Deep Down Dead

by Steph Broadribb

  JT shook his head. ‘Told him to take the bus or hitch. His car would’ve been too easy for Emerson to track.’

  Keeping his focus on the cabin, he took the right side of the stairs, using the stone chimneystack for cover. I followed him up the steps and on to the porch. Seven strides and he reached the door. Eight and I was beside him again, my back pressed against the wooden cladding of the outside wall. He turned, nodded. I tightened my grip on the taser.

  He eased down the door handle until it made a soft click. Unlocked, the door opened. JT stepped inside, moving fast. Strode through the living space, his gun raised. I followed, scanned the area.

  Empty.

  The place was ordered and tidy. No signs of disturbance. No clutter or gee-gaws. The furnishings basic and functional: a pair of brown leather couches, a small table between them, and a large open fireplace. The green rug that had covered the centre of the floor space had gone, replaced by a smaller blue one. That rug was the only thing that had changed.

  I turned right, crossed the room to the bathroom. Fourteen strides from the front door to the bathroom door, just as I remembered. As I’d practised, been drilled to practise, way back when, before all this started. Create your own blueprint, my mentor had said. Rule number five: Know your surroundings. That way, when the lights go out, you can find your fugitive and get out safe. That one rule had saved my ass more times than I cared to remember. Counting distances, assessing height and sizing up obstacles had become second nature. I guess that had been the point.

  I opened the door. Scanned the taupe bathroom suite. Clean, no clutter, just a brown hand towel hanging from the rail and a lone toothbrush in the holder. Aside from that, empty. I reversed out, closed the door. Turning, I caught JT’s eye, mouthed the word, ‘Clear.’

  He nodded, eased open the door on the far left of the room. From previous experience, I knew it led to the bedroom. I stayed right where I was. Waited.

  Four seconds later he reappeared. Shook his head.

  ‘Shit.’ The knot of fear I’d had in my belly ever since the gas station pulled tighter. We needed Scott. Needed whatever Emerson’s men wanted. Without him we had nothing.

  JT strode over to the breakfast bar. ‘I told him to damn well wait.’

  If he’d had no vehicle how the hell had he gotten out of here alone? It was miles to the nearest town; leaving on foot made no kind of sense. ‘What if Emerson’s men took him?’

  ‘They didn’t.’ JT nodded to the larger of the two couches. Beside it a pile of linens had been neatly stacked: pillow, duvet, sheet. ‘It’s too neat, everything’s in order.’

  I felt dizzy, sick. How could Scott not be here? The past nine hours had been all about getting here, getting him, and getting back Dakota. I put my hand out, gripped the back of the nearest couch to steady myself. Tried to process the situation. ‘So if he’s gone, now what?’

  JT leant against the breakfast bar, put the gun down on the countertop; metal against granite. I tried not to flinch at the sound. Didn’t quite manage it.

  He noticed, but didn’t comment. Watched my expression for a long moment before saying, ‘We need to find him.’

  Sure we did, but how? JT had been so certain that Scott would be at the cabin. My vision clouded. In my mind’s eye I’m back at the gas station. I hear Dakota screaming, watch her fighting as the man holding her shoves her into the black car. Stand powerless as it pulls away. Watch her hands clawing at the window. Tears down her face. Blue eyes wide. Gone.

  I blinked hard. Stared at JT’s gun. Felt my hands begin to shake. It was a nightmare. I should have known something bad would happen. JT always had attracted the worst kind of drama. I should never have taken the job. It was all my fault.

  ‘You okay?’

  I nodded, but didn’t look at him, couldn’t. How could I ever be okay? But I didn’t matter. Not now. Not with Dakota gone. I could feel JT staring at me, all concerned. Thing was, I didn’t want his concern. I just wanted my daughter. ‘We should search the woods.’

  Turning, I walked to the back door. Four paces. Drew level with the archway to the kitchenette. Halted.

  Two baseball caps hung from the pegs to the right of the doorframe. I took a step towards them, then a second. Both caps were thick with dust. On the peg closest to the door hung a 1916 Cooperstown Yankees replica: red and navy stripes on white, with a navy peak. Hanging next to it, almost touching, was a smaller, faded navy cap. I reached out, touched the image on the smaller one, a crimson B with white piping around the edge. Brushed off the dust, near on ten years’ worth. I traced the outline of the B with my finger. Couldn’t believe he’d kept the caps all these years.

  I heard footsteps behind me, turned.

  JT was staring at the cap in my hand, frowning.

  I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t meet his eye. Looked away.

  That’s when I spotted the note. Part hidden, pinned beneath a mug to the left of the sink. Stepping into the kitchenette, I put the cap down on the granite worktop and reached for the folded sheet of paper.

  ‘What’s that?’

  I read the single word written at the top: Tate. Turning, I held the note out to JT. ‘It’s for you.’

  He took the paper, unfolded it and scanned the writing. ‘Son-of-a-bitch.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Damn idiot’s gone to get himself killed.’ JT thrust the paper at me, stormed away across the living space and out of the door.

  I rushed after him on to the porch. JT was out in the yard already. Pacing. Smoking. Not his usual calm self. Shit. It took a whole lot of trouble to get JT’s fur all backwards. ‘What’s—’

  ‘Just read it.’

  I opened the note, and read the spiderlike scrawl:

  Tate. You said wait, and I did. But you’re not back, and it’s way past when you said you would be. Have they got you? I hope not. Either way, I can’t leave the device there any longer. If they get it, I’m screwed. I guess we both are. So I’ve gone to get it. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. Meet me at the place we agreed, at ten o’clock on the night of the thirtieth. If you don’t show I’ll know you’ve been compromised. I’ll take the device to the cops myself. SP.

  So I guessed that SP was Scott Palmer. Today was the thirtieth. Shit. We had to get to him before he took the device to the cops. ‘What place?’

  ‘Thelma’s Bar, downtown Savannah.’

  It was a little after six o’clock; Savannah was a good two hours’ drive. I re-read the note, glanced back at JT. ‘Why didn’t he wait?’

  ‘Because he’s a damn fool.’ JT took a final drag on his cigarette, threw it on to the baked dirt and crushed it out with his heel. ‘This is exactly what Emerson wants.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  Saying nothing, he turned and strode across the yard to the barn.

  ‘Don’t you damn well walk away from me.’

  I jumped down the steps, and ran after him, catching him by the arm just as he reached the barn. He froze at my touch.

  ‘You said Scott would be here,’ I said, my voice louder now, angrier. ‘But he’s gone, and we’re gonna have to chase further across state to find him.’

  JT shrugged my hand away. ‘I know what I said. I thought Scott would wait.’

  ‘Seems you were wrong.’

  ‘Yep.’ He turned towards the barn, yanked back the bolt and flung open the door with a raw anger I’d not seen in him before.

  I watched him disappear inside, heard something metal clatter. JT cussed loudly.

  Opening the door wider, I peered into the gloom. JT was standing a little ways ahead. Lying on the ground beside him was a rusted oil drum with a deep dent in the middle. I looked from it to him. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, shit. Scott took the bike.’

  No wonder he was pissed. JT’s Harley Super-Glide was a thing of beauty. Right then though, I didn’t give a damn. ‘Get over it.’

  ‘Look, I told him to stay put. He’s smart, and he’s into his conspiracy
theories and spy shit, but he’s not built for stealth.’ He shook his head. ‘You can be damn sure Emerson’s boys will be watching out for him. He needs help.’

  ‘So what’d we do?’

  ‘I’m thinking.’

  ‘Look, we need to haul ass. You said Scott’s smart, so we have to work on the assumption he’s dodged Emerson’s boys.’

  JT frowned.

  I knew he didn’t like assumptions, but shit, right then that was all we had to work with. ‘I say we go to Savannah and the meet-up with Scott. There’s no time for sitting around and—’

  ‘Hold up. Let me use your cell, I’ll call him.’

  I shook my head. ‘There’s no signal here. I checked already.’

  ‘Then we need to consider—’

  ‘There is no time. They’ve got my daughter. My child. We need to find Scott.’

  ‘We can’t charge at this all guns blazing. Emerson has too many men, and we’ve no back-up. We need to have ourselves a plan. Be thorough.’

  Of course, I’d forgotten rule number six: Always have a plan. Well, yeah, I could work with that. ‘What are you suggesting?’

  He stepped towards me. ‘I’ll go meet Scott tonight. You stay here and—’

  ‘I’m coming with, no discussion. You’re still in my custody.’

  JT shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous. It could be a trap.’

  ‘In which case they’ll most likely take us to the same place they’re holding my daughter. We’ve still heard nothing from them: no time to meet, no location. Maybe we should be looking for Emerson.’

  ‘We know what they want. They’re giving us time to get it.’

  I glared at him. ‘You think?’

  JT held my gaze. He looked beat, like his years had started to catch up with him. ‘I hope so.’

  So did I. The alternative was too horrendous to consider.

  ‘Look, there ain’t no telling where Emerson might be. He travels a lot, never stays in the same place more than a week or so, always moving between his amusement parks. Going after him would be like searching out a quarter in a mineshaft. We focus on finding Scott, and getting the device. It’s our best chance.’

  I thought on this. True, it made no kind of sense chasing after Emerson without the proper back-up, but I had to do something. I couldn’t stand by while my child’s safety was on the line. I’d work with JT’s plan, sure. But I’d add an embellishment or two of my own.

  ‘I’m coming with you.’

  He thrust his chin out at me in that stubborn way of his. I held his eye, showing no weakness. Wouldn’t back down.

  A long moment passed, then he nodded. ‘So be it.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘We’ll need a base, some motel on the edge of town, a room round back, real anonymous. Once we’ve gotten Scott we’ll take him back there. Wait for Emerson’s men to give us instructions about the exchange. Savannah is as good a place as any for that. It’s bang in the middle of Emerson’s territory.’

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘We should get on the road. I’ll get some things together.’

  I watched him stride across the yard and disappear inside the cabin. I was seething over our lack of progress. The frustration made me want to yell and scream. Instead I paced the yard outside the barn. Watched the sun’s orange glow cast dappled shadows beneath the trees. I would have thought it beautiful in another circumstance; right then it just reminded me that in a couple more hours the sun would go down, and Dakota would have been gone for a whole day. The guilt gnawed harder in the pit of my stomach. She’d be spending a night as Emerson’s captive. Afraid. Alone. I shuddered. Forced myself to focus on the plan, on finding Scott. Told myself that was the first step towards getting my baby home.

  Three minutes later JT was back. He’d changed into a fresh shirt and jeans, and carried my carryall and his own black canvas go-bag. ‘All set?’

  ‘Yep. Where’s your truck?’

  He shook his head. ‘Ditched when Merv picked me up. Someplace out in Covington, Virginia. No help to us now.’

  Shit. ‘The Chevy’s dying. It’s been running on fumes these past few miles, and the plate change will get called in at some point. I doubt it’ll hold good for much longer. We need another ride.’

  ‘Well, that I do have.’ He carried on past me, pacing further into the barn. ‘You remember how to drive a stick shift, right?’

  I followed. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Good.’ He stopped in front of two large wood panels that were screening off the back end of the barn. Dropping our bags on to the floor, he grabbed the closest panel and heaved it out of the way. Seemed it hadn’t been moved in a long time – it creaked and groaned, dust flying up all around. He repeated the process with the second panel, dragging it to the side wall and propping it up there.

  That’s when I saw her. Sitting alone in the gloom, all tucked up in a cream dustsheet. The familiar shape of a 1968 Ford Mustang.

  ‘You kept her.’

  JT smiled. He peeled back the cover with the precision of a burlesque dancer removing her stockings, unveiling the car’s cornflower-blue paint and chrome trim. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  Fair point. He’d had the car far longer than I’d known him. She’d been rotting in a garage when he found her. He’d bought her and restored her, but never driven her. Kept her in the barn as a homage to his father, who’d raced, won and died on the track. He’d let me take her out just once, way back at the beginning. As we’d sped along the highway, windows down and the stereo blasting out classic rock, JT had told me her nickname: The Dakota Daredevil.

  He came back for the bags, slung my carryall and his go-bag on to the jump seat, then took the keys from under the rear wheel arch and threw them to me. ‘We’d best move if we’re going to make Thelma’s Bar for ten.’

  He didn’t need to tell me twice. I opened the driver’s door and slipped inside. The cream leather seat cradled me like a child in a bassinet. I put the key in the ignition and fired up the engine. Heard it thunder like the hooves of a hundred-head herd of mustangs were stampeding under the bonnet. I glanced across at JT and grinned.

  He nodded, smiled that crooked smile. His lips looked real tempting.

  Just for a moment it felt like old times. Then I remembered the hurting at the end, and the horror of the now – Dakota, Scott and Emerson; the whole cruel mess. Felt the guilt, like barbed wire, twisting around my chest.

  There was no time for old times. No time for sentiment.

  I stepped hard on the gas.

  23

  The drive to Savannah would take us a little over two hours. If all went to plan we’d arrive around eight and have a couple of hours to check into a motel and get to Thelma’s Bar. I hated the waiting. Adrenaline spiked my blood, making me restless, the confines of the car seemed like a straightjacket. Still, I couldn’t do anything but drive. The delay before we could meet Scott felt like a slow, brutal torture.

  As we left the forest behind us, my cell vibrated in my pocket. It’d found a signal. I checked the screen: two missed calls from Quinn. No messages. Good.

  I held the phone out to JT. ‘I’ve got cell coverage now. You gonna call Scott?’

  He took the cell, dialled and waited.

  I squinted into the low-slung sun, at the freeway stretching arrowstraight ahead, watched the burning air shimmer above the blacktop. Near hot enough to melt anything. I fancied I could taste the bitterness of the tar against my tongue, almost. I hoped that Scott would answer.

  He didn’t. JT ended the call, and handed back the cell.

  I couldn’t read his expression. ‘Not answering?’

  JT shook his head. ‘Straight to voicemail, which makes no sense. He never switches off his cell.’

  ‘He might. If he’s a spy buff, into his conspiracy theories, like you said, then maybe he took out the battery so he couldn’t be traced. It’d be a good move if he’s worried about getting caught by Emerson.’

  JT frowned. Didn’t look
convinced. ‘Could be.’

  I tried not to think further on why Scott’s cell would be switched off. Needed to believe that in a few hours we’d be meeting with him in downtown Savannah. Couldn’t consider failure, not when it came to getting Dakota safe. It just wasn’t an option. I felt my bottom lip start to quiver and said, almost in a whisper, ‘She must be so very afraid.’

  ‘For what it’s worth, I’m real sorry,’ said JT, all earnest.

  I ignored him. Kept staring straight ahead through the windshield, at the spot where the highway merged with the sky, far off on the horizon.

  This was my fault. Regret prodded me, sharp like a cattleman’s spur. Why hadn’t I stayed with Dakota, why had I gone back to help JT? Why had I taken the damn job in the first place? I felt the guilt taking hold, ready to consume me, just as it had ten years back.

  Two more hours and we’d be in Savannah. As I drove, I kept replaying what had happened at the gas station in my mind. Wished I could change the past. Knew it wasn’t possible. If only I’d acted different, none of this would have happened. I exhaled hard. It wasn’t my only regret.

  ‘Lori?’

  I shook my head. ‘Just leave me be a moment, please.’

  JT frowned, but said nothing.

  I switched on the radio to fill the silence. Wondered how different things might have turned out if I’d never agreed to help him when he first came into my life all those years ago.

  24

  By eight o’clock we’d almost reached Savannah. I’d followed the highway, kept my foot on the gas, left behind small towns, farms and grand mansions, heading towards the city.

  I felt another vibration in my pocket: my cell. Like the other times, my heart raced, hoping it would be Dakota’s captors ready to set up a meet. I pulled it out, and checked the screen. Quinn, again. I didn’t answer. Felt crushed.

  To our right a church stood just off the highway. As I drove past, I peered up at the huge white cross towering high above the blacktop. We’d passed several roadside churches and more than once I’d spotted an adult store standing alongside, sharing the same parking lot. This one was no exception. I wondered if the preachers gave those stores their custom. Wondered what was available under the counter, if they traded in sick filth like the films being made at Winter Wonderland. Whether the men who used Emerson’s VIP service had started off by buying illegal material from places like that.