Tennessee Touch, Sisters of Spirit #6

by Nancy Radke

  The nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away. Jake took off running while Logan picked his way barefoot around the house, trying to discover where the fire had started.

  When he reached the driveway, a truck backed up, spun around and drove off. It had no lights on until halfway down the long drive, too far away for Logan to see.

  It would have to pass Jake.

  Fearing for Jake’s life, Logan took off after it, yelling, coughing, sprinting down the drive. He could see Jake, spotlighted in the headlights, running ahead of the truck.

  The truck fishtailed as the driver stepped on the gas, but Jake was running for his life and high-jumped over the five-foot rock wall at the entrance. With a squeal of tires, the truck swerved, straightened and sped away.

  Breathing hard, Logan joined his friend. “I’m glad you’re a fast runner.”

  Jake gasped for breath. “Not as glad as I am.”

  “Did you get the license number?”

  “It was mudded over.”

  They both turned and looked back at their rental house, engulfed in flames.

  “I liked that house,” Jake said.

  “Me too.”

  They walked to their neighbors, who brought them in, gave them blankets and warm coffee while they called the authorities, Alison and Chantal, and then a couple of teammates.

  Coach Dobb showed up right after the fire trucks, writing both of them checks to buy clothes and meet other expenses until they could get re-established. The police came next, and they spent an hour giving their stories.

  “Did you see anyone earlier? Anyone hanging around?”

  “Just an airline employee who delivered my suitcase.”

  “Anything unusual about that?”

  “No. Well, yes. My luggage tag said Verne Logan on it. And he asked if I were Josh Logan.”

  “What airline?”

  Logan told him, along with the approximate time of delivery.

  “If he’s an airline employee, it might be how he jumps from state to state so easily. Why don’t you talk to the FBI? See if they’re investigating this. Mention the airline connection and have them check it out.”

  They spent the rest of the night with their two teammates, who loaned them some clothes for the next day. They went to the FBI offices in Green Bay and were quickly flown to Washington DC. where an agent was already working on the case.

  Once there they were directed to Agent Mark Stone, who had been gathering the information on all the “accidents” and attacks over the last three years. He had put it onto a spreadsheet and graphed different aspects.

  “One of the Dallas policemen brought this to my attention early this year,” Mark said, bringing up the spreadsheet for them to look at. “He realized that each city was doing its own investigation, and hadn’t connected the dots.”

  “That’s what we thought,” Logan said.

  “You notice it’s getting more violent and more often,” Mark pointed out.

  “Can you spot a pattern?” Jake asked.

  “No. I’m hoping you two can. You know the players and the teams better than I do.”

  Logan looked at the sheet. Some men he hadn’t even heard of. But one thing he noticed. “A lot of these players were having exceptional years.”

  “But other players had good years and they weren’t targeted. So what was different about these players?” Mark asked.

  Jake drummed his fingers on the desk. “Like you said, Logan. These guys were having exceptional years. They hadn’t been having good years, then they started playing very well. I know quite a few of them.”

  “Could it be a fan of one of the teams, making sure his team won?” Logan asked.

  “That’s what I thought at first,” Mark said. “But over the three year period all the teams have had someone targeted.

  “A player reducing the competition before a game?”

  “No. They rarely play against the same teams.”

  “How about someone betting on teams?” Logan said. “They could be cutting down the competition. Bet against a team, then take a player out.”

  “That’s going to be hard to spot.”

  “Can we have a copy of this?” Logan asked, and Mark nodded. “I’ll see if any players on the other teams have any theories. If nothing else, it will give them a heads up to be more cautious. Jake and I barely made it out of the house.”

  “Did you lose it all?”

  “All except my welding equipment. It was in a small outer building.”

  “Do you have anywhere to go?”

  “We’re flying to Seattle for Thanksgiving. We’ll let our agents take care of the mess.”

  “Have your agents rent them under their names. Don’t stay and let him have another try.”

  Jake nodded, adding, “The season is almost over, so we won’t be renting much longer anyway.”

  “Here’s my card,” Mark said, handing several to each of them. “Call me if you think of anything.”

  The FBI flew them back to Green Bay. After they landed, Logan asked the taxi to stop at a phone store, and the two bought cell phones before they continued on. Logan called the coach, told him their plans and then directed the taxi back to their teammates’ house. He called Alan, the mechanic at the small airfield where he kept his plane, and asked him to get the plane ready to fly early next morning.

  They spent the rest of the day buying some personal items. That evening they emailed the spreadsheet to the NFL headquarters with a suggestion that it be sent to all the teams.

  The next morning they took a taxi to the airstrip. Alan greeted them, a questioning look on his face.

  “You didn’t just call me a few minutes ago, did you?” he asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “I pulled your plane out, got it fueled and ready to go, then got a phone call in the office. When I went in, there was no one on the line.”

  “Wrong number?”

  “Maybe. When I came out, the door to the plane was shut, and I’m sure I left it open.”

  Jake and Logan looked at each other. Logan had been using the plane a lot lately, and it was mentioned in a write-up a sports reporter had done recently.

  “Had you filed our flight plans?” Logan asked.

  “Yes. A couple of hours ago.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “No. I gave it a quick check and wouldn’t have thought more about it, except I’ve been reading about players getting hurt. And about your fire. That was front-page news.”

  “If it looks okay to you, I’ll take it up—”

  “No, you won’t. I’ve flown all my life, including birds that lost their engines. I’ll take it up for a few touch and goes. If it handles okay, then you’ll get it.”

  He walked back into the office and came out with a parachute on. A former bush pilot, he took the plane up, did a few loops, touched down, then took it up again.

  “Looks okay,” Jake said, pulling their new grips out of the back seat of the taxi.

  “Yeah. That—”

  The motor sputtered, then quit and the plane began to sink.

  “Is he trying to scare us?” Jake asked.

  “He’s not the type. He has a parachute, but he’s not high enough to use it.”

  They watched anxiously as Alan straightened out the little plane, put it into a circling glide and dropped it down on the runway. It bounced hard a few times, blew out the rear tire, then slid noisily up to them.

  Alan stepped out, patted the plane and said. “Looks like we’re going to take mine today.”

  “How did you ever...? How did you do that?” Logan asked, amazed. He had expected the plane to nosedive into the ground.

  “I’ve flown gliders. It’s good practice although these planes don’t like to glide. They aren’t built for it. I knew a pilot who glided a commercial airliner down when he ran out of fuel. It can be done; but you have to know what you’re doing.”

  Logan shook his head. “I couldn’t have handled that. I wou
ld have killed us both. It’s lucky you’re the pilot you are.”

  “What happened?” Jake asked. “Any idea?”

  “It sounded like it ran out of gas. I think that joker put a clamp on the fuel line. It wasn’t leaking when I checked it, so if it wasn’t cut...” He climbed back into the fuselage, opened a compartment and felt around. “Yep. Here it is.” He pulled off a clamp made of twisted wire.

  “No one’s taking this up until I give it a thorough going over. So help me roll it into the hanger. I’ll take you in mine.”

  “All the way to Seattle?”

  “Wouldn’t do much good to stop halfway, now, would it? Well, come on. I can see you boys have important business there. And whoever is trying to kill you is here in Wisconsin, so you’ll be safer out of this place.”

  They walked around the plane and helped push it inside. “Looks like we made the list permanently,” said Logan. “We can’t be careful enough now.”

  “I’ll give the clamp to the police,” said Alan. “They can check it for fingerprints, although I doubt they’ll find any good ones on wire.”

  Logan’s pilot explained that he had relatives in Olympia, and would spend Thanksgiving with them. He would fly back when they were ready to leave, pick them up at Boeing Field and return them to Green Bay. “It’ll work out fine. They’ve been asking me to come for the past six years. I was always too busy.”

  He looked at their small grips. “You have any other luggage?”

  “We lost everything in the house,” Logan explained. “I called my agent and he’ll work with the renter’s insurance to get things started. We’ll have plenty to do when we get back, including buying some clothes.”

  “The clothes we’re wearing belong to a couple of the other players who are close to our size,” Jake added. “We spent the last two nights at their house. Didn’t want to stay longer, to bring trouble down on them.”

  “Everyone thought it would be a good idea for us to get out of the area for awhile, let the FBI look for this man,” Logan said. “But I don’t think he stays in any one state very long. I sure wish I knew how he thinks. Then maybe we could figure out how he chooses his targets and set a trap for him.”

  On the flight to Seattle, they discussed the possible reasons why the man was going after NFL players, but came to no conclusion.

  Dropped off at Boeing Field, they rented a car, picked up Chantal and Alison, and drove to Lake Union.

  Ryan and Angie had invited them to their houseboat on Lake Union, which was decorated up for Thanksgiving dinner. They arrived at the same time as Grandma Miller, who was making her way along the dock with Ryan’s support.

  Tag greeted them with a bark and a quick check to see what food they were carrying.

  “I love your dog,” said Alison, putting her savory bread pudding down on the table next to Chantal’s salad. “I wish we could have dogs at our apartments.”

  “Jake and I were renting a house,” Logan said. “I never checked to see if animals were allowed.”

  “I did,” Jake said. “Everything but cats.” At Grandma Miller’s look of disapproval, he added, “I guess the owner had problems with cats.”

  “Cat owners take exception to that,” Grandma said. “There are good cats and bad cats, just as there are good dogs and bad dogs.”

  “Has Tag ever shown any other watchdog tendencies?” Alison asked. “She did so well that one time.”

  “She might have just been reacting to being kicked into the lake,” Ryan answered, pulling the chair out for Grandma Miller. After seating the elderly lady, he added, “Tag does what I want her to, which is to bark at a stranger and alert me. I don’t expect her to tackle the bad guys.”

  He looked at the dog who was watching everything. “Tag, you don’t need to be begging food. Go to your bed. Go on.”

  With a look designed to melt a human’s heart, Tag slowly walked over to a pile of blankets by the stove.

  “Does she still sleep on your bed, Angie?” Alison asked.

  “Oh no. As soon as Ryan and I got married, Ryan set some boundaries. She’s not allowed in our bedroom.”

  “Being a smart dog, she learned fast,” Ryan added, nodding towards Tag who had settled down by the stove.

  Angie held up the coffee pot. They all nodded and she began to pour. “Have you heard any more about the man who is harming pro football players?” she asked.

  “No,” Logan said.

  “What’s this?” Grandma asked, looking startled, so they filled her in on what had been happening and how Logan and Jake had barely escaped their burning home.

  “We’ll be taking a lot of precautions,” Logan said, helping himself to the mashed potatoes. “Coach Dobb said we should always fly with the team, although the press will be told that we’ve gone on ahead. We’ll fly under the names of two coaches who joined the squad last month.”

  “All the players are staying out of the spotlight,” Jake said.

  “Which is probably why he burned your house,” Ryan said. “He couldn’t catch you coming home after a flight, so set the fire.”

  “It doesn’t sound safe,” Grandma said. “Do either of you have a concealed weapons permit?”

  “I do,” said Jake.

  “Same here,” said Logan. “Tennessee mountain boys always have their guns.”

  “Good.” She nodded with satisfaction. “Make sure you carry them.”

  “We can’t bring them on a commercial jet,” Jake said. “So when we get here—”

  “Come by and I’ll loan you mine.”

  “Do you have one, Grandma?” asked Angie.

  “Of course. I have three handguns and one rifle. I grew up on a ranch. You had to be able to shoot. Sometimes your life depended on it. Sometimes it was just to put an injured animal out of its misery. Also, my husband was a border agent. I had five rifles for awhile. And,” she added with a smile, “I know how to use all of them.”

  “Pity the burglar who tries to rob this old lady,” Ryan said. “If her cats don’t get him, she will.”

  “Alison mentioned that you were good at figuring things out,” Logan told Ryan. “We can’t determine why this guy chooses some players to target and not others. There seems to be no pattern.”

  “Do you have a list of the players hurt so far?”

  “Yes. An FBI agent, Mark Stone, put them together on a spreadsheet. We brought a copy with us.”

  “We’ll look at it after dinner.”

  “Robin’s home from Virginia,” Ryan said. “She’s at our folk’s home. She said to say ‘hi’ to everyone and to let you know the Sisters of Spirit group is still going. Evidently Jo went back for her masters and is keeping the group active. So Robyn is now officially a member.”

  “Wonderful,” Alison said. “How long will she be home?”

  “Over a week. She’ll come into Seattle in a few days and plans to see you.”

  “She texted me this morning, said she’d come, but didn’t mention she was already in the area. This is excellent turkey, Angie.”

  “Thanks. It’s Grandma Miller’s recipe. Slow cooked overnight at a low temperature. Keeps it moist and tender.”

  They all ate silently for awhile, enjoying the food. Then Ryan asked, “Do you two have a place to stay?”

  “No. We just came. Thought we’d make last minute arrangements, as it would be harder to track us.”

  “We have a spare bedroom, if you’d like. You can stay here as long as you need. That way you don’t have to register for a room or anything.”

  “Is that all right with you, Angie,” Logan asked. “We might be bringing a killer to your door.”

  “No problem,” she said. “Tag would take care of him.”

  “You sure?”

  Ryan laughed. “I work from home. I’ll be here, too. And I’ll stay armed until this man is caught.”

  “Then thanks. That would be great. We can stay three days. We need to do some personal shopping, so it might be best to do it here, wh
ere it’s harder to recognize us. Then we have to get back and restart our life.”

  Jake nodded his agreement, as did the rest of them.

  After the pumpkin pie and cranberry jello dessert, Grandma Miller opted to take a nap on the couch. Alison and Chantal helped Angie with the dishes while the men put the flash drive containing Mark Stone’s spreadsheet into Ryan’s laptop.

  They grouped around the dinner table, looking at the information on the spreadsheet.

  “I see what you mean,” Ryan said. “Totally random.”

  “The only link we could find is that many of them were having an exceptional year.”

  “I can sort these into groups, if I knew what to look for,” said Ryan. “But over the years at least one player from every team has been hurt.”

  “Not the same positions, not the same teams,” said Jake.

  At that moment the women joined them. “May I see,” asked Chantal.

  The men stepped aside to let them in.

  Chantal stared at the spreadsheet. “Why, three of those men were my players this year. Once they were injured, my team lost all momentum.”

  13

  “What do you mean, your team?” Ryan asked Chantal. “They play for different teams.”

  “My fantasy team. I play fantasy football and I was doing great until my key players started getting hurt.”

  Logan and Jake just looked at each other. Of course! They weren’t on the same real team. They were on fantasy teams, playing against fantasy teams, and someone was so caught up in the fantasy league he was willing to injure or kill real players so his team would win.

  “So how does anyone know who’s on your team?” Ryan asked.

  “People have to register their teams in order to play.”

  “Do you play fantasy football?” Ryan asked Logan and Jake.

  “Nope,” said Jake.

  “No time,” said Logan. “But I know a lot of players who do. They might’ve spotted it if we’d shown this to them, but we just got it ourselves. How does fantasy football work?” he asked Chantal.

  She gave a detailed rundown of drafting players, joining a league, and putting out players each week that could hopefully beat the other teams.