by Hinze, Vicki
“Did they?”
“I have no idea. I’ve never heard of him.”
“But the questions got your attention.”
“They did. He said the name had come up in an unrelated case and blew it off.”
She was making too much of this. People got mistaken for other people or asked about people they didn’t know all the time. It’d happened to her right before Thanksgiving. That old man with dementia had mistaken her for someone he knew named Helena. “Wait a second. Something just occurred to me. Medros’s guy asking me about Rogan Gregos might not mean anything.”
“Oh, I’m betting it means something.”
“Sorry. I phrased that badly. When he went to Handel, he produced identification to Security that his name was Rogan Gregos,” she explained. “It could be—”
“When he came to get the thumb drives, he dropped the name to you so when you heard it from Fitch, you’d know Medros’s surrogate had come calling and to keep your mouth shut.”
“Exactly,” she said. “It was a warning.” Something else niggled at her mind. She couldn’t put her finger on it yet, but instinctively she knew she need to focus because whatever it was, it was important.
“That makes sense.” Shadow Watcher sounded a little shellshocked. “And you’re sure the name was Rogan Gregos?”
“Yes.”
Shadow Watcher went silent for a long moment. “I’ll check anyway and see what I can find. Meanwhile, I’m already convinced Bain’s dirty.” Shadow Watcher’s tone left no doubt. He didn’t like where this was going. “Has to be.”
Her own reaction to Bain aligned with Shadow Watcher’s. “I’m thinking Bain either told Medros straight out about the thumb drives or he somehow let him know. Otherwise, Medros’s guy couldn’t have gotten to me before Bain did. There was only a twenty-minute window.”
“Bain well might have waited just out of sight until after Medros’s henchman left,” Shadow Watcher said. “Either way, Marsh is right. Bain’s concern is his case, not your life, and Medros won’t stop coming. We’ve got to get you out of there.”
The wisdom in that conclusion tasted bitter. But she couldn’t argue, the move was logically sound. “I agree.”
“You have the drives with you?”
She frowned through the windshield, ran a visual perimeter sweep around the car, and spotted nothing odd or strange. “How did you know I kept a copy?”
“You’re the Gate Keeper. Of course, you kept a copy.”
For a stranger, he knew her well. “They’re with me.”
“Hit the nearest ATM, withdraw all you can, and then head north,” he said. “Use only this phone and contact only me. Don’t email or text anyone. Don’t call anyone else. Don’t go anywhere anyone knows you. I’ll get you what you need. Right now, just head north. When you’re almost to Jackson, Mississippi, call me. That’ll take about three hours. You up for that drive?”
Did she have any choice? “Yes.” Honestly, she wondered if she’d ever sleep again.
“Okay, I’m going to alert the troops. We’ve got you, GK. Just head north—and don’t get an hour or two down the road and re-think this. You’re not making too much of it. You are in jeopardy. Bain learned too quickly about the house explosion, he heard too quickly from the CI there was a contract on your father and then on you. Medros found out too quickly about the thumb drives and had his goon intercept them. It’s not that one thing is off, it’s all off. Marsh might be clean, but his hands are tied. We don’t know. But we can’t bet your life on him keeping you safe when he’s already told you he can’t do it.”
“I won’t re-think it and turn around. I promise. But there’s so much I’m leaving undone. My job—they’re expecting me on Monday. My father’s affairs. My apartment.”
“Don’t worry,” Shadow Watcher said. “I told you, the troop is on alert. We’ll handle everything. You just drive. Remember, call me before you hit Jackson.”
Overwhelmed with emotion, Gabby swallowed hard. “Thank you, SW.”
“Be careful and drive safe.”
“I will.” She ended the call reluctantly. What the troops could do about the personal business she needed to handle she had no idea. But now wasn’t the time to worry about any of it. He said they’d handle it, and they would handle it.
Dead women don’t take care of anything.
Yet the world somehow limps on without them.
Chapter Nine
Near Jackson, Mississippi
Wednesday, December 9, 8:00 a.m.
Gabby stopped south of Jackson, Mississippi, to fill the tank with gas.
In the restroom, she soaped her hands then splashed her face with cold water and dabbed it dry. Afterward, she went into the convenience store and bought a large coffee. She wasn’t at all sleepy. Fear put you on an adrenaline high like nothing else.
Back in the Mustang, she pulled away from the pump and over to the edge of the store’s parking lot. The sun had been up for a good while and she’d watched cold wind whip at trees for miles. She texted Shadow Watcher from the burner phone. “Near Jackson.”
“Call me.”
Odd. But maybe not. She dialed his number.
“Hello.”
“Good morning,” Gabby said, then sipped at her coffee. Steam furled from the cup.
“You safe?”
“I think so.” She was in the middle of nowhere.
“No one followed you or anything?”
“No.” She’d checked her mirrors a thousand times. “I’m certain of it.”
“Good.” He let out a staggered breath. “TreasureSeeker tells me you hit three ATMs on your way out.”
Not at all surprised by that, she admitted it. “I did. They were close by and I was there, so I thought I’d better seize the opportunity.”
“Good thinking,” he said. “Okay. I want you to drive on to Jackson then about six miles north of downtown. Off to your right, you’ll see a tall sign for a Chevy dealership. Go there.”
“Why?”
“You’ve got to change cars.”
Change cars? Give up her Mustang? “But I love this car.”
“No choice, GK. Unless you want to be in it when it’s totaled.”
“Totaled?” He couldn’t be going to destroy her Mustang. After all she’d already given up, now this, too? Appalled, she tried and failed to keep a whine out of her voice. “But it’s a vintage classic.”
“It’s necessary, Gabby. Troop Search and Rescue has evaluated the situation, and the only way you’re going to survive this is if you’re already dead.”
She sputtered hot coffee. “What?”
He didn’t repeat himself, just stayed silent and waited.
“Oh, God.” Her mind went into overdrive. She grabbed a tissue and dabbed at the spewed coffee, swiped it off the steering wheel. “What about money? My job?”
“Consider everything gone.” He sighed. “But don’t panic. The troops are working on all of it. We’ll do all we can to recover as much as we can.”
How could they recover anything? “But—“
“Listen, either you trust us, or you don’t,” he interrupted. “Pick one now, because we’re working hard to do this right. But if you’re not on board . . .”
Trust. So hard. Relying on them, and their judgment. Her whole life was out of control. Apparently, her death, too. But did she have any choice?
She really didn’t. She tossed the soaked tissue onto the floorboard. “Fine. I’m in.”
“Okay, then. When you get to the dealership, a guy in a green shirt with red hair will walk up to your Mustang and pass you a key. He’ll tell you where your new car is parked. Leave the Mustang, your purse and your old cellphone in it. Try to avoid anyone else. Get in the new car and then drive North. That’s all you have to do.”
“Okay.” She could buy a new purse. A grocery bag would do until then. What did she think about this? It was all so alien to her that she couldn’t even process it.
“Ok
ay,” he repeated. “Call me from Memphis. By then, I’ll have more information for you.”
More information would be good. Maybe she wouldn’t feel like she’d been picked up and slung onto a different planet, one in an alternate universe. “Thank you.”
He ended the call.
Gabby drove up the interstate and spotted the car dealership sign. Chevrolet. She took the exit, drove into the lot and then parked.
A man with red hair and a green shirt sauntered out of the building and over to her car. “Morning.”
She rolled down the glass. “Good morning.”
He passed her a set of keys. “Receipt, registration and proof of insurance are in the glove box, Ms. Johnson. Red Malibu, loaded, he pointed. Three cars down.”
Ms. Johnson? “Thank you.” She rolled up the window, gathered the money from her purse, left the credit cards and checkbook, dropped her phone onto the center console, and waited. The man walked back into the building. He didn’t look like someone who would wreck a vintage car intentionally to make it look as if someone had died in it. Where would he get a corpse?
She didn’t want to know. She really didn’t want to know. There wouldn’t be one, of course. How they’d pull that off, she had no idea. And she wanted no idea. Pushing further thoughts of the logistics from her mind, she left the keys in the ignition, and got out of the car.
Seeing no one, she walked over to the Malibu. It was a beautiful deep red with light and dark gray two-toned interior. Different. Far more modern than the classic Mustang, but once she got used to it, she could be okay with it.
Inside, she cranked the engine and gave her Mustang one last look. She’d loved that car. On top of everything else, she had to forfeit it, too. What was happening to her and her life wasn’t fair or right but, long ago, she’d learned little in life is ever fair or right. It’s just life. “Thanks for being there for me,” she whispered to the Mustang, then drove out of the lot and got back on the Interstate.
By 1:00 in the afternoon, she reached Memphis, gassed up the car and grabbed a Chinese buffet lunch that seemed popular, gauging by the crowded parking lot. It was decorated for Christmas and an entire table of people all wore Santa hats. Their laughter grated at her raw nerves. Stuffed and suddenly sleepy, she made her way back to the lot and automatically looked for the Mustang. Catching herself, she remembered she drove a Malibu now and made her way to it. The cold chill pushed by a stiff wind cut through her.
By the time she opened the door, her teeth were chattering. The day was beyond chilly; it was cold. At least freezing, though she’d yet to see snow. She locked herself in and cranked up the heater. Stifling a yawn, she texted Shadow Watcher. If he sent her much further, she was going to have to insist she stop for a nap. It’d taken fear, starvation and steel will to drive past the last rest area. She lacked the stamina to do it again.
“You holding up okay?” he asked.
“I’m tired now, but fine. Is wherever you’re sending me much further?”
“Not much. I know it’s hard but it’s important you keep moving. Once you arrive, you’ll be safe. Until then, you’re vulnerable. Maybe even a target.”
That zapped the sleep right out of her mind. “Where am I going to arrive?”
“Stay on I-55 for now, to St. Louis. Call from south of it for final instructions.”
Final instructions. So, St. Louis wasn’t her ultimate destination. “I might need a nap.”
“If you do, you do. Be safe but try to keep pushing. It’s important.”
He knew something. He or someone in Troop Search and Rescue had picked up a warning or something. She should ask what, but she was too frazzled to deal with anything more. Her maximum tolerance level had been reached many miles ago. “If I have to stop, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, I’ll be in touch when I’m south of St. Louis.”
“Great.”
“You said you’d have more information for me.”
“I do—but it’ll have to wait. Incoming. Drive safely.”
Gabby sighed and put her phone in the center console. Noticed that the car’s control panel had a phone button. When she had time, she’d configure it. She left the parking lot and got back on the Interstate.
* * *
Near St. Louis, Missouri
1:30 p.m.
Signs for St. Louis started appearing almost right away. About four hours away. That at least gave her an idea of about how long it would take her. Traffic was light, and for that she was grateful. She stopped just after three and got a large coffee, then headed out again.
At 5:30 she was just south of St. Louis. Rush-hour traffic was heavy, so she exited the interstate and pulled into a nearly empty school parking lot. From there, she texted Shadow Watcher.
“I’m here.” She studied the sky. It looked dark and heavy, which fit with the radio’s weather report predicting snow. She had no idea how to drive in snow, so of course, she’d have to deal with that, too.
“Any trouble?”
“None.” She texted back. “Should there have been some?”
“It was possible. We set up a decoy. Doesn’t matter. You’re okay for now.”
“I’m dead on my backside and need sleep.” The heat wasn’t helping. It was toasty warm in the car; the Malibu’s heater worked great, but warmth added to her feeling sleepy. “What now?”
“About an hour to go.”
“One?”
“One,” he texted. “Take I-55 to I-70 East. You’ll cross the Mississippi River into Illinois. Stay on I-70 until you see an exit for Christmas Cove. Take it, and at the Stop Sign at the foot of the clover, turn Right. Drive 7.2 miles. You’ll see two mailboxes on the left side of the road. Turn in there and drive to the end of the road. There’s a cottage. Inside, you’ll find what you need.”
“Do I need a key?”
“Second log on the stack.”
The key was hidden in a log? Must be. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Call and let me know you’ve arrived. It could snow before you get there. You ever driven in snow?”
Call not text. She made a mental note of it. “I’ve only seen snow a couple times in my life—including just snow flurries. No, I’ve never driven in it.”
“Allow a lot of distance between cars, and don’t slam on the brakes. You’ll do fine.”
He sounded confident. She didn’t feel confident or even capable. “I’ll call when I arrive.” She stowed the phone, pulled back into traffic, and then started watching for the I-70 exit.
More irony. Whoever would have believed she’d land in a place called Christmas Cove, in Illinois? She who had never had a real Christmas in her life and had insisted she stop wishing for one years and years ago.
Christmas brought her father to mind and she couldn’t help but wonder. Why had he insisted she stay with him if only to ignore her? Why hadn’t he just sent her to live with her Aunt Janelle who clearly had wanted her? Life could have been so different for all of them. Instead he seemed to take some perverse pleasure in denying her aunt the right to even see or speak to Gabby and her, the security of growing up thinking anyone cared if she lived or died.
“Let go of it, Gabby. No time or energy for that. Not now.” Grateful the weather was holding off, she spotted the turn-off for I-70, moved over a lane in front of an eighteen-wheeler truck, then took the exit and merged into traffic. Not much longer now, she told herself. “Suck it up and stuff it down, Gabby.”
At 7:00, she spotted the Christmas Cove exit and moved into the right lane, took it, and drove the clover to its foot then braked for the stop sign. She followed Shadow Watcher’s instructions and spotted a series of lakes with manicured lawns and tall, thick oaks. The largest weeping willow she had ever seen in her life hugged the road and draped nearly to the ground.
About the length of a ball field further she spotted two black mailboxes on sturdy wooden posts. She slowed, then turned onto the tree-lined road. On the right was a well-maintained farmhouse with a broad front p
orch and two swings, one on either end. She eased past the house on a narrow road that ran alongside it and kept going until the road stopped. A rustic cottage with a smaller porch and two rockers sat nestled under a canopy of trees.
“Charming.” Gabby loved it. The flower beds needed some attention. Come spring, weeding and a few new plants would spruce them up, but the cottage itself, at least from the outside, appealed.
How long she’d be in this cottage or town, she had no idea. But for right now, she didn’t doubt Shadow Watcher’s saying she would be safe. The only way anyone could find this place is if they knew it was here.
She cut the engine and got out of the car, stiff and weary, longing for a shower and a bed.
Chapter Ten
The Cottage
Christmas Cove, Illinois
Wednesday, December 9, 7:35 p.m.
The cottage was pale-gray clapboard and trimmed in a darker gray. Low bushes planted near the windows were positioned so no one could hide behind them. The lawn was trimmed out with islands edged with stacked stones. Gabby stepped onto the porch and retrieved the key hidden in the bundled firewood, then opened the door and went inside.
Modern. Clean. Decorated sparingly in neutral, soothing tones. Very few personal items. Art, a blend that appealed to both men and women, and no photos littered the walls. She walked through to the kitchen. Spotless. Lots of light oak cabinetry and a long granite breakfast bar. Beyond it, a heavy oak table and four chairs. Stainless appliances. She opened the door of the fridge. Freshly stocked. So was the pantry, and stoneware dishes, pots and pans, and small appliances filled the cabinets. She closed the fridge door, wondering who had bought groceries and prepared the cottage.
In the living room, a big-screen TV above a stone fireplace stole the focal point. To the left stood a wet bar, and high above it, an oak railing and loft. French doors from the dining room and living room led outside to a broad covered deck that ran the length of the cottage with a huge grill and side-table on one end and, beyond a table for four, a porch swing on the other end. Flood lights penetrated the darkness and revealed lots of lush low bushes forming a hedge beyond the deck, and great shade trees with concrete benches near the trunks loomed across the lawn distant from the house. The landscaping was done with security in mind. Nothing encroached or gave anyone places to hide unless flat on their bellies in the dirt. A trail wound to some unseen place, and the quiet and calm settled around her.
