Falcon's Run

by Aimée Thurlo

  “She’s been taken hostage. Just hold on to the suspect. I’ve got this,” Preston said, trying to keep his voice normal and not alarm bystanders. Any increase in the level of tension could get Abby shot.

  As Preston drew near, Stan pulled Abby closer to him. “Lead the way outside, Bowman,” he ordered. “Don’t create a problem for Abby.”

  Preston opened the door and paused in the entry, looking back at them.

  “Keep moving,” Stan ordered. “Walk down the alley to the gas meter, then stop.”

  Preston saw Edwards start to advance. He held up his hand, halting the detective, and shook his head.

  Fifteen seconds later, thirty feet down the alley, Preston stopped. “This is as far as we’re going, Stan. We’re going to be followed, you know that. Save yourself some jail time. Let Abby go and surrender your weapon.”

  “Not going to happen. I’ve got the hostage and I’m making the rules. Follow my instructions to the letter, Detective, or your woman will die. Am I clear?” Stan had his gun out and aimed at Abby’s side.

  “Yeah,” Preston growled.

  “Take out your weapon with your left hand slowly, then put it on the ground and slide it over to me with your foot,” Stan said.

  Preston put it on the ground as instructed, but he didn’t kick it over. “You’ll have to come get it. I’ve got it set for a one-pound trigger pull, and if I bump it too hard it could go off. A ricochet inside this alley could take any one of us down.”

  It was only a half-truth, but for now he hoped it would keep Stan from getting an additional weapon.

  “You’ve been made, Stan, and Detective Edwards is already calling for backup,” Preston added. “You’ve hit the end of the road in this alley. Let’s make a deal before you have to face down a SWAT team.”

  Stan shook his head. “Catch.” He tossed Preston a set of keys. “Once we get to the end my pickup’s parked on the right. You’ll drive and Abby and I will stay in the rear of the cab. If you try anything, I swear I’ll shoot her in the head.” He waved his gun slightly for emphasis.

  Stan instructed them at gunpoint to walk to the end of the alley, where his truck was parked against the curb.

  “Get in. It’s unlocked,” Stan ordered Preston.

  “I’ve got Ilse and you’ve got Abby. Let’s trade. That’s what you want, right?”

  “Not even close. Ilse knew the risks. She messed up, but I have no intention of making the same mistake.” He poked the barrel of his pistol in Abby’s side. “Now get in.”

  Preston had no other option at the moment. Stan’s hand was shaking, and he couldn’t risk Abby’s life. He’d get his chance later, after they reached their destination. The department would also be tracking his cell phone. They wouldn’t be alone for long.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat, looking back as Abby and then Stan slid into the car. At the far end of the alley, he could see Detective Edwards standing there, phone to his ear.

  “Face forward, start up and drive. Don’t look back again unless you want to hear gunfire.”

  “Where are we going?” Preston asked, inserting the key.

  “Pull out into traffic and head west. You’ll find out soon enough,” Stan said. “One more thing, Detective. Take your cell phone out with one hand and toss it out the window. I’m not about to risk getting tracked.”

  Preston considered telling him that he didn’t have one, but this wasn’t the time to argue. He got rid of the phone.

  Stan reached into Abby’s purse next, feeling around for her phone and keeping his eyes on her and his gun out of reach. “If you both keep your cool, this will be over soon. Detective, you’ll drive us out into the middle of nowhere, I’ll drop both of you off, you catch the next ride into town and I keep going. No one needs to die.”

  They all heard Abby’s phone beep just as he pulled it out. “Keep driving, Detective,” he said, preempting any move from Preston with a wave of the gun toward Abby.

  Stan glanced down at the text message. “That kid, Bobby, says he’s decoded Carl’s journal. He’s ditched the guy watching him and is going to get the McCabe painting, ‘The Roundup.’ Smart kid. He figured out where Carl hid it,” he said. “Changing plans, folks. We’re going to the ranch instead,” he said, tossing the phone out the window and onto the bed of a passing pickup.

  “You leave Bobby alone, Stan. He’s just a kid,” Abby said.

  “Play by my rules and no one will die. You’re talking with Crazyman, and I mean what I say,” Stan said.

  “So that was you sending those emails,” Abby said.

  “Of course. But I’m after the painting, not the kid,” Stan added. “I take it and disappear, and you two go on with your lives.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Why are you doing this, Stan? I still don’t understand,” Abby said.

  “I grew up hearing all about Carl Sinclair and my granddad’s fencing operations. Grandpa Miles got a little senile toward the end and Grandmother just assumed I’d think it was all crazy talk,” Stan said. “For a long time I did. To me, Carl, the super thief, was just an arch villain/hero my granddad had made up. Then I met Ilse and new possibilities opened up.”

  “You knew that she’d bugged Rod’s office?” Abby asked.

  “Not at first. She and I became friends and one night I told her that I’d never meant to become an accountant. I’d wanted a life filled with excitement and adventure like my granddad’s. When she heard the name Carl Sinclair, she said that he was back in town and told me what she’d overheard—Carl admitting that he’d changed his name. That’s when I knew fate had given me a chance. Everything I’d ever wanted was right there just waiting for me to take it.”

  “So you convinced Ilse to help?” Preston asked him.

  “It didn’t take much convincing. Initially, she’d hoped to get something on Rod and blackmail him, but we both realized that we’d stumbled onto something much bigger. The paintings that Granddad and Carl had stolen were worth enough to keep us sipping mojitos in the Caribbean for the rest of our lives. We looked for them around the ranch on our own at first. Well, actually, I did while Ilse kept the chief’s son distracted. He was always there till late. I wasn’t able to find what we wanted, so we went to Plan B.”

  “You killed him because he refused to tell you?” Preston asked.

  “No, man. It was self-defense. We tried to force him to tell us where he’d put the stuff by threatening to kill Bobby and making it look as if he’d done it if he didn’t cooperate. He took us to Hank’s enclosure, then came at me with a shovel. I wrenched it away from him, and while we were fighting, Ilse picked it up and hit him twice. He went down and stayed down—permanently.”

  “No one saw you two?” Preston asked.

  “No, but that idiot camel wouldn’t shut up. He started bellowing like crazy. Lucky for me it was thundering and nobody heard. Then we saw Monroe walking toward the enclosure. Ilse went to meet him and kept him busy, as usual, while I took care of things. I moved Carl’s body as fast as I could, hoping that would get Hank to shut up. It did. He quieted down once he couldn’t see Carl anymore. I left Carl’s body in the horse pen, figuring people would assume the horses had spooked because of the storm and trampled Carl.”

  “You’re not going to get away with this, Stan. Too many people know what you’ve done,” Abby said.

  “You also left Ilse standing there in handcuffs, so she’ll probably say you were the one who hit Carl,” Preston added.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ve always had an escape plan. In a few hours I’ll have disappeared forever. It’s a funny thing about being an accountant. You make friends with all kinds of people, particularly if you’re willing to break a few rules.”

  “Once you have the painting, you’ll let us go?” Abby’s voice shook, betraying h
er fear.

  “I’ll keep you with me until I’m out of town—insurance, if you will. After that, you’re on your own.”

  * * *

  PRESTON DROVE DIRECTLY to the ranch. He’d left Kyle with Bobby, and the chances of having the kid give his brother the slip for more than a minute or two were zero to none. Sure enough, as Preston pulled up, Kyle and Bobby were standing close by.

  “Don’t even think of doing something stupid, Detective,” Stan said. “If you signal your brother, Abby’s brains will be splattered all over the backseat.”

  Preston knew he wouldn’t have to do anything at all. Though Kyle clearly hadn’t been told about the situation yet, seeing him driving Stan’s truck and sitting up front alone while Abby and Stan were in the back would flag his brother that something was wrong.

  Preston climbed down out of the extended-cab four-door pickup as Stan and Abby came out the back. As they did, Preston saw Kyle’s shoulder stiffen, then he bent down to talk to Bobby, who was holding something in his hand.

  In an instant, Stan pushed Abby out in front of him and allowed Kyle to see his gun.

  “If you make the wrong move the woman goes first, the boy second. You get me?” Stan growled.

  Bobby froze, his eyes as big as saucers. “That’s why two people were riding in the backseat.”

  Knowing Bobby had spent practically all his life pretending to be a spy, and worried he’d do something foolish with the wrench he was holding, Preston spoke quickly. “Bobby, we’re going to be fine, so just do as Stan says.”

  Bobby nodded and swallowed hard.

  “All right then. We’re all on the same page,” Stan said. “Kyle, put your weapon on the ground along with your radio and cell phone.”

  Kyle did as he was told, but the look on his face told Preston that he’d take the first available opportunity to rip Stan Cooper apart.

  “Give me your handcuffs, Bowman,” Stan ordered.

  Preston hesitated. He knew what was coming next.

  “Do it! Toss them to your brother,” Stan ordered, pointing his pistol at Abby.

  Preston removed them from the keeper on his belt and tossed them to Kyle. “Sorry, bro.”

  “Attach yourself to the bumper grill by your right wrist. One of those big bars, so you can’t twist it loose,” Stan ordered Kyle.

  “No,” Kyle said.

  “Don’t push me,” Stan said, grabbing Abby and moving the gun under her chin.

  Abby closed her eyes.

  “All right,” Kyle said. “Relax.”

  Kyle walked past Preston and Abby slowly, and as he did, he met his brother’s eyes.

  Preston knew that Kyle wanted nothing more than to tackle Stan, but he’d do what had to be done.

  After Kyle had attached the handcuff to the big metal grill protector, Stan added, “Now your wrist.”

  Once Stan heard the click, he went over and took a closer look, keeping out of range of Kyle’s arms and feet. “Okay, kid,” he said, looking at Bobby. “You said you knew where the painting was. Where is it?”

  “I sent the text to Abby, not you,” Bobby said, his voice shaky. “Carl wouldn’t have wanted you to have it.”

  “Look, kid, it’s a trade. You give me the painting. Your friend Abby and her cop friend stay alive.”

  “Bobby, do as he says,” Preston said.

  “It’s down there,” Bobby said, pointing toward the animal pens.

  “Lead the way,” Stan said.

  Bobby walked toward the barn even more slowly than usual. “The fence post by Hank’s enclosure isn’t like the other ones. It’s hollow. Kyle and I had to go back to get a wrench so we could unscrew it. The top part is hard to move.” Bobby held out the pipe wrench.

  Preston was already trying to figure out a way to get to it. The wrench wasn’t much of a weapon against a gun, but it would extend his reach enough to knock it away.

  The one ace in the hole he still had was that Stan didn’t know about the new cameras and Daniel, or one of his employees, had undoubtedly monitored their arrival. They’d have plenty of backup soon. All he had to do right now was stall for time and, if possible, try to get the drop on Stan before he did something stupid.

  As they reached the enclosure, Hank began to bellow.

  “Abby, make that thing shut up,” Stan hissed.

  “I can’t. He won’t listen. He hates you. You killed his friend,” Abby said.

  “I told you it was Ilse. Which post, kid?” Stan asked, keeping his gun on Abby, who was on his right.

  “It’s the one with the sign telling about Hank,” Bobby said. “The sign is attached to a nut screwed into the top of the post.”

  “All right, kid. Use the wrench to take off the nut,” he said.

  Bobby tried, but it wouldn’t move. “I’m not strong enough, even with the wrench. It’s rusty and stuck. You have to do it.”

  “If you’re pulling something, kid...” Stan said, his voice turning deadly.

  “I’m not!”

  “If that painting isn’t there...”

  “Carl said it would be!” He tapped the side of another pipe with the wrench and there was a solid metallic sound. Then he tapped the pipe holding the sign. “Listen,” Bobby said. “Hear it? Sounds hollow, right? This is where he put it.”

  “Leave the wrench on the ground, Bobby,” Stan said, then looked at Preston. “The kid must have loosened it up a little. Try it with your hands. Don’t touch that wrench.”

  It took Preston a few seconds, but he was finally able to work the top loose. A thin wire led down the hollow pipe. Preston pointed it out and stepped back. “Go ahead.”

  All he needed was for Stan to move away from Abby. The second he reached over to pull out what was attached to the wire, he’d have him.

  Almost as if reading his mind, Stan shook his head. “No, you pull it out for me, Bowman.”

  Working carefully, Preston grabbed the wire and pulled. The wire was connected to a cap attached to a smaller-diameter piece of white plastic pipe.

  “Pop that cap off and let’s see what’s inside,” Stan said, looking out of the corner of his eye toward Hank. The camel had come over to investigate.

  Preston worked the cap loose. Inside was a rolled-up canvas painting held together by a string.

  “Open it carefully. I want to make sure it’s the real thing,” Stan said.

  “I’ll need to reach for my pocket knife to cut the string,” Preston said.

  “Don’t even think it. Slide the twine off.”

  Preston worked the string loose, then unrolled the canvas. He’d expected to see a scene from a roundup, but this had nothing to do with cowboys or cattle. It was almost a replica of the sketch Hosteen Silver had left for him. It depicted a small bird of prey protecting its nest from a large owl. Only one element was new to him, and it rocked him to the core. In the canyon below, a young boy watched the sky and a woman kneeled beside him. A single blue feather drifted down toward them, though neither seemed aware of it.

  As Preston stared at the painting in his hands he knew destiny had found him.

  “Aim it toward me so I can get a better look, but keep it away from the fence. I don’t trust that camel.”

  Preston, still searching for an advantage, held the painting so Stan would have to turn his head slightly.

  “It’s not ‘The Roundup,’ but that painting’s worth twice as much,” he said. “It’s titled ‘Dreams’ and is one of his earlier works. Roll it back up.”

  Preston did, working slowly to buy time.

  “Looks like we’re all coming out ahead on this. Even you, Abby,” Stan said.

  “What are you talking about, you weasel? I may lose the ranch.”

  “Cheer up. You’re not as bad off as you th
ink. I’ve been cooking the books ever since I found out about Carl. How else could I buy you out cheap? You’re not rich, but you’re definitely in the black. The same goes for Garner. I had to make sure he didn’t try riding to your rescue, so I made him think he’d taken some heavy investment losses. Guess you both need to find a better accountant.”

  “She trusted you,” Bobby said angrily.

  “Live and learn, kid.” Stan glanced at Preston. “Quit stalling and hand me the painting.”

  Holding out his left hand, Stan poked the barrel of his gun hard into Abby’s ribs.

  When Abby groaned, Bobby, who’d picked up the wrench unnoticed, smashed it against Stan’s knee.

  With a cry, Stan swung the pistol around toward Bobby, but Preston grabbed Stan’s gun hand at the wrist, shoving it up and back and cracking the man’s forehead with his own weapon.

  The gun went off, sending a bullet into the sky.

  Preston grabbed the pistol, tore it from Stan’s grasp and kicked the man in the groin.

  Slammed backward, Stan grunted in pain and fell to his knees. As he sagged against the fence rail, Hank brought his head down and bit Stan hard in the shoulder.

  Stan cried out and rose to his feet, but Preston, having put the pistol on safe and tossing it aside, moved in. He threw a right cross that connected with Stan’s jaw and sent the man tumbling back down to the ground.

  Preston wanted this fight. “Get up. You’re brave when you’re holding a gun on a woman and a kid. Now let’s see what you’ve got when you’re fighting someone your own size.”

  Stan shook his head and stayed on the ground. “Forget it,” he said, seeing Kyle and Daniel running up and hearing the wail of approaching police cars.

  “I’ve got him,” Preston called out, spinning Stan around and cuffing him with a zip tie, one of several he’d recently put in his pocket.

  Abby retrieved Preston’s pistol and stepped back with Bobby.

  “We’ll keep an eye on him for you until the officers arrive,” Daniel said, moving Stan away from Abby and Bobby. “Go take care of your friends, bro.”

  Bobby grinned as Preston came up. “Way to go! I knew we could take him.”