All My Strength (5) (The Mile High Club)

by Jade Powers

  There would be plenty of time to read and relax now, but there might not be money for food. Life could be such a trade off sometimes. Wendy took a deep breath. Her heart raced and nothing she told herself would completely calm her fears. She’d thrown away her job in a town without a lot of opportunities for employment.

  Her rash decision to find her husband’s killer, now that it was done, seemed pointless. Yes, eventually McFarland would hunt down Jonas Bertrand and bring him to justice, but now that it was over, Wendy realized that it didn’t really provide closure. Jonas wouldn’t hurt anyone else, but some other evil would step up and take his place. There was no shortage of bad guys in the world.

  Wendy shook herself. She’d made her choices, and there was no one else to blame. She’d found John’s killer, and that was an accomplishment. Wendy returned to her chair on the patio, the one overlooking the mountain meadows. Carson had said the rental house was probably buried under three feet of snow in winter, but in summer, the view was worth the fifteen minute drive out of town.

  Breathing in the mountain air, Wendy told herself that she didn’t care about the job, that it didn’t matter what happened. Wendy felt too mentally frayed to start another job hunt. How would she explain the way her job ended.

  The droning of the bees and whispers of the trees pacified her fears, and Wendy finally allowed herself to relax while the sun warmed her face. It was a beautiful day on the mountain, the sun shining on the blades of grass and mountain flowers.

  She would enjoy today. Tomorrow, Wendy would work on her resume.

  Chapter 14

  TEMPER CALLED CARSON a few nights later with news. Strangers were asking questions about Wendy. She was certain they were mixed into the trouble from New York.

  Carson peered out of the attic window from Wendy’s house. It was the middle of the night, and he was planning a surprise attack on the group he was sure would invade Wendy’s home. After Temper’s phone call, Carson hurried into town, this time parking two streets down. He expected they’d toss the house. If he were lucky, only one of the guys would come into the attic. He’d take him out and then work his way down to the others.

  The attic room had two advantages. The first was a three-directional view facing the street and side yards. The second was compactness. It was one of those half-height rooms where the roof angled down. Carson actually had to bend near the window. He could easily defend the room without anyone sneaking up behind him. Also, high ground gave him the advantage if it came to weapons.

  While Carson waited, he was able to catch a glimpse into Wendy’s life. This was her space. There was a set of bookshelves in the corner. They were only two tiers high, a tiny bookshelf for a tiny space, but it worked. An arm chair sat in the corner across from the door, probably because that was the space in the room with the highest ceiling.

  Instead of sitting on the couch, Carson sat on the carpet in front of the window, his back resting against the wall, his legs stretched out under the ledge of the window. He watched the street for movement, as he had been doing for the past two hours.

  At some point, he should probably give up and go home, but instinct told him that the three men asking after Wendy would come here and try to find whatever they thought she had on Bertrand. Carson stretched, wishing he had some idea of these guys’ talents. Mercenary talent ranged from sharpshooter to demolition expert to underwater spy and could encompass a good many abilities that Carson didn’t have.

  Another hour passed before Carson saw movement. A pick-up truck rumbled down the street. At this late hour, traffic on the street was unusual. When the truck pulled into Wendy’s driveway, Carson knew it was show-time.

  He’d gotten to the attic with a flashlight, leaving all of the house lights off. Once he’d taken his place at the window, he’d turned the light off. They wouldn’t know he was there, watching. The entire house would be dark. He leaned forward trying to see what they were doing, what they were taking out of the back of the pickup, but his view was limited by the angle.

  Carson stepped carefully and with deliberation to the door. His only advantage was the element of surprise. They had the numbers, which meant more fire power as well. They were warriors, the same as Carson, so there would be no advantage in training. He could only hope that they would split up, and he could fight them one-on-one. He wanted to be the predator in this haunted house scenario.

  From his position next to the door, he could hear the smashing and tinkle of glass. He was angry on Wendy’s behalf but not stupid enough to go charging downstairs. What he didn’t expect, although it made perfect sense once it was over was their next move. Carson heard the whoosh and thought, Oh, shit.

  The attic was the worst place for a fire. If he stayed, he’d be suffocated or burned to death before the volunteer fire department even suited up. If he ran downstairs, they would shoot him. Carson had spent the evening getting a feel for the house, for the places of hiding, for the best places to attack. There were two doors, the front and back. One staircase.

  He was in a small town. That meant the dispatcher had to page the firefighters, who had to drive to the garage for the engine. If he were incredibly lucky and all the stars aligned just perfectly, at top speed, that would take ten minutes, but more likely twenty or on the outside forty minutes. Always assuming that someone actually saw the fire and called for help.

  Carson took off his shoes. He listened while the guys yelled back and forth to each other, “One more, then we go.”

  “Get that office crispy. I don’t want any mistakes,” another voice said.

  By then Carson was halfway down the first flight of stairs. It was a tiny stair set from the attic to the second floor. One thing about Wendy’s house...it had character. Not like the vast sea of assembly line houses that had the same floor plan for miles.

  Another huge whoosh and two of the guys swore. Apparently the third guy liked fire and accelerant, lots and lots of accelerant.

  “You’re going to kill us,” one of them complained.

  “I’m making sure the place burns. Isn’t that what we’re here for?” The fire bug asked.

  “At least make sure we’re out of the house first.” That was the leader. There was steel and maturity in his voice.

  By now smoke had poured up the stairs. Carson turned down the hall, not caring if anyone heard his footsteps. He was more afraid he’d start coughing. The calls back and forth and the roaring sound of the fires they’d started would keep them occupied, even if they thought someone was in the house.

  Carson could see a wall of flames licking the walls near the staircase to the main floor. He was trapped.

  TEMPER HAD DISCOVERED the three men who fired Wendy’s house in a round-about way. First off, Temper knew lots of people in town, and the ones she didn’t know someone else did. These guys were strangers. They came into the bar asking all sorts of questions about Wendy.

  At the end of her shift when Temper closed up the bar, the three amigos were still hanging around. Everyone in town knew that Temper and Wendy were best friends. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that they would grab Temper if they were the felons Temper thought them to be. She’d heard plenty of warnings from Wendy not to confront any suspicious persons around her house, especially if they were in dress uniforms or carried badges.

  Temper was grateful for the cook. George was the member of a biker club and fit the part, a huge mountain of a man with a beard down to his belly and a mean scowl that would scare the grim reaper himself. He and Temper got on famously. He could play the heavy, but he was also a grandpa and a pushover when it came to women.

  When she saw that the men weren’t leaving, she said, “Hey, can you stay with me while I clean up? Those guys that asked all those questions about Wendy are hanging around outside the bar. I think I’m going to call Wendy and have her drive to the school ground. I can meet her there.”

  “Why bring her closer to trouble? You think they’ll find her where she is?” George aske
d while he scrubbed the counters. Temper usually did that before closing, but since George was staying behind he made himself useful. She appreciated that, but at the same time she wanted to delay walking out among those men. Finishing the task sooner meant forcing the issue, walking out that door and facing those men.

  “I don’t know. They asked every single person who walked into the bar tonight if they knew Wendy, and you know how chatty some of these guys are. I actually had a word with Tim after he shot his mouth off. But I may have been too late. He told them she lost her job with Shelly. So now they know that.” Temper could have slapped Tim, except he was already kicked by life so hard she didn’t have the heart.

  “How dangerous are these guys? Maybe I should call some of my boys and run them out of town,” George said.

  George was serious. That was the scary thing. He was half-criminal, half-vigilante, and even if he wasn’t completely wrong in wanting to get rid of these three men, his methods weren’t right. Temper couldn’t have Wilkerson in the middle of the biggest gang fight of the century. Because that’s the way the news would report it.

  Temper said, “I’m sure Wendy appreciates the thought, but these guys are professional. I’m sure you’d get them all, but they’d take out a few of your guys, too. They haven’t actually done anything illegal yet. If I’m with Wendy, she’ll have a better chance. We’re going to steer clear of them anyway.”

  “I thought there was some feller hanging around her. What happened to him?”

  Crap. Did the gossip in town go that far? It’s a wonder those men don’t know everything there is to know about Wendy, Carson, and the rest of us, Temper thought.

  “He’s busy,” Temper shrugged with an apologetic grin. Because she was Temper and she could get away with it. Half the time if someone called her out, she’d sling it right back at them. People learned not to challenge Temper.

  “You’re going to do exactly what you want to do, anyway. Not sure what you even need me hanging around for.” George grabbed his hat. It was a wide brimmed fishing hat and with that thing on his head, he looked completely harmless. No one who knew him one hundred percent believed it, though.

  So Temper made the call. She still had to sweep, but by the time she was done with the few odds and ends she had left, Wendy would be at the school waiting.

  “I have an idea,” George might look like an old man, but he had a sharp mind, his eyes were always watching, always calculating. Temper figured that was why they got along so well together. They understood one another perfectly.

  “I’m listening,” Temper said while she swept up the crumbs into a dustpan.

  “I’ll go out the front, tell them that you don’t know where Wendy is, and we don’t want any trouble. You go out the back and escape.”

  “What if they grab you?” Temper asked. She didn’t like the plan. George wasn’t involved in Wendy’s problems at all. He only knew Wendy as an acquaintance. Temper was the one who should be facing those men and giving them the what-for. Because Wendy was her best friend in the whole world...and that’s what best friends did.

  “Then I’ll come up spittin’ mad like a cat whose tail’s been tweaked.” George put on his jacket. It was a leather jacket with a skull on the back. His open-mouthed grin showed a row of teeth that had seen better days. They were squashed together on the bottom and there was a missing third tooth, but at least they were clean.

  “Wendy should be at the school soon. Let’s do this.”

  Temper hurried to the back while George left the building, locking the front door as he did. George called out, “Hey, there, young fellers, if you’re wanting more action, you’ll have to go a few towns over. More to the point, I should tell you that none of us at the bar know where that young woman you’re looking for ran off. Last we heard she was somewhere in New York.”

  “That’s not what the guy at the bar said. He saw her drive through town three days ago.”

  “Probably Tim. He’s drunk half the time and told you what you’d want to hear so you’d buy him a round. I ain’t seen her, and believe you me, if she was in Wilkerson, she’d be in that little store on Main. Before she ran off she worked there.” George put his thumbs in his jeans pockets and leaned back ready to tell a tall tale. He said, “You know, Tim once swore he saw a chupacabra fly down over his car, like a nightmare. Course Tim was probably weaving back and forth at the time barely able to keep the car out of the ditch.”

  Temper’s car peeled out of the parking lot, spitting gravel. George could have wished she’d been a little more discreet. If she hadn’t shot out of there so hell-fire in a hurry, the lads he was entertaining might not have perked up and edged their way out of the conversation quite so fast.

  Two of them started for the car.

  “Hey there,” George called out. He had no idea what he would say. He wasn’t as tough as he used to be, and these three young guys would destroy him in a fight.

  The two men turned.

  “Her house is two miles down the road. She’ll be there by the time you get in your car. If you were thinking of chasing down that hell cat. I wouldn’t. She’s mean cornered.” George stroked his beard as if he didn’t give a care in the world whether they actually chased after Temper or not.

  The men hesitated, looking to their leader, leaving George to mumble, “I’m sure you’ll be all right. You might ask the sheriff in the morning. Wendy spoke to him before she left. If anyone knows where she went, it’s him.”

  George strolled to his old beat up Dodge, his back to those three men like it was the most natural thing in the world. A predator didn’t turn his back on another predator. That wasn’t how the world worked, but in this case, this one time, George had to play prey, and hope to hell the men left before getting a notion to really test George’s memory of Wendy. He’d bought Temper enough time to get out of sight.

  He pulled himself up into the seat, giving a small wave to the fellows as they walked toward their own vehicle. It was just outside of the light. George made it a point to make a big circle in the parking lot. He memorized that license plate, saying it over and over to himself while he turned onto the main road. He drove all the way home with those numbers ringing in his head like a mantra.

  If any of those men did check with the sheriff in the morning, and George was fairly certain they wouldn’t, they would find George sitting in the chair across the desk chatting about the new strangers in town. He and Cormac had been friends since third grade. Cormac would be happy to run the plates.

  Chapter 15

  WENDY HAD GRABBED HER camera and run to her car the minute she’d gotten Temper’s phone call. She was ready to face her attackers. Those guys better be ready, because she was going to send them all to prison.

  Temper and Wendy drove with headlights off, taking the back streets until they could see the bar. The drive from the bar to school was something like two minutes, and Wendy was already there. When Temper returned from a different direction with Wendy in the passenger seat, George and the three men were all standing in front of the closed bar like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  The women hid in the alley across the street and behind a garbage can. The only part visible was Temper’s window. Wendy leaned forward with her camera. She snapped a few pictures of George talking with the men. She murmured, “Come on, George. Wrap it up.”

  Temper laughed, “With our luck they’ll drive straight to the motel, and we’ll have wasted a perfectly good stake out.”

  “We need the practice anyway.”

  Finally they watched while George left the group, walking stiffly to his car. Both Wendy and Temper held their breath. If there was going to be violence, it would be now. But the men let him go, still standing in their triad. George circled the lot, turned onto the road, and drove away.

  Wendy and Temper followed the three men from a distance, a huge distance because Temper was driving. If Wendy had known that Temper would go squeamish, she would have insisted on driving
herself.

  Wendy expelled a frustrated breath and said, “Can’t you get closer?”

  “How big of a town do you think this is?” Temper asked as she slowly edged the car forward. At the moment, she seriously regretted calling Wendy and inviting her on this sleuthing expedition. Temper waited until the truck was on the road and nearly out of sight before she pulled out.

  “Hurry, you’re going to lose them,” Wendy shouted, pointing in the direction of the truck.

  “Jeez, be a back seat driver, why don’t ya?” Temper said. She was only half-joking. She followed at a very safe distance. Technically, she wasn’t really following them at all since they’d easily lose her with a few sharp turns.

  “They’re going to get away.”

  Temper nodded at the truck as the tail lights disappeared behind a house, “Exactly where do you think they’re going. This is a small town, and they’re driving toward your house. Since they’re looking for you, I’d rather we lose them than they find us, especially when we know exactly where they’re headed anyway.”

  It made sense, but Wendy still wanted to keep up with the men. It was probably a good thing Temper was driving. Wendy’s impatience rose when the truck turned off sixth street while Temper was still six blocks behind them.

  “They’re not even in sight now. What if they loop back and surprise us?” Wendy seriously wanted to drive, but they’d just argue and even if Temper agreed, they’d have to switch seats and then they would be gone.

  “Honey, they’re going to your house. Do you really want them to find you, because if it were me, I’d rather take pictures of them and let Sheriff Cormac sort them out.” Temper carefully plodded along, driving five miles under the speed limit.