“Yes. Apparently about two hours before we encountered it.”
She looked at him. “You mean someone went out and stole a car for the express purpose of trying to kill us?”
“A very specific car…a muscle machine with a big engine and lots of power plus dark tinted windows to prevent anyone from seeing inside. It was made to order for their purpose, and depending on where it was stolen from, there was a good chance that the owner wouldn’t have realized that the car was missing for several hours.”
He took a deep breath before continuing with the rest of the information he’d gleaned from his conversation with Steve Duncan. “And that leads us to the obvious question of how someone knew two hours ago that they were going to need that car.”
She didn’t have an answer for his comment…other than the obvious one that somehow there was someone who had access to inside information. She didn’t say anything during the rest of the drive, using the time to try to sort things out.
Brad was thankful for the quiet. He had many things to work out in his mind. One thing was for sure. Tara couldn’t have had anything to do with this latest attempt. She didn’t have any prior information and hadn’t been out of his sight from the time he told her he had arranged a flight, a fact that sent a wave of relief through him.
Nothing had gone right from the moment he had decided to approach Tara and confide his suspicions to her. Her life was in his hands. He was thoroughly convinced of that now more than ever. He also knew that it wouldn’t stop with her. He had become a target as well. He needed to present a confident front to Tara, to let her know he had things under control and she would be safe. He only wished he felt as sure about it.
They didn’t stop driving until they reached Anacortes, about ninety miles north of Seattle. Brad bought gas, then bought tickets for the Washington State Ferry to Friday Harbor on San Juan Island, about halfway to Vancouver Island, British Columbia. They ate in the car while waiting for the departure time.
Tara finally ventured a question. “Where are we going?”
Brad knew the time for explanations would eventually present itself. Now he had to come up with some answers. “We’re going to hide out in the San Juan Islands for a couple of days. I have some information I want to go over with you.” He stole a quick glance in her direction, this time the thoughts very personal rather than business. “Hopefully we can get a couple of days where we don’t need to be constantly looking over our shoulders.”
“Wouldn’t we be safer if we took the ferry to Canada?”
“Yes, and we may need to end up doing that. But for now I’d rather not have to identify myself as a deputy U.S. marshal crossing the border in order to explain my handgun and leave a record of my being in Canada. And I certainly don’t want to get caught in a random spot-check and have them find my handgun as if I were trying to smuggle it into the country without properly identifying myself.”
Tara took a moment to consider what he’d said. It made sense. She looked around at the cars waiting to load on the ferry. She scanned them a second time. “I don’t see the black car.” She turned to face Brad. “Do you think we lost whoever it was?”
His voice didn’t sound as confident to her as she wanted it to. “I think so…for now.”
The arrival and docking of the ferry drew their attention. It unloaded its cars and a few minutes later they drove on and were soon on their way. They remained in Brad’s car on the vehicle deck, not venturing up to the passenger decks.
“We might as well use this time to get a little bit of work done.” Brad grabbed the envelope he had taken from his office and pulled out the pages he had added when he printed out the information Steve Duncan had sent to his home computer.
“I have a couple of pictures here that I want you to look at. One of them is a police mug shot taken three years ago and the other one is a photo of a body pulled out of the Columbia River at Portland early this morning.”
He handed the pictures to her. “Do you recognize this man? Maybe someone you’ve seen in the past couple of months? Try to picture him with long hair, his hair a different color, maybe even a mustache, possibly glasses…anything that would have altered his appearance from what he looked like when they fished him out of the river. There’s a physical description there, too…height, weight, eye color and so on.”
Tara accepted the pieces of paper from him. She closed her eyes for a moment as she took a calming breath. She had never seen a dead body before other than in a casket at a funeral—certainly not one that had been murdered and found in the river. A little tremor of anxiety made itself known. She slowly opened her eyes. The gasp escaped her throat before she could stop it. Someone had put a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. One side of his face appeared battered, probably from the river banging the body against the pier pilings or maybe against some rocks.
She looked at the other picture, the police mug shot. She read the physical description, then tried to picture what the man would look like standing on a sidewalk or sitting in a car. Something about him caught her attention but she wasn’t sure exactly what.
“He does look sort of familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen him. I’m getting the impression of something from a while back, not anything as recent as in the past couple of months.” She shook her head and held the pictures out to him. “I’m just not sure.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”
“You keep hold of the pictures for a while. Maybe it will come to you later.” Once again her plight touched a deeply emotional response in him. He put his arm around her shoulder and drew her body next to his. “Everything’s going to be okay. Whoever is behind this is desperate. What had been carefully planned-out crimes that were made to appear as unfortunate accidents, such as the near misses you had with the careless driver and the falling urn, have since turned into a blatant assault on your life with no attempt to make it appear to be an accident.
“And now that I’m on the scene there have been two attempts when we’ve been together, both true signs of desperation—” he indicated the photos “—capped off by the killing of one Andrew Carruthers who went by the name of Pat—a man who I believe was responsible at the very least for the murder of Phil Winthrope and possibly the rest of the witnesses as well. I also think he planted the bomb in your car, something I believe he was rushed into doing. It didn’t have the same sense of careful planning associated with his other jobs.”
She looked at the photo of the corpse again. “And now he’s dead, too.”
“It’s my guess that his failure to eliminate you probably cost him his life.”
She furrowed her brow in a moment of concentration. “If the hired killer is dead, killed by the person who hired him, does that mean that whoever is behind this will be coming after us directly rather than hiring someone else?”
“I think so. The attempt today with the truck almost had to have been handled by them directly. There wasn’t enough time between my phone call to schedule the flight and the run-in with the dump truck and black car for them to have located and hired another contract killer to do the job.”
“You keep saying them. Do you think there’s more than one person behind this?”
“It seems as if there has to be at least two people. Whoever found out about my arrangements for a plane…whether it was someone who hacked into flight operations’ computer schedules or someone who overheard me on the phone…pretty much had to call someone else to handle the details, steal a car, rig the truck—”
The words froze in his throat. He forced them out as he shoved her toward the floorboards. “Get down. There’s someone moving between the cars.”
Tara’s pulse raced as she crouched down as low as she could get. How could someone have followed them onto the ferry boat? She watched as Brad again pulled the 9mm handgun from its holster, the sight of the weapon becoming more familiar to her with each passing day. He slowly opened the car door and slid out, keeping
low to the ground. As soon as he moved away from the car, she lost sight of him. Her heart pounded so hard it felt as if it might burst from her chest, or at the very least be heard by someone passing by.
She attempted to force a calm to her rampaging trepidation. She strained to hear anything out of the ordinary. The only sounds to reach her ears were the churning engines that propelled the boat through the water, accompanied by the rolling motion of the ocean swells. The one thing that did capture her conscious thoughts was the realization that she was not experiencing the same all-out fear and panic as she had on earlier occasions. Was it her belief in Brad Harrison and trust in his ability to protect her? She didn’t know, but the idea brought her some comfort.
The car door flung open. “I don’t know if I’m getting jumpy or what—”
The sudden intrusion startled her out of her thoughts. She jerked to attention, banging her shoulder sharply into the car door. She let out a little yelp of pain as she looked up at him.
“Are you all right, Tara?” His manner softened, his concern real as he leaned inside the car and helped her back into the seat.
She rubbed her hand against the sore spot on her shoulder, then extended a sheepish smile. “You startled me.” She scanned the rows of cars on the vehicle level of the ferry, a hint of nervousness showing in her voice. “What did you find? Who was out there?”
He slid in behind the steering wheel. “As I started to say, I guess I’m a little too jumpy. We’re approaching Friday Harbor. It was just a couple of crew members preparing for arrival at the dock.” Then, as if to give validity to his statement, several passengers returned to their cars in preparation to disembark. A short while later they drove off the boat and proceeded directly to a motel.
He checked them into connecting rooms. Tara used her new name of Alice Denton provided by Ken Walsh. Brad registered using the name Martin Bronson. He reluctantly put both rooms on the Martin Bronson Marshals Service credit card he carried for emergencies. It was either that, or he had to use his real name and personal credit card as he didn’t have enough cash on him to carry through with what he might need for the next couple of days, and he didn’t want to leave a trail by using an ATM machine at Friday Harbor.
He rationalized his decision with the fact that the credit card use was part of the business records and an entirely separate system not available to the deputies or office personnel. Even if someone had managed to hack into flight operations and had appropriated information about witnesses, there wouldn’t be any reason for someone to be snooping in a system that contained only accounting and other routine business records.
Brad took Tara’s suitcase from the trunk, then grabbed the duffel bag that he carried at all times. It contained clothes, personal items, the cell phone he had given to Tara to use and his notebook computer—sort of an emergency kit should he find himself in a situation where he needed to leave town immediately without being able to pack a suitcase before going. This was just such a situation.
They each settled into their assigned room, then Brad entered her room through the connecting door. He quickly surveyed the surroundings as he stepped inside. “Well, it’s not glamorous but it’s clean and looks comfortable. At least it’s larger than the motel room in Tacoma and we do have two rooms rather than just the one.”
Tara sat on the edge of the bed. She looked up at him, her eyes questioning even more than the timbre of her voice did. “What happens now? What kind of plan do you have? We can’t stay here forever and you can’t keep moving me from one motel to another. At some point we need to go back to Seattle and I need to get on with my life.”
He sat down next to her, putting his arm around her shoulder and drawing her closer to him. He wanted to provide some comfort for her, to ease her anxieties. “This is only just for a day or two.”
“That’s what you said about the motel in Tacoma. Then there was a night at your condo. And now we’re here. I have a job that I can’t neglect if I’m going to keep it. And you—” a moment of sorrow swept through her body “—because of me your career is in jeopardy.”
“Don’t worry about my career. When we find whoever is behind this, no one is going to give me any grief about my actions.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, allowing his fingers to trail lightly down the side of her neck before cupping her chin.
He placed a tender kiss on her lips, brief yet meaningful. “I know your job is important to you. I’m sorry about constantly moving you around, but we need someplace where we can hide out while we put together a plan of action. Arranging for a Marshals Service flight didn’t work. Here we’ve got anonymity and hopefully a couple of days of breathing space before things catch up with us again.”
“But is this really safe?”
It was the same question he had wrestled with, one for which he did not have a good answer. All he could do was try to reassure her. “This is an out-of-the-way independently owned motel, not part of a national chain. They aren’t connected to a computer network for reservations. There isn’t anything where someone can hack into the system to find out who is registered. The Washington State Ferry system doesn’t log car license numbers of the thousands of vehicles they transport each day. We didn’t do anything prior to our arrival that said this was where we were going. It was truly a last-minute decision made after we were already in the car.”
“Okay…so, where do we begin?” She didn’t want him to know just how frightened she was. She extended what she hoped came across as a confident smile. He already had too much to worry about without her dumping additional pressure and stress on him.
He stood up. “I’ll be right back.”
She watched as he went back through the connecting door to his room. His room…her room. Wouldn’t it be more expedient if they shared a room, easier for him to provide the required safeguards and protection? But it was an idea that left her rattled and confused. She toyed with the notion that it was a much more personal reason that had her thinking about their sharing a room…an intensely personal interest in Brad Harrison, the man whose kisses drove her wild, rather than Brad Harrison the strong protector.
She closed her eyes and allowed the feelings to flow over her. Whenever he touched her she felt the soft sensation filtering through her as a sensual warmth surrounded her. Yet at the same time, her emotional turmoil fought for its place in the equation.
She was in danger. There had already been attempts on her life. Brad had put himself in harm’s way to protect her, and because of that sacrifice he had sustained a flesh wound. She could not be mad about him questioning her on certain matters or even about him considering that she might be somehow involved in a scheme with Danny. He was doing his job.
So, how could she have entertained such a frivolous thought as their sharing a room, something so far removed from the reality facing them that it never should have entered her mind? She slowly drew a steadying breath, held it a moment, then exhaled. It was more than the physical desire that coursed through her body whenever he was near. There was an added level of comfort and emotional security. In other words…trust. It was an entirely new sensation, one as exhilarating as the thought of them making love.
Brad’s return interrupted her errant thoughts and musings. He placed a couple of file folders on the bed then sat down next to her. “This is everything I’ve gathered about this mess up to and including what my friend, Lieutenant Duncan, sent me this morning. I want to go over all of it with you. Some of this we’ve already been through, but I want to go over it again. I want you to tell me any thoughts that occur to you, no matter how obscure or insignificant you think they are. This location might be safe, but it’s possible that we’ve only bought a little bit of time. We can’t continue to move from place to place, one unsafe location to another. We’ve got to get this resolved. We’ve got to figure out who’s behind this.”
A tingle of excitement flitted across the surface of her skin. He kept saying we need to do things. He was includin
g her as an equal. It was a profound moment in her life, one that had her growing emotional involvement with him escalating to new heights. She stiffened her resolve to come up with some useful information, anything that would help him.
He shuffled through one of the files. “We need to either find the person in the Seattle office of the Marshals Service who is providing information or exonerate everyone. Once we’ve accomplished that we can utilize the full resources of the Marshals Service and you can have proper protection until the situation is resolved.”
He turned to face her, the seriousness of the moment written on his face. “And the death toll is mounting. Even though the last victim was a professional killer, his death was still murder at the hands of someone dangerous and growing more desperate with each passing day. We need to get to the bottom of these crimes before another dead body is added to the list.”
He grabbed a notepad and began jotting notations as he talked. “All of this apparently started as a result of John Vincent dying of a heart attack two weeks after going to prison following his conviction. There are two theories I can’t seem to separate. There’s equal evidence for each side. The first one says everything would have been okay if John had done his prison time and gotten out. He would have been eligible for parole in seven years. His death might have touched off the need in someone for revenge. Or, the flip side of the theory coin says that murdering all the witnesses was nothing more than a smoke screen to cover a specific murder committed for reasons not connected to John Vincent’s death or to a revenge angle.”
He continued to make notes as he ran down the possibilities. “Perhaps it was only the two protected witnesses who were the target. They were put into the program and given new identities because of what they knew about organized crime in addition to their specific testimony about John Vincent. It was like a half-opened can of worms. The necessary worms had been extracted, but the lid couldn’t be put back on to keep the rest of them safely inside the can. It would only be a matter of time before everything came spilling out.”
In His Safekeeping Page 14
