Page 24

Twenty-Four

Jackson

“That’s the rental.”

I point at Stephanie’s vehicle, tucked up against the trees on the side of the driveway. It looks to be empty.

We left Jonas’s truck parked on the opposite side of the road, right by a river access trail. Let them think we’ve gone fishing. My mother’s last message mentioned a trailer and Troy in the same sentence. Only one place I could think of where Stephanie might be going; Tracy’s place. She probably spoke with Vallard, I’m just not clear on what the hell Ma is doing with her.

Junior Ewing will be pissed we didn’t wait for the sheriff’s deputy to get here, but neither Jonas nor I are about to sit on our hands until he arrives. We called him as we were leaving the ranch, but he said he had his hands full with an explosion at the Country Inn in downtown Libby he’d just been called out to, but he promised to send one of his deputies.

We passed the Country Inn on our way to Troy and could see it was a chaotic scene. Smoke billowed from the rear of the property, and it looked like the entire fire department had rolled out and was trying to stop the fire from spreading throughout the hotel. I’m guessing people got hurt, because we spotted at least two ambulances in the parking lot as we drove by, as well as a number of sheriff’s cruisers.

It was clear emergency services would have their hands full for a while, so I’m not holding my breath for that deputy he promised. Besides, other than flash a badge, there’s nothing some snot-nosed community college graduate can do that Jonas or I can’t do better.

“Where the fuck is she?”

Jonas scans the trees for a sign of my mother, who is nowhere to be seen. She did say she was hiding, but I know my mother, I doubt she stayed put like Jonas told her to do.

“She still not answering her messages?”

Jonas checks his phone again, clearly annoyed. “No, and let’s just hope it’s because she was smart enough to turn off the ringer, and not for any other reason. Let’s check the trailer.”

We’ve been quiet in our movements so far, speaking in low voices and attempting not to announce our approach, but we’re about to step out into the open. I move the rifle I brought to my left hand and pull the handgun from my waistband with my right. I have no idea what we’re walking into, only that at some point there was shooting. I’m not taking any chances.

The trailer looks empty, but it’s clear there’s been activity recently.

“It rained overnight,” Jonas observes, pointing at what looks to be a muddy footprint on the front step. “Which would mean that was left sometime this morning.”

Makes sense, otherwise the rain would’ve washed it away.

“Small print. Woman?” I suggest.

“Probably.” He tries the front door, which is locked.

“Looks like whoever it was tried to peek in the window here. The grass is trampled.”

Jonas leads the way around to the back of the house where he points to a narrow trail that seems to run along the back of the neighboring properties. It’s really no more than a game trail, but Jonas crouches down and appears to examine the ground.

“I count at least three different prints.” He indicates several overlapping tracks.

One looks to be the same small boot print as from the front step. It’s smooth, with little ridging, and is superimposed on two others. Those look to have been made by something a little heavier, with deep treads like a hiking or a combat boot. All prints are aimed in the same direction though.

I follow Jonas, keeping a sharp eye on our surroundings and making sure our flanks and rear are clear, while he keeps his attention ahead on the trail. We never served together, but seem to instinctively fall into our respective roles.

I almost run into him when he suddenly slows down.

“ There ,” he mouths, pointing toward what looks to be a junkyard, at an old Chrysler LeBaron which is rusting underneath an old, knotty tree.

Squinting my eyes, I try to make out what he’s looking at. A slight movement catches my eye and now I see my mother, most of her hidden from view from this angle. I give Jonas a thumbs-up in acknowledgment. Ma is crouched by the taillight on the driver’s side, hidden in the shadows of the large tree. She appears to be shielding herself from view from the rundown mobile home on the property.

Then I hear a muffled voice, coming from the direction of the trailer. A man’s voice.

Jonas hears it too and turns to me, a finger to his lips. Then he gestures for me to take cover while he approaches Ma. I don’t argue, it’s hard to move in complete silence with a prosthetic leg, and the last thing we want to do is startle my mother into giving herself away. Whoever is inside that trailer could be watching right now.

For an old guy, Jonas is still pretty limber, making himself as small as possible and using his surroundings as cover, as he moves toward the Chrysler. At the same time, I find cover behind an old RV and tuck the gun back in my waistband before lifting my rifle to my shoulder. Pressing my eye against the scope, which has a 15x magnification range, I find the trailer in my sight, keeping an eye out for any movement.

A piercing scream has the hair on my neck stand on end, and it takes every ounce of my control not to depress the finger I have lightly curled around the trigger.

With a quick sideways glance, I catch Jonas closing in on Ma, who is getting up out of her crouch. I watch him band his arms around her from behind, covering her mouth with a hand as he pulls her back. Then he begins retracing his steps, holding her close to him.

Time slows down to a crawl, and I fight with everything in me not to go charging the trailer I’m, once again, closely watching for movement. If Stephanie is in there, I won’t be helping her by announcing our approach, and possibly turn her into a human shield. Unless it’s Tracy in that trailer, and that scream belonged to her.

There’s really no way to tell, which is why we need some more clarity I hope my mother will be able to provide.

“Fall back,” Jonas mumbles as he passes, pulling Ma to shelter.

With one last look at the trailer home, I lower my rifle and join them, ducking behind the ramshackle motorhome. Ma does not look happy, and neither does Jonas, who is trying to stare her down. You’d think by now he’d know that’s a battle you can’t win with her.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Jonas growls, cracking first as expected. “Sneaking around the woods by yourself, fueled by more balls than brains.”

I’m not sure that’s the way to approach Ma, but it’s too late to intervene, she’s already building up steam.

“Watch your mouth or you’ll find out what I can do with your balls,” she spits. “And for the record, I wasn’t by myself, I was with Stephanie?—”

“Who is a goddamn FBI agent,” he interrupts. “For fuck’s sake, Alex.”

“She’s the mother of my future grandbabies, you moron, and she was in trouble.”

Jesus, this is not helpful, so when Jonas opens his mouth to respond, I hold up my hands to cut them off. The comment about grandbabies I tuck away for later consideration.

“Enough,” I hiss, focusing my attention on my mother. “In as few words as possible, what the fuck happened?”

Ma nods sharply and takes a deep breath, while Jonas audibly grinds his teeth together.

“Stephanie was looking for a phone and told me to wait in the car, which I did. Then she disappeared behind the house and messaged me she found a trail she was checking out. The only reason I left the car then was so I could keep an eye on her.”

“Christ,” Jonas groans, dropping his head in his hands.

“From a distance,” Ma hisses, before she turns back to me. “Anyway, I didn’t have any cell reception or I would’ve called. Especially after that guy showed up when I was checking around the trailer.”

“What guy?” I interrupt.

“I don’t know, I heard something, turned around and some guy was checking out Stephanie’s car. I’ve never seen him. He had the door open and poked his head inside. I couldn’t really see what he was doing, but when the first shot rang out, he backed out of the car with a gun in his hand, so I ducked down and hid under the trailer.”

“He shot the gun?” Jonas prompts.

“No, the shots were a distance away.”

“So more than one?” I try to clarify.

“A single shot first, I hid, and the guy came up the drive, moved right by the trailer and around the back. That’s when there were two more shots, in quick succession, and he started running in the direction of the sound. Three in total, I think. Or maybe four.”

“And you thought it was a good idea to follow?” Jonas snaps.

“Stephanie is out there, people were shooting, and now this strange guy waving a gun is heading in her direction. Hell yes, I thought it was a good idea to stack the odds in her favor.”

I motion for them to keep it down; the volume of this hushed conversation is starting to creep up.

Suddenly, I hear a woman’s voice yell, “Please, no!” followed by the sharp crack of a gunshot.

An ice-cold fist closes around my heart.

Surely the universe couldn’t be this cruel.

* * *

Stephanie

Earlier

This place is a pigsty.

Aside from the empty food wrappers and containers, the crumpled up beer cans everywhere, and the stench of rotting garbage and body odor, every surface seems to be covered in a thick layer of grime and dirt. I don’t think this place has seen a mop or a sponge in decades.

If I could wipe my face, I would, but the best I can do is rub the cheek that was pressed into the dirt on the floor on my shoulder. My hands are tied tightly behind my back with zip ties, so those are basically useless. My ankles are bound with more zip ties, but at least I’m still able to kick out. That is, if that coward would come close enough. Instead, he’s sitting on a stool at a Formica kitchen table at a safe distance, sipping a damn beer.

Mitchel Laine. Damn, time hasn’t been kind to him.

He can’t be more than forty-five but looks at least a decade older, with a rapidly receding hairline and a face even a mother would have a hard time loving.

Yet Tracy fell for him. He must have a way with words, because I don’t see the attraction. Of course he had five years of virtual anonymity to groom her before meeting her in person.

Tracy .

My eyes find the woman, hunched down in a corner of the kitchen. Poor thing, she can’t have had any idea what she was getting herself into. When I get her out of here, I’m sure this experience will leave deep scars long after her body has healed.

Because I will get her out of here, if it’s the last thing I do. Unfortunately, my right arm is useless and there’s no way I’ll be able to get out of these zip ties with one hand. Also, my gun is at the bottom of the rain barrel, and Laine’s weapon on the kitchen table is right in front of him. Not that I’d trust myself to shoot anything at this point, it’s tricky enough left-handed, but I’m also starting to feel a little lightheaded. Maybe it’s blood loss, or maybe I’m going into shock. Either way, I may need a little assistance.

For now, all I can try and do is keep Laine talking until help arrives. I know Vallard will eventually find his way here—he may be a shit person, but he’s a good investigator—or maybe Alex will call in the troops when I don’t return.

I remember Laine had a massive ego and a penchant to rant when I collared him all those years ago. Maybe if I provoke a little, I can get him to talk.

“So what’s the plan, Mitchel?” I challenge him.

There has to be a reason he didn’t simply put another bullet in me and finish the job.

His beady eyes focus on me, but instead of answering, he takes another swig of his beer.

“Don’t tell me you don’t have one? You had years inside with nothing better to do.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks at my taunt, but still no word. I try a different tack.

“Bet you weren’t expecting to find me here, were you?”

He unexpectedly barks out a hoarse laugh at that.

“Stupid bitch. Why do you think I’m here?” He turns his head and jerks it in Tracy’s direction. “For that bitch? Please. A means to an end, lady.”

Tracy’s whole body jerks as if he kicked her.

“What end, Mitchel? That’s what I’d like to know.”

The grin he sends me is bone-chilling.

“Don’t play me for an idiot. You know exactly why I’m here; the money.”

I’m confused, and the moment I take to process what he’s saying doesn’t make it any clearer.

“What money?”

“The money you bastards stole from me.”

He slams down the empty can and snatches up his weapon, aiming it at me as he gets up on his feet. Tracy whimpers in her corner.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t give me that, you’re in this up to your eyeballs and you know it. It was all a setup to get me to take the fall while you guys took off with my money.”

Agitated, he starts pacing, waving his gun around, and I breathe a little easier now it’s no longer pointed at my head. In the meantime, I’m desperately trying to make sense of what he’s saying.

“We fucking grew up together,” he rambles, shaking his head. “Got through high school together, shared pot and girls, and ran into trouble as a team.”

I have no idea who he’s talking about, but it isn’t me. For one thing, I’d have known about any connections between us when I arrested him all those years ago. From what I recall, he grew up in or around Detroit, and Traverse City has always been home to me. Not to mention, he’s a fair bit older than I am. Our paths wouldn’t have crossed.

But I don’t interrupt. Let him rant; as long as he’s talking, I’m not only learning, I’m buying time.

“Hell, we broke into cars in the hospital parking lot together,” he continues. “We were tight, even after landing on opposite sides of the fence.”

Opposite sides of the fence?

“Who are you talking about?” I can’t help asking.

He swings the gun around and steps close, pressing the barrel against my forehead. Tracy screams.

“Shut up, you dumb cunt,” he barks at her before turning back to me. “And you, don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly who. Where is the money, bitch?”

“I swear, I don’t know anything about any money.”

My eyes find Tracy, who is watching us with tears streaming down her face and her fist shoved in her mouth.

“She doesn’t.”

I snap my head around at the sound of Ben Vallard’s voice, coming from the doorway, and am immediately flooded with relief. Thank God.

“Like hell she doesn’t,” Laine snaps, apparently not at all surprised by Vallard’s sudden appearance. The gun in his hand doesn’t even waver an inch and is still firmly pressed against my head. “She wasn’t just your partner; she was in your goddamn bed. Keeping it all in the family, isn’t that what you said? I knew you’d fucking follow me, and you followed me straight here, didn’t you?”

Wait . Keeping what all in the family?

I watch as Ben’s eyes turn to slits and the corner of his mouth pulls up a fraction.

“You’re making it so easy,” he taunts. “What were you thinking, vandalizing trucks and setting fires? That was you, wasn’t it? What were you trying to accomplish?”

“Drawing you out, you moron,” Laine reacts. “And it ultimately worked, didn’t it? Here you are, and I have a gun to your girlfriend’s head, ready to blow it off unless you give me back what you stole from me.”

“You’re a little behind the times, my friend. She’s not my girlfriend, and frankly, you’d be doing me a service. The fewer witnesses left, the better.”

My heart lodges in my throat.

“Please, no!” Tracy yells.

The last thing I hear is the loud reverberation of a gunshot and I find myself once more with my face pressed against the dirty linoleum, before everything goes dark.