“Northwest from the corner of the front porch.” Rote memory kicked in for her. “Seventy yards to the oversized, fallen branch.” There, that should make him happy.
“What’s hidden?” JB said.
“The…gun…no, wait a minute. The poker.” She beamed with a correct answer. “Under some leaves.”
“And?”
Should have known he’d expect more. He always wanted more, no matter if it were her, hot coffee, or answers. Her shoulders shrugged without trying. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
He walked to the coffee pot and poured fresh brew into his mug, then returned to the table. “I want you to tell me where the other things are.”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “And I don’t even know which way is northwest.”
“This is important, Marcy. Pay attention.” He lifted his chin slightly before his eyes narrowed enough to look at her in firm rebuke this time. Rebuke she’d never seen in him before. He was worried. “Real important.”
He flipped the map back over and started with the directions once again. North, south, east, and west. Steps, yards, meters. She listened. Focused.
“No, no, no, no, no!” She laid her hand over his. “I can’t understand what you’re saying.”
“It’s all right here on paper.” His voice sounded like an impatient father trying to help his child with homework. “Right here. You just aren’t paying attention.”
“Yes, I am. I really am. But you’re telling me your way. The lawman way. Precise and calculated.” She rose from the chair, walked to the front door. “Come over here and tell me my way. Tell me in terms I can understand.”
He grabbed the Glock from the table, shoved it into his shoulder holster, then came to stand beside her. Tension flashed in the air. Veins on his arms stood at attention as he rolled his fingers. Kept them moving. He was more than worried.
She nudged in front of him and took his hand. “Tell me where to find them as if we were out for a walk. Like you pointed to something you want me to see.”
Straight, he stood perfectly straight, unyielding and professional. She snuggled against his chest. He tried to back away, but she looped his arm around her, snuggling more. She was trying to be what a lawman’s wife should be, but he needed to help her learn the mechanics of his job. Her inner turmoil was her own to handle, and she was trying. She already knew seeing him hurt in person would be her tipping point one way or the other.
For now, she just needed to know where the weapons were hidden.
“Here.” She pointed to her cheek. “Come here and tell me. Which way is northwest?”
From her periphery, she saw a tiny smile grab the corners of his mouth. From behind, he bent and placed his cheek next to hers, pointed to the right, then brought his arm back to the left a bit. “That way. Go off the porch and walk to the tree covered in big woodpecker holes.”
She closed her eyes. Nodded.
His body relaxed against her. “There’s a downed log along side.”
“The one we saw the squirrel with a nut in his mouth run across?”
“Yep. The fireplace poker will be—”
“Lengthwise, under the leaves by the log. Next.” She leaned into his hold. “Okay. Next.”
His hold tightened around her, and he kissed her cheek, then nestled against her. “The gun. The gun will be loaded and ready to fire, so be careful. It’ll be in the bait box on the dock.”
“What if it gets wet?”
“It should still fire okay.”
Hopefully, this would all play out without her being close to the water, so that weapon wouldn’t do her much good. Besides, she had the gun he gave her tucked in her coat pocket. “And the extra clip?”
“Under a flat piece of shale by that sapling you grabbed when you were saving me.”
After turning in his arms, she looped hers around his neck. “Now see, I know exactly where everything is.”
“Don’t forget. Don’t ever forget how much I love you, either.” He lowered his head, kissing her deep and long. For a moment, they clung to each other, his breath a whisper in her hair. “And always remember, I planned for every scenario possible today. No matter what happens, I walked through it in my mind and accepted the outcome. Remember that forever, Marcy. You will survive, I promise.”
Her insides tripped. Something in his tone, his hold, his words. What had she missed? Those words sounded like goodbye. “What are you up to, JB?”
He grabbed the clip, gun, and poker, then headed for the door. “Lock up after I go out. Do not open this door unless it’s me. Anyone else comes through that door without your say-so, shoot ‘em.”
She understood. Nodded. They dimmed the lights. Funny how quick darkness rolled in during the winter. Low and fast, he slipped outside. She set the lock and waited. Overcast, moonless nights in the woods meant complete, smothering darkness. Even though the dark wasn’t something she relished, it didn’t scare her. The water plan did.
Watching JB’s brain work through the what-ifs of this situation made her see him as more than just her husband. Trained to the hilt, he possessed something else. Something she’d seen in him since the day he’d stopped Leon from taking her homework back in sixth grade. The bully never even landed a punch, because JB had turned to the right, faked to the left, and floored him.
She’d been impressed a seventh grader had stood up for her, especially the cutest boy in school. When he’d handed her the papers back, he’d grinned and told her to let him know if anyone ever bothered her again. The rest of that day had been a sheer loss of learning, because she thought of nothing but her champion, JB Bradley.
Now, like then, he knew how to anticipate the other guy’s reaction before the movement. Once this was over, the FBI would ignore his resignation. Fight to get him back. She wanted him back, too.
Maybe that’s what his words were about. He probably figured his career should be the top priority. There’d be no future for the two of them, because he planned to leave. What else could it be? Why else would he say those words in that tone? Why?
She reached for the horticulture book on the sofa. Flipped through the pages. Her husband had sneaked it into his backpack and carried the extra weight through the woods for her. Loving him was easy, so why did she always try to make things so difficult? Not this time. This time she’d never let him go…as long as he wanted to stay. She could handle him being a Crayton deputy. FBI agent? She didn’t know. But he was one damn good agent; that much she did know.
Close to thirty minutes later, JB tapped on the window, then the door, then said her name. She unlocked the door, and he crept inside. They kept the lights off.
“What took so long?” she said.
“Did a little reconnaissance of my own. Listening. Watching.” He gave one bear-shiver to shake off the cold. “The wind’s picking up. Getting nasty out there.”
“Is that good or bad?” She wanted something to be going their way. Anything.
“Neither. Is what it is.”
“Want another pot of coffee?”
He nodded. “Want to play some checkers?”
She nodded in return. Could they shove a lifetime into the next few hours? They could try.
At ten o’clock, he explained the little they knew about the 1038 numbers and their role in the sequence of violent events from the last few days. Then he locked them both back in the bedroom, shoving the chest in front of the door. His theory was 10:38 might be a trigger for the killer. If he’d told her sooner, she’d have been worried all evening. Instead, she only had to worry for the short time.
They waited. 10:15 came and went. 10:30 came and went. He motioned her behind him, and she obeyed. Then he backed them up until they were in the furthest corner from the door, the window, the bathroom. If anyone came in, JB would take the blow. He might go down, but he’d take the shot for her.
Realization thundered through her entire body. Everything from earlier suddenly made sense. The plac
ement of the weapons. How important she knew where they were. His words from before whooshed in her mind, taking root in her heart. To reach out, touch his back, would only be a distraction to him. Put him at risk. She wouldn’t do that.
This might be the end, and all she could do was stand and watch. JB would take the blow destined for her. Go down. Maybe die in her arms. That was what the promise meant. And all he asked was for her to remember how much he loved her. She tightened the grip on her own gun. She’d never been so scared in her life.
The glow from the clock on the night table showed the minutes. 10:35. Was that the right time? Could it be off a minute or two? Was he watching the clock? No, he was tensed, every muscle cocked and ready. He glanced from place to place. Walked to the window and back. 10:36. Stepped to the bedroom door, listened, then backed up to her again. 10:37. He never looked at her. Never acknowledged her.
The minutes ticked by one by one by one.
She touched his back. “The clock says 10:50.”
…
JB made sure Marcy was asleep before he dialed. Might be two-thirty in the morning, but he needed to check in with the Crayton Police.
The clang of a phone being dropped then picked up again reverberated through the receiver. “Patrolman Kennett here.”
“Sorry to wake you.”
“Don’t worry about it. Sounds like you two made it through another 10:38.” The rookie’s voice cleared fast. Meant his brain woke on a dime.
JB scrubbed his palm over his face. He needed a shave. “Anything new?”
“Nothing. The sheriff came out of surgery good. Saved his leg. But he’s still doped up. Not making much sense.”
“Like what?”
“He’ll be talking about Landon. How the man would check in with your boss on the numbers. Then he rambles about fighting the guy in the ski mask for the phone.” Kennett’s voice sounded tired. “Says the guy has brown eyes. Next minute he says they’re blue. Doesn’t make sense.”
“Keep at it. Check with Landon to see if he ever got anything from headquarters.” JB heard the soft sounds of Marcy mumbling to herself in her sleep. At least she could rest for a while.
The rookie cleared his throat. “When I called him this afternoon, it went to voice mail. He never called back. Went to voice mail a couple hours ago, too.”
Maybe he should call Wilson instead. Why? His ex-boss was on vacation and couldn’t do a damn thing to help him. “Try Landon again. Might be he can remember something about a case I haven’t.”
…
Except for light from the fireplace glow, the cabin sat in darkness when Marcy opened her eyes. Still half asleep, she stared as the digital numbers click forward on the bed side clock. 3:20 AM. So, far she’d watched seven minutes. Each click meant one minute closer to 10:38 again. The numbers seemed to mean something to someone angry enough to kill her and JB.
Last night, the two of them played checkers, popped popcorn over the fire in the fireplace, and racked their brains to find any connection to 1-0-3-8.
The only disruption during the night had been the gentle hoot of an owl. JB insisted they didn’t turn any music on. He needed to listen, hear anything out of the ordinary. How could he hear anything through the closed door and windows? Finally, she realized he wasn’t talking about the owl’s hoot or the water’s ripple or the wind through the trees. He meant he knew other sounds. The sounds of a stalker, a shooter. Still fully dressed, she fell asleep about midnight.
The faint glow from the fireplace and the smell of scorched coffee jogged her awake. She stumbled into the kitchen, spying the grungy coffeepot in the sink.
JB shuffled cards at the kitchen table, once again his Glock within easy reach. “I made a mess.”
“Smells like it.” She looped her arms over his shoulders, nibbling his ear. “Come to bed. Lay by me.”
“We can’t, sugar. Much as I’d like to, we can’t.” He kissed her palm.
“It’s not even close to 10:38.”
“But the psycho’s been searching in the dark all night long. The dark can play with people’s minds. Push them over the line. This guy’s probably standing on the edge.” JB pulled her onto his lap.
She liked sitting there. Safe and warm in his arms. “What makes you say that?”
His overhead stretch pulled his body closer to hers for an instant, and then he relaxed again. She watched his face as his arms loosely folded around her.
“He’s missed you four times now. He lost us in the woods. And something tells me the phone didn’t help him as quickly as he’d hoped, or he’d already be here. Trust me, he’s furious. Furious at us. Furious at himself. That means his breaking point is close. Either the police will nab him or…”
“Or what?” Why had she asked? She knew the answer.
JB winked at her, then shuffled her off his lap and reached for the soaking coffee pot.
“No more coffee.” She pulled on his hand. “Come back to bed.”
He shook his head.
“Staring at the door isn’t going to make the worst happen. Come to bed and wrap your arms around me. Get a couple hours sleep.”
A heavy sigh followed his glance at the door before he followed her to the bedroom. After securing the room, he lay on the covers fully dressed as she snuggled against his side.
He glanced at the clock. Already 4:00 AM. He set the clock for 7:00 AM.
Chapter Twenty-three
JB didn’t need the alarm clock to wake him. Howling wind muffled every sound except for the thunderous rain. He rolled out of bed, leaving Marcy and her warmth. Good sense should have kept him from stretching out on the bed in the first place, but the couple hours of sleep felt good. He clicked off the alarm. Let her sleep awhile longer.
Opening the living room shutters provided nothing but a view of the thick, spooky fog. This looked like the kind of day depicted in scary movies. The cabin in the woods. The fog rolling in. The man, the woman, the killer.
Shake it off, man. Shake it off. He closed the shutters.
All he thought about as he started a fresh pot of coffee was how to lure the shooter into their lair. This stalemate needed to end today. Otherwise, sloppiness might creep in. One sloppy moment could lead to one error. Sometimes, one error ended a successful agent’s career.
Jennings had been a veteran lawman. During their brief time as partners, he’d taught JB everything he could. Would have been even more if the man hadn’t taken the wrong call at the wrong time from the wrong person. He’d probably already have the case solved.
JB ranked the calls he needed to make on his decoy phone, then dialed.
“Deputy Evans here.”
“Hope you got something for me.” JB sat two cups on the table.
“Nothing. Let me shut the door.” The deputy’s footsteps echoed through the phone. “There that’s better.”
JB jogged the coffeepot out and poured. “Last night, Kennett said the sheriff seemed confused on what the guy looked like that attacked him.”
“Maybe not. I got a call from the doc a few minutes ago. He said the sheriff’s awake and talking fine. He still insists the man had brown eyes one second. Then one of his eyes was blue the next.” Evans sighed. “And that partner of yours…Landon.”
JB turned at the sound of Marcy’s footsteps on the floor as she headed to the bathroom. “He’s not my partner. I just worked with him one other time.”
The slam of a folder on the desk rumbled through the phone. “Well, I don’t care who or what he is. In my book, he’s not worth the metal in his shield.”
“Still not answering his calls?” Seemed odd, even for Landon.
“I checked with the phone company to make sure everything’s okay with his line. They said his phone is sitting some place over in Jefferson City.” Deputy Evans voice tensed. “Want me to call Wilson? Your boss? “
“Yeah. You got his number?”
Evans shuffled papers. “Sure thing. I knew I’d seen it in your file somewhere. I
’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything back.”
“Thanks.” JB lingered on the call. Thinking. Without the special contact lens he wore, Landon had one blue eye and one brown.
“You’re awful quiet. What’s wrong?”
Marcy walked into the kitchen fully dressed, including her boots. Hair brushed and smelling of toothpaste, she looked like a good morning wake-up. He hated to ruin her day, but she needed to know his thinking. He motioned her over and pointed her to the chair across the table from him.
“You still there?” the deputy said. “Kennett just walked in. I’ve got you on speaker phone.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s up, JB?” Kennett asked.
“My cop instincts say everything comes to a head today.” JB watched Marcy’s face. Since he’d been old enough to remember, he could always feel a life-changing day the minute he woke up. Today, his instinct churned with fire and adrenaline. This day didn’t feel good. “He’s coming.”
Her expression stayed strong, but her eyes held fear as he covered her hand with his.
“Hold on. Evans is trying to reach your boss.” Kennett’s said. “You got much fog out there?”
“Layers. Like pea-soup. Be mighty hard to come in by boat.” JB glanced up as his wife walked to the front window and did a tiny peek outside. She palmed her hand upward a couple times. “Marcy just motioned that the fog is lifting. My bet is he’ll still come in by road. Maybe walk a ways. You might want to alert anybody living in cabins out here.”
Kennett chuckled. “Beat you to that one. Called everyone last night. Told them to leave the area, or else lock their doors and stay inside.”
Evans mumbled in the background. Probably talking to Wilson. “Okay. I’ll tell him.” The deputy cleared his throat. “JB, Wilson says for you to call him. Right now.”
“Why?”
“He’s checking things out. Landon never called him,” Evans continued. “I’ll let your boss give you the specifics.”
There must be a clue to the 1038. Something so classified, it needed to be relayed agent to agent.
Risk of a Lifetime Page 20
