Every Precious Thing (A Logan Harper Thriller)

by Brett Battles

  When he reached number twenty-seven, he turned his head and held his ear near the door, listening in case someone had stayed behind. All was quiet.

  Just to be doubly sure, he rapped on the jamb.

  “Housekeeping,” he said.

  Silence—no squeaks from beds or feet walking across the room.

  He retrieved the package of safety pins, selected two of the largest, then bent them all the way open, creating spears—or tools, in this case—to pick the lock. They were far from the best, but the lock was a cheap one, and within thirty seconds it willingly gave way.

  Inside the room, the air had the undisturbed stillness that confirmed he was the only one present. Though dim, there was enough sunlight seeping in from around the curtain for him to see. Along one wall were two queen-size beds separated by a nightstand, and against the opposite, a dresser with a TV on top. At the back of the room was a closet, and next to it a nook that went further back to a countertop with a sink. Though he couldn’t see it from where he stood, he knew there would be a door near it to the toilet and shower.

  He checked the dresser first. On top were a few brochures laid out neatly next to the TV. Tourist stuff, probably left there by the Chamber of Commerce, hoping to entice guests to spend more than just the night. Quietly, he slid open the drawers one by one, but all were empty.

  The nightstand was next, but it, too, revealed nothing that hadn’t been there before the current occupants had checked in. Moving into the sink area, he found that the soap had been unwrapped, but there were no toothbrushes or shaving kits or anything like that.

  The door to the toilet and shower room was open. A used towel on the floor, but that was it.

  The closet was the only place left, so he pulled it open. Inside was a single suitcase. He’d expected to find two bags at the very least, one for the woman and one for the man, but this was it.

  Using another napkin, he laid the suitcase on its side, unzipped it, and lifted up the top. It was the woman’s bag—blouses, skirts, pants, underwear, bras. The clothes were precisely folded and stacked as if they were on display at Macy’s. Without removing anything, he slipped his hand under the garments and slid it around, checking for anything hidden underneath.

  While there was nothing along the bottom, he did find a black makeup bag tucked against the far side. Looking inside it, he could see lipstick, eyeliner, and several other items that were similar to those his ex-wife used to have. As he closed the makeup bag, his thumb brushed against something stitched on the side. Though he could feel it, in the semi-darkness of the room, he couldn’t see anything.

  He carried the bag into the toilet area and flipped on the light. Initials, sewn on with black thread. No wonder he couldn’t see them. They blended in perfectly with the bag itself.

  E. P.

  Two possibilities, he thought. Either they were the woman’s initials, or the initials of the bag’s particular brand. He couldn’t think of a brand that fit, but he wasn’t well-versed in women’s wear or cosmetics, so it was very possible he was just unfamiliar with it.

  He put the makeup bag back exactly where he’d found it, closed the suitcase, and returned it to the closet. With everything as it was, he scanned the room, making sure he hadn’t missed anything.

  He checked in with Dev. “Where are they?”

  “A restaurant two miles from the motel. Been inside five minutes. Figure they’ll be here at least an hour.”

  Good. “You didn’t happen to see if either of—”

  A knock on the door froze Logan where he stood. As soon as it stopped, a male voice called out, “Dr. Paskota. Thought you said you were going out.”

  “Logan?” Dev said.

  “Someone’s at the door,” Logan whispered as loudly as he dared.

  “I’m on my way.”

  As Logan hung up, there was another knock.

  “Dr. Paskota, are you in there?”

  A second man said, “You sure you heard her?”

  “Thought I heard someone,” the first replied.

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Dr. Paskota? Mr. Frisk?” the first voice said. Another knock. “I swear I wasn’t hearing things.”

  “This place is a dump. It was probably just a TV in another room turned up too high.”

  Silence.

  “I think we should check,” the first man said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  LOGAN MOVED QUIETLY into the bathroom and closed the door. Above the shower was a frosted glass window about four feet long and two feet wide. Not great, but he had little choice.

  From the main room, he could still hear the others working on the front door. They were obviously not as skilled at picking a lock as he was, but even so, they were likely to be through in no more than a minute, two tops.

  He stepped into the shower, unlatched the window, and slid the pane as far to the left as he could. A screen, brown after years cooking in the sun, covered the opening. The only thing holding it together was a memory of what it had once been, so it put up little defense against the single punch that ripped through it.

  Logan tore at the hole, widening it, then anchored himself against the wall and swung his legs up, kicking his feet through the opening. Just as his ankles passed outside, he heard the front door open.

  He shimmied backward until only his shoulders and head were left inside. He could hear the men talking, but couldn’t understand what they were saying, nor did he much care at the moment.

  His only goal was getting out. Fast.

  His plan was to slide out the window, then hang on to the frame with one hand while closing the open pane with the other to remove any signs of his presence. The idea had sounded good in his head, but it failed in practice. His fingers barely paused on the lip of the frame before he was headed straight for the ground.

  His army training kicking in, he rolled as he hit the dirt, popped to his feet, and began running along the rear of the motel.

  “Hey! You! Stop!” It was the first man’s voice, clear and unhindered. Logan had no doubt the guy was sticking his head out the bathroom window, but he wasn’t about to look back and check. “Hey! I said stop!”

  If the man was really expecting his words to work, he was sadly disappointed. Logan picked up his pace and sprinted the rest of the way to the corner.

  Right would take him toward the front of the motel and Center Street, but it was also the direction from where the others would be coming. So Logan went left into a low-rent neighborhood of rundown homes. There were fewer FOR SALE signs than he’d seen elsewhere in town, but the amount of vacancies seemed to be the same.

  At the first intersection he came to, he went right. Ahead, on the other side of the street, several men were gathered around a truck with its hood up. Whatever conversation they’d been having stopped when they saw Logan, and they stared at him as he ran by.

  “Where you going so fast?” one of them called out, eliciting laughter from his friends.

  As he neared the next intersection, Logan heard feet pounding the pavement somewhere behind him. This time he did look. A man—thin, late twenties, good shape, decked out in nice pants and a white, long-sleeved button shirt—had his eyes glued on Logan, so there was little doubt he was one of the men from the motel.

  Logan turned right again, figuring he could risk heading for Center Street now. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, clearing away a layer of sweat. Though it was after five p.m., it was still hotter than hell, and running wasn’t helping.

  His phone began vibrating. Without slowing, he worked it out, and checked the screen. DEV.

  “I just pulled up to the motel. Are you still in the room?”

  “I’m…a couple blocks…east,” Logan said between breaths. “Running. Got company behind…me.”

  “On my way. Don’t hang up.”

  Logan looked back. The other guy hadn’t turned the corner yet, so, with any luck, Logan would reach the main road before his pursuer
came into view. Seconds later, that plan fizzled.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath.

  Another man had just come around the corner from the Center Street end. He was also dressed in nice pants and long-sleeved shirt. Even discounting the similar clothes, the growing sneer on the guy’s face was enough to convince Logan the two men were together.

  Skidding to a halt, he said into the phone, “I don’t have a lot of time here,” then slid it into his pocket without disconnecting.

  He couldn’t go forward, and couldn’t go back, leaving only the homes lining either side of the street. He took a quick look left and right. While the house on the right appeared occupied, the one on the left seemed to be another of the abandoned variety.

  Logan went left, racing across the dead grass in the front yard, and hopping over the rotting wooden fence that surrounded the back.

  “What the hell?”

  It turned out the house on the left wasn’t empty after all. A fat guy with a salt-and-pepper goatee and balding head was sitting next to a barbecue, drinking beer and cooking a steak.

  “Get out of my yard!” the man said. “This is private property!”

  He made a movement like he was going to get out of his chair, but he never quite pushed himself all the way up.

  “Sorry,” Logan said, not breaking stride.

  “Where do you think you’re going? I said get the hell out of here!”

  Logan leaped just before he reached the back fence, grabbed the top with his hands, and vaulted himself into the neighboring yard.

  Though no one was outside this time, there was a dog. It was small, a Yorkie or Maltese or something like that. Whatever it was, it didn’t look happy that someone had intruded into its kingdom. Rapid-fire yaps spewed from its mouth as it ran toward Logan, halting just far enough away so that it could make a mad dash if Logan turned aggressive.

  “Dude! This isn’t a freeway!” It was the man from the other yard again, not yelling at Logan this time, but at someone else who’d dared enter his domain.

  Logan reached the front fence next to the house, found the gate, and popped it open. As he passed through, the yappy dog almost got out, but he forced it back and closed the gate tight. A few seconds later, he was on the new road, running once more toward Center Street.

  He retrieved his phone. “Are you still there?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Where are you?”

  “Coming up on Center Street. I’m about three blocks from the motel.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Logan didn’t slow until he turned onto the sidewalk that lined the main drag. On the corner was a shoe store, and next to it an ice cream shop. He went a half-dozen feet past the shop, stopped, doubled back, and went inside. A handful of customers were waiting in line. Logan positioned himself against the wall, and acted like he was reading the menu above the counter.

  He raised his phone and whispered, “Ice cream place near the corner. I’m inside.”

  “I see it,” Dev said. “Stay there.”

  Less than ten seconds later, the El Camino pulled to the curb and parked. Logan disconnected the call, but just as he was about to step outside, Dev held up a hand and stopped him.

  Two seconds later, one of the men chasing him raced by without pausing to look inside.

  Dev follow the man with his eyes, then looked back at Logan and nodded. Logan bolted out the door and climbed quickly into the El Camino. As soon as he was inside, he ducked below the dash so the others wouldn’t spot him. Dev pulled leisurely out into Center Street’s sparse traffic.

  “Anything?” Logan asked.

  Dev took a moment before he answered. “No.”

  “Drive around. Let’s make sure we didn’t pick up a tail.”

  After several minutes, and multiple changes in direction, Dev said, “We’re clean.”

  “Let’s go back to the motel,” Logan said. “I’ve got a call to make.”

  __________

  “EVERYTHING OKAY?” CALLIE asked.

  “We seem to have stirred something up,” Logan said. He was alone in his room, pacing between the bed and the window. Dev had returned to the other motel to keep an eye on things there.

  “What?”

  “That’s a great question.”

  He brought her up to speed. When he finally finished, she said nothing for a moment.

  “Your friend, Mr. Pepper. He’s going to be all right?”

  “No permanent damage.”

  She paused again. “I…I didn’t expect anyone to get hurt.”

  Neither had Logan. “Well, I think we’ve at least confirmed the fact that this is more than just a wife with second thoughts.”

  “She is in trouble, isn’t she?”

  Instead of answering, Logan asked, “Were you able to learn anything from the stuff I sent?”

  “I did a rough background check on Diana Stockley.”

  “And?”

  “To start with, that wasn’t the name she was born with. She changed it a little over two years ago. Before, it was Diana Baudler.”

  There was that time frame again. “Why did she change it?”

  “Don’t know, but she’d been arrested a few times as a teenager. Maybe she decided it was time to start over.”

  “She was in her late twenties then,” Logan pointed out. “Seems a little late to be changing your name because of a troubled childhood. Any record after she became Diana Stockley?”

  “No.”

  Logan took a moment to think. “Where’s she originally from?”

  “Oklahoma. Her dad left when she was young. She and her siblings ended up getting sent to live with an aunt in Des Moines.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I’ve pieced together a partial employment history, but I’m still working on it.”

  “What do you have so far?”

  He could hear the clicks of a keyboard over the phone, then Callie said, “As Diana Stockley, she’s been in Braden just short of two years.”

  “So right after she changed her name.”

  “Pretty much. Before that, as Diana Baudler, she worked at a place called—”

  “Let me guess. Harkin Services in El Portal, California,” Logan finished for her.

  “Right,” she said, surprised. “How did you know?”

  He told her about obtaining Diana’s rental application from Mark Hackbarth.

  “But her name was different. Why would she put that down?” Callie asked.

  “Because she had to put something down. My guess, with the way the economy is here, she probably didn’t think anyone would ever check.”

  “You could make a living at this if you wanted,” she said, impressed.

  “Yeah, if. What about before Harkin?”

  “For about a year, she seemed to be making the rounds of bars in Reno and Carson City. Prior to that she worked in Flagstaff, Arizona, for almost four years at…” She paused. “Harkin Services.”

  “Again?”

  “Same employer, different location.”

  Flagstaff was only a three-hour drive from Braden. If Diana had lived there for four years, she’d know the town pretty well. It might feel safe.

  “Did you find her address in Flagstaff?”

  “Hold on.” More keys clicking. “Yeah, I’ve got it, but that was a while ago.”

  “I know, but give it to me anyway.”

  She read it off to him. As she finished, Logan’s phone beeped with an incoming call.

  “Just a second,” he told her, and switched to the other call.

  “I think they’re getting ready to leave town.” It was Dev.

  “Why do you think that?”

  “A few minutes ago, the woman and her friend came back in a hurry. The two who were chasing you met them in the parking lot. They had a conversation and then they all went into different rooms. Less than a minute ago, each came back out carrying a suitcase. They’re putting them into their car now. What do you w
ant me to do?”

  “Follow them,” Logan said immediately. “Let’s see which way they go.” He switched back to Callie. “Sorry about that. Anything else?”

  “That’s all I have for now,” she said. “If I find more, I’ll let you know.”

  “Hold on,” he said. “I have two names you can check. Paskota and Frisk. Paskota’s a female and might be a doctor. Frisk is male, no known occupation.”

  “First names?”

  “The woman’s first name might start with an E, but that’s all I got. Don’t have anything on the man’s.”

  “I’ll get on it.”

  “Thanks, Callie.”

  “Logan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Stay safe.”

  __________

  TEN MINUTES LATER he got a call from Dev. “They’re headed east on the interstate, just about to pass into Arizona.”

  Northern Arizona was a collection of small towns separated by large areas of nothing. Small towns, and one that was a bit larger than the others.

  Flagstaff.

  Diana had left Braden, and now her friends were heading out, too, in the direction of a town Diana had once lived in. Were they meeting up with her there? Maybe even with Sara? The possibility seemed too great to ignore.

  “Stay on them,” he told Dev. “I’ll catch up with you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  SARA HAD BEEN trying the number for hours, but every single time she’d been greeted with the same message: “The caller you are trying to reach is not currently within our coverage area.”

  Where are you?Why aren’t you answering?

  Her panic had been caused by a call she’d received from Diana four and a half hours ago.

  “Sara…Sara, can you hear me?”

  “Yeah. You’re breaking up a little, but I can hear you,” she’d replied.

  “Can you hear me? Sara?”

  “I’m right here. I hear you.”

  “Oh, good. There you are.”

  “What’s going on? Is something wrong?” They hadn’t been scheduled to talk again until the next day.