Dressed in White

by Diana Stone

  “Let’s go!” I try to look confident.

  He takes my hand as we head toward the garage. The place is empty—we’re the last ones here. Then we drive out the gate on the way to our objective.

  We’re quiet, we don’t have any last minute plans. That’s alright, because there’s a lot of air noise coming through the cloth roof. His hand is in my lap, or mine is in his, for most of the ride. It’s comforting.

  We slowly pass through Lompoc. I feel nostalgic seeing the streets where I followed him, then we pass his mother’s restaurant, and his condo.

  It’s nearly 7:00 p.m. when we drive into Solvang. He pulls down a quiet side street and lets me out. I jump into a little car with a paid driver. The man says hello, but doesn’t look it me. I bet he thinks we’re doing something shady. He drives me a few blocks and drops me next to my truck.

  My poor truck looks abandoned and dirty parked on the empty street. I’m aware the goons could have a tracking device on it. I know Quinn has one as well, and it’s still working. We know it hasn’t been moved.

  I get in and turn over the big engine with a loud, cold start, put it into reverse, and get out of here before anyone can attempt something—this isn’t the right place. We need it staged at the ranch. I know Quinn is parked a block over. He’ll stay close by driving a few blocks in front of me. We have our route laid out. When the roads turn into empty country lanes, I slow more and Quinn steps on it to get to the ranch before my followers know where I’m going. I’m not sure if I see anyone or not. It’s too hard to tell with the traffic leaving town for the evening.

  I turn left onto my street and pass my favorite sign “This is Horse Country. Slow Down.” I keep my speed at about 25 MPH. I think a car is on my tail. It’s a dark color and has maintained its distance for the last two miles. That may not mean anything, I’ll have to see. I hope he is following. We need to get this show going!

  My right onto our dirt driveway feels like home… because I have four good men covering my back. The wine barrels are still on each side of the driveway from when I placed them here for Jacqueline-Noelle’s party. I’ve had some good times here which at the time didn’t feel so good.

  I pull up to the house. The plan is to get my clothes since I have to do that anyhow. I open the front door. Hmm, it smells like bleach.

  Quinn’s soft voice comes over a hidden camera and speaker in the living room, “Don’t jump, it’s me.”

  This is the first time we’ve been able to speak since he dropped me off. I didn’t dare in the truck, in case they had it bugged. I close the door and look around.

  “Hi gorgeous.” I reply, hoping to sound confident. “Will you check for a car following me? It’s a dark sedan. He kept his distance, so it could have been anyone.”

  “A car drove past when you turned off the road. We lost sight of him around the bend.”

  “Ok. I’ll get moving with packing.” Nikki’s furniture is still here. I guess she’s leaving it until this situation goes away. I brace myself for the blood on my bedroom floor. But there isn’t any! Someone cut a hole in the carpet and bleached the heck out of the plywood underneath. It’s still wet, so it must have been one of the guys.

  “Thank you for getting rid of the blood!”

  “You’re welcome.” Comes a voice from another hidden speaker.

  I get a few garbage bags from the kitchen and pile my clothes inside. I’m not sure where I’ll be staying, but it won’t be here. Nothing is happening, but it’s only been ten minutes. I wonder if anything will. Maybe this is all in our heads. Maybe Mr. C pulled his guys off.

  An hour later, I’ve made four trips to the truck and sat on the bed, doing nothing. I’ll check the barn to see if I have anything left. “At the barn.” I unnecessarily announce.

  The barn and pastures are empty. There are no horse noises, or hooves banging on the feeders, demanding dinner. Nikki took all her saddles. There are some supplies left on the shelf—liniment, and hoof dressing, but that’s about it. I guess she’ll get those later.

  My saddle and bridle are the only things I have here. They’re sitting all alone on a rack. There’s already a light coat of dust covering the seat from lack of use. I pick them up and add them to my collection of clothes in the back seat.

  “Car coming up the driveway. Black sedan with two occupants.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Stand by. There’s a second, stopped at end of the driveway. Two occupants.”

  “Roger.”

  Here we go...

  42

  It’s Show Time

  The sun has dipped well below the mountains. Night is fast approaching. Our plan is working—so far. I stand by the saddle racks in the open center of the barn. I’m removing the racks and stacking them, like I’m going to take them.

  The car comes speeding up. The gravel scatters as he slides to a stop with the hood at the open double doors. I look like a deer caught in their headlights.

  The two men I recognize from the saloon slowly step toward me.

  “Well looky what we have here,” says one dangerous man in a sickening voice.

  The other one says, “We won’t hurt you, we just want to talk.”

  When they start with that, it isn’t a good sign. I do what we planned. I slowly back away, down the dark aisle with windowless stalls on both sides. It would be a horrible place to keep a horse, but perfect for this.

  It looks like I’m going down a hole with no escape.

  “What do you want? I don’t know where Tony is.” It comes out sounding afraid—a little more than I’m actually feeling.

  “It’s all about justice. Your friend killed our friends,” he rages.

  That’s all I need to hear. The other one starts saying they have Tony, but I’ve just spun and am running straight down the aisle to the last stall on the right.

  I hear their footfalls behind me. We placed several rakes and shovels along the way that I’m flinging down as I pass. These are to make sure I make it to the stall… if not, I’m up shit-creek.

  The garbage can and rakes do their job slowing them, as well as holes and dirt mounds. I turn into the right stall and slide the door shut... It locks. I’m now looking out from behind the bars.

  They arrive a few seconds behind me. “Now we have you. You lead us on a real chase. Where is your friend?”

  “Which one?” I’m sure they mean Quinn, but they could mean Nikki.

  “Don’t get cute with me. You know who I mean,” he lashes out.

  “My boyfriend?”

  “Yeah. He’s gonna come rescue you and die doing it.”

  “He was saving my life. Your friends would have killed me.” I gasp.

  “No, they don’t kill women. They were only going to have a little fun,” he wickedly laughs.

  “With my knee caps.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Enough talking,” he tries to slide the stall open, but it won’t move.

  “The damned door’s stuck,” he says to his friend.

  “Let me try.” The other one grabs the bars and tries to move it. Nothing happens.

  “What’s wrong with the door?”

  “I guess it’s old. That’s OK, we’ll keep her here. She can’t get out, since we can’t get in.”

  “Makes sense.” He turns to me, “Call your boyfriend. Tell him we have you.”

  I pull out my phone, avoiding the .38 in my jacket pocket. “I’ll text him. That’s how I contact him.”

  “Whatever,” he looks distracted as another car skids to a stop at the barn door.

  “Who’s that?” he asks me.

  “How would I know?” I assume it’s the second car. But why don’t they know?

  They hurry out of the aisle, toward the saddling area.

  They’ve also left our trap. This is a glitch on our part.

  “What are you guys doing here?” It sounds like they’re friends.

  I can’t hear the reply. Our team can, but I don’t have instant
communication with them. I also can’t hear from our hidden surveillance system. I want to call Quinn, but I wait. He’ll call me if it’s urgent.

  A second later my cell vibrates: Quinn’s text. “Get out. They’re going to kill you. Go!”

  I don’t reply. He has read my receipt.

  I push the lower boards apart and wiggle out on the ground. I shove them back, to delay them a few seconds thinking I’m hiding in the corner. I jump to my feet and run to the gully.

  I’m not thinking of much except staying on my feet in the twilight. They want to kill me? They want that more than finding Quinn? I trip and almost sprawl, but keep my balance, just in time. I don’t think these buildings are the safest place either. They may come looking here. So I head up the hill into the brush. It’s chilly, so hopefully the rattlers are in their cozy holes for the night.

  I tunnel under the sage and text Quinn my location. He gives a single word answer. I know he has some good recordings of their conversations. He needs to get the police here. Though, they’ll scatter like cockroaches when they smell law enforcement. He and the guys will be planning their next move. I’ll stay here, out of the way.

  Another car turns down the driveway. Geez, this is turning into a real quagmire. Two guys were expected, then two more changed the plan. Now another two?

  No, it’s a little Mercedes, just like Jacqueline-Noelle’s. Oh shit… it is her!

  I pull out my cell, and whip out a text, alerting Quinn.

  What the hell is she doing here? I sent her a text, email, and voice mail telling her to stay away. She replied to my text asking me to let her know when it’s safe.

  So what is she doing here?

  She pulls up to the barn. I can’t see the front because of the angle.

  Quinn texts me: “That stupid woman is demanding they get off her property. Is she an idiot?”

  “??” I have no idea. I thought she was pretty smart.

  “Can you guess what just happened?”

  “Someone just punched her?”

  “Slapped her. He told her he hates French women. They’re all sitting at the table. Damn it, the woman won’t shut up.”

  He can see and hear them from the surveillance equipment. He’s safely on the hill behind camouflage.

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Yes. I spoke with the p.m. watch commander again. He’s the same one I advised this afternoon. He can fill in his deputies.”

  This is getting messy. There are four suspects, and potentially one idiot hostage.

  “Oh. She just told them she’s your friend.”

  “Damn.” But that’s nice to know.

  “I’ll let you know if something happens. I have to focus.”

  I don’t waste his time with texting ‘OK.’

  I’m sitting up here thinking about nothing—just waiting to respond. I have a view down the driveway. Ah, here come the police. Their lights are off. They drive part way, then come the rest of the way on foot. Quinn must be in contact with them, keeping them updated.

  This is a really crummy place to have a hostage situation. The barn is on a rise, and there is nothing within 75-feet of it. There is no way for the deputies to sneak up without being in plain sight. Of course, Quinn knows the suspects are sitting at the table… if they still are.

  A vibration incoming text from Quinn: “Just what we thought… she’s now a hostage. She’ll be calling you to tell you to come help her. Don’t answer the phone. I’m talking to the police now.”

  Oh boy.

  A minute later an incoming call vibrates. I don’t answer it. She leaves a message. “Jessica, this is Jacqueline-Noelle. I’m in the barn with dangerous men. They are holding me captive. They’ll let me go if you speak with them. That’s all they want, to speak with you. What? Oh, he just said not to call the police.” She sounds almost normal, but with a hint of tension running through her accent.

  With this recording, if one of the shit-men gets shot, its evidence of their actions. We’re already talking multiple felonies.

  I see two officers jog through the gully below me. Another two go through the vineyard on the west side of the pasture. Oh… the interior barn lights just went off. The suspects must have seen, or sensed, something.

  Quinn texts: “It’s going to hell in a hand basket. Stay where you are!”

  I hear a woman’s scream. What are they doing to her? I have to rely on our four guys and the police to do something… I have no idea what’s going on. They’re the ones with the cameras.

  My phone vibrates. Jacqueline-Noelle: “They’re going to kill me unless you come back. They know you’re out there.” Her accent is so strong I can hardly understand her.

  She screams again, long and loud. I’m supposed to sit here while they do something awful to her? This is my fault.

  Quinn: “Don’t go down there. This is falling apart. The police set up a sniper, but can’t see. The doors are closed. I’m the only one who knows where the suspects are. DO NOT GO THERE.”

  How does he know I’m about to try to help? I know the patrol officers won’t run into the barn. Quinn and his guys might be tempted, but it isn’t their way of working. I’m not sure if Quinn is actually in the DEA, or if he’s some kind of contractor. The other three of our team are civilians. They can’t jeopardize their freedom to go in and shoot the suspects—or miss them, and the resulting fiasco of hitting a victim. The lawsuits and the criminal charges would be horrendous.

  Is no one going to do anything?

  I text him. “What’s happening?”

  “Nothing. Police are in the gully. Our team is turning it over to law enforcement. You’re on your hill… staying there.”

  Another awful scream echoes up the hill.

  A text comes from her phone. “Listen to her scream. It’s your fault she broke her leg. You can stop it. Come down here. We’ll let her go when you get here. We just want to find out where Tony is.”

  I forward it to Quinn.

  “If you go there I’ll… Shit, woman. Don’t go down there.” His text burns with emotion.

  “You can’t help her, and the police won’t go in. I’m the only one who can sneak in the hole in the stall. I have two guns and know how to use them.”

  “We’re getting together with the police to share the infrared. Stay there!”

  “OK, hurry.”

  A few minutes later, he texts that SWAT is on the way.

  A few minutes after that I get another text on Jacqueline-Noelle’s phone: “You have five minutes before she permanently loses the leg.”

  I send it to Quinn. “SWAT won’t make it in five minutes. I’m going through the stall. I’m going in.”

  I jam the phone in my jeans, and slide on my hip part way down the gravelly hill, keeping to the shadows. I make it to the stall without anything happening. Then I quietly pull apart the boards and squeeze in. Someone grabs at my foot as I pull it through. Agh! I startle but thankfully don’t make a noise.

  It’s Quinn. “Come back here,” he pants. He ran from their mini command post—where ever that is.

  “No.” I creep to the stall door and carefully undo the latch from the inside. I slide it open a centimeter at a time. It groans. I stop. No one comes running. I hear them arguing in the main aisle. I slide another few rolls of the wheel. It’s open enough for me to squeeze through. I step into the dark aisle and pick my way over the rakes and shovels.

  I stop when I see one man at the front doors, keeping watch to the west. The other is at the back, watching the hill. The third is standing at the bench with a shovel in his hand. Jacqueline-Noelle is lying on the ground, curled in a ball.

  I don’t see the forth. That’s bad.

  “It’s time,” the man with the shovel announces as he looks at his watch. He raises the shovel above his head…

  43

  And…

  I take aim with my .45 before he gets a chance to slam it down on her poor body. Before I can squeeze the trigger, someone
else does.

  It hits him center mass in the chest. They don’t need to fire a second round—the first did the job.

  The barn bursts into gunfire. The suspect watching at the door goes for his weapon. I’m watching him when I see him bring up his weapon at someone coming from the back of the barn. Before he can fire at the officer, he gets hit and slides down the door, leaving a bloody streak on the white paint.

  The suspect watching the back of the barn is on the ground—he’s been shot.

  “Here you are,” says a wicked voice.

  In my peripheral vision I see a hand holding a gun. I feel it slam onto my temple.

  “Drop the gun. Drop it!” he bellows in my ear.

  I open my fingers and let the Glock fall.

  He throws his left arm around my neck and drags me back to the darker area. His gun is shoved against my head.

  “I got her. I’ll kill her,” he shouts.

  His arm is squeezing my larynx. I’m having trouble breathing and begin coughing.

  “Stop it. I can’t hear. Shut up,” he snaps.

  “I can’t breathe.” I gasp out.

  “You’ll be doing less in a while.”

  I don’t say anything.

  “You’re my ticket out of here… Then you die.”

  I’m smashed against his chest, so when he wants to move forward to the saddling area, it’s easy to transmit that order to me without words. He just walks forward, and so must I. Then he turns me around, facing the direction the bullets came through the barn.

  He ducks his head behind mine as he steps backward, dragging me with his left arm clenched around my throat. My head is blocking the sniper’s view. He’s holding me up by my throat, stopping me from dropping to the ground like I want to. He must know that trick.

  I feel the barrel pressing hard against my head. I know his finger is quivering on the trigger. He’s nervous, and I hope like hell he doesn’t squeeze it too hard.