by D. V. Berkom
"What the fuck are you doing?" I shouted, panic flooding me. Frantically, I tried to rock back and forth to free myself.
He peered over the edge.
"Things have gone too far." Gabby leaned against the shovel and stared down at me. "There's no other option. I wish there was."
"Henry," I yelled, "Help!"
Gabby shook his head. "He can't hear you. I gave him an elephant's dose of nighty-night drops. He wouldn't understand."
"Your neighbors will hear me." Fear morphed into confusion and anger. Why did he want to kill me?
More dirt. I shook it off and blew at the soil next to my face.
And screamed again.
Larger clumps of dirt fell onto my face. Apparently he'd decided to push it in, rather than use the shovel.
I screamed until my voice grew hoarse.
As the earth rose around me, I closed my mouth and stretched my neck to the breaking point, straining to keep my nose clear so I could breathe.
Gabby's elaborate front door chimes echoed through the back yard.
"Fuck." He poked his head over the side again.
"Apparently, we have a visitor. You just sit tight while I get rid of them. Probably some fucking religious groupies," he muttered. The shovel hit the ground with a clang and he disappeared.
Never before had I hoped so fervently for the followers of Jehovah to be at the door. Twisting my head and shoulders, I continued trying to create space around me Eventually, I was able to rock my upper chest free and sit up. I dug the rest of the way out of the dirt, flipped onto my hands and knees and, favoring my swollen ankle, stood on one leg.
To my left and about three feet above me, a thick root jutted from the vertical wall of dirt. I hobbled over, grabbed onto it and pulled myself upward. Using the toes of my good foot, I kicked at the dirt, creating a toehold to boost me closer to the top. The pit was narrow enough that I could brace my back against one side with my good leg against the other and slide upward.
Digging my fingers into the side of the pit, I inched toward the top, praying whoever was at the door would keep Gabby busy for a few minutes longer.
I stretched my hand over my head and grabbed hold of the edge, hoisting myself up and over onto my stomach. I stood and stumbled past the outdoor table and chairs with their bright red cushions, and hobbled around the side of the house, desperate to catch Gabby's visitors before they left.
The front corner was close. Just a few more feet and I'd be in full view of anyone parked in the circular driveway.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder and Gabby spun me to face him. I ducked, pivoting on my good leg, and landed an elbow to his solar plexus. He doubled over with a groan. I turned away, but he grabbed my wrist. Struggling to wrench free, I stopped short when I saw the gun in his hand. In all the years I'd known Gabby, I'd never before seen the raw emotion now visible on his face.
"Why, Gabby?" I choked out the words, despair ripping a hole through me.
"I couldn't let them destroy the island, Kate. Don't you see? The only way to save her is to return to the old ways. To bring back the balance with the ancient death rites.
"I can't let you go to the police." He raised the gun, pointing it at my head. "I'm sorry, Kate."
I squeezed my eyes shut, tensing my body for the agony that would come.
Gunfire split the early morning stillness. I felt no pain and opened my eyes in time to see Gabby fall to his knees and drop, face forward, to the ground. Behind him stood the dark haired man with the tattoos I'd seen at the hospital. He walked over to where Gabby now lay, and leaned over to feel for a pulse. Apparently finding none, he rose from the body and holstered his gun.
"Who are you?" My voice shook.
"A friend of a friend who asked me to look out for you." He glanced down at the body then back at me. "Sorry I didn't get here sooner. You're a hard woman to track. I wouldn't have known where you were except I saw you walking on the highway. But when I turned around, you'd disappeared. I knew you and this guy were friends, so it was the logical destination. It took a while to get through the gate. It has some kind of scrambler and wouldn't open right away."
He moved to the side with my bad ankle and wrapped my arm around his shoulders. I'd been wrong about the tats. They were Hawaiian, not prison art.
"You okay to walk?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I need to call the police."
"Already done. Let's get you back inside and off that foot while we wait."
With his help, I managed to make it into the living room and sink gratefully into a couch.
Henry.
"There should be a big guy asleep upstairs. His name's Henry. He's been drugged. Would you mind checking on him?" Even with what just happened, I couldn't believe Gabby would do anything to hurt him. My heart broke when I thought about how Henry would react to Gabby's death.
And why he died.
"Sure." Tattoo Man raised my feet and slid a footstool under them.
"Can I ask you a question first?"
He nodded, waiting.
"You said you were a friend of a friend. Can you tell me who? I don't know that many people in Hawaii."
A slight smile curved his lips as he turned toward the stairs.
"He said to tell you 'mile marker fifty-eight.' That you'd know."
Sam.
NINE
Dozens of travelers milled past as Henry enveloped me in a bear hug. We were standing on the sidewalk outside the airport. It was busier than I'd seen it in a long time, as if everybody chose that day to leave paradise.
He stepped back, holding me at arm's length.
"Are you sure you can't tell me where you're gonna end up? I might want to leave this place, see another part of the country." Henry smiled his easy, friendly smile, but his eyes lacked the usual sparkle.
He'd taken Gabby's death hard, but his betrayal harder. Everything he'd come to know and love about the man had been shattered. Gabby hadn't meant for Henry to get hurt when he'd paid Alek's uncle to rob the house and take the carving; somehow, though, he'd mixed up the date and he and Henry didn't go out for the evening as planned.
None of that mattered to Henry. Gabby's role in Sonya Farnsworth's murder, albeit by proxy, tore a hole through Henry's gentle heart. The worst part in his mind was that Gabby was willing to kill me to keep his role in the murder/robbery quiet.
The same day Gabby was killed, the police arrested Alek and recovered the statue, returning it to the museum to be restored. As for Alek's uncle, there had been no report of a body washing up on shore. Someone had, however, fished a strange-looking cape made of rare bird feathers out of the ocean while diving. A lab was conducting tests on it in case it held any significant historical value.
"God, Henry, I'm going to miss you. I promise I'll keep in touch, send a postcard, maybe." I wiped at a tear threatening to slide down my cheek. "I wish I could tell you where I was going, but I can't. I just know I don't feel the same way about this place. I need to move on."
"All the bad guys are either dead or in jail. Why leave now?"
"It's more a feeling I have. I've learned to trust my instincts, and they're telling me it's time to leave."
"If you weren't safe out in the middle of Nowhere, Alaska, where can you go?"
"Exactly." Little soldiers of despair began their painful march through my brain, tearing apart my resolve. It took concentrated effort to push past the ache, to focus on the here and now and what was possible.
"Well, then. The way forward is clear." Henry drew himself up to his full, impressive height.
"Oh?"
"We'll have to have them all killed."
It took several minutes for my laughter to subside.
"Oh, Henry, thank you. I needed that more than you know."
"I'm here for you, babe."
We hugged once more before I walked through the doors into the airport. I turned left and headed for the first ticket counter I came to. The woman behind the counter smiled.
"I need a ticket."
"No problem. Where would you like to go?"
I scanned the destinations listed on the reader board behind her. What the hell, I thought. I'd never have any peace until I confronted my past.
"One way ticket to Phoenix, please."
THE END
TOURING FOR DEATH
Book 4 in the Kate Jones Thriller Series
Copyright © 2011
By DV Berkom
e-book edition - September 2011
TOURING FOR DEATH
ONE
Getting up at the crack of dawn shouldn't be in anyone's job description.
At least, not anyone who has a life.
I guess that says a lot about me, since I was at the crest of Black Top Mesa waiting for the sun to rise.
My name is Kate and I guide Jeep tours in the high desert of northern Arizona. Of all the jobs I'd had in the years since Mexico, being a tour guide in red rock country fit.
I’d just finished telling an old Navajo legend to the two couples on the tour – a retired Army Colonel and his wife, their daughter and her husband - when the sun reached the summit on the far side of the canyon. The intense colors bled into the landscape, and the gnarled mesquite trees and dusty jojoba bushes surrounding us morphed into ancient beings come to life.
The Colonel and his wife snapped some last minute photographs while I stowed leftover Danishes and the remaining coffee in the Jeep, and everyone piled back in to continue the tour.
"Where to now?" the daughter asked.
"Now we head back down the trail and follow along the dry creek bed. Keep your eyes open for wildlife."
I turned the Jeep around and started down the steep grade, avoiding the largest ruts.
"Everybody belted in?" I glanced in the rear view mirror.
"Ma'am, yes ma'am," came the reply. I smiled. Ya gotta love the armed forces.
We started to gather speed and I shifted into low. We’d traveled a few yards when an ear-splitting screech severed the early morning quiet. The Jeep shuddered.
I pumped the brakes - my foot hit the floor. Confused, I tried again.
Nothing.
The Jeep dropped into a free fall.
Panicked, I grabbed the gear shift and tried to ram it into low. The shriek of metal on metal pierced the air. I tried second.
Third.
We hurtled downhill like a rodeo clown on a pissed off bull. The Jeep hit a rut and tore the steering wheel from my hands.
The Colonel lunged across the console to grab the wheel. I held on with my left hand and used my right to haul on the emergency brake. No luck. The Jeep careened down the almost vertical trail.
We hit something big and rocketed sideways onto two wheels. Someone in the back screamed.
I steered to the left to angle the path of the Jeep, missing boulders and barreling between piñon pines. Branches slashed at the sides. I tore through every bush I could find, trying to slow us down.
The Jeep jerked to a stop about fifty yards from the base of the trail.
“Everyone out!”
I didn't have to say it twice. The group scrambled clear.
"Is everyone all right?" I checked to see if any of the passengers had sustained contusions or broken bones. Aside from being badly shaken, the Colonel's wife and daughter and her husband appeared to be okay. The Colonel, on the other hand, looked furious. His red face and flashing eyes told me I'd better damn well be ready to explain what happened.
I didn't know what to tell him.
"What the hell kind of half-baked outfit is this? Who does the maintenance on your fleet? I want their names, now." His voice ricocheted across the canyon. He glanced at his family and then back to me. Anxiety radiated off him in waves.
"I understand your concern, Colonel, but our maintenance schedule is the best in the business. I'm as confused as you are. I need to see if I can locate what caused the failure." My voice sounded a lot calmer than I felt.
The Colonel took a deep breath and gave me a stiff nod. The color in his face started to fade. “I used to work on these things in the service. Let me have a look.”
We walked over to the Jeep and I popped the hood. Both of us began to search for the source of the problem.
It wasn’t hard to find.
***
Art arrived in his Hummer forty-five minutes later, followed by Sandra Simpson of Simpson’s Fuel driving the tow truck. Sandra walked over to the Jeep to look at the damage while Art saw to the passengers.
The Colonel's family climbed into the Hummer. By now they were over their fright and hadn't said anything about suing us, so I figured I'd done a good job calming everyone down. Art promised to refund their money and offered them all gift certificates for a future tour.
The Colonel took me aside and leaned in close.
"You'd best be careful, Kate. I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, and don’t want to know.” His gray eyes were riveted to mine. “Those sliced brake lines and the leak in the tranny were no accident." A small shiver tracked up my spine.
The Colonel walked back to the Hummer to join his family. He stopped and said something to Art before he got in. As soon as Art made sure everyone was secure, he headed my direction, his mouth set in a grim line.
"You doing okay?" he asked. The frown on his face combined with his thick neck and bristly crew cut reminded me of a bulldog. I nodded.
"I called Cole and he's on his way." He gave me a look. "Come by the office when you're finished." He didn't wait for a reply and strode back to the Humvee.
They left and a few minutes later Sheriff Cole Anderson pulled up in his SUV. The seriousness of the situation wasn't lost on me. I'm nothing if not good at denial but this went way beyond even my abilities. Cole walked over to where Sandra and I waited by the disabled Jeep.
"Tell me what happened."
I started from when I got to the office that morning and ended at the point where the Colonel and I found the sliced brake lines and the punctured transmission. He listened in silence.
"How are you holding up?"
"Pretty well, considering. No one was hurt and the Jeep's still in one piece." And my knees were shaking. Other than that, I was golden.
Cole peered under the Jeep. Sandra pointed out the cut in the lines and the small hole where the tranny fluid had leaked out. He worked his way around the vehicle and shot several pictures with a digital camera, stopping at intervals to take notes. After he'd gone over the entire Jeep, he stood up and brushed the dirt off his jeans.
He turned to Sandra. "Once you get this towed back to town, let Jason know it’s down at the shop so he can check things over. I don't want to miss anything." Jason was the Deputy Sheriff and the town's resident computer geek.
"Sure thing, Sheriff." Sandra gave me a look loaded with questions as she walked over to get the tow truck.
"You want a ride back?" he asked.
I'd normally jump at the chance to be alone with Cole, get to know him better, but I needed time to regroup. The possibility that Mexico may have caught up with me had me fighting a panic attack.
"Thanks, but I'm going to stay with the Jeep."
“Stop by when you get back.”
I said I would, and he climbed into his truck and left.
This couldn't be good. I didn’t need any trouble. Years ago I’d testified against two drug lords and a corrupt DEA agent in Mexico. I'd changed my name and address so many times since then, it was hard to remember who I was supposed to be. The way I figured it, anonymity was way better than dead. This kind of attention could lead to some serious problems.
Like being found.
Unless it already happened.
As far as I knew, no one had been released from prison yet. There'd been no indication they even knew where I was since I left Alaska. I’d almost stopped looking over my shoulder.
Almost.
Sandra lay underneath the Jeep, working the tow
hook. I leaned against the door and waited. My heart rate slowed as I worked to calm myself. Finished, she slid out and I gave her a hand up. She frowned as she wiped her hands on her coveralls. Nervous, I cracked a joke about my bad driving habits, but she didn't laugh.
"Kate, you know as well as I do that you're in some kind of shit if someone deliberately cut your brake lines."
"Hey- it could have happened to any of the guides. There are a lot of rigs to choose from. We need to check the other Jeeps to see if they were vandalized. It was probably some stupid, messed up kid."
Even I didn't believe me.
Sandra shook her head. "Art had Armand do a quick check of the fleet before we left, just to be sure. None of them had a problem." She hit the button for the winch. The motor whined as the Jeep's front end started to rise. "It's not like it's a secret that this ride is your personal favorite. Even I know it, for chissake. The creep didn't just slice your brakes. They punched a hole in your tranny. Whoever did this wanted you dead and didn't care who else came along for the ride."
She was right. But what could I do? Sure, from now on, I'd make it a point to check every vehicle I used, but if someone wanted me dead, I doubted they'd hit my vehicle again. That wasn't the only way to kill someone, and certainly not the most efficient.
Explosives or decapitation were more their style.
Sandra got into the tow truck and started the engine. I climbed in the passenger side and put on the seatbelt, making sure it clicked close.
"You okay?" she asked.
I nodded and took a deep breath. Why let a little thing like a sabotaged vehicle bother me? Besides, the people I worried about wouldn't know which name I was using now.
Right?
Sandra shoved the truck into gear and we headed for town. Something told me my old friend denial wouldn't work this time.
***
After Sandra dropped me off in town, I stopped in at Wilma's Café for a coffee to go. I should have ordered something calming, like chamomile tea, but I’d never been one to do what I should. As I waited for my order, I caught a glimpse of Dave Sinclair in the mirror behind the register.
