Shattered Vows

by Maggie Price

  The call ended. Tory looked across her shoulder. Bran stood just behind her, his face emotionless as a mask. Cop face. “You arrested Heath once. Can you tell if that was his voice?”

  “It’s him.” He grabbed his jeans off the floor, jerked them on, then swept up the handheld radio Nate had left.

  Bran was advising the cops in the surveillance van about Heath’s call when the door to Quest’s room opened, then clicked shut.

  Tory reached the window in time to see the redhead stroll past. She was dressed in the same laminated-on jeans, sweater and fake fur jacket she’d worn when she’d checked in three days ago. Her purse and oversized tote hung over one shoulder.

  Tory swivelled. “She’s got all her stuff with her. Heading down the stairs.”

  “There’s no cab waiting to pick her up.” Bran looked out the other side of the curtain while he spoke into the radio. “She’s headed in the direction of the truck stop.”

  “Maybe Heath’s picking her up there,” Tory said when he signed off.

  “Possible. There’s a food store inside the truck stop. She might be going there to buy the supplies he mentioned, then pick up food at the restaurant. Maybe planning to stuff everything into her tote and bring it back. Meet up with Heath in her room.” Bran grabbed his ice-blue sweater off the floor. “The surveillance van is in position to watch the room. You and I need to keep Quest in sight.”

  “Dammit,” Tory muttered when she realized she was stark naked. “I need one minute!”

  She dashed into the bathroom, hitched on jeans and her jade sweater. By the time she raced back, Bran had his black parka on and was stuffing his badge into its pocket.

  “I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying.” She dug her ankle boots from under the bed and shoved them on while he pulled his Glock out of the nightstand’s drawer. He jacked a round into the automatic’s chamber, a harsh, ratcheting noise in the small room. Shoving back his parka, he slid the Glock into the holster at the small of his back.

  Her system revved with adrenaline, Tory whipped on her leather jacket, then grabbed her Sig-Sauer out of the nightstand. She punched out the magazine, racked the shell out of the chamber, then went through the ritual of reloading.

  “Ready.” She slid the Sig into the pocket of her jacket.

  “Since we don’t have all our disguise stuff here,” Bran said, tossing her baseball cap to her.

  “Right.” Scooping her hair into one hand, she tugged it ponytail style through the cap’s back loop then pulled the bill down low. She snagged her sunglasses out of her tote, shoved them on. As an afterthought, she grabbed her cell phone, clipped it to her waistband.

  Now wearing his own ball cap and sunglasses, Bran radioed the surveillance van to verify Quest hadn’t changed her mind and started back to her room.

  “We’re clear.” He slid the radio into the pocket with his badge at the same time as he pulled the door open.

  Although the sun was out, the wind that slapped Tory in the face was as cold as a morgue freezer. Still, after having been shut in the motel room for three days, she ignored the frigid air and savored just being outdoors again.

  They took the stairs at a hurried pace, then fast-walked across the motel’s parking lot. When they neared the truck stop, the roar of idling diesels and the faint scent of fuel filled the air.

  As if in silent agreement they slowed their steps, not wanting to snag attention. She knew with the wind so cold and sharp, they both looked natural with their chins down and the collars of their coats hiked up to camouflage a good portion of their faces.

  “I don’t see Quest,” Bran said.

  Tory glanced sideways; behind his dark glasses she saw his eyes sweep over the truck stop. An uncountable number of eighteen-wheelers were parked near the concrete fuel pad. Even more sat farther away near the steel building that housed the office, restaurant and store. A pair of hefty over-the-road drivers stood near a semi, conversing and sipping from foam cups.

  “Let’s hope she went inside to buy stuff,” Tory said. “If Heath is in one of those trucks and Quest is already with him, we might not spot them.”

  “If either of them is in one of those trucks, I can’t chance tipping them off by using the radio out here. The guys in the van have already called in black and whites and unmarked units. They’ll form a perimeter around this place. If we don’t spot Quest in the next few minutes, the uniforms will have to stop all trucks that pull out of here.”

  “So, we need to check the restaurant and store fast.”

  “Yeah. I’ll find a place out of sight where I can use this radio.”

  Chins down against the cold wind, hands crammed in their pockets, they cut across the oil-stained concrete toward the steel building.

  Inside, the store was on their left. Facing them was a set of rest rooms, a bank of phones and a locked suite of drivers-only showers. The restaurant sat on their right, emitting the smell of artery-clogging fried food.

  “Quest might be in there.” Bran pulled off his sunglasses and inclined his head at the women’s rest room. “Step in and look around. Don’t let the door shut behind you.”

  Tory nodded, knowing they were both thinking about what had happened to Drew Unsell in the airport rest room. She hooked one earpiece of her sunglasses into the neck of her sweater, then slid her hand into her pocket. Fingers locked around the Sig’s grips, she pushed through the door.

  The rest room was box-shaped, its floors and walls covered with pink tiles that had to have been mopped recently with pine disinfectant. Stalls lined one wall, a row of sinks marched along the opposite one. A woman who’d tip the scales in the three-hundred-pound range stood at a sink, washing her hands. Quest might be good at disguises, Tory thought, but not that good.

  She swept her gaze back to the stalls. All the doors were partially open. No feet showed in the gap between the doors and floor. Just in case, she sent the heavyset woman a smile.

  “Hi, my sister said she was coming in here, but it doesn’t look like she made it. She’s a redhead. Have you seen her?”

  “Nope. Nobody in here but me.”

  “Thanks.”

  Tory reversed two steps, bumped into Bran. When it came to watching her back, he was doing it literally.

  “I need to have a look in the men’s room,” he said. “If it’s empty, I’ll use the radio. Wait here.”

  He was back in a matter of seconds. “Couple of truckers, in there. No sign of Heath. I need to get someone to unlock this door to the showers.”

  “We don’t have a lot of time. I can peek in the store while you check the showers and restaurant.”

  His eyes narrowed on her face and she could almost see his mind working in their blue depths. “All right. Turn around.”

  “Why?”

  Instead of answering, he gripped her shoulder, spun her a half turn and stuffed her ponytail inside her leather jacket.

  “If you spot Quest or Heath, just back out and find me.” For good measure, he tugged the bill of her cap down farther. “There.”

  “I’ve got to be able to see,” she muttered, adjusting the brim.

  “I don’t want them to see you.”

  “You think I want that?” Reaching up, she tugged the bill of his cap down. “I don’t want them to see you, either.”

  Grim-faced, he looked down at her, his eyes shadowed below the cap’s bill. “After we find them, you and I are going to finish things.”

  She blinked. “Finish?”

  Without answering, he turned and strode toward the restaurant. Tory forced back her confusion and headed for the store.

  She paused just inside its doorway. The place was a cross between a convenience store and roadside gift shop, with ice cream bars, canned goods and shelves of munchies vying for space with T-shirts, miniature cars and fake red roses.

  Several male customers milled in the aisles. She made a quick study of faces, height, weight. Heath wasn’t among them.

  To her left a short, silver-haired
woman was handing money to the skinny male teenage clerk. Tory had started to leave when she spied the double doors at the rear of the store. For deliveries, she theorized.

  The silver-haired customer moved off just as she stepped to the counter. She nudged up the bill of her cap so she wouldn’t have to lean her head back when she talked to the clerk. When he met her gaze, his right eye drifted slightly toward his nose. She repeated her “I lost my sister” routine.

  “Yeah, a redhead stocked up on sodas and junk food, then left a couple of minutes ago.” Looking halfway cross-eyed, he pointed toward the rear of the store. “She asked to use the back door ’cause it’s a shorter walk to get to her ride.”

  “Thanks.”

  Heart pounding, Tory hustled that way while punching Bran’s number into her cell.

  “McCall—”

  “Quest went out the back of the store minutes ago. Told the clerk it was a short walk to her ride.”

  “The restaurant has a rear door. I’ll radio the surveillance team, then take a look.”

  “I’ll go out the back of the store and head your direction. One of us might spot Quest getting into a car or truck.”

  “Be careful.”

  “You, too.”

  Easing out a breath, Tory inched open one of the doors. Bright sunlight, frigid air and the din of idling engines seeped in around her. An alley lined the back of the building, wide enough for delivery trucks but not big semis. Still, from the rumbling sounds of engines and hydraulic brakes, it was apparent some were nearby.

  The portion of the alley she scanned was empty.

  Leaning, she peered around the door in the opposite direction. An oversized Dumpster sitting at an angle to the building blocked her view of the direction Bran would come from.

  She stepped out the door. It had no more than swung shut when a woman’s voice coming from behind Tory said, “…forgot to buy cigarettes.”

  She swivelled as the man and woman stepped around the side of the building. Her mind registered a flash of red hair and dark, piercing eyes.

  Quest and Heath.

  His eyes locked on her face. And flickered with recognition.

  “Hold it.”

  She froze, her hand halfway to her pocket. Heath’s automatic had come up fast. Too fast. He’d had it already drawn, she realized, held inside his coat. An escaped killer, prepared to shoot.

  “Keep your hands up where I can see ’em.” His sharp-as-steel voice sliced through the cold air. “I’ve been staring at your picture for days. Got your face, the shape of your chin, branded in my head.”

  Her stomach began to churn, and she cursed her failure to put her sunglasses back on to help disguise her face. Heath looked identical to the mug shots she’d seen of him, tall with heavy shoulders, unkempt brown hair and those deep-set black eyes. Now, though, a shaggy beard covered his gaunt cheeks.

  She lowered her gaze. A cast jutted from under his left coat sleeve, his fingers extending past the hard, white prison.

  In the seconds it had taken her to raise her hands to shoulder level, she had considered and rejected the idea of going for the Sig. She stood in the V between the Dumpster and the building. Heath and Quest were in front of her. She had no place to take cover. No escape route. At this range, the hole Heath’s Beretta would put in her would make a nasty impression.

  “Who’s she, lover?” One hip cocked, Quest had her purse and tote bag slung over one shoulder. A plastic bag dangled from each hand. Her expression as she examined Tory was one of vague curiosity.

  “Wife of the cop who sent me to prison. He helped kill Andy and Kyle at the credit union.”

  Quest’s kohl-lined eyes narrowed. “She the one who murdered Kerr at the library?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Kill her,” Quest hissed.

  His eyes lit brilliantly. “That’s the plan. Been looking for you a long time, Victoria McCall.” His sharp tone had gone almost singsong. “Had that Invisible Man geek tryin’ to track you. Couldn’t.” He stepped forward, keeping the automatic aimed at her heart. “Figure your old man had you hid. Where’s he?”

  “Who knows? We’re divorced.”

  “If you’d been divorced, the Invisible Man would have found that out in all the databases he slipped in and out of before I put him out of his misery.”

  Carsen Irons, Tory thought. Another of Heath’s kills.

  “The cop had you hid so good, I decided me ’n Leah should take a break,” Heath continued. “Hitch a ride to Mexico with a trucker pal. Come back in a couple of months when you felt safe. Kill you. All of a sudden, I walk around a corner, and here you are.” His face contorted with hate like a rabid animal’s. “Now I don’t gotta wait.”

  “Lucky me.” Despite the cold, Tory felt sweat trickle between her breasts.

  “You won’t be sayin’ that when I get you in the back of my pal’s semi. Four of four.”

  Cold fear prickled the back of her neck. If he got her in a semi, he could shoot her, cut her throat, do anything.

  “My arms are getting tired. Mind if I put them down?”

  “I mind like hell. You’re a P.I., gotta figure you’re packin’. Leah, search her.”

  “Sure thing, lover.” Quest settled her purse, tote and the plastic bags on the ground.

  “Keep to one side so I’ve got a clear shot.” He kept his eyes on Tory’s face. “Move, you’re dead.”

  She knew if Bran had used the restaurant’s rear door he had to be close by now. Had to have heard them talking. Would know she couldn’t make a move until after she was out in the open and had an escape route.

  “Got a gun, girlfriend?” Quest started the pat-down at Tory’s shoulders. Seconds later, she had the Sig. “Won’t need this phone, either,” she said, jerking it off Tory’s waistband.

  Quest slid the Sig and phone into the pockets of her furry jacket. Then she plucked off Tory’s ball cap. “I can use one of these.” She put on the hat.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Heath grated. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Things are looking up all the time.” Wearing the cap now, Quest sauntered away, collected her bags.

  Heath gestured the gun’s muzzle at Tory. “Walk to me.”

  Hands raised, she moved, her eyes locked on his face. Her thoughts, though, were on his left arm. The cast signified a break. Weakness.

  “Stop.” When he stepped behind her she felt the cold steel of the automatic’s muzzle press against her scalp just behind her right ear. Her heart stopped beating.

  “Walk.” He used the barrel to nudge her forward. “Leah, keep watch for her old man.”

  “Got it, lover.”

  The instant they cleared the Dumpster Bran stepped into view.

  “Police, freeze!” He held his Glock aimed in both hands, his feet slightly apart for balance. His face was fierce, his eyes hot enough to burn.

  Heath whipped the cast up against Tory’s throat, jerked her against him. The Beretta’s muzzle pressed into her flesh.

  Bran’s gaze flicked to Quest. “Keep the bags in your hands where I can see them.”

  “They’re heavy.”

  “So is the lead I’ll put in you if you make a move,” he said. “Drop the gun, Heath.”

  “Drop yours, McCall.” He tightened the pressure against Tory’s throat. She could still breathe. Barely. “Do, ’n you might get your woman back alive.”

  “This place is surrounded by cops. Hurt her, you’re dead.”

  “You son of a bitch, you killed my brother and cousin.” The muzzle pressed into Tory’s scalp. “I told you—gonna eat your heart out, McCall.”

  “Your brother and cousin died because they shot at cops,” Bran countered, his voice calm. Emotionless. “They went down shooting. We didn’t just fire for no reason. They could have surrendered.”

  “Bull. You’d have shot them anyway.”

  “These bags are getting heavier by the second,” Quest whined.

  “Shut up!” Bran barked.


  “She’s got—” The cast jerked against Tory’s windpipe, strangling off the warning that Quest had her Sig. Stars swirled before her eyes just as Heath eased the pressure. Air surged back into her lungs.

  For an instant she saw nothing but Bran’s face—hard as rock, lit with eyes blue enough, sharp enough, to end a life in one vicious slice.

  “Here’s the deal, Heath. You’ve got the same choice Andy and Kyle had. Give up, or I’ll kill you.”

  “Well now, seems your woman is standing in the way of you doin’ that.”

  “Not for long.”

  For the space of a heartbeat, Bran’s eyes met hers, a silent message passing between them. Tory knew as long as her body shielded Heath’s, Bran couldn’t take a shot.

  She had to get herself out of the line of fire.

  “Oh,” she moaned. “I’m…going…to throw up.”

  “Puke on me, bitch, I’ll kill you,” Heath snarled.

  “Can’t help….” She shoved her hands under the cast at the same instant she bent her knees. The motion tipped Heath off balance, pulling the gun’s muzzle away from her head. Despite the cast, his injured arm couldn’t support her weight.

  Her shoulder slammed into the pavement. She barely noticed the shock of the fall as the rapid coughing of automatic fire filled the air.

  Heath cursed.

  Quest screamed, “Die, cop!”

  Rolling toward the scream, Tory came up in time to see Quest aim the Sig at Bran. “No!”

  The shot blasted a half second before Tory sprang. Head low, she used the force of her body to topple Quest. They landed in a heap. Tory saw a flash of brilliant light as her cheek smacked against the pavement.

  “I shot the cop! I shot the cop!” Quest screeched in glee. Tory clamped her hand over the wrist of Quest’s gun hand, dug her short nails into her flesh and delivered a stiff-handed chop to her elbow. The Sig skittered across the alley.

  Deflecting Quest’s fingernails with a forearm, Tory straddled the howling woman, who bucked like a bronco. Tory grunted as a blow to her ribs stole her breath.

  “Bitch!” she hissed, landing two hard punches to Quest’s face. A third crunched cartilage. Blood fountained out of the woman’s nose.