Her Silent Spring

by Melinda Woodhall

  “It’s not the usual amount,” she admitted. “My source is drying up, so this might be the last package for a while.”

  The man’s face didn’t change. He just held out his hand.

  Amber dug in her backpack and pulled out the bag. She dropped it onto his open palm, and he held it up, as if considering its weight.

  “So, what do you have for me?” Amber asked, expecting the man to try to negotiate the price down since the package was lighter than usual. “You can take ten percent off what we agreed.”

  Preparing to go all the way up to twenty percent, she was surprised to see him shrug his shoulders.

  “That’s fine with me,” he said, a strange smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “But before we get to the money, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  A hand reached out from the darkness of the backseat and wrapped around Amber’s throat. She grabbed at the hand, clawing at it with all her strength, but it only squeezed harder.

  A scream of pain and fear hovered in her throat, but Amber produced only a wet gurgle as the hand held fast.

  “You may remember him,” the man in the driver’s seat was saying. “He wanted to be the one to give you what you deserve.”

  A deep voice sounded in Amber’s ear, and she felt hot, labored breathing on her neck as the man behind her leaned closer.

  “You remember me, don’t you Amber?”

  Amber’s eyes widened in terror as she recognized Mack’s voice.

  “I’m the guy you’ve been planning to turn into the FBI so you can try and save your own sorry ass.”

  Mack raised a syringe in front of her face, showing her the long needle before bringing it down with a sharp jab to her arm.

  Feeling the drug’s deadly effect instantly take hold, Amber knew the game was over. She’d played hard, and she’d lost, and now only darkness remained.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Mack waited until Amber had stopped struggling, then moved his hand from her throat to her chest, feeling around for any telltale wires that would let him know the feds were listening. But there was nothing out of order, and he dropped his hands, letting Amber’s body slump against the door.

  “No wire,” Mack said, grabbing the strap of her backpack and pulling it toward him, “unless there’s something in here.”

  He stuck a hand in the old backpack and felt around, before pulling it out empty and throwing the bag back on Amber’s lap.

  “Nothing,” he muttered. “I’ll check her car when I dump her in the trunk. Then I can ditch it somewhere before I fly out.”

  “Not so fast.”

  The man in the driver’s seat caught Mack’s eyes in the rearview mirror, and Mack paused, his forehead creasing into a frown as he returned the stare.

  “I did you a favor, right?”

  Mack nodded, recalling the man’s message alerting him to Amber’s betrayal. He hadn’t been surprised to hear she’d ratted him out to the feds, or that the shipment she’d scheduled for pick-up the next day was just a ruse to get him to fly down to Willow Bay.

  The man had explained that once Mack arrived, the feds would take him into custody, and Amber would get off scot free thanks to an immunity agreement she’d negotiated with the state prosecutor.

  The information had confirmed Misty Bradshaw’s warning that Amber was setting him up, and Mack had acted quickly to prevent her from doing any further damage.

  But apparently the Syndicate’s favors weren’t free.

  “What do you want?” Mack asked. “I don’t have much time.”

  Mack hadn’t had a chance to properly dispose of June Taggert’s body before it could be discovered, and now Sky Lake was in the middle of its first official homicide investigation in years.

  It wasn’t a good time to start raising suspicions. He needed to get home before anyone noticed he’d left town.

  “This won’t take long.”

  The man’s voice was as cold as his eyes.

  “I want you to take care of someone who’s become a problem for the Syndicate,” he said. “I’d consider it a personal favor.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Mack stood above the Camry’s trunk and peered inside. He’d injected Amber with enough Fentanyl to kill a man twice her size, but he wanted to be sure the opioid had done its job.

  Pushing a tangle of frizzy brown hair to the side, he rested two fingers on Amber’s discolored neck and waited. Detecting no pulse, he studied her slack face and the pallor of her skin, then allowed himself to relax. The woman in front of him posed no further threat.

  He slammed the trunk shut and looked around the empty lot. The black SUV had already driven away, leaving Mack alone to clean up the mess and take care of the Syndicate’s little problem.

  But as he climbed into the Camry’s driver’s seat, Mack pictured the girl with the silvery hair, the one that looked like Summer, and had the momentary impulse to take the car on a different mission.

  My angel is here in Willow Bay. She could be waiting for me nearby.

  He knew they would be together eventually; it was only a matter of time. But he had to have a plan. He couldn’t afford to alert the local authorities or the feds to his intentions before he was ready to make his move.

  And he couldn’t risk the Syndicate coming after him if he failed to deliver on his promise now.

  First, I need to finish what I started. Then I can come back for my angel.

  Forcing all thoughts of the girl out of his mind, Mack followed the instructions the man had given him. Within minutes the Camry was turning into the Fox Hollow Apartments.

  He pulled into an empty parking space at the edge of the lot, climbed out of the car, and headed for Unit 124, Amber’s key ring at the ready in his hand.

  Once he’d made it safely inside the small apartment, Mack pulled out Amber’s phone and tapped in the text, just as he and the man in the SUV had planned.

  I know where Misty is, but need to hurry. Will wait at my place for you.

  Pressing Send, he dropped the phone on a cluttered table, then quickly searched the little apartment, looking for anything that might incriminate him or the Syndicate.

  The lights were off in the apartment’s single bedroom, but a weak glow of moonlight shown in through a small window. Mack crossed over to see that the window faced out onto a scruffy patch of grass.

  He opened the window and loosened the screen. He might need an alternative escape route if his target didn’t show up alone, or if she proved to be more resourceful than he anticipated.

  Once the apartment was secured, Mack prepared the syringe, attaching the long hypodermic needle and filling it with the deadly mixture of fentanyl and oxycodone that would solve the Syndicate’s little problem once and for all.

  Checking his watch, Mack assumed a position behind the front door. But as the seconds ticked by, his nerves began to jump, and he put a hand on the concealed holster that held his Ruger.

  He knew the gun might be needed, although he considered it to be a last resort. Not only would a gunshot attract unwanted attention, but the bullet might be traced back to him or his weapon.

  The fentanyl would be much quieter, and practically untraceable.

  Holding the syringe at the ready, he peeked through the window and checked his watch again. Finally, a black Dodge Charger pulled into the lot and parked next to the white Camry.

  As a single figure emerged and headed toward him, Mack unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door a crack. Moments later he heard a soft knock.

  “Amber? It’s Detective Bell. I got your message.”

  Mack held his breath as he saw the door swing inward.

  “Amber? Are you in there?”

  The detective moved closer and looked into the room, while Mack remained still, waiting for her to take another step forward. When she did, he stepped out from behind the door and hooked an arm around her neck, pulling her all the way into the room.

  Gripping the syringe in his free hand, he thr
ust it down toward the woman’s thrashing legs, sticking the tip of the needle into one lean thigh and pushing down hard on the plunger with his thumb.

  The detective’s head reared back and connected with Mack’s chin just as the heel of her boot slammed into his shin. He grunted and staggered backward but managed to maintain his grip.

  “You’re…even stronger…than Misty,” he grunted out, struggling to pull the woman back from the doorway. “She fought back, too.”

  Feeling the woman start to sag in his arms, Mack allowed himself to take a deep breath. The drugs were doing their job; it was only a matter of time until Detective Peyton Bell stopped moving altogether.

  Suddenly the door burst open without warning and a man’s burly figure filled the doorway.

  “Put your hands up!”

  Mack saw the glint of a weapon in the shadowy figure’s hand, but he doubted the man would use it with the woman between them. Shoving Peyton forward, he reached down to pull his Ruger out of its holster.

  “Barker…he’s got a gun,” Peyton gasped.

  Surprised that she was still conscious, Mack glanced down, glimpsing stark fear in the detective’s wide amber eyes as he lifted his gun and fired.

  But the big man had responded to Peyton’s warning by lunging to the side, and the bullet whizzed harmlessly past his head as he lifted his own gun in Mack’s direction.

  Bolting into the bedroom, Mack raced to the window and pushed out the screen as he climbed through.

  He jumped to the ground and sprinted toward the street, shoving his Ruger back in its holster as he reached the road, knowing he had to get away from the area before the man called Barker could raise the alarm.

  Once the police responded and found an officer down, a massive manhunt would surely begin. And it wouldn’t take long for them to discover Amber’s body in the trunk of her car.

  But if Mack could make it back to the airfield, he would be out of town before anyone figured out what had happened.

  And with Amber out of the way, there would be no evidence left behind linking him to the scene; he would be home free. He could still get back to Sky Lake before anyone knew he’d ever been gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Veronica rinsed off the last plate and stacked it in the dishwasher, then turned back to her mother. Ling Lee was already yawning and checking her watch now that they’d finished their dinner of pasta, fresh bread, and salad.

  “I think I’ll go up to bed early,” Ling said, rubbing her eyes. “I couldn’t fall asleep after you and Skylar got back last night, and then I was up early for my meeting with Mayor Hadley.”

  Scooping Winston off the counter, Veronica hugged the cat’s warm body against her chest and followed Ling into the hall.

  “Listening to Mayor Hadley would tire anyone out,” Veronica said, rolling her eyes at the thought of the outgoing mayor. “Why’d you have to meet with him?”

  “Be kind, Ronnie,” Ling scolded gently. “The poor man has had quite a shock. I almost feel bad for him.”

  Veronica raised her eyebrows.

  “Well, I feel even worse for the people in this town,” Veronica replied, shaking her head. “He’s put himself and his friends first for decades. At least now we’ll have a mayor who puts the people first.”

  “Right now, I’m going to put myself first.” Ling stifled another yawn. “I’m going to take a shower and then go straight to bed.”

  Veronica’s phone vibrated in her pocket as she watched her mother disappear up the stairs.

  She’d been expecting Hunter to call from Sky Lake to say good-night and was surprised to see Finn Jordan’s name on the display.

  “Hey Ronnie, there have been shots fired at a local apartment and an officer is down at the scene.”

  The cameraman’s rapidly spoken words betrayed his impatience.

  “Are you available to report live?”

  Veronica didn’t hesitate before responding.

  “When will you be here?”

  “I’m already in the van and on the way,” Finn answered. “I’ll swing by your house in five minutes.”

  Still carrying Winston, Veronica hurried up to her room, taking the stairs two at a time. She exchanged her jeans and white t-shirt for a navy-blue pants suit and high-heeled pumps, ran a brush through her long, dark hair, and swiped on a classic red lipstick.

  Forgoing a look in the mirror, she rushed back into the hall where Ling Lee was coming out of the bathroom wrapped in a thick bath robe. She stared at Veronica’s pantsuit and heels in surprise.

  “Ronnie, where are you going?”

  “There’s been a shooting. A police officer’s down,” Veronica said, hoping Finn wasn’t already waiting outside. “I’m going to report live at the scene. The news van should be here any minute.”

  Ling stepped forward to take Veronica’s arm.

  “Are you sure you’re up for this, Ronnie?” she asked, studying her daughter’s face. “You’ve been through so much already this week.”

  Shrugging off Ling’s hand, Veronica moved toward the stairs.

  “It’s my job, Ma,” she said with a sigh. “If I’m not up for this, I might as well find a different career.”

  “Now you’re making sense,” Ling replied. “You can get a nice safe job that doesn’t involve traffickers, dead bodies, or serial killers.”

  Veronica rolled her eyes again and raised a finger to her lips, gesturing to the closed door beside them.

  “Sounds kind of boring, Ma,” Veronica murmured. “Now, let’s not wake up Skylar. She doesn’t need anything else to worry about.”

  Hearing the news van pull up outside, Veronica hurried down the stairs, her mind already focused on the job ahead of her.

  She approached the big van and opened the door, surprised to see Gracie in the passenger’s seat. The Lab jumped down, wagging her tail in excitement as she greeted Veronica.

  “I was thinking maybe Gracie could stay with Skylar while we’re on the scene,” Finn said. “I didn’t have time to take her home.”

  “Skylar’s asleep already,” Veronica said, looking back toward the dark house. “And if I go back inside, I’ll have to listen to another lecture from my mother.”

  Finn looked down at Gracie and shrugged.

  “Looks like you’re coming with us, girl.”

  Waving Veronica and Gracie back into the van, Finn ran around to the driver’s side and jumped in.

  “All right, let’s get this show on the road.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Veronica leaned forward in her seat as the Channel Ten News van approached Fox Hollow Apartments. An ambulance with flashing lights sat in the parking lot as several uniformed policemen guarded the perimeter, waving cars past the entrance.

  Bumping the big van up onto the curb, Finn steered over a rutted patch of grass and parked at the edge of the lot, just past the perimeter. He grabbed his bulky camera case and turned to Veronica.

  “You ready for this?”

  She nodded, already opening the door and stepping down onto the uneven ground, eager to find out what had happened. Gracie jumped out after her, sticking close to her heels.

  “Everyone, move back,” an officer called out, motioning to the small crowd of onlookers as the ambulance siren began to wail.

  Veronica recognized the officer as Dave Eddings. She circled around to his right, keeping her eyes on the ambulance as Finn settled Gracie next to the van.

  “Officer Eddings, can you tell us what’s going on?” Veronica called. “Can you confirm that there’s been a shooting?”

  But Eddings turned away, his eyes trained to the door of Unit 124 as it opened. A team of paramedics swiftly rolled a gurney out of the apartment toward the waiting vehicle.

  As the paramedics prepared to lift the heavy gurney into the ambulance, the pause allowed Veronica to get a good look at the woman strapped on top. Shock flooded through her as the gurney slid into the back of the ambulance and the doors slammed shut.


  Staring after the flashing lights of the departing vehicle, Veronica pictured the dark pixie cut and fine features of the woman on the gurney. Something terrible had happened to Peyton Bell.

  Veronica turned back to the apartment in time to see a familiar face emerge. Pete Barker stepped out into the corridor, his salt and pepper hair disheveled. A deep crease settled between his baggy, puppy-dog eyes as he looked around.

  “Mr. Barker, what happened to Detective Bell?” Veronica called across the lot. “Was she shot? Is she going to be okay?”

  Just then Alma Garcia stepped up to Barker, blocking Veronica’s view. Willow Bay’s senior crime scene technician held a syringe in a plastic bag as she asked Barker a question. They both turned as the officers waved a black Dodge Charger into the lot.

  Veronica’s heart jumped when she saw Chief Ainsley and Detective Vanzinger exit the unmarked vehicle and walk toward Unit 124. They nodded to Barker and Alma, then disappeared inside.

  “Okay, let’s get some initial footage,” Finn said from behind her. “Spencer wants us to shoot a segment and then go live at eleven.”

  Holding the microphone toward her, Finn glanced down at his iPad and scanned the display.

  “According to Google a twenty-eight-year-old woman named Amber Sloan lives in Unit 124,” Finn said. “But we shouldn’t use her name just yet. We’ll need to find out what’s going on first.”

  He looked up when Veronica didn’t take the microphone.

  “Ronnie, what’s wrong?”

  “Amber Sloan,” Veronica murmured, her throat suddenly dry. “That’s…that’s the woman Misty Bradshaw reported to the WBPD.”

  Before Finn could respond, a flurry of sharp barks burst through the air. Spinning around, Veronica saw Gracie scratching at the ground beside a dirty white Toyota Camry.

  “Come here, Gracie,” Finn called, shifting the big camera and moving toward the frantic Lab. “Get over here.”

  Veronica grabbed the leash from inside the van and scurried toward Gracie. The dog’s barks conjured memories of the scene outside Taggert Realty, and a burst of adrenaline sent her pulse racing as she approached.

  A deep voice sounded beside her, and Veronica was relieved to see Pete Barker take hold of Gracie’s collar and tug her backward, but the dog’s barks only grew more frantic.