Every Precious Thing (A Logan Harper Thriller)

by Brett Battles

  As soon as they were on the I-40, he punched in a Washington D.C. number on the cell.

  “Forbus International. How may I direct your call?”

  “Ruth Bobick, please.”

  “One moment.”

  He hadn’t thought he would need the help of his old friend. Ruth was a busy woman, even more so these days after her recent promotion at Forbus International, the defense contractor Logan had also worked for at one time. Everything he’d needed up to this point, Callie had been able to handle. But what he wanted now was something only Ruth could do.

  When Logan had worked with his late brother-in-law and best friend Carl Stone as trainers for Forbus’s private security forces, Ruth had been their in-office contact. She had always been a friend, and though the company had placed the blame for Carl’s death on Logan, she had never believed it. After that incident, their careers went in decidedly different directions. Ruth climbed the corporate ladder at Forbus, while Logan returned to his hometown to work in his father’s garage. In her position as a vice president of a highly regarded defense contractor, she had access to information sources not available to most people. This had come in handy when Logan was trying to save Elyse Myat a few months earlier, and now could prove to be just as important to his search for Sara.

  The line rang twice.

  “Ruth Bobick’s office. How may I help you?” Ruth’s assistant asked. He sounded young and efficient, just the kind of person Ruth liked to have around.

  “Tommy Shaw calling for Ruth,” Logan said.

  Though it wasn’t public knowledge, Forbus was in the habit of recording company calls when they felt it necessary. There was no doubt in Logan’s mind that if they knew he was on the line, his call would fall into the record category. He was not in good standing with the company brass, with the exception of Ruth, and he wouldn’t be doing her any favors if people found out he was asking her for help. So he used a name he knew would catch her attention. Ruth had once admitted to a teenage obsession with the ’70s-era band Styx, and more specifically, the band’s guitar player, Tommy Shaw.

  “Mrs. Bobick is on the other line at the moment. I could have her call you back.”

  “No. I’ll hold.”

  “She may be on for a while, so I think it might be—”

  “Tell her I’m on the line,” Logan said, cutting him off.

  A hesitation, then, “One moment.”

  Hold music replaced the assistant’s voice. The wait was short.

  “This is Ruth Bobick. Mr. Shaw?”

  “Yes,” Logan said, not disguising his voice. “Thank you for taking my call.”

  In the pause that followed, Logan knew she’d realized who he was. “Actually, Mr. Shaw, I will have to call you back.”

  “I see. Well, as soon as possible would be appreciated. I’m not at my normal number.” He gave her the number of his temporary phone.

  “Got it,” she said. “Thank you.”

  She didn’t wait for him to reply before hanging up.

  Eight minutes later, she called back. By the noise in the background, he knew she’d gone outside.

  “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t use my office line,” she said.

  “Sorry. I don’t have my phone at the moment, and the main number was the only one I knew from memory.”

  She sighed. “I’m going to regret calling you back, aren’t I?”

  He smiled. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the help you gave me last time worked out pretty well for you.”

  Ruth had been able to use her early knowledge of what Logan had uncovered during his rescue of Elyse to bolster her position at Forbus. The information was responsible for her promotion.

  “I swear to God if you hold that over my head, I will never answer the phone again.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  “I’m not going to fool myself into thinking this is a social call. So why don’t you tell me what you want?”

  “I need you to see if you can get locations on two cell phones.” From memory, he gave her the number to Diana’s Blackberry, and the only number from the recent-calls list on her disposable cell. “If you can tell me where they are in relation to the number I’m calling from, that would be great.”

  “And why would I want to do this?” she asked.

  “Because someone’s in trouble, and I’m trying to help them.”

  “This is getting to be a habit. What happened to fixing cars?”

  “Can you help?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  She took a moment before responding. “Let me see what I can do.”

  Logan was about to say good-bye, but he had another thought. “Can we make that three phones?”

  “Sure, why not? What’s one more?” she said sarcastically. “What’s the number?”

  “You have it already. It’s my cell.”

  “I’m not running a lost and found service.”

  “That’s not why I asked. I’d just like to know where the person who has it is.”

  “Fine,” she said, then, “Logan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you making some sort of career change?”

  “No.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “Helping someone who asked.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  ERICA WOKE STILL annoyed by the previous evening. She hated when things did not go as planned. She did everything she could to keep surprises out of her life. The work she did, the way she ran her business, even her personal decisions—they were all thought out and planned to avoid problems. Until everything returned to that norm, her frustration would continue to burn inside her.

  She showered, dressed, and left, not even glancing in the direction of the room Clausen and Markle had been using. They’d be long gone by now, and hopefully reporting in with some helpful news soon.

  Once she was behind the wheel of the gray sedan, she opened the specialized tracking app on her phone and touched the number tied to the GPS device she’d attached to the El Camino.

  “So, Mr. Harper, did you make it back?” she said as she waited for the link to be established. “Or are you still wandering around the forest?”

  A dot started glowing in the middle of an otherwise blank screen. After a few more seconds, a map appeared beneath it.

  The El Camino was still in Flagstaff, but it was not in the same place it had been.

  “You made it back,” she said, impressed.

  She watched the dot for a moment, making sure it was stationary, then switched to her email and checked to see if she had received the other information she’d requested before she went to sleep.

  There was a single message with three attachments.

  Dr. Paskota,

  The vehicle you provided the license number for is indeed registered to a male by the name of Logan Harper. Attached are the DMV sheet, tax info summary sheet, and military record. Please let me know if you wish further info on Mr. Harper. As of yet, I have no information on Mr. Martin, but will forward to you as soon as I do.

  B.L.

  Military history? That could explain a lot. She opened that file first.

  Harper’s involvement with the military turned out to be more than just having served in the army. Once honorably discharged, he went to college then got a job with Forbus International, one of the giant US defense contractors. His job there was training private security forces—soldiers for hire. After an incident in Afghanistan that took the life of one of his colleagues, he’d been let go. Erica would have liked to know why, but that information was not provided.

  She looked at the other two documents and noted that Harper lived on the central coast of California, and worked as a—

  “That can’t be right,” she muttered.

  But it didn’t appear to be a typo. Harper was an auto mechanic. She’d expected something in law enforcement, even private investigator, not some grease monkey who specialized in changing oil.

  So why are you even here, Mr
. Harper?

  Whatever that reason was, the answer wasn’t in the information in front of her.

  She brought the map back up and saw that Harper’s car was on the move. She watched the dot until it merged onto the interstate heading west.

  “And where are we going this morning?”

  Shifting into reverse, she pulled out of her parking spot and headed for the freeway.

  Fifteen minutes after she hit the interstate, Clausen called.

  “You’re going to find this interesting.”

  “What’s that?” Erica asked.

  “The guy who got beat up was just released from the hospital.”

  “Were you able to talk to him?”

  “Not yet. But that’s not the interesting part.”

  Erica frowned. She didn’t like games. “Then what is?”

  “One of the two men who picked him up is named Neal Harper.”

  Her mind flashed onto Harper’s military history. His next of kin—wasn’t it a Neal Harper? Yes, it was.

  “Did you hear me?” Clausen asked.

  “Sorry. I did. Older? Younger?”

  “Older, definitely. I’d say seventysomething.”

  Logan Harper’s dad?

  “So how would you like us to proceed?” Clausen asked.

  Erica thought for a moment, then smiled, and told him exactly what she wanted them to do.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  LOGAN AND DEV reached the Williams turnoff just before nine thirty a.m. They followed Diana’s instructions and headed north on State Route 64. Logan had been hoping to hear back from Ruth by now, but she hadn’t called.

  Around the twenty-minute mark, Dev started glancing at the odometer. Finally he said, “That’s twenty-eight miles.”

  Logan focused on the edge of the road, looking for the white X, but there was only a solid white line, three feet from where the asphalt ended.

  “Twenty-nine,” Dev said, slowing some more.

  Still nothing.

  “Twenty-nine and a half.”

  White line.

  “Twenty-nine point seven…point eight…point nine…and here comes—”

  “There it is,” Logan said, spotting the marker.

  “—thirty,” Dev finished. He pulled the El Camino to the side of the road.

  Logan had seen similar Xs on roads before, and knew precisely a mile ahead they’d find a second one. The Xs were markers highway patrol helicopters could use to gauge a car’s speed.

  Logan looked around. The area was covered with low shrubs for as far as he could see. In the distance, hills and mountains sporadically jutted up from the ground, altering what would have been an otherwise flat horizon.

  Logan checked his watch. It was a few minutes shy of ten a.m., more than thirty minutes left on Diana’s deadline. He’d been hoping she was waiting for them, but unlike in Flagstaff where the forest surrounded the road, there was nowhere here for anyone to hide. Logan and Dev were the only ones around.

  Logan opened the door and got out to stretch. Though he couldn’t see it from here, not too much farther to the north was the Grand Canyon. The only real indication of this was the constant traffic on the road.

  He looked at his watch again and then chastised himself. Checking the time wouldn’t bring Diana here any faster.

  If she’s coming at all.

  He gritted his teeth and tried to push that thought away, but it wouldn’t disappear completely. He walked several feet into the brush and considered giving his dad a call. He did owe Harp an update, but his pay-as-you-go phone didn’t come with call waiting or voice mail and he didn’t want to chance missing Ruth. He looked back at the unevenly spaced traffic on the road, each car merely another blob of paint and metal racing by.

  “Come on, Diana. Where are you?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “ARE YOU HUNGRY?” Barney asked.

  He and Harp had brought Pep back to the Desert Inn, and given him one of the beds in their room.

  “I’m fine,” Pep said.

  He carefully lifted his legs one at a time onto the mattress, then leaned against the headboard, his arm wrapped around his damaged ribs.

  Barney grimaced. “I still can’t believe they let you go.”

  “Don’t worry about it. They kept waking me up at the hospital. At least here I might be able to get some sleep.”

  Though Barney didn’t want to admit it, it was a fair point.

  “I could use some water,” Pep said.

  “Let me,” Harp offered.

  While he disappeared into the back sink area where they were storing the bottled water they’d bought, Barney picked up the TV remote from the nightstand and held it out to Pep.

  “Feel free to watch whatever you want,” he said.

  Pep smiled. “Thanks.”

  As the TV came on, Harp reentered the room holding two bottles.

  “This is all we have left,” he said. He gave one to Pep and tossed the other to Barney. “Why don’t I go over to that store across the street and get some more?”

  Barney reached for his wallet. “You need some money?”

  Waving him off, Harp said, “I got it.” As had become his habit anytime he left the room, he tucked the copy of Lost Horizon under his arm before opening the door.

  “Oh,” Barney said as Harp stepped outside. “Get some Gatorade, too. That’ll be good for him.”

  “Anything else?” Harp asked.

  Barney and Pep shook their heads.

  “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

  As soon as the door closed, Barney stretched out on the other bed and made himself comfortable. On the TV, the images flew by as Pep flipped through the channels, searching for something to watch. He ended up stopping on Judge Judy.

  “Really?” Barney asked.

  Pep chuckled. “These people are all idiots. I love watching them make fools of themselves.”

  It was definitely not the show Barney would have chosen, but Pep was the patient, and the patient got what he wanted. Barney leaned back and closed his eyes, figuring he’d catch a few minutes’ rest before Harp got back.

  When he opened them again, he felt like his body was covered in molasses. It took extra effort to sit up. He always felt this way if he slept for more than fifteen minutes.

  On the other bed, Pep was snoring, the remote moving up and down on his chest. A gunshot rang out from the TV, causing Barney to look over. Though the channel number was the same as before, Judge Judy was gone and a rerun of some cop show was playing.

  He checked his watch, and thought perhaps it was broken. He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. It said the same thing—12:07 p.m. When Barney lay down, it had only been a little after eleven.

  “Harp?” he said, holding his voice down so he wouldn’t wake Pep.

  There was no answer.

  He got to his feet and walked to the bathroom.

  “Harp?”

  No one was there.

  Must have gone back out when he saw we were asleep.

  But if that was the case, where was the water or the Gatorade?

  Barney slipped on his shoes, grabbed his phone, and went outside. From the walkway he could see the store where Harp was headed, but Harp was nowhere in sight.

  With growing anxiety, he called Harp’s phone.

  Two rings, then voice mail.

  “Hey, where are you?” Barney asked once the beep sounded. “Thought you were coming right back. Just…well…call me.”

  Of course, he realized. What probably happened was, the mini-market didn’t have the Gatorade he’d asked for, so Harp must have taken it upon himself to find it elsewhere. That sounded just like him.

  Barney slipped his phone into his pocket and turned to go back inside, but he paused before grabbing the knob.

  Yes, it did make sense, but…better to check, right?

  He went down the stairs, peeked into the motel office in case Harp was in there, then walked across the street and into t
he market.

  The cashier was sitting on a stool behind the counter, reading a copy of Entertainment Weekly. Instead of bothering him, Barney did a quick search through the store.

  Harp wasn’t there, and there was plenty of Gatorade in the refrigerated section.

  “Excuse me,” he said to the clerk when he got back up front.

  The guy looked up, startled, and jumped off his stool. “Sorry. Find everything you need?”

  “Actually, I’m wondering if a man came in here about forty-five minutes ago and bought some water and Gatorade. He’d be about my age, an inch or two shorter than me, but with more hair.”

  “No, not that I can remember.”

  “You’re sure?”

  The guy shrugged. “The only people in here during the last hour were a couple of my friends, and a woman with two kids. No older guy. And I haven’t sold any Gatorade all day.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  I must have gotten the store wrong, Barney thought as he went back outside.

  He looked up and down the block. There was a gas station with a little store attached on the neighboring corner, and another about a block down. Barney tried both, but no one had seen Harp.

  No longer just a little worried, he called the hospital, but no one had been admitted all morning. He then tried the police, who’d had no reports involving an elderly gentleman.

  Hurrying back to their motel room, he hoped that somehow they’d crossed paths without realizing it, but when he opened the door, everything was the same as it had been when he left.

  Harp, where are you?

  He did the only other thing he could think of and called Logan, but like with the call to Harp, he was put through to voice mail.

  “Logan, it’s Barney. Call me as soon as you get this. I don’t know, but I think something might have happened to your dad. I can’t find him. Call me. Please.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  THE BUZZ SOUNDED like it was coming from under Erica’s seat. It was rhythmic—on, off, on, off—and after the fourth buzz, it stopped.