the time you’re inside I should have the car started. You understand?”

  Lindsay was looking at him wide-eyed, “Jackson, I’ve never stolen a car before.”

  He nodded, “I know. I’m a bad influence. And my name is Rainhorse, not Jackson. Are you ready?”

  She nodded.

  He smiled, briefly, “Good. Let’s go.”

  Lindsey felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest as she grabbed her bag and made her way to the SUV. She caught a glimpse of Rainhorse as she opened the rear passenger side door to place her bag. He was stooped under the steering wheel trying to hotwire the car. She heard the sound of the engine turning over just as she sat and closed the passenger seat door.

  “Good girl,” Rainhorse said as he threw the car into gear, backing out. Within four minutes, the black Ford was cruising casually moving toward the end of Peotone’s city limits.

  “Oh my god,” Lindsay said, breathlessly. “I stole a car.”

  “Relax,” he said. “I did the stealing.”

  “But still, I’m an accomplice. Definitely an accomplice.”

>   “How does it feel to be a hardened criminal?” he asked.

  “To tell you the truth, it’s actually a little exhilarating,” she said. “What now?”

  “We start out for Montana,” he said. “The best I can tell, it’s about a twenty-hour drive. If I drive through the night, with stops for food and gas and other essentials, we can be there by late morning, tomorrow.”

  “What do you mean, other essentials?” she asked.

  “We’re going to have to switch cars again,” he said, “at least once.”

  Her eyes lit up, “Why?”

  “Because when the redneck who owns this rig sees that it's missing, he’ll report it. The cops will then put out an APB. I figure we can get a good five hours in before we have to worry, though, so sit back and relax—maybe take a nap.”

  “Do you know the way? You don't have a phone. How can you get there without GPS?"

  He used his right hand to reach into his back pocket. He pulled a folded map from it, "Old school technology," he said.

  "A paper map? I didn't know they even made those anymore."

  "We are going to stay off the main roads," he said. "Sooner or later Barnabas will figure out we are headed to Montana by car. When they do, they’ll check the main interstates first. We may lose a couple of hours taking the back roads but I think it will be much safer."

  "How will they find out?" she asked.

  "My guess is, someone will report the van we were in as abandoned," he replied. "If we get lucky, no one will notice it until tomorrow, but we need to proceed as though it will get reported at the same time this Ford gets reported as stolen."

  "And this Barnabas will find out?" she asked.

  "He has a long reach and many people on his payroll," Rainhorse said. "Yes, he'll find out."

  He turned north on Highway 52, moving north toward Joliet. For forty-five minutes, Lindsay stared out the window. Rainhorse remained quiet as well.

  "I prefer Jackson," Lindsay said, breaking the long silence.

  "What?"

  "Your name," she said. "I prefer Jackson to Rainhorse."

  "Suit yourself, girl," he said. "I don't care."

  "My name is Lindsay," she added.

  "I know that," he said. "I prefer 'girl.'"

  She gave him a foul look.

  "What do you do when you're not kidnapping teenage girls?" she asked.

  "You don't want to know," he replied.

  "I do want to know. That's why I asked."

  He looked at her and let out a breath, "It's none of your business."

  "Oh, come on," she pleaded. "I’m bored. We're bonding here. We stole a car together. It’s just like in the movies, you know, where the kidnapped victim begins to sympathize with her kidnappers, like Patti what’s-her-name."

  "Patti Hearst?"

  "Yeah, her."

  "You're nothing like Patti Hearst," he said.

  "Don't change the subject."

  He looked at her, flashing her a disapproving look. He sighed again.

  “You’re not going to like the answer.”

  “There’s nothing about this whole thing I like. What’s the difference?”

  "I'm a killer-for-hire," he said, flatly.

  Lindsay's eyes widened and she drew in a breath, loudly, "I knew it. I just knew it."

  "You did not know it," Rainhorse replied.

  "I did, I swear."

  "Ok, so now you know," he said.

  "Oh shit. Did they hire you to... you know... with me?"

  "No, they hired me to kidnap you," he said. "They didn't tell me until today what they really intended."

  "And you wouldn't do it?"

  "Of course not. That's why you're here, now."

  "You have, like a code, right? No women, no children… no dogs—that kind of thing."

  "No, there's no code," he said. "It's just... common sense."

  "Well, don't get mad but it seems like common sense would tell you that being a hit man at all is not a good idea."

  "Well, that's true," he said, "but the people I've... taken care of... were all scumbags, low-lifes, degenerates, sex-traders, murderers. I never felt bad about any of them. The world is a better place without them. Plus, you remind me of…”

  “How many people have you killed?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “I’ve never kept count.”

  “A dozen?”

  He shook his head.

  “Two dozen?”

  He used his index finger to point up, indicating higher.

  “A hundred?” she asked, incredulously.

  “I really don’t know. Let’s just go back to being quiet.”

  "Don't stop now," she said. “I cut you off. You started to say I reminded you of someone. Who?”

  "Two people, actually."

  "Really? Who?"

  He paused for a moment, thinking of how to answer. Finally, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Using one hand he unfolded the wallet and awkwardly fished out a photo. He handed it to Lindsay.

  She looked at the photo of young girl, near her own age, with long hair and a thin build. Unlike Lindsay, this girl had freckles but she instantly knew what Rainhorse was referring to. There was certainly a resemblance.

  "Your daughter?" Lindsay asked.

  Rainhorse nodded.

  “What’s her name?”

  “June. June Ann.”

  "How old is she?"

  "She was seventeen when that photo was taken," he said. "That was about ten years ago."

  "Where is she now?"

  He shook his head, "I don't know. I haven't seen her since the day that picture was made."

  "You haven't seen your own daughter in ten years?"

  "It wasn't exactly my choice," he said. "She found what I did for a living. Her mother wanted me out of June’s life."

  “How did she find out?”

  “I had a… a disagreement with someone who tried to hire me for a job. He tried to come after my family.”

  “Oh my god,” Lindsay exclaimed. “Did anyone get hurt?”

  “The man who came after my family got hurt, yes, in the worst way. But the experience rattled my wife. She wanted me gone.”

  "Can't blame her for that," Lindsay said.

  Rainhorse shot her a disapproving look.

  “So, you just left?” she continued.

  Rainhorse nodded, “In my line of work, it’s best to not have a family, or close friends… or anyone you care about. Those people only serve as targets for your enemies.”

  “So, you live your life alone? Isolated? It sounds lonely.”

  Rainhorse fell silent.

  "Did you ever try looking your daughter up? Writing to her?" Lindsay wondered.

  "No. She's better off without me."

  "How do you know someone else hasn’t found her? One of your enemies, I mean. Ten years is a long time."

  "No one knows she exists. I spent a lot of money to cover my past."

  “What about your boss, Barnabas? Does he know?”

  “Not even him. If he knew, he probably wouldn’t have asked me to do this job in the first place.”

  “Why did you take it, then?”

  “Money,” he said. “Your mom is worth a lot. Barnabas was going to ask for a lot. This was going to be my biggest payday ever.”

  “How much is he asking?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  Rainhorse shook his head.

  “So, you threw away all that money, and you have your boss trying to kill you?”

  He nodded.

  “You’re doing this all for me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I… I… I don’t know what to say,” she replied. “I owe you my life.”

  “Don’t get a big head, alright?”

  “How much money were you going to make? Tell me.”

  “None of your business. Look, let’s talk about something else.”

&n
bsp; “Who’s the other?” Lindsay asked.

  “What?”

  “The other person,” she clarified. “You said I reminded you of two people. One is your daughter. Who is the other?”

  “Oh, my wife… uh… ex-wife. June’s mother.”

  Lindsay twisted her face into a scowl, looking as though she had just tasted something bitter, “Ewww, I remind you of your wife?”

  “Yeah, you do.”

  “No, that’s not creepy or anything,” she snarked, making a fake gagging noise. “Gross, Jackson.”

  “I meant, you remind me of how she looked when she was close to your age, that’s all.”

  “Still,” she shook her head, “Yuk.”

  “I get it, but you asked. Relax, girl. The only interest I have in you is getting you home in one piece.”

  “You’re an asshole,” she said. “Now I’m gonna have that image in my head. She made a face and stuck her tongue out as if she was tasting something foul.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Look, it’s a long drive. Tell me a little about you.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. What are you studying?”

  Before Lindsay could answer she heard a crunching noise on the windshield. For a split second, she thought it was a noise made by the impact of a rock chip, but then she noticed a small circular hole in the windshield.

  Rainhorse grabbed his right arm. Lindsay’s mouth gaped open—her eyes widened.

  “Jackson,” she cried out. “You’ve been shot.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sam’s phone rang. He looked toward Vandy—she was asleep on the couch. He stood and quickly made his way into the next room.

  “Hank?” he answered.

  “This girl your looking for,” he began. “Any reason she might be on the road near Dubuque?”

  “Dubuque? Iowa? No. Hell no.”

  “Well, that’s where we pinged her phone,” Hank said. “Is it possible the phone was stolen?”

  “I guess that’s always a possibility,” Sam said, “but I think Lindsay would have enough good sense to call her mother and tell her that.”

  “She’s supposed to be flying to Bozeman, right?” Hank said. “When is she supposed to be in?”

  “She’s supposed to arrive about eleven-thirty tonight,” Sam replied.