“Watch me.” The I’m-done guy drained his glass and stood up. “Let’s get out of here.”
His friend rose and they walked out.
Small-town drama. A couple of aging computer geeks tired of pretending to be Nigerian princes, maybe.
When he snickered, one of the twentysomethings looked over.
Ricky smiled and said, “Any of you know a good place in this town to get a decent breakfast?”
Food. The ultimate conversation starter.
Ricky and his new friends talked until closing, and by the time he laid his head on his pillow, he had almost—but not quite—forgotten about the I’m-done guy and his friend.
Chapter Ten
The Next Morning
New York City To Washington State
Dylan found Liesel already waiting at the JFK airport departure gate for their flight to Seattle. It had been only a few days since the team was last together, but he was still happy to see her.
Though he didn’t want to admit it, working with the others probably meant more to him than any of them. As a driver/courier for hire, he conducted the majority of his work alone. It was nice to be part of a group he could count on. And even though they hadn’t spent that much time together, he liked everyone. Well, the jury was still out on Ricky, but Dylan could tolerate him well enough.
“How was home?” he asked Liesel after a hug.
“Quiet,” she said, in her brevity-of-words way. “How was Dublin?”
“Excellent, thanks. Dropped in on my family and surprised them.” He patted his stomach. “Ate too much, I think.”
On the plane, they sat together near the front. Liesel spent much of the flight sleeping, while Dylan watched a replay of an old Champions League football match on the tiny TV mounted in front of him.
In Seattle, they boarded a smaller plane for the flight east to Spokane. Upon arrival, they found their promised sedan waiting in the parking lot. In one of the bags in the trunk, they found their mission information packets, which included identifications for one Carl Lyne—American citizen originally from Cork, Ireland—and Andrea Kraus, a Swiss national. The biographies explained that Andrea, a novelist, was on a research trip to the Pacific Northwest for her next book, and Lyne, the publisher’s representative, was assisting her. The other bags contained tools of the trade.
“Perhaps I should sit in the back,” Liesel said.
“Why?”
“I am not sure Andrea Kraus is the kind of person to sit next to the help.”
She reached for the back door.
“Don’t you dare open that,” Dylan said. “You’re up front with me.”
She allowed herself a small grin. “I suppose Andrea might make an exception. This time.”
“Your kindness knows no bounds.”
During the drive to Bradbury, Liesel read aloud from the mission brief so that Dylan would be as up to date as she was. When she finished, he said, “Missing woman that no one realizes is missing. Even money she ran off with a lover.”
Liesel looked back through the pages. “There is no mention of a lover.”
“Oh, sweet, innocent Liesel, there’s always a lover.”
“You are incorrect. I do not have a lover. And neither do you.”
“And how would you be knowing that?”
She looked him up and down. “I know.”
The fact she was right and was so sure about it annoyed him.
Sixty miles from Bradbury, traffic slowed to a crawl, and not long after that, it stopped. Dylan angled the sedan to see around the RV two vehicles in front of them, but all this revealed was the crest of a hill a hundred yards ahead. And more cars.
Five minutes passed with no movement on their side, and no cars coming from the other direction.
“I’ll be right back,” Dylan said and opened his door.
“Where are you going?”
“To see if I can figure out what’s going on. Do me a favor, if things start moving again before I get back, get behind the wheel and drive for a bit.”
He hopped out before she could say no, and started up the slope.
His hike apparently signaled to other drivers it was okay for them to do the same. Before Dylan reached the top of the hill, half a dozen people were following him.
After cresting the summit and seeing the road ahead, he cursed under his breath.
The line of motionless vehicles stretched down the other side of the hill and into a large grove of pines. About a quarter mile farther on, among the trees, a dying pillar of smoke rose into the sky. If it had been a forest fire, the fire department had done a bang-up job of putting it out before it spread. More likely it had been a car.
A few minutes later, as the last of the smoke dissipated, cars in the opposite lane began moving out of the woods. Dylan counted twenty of them before the trickle stopped, and the vehicles in his lane, nearest the trees, started inching forward. The authorities were letting traffic through in alternating groups.
Dylan was back in the driver’s seat in plenty of time to join the slow progress toward the woods. It took almost twenty minutes for Liesel and him to reach the front of the line. As they waited for the twenty cars coming from the other direction to pass, Dylan got his first good look at the problem.
Not a car fire, but a truck. A big rig, with a cargo trailer hitched to the back. The fire had consumed both trailer and tractor, collapsing the trailer into blackened slag, and turning the truck’s cab into a charred ghost of its former self.
There were four fire engines, five state police cruisers, and two ambulances parked nearby. Since the ambulances were still there, Dylan guessed whoever they’d been intended to transport had either gotten out in time or were beyond help.
Death by fire. Dylan cringed.
He’d take losing his life by freezing over fire any day of the week. He’d take almost anything over fire, expect maybe drowning. Even then it would be a close call.
When they were finally allowed to drive on, he mouthed a prayer for the potentially departed and then increased speed.
Less than an hour later, they were in Bradbury.
Ananke and Rosario were in Ananke’s room, both on their computers, when Liesel called and let them know she and Dylan had arrived.
The Administrator had arranged for the novelist and her assistant to stay in a rental house with a view of the river, two miles from the hotel. Liesel reported there was a back way onto the property that would allow the others to visit without anyone in the area seeing them.
“We’ll be right over,” Ananke said.
Before leaving, she called Ricky.
“Huh? What?” he said.
“Are you still asleep?”
“Oh, hey, bab—uh, Ananke. I was just, uh, lounging.”
“You were sleeping.”
“I, uh, might have dozed off. But what does it matter? It’s not like you’ve given me anything to do.”
“Well, I’m giving you something now.” She relayed the instructions on how to get to Liesel and Dylan’s house. “Be there in twenty. And bring drinks.”
“Beer?”
“Water. Fruit juice. Maybe some iced tea.”
“That doesn’t sound like fun.”
“It’s not supposed to be fun, Ricky. Get moving.”
She hung up.
The rental house sat on a large lot in an area of other large homes on large lots, spread across a bluff overlooking the Columbia River.
As instructed, Ananke and Rosario parked inside a work shed on the adjoining property. A path through the bushes led them to a hidden gate that opened into a trellis-covered passageway, which took them to the back deck of the house.
“Welcome to Casa de Artisa,” Dylan said, standing in the threshold of an open sliding glass door.
The women greeted him with hugs, and then did the same with Liesel, who was standing just inside.
“Smooth journey?” Ananke asked.
“No problems for me,” Dylan replied.<
br />
“Same,” Liesel said.
“What do you mean, Casa de Artisa?” Rosario asked.
Dylan pointed at the living room wall, where old metal letters had been mounted, spelling out the phrase. “There’s a lot of art on the walls, too. Seems to be a theme.” He paused before adding, “Some of it’s not that good, to be honest.”
They sat around the large dining table, and Ananke and Rosario began bringing the other two up to speed. They had just finished describing their nighttime visit to Natasha Patterson’s home when a buzzer sounded.
“The back gate is wired,” Liesel explained. “Ricky must be here.”
A few moments later, they heard steps on the back deck. Dylan pulled open the door and in walked Ricky, carrying an overstuffed cloth shopping bag.
“Morning, gang!” Ricky said. “Cool clubhouse.” He walked over to the table and set the bag down. “I’ve got drinks.”
“Put them all in the refrigerator,” Ananke said.
“Bad enough I had to lug all this over on my motorcycle, and now you’re going to make me put it away, too?”
“Ricky.”
“Again, not complaining. Just making an observation.”
He carried the bag into the kitchen.
“Were you able to figure out the columns in the notebook?” Liesel asked, refocusing the conversation on where Ananke and Rosario had left off.
“Shinji’s still working on that,” Ananke said.
“What about her computer?” Dylan asked.
“That, we do know,” Rosario said. “She had a top-of-the-line Dell Inspiron. That means monitor and tower.”
“Not something you’d likely take with you on a whim,” Ananke said.
Ricky strolled back into the room. “So, what are we talking about?” He took a sip from the can he was carrying.
“What is that?” Ananke asked.
“Margarita in a can.”
“You’re drinking?”
He looked at her as if she were talking crazy. “Of course I’m drinking. I’m thirsty.”
“Are you serious?”
“Hold on there, boss.” He turned the can toward her and tapped the label. “Nonalcoholic.”
Dylan looked as if he was going to be sick. “That sounds even worse.”
“Anybody else want one? I got a six-pack.”
Ananke took a deep breath. “Just sit.”
“All right. You can serve yourselves.” Ricky took the empty chair next to Liesel. “Hey, sunshine.”
“My name is Liesel.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
Ananke finished describing the rest of what they’d been doing, then said, “There are a ton of outstanding questions. What I’m hoping is that we can answer a lot of them today. Schedule-wise, Rosario and I have the mixer this evening that the city’s sponsoring. My understanding is that there should be some important people in attendance, including Natasha’s boss, Kyle Scudder.”
“Ooh, that sounds fun,” Ricky said. “Maybe it would be a good idea to have another pair of eyes there.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
Ricky leaned back, smiling smugly.
“I’ll talk to the Administrator,” Ananke said. “See if he can arrange for Liesel and Dylan to be invited.”
Ricky went from self-satisfied to put out in a second flat. “Wait. What?”
“They have a good backstory. No one will question their presence.”
“But-but I don’t have a backstory. Just a stupid alias.” Rudy Schmidt.
“Which makes you more flexible.”
“All right. Good. Flexible isn’t bad. What am I supposed to do while you are all having fun?”
“What you do best. Hunt. I need you out there looking for Patterson, or anything unusual. In fact, that goes for everyone. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything weird in case there actually is something larger going on here.”
“Do we have any new intel on Patterson?” Ricky asked.
“Rosario has created a map of her cell trail on the night she disappeared. I want you to check everywhere she went.”
“You mean I get to ride around again?”
“You get to ride around again.”
“See, if you’d told me that from the beginning, I’d have been fine.”
“I will send you the information,” Rosario said.
“Thank you, darling.”
“Ricky,” Ananke said.
“What? Oh, thank you, Rosy.”
“Ricky!”
He took a breath. “Thank you, Rosario. Man, you guys are so uptight sometimes.”
“So, are we to just wait around until the party?” Dylan asked.
“I’ve got something to keep you busy, too,” Ananke said. “Scolareon gives tours every afternoon at one. You two are supposed to be here doing research. Go research.”
Chapter Eleven
The big rig’s engine whined as it downshifted, sending a jolt through the trailer that earned cries of surprise from several of its occupants.
Eduardo felt Sonya stiffen as she jerked awake. “It’s okay,” he whispered.
A few moments passed before he felt her relax. “Are we stopping?” she asked. She had told him she was eighteen, which would make her two years his junior, but he suspected she was younger than that.
“I think so.”
They’d been inside the metal box for two days and had stopped several times but never for long, and not once had the back door opened.
Eduardo didn’t know how he got inside the trailer, but he recalled the events leading up to it. Jobs had been hard to come by as of late, and he’d taken to joining the dayworkers that hung out at the parking lot entrance to The Home Depot. A guy in a pickup had come looking for help clearing junk from a property and had picked Eduardo out of the crowd.
As they drove off, the guy—he introduced himself as Mr. King—asked Eduardo about his day, about the type of work he’d been getting, about where he liked to eat. They talked about family, too, Mr. King saying Eduardo was lucky he hadn’t started one yet, that all his possibilities were still open. Then Mr. King asked if Eduardo was thirsty and nodded at the small chest between them, telling Eduardo to grab a bottle of water.
It had been a warm morning and he’d been standing around for hours, so Eduardo took a deep drink. He remembered feeling dizzy but nothing after that until he woke here.
There were five others with him—three men and two women. They’d been locked inside with three large ice chests that had been full of food and water when they started out, but were now getting close to empty. Against the wall was a chemical toilet booth, like ones at construction sites where Eduardo had worked. It probably stank to high heaven, but he couldn’t tell anymore.
He hadn’t known any of the others when he’d woken to find himself here. There had been a little talking at first, but no one knew where they were going, only that it couldn’t be anywhere good. After that, most kept to themselves. When Eduardo heard Sonya crying that first night, he’d gone to her and held her and told her everything would be all right.
“What time is it?” she asked now.
“Not sure.” The inside of the trailer was pitch-dark, though from the warmth radiating off the metal side he was propped up against, it must’ve been daytime. “Are you thirsty?”
“No. I’m okay.”
He uncapped his water bottle and moved it to where he thought her hands were. “Take a little. You need to keep drinking.”
A beat, then, “Okay.”
He held on to the bottle until he was sure she had control of it, then he leaned back.
After she took a sip, she asked for the millionth time, “Where do you think they’re taking us?”
And for the millionth time, he said, “I don’t know.”
The truck continued to slow. When it finally stopped, Eduardo could hear voices outside.
He wanted to scream and pound on the walls in hopes of getting help, but a voice ov
er a speaker had warned them early on if they did anything to draw attention to the truck, the punishment would be severe and shared by all.
A few moments later, he heard the clink of a nozzle being put into a fuel tank.
Wherever they were headed, they apparently still had a ways to go.
Chapter Twelve
Using Rosario’s map, Ricky started his hunt at the entrance to Patterson’s housing tract and headed north, out of town.
Most of the data indicated she’d made steady progress all the way to the bridge. There was, however, an area about thirty miles past Bradbury where Patterson had remained within the confines of a single-cell town for nearly an hour. Could be she was visiting a friend, or having dinner at a café. Whatever the case, it was Ricky’s job to figure it out.
Upon entering the zone in question, he slowed but did not stop until he reached the far end of the tower’s range. No cafés or businesses or anything of that nature. Not along the main highway, anyway. There were several roads leading away from the highway—four along the west side, and seven along the east. Of these, only five were paved.
Ricky grinned. Options made a hunt fun.
Heading back the way he’d come, he turned down the first road on his right, one of the dirt ones. Scattered along it were a few homes set within the trees. Ricky stopped just long enough near each driveway to snag a quick, stealth picture of its mailbox, as all had addresses on them and most had names, too. Rosario could cross-check them against people who they knew had interacted with Patterson.
The next right turn off the highway—another dirt road—was a private driveway. He snapped another mailbox photo and moved on.
After exploring a few more streets, he had yet to come across a single business, and was beginning to think Patterson must have stopped at a house. It was the easiest explanation for why she’d remained in the area so long.
The next dirt road—on the east side—started off as more of the same, but soon he realized it was longer than the others. As he neared what he guessed was the outer edge of the cell tower’s reach, he spotted another dirt road, heading north into the woods. It was wider than the other driveways, and had no mailbox standing sentry at the end.
Town at the Edge of Darkness Page 9
