by Cindi Myers
“Did you have anything to do with his death?” Travis asked.
“He died of a brain aneurysm at age forty. He and I share the same body type and general coloring. I have a contact in vital records who keeps me informed of such useful persons.”
“So you stole his identity,” Travis said.
The train slowed to a crawl. Marcie approached their table. “Can I get you anything, Mr. B?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” he said. “We won’t be requiring anything else this trip. Feel free to leave us alone.”
“I’m assigned to this car for the whole trip,” she said. She glanced out the window. “Not much longer. We’re at Elk Park. Sometimes the train stops here, if we have a hiker or someone like that who needs to get off. Most of the time we just crawl through so folks can take pictures of the old bridge.”
What had the conductor said? Something about Deadwood Gulch being next on the list? Leah raised her eyes to find Travis’s gaze fixed on her. She didn’t have to read minds to know what he was thinking—if they didn’t find a way to get away from Duane before they reached Silverton—and definitely before he hustled them into his car and drove off into the mountains—they could very well be dead before nightfall.
Rage filled her at the thought that they had endured so much—struggled so much—only to have Duane win in the end. She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t sit here and not try to do something to save herself and Travis. She shoved back her chair and stood. “I need some air,” she said, and headed toward the viewing platform at the rear of the car.
“You need to stay here until we reach Silverton.” Duane leaned back, giving her a clear view of the gun in his hand.
“I’m just stepping out on the platform,” she said, reaching for the sliding door that led outside. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.” Even as she said the words, she braced for the impact of a bullet slamming into her. Duane didn’t like it when she talked back, and being in a semipublic place was no guarantee that he wouldn’t lash out at her.
“You poor thing.” Marcie jumped up to pull open the door for her. “The motion of the train affects some people that way, especially after a big meal. The fresh air will help you feel better.”
Maybe Duane was reluctant to shoot Marcie along with Leah. Or maybe he didn’t want to alert the security agent, Waddell, when he was so close to making his escape. Whatever the reason, he didn’t shoot Leah now, though he kept his hand on the pistol and the weapon pointed in her direction, even as both men scraped back their chairs and prepared to follow. Leah lurched out onto the platform and clung to the railing as the cars rocked from side to side over a rough stretch of track. She stared up at the jutting mountain peaks that looked as if they had been painted by an artist in love with color. Bright yellow cascades of waste rock streaked the steep red and purple slopes, the white of snow in the shaded valleys and on the highest peaks giving way to the scarlet and gold of aspen, the deep green of spruce and pine, and the rust-orange splotches of beetle-killed fir. The air smelled of cinders and smoke and rushed against her skin in a chill wind.
Travis moved in close behind her, his arm around her waist. “You okay?” he asked.
“No.” There was nothing okay about having had the last six months of her life stolen by the man who had murdered her sister and many others. Duane had robbed her of the job she loved, the marriage she had dreamed of, the sister she had adored. He had taken her money, trashed her reputation, and turned her days and nights into a nightmare that would probably haunt her for the rest of her life. Getting rid of him wouldn’t change any of that, but it might prevent other people from enduring the same misery.
“Get away from her.” Duane shoved Travis out of the way and took his place behind Leah, the pistol once more driven painfully into her side. “Make one wrong move and I’ll blow your guts out,” he said. “It will be a horrible, painful death, I promise.”
She turned her head to look at him, careful to make her expression soft and inviting. “You don’t have to worry about me, Duane,” she said. “I know when I’ve been beat. I’m only going to stand here and let my head clear and enjoy the scenery.”
His eyes narrowed. “Go ahead and enjoy it all you want,” he said. “It will be one of the last sights you see.”
“It’s so incredibly beautiful,” she said. “And I can’t get over all the gold mines that are still active up here.”
“I haven’t seen any gold mines,” he said, his tone scoffing. Yet she didn’t miss the greedy light in his eyes.
“There are lots of them,” she said. “I read somewhere that with the price of gold going up so much, a lot of people are working small claims again and making money at it. You just have to look for the openings in the rocks. There’s one up there.” She pointed up the slope.
“I don’t see anything,” he said.
“Come stand on the other side of me.” She indicated the space where a length of cable closed off the steps leading toward the track. When the train stopped, a conductor would unhook this cable and passengers could file down the steps. “Lean out just a little ways and look straight up the slope, just at the tree line.” She demonstrated, angling her body over the cable and gazing up the slope.
Travis moved in behind her once more, his whole body tensed. “I see what you’re talking about,” he said. “That little wooden structure?”
“Right.” She turned to Duane, who had moved to her other side and was leaning, though not very far, and squinting up at the rocks. “Do you see it?” she asked.
“No.”
“Lean out more. You need to look at an angle to really see it.”
He did as she suggested, one foot almost off the floor as he arched farther over the cable.
“That’s it,” Leah said. “Perfect.” She caught Travis’s eye and he nodded. She put a hand on Duane’s back and gritted her teeth. She could do this. She could push him off the platform, if it meant saving her own life and Travis’s.
Travis lunged forward and grabbed Duane’s arm with his left hand. In his right, he held the Glock. “Duane Braeswood, you’re under arrest,” he said.
Duane jerked like a fish on the line, twisting and turning, kicking out. “Let me go!” he shouted. “You have no authority over me.” The gun fell from his hand and Leah kicked it away. It slid across the metal floor of the platform and sailed into the gulch.
“Stand still, you idiot.” Travis struggled to hold him with one hand. “Take my gun,” he ordered Leah. “If he does anything out of line, shoot him.”
She took the gun and held it with both hands. It was all very well and good for Travis to tell her to shoot Duane, but any shot she fired had an equal chance of hitting Travis himself, especially with Duane fighting against his restraint like a rabid dog.
“No!” Duane shouted, breaking free of Travis’s grasp. He backed up against the cable, his face scarlet, eyes dilated.
“You’re trapped, Braeswood,” Travis said. “You need to come with me quietly.”
“You’ll never take me.” He glanced over his shoulder, at the narrow trestle over Deadwood Gulch, a picturesque, deep canyon with a silvery creek threading through its rocky floor.
Travis took a step toward him. “Turn around and put your hands behind you,” he instructed.
Duane hesitated, then whirled to present his back to the lawman. But instead of standing quietly awaiting the handcuffs, he threw himself over the railing, like a diver intent on plumbing the depths of a lake.
The rumble of the train wheels and the blast of the whistle drowned out any cries Duane might have made when he fell. He bounced awkwardly against the rails, like a mail sack falling from a boxcar, then rolled along the gravel verge and over the edge, falling through space toward the ravine below.
Leah turned away from the horrible sight, one hand clamp
ed over her mouth to cut off a sob. Travis pulled her close. “It’s okay,” he murmured, stroking her back, much as she had Duane’s. “It’s over now. We’re safe.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Did anyone see what happened?” Leah asked when she had recovered enough to speak.
“If they did, we’ll know soon,” Travis said. “They’ll stop the train.”
“How could they not have seen?” She pushed away from him and stood on her own, her legs unsteady, but holding her up. “Everyone was looking out the windows.”
“But they were watching the scenery, not the goings-on outside a private car,” he said.
Instead of stopping, the train began to pick up speed. Already, the trestle over Deadwood Gulch was receding from view. “Should we tell someone what happened?” Leah asked. “Maybe they can...” Her words trailed away. Maybe they could what? No one could fall that far and survive. If the rocks at the bottom didn’t kill him, he had likely drowned in the creek.
“I’ll report it when we get to Silverton,” he said. “If we say anything now, it will just cause trouble for the train company and a lot of innocent people. Come on, let’s go back inside.” He took her hand and pulled her toward the door.
“Where’s Mr. B?” Marcie asked when they returned to their seats at the table.
“He wanted to say goodbye to someone he knew in one of the other cars,” Travis said, delivering the lie as smoothly as if he had practiced. He pulled out a chair for Leah, then sat himself.
“Oh.” The young woman looked disappointed. Maybe she had been hoping for a big tip from her high-rolling customer. Leah could have told her not to waste her breath. Duane never tipped well. In his vision of the ideal world, the “little people” served the power brokers of the world, privileged to be part of the machine working for the greater good—or his vision of the greater good.
Travis pulled out the cell phone. “I have a signal,” he said.
“Thank God,” Leah said. “How soon do you think someone can get to Silverton to pick us up?”
“Someone from the San Juan County Sheriff’s Office will be waiting for you at the Silverton Station.” Russell Waddell spoke from the open doorway at the end of the car. He moved toward them, the door sliding shut behind him. “I radioed ahead for you.”
“What did you tell the sheriff’s office?” Travis asked.
“Where’s your friend Beaverton?” Waddell asked.
“He stepped back to say goodbye to another friend,” Travis said. “He’s decided not to take the train for the return trip.”
A deep vee formed between the security officer’s brows. “Is he really a friend of yours?” he asked. “Neither one of you looked very happy to see him.”
“His name isn’t even Beaverton,” Travis said.
Waddell propped one booted foot on the chair Duane had recently occupied. “Level with me, Agent Steadman. Is Beaverton, or whatever his name is, the fugitive you’re after? Do I need to be concerned about the safety of passengers and employees on this train?”
“He isn’t a threat to anyone on this train,” Travis said.
Not anymore, Leah thought. She closed her eyes and again saw the sickening vision of Duane falling into that chasm, toward the shallow creek below. As much as she despised the man, the memory of his death made her shudder.
“What did you tell the sheriff’s office?” Travis asked Waddell again.
“I told them we’d picked up an FBI agent near Needleton and he needed assistance.” Waddell compressed his lips together, as if he had more to say, but was keeping the information to himself for now.
“I appreciate your discretion,” Travis said. He held up the phone. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to contact my bosses and fill them in on the situation.”
Waddell gave him a look Leah couldn’t interpret. He straightened and nodded to her. “Ma’am.”
When they were alone again, except for Marcie, who was cleaning up behind the bar in the corner, Travis phoned his bosses and gave them a brief summary of everything that had happened, including Duane’s decision to jump to his death rather than face trial. He listened to the person on the other end for a few seconds, then said goodbye and ended the call.
“They’ll contact the San Juan County Sheriff’s office and arrange for us to be driven back to Durango,” he said. “The rest of the team will meet us there. They’ll send a squad into the wilderness area as soon as possible to search for the rest of Braeswood’s men.”
“What about Duane?” she asked.
“We’ll get a recovery team to the gulch tomorrow to claim the body.” He covered her hand with his own and squeezed. “The lawman in me wishes I could have brought him in safely and seen him stand trial,” he said. “But the rest of me is glad he’s dead. He’s harmed too many other people in his life, and I could never forgive him for what he did to you.”
“I’ll just be glad when this is all over,” she said. “When I can get back to living a normal life.” If she even remembered how.
The train let out three long, low blasts of its whistle. “We’re coming into Silverton,” Marcie said.
Travis stood and offered his hand to Leah. She let him pull her up and followed him out to the platform. She spotted the trio of sheriff’s officers right away, in their khaki pants and shirts and Stetsons, with silver star badges on their chests. Two black-and-white SUVs were parked just behind them. Travis took Leah’s hand and started toward them.
“Agent Travis Steadman?” The tallest of the officers, a trim, lean man of forty or so, stepped forward to meet them.
“Yes, sir.” Travis offered his credentials.
The lawman glanced at the folder, then returned it and extended his hand. “Sheriff Bryce Staley, San Juan County,” he said. The two other officers moved in beside Leah. “Undersheriff Kinsale and Deputy Lawson.”
“Has my office contacted you?” Travis asked.
“Yes, sir,” Staley said. “They’ve filled us in on the situation and provided instructions on how we should handle everything.”
“Just get us to Durango,” Travis said. “That’s all we really need right now.”
Staley turned to Leah. “Are you Leah Carlisle?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.” She offered a wan smile. “Thank you for helping us out like this.”
He didn’t return the smile. His gaze flickered to the officers on either side of her and they each grabbed one of her arms. “Leah Carlisle, you are under arrest for conspiracy against the United States.” They forced her arms behind her back and the cuffs closed around her wrists, the metal cold against her skin.
Chapter Seventeen
“What do you think you’re doing?” Travis charged toward Leah, but Staley pushed between them. “Calm down, Agent Steadman, or I’ll have them cuff you, too. We’re under direct order from your boss to arrest Ms. Carlisle. We’re also under orders to see that you do not interfere.”
“You can’t arrest her.” The words exploded from him with a force he would have preferred to direct to his fists. Leah’s eyes locked to his, clouded with fear and confusion, and he wanted to rip apart the men who held her with his bare hands.
“According to your bosses, she’s on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list.”
“She’s innocent. She’s an important witness in my case.”
“You can take that up with your supervisors.” Staley nodded to his men and they led Leah toward the black-and-white.
“Where are you taking her?” Travis asked.
“She’ll be held in the La Plata County Detention Facility in Durango until she can be transferred to Denver, or until someone from the FBI directs us otherwise,” Staley said. He put a hand on Travis’s shoulder. “Come on. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us to meet your team in Durango.”
/> He looked back toward Leah. She stopped beside the sheriff’s vehicle and her eyes met his. Where he had expected to see the same fear and hopelessness that had clouded her vision when Braeswood made his threats, he found instead a grim determination. For the moment she was battered, but she wasn’t defeated, and neither was he. “I’ll make some calls and get you out as soon as possible,” he called to her.
She nodded, and then one of the deputies pushed down on the top of her head and she folded herself into the backseat of the cruiser.
* * *
THE MEMBERS OF Search Team Seven had appropriated one floor of a nondescript office building on the south side of Durango as their base of operations. By the time Travis stormed into the conference room where the team had convened, he had had plenty of time to nurse his anger and worry over the way Leah had been treated. “What the hell are you doing, arresting Leah Carlisle?” he demanded of his commander, Special Agent in Charge Ted Blessing. “She’s a victim here, not a criminal.”
“Welcome back, Agent Steadman,” Blessing said, his dark Buddha’s face as impassive as ever. “I see your temper survived your ordeal in the wilderness.”
“You smell worse than my son’s entire basketball team after a game,” said Special Agent Wade Harris, a fortysomething originally from Montana who had a sixteen-year-old who was apparently a talented defenseman.
“You look as bad as you smell,” Special Agent Cameron Hsung said.
Travis ignored the gibes and continued to stare at Blessing. A twenty-year veteran of the Bureau, Blessing never let anything ruffle him. And Travis had never known the man to act rashly. But arresting Leah defied all logic. “I told you on the phone she was innocent,” he said. “Braeswood kidnapped and murdered her sister, stole her property, and practically made her his slave.”
“All assertions that we will thoroughly investigate,” Blessing said. “But the fact remains that until we have proof of any of this, she’s a wanted fugitive, a suspected terrorist and a flight risk. We followed the same procedure for her that we would follow with any other person in her position. She’ll have ample opportunity to prove her innocence at a later date.”
