Plain Jeopardy

by Alison Stone

  She turned off all internet access and inserted the stick into the USB port of her laptop. The chamomile tea had cooled enough to sip on while she waited for the antivirus software to scan the contents. Finally the cursor reappeared and allowed her to click on the lone file.

  A spreadsheet of Vista Resorts’ assets and liabilities, remarkably similar to the one she’d saved on her online server, loaded. She never would’ve put a client’s information on a portable, unrecognizable drive, so that definitely ruled out any forgetful actions on her part. As she scrolled down the spreadsheet, several lines were highlighted in yellow.

  “What are we looking at?” she muttered to Babette. It seemed that millions of dollars had been diverted to—

  A creak behind her sent chills up her spine. The intrigue of the mysterious flash drive coupled with the settling of the house had turned her nerves to jelly.

  Babette perked her ears and sat up in attention. That was odd. The cat let out a warbled growl that should’ve made her laugh if she wasn’t so freaked out. She spun around to the empty living room. The open floor plan allowed her to see the kitchen, as well, from her vantage point.

  Rebecca blew out a breath. “See, it was nothing.” She grabbed her phone anyway. In reality, she had nothing to fear. Her grandfather owned a state-of-the-art security system and he’d made a point to tell her it was activated before he’d left. No alarm meant there was nothing to worry about. Her fingers clutched the phone tighter despite the reassuring thoughts.

  The cat released another growl. Perhaps an early spring fly had flown into the house. Babette loved to hunt.

  Rebecca walked toward the kitchen. Maybe the ice maker had caused the creak. The open layout allowed her to walk into the next room without any doors. She peered out of the ceiling-to-floor window, straining to see outside. Aside from the reflection of the moon off the lake, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

  The darkness of the hill changed, as if in motion. She blinked and could see only the reflection of the furniture in the living room—and a man in a ski mask rushing toward her.

  A scream tore from her throat and her chest seized in panic. She launched to the side, toward the back door. An arm snaked around her torso as a hand clasped over her mouth in such a swift motion that her phone flew out of her hand and hit the floor.

  He pulled against her middle and dragged her backward across the floor. Rebecca squirmed and writhed against his steel arms to no avail. She tried to suck in a breath, but his hand covered her nose, as well.

  Scratchy material brushed up against her cheek. “You’re coming with me either way.” He didn’t bother to whisper. So he knew they were all alone in the house. “It’s up to you whether you’re injured along the way.”

  He moved just enough that air slipped through his fingers. She inhaled, but his heavy, spiced breath turned her stomach. There was no way a masked man trying to force her out of the house would earn her trust. If he got her into a car, she knew the statistics of survival wouldn’t be in her favor.

  An oval mirror hanging on the wall opposite the desk in the living room showed her struggle. Her hazel eyes bulged against her taut, pale face, and the man’s lips formed a snarl over bared teeth surrounded by the black fabric of the mask. The visual image simultaneously horrified and cleared her mind.

  She flung her legs out in a wide squat and dropped her weight like she’d seen her toddler nephew do a dozen times. The man grunted at the sudden change. His left arm pressed against her ribs so hard she cried out. He yanked her back again, but she sunk into her squat and he managed only to slide her another foot.

  Rebecca twisted her hips to get her right foot behind the man’s left leg. She shoved her knee into the back of his leg in the hope it’d throw him off balance, but he didn’t budge. She bent her torso over fast, and his hand slid off her mouth for half a second before he yanked her hair instead. She screamed at the ripping sensation of her scalp, but as her chin lifted she saw a patch of exposed skin.

  Her hand curled into a fist and she punched his neck. He gagged and released her long enough for her to elbow him in the stomach.

  The cat screeched and the man bellowed. Rebecca didn’t look up long enough to see what the cat had done. She grabbed the shiny gold letter opener on the desk with her left hand and spun around, not even watching where she was going. The sharp edge slit across his arm and stomach. He jumped back with a roar.

  “Get back!” She gripped the opener with her entire fist and shook it at him. His dark eyes watched her. He seemed more angry than hurt, with an air of confidence that he could overtake her again if he wanted. She didn’t wait to find out.

  She bolted for the front door, an unbidden screech tearing from her lips. The front door had been left ajar. She slapped the panic button with her free hand as she flung the door fully open with her left shoulder.

  She sprinted down the long driveway, listening for the slap of feet behind her. Silence only followed. The panic alarm never sounded. In fact, the alarm should’ve gone off when the intruder had entered.

  Hidden in between the two evergreen trees in the yard was a black SUV-shaped vehicle. She flinched and ran to the far edge of the driveway, wondering if another attacker sat inside the vehicle. No headlights or engine sounds greeted her. The license plate on the vehicle was too dark to see, and there was no way she was going to investigate.

  Her instinct demanded she yell “fire,” although she couldn’t remember why, only that she’d been taught to do so if in danger. “Fire!” she yelled so hard it stung her throat. She shouted repeatedly and ran down the quarter-mile drive to the main road. No one came to her aid.

  Her feet stung from the loose chips of asphalt pressing into the thin layer of her socks. Her grandfather had no close neighbors. The lot sat on a two-acre hill overlooking the lake. She rounded the corner and ran into the street.

  She chanced a glance over her shoulder but didn’t see anyone following her. Her attacker had worn all black. Or was she remembering correctly? It all happened so fast. It was possible he was out there, following her, watching her, waiting to pounce. That beast of a vehicle could suddenly come to life in a heartbeat.

  She screamed for help, as if on a repeating loop, while she ran down the road. Her head swiveled constantly, searching for safety and possible threats. Headlights rounded the curve. She rushed toward them, flailing her arms.

  At the last second, she realized it looked like she was waving a knife. She flung the letter opener to the side of the road and clasped her hands in front of her chest, pleading for help. The car didn’t so much as slow as it bared down on her.

  Please, Lord.

  It kept coming. The bumper barreled toward her. The headlights blinded her and she jumped out of the way. Pain rushed up her leg as gravel at the side of the road shifted underneath her toes.

  Her balance lost, her fingers reached to grasp for something but met only air as she fell backward into the ditch.

  * * *

  Deputy United States Marshal Kurt Brock lengthened his stride down the hospital hallway. The smell of antiseptic burned the back of his throat. Tension in the back of his neck begged for some time in his massage chair at home, but time didn’t allow it.

  He had made it home at midnight, after a successful capture of a fugitive in Montana, only to be beckoned by a federal judge at five in the morning. Hopefully the visit would be quick and he could go back to a much-needed couple days off. While he didn’t work for the judges, he served them. When a federal judge had a need, the Marshals jumped to try to accommodate.

  He stepped in front of a closed hospital door where his coworker, Deputy Delaney Patton, stood guard. Kurt nodded and straightened his tie. They didn’t know each other well enough to chitchat—not that he was one to shoot the breeze—as their paths didn’t cross very often. Kurt usually worked alone. He lifted his chin and searched for any sign of
the stocky judge.

  “The judge went to the cafeteria to get coffee.” Delaney shook her head, the light brown hair from her ponytail swishing in an arc. “He won’t let anyone take a statement from her but you. Word from the boss is he wants you to lead the investigation. I’m to assist in any way you see fit. She’s ready to bolt, so the sooner you talk to her the better.” Delaney stepped to the side.

  Kurt inhaled. Without a full briefing, all he knew was that the judge’s granddaughter had barely escaped a kidnapping attempt. He steeled himself for the worst. Seeing a child hurt was the worst part of his job. He pressed the swinging door. “US Marshals. May I come in?” he asked softly.

  “Yes,” a soft, sweet voice replied.

  He stepped past a curtain and felt his eyes widen as he stared at the gorgeous woman before him. This was no child.

  She pulled her chin inward at the sight of him. She worried her lip and pulled up the hospital sheet with one hand. Her other hand brushed her curly brown hair, marred only by an oddly positioned gauze headband of sorts, away from her face.

  Kurt realized his surprise at her appearance had likely caused the self-conscious actions. “I don’t mean to stare.”

  “It’s okay. I know I must be a sight.”

  “No, no, you look...uh—” He exhaled loudly. Sleep usually helped with foot-in-mouth disease and he was sorely lacking. He needed to start over and hope the deputy outside hadn’t heard his social blunder. “When I heard Judge Linn’s granddaughter was here, I expected someone younger. I’ve never come right out and asked the judge’s age—” Oh, great. First the granddaughter thought he was appalled by her appearance and now it sounded like he had opinions about how soon the judge had started having kids.

  Her eyebrows rose before she nodded, a small laugh escaping. “He’s eighty-six. He’s almost got sixty years on me.” Her fingers rolled the edge of the blanket like a scroll.

  “Judge Linn looks young for his age, then.” Kurt hoped that cleared the air so he could begin again. Over 10 percent of the sitting judges were in their eighties, but Judge Linn had more drive and passion than most sixty-year-olds. “Are you up for talking about what happened?”

  She dropped the sheet from her fingertips. “Oh, yes.” She gingerly touched the gauze underneath her hair. “I could’ve gone home last night, according to one of the nurses, but Grandpa insisted the doctors keep me overnight as a precaution.” She eyed him as if trying to decide whether to trust him. “When Grandpa wants something, he usually gets it, so I didn’t argue.”

  Kurt ignored that potential minefield. “Concussion?”

  “Maybe. I didn’t pay much attention to what the doctor said after the events of the night. I...uh...kept trying to remember more. Identifying factors.” She turned her attention to the window. “The headache wasn’t much fun, either, but that’s gone away. Just a little stiff and sore.” She let her head sink back into the stack of pillows behind her. “I hit a rock near the base of my neck. Thankfully my muscles and skull took most of the impact instead of my spine.”

  He’d had enough similar close calls to know the pain and stiffness had to be intense. “My understanding is someone almost ran you over when you tried to get help.”

  She sucked in a deep breath and nodded. “A teenager. He said he didn’t see me until it was almost too late, but he waited with me in the ditch until the police came.”

  The driver probably didn’t want to admit that he had been on his cell phone while driving. Kurt held back his frustration but hoped the cops who’d arrived on the scene had scared the kid enough with scenarios of what could’ve happened that the boy would never text and drive again. “And the attacker?”

  She shook her head. “No sign. The police didn’t find him.”

  Delaney walked inside the room from her spot at the door. “I received confirmation that the assailant turned off the security cameras at the front patio, so we don’t have any footage.”

  Kurt’s heart rate increased as he thought about the judge’s house. “He bypassed the security system?”

  “No alarm. The panic button did nothing,” Rebecca answered.

  He knew the security system well. Top-of-the-line wireless security system with cellular backup. He’d approved it last year with the chief deputy’s blessing before it was installed. They liked to keep systems up-to-date and replaced them at regular intervals. The kidnapping attempt was alarming by itself, but knowing how to disarm technology like that wasn’t normal for a run-of-the-mill criminal. He schooled his features as if it was an everyday occurrence. He didn’t need to upset her further. “Okay. Anything you can tell me about your attacker? Any recognizable features?”

  “He was in a mask. A black ski mask. He wore...” She licked her lips and looked up at the ceiling tiles as she blinked rapidly. “I can’t remember.”

  Shame filled her voice; an understandable sentiment but unnecessary. Victims often had a tough time remembering those details. “Don’t beat yourself up or try to push it. It’s been hours, you’ve had a bump on your head and—”

  “I’d recognize his eyes and his voice. I’m sure of it. He had a unique accent.”

  “Do you know what kind?”

  She shook her head. “Foreign. Not European. Someone who spoke Spanish but more of the Latin variety.” She shrugged. “I know it’s not very helpful, but it’s all—”

  “You’re doing great. What exactly did he say to you?”

  The door to the room swung inward and Justice Linn strode past Delaney and Kurt with two cups of coffee in his hands. He wore a colorful sweater that reminded Kurt of the early nineties, tan slacks and matching loafers. His hair, while thinning on top, was a blend of brown and gray that looked natural.

  It was no wonder Kurt thought he was younger. He nodded at the judge. “Chief Justice Li—”

  “Brock, it’s about time you showed up.” His forceful tone would make a less confident man feel nervous. The judge didn’t make eye contact, but handed his granddaughter the cup. “Here you go, sweetie.” He spun around. “I requested you. I want someone with experience on this, and I want it dealt with immediately.”

  Since they had only two deputy marshals stationed in the Coeur D’Alene office, and Delaney was a newbie fresh out of basic training, it seemed a reasonable request. Kurt hoped Delaney didn’t take it as a slight against her. “Sir, I’m afraid I haven’t finished interview—”

  “Someone attempted to kidnap my granddaughter last night.” The judge’s bloodshot eyes scanned the room as his lower lip quivered. “There’s no question about it. I want this treated as a direct threat to the court.” He pointed his index finger at the ground as if physically punctuating the sentence.

  The truth was that it was highly probable the threat was aimed at him. Judge Linn had served for almost forty years, mostly in the criminal court. All judges received threats, but the number had risen exponentially over the past decade. Many of those threats were specifically aimed at family members, though usually it was immediate family. “Sir, have you or Rebecca spoken about this with the police?”

  “They’re ill equipped,” Judge Linn answered. “You need to take over.”

  Kurt appreciated the man’s faith in him, but they were going to need to work hand in hand with the police. He gestured toward the door, where Delaney waited. “I was told that Miss Linn lives in Ohio.” Of course, when his boss had told him, he’d imagined her as a little girl whose parents were waiting back in Cincinnati, not a grown woman. “We could escort her to the airport once she’s discharged. We’ll continue investigating the threat from this end.”

  Judge Linn’s frown intimidated him more than any other superior officers did. “She’s staying here.” He turned back to Rebecca and his features softened. “Though I wish you’d change your mind. I know why you’re doing this. Don’t pretend you’re not staying for me.”

 
Kurt marveled at the change in tenor when the judge spoke to his granddaughter. He didn’t understand all the undertones of their hushed conversation, but it seemed like the judge didn’t want to admit he’d rather have her back in Ohio, as well.

  She beamed. “No one is scaring me away. You know I have a job to finish here before I can go. Besides, I can help them identify the man. I would recognize his voice and his eyes anywhere. Plus, I hurt him.” Rebecca tilted her head so she could address Kurt around her grandfather. “He should have a cut along his arm or...” She closed her eyes and held up her right fist as if reliving it. “His right shoulder, to be more precise. I cut him with a letter opener.” She exhaled and looked past the judge. “I think I at least scratched his chest, as well.”

  Kurt didn’t want to admit aloud that he was impressed, but she would be an asset in catching the attacker quickly. “If you drew blood, we could run a DNA test off the letter opener.”

  She cringed. “It’s somewhere on the side of the road. Near the ditch I fell in.”

  “Delaney, please have some officers sent to locate the evidence.” He tried to keep his jaw from clenching. If the police had interviewed her last night, they could’ve nabbed the guy by now.

  Delaney spun on her heel and rushed out of the room.

  “I don’t want this in the papers, Brock,” Judge Linn barked. “I need to go to the Boise courts for trial, and I don’t want her fighting a media circus.”

  All of the federal judges within the state traveled between the three US courts in Idaho. But, if Judge Linn went now, the marshals would need reinforcements to provide for his protective detail. The deputy marshals stationed in Boise had their hands full. Many were out on fugitive cases like the one he just finished. They weren’t going to like the news. “Sir, we’re going to need police cooperation.”