Seeing Red

by Sandra Brown

  “He doesn’t.”

  “You hope.”

  Thomas frowned with annoyance. “No one takes him seriously.”

  “Kerra Bailey might.”

  “She won’t. All Trapper has are his wild speculations.”

  “And pretty blue eyes.”

  “Ms. Bailey is ambitious. She’s smart. She won’t risk her career breaking a story, especially one of this magnitude, on a pair of blue eyes. She would insist on seeing proof. None exists.”

  “All that noise Trapper made three years ago—”

  “He was spinning his wheels, and got nowhere.”

  Jenks settled back on his heels. “That’s what I came to hear, and I’m glad of it. Otherwise, things might’ve got…messy.”

  “Haven’t we had enough messiness this week?”

  Jenks ignored that. “So, you don’t see Trapper as a serious threat.”

  “Not at all. You can comfortably convey that message.”

  “I wouldn’t say comfortably.”

  “What would you say?”

  “I’d say it’s Trapper we’re talking about. At the very least, he stirs things up and makes people nervous.”

  “I’m not in the least bit nervous. Nor should anyone else be, or they risk doing something foolish.” Thomas stood and motioned toward the door. “You can convey that message, too.”

  Chapter 16

  Trapper growled into his phone, “I’m going to kill you, Carson.” He clicked off and immediately punched in a number on his speed dial. With his free hand, he turned on the truck engine.

  “Did he say stolen?” Kerra asked.

  “That’s what he said.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Turn myself in.” As he said that, a voice barked his name through the phone loud enough for Kerra to hear.

  “Listen, Glenn,” Trapper said, interrupting the sheriff’s tirade. “Call off your hounds. Swear to God I didn’t know about this souped-up truck.”

  “Souped-up truck? What souped-up truck?”

  “Oh. Never mind.”

  “I’m calling about Kerra. Is she with you?”

  “You’re breaking up, Glenn. Say again? Shit! Are you still there? I can’t hear you.” Although he could, because Kerra could. The sheriff was shouting epithets and demanding that Trapper explain himself.

  Trapper let him rant while he switched back and forth between drive and reverse, trying to gain enough purchase to get the SUV out of the ditch and up onto the roadway. Finally the vehicle gave a lurch up the incline and skidded onto the icy pavement. Trapper spun the wheel sharply to the right, heading them in the direction they’d been going before they’d spun out of control.

  Trapper shouted into his phone, “Glenn? Glenn? Can you hear me? Damn!” Then to Kerra’s astonishment, he lowered the driver’s window and pitched the phone overhand out into the blizzard. As he raised the window, he accelerated. The SUV fishtailed, but he brought it under control, and they sped forward into utter darkness.

  Clumsily, Kerra fastened her seat belt. “You forgot to turn on the headlights.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “Can you see where you’re going?”

  “No, but neither can they.”

  She turned to look out the rear window. Lights flashed in tri-color blurs through the mist and precipitation, but Trapper was rapidly increasing the distance between them and their pursuers.

  She said, “Do you mind explaining why you’re doing this?”

  “Remember when I told you that you could get lost out here if you knew where you were going?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m testing that theory. Glenn’s department will have been tracking my phone. The guys after us will find it in a minute or two, get out to investigate, and by the time they remove their thumbs from up their asses, we’ll be several miles away. Hard to find us in this,” he said with a gesture toward the weather.

  “Tire tracks.”

  “They’re a worry, but I don’t have a choice.”

  “The choice is to stop. Go back.”

  “Not a good choice.”

  “You’re fleeing the police, Trapper. In a stolen truck.”

  “I didn’t steal it.”

  “But it’s stolen property.”

  “I doubt they’ll quibble over that.”

  “In light of kidnapping, probably not.”

  “I didn’t kidnap you.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “We’re adults. We left together. Simple as that.”

  The truck swerved when he made a left turn. She grabbed the handhold above the window. “It’s not at all simple, Trapper.”

  “It’s believable. We were only one door-knock away from getting nekkid, and Glenn knows it. He thinks my intentions are impure. His son, Hank, told me he’s worried because any involvement with me would be the worst thing that could happen to you.”

  “I tend to agree.”

  “Only because you haven’t been nekkid with me yet.”

  “Trapper, this is serious.”

  He dropped his crocodile grin. “I know.”

  Taking his foot off the accelerator, he slowed down gradually until the vehicle rolled to a stop. He pushed the gear into park and turned to her. “Say the word and I’ll take you back to town. No argument. You can tell them the tension of the past couple days caught up with us and we needed a breath of fresh air, or that we were so relieved over The Major’s improvement, we went for a joyride. Tell them I dragged you off by the hair, but you talked me out of ravishing you. Whatever you tell them, I’ll back you up. Carson will confirm that I didn’t know I was driving a stolen vehicle.”

  She thought it over and asked, “Then what?”

  He raised his shoulder in a semi-shrug. “The dust settles, you do your scheduled interview tomorrow evening. You wait and see what happens.”

  “I don’t believe anyone is going to make an attempt on my life while I’m on live national television.”

  “Me either. But what about next week? Two weeks from now? A month? Are you willing to live with that ongoing threat?”

  “The Major has.”

  “He was oblivious to it until I made him aware. Then he accused me of being addled by envy. He pooh-poohed the notion, leaving me the one who’s had to live with the dread of somebody capping him, and, believe me, living in constant fear of impending peril sucks. It makes you drink too much, work too little, trash friendships, fuck anything, and crack cynical jokes, all in order to get through just one more day. You don’t want to become like me, do you?”

  She bent her head down and rubbed her temple.

  He put his hand on her knee. “Sorry about the wild ride. Are you dizzy?”

  “No.”

  “Does your head hurt?”

  “Only when I think this hard.”

  “Then stop thinking. Tell me to carry on.”

  She raised her head and looked at him. “Carry on? Carry on with this escapade in a stolen SUV? People call Clyde the psychopath, but in my opinion, it was Bonnie who was crazy.”

  “Do you want the story behind the bombing or not?”

  “Of course I want the story. But this…” She raised her hands helplessly. “This…is insane.”

  It wasn’t that she doubted his conviction or the feasibility of his theory. But she had lived a structured, planned life. Each step had been charted. The single timetable not devised by her had been that of her father’s death. Only that had been left to fate—her father’s, not hers.

  Kerra Bailey set goals and stuck to the program to achieve them. She didn’t go chasing off into the night with a man of dubious reputation, who acted on impulse, whom she knew to be a trickster and liar, whom she’d met barely a week ago when he’d been too hung over to stand upright.

  So just what the hell was she doing here? “I could get the story without becoming a fugitive in the process.”

  “You could. Possibly. With or without me, you’ll be
come more famous than you already are.”

  “Does that gall you? That I’ll get credit for research you’ve done?”

  “No,” he said, peeved. “I was just thinking that it’s too bad your mother isn’t alive to bask in your success.”

  She recoiled. “That was a heartless thing to say.”

  “Damn straight, it was, Kerra,” he said with anger. “Even more heartless is the bastard behind her murder. Don’t you want to see him held accountable? The three you know as the Pegasus bombers were errand boys. They were sent to do the dirty work of a man who conspired to kill your mother and one hundred ninety-six others. And I’m certain he sent those two to kill The Major on Sunday night.”

  “They could have been burglars who overreacted when he went to the door.”

  “They were puppets. Dispensable, and, since they failed, probably already dispensed with.”

  “You’re guessing, Trapper. You don’t know. Maybe they were vagrants. Two…two…addicts looking for drug money. Or…”

  She searched but couldn’t think of a plausible alternative to his explanation, and, in her heart, knew the men on the other side of that door hadn’t been wanderers or crackheads. Trapper was watching her as though following her thoughts. “You truly believe I was a pop-up that the individual behind the Pegasus bombing didn’t expect.”

  “Yes, Kerra. If you were any ol’ reporter who’d finally coaxed an interview out of The Major, we wouldn’t be here having this conversation. But you were inside the Pegasus Hotel when it was bombed.”

  “I was a child.”

  “Not anymore. You’re a smart, savvy woman who has a great big spotlight shining on her. As long as you’re alive, you represent a threat.”

  “Who is the puppeteer?”

  “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Is he aware of your suspicion?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Then the threat to you is as real as it is to me and The Major. Even greater because you were a federal officer.”

  “Who blew it. I might have spooked him three years ago when I started digging, but nothing came of it except me getting fired. I went into a downward spiral and hit rock bottom. Even my own father has wanted nothing to do with me. I’m a joke. A burnout. This guy isn’t scared of me. At least he hasn’t been.”

  Suddenly, she understood why he had referred to her as bait. “But now you have me.”

  “Now I have you,” he said solemnly. “You plus me equals double jeopardy for him. When he learns that you and I are together, he’ll make a move. I’ll be waiting.”

  “To do what?”

  He was about to answer, hedged, and said, “Understand this, Kerra. If you stick with me, you’re taking a huge risk. But we’ve already concluded that your life has been at risk ever since you came out as the little girl in the picture. Sunday night was an indication that he is not fooling around. He’ll go to great lengths to shut you up, and he has the resources to act with the speed of light.”

  “You’re trying to frighten me.”

  “I am, yeah. If I’m wrong, you can still be laughing at me in your old age. But I believe you’re on borrowed time.”

  “If I’m in that much danger, we should go to the FBI, Homeland Security, the—”

  “I tried that, remember? They’ll say that the Pegasus bombers are dead, that the case was closed twenty-five years ago, that Sunday night had nothing to do with it. They’ll venture that a pair of whack-jobs wanted to make a name for themselves by gunning down a hero. Or they were a duo of anti-Americans who hated what The Major represented. Or animal rights activists who opposed seeing the hunting trophies on his walls. Something like that.

  “You start linking Sunday night’s boys to a mastermind who got away with blowing up the Pegasus, and they’ll start snickering behind their hands. I know. Been there.” He gave her a hard look. “Maybe you think I’m the whack-job.”

  “No. But I wish you’d share more with me. Tell me the basis of your theory.”

  “Not until I know where you stand.”

  “What is Thomas Wilcox’s connection? Why does his name keep cropping up?” He just looked at her, and when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to answer, she said, “Not until you know where I stand.”

  “Right. And your time to decide just ran out. Do I drive back to town and drop you at the motel?”

  “As opposed to what?”

  “I make some arrangements for tonight. Tomorrow I start sharing more.”

  She didn’t think he was crazy. Undisciplined and unpredictable, yes. But not insane. However, she might very well be, because she heard herself saying, “All right, Trapper. I’ll be your bait. On one condition.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Actually two conditions.”

  “The first?”

  “If at any point along the way you ask me to do something illegal, I’m out.”

  “Agreed. But I have a condition, too. Starting now, everything said or done is off the record. You don’t go public with anything till I give you the okay with a capital O. When I do, you can have at it. You can have at me. No matter how it turns out, the story is yours. But not until it’s over.”

  That was a tough condition to concede. She thought of Gracie, the station’s news director, the network executives in New York who were eager for her to go back on camera as soon as tomorrow evening. If she withheld a story of this magnitude because of a promise given to John Trapper—possibly delusional John Trapper—she could lose all credibility and be banished from television journalism forever.

  But she balanced that against the promise of rich rewards if the story panned out to be as monumental as Trapper suggested it would.

  “Agreed,” she said.

  “Shake on it?” He extended his hand across the console.

  “You haven’t heard my second condition.”

  “Oh, right. What?”

  “We don’t get nekkid.”

  He snatched his hand back.

  “I mean it, Trapper,” she said. “This is a professional agreement between a private investigator and a journalist. I need your input for the story that, when told, will be astonishing. You need me to tell it so you’ll be validated and the mastermind of the Pegasus bombing exposed. We’re working partners. I guarantee you my confidence until I receive a capitalized okay from you, but no—”

  “Getting nekkid.”

  “Right.”

  “Well, damn.”

  “You still have the option of taking me back to town.”

  He looked out across the dark, barren landscape, made even more forbidding by the swirling snowfall. He cussed under his breath but then came back around. “I’m tempted to wish you luck and part ways. But I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you. So…” He thrust his hand toward her. They shook on it. Then he reached beneath the driver’s seat and produced a cell phone.

  “You have two?” she asked in surprise.

  Distracted by punching in a number, he said, “Several. All with disposable SIM cards and blocked numbers.” Then he held his index finger vertically against his lips. She heard a man answer with a hello. “Hank?”

  “Trapper? Where are you? Dad is about to stroke out, and I kid you not.”

  “Are you with him now?”

  “No, I’m at home.” In the background the sound track of a TV show could be heard, along with children’s laughter. “What are you up to?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “With you, it always is.”

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Trapper—”

  “Hank. You’re a minister. Isn’t this your calling? To help people in need? Or is that just hype?”

  After a pause, Hank asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  “First of all, has there been any further word about The Major’s condition?”

  “Last report Dad got, he was holding steady. Even talking a little more.”


  Trapper exhaled slowly, revealing to Kerra that he cared far more deeply about his father than he let on.

  “Do you have Kerra Bailey with you?” Hank asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Give me a break, Hank. You think I’d hurt a woman? Or take her by force?”

  “I want to hear it from her.”

  Trapper held the phone out to her and she said hello.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Perfectly fine.”

  “Did he take you against your will?”

  Maybe she was becoming hysterical over the madcap chain of events, because his phraseology almost caused her to laugh. “No. I came with Trapper willingly.”

  Trapper took the phone back. “Satisfied? You’re off the hook. If you help me, no one can ever accuse you of aiding and abetting a kidnapper.”

  “What about aiding a car thief?”

  “Oh, so Glenn followed up on that. That’ll teach me to keep my big mouth shut.”

  “What the hell, Trapper? You stole a truck?”

  “No! I’ll explain everything, but later. Listen, you know the place we took the two girls that time? They had a bottle of homemade peach brandy?”

  “The old line shack?”

  “Right. Your condom broke. Hard to say who freaked out more, you or the girl.”

  “That was before I started dating Emma.”

  His self-righteous tone caused Trapper to look across at Kerra and roll his eyes. He asked, “Do you remember how to get there?”

  “To the line shack? I think so.”

  “Kerra and I need to drop out of sight for a couple of days. We’ll need supplies. Packaged food. Bottled water. Extra blankets. I’ll text you a list.”

  “Are you nuts? The roads are frozen over. I’m not getting out in this tonight.”

  Trapper swore, then said grudgingly, “Okay, wait till daylight.”

  “I can’t do it at any time. First of all, Dad would go ballistic, if he didn’t put me in jail, which he probably would.”

  “Only if you’re caught. Or blab.”

  “Secondly, it just doesn’t feel right.”

  “I haven’t broken any laws, Hank. Neither God’s nor man’s. Well, a few of God’s.”