by D. V. Berkom
I stood and dusted myself off. "I need to go. Armand offered to take my three o'clock tour, so if you need me for anything, I’ll be in range until later this afternoon."
"You okay to drive?"
"Yeah. I'm fine." I picked up my fanny pack and fished out the keys to my Jeep. "Let me know if you guys hear anything else, okay?"
"Sure, Kate."
I walked back to my car, checked under the hood and headed to town.
***
"Ham and Swiss on rye, please.”
"Sure thing, hon." The deli clerk smiled and busied herself with my order. I hadn’t eaten anything since early morning so I stopped for a sandwich before going back to work. As I perused the bags of chips on a rack in front of me, I sensed someone standing behind me.
“Ah. A classic sandwich for a classic lady.” His smile almost blinded me by its whiteness. I recognized him as the guy Banker Dave had been speaking to that morning at Wilma’s Café.
He wore pressed chinos and a starched white oxford shirt, with a navy blue sweater casually draped across his shoulders. I glanced at his shoes. Loafers with tassels. I had the urge to tell him it was no longer the eighties and we weren’t anywhere near Martha's Vineyard, but Jack and Alice’s death had put me in a pensive mood, so I kept quiet. He had a container of cottage cheese in his hands. I figured him for some kind of bean counter or investment banker. I smiled politely and turned back to the chips, hoping he’d go away.
“Isn’t your name Kate?”
I tried not to sigh as I turned to him and nodded.
“That’s me. Have we met?”
He extended his hand. “Simon Boudreaux, Vice President of development for M.B. West.”
Oh yeah. The corporation who bought all that land east of town. Like Durm needed another golf resort.
When I didn’t respond, he smiled again.
“You’re a guide for Hard Rock Country Jeep Tours, right?”
I stiffened. An automatic response when someone knew more about me than I did about them. It didn’t happen often.
“I realize that this is a small town, but even I don’t know everyone. How do you know me?”
“Dave Sinclair. I was having breakfast with him when you walked into Wilma’s and I asked who you were.”
I felt my shoulders relax a little. Give the guy a break, Kate. He’s probably new in town.
The clerk placed my wrapped sandwich on top of the deli counter. I thanked her and picked it up, turning to go.
“Well, give Dave my love, would you? It’s been such a long time since we’ve spoken.” I knew the message would annoy Dave. The last time I’d seen him, we hadn’t parted as friends. Maybe it was the ruthless way he made decisions about money owed to Durm Fidelity & Trust. I’d spoken to at least three hard working folks in the past few months that had lost either their home or business when the bank called the notes early. Dave could have intervened, but didn’t.
“I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you come to our big party Saturday evening to celebrate phase one of Wild Horse Ridge?” He smiled his hundred-watt smile. “Dave will be there - you can tell him yourself.” He pulled a card out of his wallet and handed it to me. It had Wild Horse Ridge Gala Event- Admit One printed on it. “Please come. The food’s going to be great and it’s open bar.”
“Thanks, Simon. I’ll think about it.” I put the card in my pocket and walked to the front of the store to pay, Simon dogging my steps. I glanced out the window as I handed my sandwich to the cashier. A tan, late model four-door sedan parked in the lot outside caught my eye as she rang me up. I’d seen the same car down the block from the Sheriff’s office when I’d gone to meet with Cole. I took my sandwich and started to walk out the door, keeping an eye on the car.
"Kate wait-"
I turned and waited for Simon to catch up to me. He handed me another ticket.
"I know you’ll enjoy the party. Bring a friend."
He seemed so earnest. I glanced at the second ticket. Maybe I’d ask Cole to come along.
“All right, Simon, I’ll see what I can do.” As I said goodbye, I glanced over to see if anyone was sitting in the driver’s seat of the sedan.
The car was gone.
***
It was dark by the time I’d finished my last tour. I checked my Jeep and, finding nothing out of the ordinary, got in and stashed the gun Cole gave me under the front seat. Art had insisted that Armand and I do tandem tours until things calmed down. I couldn’t blame him. Hard Rock Country Jeep Tours represented fifteen years of Art’s sweat and blood. Even the hint of scandal could ruin business. Other companies in the area would be only too happy to pick up the slack.
The sliced brake lines, the dead bodies and what they might represent played at the edges of my brain like an annoying mosquito. The collateral damage the additional deaths represented wasn't my old acquaintances’ style. All three individuals had reasons to want me dead. It was a good bet that two of them would prefer to do the honors personally.
I'd learned firsthand how one lousy choice can shape a lifetime.
With no discernible problems for years, I’d developed a false sense of security. I should have known better than to stay in one place so long. If I dwelled on it, I'd be a basket case. I did my best Scarlet O'Hara impersonation and told myself I'd think about it tomorrow.
I took a left onto the deserted highway and headed for home. I loved this place. The peace and quiet had a calming effect on me. Several of the people I'd met in the time I'd lived here were more like family than my actual family. I couldn't imagine having to pack up and leave. Not again. But I had that old, nagging feeling, the one that whispered I'd better move on, keep a step ahead.
Scarlet wasn't working too well tonight.
As I mulled over my options, I glanced in my rearview mirror and noticed a pair of headlights a little distance behind me. I wouldn't have given it a second thought, but tonight everything looked menacing. At first I couldn't decide if I should speed up to stay ahead or slow down and let them pass me. I didn't want to be paranoid and keep watching the mirror all the way home, so I allowed them to catch up.
The other vehicle's left turn signal came on and the late model SUV passed me and I resumed breathing. I couldn't tell through the smoked windows who was driving. I hoped no one else came along, or I'd be a wreck by the time I reached my place. I brought the Jeep back up to speed. The truck's taillights disappeared around the next bend.
I'd gone about a quarter of a mile when I caught a flash of headlights out of the corner of my eye. I glanced in the rearview mirror as the vehicle pulled in behind me from the side of the road. It looked like the same vehicle that passed me before. My heart rate skyrocketed. Panicked, I ran through a list of evasive maneuvers in my head.
One. Drive as fast as I could and hope I knew the roads better than the driver of the truck, giving me enough of a lead.
Two. Go off road at the first opportunity and lose them in the dark.
Three. I couldn't think of a three.
I opted for one, followed by two if I couldn't outrun them. I reached under the seat for the gun, put it in my lap and floored it. After a slight pause, the truck regained its position behind me.
I kept my foot on the pedal and pulled out my cell phone, praying for a signal.
No service.
They kept pace. That's the one problem with a Jeep. It's not exactly what I'd call a speed demon. The ability to outrun killers wasn't part of the criteria I'd used when I'd bought it. My lack of foresight would probably get me killed.
The SUV swerved into the outside lane and pulled alongside me. I slammed on the brakes, my body tensed for impact.
The truck clipped the front end of the Jeep with enough force to throw it into a tailspin. I gripped the steering wheel as I fought to turn into the spin, heading straight for the metal road barrier.
At the last second, the Jeep stopped short of busting through and hurtling off the cliff into the river below. I shifted in
to gear and skidded back onto the road, going the opposite direction. The other truck slid into a U-turn and accelerated after me. As my foot forced the accelerator to the floor, I experienced a laser-like focus from the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
Think, Kate. Where could I turn off and lose the son of a bitch? There were several scenic pull-offs on this section of highway, but they didn't do me any good. The entrance to Tsina Trailhead lay a hundred yards ahead to my left. I might be able to lose them on one of the dirt tracks that branched off of the main gravel road.
I could just make out the reflective sign that marked the entrance to the trail. I kept my speed steady until I was almost level with the turnoff, then I hit the brakes and skidded into the turn. The SUV raced past, the squeal of rubber telling me it wouldn’t be long before they were on my ass again.
I gripped the steering wheel and floored it again, kicking up dust and rocks behind me.
The first of three feeder roads came into view. I blew past it, knowing it was only a short jog to its end. The second turn would take me deep into a twisting canyon where I had the best chance of losing the other vehicle. I just had to make the corner before they got close enough to see my taillights through the dust.
The turn came faster than I expected. I stomped on the brakes and swerved left, drove a few yards past an ancient, twisted pine and stopped, switching off my lights. A minute later, the other truck screamed past. Without turning the lights back on, I put the Jeep into first gear and followed the rutted road further into the canyon. I didn't stop until I came to a long forgotten prospector's shack I'd discovered during a hike the year before. I pulled in behind the piñon pines next to the disintegrating wood and stone structure, switched off the ignition and listened. Not hearing anything, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, taking slow, deep breaths to calm my galloping heart.
I wouldn't last if this kept happening.
With a shaky hand I smoothed my hair back, and climbed out of the Jeep to search the dark trail behind me. No lights followed me into the canyon. My heart rate almost returned to normal, I waited a while longer, then got back into the Jeep and started the engine. A little-used outlet on the other side of the canyon would deposit me back onto a secondary road that led home.
I couldn’t deny it any longer.
Someone wanted me dead.
THREE
The next day, I told Cole what happened. He called Art and after a short discussion, it was decided that I would stay at Art’s until Cole deemed it safe for me to go back home to my trailer. I was leery and voiced my concerns about whether my staying at Art and Barb’s house would put them in danger. A bemused expression flickered across Cole's face.
"He replaced all the windows with bullet-proof glass last year and the doors are reinforced steel. A tank wouldn’t be able to penetrate the perimeter. If one tried, the security cameras would digitally capture the assault.”
Art was ready for something.
“Do you have any idea why?” I asked.
Cole shrugged. “I’ve got my suspicions, but can’t say for sure.”
I left it at that. Maybe I didn’t want to know. I counted Art as a friend, but even friends have their secrets.
I should know.
Cole accompanied me to my trailer so I could pick up clothes and my laptop. The silver Airstream wasn’t anything special, but it was home. And, I could lock it and leave in the winter when I left for the tropics. Perfect.
I had a serious hankering to head south, now.
As we were walking out the door to bring my things back to Art and Barb’s house, I decided to test the waters.
“So, are you busy Saturday?” I’d never been accused of being subtle.
Cole’s expression could only be described as surprised. I couldn’t tell if he was also pleased. I hoped so.
“Why?”
Part of me tried to stop what I was going to say next, to keep myself from getting too close. The last time I'd allowed that to happen, the other person almost died. I pushed the thought of Sam away and let the other part of me win.
“Actually, I just happen to have two tickets to the hottest event this side of the White Mountains: the blow-out for Wild Horse Ridge.” I locked the trailer door behind us and we piled my things in the back of my Jeep. “It’s Saturday night, if you’re interested.”
Something registered in his eyes. “Ah. By Saturday you’ll have cabin fever and, knowing Art, he won’t let you go out alone. What better way to escape than to go somewhere with the sheriff?”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but you’re right. He’s like a Rottweiler.” The idea of staying with Art made me wonder how far he’d go to protect me, but I knew I had to do it. He’d be fine with me going out, if Cole was along.
“So, is it a date?” I asked.
Cole’s smile came easy. “Why yes, ma’am, I believe it is.”
***
Saturday evening couldn’t have come too soon. Cole’s prediction had been spot on. Art was driving me bat-shit crazy with his overprotective nature. Yes, I knew it was because he cared, but damn, he reminded me of a stalag commander from a World War II movie. The saving grace in the situation was his wife, Barb. A successful artist with a sensitive nature, she had a way with the commandant, speaking to him in her gentle, lilting tone. Art's demeanor softened, emerging from his razor focused role as designated Kate-protector.
That evening found me in front of the full length mirror for the tenth time, checking to make sure I looked as good as possible. I wore a clingy black, off the shoulder dress, strappy heels and just enough turquoise jewelry to set off my green eyes. Granted, jeans and a tee shirt were more my style, but Cole had already seen me in that. Seduction was all about the small things, and I meant to seduce him until he begged for mercy. The possibility of another opportunity seemed slim.
Especially if I wound up dead.
A small dab of my favorite French perfume, and I was ready to go. Funny how all caution got tossed out the window at the prospect of my untimely demise.
Cole arrived right on time. I grabbed my wrap, said goodbye to Art and Barb and headed out the door. Cole opened the passenger door of the SUV and I climbed in.
"You look beautiful tonight, Kate."
I felt my face grow warm from the compliment. “Thank you. You’re looking pretty good yourself.” He had on a pair of jeans that had evidently fallen in love with him, white shirt, no tie, and a tailored black sports coat. The exotic scent of his aftershave worked its way into my brain, and I had to fight the impulse to grab him by the lapels and devour him.
Down, girl.
I took a deep breath and gave him a demure smile as he closed the door.
Apparently, my sex-by date had passed its expiration.
We pulled into a slot in The Rocks’ parking lot, then followed the winding slate path to the elegant bronze and glass front doors.
The concierge directed us down a hallway and through the large, carved double doors into a cavernous room filled with animated, well-dressed people. Waiters in cream and black floated by, bearing trays filled with flutes of champagne and mouth-watering hors d'oeuvres.
My stomach rumbled, demanding attention. I latched onto a glass of champagne and an hors d’oeuvre from a passing tray. The waiter stopped to offer something to Cole. He shook his head. The waiter nodded and swooped over to another group of folks who looked parched.
“I need a beer,” he said, by way of explanation.
Several movers and shakers from Arizona politics and entertainment were in attendance. I recognized a state senator in the corner deep in conversation with a local environmental activist. A five-piece jazz ensemble played on one side of the room, while a famous pop star, rumored to be working on a new CD at her ranch near Sedona, commiserated with a news anchor from Phoenix. Here and there I recognized a handful of other bigwigs.
Cole let out a low whistle. "Lot of players here."
"Looks like it. Let’s get you
a refreshment."
As soon as Cole had a beer in hand, we headed for the food.
A cascading crystal fountain sat nestled next to the well-stocked spread. Lit from below, an elaborate ice sculpture of a golfer in mid-swing rested in the middle of the fountain, surrounded by little ice golf balls.
Simon Boudreaux intercepted us before we reached the table. He looked impeccable in a tailored tuxedo. His shoes gleamed, he’d had a manicure and his hair was perfect.
"Kate. So glad you could come. Who's your friend?" Simon asked, looking Cole over.
Cole held out his hand, sizing him up, as well. "I'm Cole Anderson. And you are?"
"Simon Boudreaux, V.P for M.B. West." A thoughtful look crossed his face. "Cole Anderson," he repeated, frowning. "Why do I know that name?" Then he smiled. "Sheriff Cole Anderson?”
"The same."
"I’m glad to meet you. Good to see Kate’s in capable hands." Simon turned to me. "And a pleasure to see you again, Kate." He brought my hand to his lips and never once broke eye contact. I glanced at Cole, but he appeared unfazed.
"Thank you, Simon. Quite a spread you have here." I nodded toward the food. "We were on our way to sample some."
Simon smiled, his perfect teeth gleaming in the low room light. "Don't let me keep you. I need to run through a couple of things before the presentation, so if you'll excuse me?"
Simon moved off to the stage in the center of the room to speak with someone working the microphone and flat screen. A scale model of Wild Horse Ridge stood nearby. Cole and I each got ourselves a plate of food and wandered over to take a look. Several people milled around, waiting for the presentation.
