by Christa Wick
I added Phil Nash, the owner of the house Morris visited, to my list then parked a block over while I waited for Morris to leave the neighborhood. When he did, I took a little walk. Down to my last camera, I attached it to a tree on the public easement area across from Nash's front door.
Dooley visited Nash that night, going in empty handed and coming out with a small brown paper bag folded into a rectangle. Paul Cahill came the next day. From the archives of the local county paper and high school year books, I pieced together how Dooley was related to Nash through his wife and how the Cahill brothers were Nash's cousins. Even more damning, that lone lab bust on record for the entire county had been initiated by Dooley two days after Stephen Cahill had been arrested for a barroom brawl with the man running the meth lab. The way I figured it, Nash was the linchpin -- the connector between Morris, the Cahill brothers and Dooley.
Making sure there were no signs of a close relationship between Gillie and Franklin and any of the men, I sat down with the two on day eleven and showed them what I had. Two days later, the police surveillance put on Paul Cahill paid off, only he and his brother were cooking somewhere other than on Evan Morris' land and they didn't spill a single name.
I still hadn't nailed Morris, just given him more reason to direct his anger at Mia.
Chapter Fifteen
Mia
Another shift at the hardware store finished, I pulled into the drive of the horse farm. Gillie had told me that yesterday's bust of two brothers cooking on a local timber farm was connected to Evan, but there wasn't any evidence to arrest him on and the brothers hadn't named any of their associates. It sounded like, outside of Evan, everyone was connected by blood and, if they gave up just Evan, they had to know he would give up the family members they didn't name.
Of course, Evan didn't know the Cahill brothers were keeping their mouths shut. No one had seen him after news of their arrest broke.
I scanned the main house as I drove by. All the drapes were pulled tight, as usual, and the rusted out truck he drove wasn't parked out back. I just hoped I wouldn't find it in front of the guesthouse. If I did, I would keep my promise to Gillie and drive straight to the sheriff's station.
Dodging the deeper ruts on the dirt lane running past the stables, I almost missed seeing a narrowly opened side door on the smallest building. I would have missed it altogether except for a flash of brightly colored fabric on the ground. I could see in the rear view mirror that it was red and white, with vertical stripes about the width of those on a flag.
Evan wasn't the kind to fly a flag, but he would be careless enough to drop one and leave it. I backed the car up, keeping the vehicle in the lane while I studied the door. From the viewing angle, I couldn't actually see that the door was open, but the padlock was off and the fabric seemed to disappear out of view into the building. I hadn't seen one of the buildings unsecured until then.
I rolled my lips with indecision. There could be something inside the building that would put Evan in jail with his buddies. Even if there wasn't, I had a gut feeling the flag wasn't Evan's but my father's or grandfather's. A lot of items had been missing from the boxes Evan had dumped in the spare bedroom of the guesthouse. Military medals from Vietnam all the way back to a Badge of Military Merit from the American Revolution. I expected Evan had sold off most of the memorabilia, but some of the flags had been more common, their greatest value sentimental and not monetary.
Engaging the parking break, I grabbed the taser from the passenger seat and left the car. Standing outside the door, I confirmed it was, indeed, a flag that had been discarded, most of the fabric on the other side of the door it wedged open. I didn't pick it up immediately, listening instead for any sound that someone was inside. Evan would have heard the vehicle, would have been able to tell that I had parked it. He could be inside waiting for me, but where was his truck?
I waited, my gaze focused on the flag as my ears strained for any restless motion inside the stable. The material was aged and I could see shards of glass around it and one broken side of some kind of frame. My father had kept several flags in his office in those triangular, glass-front boxes. The flag on the ground seemed the right age for the one he had kept from his father's funeral.
An internal heat singed my skin, an angry sweat popping out along my brow. Evan had sold my families memories, carelessly stored others and now this discarded flag, its display box broken around it!
Satisfied the building was unoccupied, I carefully lifted the flag from the ground and shook the glass out. Pushing the door all the way open, I propped it with a nearby rock. Light from the open doorway and some loose slats along the walls feebly lit a small section of the stable's interior. I could just make out a few boxes on a folding table and, beyond that, what looked like emptied milk jugs and two-liter pop bottles that had been refilled with other fluids, funnels sticking out of their uncapped openings.
The sweat dotting my forehead turned cold as my heart rate doubled. This was the evidence Gillie needed!
I stepped further into the room, drawn by what I could see at the surface of the boxes -- the distinctively banded red, white and blue satin bar of a Silver Star medal, a gold key chain and the loop it fed into on the pocket watch buried below.
Damn it -- the box would become evidence, stuck in a security locker for years. Even then, if it did belong to my family, I might not get it back. Everything in the main house had passed from my mother to Evan, didn't matter if the medal had been pinned to a James' chest.
I stepped up to the box and removed the Silver Star medal, holding it in the weak beam of light that reached the table.
For Gallantry in Action
Jessup K. Towers
My heart sank as quickly as it had jumped up -- the name was unfamiliar.
"Junkies bring that shit in like it's worth even a free hit." Evan moved from the shadows along the wall to block the rays of light in the doorway. The outline of a revolver with its long barrel gestured at me. "Drop the taser, little girl."
With Evan beyond the range of the taser and a thick wooden beam between us, I started to place the weapon on the table.
He pointed the gun straight at my chest. "I said drop it!"
I released it with a jerk, the hard plastic casing bouncing off my toe before it landed more gently on the ground at my feet.
"Kick it over here."
I gave it an intentionally half-hearted shove with my foot so that it came to a stop at an almost equal distance between me and Evan.
"Always were a sly little bitch." He crossed half the distance to the taser then waved the barrel of the revolver at me again. "Step around to the other side of the table."
Buying time, I obeyed. Coming closer, Evan reached up, his hand waving aimlessly around until he found a metal chain and jerked on it. A single unshaded bulb flickered to life, its weak light fighting that from the doorway for supremacy.
The extra light gave me a better look at the bottles. Most had only a little liquid in them, but one of the pop bottles had a thick, dark purple liquid with the consistency of sand on top of an even thicker, yellowish goo. This close to the makeshift lab, I could smell the strong odor of ammonia.
Looking down at my feet, I noticed busted up batteries and more chemicals under the table. Brake cleaner, anti-freeze, paint thinner. An icy sensation flared up my spine as I recognized the ingredients Gillie had told me to be on the watch for and report if I saw them on the property.
Evan moved close enough that, if we each extended our arms, our fingertips would touch. "Hand me one of them funnels."
Not seeing a good enough reason to piss him off by disobeying, I reached for the funnel. Right before my fingertips landed on it, I stopped.
He had lured me in here with bait that looked like it could have belonged to my father. He had only a small number of the ingredients of a meth lab and the chemicals hadn't been in the building uncapped like they were that long or I would have smelled them. Now he wanted me to hand him
something when his own hands were gloved in latex.
I traced the edge of one funnel with my fingernail and shook my head, softly laughing at him despite the cold fist wrapped around my heart. "It won't work, you know."
"Oh, it'll work all right." He stepped a little closer, his gun arm extended, the barrel centered on my nose. "They're gonna find you here and see you were trying to set me up -- and how you bribed that dumb shit John Gillie with kinky sex to frame the Cahill brothers."
I raised both brows and closed my eyes in mock surprise at the level of his stupidity. "Just how long have you been dipping into the product to come up with a hare brained idea like that?"
Pointing the gun in the air, he shot a round off then pointed the gun at my face. I couldn't help the jump the blast produced, but I managed not to shriek. Waiting for my throat to relax enough to talk, I glared at him.
"Impressive, but your plan doesn't work if I have a bullet hole in me or my prints aren't on anything in here."
An ugly grin crawled like a spider along his face. "Prints are on the silver star."
Keeping the gun trained on me, he began to slowly circle the table. His free hand dipped into his pocket and pulled out a wooden matchstick. Fresh sweat broke out across my body. The stable was big enough with lots of space between some of the boards that discharging the gun had only presented a small risk of one of the chemicals combusting. The matchstick, once struck, would all but guarantee an explosion.
The cold metal of the gun touched my cheek. I looked at Evan, the phlegmy eyes almost feverish. The barrel moved lower to the neckline of my blouse to molest the top swell of my breasts.
"Fucking your mama was like fucking a bag of sticks." He pushed the barrel between my breasts, forcing a rough line up and down against the fabric. "And only in her cunt. I bet you let that Stark fella take you anyway he wanted, which means he definitely took that plump little ass of yours, didn't he, little girl?"
My breasts heaved, anger and fear thrusting them up then down. "Don't talk about my mother."
"Oh, I'm talking about you, sweet Mia." The barrel's tip traveled over the curve of my stomach, down my lower stomach to rest against my clit. "See, once they find your body, they're going inside the guesthouse, gonna find those expensive leather slut panties and a few big toys I planted after I rubbed a few of your and Gillie's things over them -- toothbrushes, used underwear--"
Knowing I was dead if I didn't get out of there immediately, I bolted for the door. Wood splintered along the wall in front of me before I could cross half the distance.
"I will fucking drop you, stupid cunt!"
Keeping the gun trained on me, he circled back around the table then eased toward the door. Extending one arm for the door's edge, Evan did a double take, his fired his gun at something outside less than a second later.
I heard a wet thunk that sounded like the hard, sudden penetration of flesh followed by a masculine grunt of pain before a second gun discharged. Evan moved too quickly, the bullet intended for his head embedding itself in the door frame he had just occupied.
Before I had time to react, Evan backhanded me, the weight of the gun in his hand enough for the blow to send me sprawling to the ground. My eyes closed for a second or several as a dull roar began to build between my ears.
I heard another gun shot, this one sounding like Evan's old revolver, and the single light bulb shattered. I opened my eyes as the silhouette of a man rushed into the stable's dark interior.
Collin -- he hadn't left Keeling, or I was already dead and dreaming on my way to the afterlife.
"Get out," Collin barked, his hand landing on my shoulder to thrust me behind him.
"He took four--" Another shot from Evan's gun shut me up. Time slowed until I looked up to see Collin hadn't taken a hit from the last round fired.
The shot Evan had fired in the doorway, however, had found its way into Collin's left bicep. Blood dripped from the cuff of the leather jacket.
When I didn't move, just stared at the blood, Collin shifted his gaze from the darkness Evan hid in to me. A dull click sounded from the shadows. A misfire or an empty chamber, my brain didn't know the difference, but Evan launched himself toward us, a rusted, hooked iron poker slashing through the air in front of him.
The metal tore through Collin's leather jacket to draw blood. Collin threw his arms around Evan, the momentum of the older man's jump and a last minute twist by Collin sending them crashing onto the table with its box of stolen goods. Collin's gun flew from his hand then slid across the cement floor and under a broken down stove.
The table crashed beneath their combined weight, tipping the second table onto its side, the uncapped jugs and two-liter bottles hitting the floor. Liquids started to spread and mix, their vapors creating a small burn in the back of my throat.
Collin screamed as he grappled with Evan. "Out, Mia!"
Like hell would I leave!
I couldn't get the gun without lying in the pool of chemicals. I looked around for another weapon, something to hit Evan with...
My gaze landed on the taser a foot from me. I scooped it up and turned to where the two of them still wrestled, only the cheap table beneath them keeping the chemicals from seeping into their clothes. Their bodies only half lit, my eyes and throat burning, I tried to make out my target. A punch landed in a face and I heard Evan groan in pain. Collin rolled.
Head spinning from the fumes, I pulled the trigger on the taser, the thin threads shooting out to embed in Evan's skin and clothing. His body went rigid, a tremor running through it before he went still.
I slid toward the ground, the overriding presence of ammonia forcing my submission. Collin's arms wrapped under mine and around my chest. Charred breaths wheezed through his throat as he dragged me toward the door.
We breached the threshold, fresh air flooding my lungs. Behind us, I heard the sound of one of the fluids igniting and Evan gasping for air. The gasping turned to shrieking.
"Keep going," Collin pushed me forward then turned back toward the stable.
"No!" I reached for him, my blurred vision making me miss and hit the side of the stable. "Don't go in!"
His arm on fire, Evan rolled on the ground, his body and clothes collecting the chemicals that had spilled on the ground. Ignoring my plea, Collin shielded his face and went in. He tried to grab one of Evan's ankles. Looking toward the door, he saw me still standing there.
"Clear the building, Mia!"
No -- if Collin wasn't coming out until Evan was rescued, I would have to go in and help him carry the bastard out!
Before my foot could cross the threshold, arms circled my waist. Someone lifted me off me feet, then dragged me screaming as another body rushed past me and into the stable. I clawed at the hands dragging me and then I heard a short, single boom and we both fell to the ground.
Chunks of wood from the side of the stable rained down on us. The ringing in my ears turned to the sound of multiple sirens -- ambulance, police, fire. I screamed Collin's name as the man continued to hold me down. The stable's roof started to slant and collapse as a smaller explosion popped.
A man emerged from what was left of the building, Collin slung over his shoulder. He staggered under the weight, carrying him past us and across the lane. The other man stopped fighting me. Scrambling to my feet, I crossed the lane, my peripheral vision catching the flash of lights as their sirens continued bleating.
I fell to my knees. Next to me, Collin's rescuer started to puke. I felt for a pulse on Collin, a small measure of relief loosening some of the tension in my chest when I felt its erratic beat. I dropped my head down by his mouth to hear the faint wheeze of air in and out.
Acid had eaten at the leather jacket and his left hand, half covered in blood from the gun shot wound, looked like it had been burnt.
Men swarmed around me, another set of hands urging me away to let the ambulance team help Collin and the man who had pulled him from the building. Numb, I looked up at the man guiding me
away to see it was Gillie.
"Is he going to be okay?" The words coming out of my mouth didn't sound like they belonged to me. My voice was raw, both from emotion and the the chemicals I had inhaled inside the stable.
"He's got the best ambulance team in the county working on him and a helicopter on the way." He sat me on the ground next to his cruiser and grabbed a first aid kit.
I pointed to the man hovering over Collin's rescuer. "Are they Stark's or cops?"
Gillie shrugged. "If they were cops, they'd have badges out by now."
I nodded because it made sense.
Gillie pulled some type of wipe from a red foil package and tested a spot on my hand that looked like I'd laid out in the sun too long. "That sting too bad?"
I shook my head.
"Good, close your eyes." He went to work with the wipe on my face.
"How'd you get here so fast?" I asked, dodging my head whenever his body blocked my view of the ambulance team working on Collin. They had cut away his jacket and shirt, in part to get at the gunshot wound in his bicep, but also to treat the chemical burns.
"Collin called, said he wasn't sure what was going on but he saw Evan taking an odd selection of things into the stable, including stuff to cook." He looked up, the motion alerting me to the faint sound of a helicopter.
The sound was probably louder for Gillie, but phantom noise caused by the chemicals, gunfire and explosion still played inside my head. I looked at the man who had kept me from going back into the stable. A phone up to his ear, he paced beyond his team mate. His eyes met mine for a second, but there was no knowledge to pull from his expression or the way he held his body.
"Evan baited me," I told Gillie after a few more seconds. My lightly burnt cheeks must have flushed a couple shades darker because I felt a fresh heat on them as I remembered what Evan had said about putting sex toys and DNA in the guesthouse. "He might have planted evidence at your place, about you framing the Cahill brothers."
