Switching back to the map, I took a photo of the coordinates with my cell phone then wiped the surfaces I’d touched with my sleeve to erase any prints and turned to go.
I glanced down at Searle’s body. I didn’t feel sad. He’d beaten Mia for years, and most likely killed the Walkers and framed Gibson Fletcher for the murder. When he’d arrived home he must have discovered Mia going through his files. Or maybe she came right out and accused him, and that’s what started their fight. I’d seen her terror as he tried to strangle her, and the wrath in her eyes as she’d moved towards him with the letter opener in her trembling hand. She’d killed her husband, and I knew how that felt – the relief and the guilt. The consequences.
She was free of him now. But I couldn’t let her go.
*
The navigator told me the drive would take fifty-three minutes. I wanted to prove it wrong. I hustled out of San Diego and gunned at full speed along i-94 as soon as I’d left the city behind. I had to get to Mia and Gibson before they crossed the border. My best chance was to apprehend them at the ranch.
Assuming the ranch was where they were heading.
Assuming Mia and Gibson would rendezvous there.
Assuming that was the place Searle had hidden the chess pieces.
JT had always taught me not to make assumptions, but right then, assumptions were all I had. I didn’t have time to waste. I had to make a move for checkmate, and this was it.
I felt the buzz of my cell phone in my pocket. I answered the call. ‘Red?’
‘The detective found his notes on the original statements with the Walker daughters.’ Red sounded excited. ‘I’ve messaged you pictures of them, but there’s something you need to know. The guy – the one girl saw – he had a scar shaped like a star on his hand.’
‘Searle had a scar like that, I noticed it when he shook my hand.’ With the photos Mia found, and the eyewitness statement of one of the Walker girls, it looked certain that Gibson was innocent, that Searle had killed the Walkers and framed him for it; a high-stakes play to get Gibson out of the game and away from Mia for good.
‘Had?’
‘He’s dead, I…’
‘You in trouble, Miss Lori?’ Red sounded worried.
‘Mia is.’ I told him about Mia’s call, and about finding Searle dead. ‘I’m heading to a ranch near Lyons Valley. I’m thinking Mia and Gibson could be there.’
‘You with back-up?’
I didn’t answer. Didn’t want Red fussing on me.
He raised his voice a little louder. ‘Did you hear me? You got back-up with you?’
‘I’m going alone.’
‘You’re a grown woman. I know you don’t need me to tell you what to do but—’
‘Then don’t.’ I kept my foot pressed hard on the gas.
Red whistled. ‘You told Monroe?’
I laughed. ‘After the CCTV you sent? No way! He’s dirty. I don’t know why for sure, but I’m guessing it’s because of the gold chess set. 1,345,000 dollars is a hell of a lot of money, and it seems it’s enough to turn an agent.’
‘You need to tell someone where you’re heading.’
‘I told you, didn’t I?’
‘Someone closer who can have your back.’
I thought of Bobby all beat up. Shook my head. ‘There’s no one here I trust who can help me. Anyways I know Mia, she’s a good person.’
‘She’s a good person who just killed a man. And she’s helping a known fugitive leave the States. If she’s in possession of that chess set I doubt she’ll want to give it up. Gibson, too.’
I stayed silent. Knew there was sense in Red’s logic, but I didn’t want to think on it. I liked Mia. She’d helped me.
‘She’s not your friend, Lori.’
‘I get that.’
‘Then call in back-up. You only have a basic knowledge of the terrain and the property, you’ll be miles from help, and it’s two against one. Monroe doesn’t know you’re onto him. If you call him, he’ll come. You can sort the rest out later.’
‘There’s no way I’ll—’
‘Don’t be a hero, Miss Lori. Remember Dakota’s waiting on you. What happens to your little girl if you don’t make it home?’
*
Twenty minutes later the country was changing, the terrain had become more mountainous, the neatly manicured vistas of San Diego replaced with rocky wildness.
I took a left onto the Skyline Truck Trail. Kept driving. There were few properties and I hadn’t seen another vehicle in miles. This place felt real remote and the further I drove the more acutely aware I became of the isolation.
The midday sun was high overhead and the air above the blacktop seemed to warp and shimmer in the heat. In the Jeep the air-con kept things cool. Inside my head I was having a battle.
Red’s words about Dakota had hit home, just as he knew they would. If something happened to me she’d be alone. I’d not seen my family in years and her father was in jail. She’d be as good as orphaned, put into the care of the state. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to get home to her.
I glanced at the burner phone lying next to my purse on the passenger seat. It’d been ringing every couple of minutes since ten after twelve. No doubt Monroe wanted to know where I was, why I’d not met him at the bond shop as instructed. But I didn’t want to speak with him. I needed to figure out his game, and until then, I wasn’t ready to confront him.
Switching off the burner, I picked up my own cell and dialled the number of the one man I knew in San Diego who could help. Keeping my foot hard on the gas pedal as the call connected, I told myself that, although we’d never seen eye-to-eye, he was an honest man. Bobby Four-fingers had convinced me of that. I didn’t have to like him.
The call connected. The voice on the recorded message was gruff. ‘This is McGregor. You know what to do.’
I waited for the voicemail to beep, then said, ‘It’s Lori. I know where Fletcher is and I’m on my way there, about twenty minutes away.’ I read out the coordinates. ‘It’s a ranch owned by Marco Searle. He’s dead – stabbed at home less than an hour ago by his wife, Mia. Everything points to her being with Fletcher now.’
I ended the call. Knew I’d done what I could. Stepped on the gas and kept driving towards the ranch.
49
I halted the Jeep at the side of the highway.
When I’d raided the cabin in Mexico with McGregor and his team we’d not used stealth. Rosas and McGregor had agreed that hard and fast was best, and in that case, I was inclined to agree. But high in the hills above Lyons Valley my situation was real different. I was alone, no team. And there was no way to get a clear line of sight to the ranch house from the highway, only brief glimpses as the trees thinned momentarily before getting denser and screening the property again. I needed a strategy that’d work best in the here and now.
In fact, all the ranch buildings were hidden behind scraggy trees, their planting and canopy a whole lot denser than I’d reckoned on from the satellite image I’d seen on Searle’s computer. I spotted the outline of the ranch house through the occasional gaps and saw that alongside it were two vehicles – a blue convertible that looked like Searle’s, and a red truck. It seemed Mia and Gibson had arrived.
I had to act fast. Couldn’t risk them leaving.
Stealth was therefore the best approach. On foot worked best for that. It’d let me get the lay of the land – to assess my surroundings and what Mia and Gibson were up to – before I made my presence known. It’d give me the advantage of surprise if I needed it, and in a two-on-one scenario, I’d likely need whatever advantage I could create.
I checked my cell. No signal. I’d had no word from McGregor and I didn’t know whether he’d gotten my voicemail. But I couldn’t check now, and surely I couldn’t wait for him.
Looked like I’d be going in alone.
Red’s words of caution repeated in my mind. Even though it seemed Gibson hadn’t murdered the Walkers, and he could have had
help when he escaped from Florida Medical, three prison guards had still been left dead. I remembered his anger as he threatened me in the parking lot of my hotel. He’d been far stronger than me. If he turned hostile I had to be able to defend myself.
I looked at the glove compartment. Flipping the catch, I opened it. The gun Bobby Four-Fingers had given me was inside. I clenched my jaw. My whole being rebelled against picking the weapon up. I told myself to just do it, that I needed to give myself every protection. That Dakota was depending on me. I didn’t know what would happen inside the house, but I knew Gibson wouldn’t want to go back to jail, not when he was so close to freedom.
I reached in and forced myself to grab the gun. Then threw open the door and started running.
*
I slowed my pace as I got closer to the house. Stayed alert. Fortunately the trees kept me camouflaged and I moved between them light-footed, navigating the jagged boulders and pitted earth. All the while I maintained my focus on the house, scanning for signs of Mia and Gibson. Saw none.
I stopped, hidden behind a gnarly old tree, and listened hard. My pulse pounded in my ears and I battled to shut it out, trying to concentrate only on the unfamiliar surroundings. The birds were noisy above me in the canopy, making it hard to hear anything other than their song. I clenched my fists. It was no good, I needed to get closer.
I moved further towards the house.
The trees thinned as I approached. Here my cover was less dense, my presence more exposed. Still I saw no one, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t seen me. I moved quicker. Kept low. The dirt gave way to a makeshift driveway, its tarmac old and broken, weeds growing through the cracks. Without the shade, the heat of the sun reflected back off the surface like a blowtorch. My skin flushed and I felt the sweat cascading down my back. I kept moving.
The house looked more run-down than it had on the realtor website, but it was the same property for sure. It looked uninhabited and untouched, and if it wasn’t for the two vehicles parked outside, I’d have figured it was.
I moved across the tarmac to the convertible. Put my hand on the hood. It was still warm. Whoever had driven it had arrived recently. I hoped they were still here, but I didn’t want them leaving until I had them restrained.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the Swiss army knife JT had given me when I first started training with him. It was the twin of his. ‘They’re real useful,’ he’d told me. Pretty soon I’d realised he was right.
I knelt down beside the convertible and stabbed the knife into the front tyre. Repeated the action with the other three tyres, then did the same to the truck. That evened the odds; we were all on foot.
Putting the knife away, I skirted back around the truck to the front. The windows were open, and on the passenger seat was a carton, about the size of a shoebox. The cardboard was faded and battered around the edges, but the address on the label was real clear – ‘Gibson Fletcher, c/o Southside Storage, San Diego’. This had to be the package Clint had seen Gibson collect.
I reached into the truck. Opened the box. Took what was inside. Didn’t think on it, didn’t have a plan. All I thought was that, if I had it, and they somehow got away, it would be leverage – a measure of last resort – to bring Gibson back.
I pushed it into my left pocket and looked towards the house. The front door was shut. I saw no one. I wanted to avoid making myself known for as long as I could; so, keeping low, I moved around to the back of the house. To the left of the back door, a broken porch swing creaked back and forth. The door was ajar.
I paused. Heard nothing from inside. Reaching under my jacket, I withdrew my Taser and stepped up onto the porch.
Nudging the door open with my toe, I entered. It was gloomy inside, the air tasted thick and stale. I found myself in a basic kitchen. It was neat, everything tidied away aside from two plastic water bottles, half drunk. I moved through the room to the next: a family room. One couch against the far wall; aside from that no furnishings. Moved into the dining room. Found it empty.
Back in the hallway I looked up the stairs. Were Mia and Gibson up there? Had they seen me arrive? Were they lying in wait, ready to jump me? My heart pounded in my chest, and I gripped the Taser harder. Stepped onto the first stair.
It creaked loudly beneath my weight and I near jumped clean out of my own skin. Keep it together, I told myself. Stay focused; you’ve got this.
Pulse racing. Heart pumping. I kept going up the stairs to the second floor. I searched each room in turn – three bedrooms and a master bath. All basic, all empty. Mia and Gibson weren’t inside.
Damn. They had to be here.
I hurried down the stairs. Slowed as I reached the back door, thinking I’d heard something. I felt the fizz of anticipation, the potential of finding a clue. Listened hard.
I heard it again. A crash. Like a bunch of glass bottles smashing. It came from outside.
Through the door, I saw no one. The crash had sounded like it was further out back, a little ways off. In the distance, along a dirt track that zigzagged up the hillside between the trees, I spotted one of the barns.
I moved quickly across the porch and over the scorched dirt towards it. Avoiding the path, I headed into the trees. The shade of the canopy blocked much of the sunlight but, where it managed to break through, it cast mottled shadows across the ground. The air was hot and humid. The earth was pitted beneath my feet, the lumps and boulders challenging me to stay upright.
I kept running. Heard another crash, a dulled sound this time; not glass breaking – something else. Then another. I wondered what the hell Mia and Gibson were doing.
I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
50
The door of the barn had been forced off its hinges. Taser in hand, I pressed myself up against the sun-bleached wooden cladding of the wall and peered inside. It was gloomy, but I saw that, rather than being one huge space, the barn had been divided into sections. The doorway led into a storage room lined with shelves. In the far corner, a dark-haired man in a plaid shirt had his back to me. He had the bulk of Gibson Fletcher and was using his strength to yank wooden crates from the shelves, then searching through them and tossing them aside. There was no sign of Mia.
I glanced around me. Checked she wasn’t close.
Nothing. The trees were still, the land around them, too. The only sound was the ever-present birdsong. The air was chewy on my tongue. Sweat glistened along my arms and between my fingers, making the Taser slippery in my hand.
Swapping my Taser into my left hand, I wiped my palm on my jeans, took the gun from the waistband and stepped into the barn.
‘Gibson Fletcher, put your hands high.’
He stopped moving but didn’t raise his hands. My heartbeat banged harder. It felt like déjà vu from the shack in Mexico.
I raised the gun and the Taser, kept them trained on his body mass. ‘Hands up. Now.’
‘I heard you didn’t use guns.’ It was Gibson’s voice for sure.
I took a step closer. I couldn’t cuff him easy from this position – the broken crates lay between us – and he was out of Taser range. But I didn’t want my only option to be the gun. ‘Can’t believe all you hear,’ I said.
He dropped the crate he was holding back onto the shelf and turned towards me. He gave a little shake of his head when he saw the gun. ‘Guess I got that one wrong, then,’ he said, raising his hands.
I kept both weapons aimed at him. ‘I guess so. Where’s Mia?’
‘She’s not here right now.’
‘There are two cars. She’s here someplace.’
He shrugged. ‘If you say so.’
I stayed alert, scanned my peripheral vision. Knew Mia could appear at any time. I gestured to the broken crates and their spilled contents – old bottles of moonshine, rusty-looking yard equipment and the like. ‘What are you looking for?’
‘Something that got taken.’
‘The chess pieces?’
He nodded. H
is eyes darted right, and I wondered for a moment if he was about to bolt. I took a half-step forward. Needed to get him cuffed. ‘Why’d you take them?’
He laughed, a deep belly laugh that sounded joyful for a moment, then cut off as abruptly as it had started. ‘It was my job. I had no choice.’
I cleared my throat. The barn was dusty as hell; I could feel it on my skin, in my mouth. ‘There’s always a choice.’
He frowned. ‘Spoken by someone who’s never been in a position where there isn’t.’
‘I’ve been in plenty of bad situations. Just because you don’t like the choices, it doesn’t mean there aren’t any.’
He cussed. ‘You know what? I never figured they’d send a bounty hunter after me. Cops yeah, and Feds as soon as I crossed state lines, but not you.’ He squinted a moment. ‘I was right before though, wasn’t I? Monroe put you after me?’
I nodded. The longer I could keep him calm, the closer I could get without spooking him.
‘Bastard. I should have known…’
‘What did he promise you? If you stole the chess pieces you could split the profits?’
Gibson laughed again. It wasn’t a happy sound. ‘It was never about money.’
I inched a little closer. Another few feet and he’d be in Taser range. ‘1,345,000 dollars didn’t appeal to you then?’
He shook his head.
‘I find that real hard to believe. A thief and a dirty FBI agent in business together – you were going to sell the pieces and run. Is that why you beat up on an old investigator and had me followed in Florida?’
A pulse at Gibson’s temple throbbed. ‘You’ve got this wrong. I’m one of the good guys. I never beat up your investigator or had you followed. I wouldn’t have hurt you in the parking lot of your hotel if you hadn’t fought against me so hard. I worked for Monroe. I was his asset.’
I frowned. So now both Gibson and Searle were claiming they’d never had me tailed or beaten Red in Florida. And now Gibson was saying he’d been working for the FBI? I didn’t believe it.
Deep Blue Trouble Page 23
