Danger in Deer Ridge (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Terry Odell

  “You don’t check your messages?” Jinx asked, less jocularity in his tone. “If you’re not living in cell phone territory, you gotta check the machine once in a while.”

  Grinch got up and went to the answering machine where the red numeral seven flashed. “Sorry. I haven’t been here for a couple of days. Got called out on a rescue. What’s up?” Grinch’s first thought was that a Blackthorne op had gone south. Blackthorne, Inc. handled investigations publicly, but they also went where Uncle Sam wouldn’t—or couldn’t. Those ops were under the radar. It hadn’t been that long ago when Grinch had been the victim of one of those mishaps, and he owed his life to the Blackthorne doctrine that no man would ever be left behind.

  “Nothing big, but there’s an eyes-on job. Woman moved into your neck of the woods. Has a kid. She was in a Blackthorne safe house while they created her identity, got her set up. The boss wants someone to make sure she’s blending in, and your number came up, given the proximity. All on the Q.T. Shouldn’t interfere with your indefinite leave, and might pad your bankroll a bit at the same time.”

  Grinch’s stomach lurched. “Her name wouldn’t be Elizabeth Parker, would it?”

  “Man, don’t tell me she’s why you didn’t answer your phone.”

  Grinch paused. “Not exactly. But we’ve met. I’m not sure I’m on her top-ten friends list. Why does Blackthorne care?”

  “Grace Ellsworth—she provides occasional … relocation services for the company—said she’s worried the Parker woman might not be ready to handle her new identity. Like I said, she wants someone to help her blend in.”

  “I need more, Jinx.”

  “Wish I had more. For now, all I’m supposed to do is give you the assignment.” His voice lowered. “I’m thinking the boss is doing this more for Grace Ellsworth than for the Parker woman. I think they have … connections. But damned if I’m going there.”

  The stiff, stern, unflappable Horace Blackthorne and a woman? That image had never crossed Grinch’s mind. And he didn’t want one to form now. He shook off the pictures sneaking into his head.

  Quiet footfalls padded behind him. “Gotta go. Send everything you have to my email. We’ll talk later.”

  “But—”

  Grinch hung up and smiled at a sleepy-eyed Dylan, his teddy bear hanging by his side. “Hi, sport. You feeling better?”

  A tentative nod, followed by downcast eyes and bare toes scuffling circles along the floor. Grinch stepped over and rested his hand on Dylan’s forehead. Warm, but nothing like yesterday. He made a mental note to buy a thermometer.

  Grinch racked his brain for the proper care and feeding of a five-year-old with a stomach bug. Damn, his medical training for Blackthorne was basic first aid. He was the pilot, not the medic. He tried to remember sick days when he was a child and drew a blank. “Do you want something to eat?”

  Dylan’s “Okay” was mumbled to the floor.

  “What did your mom give you? Besides Coke?”

  A shrug. More toe circles.

  Grinch kept the irritation out of his tone as he did a mental inventory of his food supply. “Feel like some toast?”

  “Okay.” Dylan didn’t look up.

  One more shot. “It’s Saturday. I’ll bet there are cartoons on TV we could watch.”

  “You too?” Dylan’s voice was tentative, tinged with fear.

  Grinch squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Of course, me too.”

  That brought a smile. Not a big one, but it warmed Grinch as much as a Caribbean sunrise.

  “You get the quilt from the bed. I’ll make the toast.” Dylan shuffled off, and Grinch put in a couple of calls. Not likely he’d find a pediatrician at this hour on Saturday morning, and he didn’t think Dylan needed an emergency room visit, but Hotshot, the Blackthorne medic, ought to know something. And so should Harper, another one of Blackthorne’s agents. He’d recently hooked up with a woman with a five-year-old.

  Two hours later, the television turned low, Dylan slept, clinging to Grinch like a limpet mine on the hull of a battleship. He’d kept two pieces of honeyed toast down, along with several glasses of Gatorade, and had even explained some of the nuances of cartoons Grinch had never heard of.

  When the phone rang, Dylan’s eyes shot open wide. His grip on Grinch’s arm threatened to cut off the blood flow. “No!”

  Chapter 3

  “That bitch. That sneaky, no-good bitch.” Victor Vaughn slammed his fist on his desk. Clawing his fingers through his hair, he stormed out of his office.

  “Marie!”

  His secretary jerked up, startled, even fearful. “Sir?”

  Victor smoothed his tone. “Sorry to snap. It’s nothing you did. What’s my afternoon like?”

  She clicked her mouse. “Lunch at Duplex with the Preservation Committee at one, then at three you have a dental appointment. Nothing after that, sir.” She smiled in knowing expectation.

  He worked to return an apologetic smile. “I’m going to need you to cancel lunch, reschedule the dentist, and I’m sorry, but I’ll be tied up the rest of the day.”

  Disappointment clouded her elfin features for a moment, quickly replaced with a professional expression. “I understand.” She reached for the phone.

  He intercepted her hand, brushed it with his lips. “I’ll make it up to you. Get us dinner reservations at the Biltmore Bistro Saturday. And find something at that lingerie shop on Second Street. We’ll make a night of it.”

  She brightened, her pale blue eyes sparkling. Damn, the care and feeding of a secretary-mistress was getting out of hand. It was one thing when he’d been married, but now that Julie Ann was out of the picture, Marie had started hinting at a more socially acceptable relationship. He’d worry later about which of her two functions best served his present needs. Or if it was time to move on. Right now, he had more serious matters at hand.

  He leaned forward and stroked her cheek. “After you deal with my schedule changes, why don’t you take the rest of today off?”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind staying. I can catch up on filing, mind the phones.”

  “Positive. What I have to do won’t require your expert assistance.” He smiled. “I even know how to set the phones to roll right to voicemail.”

  “Will you be in the office, then?”

  And why should she care? He’d given her the rest of the day off. “For a bit.” He smiled again, although his face hurt from the effort. “I know how to lock up, too.”

  Her giggle transformed her from efficient secretary to vixen. Right now, he wanted her out of here. He turned and strode to his office, leaving the door open. He slid the paperwork on his desk into a drawer and listened while Marie made her calls. He pretended to be working on his computer, mindlessly typing the bitch’s name over and over. Marie never left without telling him, and he was supposed to be busy. From the way his keyboard clattered, the illusion was there.

  After what seemed like eons, she appeared at his door, reciting her ritual refrain. “Is there anything you need before I go?” Her modest black jacket hung draped over her arm, and the lace of her silky red camisole strained across her breasts. She’d dressed for their now-cancelled assignation, and was clearly letting him see what he was missing.

  He closed the document and ambled around the desk. His fingertip traced the edge of the lace. “You know there always is. But it’s going to have to wait.”

  He allowed a brief kiss. He made sure to avoid body contact so Marie wouldn’t notice his lack of response. His mind was trying to figure out what he was going to do about his new problem, and even Marie’s heady perfume, delectable lips, and lush breasts couldn’t get a rise out of him.

  He pulled away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “If you need anything—”

  He walked her the two short steps to the door. Hand on the small of her back, he maneuvered her to the other side of the jamb. She smiled, gave him a finger-wave. He waited, keeping a smile on his face, until he heard the oute
r office door close. Not sure why, he crept out to make sure she hadn’t stayed behind.

  Only her perfume remained. He locked the door.

  Pacing his office, he ran through his options, which weren’t many. He couldn’t go to the police. He couldn’t use his previous investigators. He’d gone through those motions when the bitch had first disappeared. Hard enough to spin that scenario, that he was the distraught husband whose wife and son had gone to visit relatives and disappeared. That they must have met with some tragedy, making him the sympathetic one. That had played out well enough, especially when she and the kid actually had turned up dead.

  No, now he needed someone not connected to the firm, to him, or to anything that could be traced to him. Someone whose discretion was impeccable. Someone who would keep his mouth shut if the money was right. Because he knew this one would carry a hefty price tag.

  Damn. He racked his brain. Someone, somewhere, had been talking about a no-questions-asked PI company.

  Damn, who was it?

  Damn. He sat at his desk, head bowed into his hands, trying to conjure up the hazy memory.

  He went to his credenza and slid open the panel that concealed his mini-fridge. A short one, he told himself as he poured the chilled vodka into a cut-crystal tumbler. To clear his head. Take the edge off.

  Images of a tennis tournament at the country club. Milling around at a post-award ceremony cocktail party. A guest of a casual acquaintance. Talking to a group of friends of that casual acquaintance. Victor mingling, not part of the conversation. The only reason he remembered anything at all was the conversation had triggered a brief thought that he was glad the bitch was too stupid to hire anyone to have him followed.

  Who was it? What had he said?

  Victor poured another drink, trying to clarify the memories. He swallowed half the vodka, searching for more, then finished his drink and set the glass on his desk. He closed his eyes, seeking images. Slowly they coalesced. A short, stocky man. Carrying a trophy. Not first prize, but if he’d won anything, the club should have records.

  He devised his cover story as he dialed the tennis pro shop.

  Chapter 4

  After rubbing some tinted moisturizer over her face and daubing clear gloss on her lips to ward off the drying effects of Colorado’s climate, Elizabeth gathered her hair atop her head and crammed a ball cap over it. If nothing else, the new persona she was projecting saved a lot of prep time. She studied her image in the mirror. The glamorous façade Victor had insisted on had disappeared. Her confidence that nobody would give her a second glance hovered at the eighty percent mark. Victor might recognize her, but if he’d sent anyone, they’d have to be going by photos, and she sure as hell had never been photographed looking so … frumpy.

  Which is what she’d looked like yesterday when Grinch had shown up. Frumpy and dirty from unpacking.

  And why did she care? She slipped the tube of gloss into the vanity drawer. “Will. Get your jacket—and cap. We have to run errands.”

  Will appeared in the doorway. “Can I get more drawing paper? Please? I’m out. And some new colored pencils?”

  “I don’t know if there’s an art supply store in town.”

  His face fell. Her heart squeezed. He’d accepted being yanked away from home and his friends, then from Galloway House, and then from Grace’s safe house. Drawing was his special pleasure, and he had talent. Victor knew that. But he’d thought it was wussy, had never shown any pride in Will’s creations. Instead, he’d tried to get Will to play football, but he’d never been able to quench Will’s need to put pencil to paper.

  A chill trickled down her spine. Could Victor find them through Will’s hobby? She shook it off. Because she’d shopped at art supply stores in her old life didn’t mean she had to do it now. It wasn’t like Will needed any exotic supplies that only found at specialty sources. No way anyone could trace things like tablets of paper or colored pencils, especially if she bought them at the big discount shops. She smiled and tugged his cap lower on his head. “But we’ll look.”

  “You think we’ll get home before the deer come again?”

  She picked up her purse. “I don’t know if they have a set schedule. We’ll get back when we’re done.” At his resigned sigh, she added, “Maybe we’ll stop for lunch.”

  Not exactly a bribe, because her errands would probably stretch into lunchtime.

  She steered her car over the red dirt roads, dust flying up behind her, gravel ticking against the undercarriage. A dust-covered SUV followed, closer than she liked. She slowed, inching toward the shoulder, refusing to go beyond her comfort level on the unfamiliar, winding hills. Go around, buster. When he didn’t, her pulse jumped. She continued, watching the rearview mirror.

  Ahead, the road straightened and he zoomed past her, kicking up more red dust. Of course. He’d waited until there was enough visibility to make passing safe. She chided herself for overreacting. Exhaling a long, slow breath, she ran the windshield washer, making a mental note to buy more fluid. Lots more fluid.

  First stop, the post office. Elizabeth hoped the clerk didn’t notice the way her hand shook when she presented her driver’s license. Grace had assured her the identity would hold up to any scrutiny, but Grace wasn’t the one handing over the falsified license. She imagined the clerk confiscating it, the way an ATM swallowed bad debit cards.

  “Here you go, Ms. Parker,” the clerk said, handing her the precious laminated card, along with a little blue envelope. “Keys are in here, and where to find your mailbox. Your mail delivery will start tomorrow.”

  Elizabeth gave a quick smile. “Thanks.” She recalled passing banks of mailboxes on the drive to town. So, no mail carriers would show up at her door. One more layer of anonymity.

  By the time Elizabeth had taken care of the requisite face-to-face bureaucratic necessities, she breathed easier. No one had given her a second glance.

  But these were clerks. What would happen when the paperwork got processed? Would red flags go up? Alarms ring out from computers? Someone show up at her doorstep, dragging her off to wherever they dragged people who used fake IDs?

  “Mom? Mom!” Will tugged on her sleeve, forcing her to deal with the here and now. “I’m hungry.”

  “You’ve been great. How about lunch, then the store, then home?”

  “Burger King? I saw one yesterday.”

  “If you’ll eat a big helping of vegetables with dinner.”

  He rolled his eyes, but agreed.

  After an unmemorable meal, she’d wound her way through the aisles of Walmart, filling yet another shopping cart. As she transferred items to the belt, Will tugged on her sleeve again.

  “Isn’t that the same man again? From Burger King?”

  She jerked her attention to Will, who was pointing somewhere behind them. She grabbed his arm. “What man?” She caught herself before she turned around.

  Stay calm. Act normal. Mom in the checkout line.

  Surreptitiously—she hoped—she peeked behind her while she hoisted a bag of apples onto the belt. She couldn’t tell who Will had seen.

  “He came in right after we did,” Will said. “He had a big red truck. It was cool. I saw him at the post office, too. He was coming in when we were leaving.”

  With another internal admonition to stay calm, Elizabeth tried to picture the truck. She drew a blank. She’d been paying more attention to putting the mailbox key into her purse. The burger she’d had for lunch sat like an iron weight in her stomach. She reminded herself that no matter what, this life was better than the one she’d had with Victor. It would take some adjustment, that’s all.

  She moved Will through the line in front of her. “You’re sure?”

  He nodded. “I remember because he was wearing a red cap. Like I had when we went to the snow.” He tilted his head. “Can I get another one? You said it snows here.”

  “Sure. For winter.” Her stomach relaxed a bit. A bright red cap would stand out. Not something someone
would wear if he were trying to be inconspicuous. Or had he thought the same thing? That if he stood out, nobody would think he was after something.

  Enough.

  Burger King was only a couple of blocks away. Lots of people would shop after lunch. And the post office seemed another logical stop. There had been at least half a dozen people going in and out, checking their PO boxes. She tried to picture them, but they were a blur. Jeans, windbreakers, clunky shoes—almost androgynous. She added “Be more observant” to her “To Do” list.

  Sneaking glances for the man in the red cap, she paid for her purchases, using the cash Grace had given her. She tucked the receipt into the envelope in her purse where she kept track of her expenses. She’d reimburse Grace once she got her finances in order.

  “Open bank account” joined her “To Do” list.

  After stowing her bags in the car, she climbed behind the wheel. “Buckle up,” she said automatically, listening for the click of Will’s belt.

  “Mom! Isn’t that Chester?”

  “Who?”

  “You know. The dog. Dylan’s dog. From last night.”

  She scanned the parking lot, spying a spotted dog sitting beneath a clump of trees along the border. “I don’t know, Will. A lot of dogs look alike.”

  “But maybe he ran away. Dylan must be worried.”

  Will missed Reggie, she knew. Elizabeth took off her cap and shook out her hair. She didn’t need to play mother hen to a dog. Bad enough Grinch didn’t know how to take care of his kid. Now he couldn’t keep his dog home.

  But it was nine miles from her house to this shopping center. Hadn’t Grinch said he lived farther up the road? Surely the dog hadn’t come that far. She tried to remember what kind of truck Grinch had, wondering if poor Dylan was left inside alone. Again.

  Will popped out of the car. “Chester!”

  “Will, get in your seat. Now.” The dog had pricked up his ears. But it hadn’t moved from its spot. “If it is Chester, we’ll drive over and see if he’s okay. Do you remember what Dylan’s dad’s truck looks like?”