“Not a word to Jim about that!”
“My lips are sealed!”
She’d had trouble figuring out what to put in the note she was leaving tacked to the bulletin board in the truck stop. It had to look innocent to everyone else, had to explain to Jim. He might not see it, but if he did, she was pretty sure he’d understand.
“You all set there?” she asked.
Charlie looked over at her and nodded. “Let’s roll!”
* * *
Wednesday Morning
Maine / New Brunswick Border
Charlie watched the approach of the sled, a combination of excitement and apprehension gnawing at his stomach. He’d had dogs, hunting dogs, his whole life and understood how to talk to them. He’d also had a crash course in sled dog signals. The weather was clear and the trail well marked. Should be okay.
The sled pulled up beside him and Vincent hopped off, letting Charlie take his place on the back.
“The dogs know the way. Just keep them moving.” He settled down in the basket.
Charlie climbed aboard, just as he'd been shown, shouted, “Hike!” and they were off.
It took his breath away to see how fast they were going. The dogs made a lot of noise. Happy noises. He’d been told they loved to run, loved to pull the sleds through the snow, loved the attention they got from their handlers. He could believe it. He knew a doggy smile when he saw one.
They turned a corner and Charlie noticed the woods thinning out. They were approaching the river.
“Will the ice hold?” Charlie shouted the question.
“It should.” Vincent shouted back over his shoulder.
Charlie hoped he was right. It had been warmer yesterday than the organizers had anticipated
“Hike,” he called to the dogs. They had slowed down, sniffing at the trail, using caution when stepping out onto the frozen surface. Charlie wondered if they knew something he didn’t. He could see the other side easily. All he had to do was stay between the markers.
There was no border crossing here. No official one, anyway. The Canadians waited on the other side at the next checkpoint armed, not with guns, but with stopwatches. He would be off the sled by then. He looked up river, noticing the movement of water in several areas. Not truly frozen after all, but as long as he stayed in the groove, they should be fine.
It was a beautiful day and under other circumstances he would have gotten a big kick out of this, but he was nervous and his casted leg ached with the motion of the sled. He’d be glad to get back into the car.
“Help!”
Charlie jerked his head in the direction of the sound. Had he heard something? Really?
“Help!”
A young voice. Female. Where was it coming from?
“Please, somebody!”
He had it now, over to the right, downriver, about a hundred yards. He could see a head above the edge of the ice.
“There’s someone in the water!”
“Where?” Vincent asked.
Charlie pointed. He knew if they stopped he would be putting his escape at risk, but he couldn’t just ignore a cry for help. His training, as well as his conscience, wouldn’t let him.
He finished the crossing, then brought the team to a halt.
“What are you doing?” Vincent demanded.
“She’ll die if we don’t get her out.” He was already off the sled and running. On his broken leg. Probably not a good idea.
He stepped back out on the ice and moved carefully in the direction of the voice. It was a girl, clinging to the edge of the ice. It had broken under her weight. Hell! If the ice wouldn’t hold the girl’s weight, it certainly wouldn’t hold Charlie’s.
He looked around, trying to figure out how to approach her. He’d heard you could use slider boards, skis, sticks of wood, anything to extend your reach, and that you had to lie down flat on your stomach to spread the weight over more ice surface. Vincent had come up behind him. “Jeez!”
“Don’t come any closer. Do we have anything she can grab onto?”
“Wait a minute.” Vincent ran back to the sled and returned with the tarp that lined the basket. “Here.”
Charlie knelt down on the ice, then lay down flat and started to squirm.
“Stay calm. I’m coming.” The girl’s eyes turned in his direction. Good, she had heard him. Charlie was getting a much clearer view of the girl, her face pale, her lips an amazing shade of blue. How long had she been in the water? Charlie pushed the tarp in front of him.
“I’m coming. Stay very still.” He didn’t know where that came from, but it couldn’t hurt. The girl needed to listen and conserve her strength for the climb out.
“Here, mister!” Her teeth were chattering so hard she had trouble getting the words out.
“I see you.”
Charlie pushed the tarp along the ice, moving slowly and listening for cracking sounds. It wouldn’t do for both of them to go in.
“Take hold of the tarp.”
The girl tried, but her fingers no longer worked.
“Okay. Put the tarp between you and the ice, then grab the edge and hold on.”
Charlie had gotten as close as he dared. He was still about five feet from the edge of the ice, but he could see the spider web of cracks already in place.
He watched as the girl took a good, if clumsy, grip on the tarp.
“I’m going to back up. Don’t let go.”
The girl nodded.
Very slowly Charlie inched backward. He could feel when the girl’s weight crossed the line of ice and began to press down on the edge. The extra weight produced a series of cracking noises and Charlie paused for a moment, to let the ice settle, then slowly began again to pull the tarp, with the girl on it, back toward the woods.
It took him ten minutes of excruciatingly slow squirming to wriggle back to the point where Vincent stood. Between them, they hauled the tarp off the river. The girl lay on it, not moving, just gripping the edges and shivering. Charlie bent down and helped her climb to her feet, then pulled her close.
“Come on.”
They loaded the girl into the sled, Vincent’s arms around her, then set off toward the rendezvous point. Luckily, it was close. Five minutes brought them in sight of the hatchback.
Ginny opened the door and climbed out when they pulled up, her smile freezing when she saw what they had brought her.
“Oh, my!” She grabbed the girl and pulled her into the car.
Vincent glanced at his watch. “You got this?”
Charlie nodded, then stuck out his hand. “Thanks!”
Vincent shook it, then jumped on the sled. “Got to go. Good luck!” He set off, as fast as possible.
Ginny drove straight to St. Stephen, followed the highway signs to the hospital, and pulled up in the ambulance bay.
“Let me handle this,” she said. She put her arm around the girl and hurried inside. She was back in ten minutes.
“That was fast.”
“I told them I needed the ladies room. Let’s go and keep your head down!”
She steered out onto New Brunswick Highway 1 and headed for Saint John. Once they were away from St. Stephen, Ginny looked over at him.
“What was that all about?”
Charlie shifted his leg carefully. It was beginning to hurt.
“She had fallen through the ice. We couldn’t just leave her.”
“No, of course not.” Ginny looked at him, a smile spreading across her face. “Welcome to Canada!”
* * *
Chapter 40
Wednesday, Late Morning
Hwy 1, New Brunswick, Canada
Charlie looked out the window. Around them lay his new home. He tasted the idea in his mind. Home.
Home was where the heart was. His heart was with Mandy and the girls. Not here. Home was where you hung your hat. Well, he’d need a hat here. His ears hadn’t been warm yet. Home was where, when you had to go there, they had to let you in. That made the Halifax
Homestead home. What was he going to make of his new home?
He took a deep breath. “You know, I didn’t think I’d be able to pull this off, that I’d ever feel good enough about myself to start over.” He glanced at Ginny. “Guess, underneath it all, I’m still Charlie.”
“A Navy SEAL and a Texan and a Loch Lonach Homestead. Yes. Those things will stay with you.” She smiled at him. “I’m very proud of you, Charlie, and I know Mandy is, too.”
Charlie’s mouth curved up at the thought.
“Ginny, can I talk to you?”
“Of course.”
“This has been a hell of a ride and I’ve heard more than I know you wanted me to.”
She glanced over at him, then back at the road.
Charlie chose his words carefully. “You and Jim, you belong together. You need to make it happen.”
She didn’t take her eyes off the road. “I can’t change him.”
“Nope. Just yourself. So do it.”
She caught her breath. “What do you suggest?”
“First off, he’s a man and we’re kinda slow catching on. Give him time.”
He saw her lips twitch. “Okay. What else?”
He crossed his arms on his chest, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking on this trip. I miss Mandy something awful, but she was a good woman. Thinking about her is like thinking about a sunny day on the lake when the fish are jumping.” He chewed his lip, looking for the right words.
“What Jim’s facing, taking on the Homestead, training to be Laird, is kinda like what I’m facing. He’s left his old life behind him and he’s taking on one he doesn’t know much about. He’s gonna need help, just like I will, to start over.”
“What if he doesn’t want my help?”
Charlie snorted. The problem with women was they didn’t understand how simple men were.
“He wants it and he wants to be able to look at himself in the mirror without cringing. Mandy used to manage me and I knew it, but it was a little game we played. She pretended to be helpless and I pretended I could do anything. She’d bat those eyelashes at me and I’d melt right into her hands. I loved every minute of it.” Charlie smiled to himself, then looked over at Ginny.
“I’m just saying, you have more power than you know. Hell, women have all the power in a relationship. Men, well, we’re at your mercy and I hope you feel kindly towards Jim ‘cause he’s good people.”
He saw Ginny reach up and brush at her cheek.
“So are you, Charlie,” she said. “So are you.”
* * *
Wednesday Afternoon
Baileyville, ME
Jim pulled the phone out of the packaging and settled down on the back seat of the SUV, feeling like an idiot. The damned thing had been in the car all along.
He’d never used a burner phone before and wasn’t sure how it worked, but Reggie had set them up and Reggie could do anything, so Jim was not really surprised when the Laird answered.
“Grandfather, it’s me.”
“Auch! Jim! I dinna recognize th’ number.”
“This is one of the disposable phones Reggie set up for us.”
“Aye. How are ye lad?”
“Fine, but I haven’t been able to catch up with Ginny and Charlie.” He summarized the trip from Albany and Charlie’s exploits of the day before. “And I had a run-in with the border patrol last night.”
“Auch! ‘Tis a guid thing yer no in jail! Ye musn’t take such chances, lad.”
“How closely are they watching me?”
“That convict ye picked up, he’s tellin’ anyone wha’ll listen tha’ Charlie is runnin’ fra th’ Texas law. He described th’ van and gied a partial license plate. Described th’ three o’ ye as weel. It got back tae Detective Tran.”
Jim swore under his breath. He still felt they were safer together, but not if the police could follow him to Charlie.
“Is Charlie across th’ border?” Himself asked.
“I don’t know. I think Ginny is planning to use one of the races. Lots of the trails cross back and forth, but it’s all under tight security so I don’t see how she can manage it. I’m at the snowmobile venue at the moment. No sign of them here. I was just about to head down to the dogsled races, but, honestly, I don’t know.”
“Call me agin and let me know what ye find oot.”
“I will.”
Jim hung up the phone, then dialed Gordon’s loaner phone. Out of service still, but this time he left a message.
“Ginny, it’s Jim. Call me at this number as soon as you get this message.” He duplicated it in the texting system, giving the burner phone number, then put it in his pocket and pulled out his regular phone.
What would Tran think if this phone went dead? Would she assume the worst? Only the guilty would suddenly go dark? Or would she assume he’d forgotten to charge it up? He decided to keep using it until it actually did run out of power. Truth was always safest.
He drove down to the dogsled venue and looked around. No Charlie, no Ginny, and no acid green jerseys. Lunch, though. He bought himself a meal, trying to look innocent, aware that he might be on someone’s ‘suspicious persons’ list.
He hung around the dogsled venue for a couple of hours, asking questions, trying to get a feel for the event. It was another beautiful day, but the forecast was predicting change. Snow coming in this afternoon and another arctic front. The final day of the Festival was going to be a challenge.
When he was sure he couldn’t find out anything more, he went back to the truck stop. No sign of the hatchback. He parked and went in, deciding he wanted coffee and maybe something hotter than the tepid meals he’d been getting at the venues. He settled down in the restaurant and ordered stew and coffee.
His eye wandered over the other patrons. Most were obviously either townies or visitors come for the festival. Some were, just as obviously, truckers, commercial long-haulers, moving from Canada to the northeastern U.S. and back again. They had routines and bored faces. Jim watched as one approached a bulletin board. Even from here Jim could see it had job opportunities posted on it. Lots of slips of paper. A way for those looking for work to connect with those who had jobs.
He finished his meal, then gathered up his coat and moved toward the board, casually, not wanting to draw attention to himself. It was an outside chance. She might not even have seen it and, even if she did, what were the odds he would?
He stood reading the notices. Most were printed on white paper. Some had been computer generated. A few had decorations, or colored ink, or something else to make them stand out. One had a Cross of St. Andrew drawn in the corner. He took it down and read it.
“To the Laird of Loch Lonach, Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here.” It was signed, “Airsaid,” and had a location and a date/time listed at the bottom. Bailey Rips. Today’s date. Ten a.m.
Jim felt the adrenaline kick in. It was a message, a rendezvous, and he’d missed it by five hours. Would she still be there? Where was Bailey Rips, anyway? He hadn’t seen it on any of the trail maps.
“Is there a computer I can use?” The girl behind the counter pointed across the room.
“The truckers use that one. Just give it your credit card.”
Jim hurried over and sat down in front of the device. He pulled out his wallet, then paused. This would leave a paper trail. He carefully extracted the credit card Reggie had set up for his alter ego and offered it to the machine.
Fifteen minutes later he had a printed map and directions from the truck stop to the Rips. The adrenaline must have helped for Jim had realized, in time, that Ginny would be on the other side of the border. He printed out another map, this one from the truck stop to the point in Canada that did NOT show on the road map. It DID show on the satellite image of the area, an access road to a point just on the other side of the rapids. He closed the account, retrieved his card, picked up a coffee to go, and headed out.
*
* *
Wednesday Afternoon
Dallas, TX
The computer on Detective Tran’s desk pinged. She had the device set to let her know when a message she was interested in came in from a law enforcement agency, whether her own or another. She got a lot of junk notices and sometimes she had resorted to muting the ping, but this time she was grimly satisfied, both at the speed of the response and the contents of the message.
Charlie Monroe’s DNA had been found on the escaped convict’s skin and clothing. At some point the convict had come in contact with something Monroe had touched.
She scanned the rest of the report. There were no other matches. So, still no hard evidence of Miss Forbes or Dr. Mackenzie being involved, much less culpable. But of Mr. Monroe, there was a strong suggestion that on last Wednesday he had been alive and halfway to the Canadian border.
* * *
Chapter 41
Wednesday Noon
Saint. John, New Brunswick
Ginny and Charlie drove into Saint John an hour and a half after leaving the Rips. In the dead of winter, even with the sun out, the sight was depressing. The road took them along the harbor and, to Ginny, the town looked like every other industrial seaport the world over. Charlie seemed to like it, though. He was sitting up straighter and looking around at the water and boats.
“Are you hungry, yet?” she asked
Charlie nodded. “How about there?” He pointed to a modern-looking establishment that offered coffee and sandwiches. Ginny pulled in and parked. They examined the menu, then took their purchases to a table in the corner. Charlie licked the sauce off his fingers.
“Ummm. Good thing I like fish.”
There was a large screen TV in each of the corners of the restaurant, so customers could be sure to see it and eventually Ginny did notice. What she saw stopped her in mid-bite.
She couldn’t hear the news report, but she could see the picture. It was Charlie. There was a banner that gave his name and the fact that he was wanted in connection with a murder in Texas. She poked at Charlie, motioning at the TV screen. He looked up and froze, then finished his sandwich.
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