Lucas Holt Series: Books 1-3

by JP Ratto

  The pickup was where I left it in the bank parking lot. I reached in the planter, retrieved the spare key, and drove past the Gunslinger Saloon looking for Glick or the locals who helped him. I doubted I’d see any of them in daylight and Glick was probably long gone. I needed luck if I was going to find my attackers and I wasn’t having any. After an hour, I decided to head back to the hotel in Somerset.

  ***

  I swallowed some ibuprofen and two cups of coffee. After a hot shower, I gave Ray Scully a call.

  “Twelfth, Scully here.”

  “Glad to see you on the day shift with the rest of the working stiffs.”

  “Holt, where are you? Did you wrap things up yet? I managed to choke down Regina’s dry meatloaf last night by imagining the steak you promised. A double dose of mac and cheese helped too.”

  “I’m in Somerset, Pennsylvania. I’m still searching for the missing girl. Listen, I need another favor. Could you call the Stowe post office for me and find out the address in Broome, Pennsylvania where Martin’s mail is forwarded?”

  “Are you under the false impression I have nothing to do all day?” Scully asked. “And you still don’t want to tell me what you’re doing?”

  “I’m looking for a seventeen-year-old girl.”

  “Hmm. I think in addition to the steak dinner, you have to buy me a couple of lap dances.”

  “Sure. Better take it easy with the mac and cheese or you won’t have a lap. When’s the last time you were at the gym?”

  “When’s the last time you got laid?”

  I asked about Regina and the kids. I suppressed the thought of what I once had and lost, which clamored to escape the back of my mind where I keep it locked up.

  ***

  It was late afternoon when Scully called and woke me from a nap.

  “Ray, what’ve you got?”

  “That address you need is twenty-six Adams Street. Hey, you don’t sound so great.”

  “Just woke up, that’s all. Listen, do you remember the name of Senator Grayson’s lawyer? I think you interviewed him during the Rand investigation.”

  Scully was silent for a long moment.

  “Why are you asking, Lucas? Does your case have anything to do with Grayson or the Rand case? If it does, you need to let me know. That case is still open, and if you have any new information, you need to tell me.”

  My head was foggy and I realized, too late, the mistake I’d made. “It has nothing to do with Rand’s murder.” It was close to the truth.

  “Grayson is running for president, Holt. To start digging up the past for whatever reason will have the senator’s people and brass all over us—especially me.”

  “I know. My client had a relationship with Grayson’s lawyer, and I wanted his name, that’s all. He may be able to help with my case.”

  “What kind of relationship? I’m getting a bad feeling, again.”

  “Forget it, Ray.” I was about to disconnect.

  “Wait.” I could hear my friend’s sigh of resignation. “His name is Douglas Cain.”

  “Thanks, appreciate it. I’ll stay in touch.”

  “I’d rather you stay out of trouble.”

  Chapter 23

  Karen and Mary crossed the trailhead to the entrance of Moose Horn Trail.

  They had split the weight of what they carried between them. Used to camping, Karen held the two-person tent, her sleeping bag, and a backpack of water and snacks. Mary lugged her sleeping bag and a tote containing her I-Pod with a small separate speaker and extra clothes for both of them.

  Karen, familiar with the terrain, deftly avoided ruts and uneven sections of the road. Mary looked in all directions as she kept up with the conversation and stepped in every pothole.

  “Karen, Jason King wanted me to tell you he misses you in the stands at the baseball games.”

  “Yeah, well…I know what Jason misses.” They both laughed for what seemed like the fiftieth time that day.

  Karen thought about Jason. He was one of the reasons she didn’t want to leave Stowe. They’d had a great time together going to baseball games, skiing, and hanging out with his friends. He never said it, but she knew he loved her and hoped for a future for both of them. Hugs, tears, and empty promises marked their last night alone. But now she was with Sam—at least until she went off to college.

  Mary clicked her fingers in front of Karen. “Hello. Earth to Karen. Over.”

  “Sorry. I lost my mind for a moment. We go off this trail just a bit farther.”

  “No problem. I was doing some day dreaming too. My parents are talking about a trial separation. This is the first time I’ve been happy in weeks. Tonight we can forget all about parents and boyfriends.”

  Karen headed for the old campsite Sam had shown her. Accessed from a path a half mile along the main trail, the site had a lean-to half hidden by overgrown shrubs and clumps of tall birches. She thought about the last few times she’d been there with Sam and smiled.

  “C’mon, Mary, let’s move faster so we can set up before dark.”

  ***

  Crocker had returned to the barn, stashed his truck behind some brush, and then hiked back toward Moose Horn Trail along the unused path.

  In place behind a clump of trees with a view of the main trail, he heard the girls’ laughter and excited chatter. He looked through binoculars up toward the trail and saw his targets.

  He followed off trail, navigating through thick vegetation and over fallen, dead trees. His sweat attracted gnats and mosquitos that zeroed in on any warm-blooded mammal they could find.

  Crocker was glad the girls kept up their conversation. Their voices carried and made tracking them easier. His attention perked up when he noticed the sudden quiet. He was too far below the trail to see them. He couldn’t lose them—it would waste too much time to search for them in the dark.

  He stopped dead when the ground crunched and someone spoke a few feet away from him. It was the girls; they had veered off the main road. As far as he knew, there was no public campsite there. He smirked. My job just got easier. Crocker continued to follow them through the woods.

  ***

  “Almost there, Mary.”

  Five minutes later, they stepped into a clearing. A lean-to peeked out from under a pine tree in the center of twenty feet of dirt patches, leaves, and broken twigs. Early evening sun slanted through heavy branches to a circular stone fire pit Karen and Sam had built on their last visit.

  Mary examined the lean-to. “It looks safe, I think.” The only sound was a squirrel click-clicking up a tree. “I see why you and Sam come here. The other campsites are pretty far away.”

  Karen smiled at the implication. “No, that’s why Sam comes here. I’m not ready for a serious relationship. Jason and I still keep in touch every week and…it’s confusing.” Karen stared at the ground, unsure of what she was feeling.

  “C’mon, Karen. It’s been a year. I’m not saying forget Jason. Just open yourself to other possibilities.”

  “Yes, well…Sam will be by later to make sure we are okay. Let’s get the tent set up before we lose daylight.”

  ***

  Crocker tried to be patient.

  The bugs, the slow crawl around trees through dense shrubs, and the damn waiting, wore him down and made him angry. Breathing deeply, he willed himself not to kill them both right there and then.

  Assess the location, assess the target, move with purpose.

  It was still light. He could see the girls from his position on the ground thirty yards away. He would have to bring the truck closer. They were far enough from other campsites not to see him, but not so far that they wouldn’t hear the girls scream.

  ***

  Karen gathered up kindling, placed it in the fire pit while Mary found dry, dead branches to place on top. The fire would provide light, warmth, and a cozy place to spend the evening.

  “Mary, how about some music?”

  “Sounds great. I’ll get the iPod and speaker.” A f
ew minutes later, as the sun began to set, they listened to Arctic Monkeys sing “When the Sun Goes Down.”

  ***

  Crocker found a spot to park his black truck not far off Farm Road and hiked to their campsite. As he got closer, he dropped to the ground and crawled. He gashed his hands and face as he sluggishly slithered through the bushes. What the hell kind of shrubs have thorns? The sun’s warm glow had turned to twilight. Dusk would soon follow. Crocker was close enough now to hear and see them, but not so close he risked discovery.

  What was that noise? Crocker lay flat and froze. Who the hell is that? He saw the girls smile when a tall young man of about twenty approached.

  This assignment is a nightmare.

  ***

  Karen rose, hugged Sam, and introduced him to Mary.

  “Hi, Mary,” said Sam. “Karen has told me a lot about you.”

  “I’ve heard a bit about you too. This is a great camping spot. It’s peaceful being this far from the other campers.”

  “Thanks. Two friends and I found it when we were hiking. There’s room for three tents.” Sam walked to the lean-to while talking, giving Mary the opportunity to mouth the words: he’s cute. Time passed quickly as Karen and Mary told Sam stories of life in Stowe. Before Sam became too comfortable and decided to stay the night, Karen stood and said, “Okay, Sam. Mary and I are fine, and it’s getting dark. Let me walk you back to the trail.”

  Sam made a lascivious grin at the offer. “Mary, have a great time. Watch out for the Ghost of Broome.”

  “What? If the ghost comes here, I’ll kick his ass. Thanks for checking on us, Sam.”

  Sam took Karen’s hand, and they headed toward the trail.

  ***

  At last, I get a fuckin’ break.

  Crocker’s eyes widened as his focus ramped up. He patted his shirt pocket, ensuring he had what he needed. He pulled his knees up to his chest and raised his head to peer over the shrubs. The other girl was sitting by the tent, raising the music volume. Another break. She won’t hear me comin’. He didn’t have much time.

  Sacrificing stealth for a face pace, he moved one quick yard at a time. At the edge of the clearing, he knelt and listened for Karen returning. Nothing. Even the crickets were quiet.

  Crocker parted the shrubs and stepped through. He cautiously padded toward Mary and pounced. He slapped his right hand over her mouth, sat on the ground, and wrapped both legs around her waist and arms to immobilize her. Her weak struggles served to wear her down. His left hand reached into his shirt pocket and took out a syringe.

  He whispered, “Stop moving or die.” She sat ramrod straight, held her breath and didn’t move a muscle. Crocker put his thumb through the circle at the end of the plunger, pointed the syringe to the sky, and cleared the air bubble. He stabbed her arm through the light cotton fabric of her shirt as she again struggled, dislodging the syringe. That should be enough. Ten seconds later, her eyes shut. Her body relaxed and became dead weight.

  ***

  “Stop it, Sam. You’re acting like a damn octopus.” Karen pushed away.

  “Okay, okay. I just miss you.”

  She allowed Sam to keep his arms around her waist and hold her close. Karen needed to resolve her conflicted feelings toward him soon or she would drive him away. “I like you, Sam. I need more time to work things out. Now, go win a baseball game or something.”

  “Fine. Call if you need anything.”

  ***

  Crocker dragged Mary behind the shrubs.

  Deciding he had a few moments before Karen returned, he stepped back into the campsite and shuffled his foot over the drag marks to erase them. With only a few seconds left, he ran to where Karen would enter the clearing and crouched behind a tree.

  ***

  Karen meandered back to the campsite, thinking about a late snack. It was nearly dark, and she wondered if they had enough wood to keep the fire going all night. She broke through the clearing.

  “Mary, do you think we need more wood?”

  No answer.

  “Mary?”

  ***

  Crocker stepped out, placed his right hand around Karen’s mouth…and received an ineffective elbow in the gut for his trouble. She grabbed the middle finger of his hand and pulled it away from her face. Crocker grunted. Bitch. He enclosed her arms with his left, and she stomped his foot hard. He needed to sedate her but was busy countering her blows. Improvise.

  He drew his Glock and slammed the back of her head. Karen’s body fell limp, and Crocker eased her to the ground. He took another syringe from his shirt pocket and plunged it into her arm.

  After dropping Karen’s body into the back of the truck, Crocker ran to the campsite to get Mary. Before retrieving his second victim, he paused, turning his attention to his surroundings. Faint music drifted from campsites off in the distance.

  Crocker tore down the tent, wrapped it around one of the backpacks, and packed the tent poles. He stashed them in the shrubs behind the lean-to. He would come back later and scrub the area for evidence anyone had been there. He picked up the other backpack and trudged to where he’d left the girl. Stunned and swearing, he stared at the flattened patch of leaves and scrub where a body had previously lain.

  Mary was gone.

  He searched the area, frantic to find her before she would be able to alert anyone. Crocker sprinted toward the trail. A soft moaning stopped him in his tracks. He listened and then padded to a patch of junipers. Lying beneath them was Mary.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of him and she opened her mouth to scream. Crocker dropped the backpack he held and lunged over her, clamping a hand over her mouth. His hand still in place, he rose, yanking her off the ground with his free arm. She kicked and bit him causing him to lose his grip. Unsteady from the partial dose Crocker had injected into her, Mary staggered a few feet and fell. Fuck. I should have bashed this one on the head too.

  She rose, staggering to her feet as Crocker caught her by her shirt. It tore and she jerked free. Crocker was an arm’s length away when Mary stumbled and fell, hitting her head against a rock.

  He hoisted her onto his shoulder. She wouldn’t give him any more trouble.

  Chapter 24

  The gilded Grand Ballroom at the Plaza Hotel pulsed with excitement. Two hundred supporters of Todd Grayson for President donated ten thousand dollars each to attend the gala.

  Senator Grayson and his wife entered the room to thunderous applause. The senator escorted her to a seat at one of the gold linen-clad tables adorned with centerpieces of blue hydrangeas and white roses. A thirteen-piece orchestra played a medley from the American Songbook. Grayson took to the stage and gave a rousing speech, which earned him a standing ovation.

  Todd Grayson rode high on vast approval in the polls. In his early fifties, physically attractive and with a velvet voice, he mesmerized people of both sexes. His moderate politics, at a time of unprecedented gridlock in Washington, appealed to voters on both sides of the political spectrum. As President, he vowed to lead an administration that would adapt to the current needs of the country rather than adhere to staunch party ideologies.

  At the end of his well-received discourse, Grayson signaled for the orchestra to resume playing and stepped down from the stage. On the way to his table, supporters stopped him to shake his hand to express their delight and what a privilege it was to attend such an event. The senator thanked them one by one, catching his wife’s eye as he neared. He winked.

  Maeve Grayson, petite and regal in orchid silk chiffon that complemented her porcelain complexion and dark hair, waved to her husband. She turned to speak to a woman who approached her. The senator beamed with pride for the smart and elegant lady he married—who would be a magnificent First Lady.

  About to join his wife, Senator Todd Grayson froze.

  He recognized the tall, blonde woman to whom his wife spoke. His warm smile turned to a stiffened grin, and with ice in his veins, he continued forward to stand next to Maeve. She slipped
her arm around one of his, drawing him closer.

  “Todd, I’d like you to meet Janet Maxwell. Her late husband was president of Maxwell Investments. Mrs. Maxwell has graciously donated on his behalf, as he was a fervent supporter.”

  Grayson extended his hand for a formal shake. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Maxwell. I knew your husband and was very sorry to hear of his passing—and your son’s. Such a tragedy.”

  Janet Maxwell held onto the senator’s hand longer than necessary, her azure eyes daring him to acknowledge a past acquaintance.

  “Thank you for your condolences. I find I can bear the loss much better if I’m busy and involved in some of my husband’s past endeavors. One of those being your pursuit of the presidency.”

  Maeve Grayson let go of her husband’s arm. “If you’ll excuse me, darling, I want to say hello to Ann and David Walsh. So nice to have met you, Mrs. Maxwell.”

  “Please call me Janet. It was lovely to meet you too. I hope we will see more of each other during the course of the campaign. I plan to support the senator in any way I can.”

  As Janet watched Mrs. Grayson cross to the other side of the room to greet her friends, Todd Grayson’s gaze swept over the woman from his past. He hadn’t seen her in nearly eighteen years. He would have liked to say he hadn’t thought of her, but that would be a lie.

  Grayson met twenty-four-year-old Janet Coughlin at a DC fundraiser for a non-profit organization for whom she worked. He always had a roving eye, and this young woman caught his attention with her energy as well as her beauty. A political science major, with a minor in business, Janet shared many of his ideals and his vision for their great country. Her vivacious nature and ingenuity, which stimulated his mind, also extended to the bedroom. He thought if he hadn’t already been married, he might have fallen in love with her. Perhaps he had.