Stranded with the Suspect

by Cindi Myers

  “Let her go.”

  The big bear of a man stepped in front of Victor, glaring at him. “Let her go and leave. She doesn’t want to go with you.”

  Victor stared up at him. Andi wondered if he would pull out his gun and shoot the man, the way he had shot Simon. Had she made a mistake, involving innocent people in her troubles?

  “I’m calling the police.” The woman behind the man held up a cell phone, then punched in three numbers—Andi assumed nine-one-one.

  “All right, I’m leaving.” Victor released her and backed away, hands in the air. “Andi, when you’ve calmed down, you know how to reach me,” he said.

  The bearded man might have been able to tackle and hold Victor, but Andi didn’t want to risk the gun making an appearance, so she said nothing and let him leave. The woman put her arm around Andi’s shoulder. “Come inside and get warm. The sheriff is sending someone over.”

  “Thank you,” Andi said, her voice catching. “Thank you so much.”

  “I got his license plate number,” the bearded man said. He nodded to Andi. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No...only frightened me.” She hugged herself, pulling the coat more tightly around her, but was still unable to get warm.

  “You’re shaking,” the woman said. She led Andi to a sofa near a glowing wood stove. “Sit down here. I was heating up some soup for our lunch. Would you like some? And maybe a cup of hot tea?”

  “Yes, that would be wonderful.” Andi sat, hoping the shaking would subside soon.

  “I’ll get the soup and tea,” the man said. “You stay here with her.” He left the room, his slippers making a shuffling noise on the wood floor.

  The woman sat beside Andi and began rubbing her back. “I’m Carrie, and my husband is Lyle,” she said.

  “I’m Andi.”

  “Are you okay?” Carrie asked. “Is the baby okay?”

  Would she ever really be okay again? Simon was dead, she’d been betrayed by Daniel, her father was in prison and her baby’s father was dead...she shook her head. “I’m fine. I’m just...a little overwhelmed.”

  Carrie glanced back toward the door. “Was that your husband? Or boyfriend?”

  Andi shook her head. “It’s a long story, but he isn’t either of those things.”

  Lyle returned, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup, a spoon and napkin and a mug with a tea bag floating in hot water. Andi looked at the food and tears came to her eyes—not because she was so hungry and it looked so good, though both of those things were true, but because it represented so much kindness from two strangers.

  Pull yourself together, she told herself. You have to stay strong.

  “Thank you so much,” she said again, and accepted the bowl of soup Carrie handed her.

  “Don’t let me keep you from your own lunch,” she said.

  “It can wait.” Lyle settled into a worn brown leather recliner across from her and continued to study her. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  She shook her head and sipped the soup—vegetable, and not from a can. Delicious. “I’m from near Montrose.” That was as close to a home as she had had in a while.

  A knock on the door interrupted them. Carrie left to answer it and returned a moment later with a Park County Sheriff’s deputy. “This is Andi, and she’s the reason I called,” Carrie said. “A man was trying to make her go with him and she didn’t want to go.”

  The officer came to stand in front of Andi. “Deputy Paul Chasen,” he said, handing her a card. “Tell me what happened.”

  Andi set aside the half-finished bowl of soup, picked up the cup of tea and sipped it cautiously. It smelled of cinnamon and apples and tasted of honey. “My name is Andi Matheson,” she said. “I was traveling to Montrose with Agent Simon Woolridge, a member of the Ranger Brigade, operating out of Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park. Our car had a flat and when Simon—Agent Woolridge—got out to look at it, a man I know only as Victor drove up, shot Simon in the chest, pulled me out of the car and took me with him.”

  “That’s the man you ran away from?” Lyle asked. “A guy who shot a cop?”

  “Where did this shooting occur, and when?” Deputy Chasen asked.

  “Less than half an hour ago, just outside of Fairplay, on Highway 285.” She swallowed another knot of tears. “I’m sure the cruiser is still there. And Simon’s body.”

  Chasen pulled out his phone and relayed this information to someone on the other end, watching Andi carefully the whole time. When he was done, he pocketed the phone once more. “There is no vehicle on the side of the road, and no body,” he said. “Why don’t you try again—and with the truth this time.”

  “Everything I said is true!” Andi protested. “There was a shot, Simon slumped to the ground, then Victor dragged me away and said he was taking me to Breckenridge. When we came through town another car was holding up traffic. We rolled to a stop, I bailed out of the car and came here for help.”

  “I have the license plate number for the car the guy was driving,” Lyle said. “And he was being rough with her, trying to drag her away.”

  “Give me the number.” Chasen called it in. This time when he hung up, he looked less severe. “The car was stolen from a guy in Fairplay this morning,” he said. “But we still haven’t had any report of a body. That’s a busy stretch of highway, even in this weather. Somebody would have reported it by now.”

  “I don’t understand,” Andi said. “I saw him fall. There was a hole in his chest.” She swallowed hard, fighting nausea as she relived the horror of that moment.

  “Is there anyone else who can confirm your story?” he asked.

  “The Ranger Brigade can confirm part of it,” she said.

  It took a few minutes, but the deputy was able to get a number for the Ranger Brigade from information and made the call. “I’ve got a woman named Andi Matheson here who claims she was kidnapped by someone named Victor, who killed one of your guys, Simon Woolridge.”

  He listened a moment, then held out the phone for Andi. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “Andi?” The voice was one she recognized as belonging to the Ranger Brigade commander.

  “He killed Simon,” she said. “I saw it happen. I’m so sorry.” Then the tears she had been holding back for so long refused to be kept inside any longer. She sobbed into the phone, the pain too much to bear.

  “Andi, listen to me!” The commander’s voice was kind, but firm. “Simon isn’t dead!”

  She sniffed, and Carrie stuffed tissues into her hand. Andi dabbed at her nose. “Why do you say that?” she asked. “I saw him fall.”

  “He was wearing a bulletproof vest,” the commander said. “It’s part of the uniform. The impact knocked the breath out of him. He called just a little while ago and told me everything. He’s all right, and he’s looking for you.”

  Tears flowed again, but this time they were tears of relief. “Tell him I’m right here, waiting,” she said.

  * * *

  SIMON HAD ALMOST reached the little town of Alma when he got the call about Andi. Five minutes later, he was standing on the doorstep of the house where she had sought refuge. The bearded man who answered the door sized him up, gaze lingering on the hole in the breast of Simon’s coat. He stepped back and motioned behind him. “She’s in here,” he said.

  Andi tried to stand to greet him, but almost lost her balance. A short, redheaded woman put her arm around her and urged her to sit back down. She sat, but reached up to Simon, tears streaming down her face. His throat tightened as her arms came around him. “I’m okay,” he said, patting her back. “I’m okay.”

  She wouldn’t release her hold on him, so he ended up seated on the sofa next to her. A sheriff’s deputy approached. “Paul Chasen,” he said, offering his hand.

  “Simon Woolridge.” The two men shook. “The
guy you’re looking for was driving a car he jacked in Fairplay this morning,” Chasen said. “My guess is he’ll ditch it at the first opportunity and steal another. But he’ll probably have to wait until he gets to Breckenridge to do it. There’s not much between here and there.”

  Simon nodded. His first instinct was to take off after Victor, but Andi was his priority now. “I need to get Andi to Montrose,” he said. Until she was safe, he couldn’t leave her.

  “She needs somewhere quiet and away from this stress.” The redheaded woman who sat on the other side of Andi spoke. “She could have this baby any minute now, and she shouldn’t be chasing lunatics all over the country.”

  “We’ve got a safe place waiting for her,” Simon said. He removed Andi’s arm from around him, though he continued to hold her hand. “Are you ready to go?” he asked.

  “I just need to use the ladies’ room,” she said.

  “I’ll pack some food for the road,” the redhead said. “It’s a long way to Montrose.”

  “The weather isn’t looking too good,” Chasen said. “You’d better get going before Monarch Pass gets socked in. From there you should be okay. The roads on the other side of the divide are still reporting clear.”

  “This weather has been chasing us the whole trip,” Simon said.

  He stood. Chasen studied the tear in Simon’s coat. “You really took a direct hit and got away unhurt?” he asked.

  “Knocked the wind out of me,” Simon said. “A few bruises.” He fingered the hole in his jacket. “I’ll need a new coat. And I guess a new vest.”

  Chasen shook his head. “They tell you about stuff like that in training, but you always wonder.”

  Andi returned to the room, the redhead right behind her. She handed Simon a shopping bag. “There’s water and juice and some sandwiches and stuff in there.” She looked at Andi. “I remember with my two, I was always hungry.”

  “Thank you.” Andi hugged the woman, and then the bearded man, and shook hands with Chasen. “Thank you so much for everything,” she said.

  “Yes. Thanks,” Simon echoed. “I don’t want to think about what might have happened if you had refused to help Andi.”

  “We never would have turned her away,” the woman said. “You two take care.”

  They set out again. Neither of them said anything for a while.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” Simon said finally.

  “I’m so relieved you weren’t hurt,” Andi said at the same moment.

  He glanced at her and she smiled. He returned the grin. “Nothing like coming back from the dead to give a man a new perspective,” he said. Then he sobered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep Victor from getting to you.”

  “If you hadn’t been knocked senseless, he might have realized you were still alive and shot you in the head,” she said. “I’m just glad I got away.”

  “How did you get away?” he asked. “No one ever said.”

  “I waited until the car slowed to almost a stop, then I unlocked the door, opened it and got out. He hadn’t bothered to tie me up or anything because, hey, what was a pregnant woman going to do?”

  “He might have shot you.” A shiver ran through him at the thought.

  “I thought about that, but he was focused on driving. I just hoped that if I was quick enough, he wouldn’t have time to fire, not without losing control of the car.”

  “You took a big risk,” Simon said.

  “I had to get away from him. There was something in his eyes that was just so cold.” She rubbed her arms, as if warding off a chill.

  “Did he say what he was going to do to you?” Simon asked. “Why he wanted you?”

  “He wanted to use me as bait to get to Daniel.” She shifted toward him, her voice rising with indignation. “He thought I was the Prophet’s great love or something, and he said if Daniel wouldn’t come to rescue me, he would come for his child.” She rubbed her hand across her belly. “I didn’t tell him Daniel isn’t my baby’s father—or that he doesn’t care two cents about me anymore.”

  “So Victor isn’t working with Metwater,” Simon said.

  “No. But he wants to lure Daniel to him. He wants to talk to him about his brother. But he wouldn’t say why.”

  “Word was David Metwater was in deep to the Bratva,” Simon said. “Maybe they expect Daniel to pay his brother’s debts.”

  “Maybe so. Victor said Daniel was hiding out in the wilderness, and maybe there was something to that. I know he was afraid of the men who killed his brother—and who can blame him for that?”

  “So we know why Victor wanted you, but we still don’t know why Metwater is so set on getting you back,” Simon said.

  “I think I might know.” She fingered the locket, feeling the shape of the diamond through the fine knitwork of her sweater. “Victor said Daniel had a key—a safe-deposit box key. Victor asked me if I had the key. I’m pretty sure he said the box it was to contained a million dollars.”

  “The key in that locket is a safe-deposit box key,” Simon said.

  “I know.” She fished the locket from beneath her sweater and felt along the side for the catch. The front sprang open and she worked her fingernail underneath the key, which was wedged tightly in the locket’s small interior hollow. “There’s no bank name on it,” she said. “Just a number.” She squinted to read it. “Nine, six, two.”

  “That would be the box number, I’m guessing,” Simon said. “I think it’s pretty standard not to have any other identifying information on them.”

  “Would a million dollars fit in a safe-deposit box?” she asked.

  “If the money is in large bills,” he said. “I think you can rent some fairly large boxes.”

  “Then why does Daniel need my money if he already has a million stashed away?” she asked.

  “If it’s a million he—or his brother—stole from the Russian mob, the money is probably too hot for him to touch,” Simon said. “And then there’s the whole greed angle. If one million is good, three or four are even better.”

  “To think I almost let him take everything from me,” she said. “I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

  “You were trusting,” he said. “You wanted to believe in something good. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

  She took his hand. “Thank you for saying that. I hope I’ve learned something from this whole experience.”

  What could he say to that? You’re welcome was lame, as if he had done some great thing for her. “You were strong enough to risk running away from Victor, where you weren’t sure what you had to run to,” he said. “Remember that.”

  She nodded and released his hand. Silence settled around them once more. It wasn’t a strained silence, but one of contentment to be with each other without speaking. Snow began to fall more heavily, fat white flakes that clung to the windshield wipers and frosted the road signs. Simon’s chest ached, but all he could do was try to ignore it.

  They passed through the small towns of Johnson Village and Poncha Springs and made the turn up toward Monarch Pass, but as they approached the bottom of the pass, Simon saw the sign he had been half expecting, but dreading.

  “The pass is closed,” Andi said, as Simon pulled the cruiser to the shoulder.

  He didn’t answer, but pulled up a road report on his phone. “Cochetopa Pass is open,” he said. “We can go around.” The road that direction was narrow and winding, and would add hours to their trip, but he didn’t see any alternative.

  “Oh, Simon.” She imbued those two words with all the frustration and dread he felt. “That will take hours. I don’t think I can do it.”

  “We don’t really have any choice,” he said. “I need to get you to Montrose, where you’ll be safe.”

  “We do have a choice,” she said. “We can turn around and go to my uncle’s cabin. It isn’t far. We
can spend the night there, rest and wait out the weather.”

  “I don’t know,’ he said.

  “We’ll be safe there. We have food. There’s a woodstove and you can build a fire.” She took his hand again. “All I want is one night in the place where I always felt most at home. One night alone, with you.”

  He stared at the snow, which looked for all the world as if someone were shaking out the entire contents of a feather bed factory over their heads. He could drive all the way around to Cochetopa Pass, only to find it was closed by then as well. He and Andi were both exhausted, cold, and hurting—the kind of condition in which people made mistakes. His goal was to make sure she was safe, and her uncle’s cabin seemed as secure—maybe more so—than any safe house. “All right,” he said. “One night.”

  One night alone together. If nothing else, he knew it was something he would remember for the rest of his life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On the drive to the cabin, Andi sat forward in the seat, clutching the dashboard, heart racing with equal parts anticipation and dread. She had lost so much in the past few years that she half expected to find the cabin had been razed, or that the cozy retreat she had so cherished had morphed into a dismal shack.

  When the cabin finally came into view, she let out a cry of relief, almost bouncing up and down with joy. “That’s it,” she said. “Turn in here.” The single-story log building was almost hidden in a forest of pine and fir, its steeply pitched metal roof streaked with rust. The same redwood Adirondack chairs Andi remembered from previous visits flanked the front door, even if the once-cheerful red of the door was now faded to a muted brick.

  Simon bumped down the rutted driveway and parked at the bottom of the front steps. Andi popped her seat belt and had the door open before he had even come to a complete stop. “He always kept the key around here,” she said, moving around to the side of the cabin, where a massive pine tree stood next to the old-fashioned outhouse. Reaching up, she felt for the nail, and the single key hanging there. Triumphant, she snagged the key and held it aloft.

  Simon motioned for her to lead the way up the steps and across the porch. She fitted the key in the lock and pushed open the door. The weak light that filtered through the windows showed a room that served as kitchen, dining and living room, with a three-burner gas stove, a propane refrigerator, sink, square wooden table with four chairs, a sagging couch and armchair and a woodstove set against the back wall.