The Trapped Girl (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 4)

by Robert Dugoni

  It also explained Penny Orr’s reluctance to provide her DNA. She didn’t want Tracy to find out it was not Andrea Strickland in the pot. It was easier for Orr and for Andrea if Andrea was presumed dead.

  Tracy slowed at the turn for the dirt road. Fields had likely gone looking for Graham Strickland at his apartment and instead found Megan Chen asleep in Strickland’s bed. He’d killed her too. Tracy had no doubt he’d kill Andrea Strickland and Penny Orr, and she’d just given him that chance. Then he’d kill her. Except right now he didn’t know Tracy knew he’d been the one to hire the PI to find Devin Chambers. For the moment, at least, Tracy had the element of surprise.

  She hoped that was all she needed.

  She drove slowly back to the small parking area, killing the engine the final few feet. She checked her Glock, chambering a round, and quietly exited the car. Slowly, she made her way up the path, gun held low and at her side. She stopped behind a pine tree at the wooden bridge, watching the cabin, hearing the trickle of the creek and the buzz of insects but not seeing anyone. She crossed the bridge to the two wooden steps leading to the porch, eyes scanning the area. Glock in hand, she leaned to look in the leaded windows. Strickland and Orr remained seated on the couch. She did not see Fields.

  “Don’t move.”

  The voice came from behind her, slow and deliberate. She heard Fields step around the corner of the house and instantly calculated whether she was fast enough to spin and get off a shot.

  “Let the gun drop from your hand, Crosswhite,” Fields said. “Let it drop, or I’ll drop you where you stand. I said, drop the gun.”

  Tracy dropped the gun. It hit the wood porch with a dull thud. Inside the house, Orr and Andrea Strickland looked toward the window.

  “Turn around.”

  Tracy raised her hands—a subtle signal to the women inside the house—and turned to face Fields. Fields took another step from around the edge of the house, gun raised and pointed at her. Tracy knew she’d made the right decision. Fields would have shot her before she’d turned.

  “You’re back awfully soon,” he said, kicking the gun away. “Much too quick to have located the local sheriff and made your phone calls. I’m guessing that when you got partway down the mountain you got cell reception about the same location I noticed that I’d lost it. And I’m betting you got an interesting piece of information concerning a certain guerilla e-mail account. Am I right?”

  “Why, Fields?” Tracy asked, the words bitter in her mouth.

  Fields smiled. “Why not?”

  “When did you turn?”

  “Turn? Interesting choice of words. Let’s just say I picked up a few bad habits working undercover. You see, I realized that with every bust there was all that money unaccounted for, untraceable, not to mention all that product. I’d spent all my time learning how they distributed it so as not to get caught. A fortune. I decided I was playing on the wrong side.”

  “What about your wife? What about what she died for?”

  Fields smiled but it was dark. “Well, let’s just say we didn’t see eye to eye on things when she found out.”

  “You killed her.” Tracy nearly spat the words.

  “Depends on your point of view. Drug bust gone wrong,” he said, still smiling. “It happens all the time. Agent gets in deep and someone blows her cover. Mine got blown right after they found out about her. No choice but to leave the area.”

  Tracy had been so fixated on disliking Fields, she wondered whether she’d missed the signs—she could now vividly see all the evidence pointing directly at him. “So when you thought Andrea Strickland was dead, and that her husband had killed her, you saw a chance to get her money.”

  “You met him. He certainly didn’t deserve it.”

  “But you didn’t count on someone having the same thought, and beating you to it.”

  “It was almost comical when you think about it, the way Devin Chambers played him. Beautiful, really. Poetic justice. She actually offered to split the money with me. I had to give her credit for ingenuity, but I couldn’t go through life worrying about her coming back or doing or saying something stupid.”

  “And the Pierce County crab pot case, was that yours?”

  “No, but I did admire that guy’s creativity. It’s even better than leaving a body in the desert for the animals to feed on. In that instance, you still got bones. Drop a crab pot in the water and there’s nothing left of the person, unless some kid hits a one-in-a-million snag and pulls up the pot.” He shook his head. “What are the odds, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Tracy said. “What are the odds? But it doesn’t matter now, Fields. Look around you. Where are you going to go?”

  His smile broadened. “Are you kidding? Anywhere in the world. I got everything in that bag I brought with me. Fake passports. Disguises. This gun—who knows where it came from? I used to pick these things up half a dozen at a time. It’s untraceable. So by the time anyone finds what’s left of the three of you out there, if they find you, I’ll be long gone. Hell, they might even think my body is out there somewhere too, dragged off by the wildlife. I take Orr’s car, or maybe the Jeep, and I drive out of here. I told you, Crosswhite, the desert used to be my home. Now it can be yours.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Fields directed Tracy back inside the house, where they both got a surprise. Penny Orr and Andrea Strickland no longer sat on the couch, and the shotgun no longer leaned against the river-rock fireplace.

  “Shit,” Fields said, keeping the gun on Tracy as he moved to the back of the cabin and glanced into the room. Tracy felt a breeze from the bedroom and couldn’t help but smile.

  Fields swore and removed the handcuffs from his belt. “Hug the post, Crosswhite.” He motioned to one of the two floor posts bracing the ceiling.

  Tracy didn’t immediately move. “You know you’re not going to get away with this, Fields.” She wanted to give Andrea Strickland and Penny Orr as much time as possible to get away. Orr had said Strickland liked to read and to hike, that she had hiked these mountains growing up. Hopefully, Strickland knew the area well, knew its hiding places. Tracy doubted Fields would kill her and risk leaving blood in the cabin so she decided to push the situation.

  “I’ve already called my office, Fields. My guys have people on the way. They know you were the guy who hired the skip tracer. Viola, seriously?” She laughed. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  Fields stepped forward, the muzzle of the gun just a foot from her forehead. “I was thinking no one was going to find the body. Now, hug the damn post or I’ll drag your body into the mountains, shoot you, and let the animals eat your intestines. I don’t really give a shit.”

  Tracy stepped forward and put her arms around the post. Fields snapped on the handcuffs, started off, then stopped. “I never did like you,” he said, and swung the butt of the gun, striking her at the temple.

  I sensed something wrong as soon as Detective Crosswhite left the room to drive back into town. The other detective, Fields, stepped outside and watched her leave. He returned smoking a cigarette.

  “Can you smoke outside?” I asked, thinking of my unborn baby, as well as the large amount of paper in the cabin.

  He smiled and flicked ashes onto the floor. “Yeah, a fire out here would be a problem, wouldn’t it?”

  “I meant the smoke.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that. So, Andrea, where’s the money?”

  With that one question, I knew Stan Fields had killed Devin Chambers. I’d set her up, just as I’d set up Graham, but it had never been my intent for either of them to die. I only wanted her to be punished for what she and Graham had done, what they’d tried to do to me. But ultimately, I knew what I had done had led to her being killed. I felt like I had killed her.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “Don’t you have it?”

  Another smile. “You’re good. I’ll give you that. I don’t blame you for setting your husband up, by the way. H
aving met him, I think he got off easy. You had me fooled. I was dead certain he’d killed you. The question was, Why? These things are never complicated though. It’s usually a girlfriend out there, or money—insurance. Sometimes all three. So I did some digging and I found out there’s also a big pile of cash unaccounted for. If I can prove he killed you, he’s going to jail, and there isn’t anybody else out there who knows about the money or cares.” He flicked his ashes on the floor again. “Except . . . the girlfriend turns out to be worse than the husband. She’d played him for the money, then went missing the same time you and the money disappeared. So I pull a search warrant for her apartment and for her workstation, grab her computers, and I find a nice trail of evidence that she and hubby were doing the nasty and she had your alias, Lynn Hoff. Tell me, was that part of your plan to set her up?”

  “I never wanted her to die,” I said. “I just wanted to get away from them and give my baby a better life—the kind of life I had before the car accident. I never thought she’d go after the money.”

  “You see, your problem was you underestimated her. She was a first-rate con, and to a con, it’s all about the money. They don’t see things the way you and I see things. They’re wired different. They see your money, but to them, it’s their money. You just have it temporarily, until they can take it from you.”

  “So you killed her?”

  Fields shrugged. “Had to. But before I could move the money, someone beat me to it. That’s when I figured you were still alive. No way Graham knew where the money was, nor would he go after it with me pushing the DA to name him a person of interest in your disappearance. So I’ll ask again. Where’s the money?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Fields dropped the butt of his cigarette to the floor. It glowed red, smoldering, but he made no effort to crush it with his shoe. He removed his gun and pointed it at my aunt’s head.

  I was about to speak when Stan Fields turned his head at a sound outside, a car engine. He stepped back to the door and looked out. I knew it was a car. I’d become accustomed to the noises out here.

  “Stay here,” he said. “Move, and I will kill you both.”

  Tracy’s head ached as if it had split open. As darkness gave way to blurred images, she realized she sat slumped on the floor of Andrea Strickland’s cabin, handcuffed to a post. She pulled her body closer to the post to remove the strain on her wrists, wincing at the pain. She lowered her head and touched her fingers to her scalp. When she pulled back, her fingertips were bloody. Slowly, she struggled to one knee. The room spun like a carnival ride and she hugged the post to keep from falling over. When the spinning slowed, she managed to get to her feet, sliding her cuffed wrists up the pole. Nauseated, she fought the urge to throw up and waited for her vision to clear. When it did, she had a bigger problem—getting free. She looked up. The post had been bolted to the ceiling crossbeam with a metal bracket. She looked down. The post went through the floor, likely bolted to a foundation pier. She tugged on the post anyway. It didn’t budge. The cabin had been built to last. The post wasn’t going anywhere.

  Outside the front windows, the sky had darkened, but not from the passage of time. The weather had changed. The distant clouds had rolled in over the mountaintops, everything a rapidly darkening gray. Thunder rumbled in the distance, miles off, and the wind had also picked up. She hoped the dark sky and weather would help to hide Andrea Strickland and Penny Orr.

  She looked around the cabin for anything she might be able to use to get out of the cuffs, seeing nothing, growing more frustrated by the minute. She hoped, at least, that Andrea Strickland knew the mountains, knew a place to hide, and would maybe ambush Fields with the shotgun.

  She heard what she thought to be another burst of thunder, then realized it was the sound of boots on the wooden bridge.

  Someone coming. Fields?

  She stepped around the pole so the wood was between her and the door. A uniformed police officer crossed in front of the leaded windows. He wore a khaki-colored shirt and forest-green pants.

  “Hey! Hey!” Tracy called out.

  The deputy stepped over something on the walk and stepped inside, hand on his gun. “Are you Detective Crosswhite?”

  Faz. Her message had gotten through. Faz had not let her down.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I am. Did you see anyone else out there?”

  “No.”

  “My badge is on my belt.”

  The deputy stepped in. He looked midthirties, shaved head, well built. “We got a call from Seattle said there was an officer in need of immediate assistance.”

  “That would be me. There’s a guy around here with a gun, so keep your eyes and ears open. You got a key to the cuffs?”

  He holstered his weapon, moving quickly to undo her handcuffs while keeping one eye on the door and window.

  Cuffs off, Tracy rubbed circulation back into her wrists. “Tracy Crosswhite,” she said. “Seattle PD.”

  “Rick Pearson,” he said. “Inyo County Sheriff’s office. What’s Seattle PD doing way out here?”

  “Came to talk to a witness. How many cars did you see parked out there?”

  “Uh . . . two . . . and a Jeep. What the hell is going on?”

  Fields was still here.

  “Is it just you?”

  “Yeah. We’re a substation in Independence. There’s another deputy working who I can call in. And I can call down to the main office.”

  “Where’s the main office?” She moved to the porch but had to brace herself against the door frame when she became suddenly dizzy.

  “That’s a nasty cut on the side of your head.”

  Tracy touched the wound and shook away more cobwebs. “Where’s the main office?”

  “Bishop.”

  “How far is that?”

  “Forty-five minutes.”

  “We’re going to need as many people as you can get.” She stepped onto the porch and retrieved her Glock. “And vehicles equipped for driving out in that terrain.”

  “Vehicles won’t get far out here. Especially not with a storm rolling in.”

  The storm was a problem Tracy hadn’t considered. She moved across the bridge, back toward the parked cars. “There are two women out there and a bad cop who’s going to kill them if he finds them. What kind of firepower do you have in the car?”

  They approached the deputy’s white-and-green SUV.

  “Shotgun and a rifle, extra rounds.”

  “I’m going to need the rifle,” she said. “You radio for all the help you can get. When they get here, tell them we’re looking for two women, one is midtwenties and the other is midfifties. The guy with the gun is midfifties, gray ponytail, and mustache. He’s armed and extremely dangerous. You got a first aid kit?”

  “First aid? Yeah, always.”

  “Radio for help, then I’d appreciate it if you’d quickly bandage my head.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Tracy looked at the scrub and foreboding mountains. “Out there,” she said.

  “That’s some wicked country out there, Detective.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” she said.

  When Fields left the cabin, I turned to my aunt. “He’s going to kill us. He has to. He’s going to kill us all. We need to go.”

  “Go where?” she said. I could see the fear on her face and hear it in her voice.

  “The mountains. Come on.” I quickly grabbed the shotgun and a handful of shells and hurried to the back of the house. My aunt remained on the couch. “Come on,” I said, more urgently.

  My aunt got up and followed me into the bedroom. I peered out the back window, but did not see Fields. “Hold this.” I handed her the shotgun and slid the window up, but weather and age had warped the sash, making it stick. I lowered the window, put both hands under the rail, and forced it up with all my strength. The window made a screeching noise and raised six inches higher before again becoming stuck. I wasn’t sure we could fit, but the window wasn’t going a
ny higher.

  I took back the shotgun. “You go first.”

  My aunt ducked down and wriggled her body headfirst through the window. I grabbed the back of her legs to keep her from falling. She dropped the last foot onto the ground. I handed her the shotgun and slid through the opening, out onto a bed of rocks and pine needles. I got up, quickly brushed off my hands, and took back the shotgun.

  I heard Fields say, “Don’t move.” For a moment, I thought he was speaking to us; then I realized he was standing around the corner of the house, talking to someone else. We needed to move, fast. My grandfather had cleared the trees around the cabin, a firebreak. The tree line and cover were about ten yards away. Overhead the sky continued to cloud over, what was sure to be an afternoon thunderstorm, which was not infrequent in the mountains. It got hot in the valley, and the hot air rose and met the cold air over the mountains. Day would become night in minutes; thunder would shake the house, and rain would become a torrent, turning the creek into a river. Hopefully, it would be enough to hide our escape. It was our one chance.

  I grabbed my aunt’s hand and pulled her behind me, climbing the incline into the trees and hurrying along the footpath that I’d walked as a child, and daily since my disappearance on Mount Rainier.

  Tracy slung the rifle over her shoulder and made her way to the house, going around the back, seeing the open window. “Good girl,” she said. She was really starting to like Andrea Strickland. The young woman was resourceful. She was a survivor.

  She moved quickly to the tree line, saw what appeared to be a footpath, and followed it in a slow jog that made her head ache.

  The dry and barren terrain was nothing like the North Cascades, which were green and damp. This terrain reminded her of lower Rainier, high rock formations, jagged peaks, and stones, but also a few pine trees, flowers, and scrub.