Tilting at Windmills (Claire Lance)

by Geonn Cannon

  Ben Estevez, Garth Pope, Kevin Keating, and the new guy named Perry Rinehart sat in the office while the Rangers looked over everything. The sun was quickly tracking toward the horizon, and the bar looked like a movie set with every light shining. The Ranger brought in a forensics team to go over every inch of the bar, focusing on the space behind the bar and the spot where Roy had lain in a pool of his own blood. Hadley remained in the bar, keeping an eye on the technicians as they scoured the room. But mostly, he was watching the Ranger in charge. She was tall, impressively so, and wore a wide brimmed cowboy hat pulled low over her eyes. She looked exotic, Russian, maybe. Her hair was either extremely short or kept tight in a bun underneath her hat. She wore blue jeans that fit but weren't too tight, and a tailored red shirt with the familiar silver star-in-a-circle badge of the Texas Rangers clipped over her left breast.

  When she approached Hadley, he saw that her almond-shaped eyes were bright hazel, almost golden. She nodded at him with her chin. "Are you the man in charge?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Ranger Antonia Lazareva," she said. She motioned for him to follow her. He watched her ass as she moved, shifting his eyes to the back of her head just before she turned around to face him. "Do you have any reason to believe this wasn't just a robbery?"

  Hadley hesitated and then said, "I wish I could think that, but the timing is suspicious. Roy hired a new gal to tend bar yesterday; now she and Roy's wife are both missing. I don't know what to make of that, Officer Lazareva."

  "Ranger Lazareva," the woman corrected. "The new employee, did she show signs of violence?"

  "She had kind of a dust-up with a regular of ours named Boris Younger, but I thought it was just, you know, first day nerves or something."

  "Mm-hmm," Lazareva said. "Did they come to blows?"

  "Damn near," Hadley said. He pretended to consider it and then said, "Come to think of it, I ain't seen Boris today. That's kind of unusual. Hope nothing happened to him."

  "Where does Mr. Younger live?"

  "It's outside of town. I'll have one of my associates show you." He knew exactly what they would find: Boris was in his barn, dumped in one of the unused horse stalls. Ballistics would match the bullet in his head to the one that killed Roy.

  The Ranger nodded at the plywood behind the bar. "What happened there?"

  Hadley shook his head. "Rowdy drunk, I guess. Roy didn't tell me."

  "Okay. You'll stick around in case we have any more questions?"

  "Sure. Yes, ma'am."

  The Ranger started to move on, and then stopped. "Oh, the new bartender, the one having all the trouble, what was her name?"

  "I think she said it was Claire Lance."

  #

  The field office was all but abandoned, everyone else having gone home to their loved ones hours ago. Half of the overhead lights had been turned out, casting the room into islands of light and shadow. Faye Mallory dumped her coat on her chair as she passed her desk, not bothering to slow down as she stalked toward the back of the room. The only other agent in the room, Dave Mather, leaned back in his chair and smirked at her as she walked by. "Hey, sorry about that, Mallory. I hope she wasn't very hot."

  Mallory ignored him and continued to the office of Special Agent-in-Charge Lyle Thorpe. He was a tall, thin man with an ever-growing bald spot on top of his head. He looked up as she entered, his reading glasses balanced on the tip of his nose. She stopped in front of his desk. "Sir."

  "Agent Mallory. I guess you got the call."

  "Yes, sir. Claire Lance is in Texas."

  "Did you speak to Ranger Lazareva?

  "I did. She believes Lance is on the run."

  "I took the liberty of looking up Saxe, once I found a map that actually showed it. She left early this afternoon; she could easily have gotten to Dallas by now. Odds are she's on a plane to England and we'll never catch her."

  Mallory shook her head. "No, sir. I looked up the town on my Blackberry. Considering the distance, I think Lance would go north, to Oklahoma. It would give her a lot more distance between her and whoever is chasing her before she had to stop and wait for a plane."

  Thorpe considered that and slowly nodded. "Good point." He turned in his chair and looked at the map. "It's been six hours since she shot Roy Morse. If you're right, she's already into Oklahoma."

  "All the more reason to move quickly, sir. If she doesn't stop at Will Rogers Airport, she could change direction and make it to Colorado or Missouri or Kansas. We need to move now, before the trail goes cold."

  Thorpe leaned back. "I want you to go to Texas first."

  "Sir, with all due respect—"

  He held up one thin hand. "Lance left her car behind, the Mustang she picked up in Ohio. It broke down, which is why she hung around long enough to cause this ruckus. When she ran, she left it in a garage. I want you to go through it, see what she left behind."

  "In other words, you want to send me to where she's been. In the meantime, she's getting further and further away."

  "We have to do this by the book, Mallory. I'm sorry. The Oklahoma Highway Patrol has her description and the description of the car we believe she stole. We also sent the information to Louisiana, New Mexico, Colorado... Trust me, she won't get far."

  Mallory wanted to argue. She wanted to be the one to take Claire Lance down, but she knew she had no way to successfully argue her case. She exhaled and said, "When do I leave for Texas?"

  "You leave from O'Hare in an hour. Enough time to pack a bag, if you hurry."

  "No need." She left Thorpe's office and returned to her desk. A black gym bag occupied the lower shelf of her filing cabinet. She had packed it the day Claire Lance went on the run, and had kept it on hand so she could give chase at a moment's notice. She checked the bag to make sure everything was in place and then slung the strap over her shoulder. She patted the pockets of her hoodie to make sure her badge and ID were still there. Her gun was loaded, and she slipped it into her holster.

  She shut off her desk lamp and walked to the door, bumped the door open with her hip, and looked back into the bullpen. "Yo, Mather." He looked up. "Tell your wife I'll make tonight up to her." She blew him a kiss, winked, and slipped into the hallway before he had a chance to respond.

  #

  Lance took advantage of the motel's surprisingly spacious shower to take a long, hot soak. She made sure to get out before the hot water turned cold, just in case Gwen was up to a bath as well. The woman was nearly catatonic when Lance finally got her into the hotel room, and she was nervous about leaving her alone too long. She stood in front of the mirror and finger-combed her long hair. Her reflection looked only slightly better than the one she had seen in the Four Roses mirror, but any improvement was noteworthy.

  She found complimentary toothpaste in the medicine cabinet and brushed her teeth. She was coming down off the panic that gripped her in Saxe, and she had to deal with the consequences of her actions. Roy getting killed, that couldn't have been avoided. Straight self-defense, not that she would be able to stand up in court and defend what she'd done. But taking Gwen with her... She wanted to tell herself that was just as inevitable, that there were no better options available to her. Without Roy keeping them in check, there was no telling what his men would have done with Gwen.

  Now the problem of what to do with the woman was squarely on Lance's shoulders. She couldn't just walk out of the hotel room, wave goodbye, and wish Gwen luck with her future endeavors. A year of keeping her head down and now she was deep in the middle of what could turn into an unbelievably huge shit storm. Like it or not, Gwen was her responsibility until she could be sure Hadley and the rest of Roy Morse's men weren't coming after her.

  Lance wrapped a towel around herself and left the bathroom, half expecting to find the door open and Gwen gone. But Gwen was still sitting on the edge of the bed where Lance had left her. She had taken her hair out of the ponytail it had been in all day, but otherwise everything was exactly the same as when Lance went
into the bathroom. After the crying jag in the parking lot, Gwen had allowed Lance to walk her to their room with no argument. She seemed to finally accept that Roy was dead, and they were on the run. Now Lance's main problem was to figure out what to do next.

  Gwen's hands were folded between her knees and her head was turned so she could stare out the window. Lance moved to the window and pushed back the curtain to see what Gwen was staring at. Their room had a good view of the streetlight on the corner, along with the stretch of highway they would be taking in the morning. Lance turned to Gwen and gestured at the bathroom. "The shower is free. I left you some hot water."

  Gwen looked up and blinked, taking in Lance's wet hair and bare shoulders. For a moment, Lance wished she had gotten dressed in the bathroom, but Gwen finally nodded and meekly said, "Thank you." She stood up and shuffled into the bathroom.

  Lance watched her until the door closed, then walked to her own bed and unzipped her bag. The hardest part would be getting Gwen past the changes in her life so she didn't become dead weight or, worse, collateral damage. Lance had learned how to run a long time ago; running wasn't anything new to her. But it was different with a passenger, and nearly impossible with one who couldn't contribute.

  She knew what was coming. Even if Hadley didn't attempt some sort of vengeance, she was sure that somehow, someway, her name was currently in the hands of law enforcement. And that meant it would be sooner rather than later that it would cross the desk of FBI Special Agent Faye Mallory. Lance couldn't let Gwen get caught in the crossfire just because Mallory got her Irish up.

  But what was she supposed to do with Gwen? Dump her on the side of the road? She couldn't do that. It would be the same as throwing her to the wolves or leaving her back in Saxe for Hadley to deal with. They were stuck together until she was convinced Hadley would leave her alone, or until she found someplace safe to leave her. Maybe she could coach Gwen as to what evidence to give. Drop her off with the police, tell her to hand over information on Hadley, and let them put her in witness protection. No matter what happened, until she came to a decision, she was stuck with Gwen.

  Lance waited until she heard the shower running in the bathroom before she took off her towel and dressed in an old T-shirt and a clean pair of boxer shorts. She dropped her bag on the floor next to the bed and pulled the blankets back. She sat down on the mattress without hesitation, not giving a thought to who else had spent the night on this sheet or what they might have done. She had spent so many nights in the backseat of her car that motel beds no longer held an "ick" factor for her. She only hoped Gwen could suck it up as well.

  Lance sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her boots over in front of her. She picked one up, laid it in her lap, and used the edge of her towel to dab at the blood in the stitching. She was almost done with both boots by the time Gwen came out of the bathroom. Her hair was dark with water from her shower, and she was dressed in the same clothes she had been wearing all day. Her make-up had washed away in the shower and Lance saw several ugly splotches on her cheek — dark, and shaped like a man's hand. It was worse than she had expected, but not the worst she had ever seen. Gwen caught Lance staring at her face and turned away, touching her cheek self-consciously. She stopped at the foot of the bed and stared at the blankets.

  "Are you okay?" Lance said. Gwen just stared at the bed. After a moment, Lance asked again, "Gwen, are you okay?"

  Gwen blinked and looked up at Lance. She shook her head as if to rearrange her thoughts. She opened her mouth to say something, stopped, bit her lip and looked straight at Lance. "Roy has been beating me practically my whole life, since we were in high school. We were dating. We hadn't even made love yet the first time he hit me. And now he'll never do it again. It's like knowing that you'll never get another stomachache."

  Lance nodded and put down her boot. She stood up, walked to Gwen's suitcase, and rooted around until she found a long T-shirt. She carried it to the Gwen. "Look at me." Gwen turned to face her and Lance began to undo the buttons on her shirt. She did it quickly, trying to be removed, like a doctor or nurse. Gwen kept her eyes focused on Lance's face, not exhibiting any emotion.

  It quickly became apparent that Gwen wasn't wearing a bra. Lance finished undoing the buttons and pushed the white shirt off her shoulders. She focused her eyes on a random spot next to Gwen's right ear and pressed the clean T-shirt against Gwen's chest. "Here. Put this on."

  Gwen obediently turned the shirt around until she found the hem and pulled it over her head. She sniffled as Lance tugged the cotton down over her hips. Gwen held her hands out and said, "Damn it. I'm such an invalid. You had to pack my bag and drag me out of the bar, and now I...I can't even dress myself. I'm so pathetic."

  "You're learning how to walk on your own two feet," Lance said. She kept her tone business-like, but the truth was she was proud to hear any kind of emotion that wasn't shock or panic. It was a sign Gwen was overcoming the trauma and coming back to life. "Are you ready to sleep?"

  "I-I have to..." She nodded at the bathroom door and then smiled weakly. "I think I can do that by myself, though."

  Lance allowed herself a smile. "If you need help, holler."

  Gwen stepped away from Lance and went into the bathroom. Alone again, Lance went to the window and looked outside. They were on the ground floor, and their room looked out on the nearly empty parking lot. Out of habit, she had parked the El Camino a few spaces away from their actual room. Anyone looking for them who recognized the car would focus on that room. It would only give them an extra five or six seconds, but when time mattered...

  Reminded of time, she looked at her watch. It was close to ten, six hours after she had shot Roy Morse in the head. She wouldn't have been surprised to find it had been seven days. The toilet flushed in the other room and Gwen came back out. She left the bathroom light on and the door slightly ajar, giving herself a sort of nightlight. Lance didn't comment on it, and didn't even think about turning it off. Whatever got Gwen through this first night would be fine by Lance.

  Gwen had taken off her jeans in the bathroom and Lance tried not to notice her bare legs as Gwen put the suitcase on the floor and slid it under the bed. She turned, fluffed a pillow, and crawled under the covers. Lance forced herself to look away and stretched out on top of her covers, crossing her feet at the ankles. She laced her fingers under her head and glanced to the right to find Gwen staring at her.

  "You should try to get some rest," Lance said as softly as possible. "You've had a hard day, and tomorrow will be even worse. Your mind needs time to adjust to it all."

  "Aren't you going to sleep?"

  "Maybe eventually," Lance said. She looked out the window again. The occasional car would sweep the motel with its headlights but for the most part, the night was still and calm. She was going to stand watch, regardless. She was too aware of all the forces conspiring against them to get much rest. Most nights she was lucky to get two or three hours anyway.

  "Lance."

  Lance bit back the impatient sigh that threatened to break free and looked at Gwen again.

  Gwen flinched at the irritation she saw in Lance's eyes and looked down at her hands. She swallowed hard and said, "Look, it's kind of embarrassing. But I...haven't slept alone since I was seventeen. Could...you..."

  Lance almost said no. No — she needed to stay in bed so she could watch the window. No — they wouldn't fit in the same bed together. No — it would be too awkward. But the shamed look on Gwen's face kept her from making any of those excuses. Her blue eyes were still wide and her face too pale under her water-darkened bangs, but there were signs of softening. She was coming around to accepting her new reality. If having a warm body would help her move forward, then it was for the best. Lance got out of bed, pulled back the blanket, and stretched out next to Gwen. She pulled the smaller woman to her and wrapped an arm around her waist.

  Gwen buried her face against Lance's shoulder. "Thank you."

  "Get some rest," Lance said. Sh
e stared at her empty bed across the room and did her best to ignore the shape of the woman in her arms. "We have a long way to go in the morning."

  #

  Mallory dropped her bag into the aisle seat and sat next to the window. She fastened her seatbelt and pressed against the leather, trying to steady her heart. She knew the odds of her catching up with Lance were slim to none, especially when Thorpe had her wasting time running around in Podunk, Texas. At least they were letting her use the official jet rather than having to deal with commercial airlines and their incomprehensible schedules.

  She knew why she was being relegated to grunt work, and resented the hell out of it. If anyone was dedicated enough to take down Claire Lance, it was her. Sure, there was a history. Sure, there was a personal aspect. Thorpe thought that made her a liability in the field, but Mallory knew it would only make her a better agent, better equipped to make sure nothing went wrong. She had fought to be the one who chased down Claire Lance, and she was the best agent in the office. Thorpe's options were to send her and have a chance of getting Lance back in custody, or send Mather and kiss their fugitive goodbye forever.

  The fact that no one wanted her on this case, the fact everyone said she couldn't be on this case, only made her a better choice. She would make absolutely certain that Claire Lance went down by the book, and she would go to jail. If Lance ended up dying after she was in custody, due to a well-placed shiv by another prisoner, well, that would be a bonus. Once Lance was safely in custody, Mallory could relax. The sound of handcuffs closing around Lance's wrists would be enough to let her sleep at night. Knowing Lance was safely in custody would be enough to get Mallory through the rest of her life nicely.