by DV Berkom
Spike appeared to consider the implications. He lowered the gun and took a step back.
I let go of the breath I’d been holding and added, “But he doesn’t have to know.”
Like a moth to a flame, he drew closer.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Let me go.” At the look of disbelief on his face, I hurriedly added, “We’ll make it look like there was a struggle. Tell him you untied me so I could use the bathroom. I promise he won’t have a clue about the pills.”
Spike appeared to be weighing the offer in his sketchy, flea-infested brain. I was betting on his need for the pills over his need to be a good soldier.
The pills won.
With a quick glance at the door, he untied the wrist closest to him and stepped back. I didn’t wait for an invitation. I untied my other wrist, leaped to my feet, and started for the window.
“Wait.” Spike grabbed my arm. “We have to make it look like something happened.”
“Oh. Right.” I glanced at the lamp on the dresser and then at him. He followed my gaze and gave me a little nod.
“Yeah. Hit me just enough to give me a bruise. That’ll work.”
I grabbed the lamp and smashed it against the side of his head with as much force as I could muster. The heavy base made a cracking sound but it held together. He dropped like a stone. I grabbed my gun from the dresser and slid it into the band around my waist. Then I raced to the window, eased the screen off, and let it slide to the ground before I climbed through. The window opened onto the side of the house near the gate with the lock I’d picked earlier. The dogs must have been corralled inside—they were nowhere to be heard.
I lowered myself to the ground and sprinted around the side of the house, headed for the street, praying that Chacon’s men weren’t looking in my direction.
“Moving targets are hard to hit.” I repeated the mantra and broke into a flat-out run for the Jeep.
The red taillights of the police cruiser were disappearing down the street. I made it to the Jeep before the dogs started yowling. A door slammed, followed by a man yelling as I jumped in and turned the engine over. I rammed the accelerator to the floor, and the tires chirped as the Jeep rocketed away from the curb in the same direction as the cruiser. Half a block away, I glanced in the rearview mirror at the three dogs hurtling after the Jeep, growing smaller and smaller.
Thirteen
MY HEART RATE didn’t return to normal until I’d made it onto the highway and was sure no one was following me. I pulled my phone from my purse and dialed the number for my contact in the DEA, and left a message letting him know I’d discovered a large shipment of counterfeit pills, but that I didn’t think it would be there long. I gave him the address again to make sure there was no confusion, and ended the call. He’d get an immediate alert that he had a new message.
It was then I remembered that Chacon was the name of the guy Mac’s informant, Charlie Krueger, had mentioned before he was shot to death. I figured I should let Mac know what was going on, although the city of Olympia wasn’t his jurisdiction.
Chacon wouldn’t keep the shipment of pills around, not after having been compromised. He didn’t know if I’d been telling the truth, and would probably err on the side of caution. The DEA would have to move quickly if they wanted to stop the counterfeit drugs from ending up on the street.
I checked the time. 10:40 p.m. The little icon on the bottom of my phone told me I’d missed two calls. Sam would wonder where I was. He answered on the first ring.
“Where are you?” His nonchalant tone didn’t fool me. He was concerned.
“I’m headed home right now.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I was out doing a little investigating, that’s all. No harm done.” I hoped, anyway.
“Uh huh.” He paused before continuing. “Are you all right?” His voice was quiet.
“Totally fine,” I lied. “You know how I get after visiting Lisa.”
“Yeah. Have you eaten yet?”
My stomach growled, letting me know that I’d completely forgotten about dinner. Being afraid for your life could do that.
“No, but I’ll scrounge something up when I get there.”
“I saved you a plate. Your parents were over. They brought dinner from The Brooklyn.”
The Brooklyn was a Seattle institution and had fabulous food—they grilled a mean steak and their salmon was to die for. “Let me guess—Maureen didn’t like whatever the last meal was that I made and thought she’d bring over something she could actually stomach?”
“You know, I think she actually means well.”
“She has an odd way of showing it.”
“Let it go, Kate. She’s stressed about Lisa. We all are.”
“I know, I know.” My eyes rolled so far up all I could see was black. “It’s just hard when she keeps blaming me for all the world’s ills.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“Maybe, but it sure feels that way.” I glanced at the next overpass. “I should be home in twenty.” I ended the call feeling surly. I wouldn’t be able to tell Sam what had happened with Chacon. He’d be upset, tell me that I could have compromised the DEA’s investigation. Hopefully the message I left my contact would have the opposite effect.
I couldn’t just sit around, twiddling my thumbs. Not only were the Whitmores unhappy with our progress on their deceased son’s case, but my sister was lying comatose in a hospital bed because of assholes like Chacon and Momo and Spike and Hoodie—people who couldn’t care less about what happened to their customers once they’d gotten their money.
My anger spiked at the injustice of it all. I’d never been good at feeling helpless and I didn’t want to start now. No, if anyone found out what had happened tonight, I’d be damned if I’d apologize. Even to Sam.
***
Sam picked up on my mood when I got home but didn’t press for details. We talked about our days and then turned in. I slept like the dead.
The next morning I received a call from my contact in the DEA. Agents had moved on the house outside of Olympia, but they were too late. Chacon had already transported the drugs. No evidence of wrongdoing was found. No guns, no drugs. No evidence that a homicide had occurred. I wondered how they had managed to wipe the place of Bobby’s DNA. My contact then told me that he was being assigned to another case. When I asked if I would get another contact, his answer was vague.
Momo called and left a message telling me he had the drugs. I slid on a pair of big sunglasses and a ball cap to hide my hair in case anyone from the night before was hanging around, and met him at the same park where he’d scored the drugs. Twelve thousand dollars seemed a bargain to keep that many pills off the street, but after what happened the previous night, the extent of the problem loomed large. I hid the pills in the garage back at the house underneath a blue tarp. I’d hand them over to Mac with an explanation later.
Depressed by my failure to achieve something worthwhile from my near-death experience with Chacon, I nosedived into a funk. I woke late and stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling. Food lost its allure. I avoided my father and Maureen, and soon even my dad stopped calling. Sam left me alone for the most part, understanding that I needed to deal with the grief from my sister’s overdose, unaware of my part in the failed bust.
Chance called several times, wanting to know what happened that night. I finally called him back and gave him my side of the story, which didn’t go over well. Apparently, I was persona non grata with the DEA, and for good cause.
Burning bridges seemed to be my strong suit.
I’d never kept anything from Sam. Our relationship became strained, mainly because of the guilt I was feeling, but also because of the distance I created from everyday life. If he suspected what happened, he never said. Sam kept on being Sam, and I tried to keep on being me.
The cases that we were able to make progress on failed to motivate me, and Sam finally called me on m
y lack of enthusiasm.
“Look, I’m trying.” I slammed the kitchen cupboard closed and put my hands on the counter for support.
“Maybe you should take a break.” Sam’s soft tone stood in stark contrast to the anger simmering inside me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“I can handle it—I just need a little time, that’s all.”
Sam skirted the counter and came up behind me. Gently, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to him. I went rigid at his touch but then melted as his warmth seeped into my skin. He kissed my neck and we stood still for a moment, listening to each other’s breathing, savoring the quiet eddy in our lives.
I broke away first and turned to face him. Searching his eyes, I said, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do need to get away.” The thought of leaving my sister tugged at my emotions, and I almost took back what I’d said. But something stopped me. If I didn’t get my head straight and work through my anger, I’d be of no use to anyone, especially Lisa.
“But what about Dad? I can’t just leave him here to deal with both Maureen and Lisa.”
“He’ll be fine. I’ll invite them over for dinner and make sure he’s holding up.” He caressed my cheek. “He’ll understand. And, I hate to say it, but Maureen will probably be less combative with you out of the picture for a while.”
“What if Lisa comes out of the coma? Or worse, what if she dies? I won’t be here. I’d never forgive myself if that happened.”
“You have a phone. I’ll call if there’s any change in her condition. Just make sure you’re within range of a cell tower or have an internet connection. Besides.” Sam’s gaze locked into mine. “You aren’t going to be MIA that long, are you?”
I smiled, letting him know he didn’t need to worry. “No, you’re right. A few days alone somewhere is all I need.” I leaned over and gave him a kiss. “I love you, Sam Akiaq. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He kissed me back, and for the first time in weeks I felt my passion ignite. It was obvious that he felt it too, and soon our clothes were on the floor. He lifted me onto the counter and I wrapped my legs around him. We moved in concert, both of us wanting, needing, reveling in the release, our pent-up emotions and physical needs urging us forward into oblivion.
Fourteen
I TOOK MY time driving to the coast. The sunny, unseasonably warm weather had broken, and a fine rain accompanied me to the cabin I’d rented for a few days. The rustic one bedroom was one of only three on an isolated bluff and had everything I needed: a stove, a refrigerator, dishes and pots and pans, a queen-size bed, and a river rock fireplace. There was no cell service, but the rental agency assured me that the high speed internet was reliable. All I had to do was bring food, wine, and my computer tablet, and I was set. I relished the idea of spending a few days alone on the wild and windswept Washington coast, walking the beaches with only my thoughts for company.
I unloaded the Jeep, and placed a loaded Beretta in the top drawer of the nightstand next to the bed. After putting away a few clothes I grabbed a bottle of red wine from the back seat of the Jeep and went into the cabin to pour myself a glass. The cabernet went down easily, and was a great complement to the sharp tang of the aged cheddar I’d picked up along the way. Kicking off my shoes, I settled onto the comfortable sofa and soaked in the vista before me. The huge picture window perfectly framed the deserted sandy beach below, punctuated by a number of stunted, windblown pines. As I contemplated the trees’ sheer tenacity, I realized their contorted trunks matched my mood—exhibiting strength against the elements but twisted and misshapen from the changeable winds.
There’s beauty in surviving.
And I was a survivor. Lisa’s condition wasn’t my fault, and my thinking it was wouldn’t help her. I had to come back to myself, get grounded again. Otherwise I’d continue to make bad decisions, allowing emotion to dictate my life. Like I’d always done.
And here I thought I’d left that tendency behind me.
Memories came flooding back of the years spent running from my past, all the pain and the loss I’d experienced and caused, and how much I’d grown. Back when I’d first been caught in Roberto Salazar’s web, I’d been fresh and new and expected the best from life, never having faced significant hardship or disappointment. Then it all changed, and in a big way. All from one, unimportant decision.
Or so it seemed at the time.
My ill-fated choice to stay with Roberto in Mexico had been an impulsive act, a personal rebellion against the safe life trajectory of working for a financial firm in downtown Minneapolis and living the dream of my older sisters and high school friends. I’d been confident of being on the fast track, had dedicated my life to climbing the corporate ladder, when my best friend suggested a vacation in Mexico to have one last hurrah as single college grads. It sounded like the perfect antidote to all the late-night studying and the stress of keeping my grade point average up, not to mention the job waiting for me. Little did I know that trip would change my life, and not for the better.
The reverberations of my past were still evident—my inability to trust, my edginess every time I entered a building or a new street or someone’s home. Strangers walking by were assassins sent to kill me or innocent bystanders who might be in danger should my old lover’s reach extend to wherever I’d run. Constantly on edge, I still made sure to choose the chair that would allow me to sit with my back to a solid wall, and I’d catch myself automatically searching for the exit, no matter where I was.
And I never left home without a gun.
Even now, on this remote stretch of the Pacific Coast with no people in sight, I’d locked the door behind me and knew exactly which windows I could use for an emergency exit. The back door was the weak link in the sturdily built cabin. Although equipped with a deadbolt, a sheer curtain covering the upper half of the wooden door was the only thing that stood between the six-paned window and the lock. If someone wanted to break in, all they’d have to do was knock out the pane closest to the deadbolt, slide the lock free, and open the door.
Relax, Kate. You’re safe here.
Restless, I set my wine glass on the coffee table and stood. The wind had kicked up, lashing the window with rain, but I needed to move, to burn off the nervous energy coursing through me. I grabbed my rain gear and the keys to the cabin and stepped outside.
Securing my hood against the weather, I set off along the bluff, hands shoved deep in my pockets. The landscaping, if you could call it that, consisted of a split-rail fence running the length of the bluff. A few rustic planters filled with primroses dotted the way.
Several yards from the cabin I came to a gravel path carved into the bluff. I followed the narrow trail down to the beach, enjoying the feel of the rain on my face. When I reached the bottom I kicked off my shoes and socks and struck off along the beach at a fast clip. The gray waves crashed against the sandy beach, the foamy water stretching toward the tree line.
Forty-five minutes later, I decided I’d gone far enough and turned around, intending to head back. In the distance, a lone figure walked toward me, head bowed to the rain and wind. By the person’s gait, I guessed it was a man. My instincts immediately went on high alert. Where did he come from? I hadn’t noticed cars at either of the other two cabins, and there weren’t any nearby parks.
Wishing now that I’d brought my gun, I veered left, moving closer to the bluff side of the beach. I needed a good look at the stranger, whoever it was, before I’d take any chances and get too close. The thought that Sam had followed me there crossed my mind, but I discarded the idea. He knew I needed time alone and wouldn’t impose. If anyone understood the need for solitude, it was Sam. Besides, I didn’t recognize the coat.
My next thoughts gave me pause. No one but Sam knows you’re here. You’re being paranoid.
Feeling foolish, I forced myself to relax. If this guy was a fellow cabin dweller, there’d be no sense putting him off by being overtly rude. I knew how to guard
my privacy. It didn’t take much to let someone know I wanted to be left alone.
As we drew closer to each other, I glanced at his face. Clean-cut and in his early to mid thirties, he was average in height and weight. His nondescript features didn’t ring any bells. He noticed me looking at him, and he smiled and waved. Forcing a smile, I waved back, but kept moving.
“Nice weather we’re having,” he called out, trying to be heard over the wind.
I nodded and shrugged. We’re in Washington, dude. Rain was on the menu nine months out of the year. We passed each other, and I continued for a few yards before turning to see if he was still walking in the opposite direction. He was.
Relieved I wouldn’t have to make small talk or worry about his presence, I continued back to the cabin for another glass of wine and dinner for one.
A four-door sedan was parked next to one of the other cabins. Apparently I was no longer alone.
***
After dinner, I washed and put away the dishes and then dug out my tablet from the suitcase. The rental agency had been right. The internet was good, almost as fast as the office. I sent an email to the rental agency to ask if any of the other cabins had been rented for the same dates, and spent time on a couple of social sites but quickly grew bored. For over an hour, I mindlessly clicked on whatever took my fancy. I tried watching a movie, but my restlessness kept me from getting interested. Frustrated that I had nothing to show for the time I’d just wasted, I surfed to an online bookstore and downloaded the latest thriller by one of my favorite authors.
By now, the rain and wind had turned into a full-fledged storm, raging against the tiny cabin. The lights flickered, so I put down my tablet and went to build a fire in the fireplace in case the power went out. A few minutes later, the flames leaped to life, crackling and snapping and sizzling from the moisture in the wood. I breathed in the smoky scent of burning cedar and fir, and settled back on the couch.
