by Sharon Sala
The driver of the van saw Françoise fall. Believing that the trucker was a kidnapper, he grabbed his cell phone and called the highway patrol.
When the highway patrol finally arrived and stopped the truck, no one was more surprised than the trucker himself. Not wanting to be questioned too closely by the police, Françoise explained away the incident by concocting a wild story about drinking with friends, then passing out, only to come to in the truck. He said it was just like his buddies to play a joke on him like this, and that when he got home, he was going to get them good.
Finally convinced that no real crime had been committed, the highway patrolman let everyone go except for Françoise, who was now forced to ride with the trooper to the nearest town. Only he had to undress before the trooper would let him in the car. Françoise pulled off everything except his boxer shorts and T-shirt, then crawled into the back. It was the first time he’d ever been in a cop car and not been under arrest.
The trooper had little to say except to suggest that he take a bath and get some new clothes before buying a bus ticket home. They stopped at a small town on the outskirts of Phoenix, Arizona, told the local police chief what had happened, and asked for permission for Françoise to clean up at the local jail. Since the man could hardly walk down main street in his underwear, the chief quickly agreed.
Françoise washed out his clothes and then washed himself, before asking directions to the nearest bus stop. Dressed in dripping clothes and limping from the bruises from falling in the truck, he made a hasty exit.
Once at the bus station, he made a frantic call to Little Ed, told him of the latest development, then bought a ticket home.
Little Ed quickly put out the word that Quinn and Kelly were now driving Françoise’s red sports car, and the race to Hunt the Fed took a new and dangerous turn.
* * *
Quinn was almost at the top of the hill when he heard the sound of a car coming up the grade behind him. While there was every reason to assume it was just normal traffic, he still wasn’t willing to take the chance. So he glanced down at the phone, saw that there was still no signal and darted off the road into the trees. He stood for a few moments, debating with himself as to what he should do next, then started running toward the last place he’d seen Kelly.
Kelly was on her way back to the car when she, too, heard the engine. She stopped suddenly; then, remembering the sports car from the truck stop, she darted behind a large pine tree and settled down to make sure the car went past. From where she was standing, she couldn’t see Quinn, but she told herself he was fine. As she waited, it occurred to her to go out and flag the car down. It would definitely be a way out of their current predicament. But there was also the chance that it was someone who was after her. Frustrated by the mess she was in, she decided to wait it out.
The car’s engine was pulling hard, as if the grade of the hill was too steep for it to climb. Quinn ran without stopping, dodging low-hanging branches, and jumping dead logs and brush. He saw the back of Kelly’s head just as the new arrival pulled to a stop beside their stalled car.
Oh hell. Either a Good Samaritan had arrived or it was someone looking to boost what was left of an abandoned vehicle—or worse. He stopped moving immediately and took cover behind some trees. He picked up a small rock and tossed it at Kelly. It hit her on the back of her shoulder. When she turned, he motioned for her to take cover.
She nodded, then slowly moved backward until she reached a clump of oak trees with some heavy undergrowth beneath. Without hesitation, she dropped to the ground, then belly-crawled into the thicket.
At that point Quinn took his handgun from the back waistband of his jeans and flipped off the safety—just in case.
* * *
Harley and Pointer Green were brothers. They did everything together, including steal. But theft wasn’t what they had on their minds as they came to a halt beside what was left of Françoise Marin’s red car. They’d gotten a call a couple of days ago from a cousin twice removed who lived in Oklahoma. He had told them about the woman and the two-million-dollar bounty, and had even faxed them a copy of the paper with her picture. They’d had to go to the tag agency in Burn County to pick it up and then been forced to endure the curious stare from the clerk who’d obviously read it before finally handing it over. Yesterday they’d learned about the change in vehicles and had been driving aimlessly ever since. Truth was, Harley Green had been more than a little stunned when they’d come around the bend and seen the very car in question parked at the side of the road.
* * *
“That’s it, Harley! I swear to God, that’s the car. Ooowee, we’re gonna be rich!” Pointer yelled.
Harley Green lifted the rifle from the back seat of their extend-a-cab truck and frowned.
“Why don’t you yell a little louder and let them know we’re comin’?”
Pointer frowned. “Hell, Harley, I didn’t mean nothin’. I was just excited, is all.”
“Yeah, well, remember what Momma always said? ‘Don’t count your chickens a’fore they’s hatched’? You don’t see no man or woman around here, do you? Chances are this car broke down and they took off on foot. Or even worse, they hitched a ride out. If they did, we ain’t gonna find them nowhere around.”
Pointer frowned. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“That’s why you got me,” Harley said, then thumped his brother lightly on the shoulder. “Now come on. Let’s see what we can see.”
They exited their truck and headed for the car. When they realized it was unlocked, they started going through everything in sight.
Quinn cursed himself and the situation in general as he watched them tearing through their things. Then he heard the taller of the two men say something that made his skin crawl.
“They didn’t take nothin’,” Harley said, as he dumped the contents of their suitcase out on the road. “Right here’s their clothes and even some money. I lay odds they’re off in them trees.”
“Maybe they’s gettin’ themselves some,” Pointer said.
Harley frowned. “It ain’t ever’one who feels the need to fuck at ever’ turn in the road. They’s probably hidin’.” Get your gun. I’ll take that side of the road. You take the other.”
Pointer Green ran back to the truck, pulled out a long-range hunting rifle with a telescopic sight and started walking toward Quinn and Kelly, while the other brother took the other side of the road.
Quinn glanced toward Kelly’s place of concealment and held his breath, knowing that a confrontation was inevitable and the slack-jawed man coming toward them was packing a rifle with a gauge higher than his IQ.
* * *
Kelly had palmed the handgun she’d taken off Françoise Marin the moment she’d hit the ground, and she was now lying as flat and still as she could, with the gun aimed directly toward the highway. When she saw a rifle-bearing stranger approaching her place of concealment, she tensed. Her finger was steady on the trigger, waiting for him to make a move, when she heard him start to shout.
* * *
Pointer was beside himself when he saw the tracks. They were small. It was the woman—the two-million-dollar woman—he just knew it. He turned toward the highway.
“Harley! Hey, Harley! I done found her tracks!”
Quinn groaned. It was all over now. He had to take this one out of commission before they double-teamed him. He stepped out from behind the trees with his gun aimed directly at Pointer Green’s chest.
“Drop your weapon,” he said softly. “Do it, and do it now.”
Harley might have done it, but Pointer wasn’t as smart. Panicked that he’d been caught off guard, he started shooting as he turned, pumping one shell after another into the chamber of the deer rifle and pulling the trigger.
Quinn dove to one side as he fired, knowing that his shots were probably going to miss. So when the man suddenly staggered and dropped with a bullet hole in his head, he didn’t know what to think. Then, before he could react
, Harley Green came bursting through the trees, shouting his brother’s name.
“Pointer! Pointer! Answer me, damn it!”
“Drop your weapon!” Quinn shouted. “Now!”
Harley spun toward the sound of Quinn’s voice and fired off a round.
The bullet dug a hunk out of the tree behind which Quinn was hiding. He flinched and ducked as he ran toward a new hiding place. Another round of rifle shots followed him; then there was one single shot, then silence.
He turned. Kelly was coming out of the brush. He saw the gun in her hand and realized that she’d just saved his life. For a moment neither of them moved as they looked at each other, then at the two bodies on the ground.
“What are we going to do with them?” Kelly asked.
“Leave them,” Quinn said. “We can tell the authorities later.”
Kelly nodded and walked past them without looking down.
Quinn removed the hunting rifles from the men’s hands, then followed Kelly out of the woods. When he got to the highway, she had gathered up the clothes the brothers had scattered and was unloading the things from the red car and tossing them in the back of the Green brothers’ truck.
“Your turn to drive,” she said, and got into the cab without further comment.
Quinn sighed. He knew what she was feeling. He got in, shoved a can of Skoal off the seat and tossed some empty beer cans out of the car onto the road.
“You’re littering,” Kelly said.
“Arrest me,” Quinn said, then started the engine and drove away.
They’d been driving for nearly fifteen minutes, and Kelly had yet to speak. Quinn kept glancing at her from time to time, trying to read her expression, but it was hopeless. He reminded himself never to play poker with her. She would probably win. Finally he reached across the seat and took her hand.
“Thanks for saving my life,” he said softly.
She shuddered, then looked at him. “This has got to stop. If I don’t do something now, it’s only going to get worse.”
“What do you suggest?” he asked.
“Find a place where your cell phone will work. I need to make a call.”
Quinn frowned. “Are you going to call your boss? Now? After all that’s happened?”
“Just do it…. Please,” she added.
Quinn shrugged, handed her his phone and then kept driving.
“Tell me when you get a signal,” he said.
She took the phone. A few minutes later she grabbed at his arm.
“Stop! Right here. There’s a good clear signal.”
Quinn hit the brakes and pulled off onto the shoulder.
Kelly was looking around the area for a landmark on which to base their location when she realized there was a mile marker only a few yards ahead. She got out of the truck. Quinn followed, watching as she punched in a series of numbers.
Then she suddenly sat down on the side of the road, as if her legs would no longer hold her upright. Quinn hurried to her side just in time to hear what she was saying.
“Jen, it’s me. Kelly. Yes, I know. It has been a long time. I miss you, too, but that’s not the reason I called. I need you to do me a favor. Call your daddy. I need help, Jen, and I need it now, or I’m dead.”
Quinn frowned. He couldn’t figure out why the hell she was calling a girlfriend instead of her boss at the DEA.
“Tell him it’s regarding a case for the Federal prosecutor,” Kelly added. “Give him this number, and please, please, tell him to call me right back. I’ll be waiting.”
She rattled off the phone number, then disconnected.
Quinn laid a hand on the back of her neck. She was trembling so hard that he could feel the muscle spasms beneath his fingers.
“Kelly…honey…talk to me. Tell me what you’re doing.”
She looked up at him, weariness etched in every facet of her expression.
“I should never have involved anyone in this. It was my case. My business. It got Daryl killed, and if something doesn’t change, you’ll be next.”
Quinn sighed. “We’ve already been through this. I knew what I was doing from the start, and so did Daryl. But I don’t understand what you’re doing now. Who’s Jen, and why would you ask her father for help?”
Before she could answer, Quinn’s phone rang. She looked down at the caller ID and then answered.
“Hello, Mr. President. Yes, sir, thank you for taking my call.”
* * *
Charles Barrett leaned back in his chair in the Oval Office.
“It’s been a while since the college days, hasn’t it, dear? I trust you’re well?”
Kelly sighed. “Only for the moment. That’s why I’m calling. I have a problem.”
President Barrett frowned. “Yes, you do, don’t you, girl? We know about the bounty. I’ve spoken to Michael Forest, as well as Marsh, who’s the prosecutor on the Gruber case. We know what’s happening. How can I help you?”
Kelly bit her lower lip to keep the tremble out of her voice. Back in college, she wouldn’t have thought twice about letting her best friend’s father see her cry. But that was before Charles Allen Barrett had become President of the United States. Now the least she could do was maintain the decorum of an agent of the Federal government.
“I need help. Could you send someone to come get me?”
“Consider it done,” President Barrett said. “Tell me where you are.”
She gave him the coordinates of the highway number and mile marker, as well as the style of vehicle they were in.
“Help will be there within the hour,” Barrett said.
Kelly sighed with relief. “Thank you, Mr. President. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I do,” Barrett said. “I understand you have plans to testify at the Capitol within the next few days. You would make Helen and I very happy if you would be our houseguest until that time.”
“Sir! In the White House?”
Charles Barrett smiled. “Can you think of a place that’s safer?”
“No, sir.”
“Neither can I,” he said. “And I understand you’ve had a partner of sorts along the way. Please extend the invitation to him, as well.”
“Yes, sir, and thank you, sir,” Kelly said.
“No, Agent Sloan. It’s we who should be thanking you. Now watch the skies. Help will come soon.”
There was a click in Kelly’s ear. She disconnected the call and handed Quinn his phone.
“It’s going to be okay,” she said.
But Quinn was too stunned to move. “Who was that on the phone?”
“You heard me,” she said. “It was President Barrett.”
“He just calls you…like that?”
Kelly shrugged. “His daughter, Jennifer, and I were roommates all through college. She’s my best friend. I’ve stayed at their home many times in the past, but never since the election.”
Quinn sat down beside her and then put his arm around her. She resisted for a moment, then laid her head on his shoulder. Sometimes it felt good to have someone to lean on.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“For what?” Quinn said.
“For everything. Oh, and by the way, we’re staying in the White House until the trial.”
Quinn hugged her and grinned. “You know something, I would have taken a vacation years ago if I’d known it would be like this.”
Kelly tried to laugh, then choked on a sob. She laid her head down on her knees and prayed for this day to be over.
Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty, then twenty-five. They were still sitting on the shoulder of the road when Kelly suddenly looked up.
“They’re here,” she said, and jumped to her feet.
Quinn followed her, trying not to gawk as two helicopters appeared over the trees.
“He sent Blackhawks?”
“Nothing but the best,” Kelly said, and breathed a huge sigh of relief as the first chopper landed and a half-dozen of Uncle Sam’s fi
nest jumped out. Four of them took a defensive stance with rifles drawn, while two others came toward them.
“Agent Sloan?” the first marine asked.
“Yes, and this is Texas Ranger Quinn McCord,” Kelly said.
“Ranger,” the marine said, acknowledging Quinn’s presence with a sharp nod. “If you and Agent Sloan would follow me….”
Quinn started back to the truck to get their bag when the second marine stopped him.
“Sir, we’ll see to your things. They’ll be delivered to your quarters. Just get in the chopper.”
Quinn nodded, then added, “About a half hour’s drive west, you’ll find a red sports car on the side of the road. There are two bodies on the north side, up in the trees.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll take care of it.”
“Appreciated,” Quinn said, and grabbed Kelly’s hand. Moments later they were climbing into the Blackhawk, surrounded by six armed marines, who then got in behind them. But it wasn’t until later, when Kelly saw the dome of the White House below her, that she let herself believe the worst might be over.
* * *
The houseman was in the act of serving the first course of Ortega’s dinner when there was a knock on the door. Ortega flinched. The soup spoon he was holding clattered to the floor as he stood abruptly.
The houseman stepped back. “Sir?”
“I am not receiving visitors. Whoever it is, get rid of them,” Ortega ordered.
“Yes, sir,” the man said, and headed for the front door.
Ortega held his breath, listening to the sound of the butler’s receding footsteps, and told himself it didn’t mean anything. There was no way the authorities could know where he was. But then, neither did anyone else, so there should have been no one to come calling at his door.
He could hear voices, but not what was being said. He thought about slipping out the back way, but then where could he go? There was nothing back there but ocean, and even if he were whole and healthy, he could not swim to Mexico. So he waited. It was the wrong thing to do.
