Gone Duck

by L. L. Muir

  “I can, by the way. I'm not afraid of guns. I'm terrified of bullets, but guns—not so much.”

  He lowered his chin and gave her a warning look. “Macey.”

  “Jonathon.”

  A wrinkly hand thumped the side of his seat. “I thought you were Shawn!”

  His eyes flew wide with panic.

  Dorothy started laughing from the back seat. “I'm just joking with you, Shawn. Gotta keep on your toes, boy.”

  Macey looked at the clock in the dash. It was two. Hopefully they didn't have to worry about Dorothy getting confused for a good while yet.

  “We were talking about guns,” she said to bring him back to their conversation.

  “No. We were talking about getting you somewhere safe.”

  She decided she'd better stop arguing or he'd never be able to finish. There was something going on in that handsome head of his and she wanted to know what it was.

  “Okay,” she said. “Where's safe?”

  “Canada. I'll make sure you two are off the grid—”

  “What?” Dorothy took off her seatbelt and sat forward so her head was between the front seats. “What's this about Canada? I'm not going to Canada.”

  Macey realized she might not need to do any arguing at all, so she bit her lips and let Dorothy have the floor.

  “Dorothy, I'm sorry. But Canada is going to be the safest place for you while I try to expose Lacrosse and the WHOSO.”

  “Bullshit.” Spit flew from between her wrinkled lips. “I'll be safest if I'm surrounded by Americans who aren't afraid to defend themselves. I say we go to the NRA.”

  Shawn choked. “You think Lacrosse doesn't have people in the NRA? He's got eyes and ears everywhere. They don't just own this country, they own the entire world.” He looked sharply at Macey. Maybe he needed to make sure she was listening. Maybe he was demanding she take his side. Either way, she just shrugged her shoulders, kept her lips between her teeth, and hung on for the ride.

  Dorothy thumped him on the side of the head, even though he was driving and their lives were in his hands. “You don't have a plan, do you?” It was more of an accusation than a question.

  His mouth fell open and he grunted. “Of course I have a plan. And the plan is to get you two ladies to safety. That's it. Safe and alive. With the hope of staying that way. Anything after that is gravy. If we can stop WHOSO, if we can get the research exposed, great. But I'm not here to save the world. I'm here to save the two of you. That's it.”

  Macey knew he was lying. If he didn’t care to expose the research, he wouldn’t have hunted for it so doggedly. There was something he wasn’t telling her, she was sure. And she was afraid it was something she didn’t want to know.

  Macey winked at Dorothy. “If you were a real secret agent, you could do both. I think Jason Bourne could do both without breaking a sweat.”

  Dorothy shook her head. “I believe you're wrong, dear. Jason Bourne was always sweating, I think. Except for a few close ups, in the beginning...”

  “I don't know. Maybe we should rent all three and watch them again. Maybe we can pick up some good techniques.”

  The old woman nodded. “Or a strategy even...”

  “Hmmm.” Macey bit her lip to keep a straight face.

  Shawn rolled his eyes for the fourth time during the conversation. “Okay. Okay. Very funny. And you're right. I'm definitely not Jason Bourne. But then, I've been trying to tell you that for a couple of days now.”

  Well, Jason Bourne-ish or not, Macey wouldn’t trade Hot Shawn for anyone else at the moment. No matter what his secrets were.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  They had to give up arguing about Canada. Shawn wasn't going to budge. He wasn't going to even discuss any plans for exposing WHOSO until they were safely over the border and tucked away somewhere. He claimed that, for the time being, it was going to take all his expertise just to cover their tracks.

  Night fell on the outskirts of Coeur d'Alene. The air grew heavy with the scent of pine and something else. If altitude had a fragrance, this was it, and it was intoxicating.

  They passed a summit and started a long wind down toward the water. Back and forth. Back and forth. The lake never seemed to get any closer, or maybe it expanded in the darkness. A galaxy of lights appeared on the surface a handful at a time. Some stars. Some reflections of lights going on in houses and cabins all along the perimeter.

  Macey finally broke the silence. “Are we going to stay here for the night?”

  Shawn shook his head. “We can stop somewhere. Get some food. But we need to keep moving, to get over the border while it's dark.”

  In front of a diner, he dropped off Macey and a sleepy Dorothy Jean and drove across the street to get gas. They went inside, got a table near the window, then slid into the same side of the booth, leaving their precious backpacks on the opposite seat. When Shawn joined them, Macey held out her hand. “Give me the keys. I’ll drive for a while.”

  He looked from her face to her hand and back again. Then he shrugged and passed her the keys. He dropped his own backpack into the seat next to the other two, then scooted in.

  “Looks like it’s about an hour and a half to Canada,” he said. “I’ll sleep for an hour. Then wake me up.”

  “But first, we eat.” Dorothy looked up at the waitress. “You don’t have Johnny Mezetti, do you?” They didn’t, so she settled for a burger, extra onions.

  Macey toyed with the paper from her straw. “Before we go to all the trouble of crossing the border, do you think we could talk about it?” she asked without looking up.

  “No.” He pushed out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.” Then he headed to the restroom.

  “I’d better go too,” Dorothy said.

  Macey stood up and let the other woman out. The restrooms weren’t far, so she figured Dorothy would be safe enough on her own. Besides, there were three essential backpacks that needed just as much protection, and she wasn’t about to lug them all into the bathroom.

  An old couple headed down the row and slid into the next booth over. The woman smiled at Macey, then sat with her back to her. Her husband, just as shrunken and bent as his wife, gave her a wink and slid in the other side. The woman turned in her seat, looked over her shoulder at the backpacks, then up at Macey.

  “You need a ride, dear? That’s our rig out there. The pretty yellow one. We’re headed west.”

  Macey smiled and shook her head. “Thanks anyway. It only looks like I’m running away from home. I’m with friends.” She nodded toward Shawn. The old geezers took one look at him and gave her a knowing smile, then the old woman turned away from her.

  Shawn slipped into his seat with his back to them. “Did I miss something?”

  She shook her head and a minute later, she was standing up again, letting Dorothy Jean back onto the bench seat. While Macy was up, she decided she’d better pee too.

  When she returned, she found the little old lady lying on the ground in front of their booth. Shawn knelt above her, blocking Dorothy Jean, who was trying to watch over his shoulder. The waitress was down on all fours groping for shattered glass, and the little old man was nowhere in sight.

  Shawn glanced up at her and seemed incredibly relieved. “Maybe you can see if she’s broken something. I’ll go find her husband. He told her to lie still while he went for her cane, but he hasn’t come back.”

  The woman grabbed his arm. “Please, young man. Just help me to my feet. I’m sure I’ll be all right. I can feel my knee now.”

  Shawn looked doubtful but put his arm around her shoulder and lifted her. She wobbled a bit and clung to him like a smitten teenager until he stepped back and left her standing on her own. He frowned down at her, like he thought she might be faking it just to get her hands on him.

  A man in his fifties hurried toward them. His name badge meant he was probably a manager. The amount of bowing and scraping meant he was afraid of being sued. The woman batted him away and hobbled toward the ma
in entrance, mumbling about clumsy waitresses.

  “I’m glad they didn’t need to call an ambulance,” Macey said after the waitress wobbled away with her tray of broken things. “I’m sure the police would have come too.”

  Dorothy sighed heavily. “I’m just glad they’re gone. I thought we’d have to move to another table to get away from them. What a pair of loons.” The waitress delivered their food, then went to get them more water. “Old farts think they can say and do whatever they like just because they’re old. The Boob Center was full of them.”

  Shawn laughed, but judging from the scowl Dorothy sent his way, she hadn’t been joking about them. Only complaining.

  “Did I miss something?”

  Shawn shrugged. “The woman was just a little too pushy. A little too chatty.”

  Macey glanced up at Shawn and asked him what time it was. Then she nodded slyly at Dorothy, who was busy attacking her food.

  “Quarter to ten.” He scrutinized Dorothy too. And for the rest of the meal, they both watched and waited, but the old gal never struggled for anyone’s name or even for the right word.

  “You two are acting a little loopy,” she said. “I think if anyone should drive, it’s me.”

  Macey exchanged a brief, horrified look with Shawn, then they both got to their feet. Dorothy took a quick count of the tip Shawn had left, then slid out too, her purple jogging suit sporting a long wet mark where she’d spilled some ketchup. They all needed a change of clothes, but Macey wasn’t going to wear the clean things from her backpack until the other two had something to change into as well. When it came to stinking up a car, it was only fair. All for one and one for all.

  “I’m good,” Macey said. “I can drive.”

  “I’m not. I’m going to sleep.” Shawn bent over and slid his backpack closed, then reached for Dorothy’s.

  Macey couldn’t see hers. “Mine must have fallen on the floor.”

  He bent again and reached under the table. He looked at Macey, eyes bulging, then searched the floor again. “It’s not here,” he said. “It’s not here!”

  It wasn’t just a change of clothes in that bag. They were missing the duck!

  She squatted quickly and stuck her head under the table. She reached around in the shadows but the only thing she found was Shawn’s searching arm. Their eyes met.

  “They stole it! Those old buggers stole my backpack!” Macey got back on her feet, grabbed Dorothy’s arm and started dragging her down the aisle. “I’m sorry, DJ. We have to hurry. I know you can’t run, but—”

  “The hell I can’t.” Dorothy shrugged out of Macey’s grasp and hustled out the door, her purple velour fanny pumping like a race-walker’s. They were both to the car before worrying about Shawn. Lucky for him, he was right behind them. He pointed at the keys in Macey’s hand.

  “Don’t even think it.” She climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine.

  Shawn had to jump into the back seat or risk being left behind.

  “Which way is west?” she shouted.

  “Back on the road, same direction we were headed when we came in.”

  She pealed out of the parking lot. All the frustrations of the past day poured out through her foot and onto the accelerator. Their little SUV had some get up and go…until they hit a red light. Then another.

  “Are you kidding me?” she asked the third red light in a row. But as rebellious and wild as she felt at that moment, running red lights just wasn’t something she could do.

  They left the city and passed the higher speed limit signs just in time to get stuck behind a drunk driver. Or, if not a drunk driver, then it was a four-year-old at the wheel.

  “Macey, honey,” Shawn said behind her, “I love you, but you’re going to have to summon Keefer and get around this fool. Our little yellow duck is getting away.”

  She floored it. Laying on the horn sobered the guy in front of them, if only for a moment, and he drove directly off the shoulder and into the shallow barrow pit. She couldn’t spare the time to look in the mirror, to see if the guy was all right. She told herself she’d done Idaho a favor and gotten a drunk off the road.

  In the distance, a large square of red tail lights disappeared around the gradual bend in the freeway. It had to be them. But there were red lights behind them too.

  Only these red lights were flashing.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Shit!”

  Dorothy looked out the back window. “Ah, ignore him. Maybe he’ll go away.”

  Shawn leaned forward and spoke near her ear. “Don’t pull over, Mace. If he so much as describes us, we’ll be dead in an hour.”

  “We need the duck.” She pushed a little harder on the accelerator.

  “Yes. We need the duck. And we need to get Dorothy to safety.”

  Safety. Right. “Seatbelts!”

  Dorothy obeyed. She didn’t know if Shawn had or not.

  “Looks like one cop,” he murmured. “We could probably take one cop. But in a minute or two, there will be a lot more than one. Maybe we’d better pull over after all.”

  “Gotcha!” She’d finally caught up to the yellow diesel. “Let’s do this.” The straight away was a mile long, easy. She could tell by the tail lights of the cars farther on. “Roll down your window, DJ. Let them know it’s us.”

  The passenger window came down. Dorothy leaned out the window and she yelled something, but her voice was lost in the wind.

  “Did he see you?”

  Dorothy sat back and grinned. “Yeah. He knows it’s us. I think he might have crapped his pants.”

  “Okay. Roll it up again.”

  As soon as the window was up, Macey sped up and steered slightly right. The old man laid on the horn. It sounded dangerously close, but she held her position. She straddled the line. Half in her own lane, half in his. He started to slow. She slowed too. Still he honked. Still she slowed. Anyone watching would think she was suicidal, but she’d never wanted to live so badly in her life. And she guessed the old criminals were trying to decide how badly they wanted it too.

  The fact that the other driver continued to slow told her all she needed to know.

  She wove back and forth a little, to make the man nervous, to make him believe she was capable of anything. And it worked. He finally slowed to a stop. Macey stopped the SUV across the front of the grill of the oldest diesel she’d ever seen in her life.

  The forgotten police car pulled onto the shoulder, his lights making the scene look out of control, but it wasn’t. Macey had everything in hand.

  She jumped out and put her hands behind her head, then stood and waited for the cop. He turned off his siren and popped out of the car mid-shout. “Hands on your head! Hands on your head!”

  “They are on my head,” she said clearly. “The guys in this truck are criminals—”

  “Down on the ground! Down on the ground!”

  His gun was aimed right at her.

  “Is there a camera on your car? I’m unarmed. Are you recording this?”

  The guy stopped and blinked. Then he looked over at the SUV. “Out of the car! Hands on your head!”

  The car door opened and Shawn got out, hands raised. “Don’t shoot, officer. The bad guys are in the truck.”

  “Down on the ground!” He suddenly freaked out and pointed the gun at the car. “Who else is in the car?”

  “Don’t shoot!” Shawn jumped between Dorothy and Barney Fife. “She’s an old lady. She can’t move very fast.”

  The officer nodded and relaxed a little when Dorothy stumbled out of the passenger side, proving Shawn was telling the truth. She tried to hold her hands on her head, but bless her heart, she couldn’t hold them high enough.

  He pointed the gun back at Macey. “You’re crazy. Get down on the ground. Backup is on the way.”

  “Look. We were back at the diner and these two old truckers stole everything I own. I couldn’t just let them disappear.”

  “Quiet. We’ll just wait for
backup.”

  “Officer, I think I can help,” Shawn said. “I’m Secret Service. Can I show you my credentials?”

  The poor thing pointed his gun at Shawn. The barrel shook. “Do you have a weapon, sir?”

  “I left my weapon in the car. No threat.”

  “We’ll just wait for backup,” the cop whispered.

  “Look, son. I can’t allow these two fugitives to escape. I’m going to climb up there and see if the woman’s backpack is really inside. If it is, then we can restrain them until backup arrives. Do you understand?”

  The young man’s head nodded as he thought it through.

  “Good.” Shawn pretended he’d been given permission. “Ladies, you stay put, do you hear me?”

  Macey nodded.

  “You cover the driver,” Shawn told the officer, then walked around to the passenger door. A minute later, the driver opened his door slowly and climbed down while trying to keep his hands in the air. The old woman followed him out the driver’s side and grumbled all the way to the ground. Shawn emerged with Macey’s backpack and held it out. “This is it!”

  Relief flooded her veins. It was all she could do not to jump up and down, knowing the cop would probably shoot her.

  “That’s my bag.” She turned to the officer. “See?”

  The poor guy looked like he was about to pass out. He moved his gun back and forth between Macey and the old couple. Dorothy was leaning against the SUV, valiantly failing to hold her hands higher than her elbows. And she was frowning, confused.

  Uh oh.

  “Shit!” Shawn climbed down with the backpack, walked around the couple and over to the big rig’s headlights. Then he held the bag up into the light and dug through it. Eventually, he lowered it and looked at Macey. “It’s not here.”

  “Did you look in the little pocket?”

  “I looked in all the little pockets.” He turned to the old woman. “There was a small yellow duck in here. What did you do with it?”

  The old woman sneered. Her teeth looked grey with red and blue lights flashing across her face. “I chucked it out the window. What would I do with a duck?”