Thirty-Nine
“You ever get a song stuck in your head?” Dwight asked conversationally, as he bent his knees and dug his hands under a boulder. “Man, I do. Had ‘We Are the Champions’ playing over and over all night. Kind of funny, considering.” He straightened his legs and struggled under the weight, huffing as he staggered a few steps until the boulder was hovering over the Captain. He relished the sight of Morgan’s eyes going wide as he realized what was about to happen. He tried to speak, but Dwight had stuffed an old sock in his mouth and duct-taped over it. Dwight watched him struggle, straining fruitlessly against the ropes lashing him between two trees, head thrashing from side to side.
Dwight released his hands suddenly. The rock landed squarely on the Captain’s chest. He watched as Sam writhed beneath it, screaming silently. Dwight slapped his palms together, brushing the grit off them.
“Pan-fort-eh-dirt,” he proclaimed in mangled French. “Old-school torture. Figured you’d appreciate that.”
He ducked back into the forest, scanning the ground. Fifteen feet away he found another good-size rock, not as big as the first one but perfect for pinning down an arm. He bent his knees again, careful to lift properly; he had miles to go after this, couldn’t risk jamming up his back. As it was, the adrenaline was wearing off and underneath it he was dog tired. Good thing he’d been doing his exercises, otherwise he’d never have managed this.
After he was done with the Captain he’d try to hitch a ride and head farther north. He’d heard you could make a fortune on the fishing boats in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Dwight lurched back to the clearing. They were about a mile into the woods, far enough from the road and the diner that he didn’t think anyone could hear them. This was remote country, anyway, probably not a house for miles.
He dumped the rock on the Captain’s right arm. Morgan went rigid with pain again, his head snapping back and forth. The boulder on his chest was making it hard for him to breathe, and he was wheezing through his nose. Dwight squatted beside him. “Huh. Gotta admit, I’m torn. I want this to take a while, but not long enough for someone to come by, you know what I mean? Maybe I’ll switch this out for a smaller rock.” He vanished into the woods again.
Sam Morgan straightened his right arm, locking out the elbow and flexing his muscles so that it lifted off the ground despite the weight of the rock. He struggled, straining at the ropes as he rolled his arm, trying to shift so that the rock slipped off. Veins throbbed blue. His arm muscles went ropy with the effort, and his breath wheezed harder through his nose. The rock yielded, moving a fraction of an inch, and he pressed the advantage, trying to shift it to the side. But after a long moment it dropped back into position, crushing his arm. A bone cracked, sharp and loud like a branch splitting, and his legs thrashed the ground in agony. His head arched back in a silent scream of pain. A tear edged out of his right eye and wound toward the dirt below.
Dwight reemerged from the woods. “Here we go!” he chirped, lifting a large chunk of granite over his head. “This one’s for you, Ma,” Dwight said before dropping it.
Kelly waited nervously. She wished McLarty would say something. She’d called to update him, fully aware that at this point he was probably getting better intel than she was. Since he’d originally asked to be informed of any changes, this was their third conversation of the day. A team of park rangers and Vermont State Police officers had found a Mercedes just outside the park on one of the back roads. The owner was stuffed in the trunk, dehydrated and bleeding, but more or less okay. They were waiting for confirmation on prints but, based on the description, the carjacker was Dwight Sullivan. Looked as if Dwight hadn’t bothered to kill a final victim before leaving the States, which was the best news of the day so far.
“So we’re pretty sure he also managed to cross the border,” McLarty finally said.
“Yes, sir. Looks that way.”
“I have to say, Jones, this is disappointing. You can probably imagine the crap I’m getting from our brothers in Canada. This is blowing up into an international incident.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I believe I did everything I could.” Kelly sat at the desk back in the command center. Despite his protests, she’d sent Colin home, haggard and exhausted. The room was unbearably stuffy, irritating her already pounding skull. Fatigue caused her head to nod involuntarily, sleep dragging at the cusp of her consciousness. She just needed to get through this conversation, then she could lie down for a few minutes. The thought was so tempting she had to force herself to focus on the phone in her hand and the voice on the other end of the line.
McLarty sighed. “I wish that was enough. We’re going to have to see how this plays out. Make sure you get that Sommers guy released ASAP, with our abject apologies. Hopefully he won’t sue. If we can apprehend the two fugitives, I can probably mitigate the impact of this on your career. You followed procedure to the letter, right? Because this is one of those times that any cowboy moves will come back and bite you in the ass. So make sure all your paperwork is in order, double-check your warrants. You hear what I’m saying to you, Jones?” McLarty said.
“I hear you, sir.” She had to remind herself that, nice guy that he was, McLarty was still a consummate politician—you didn’t rise to his position without that skill. He was warning her to CYA, or “cover your ass.” Meaning if everything wasn’t in order already, she better get it there, and fast. She started to run back through the case in her mind, itemizing her actions. Then an image of Zach’s face forced itself to the forefront and her eyes filled with tears.
“How’s the kid?” McLarty asked, less gruffly.
“He slipped into a coma,” she said flatly. She’d sat with Monica for hours, keeping vigil. When Dr. Stuart showed up, awkwardly balancing steaming coffee cups and a wilted bouquet, Kelly had excused herself. Easing the door shut behind her, she saw that Stuart had enveloped Monica in his arms and was rocking her gently.
McLarty paused again. “Sorry to hear it. What’s the name of the hospital? I’ll have my assistant send flowers.”
She told him, waited as he scribbled it down. “Is that all, sir?” she asked after a moment.
He hesitated before saying, “Actually, Jones, I was thinking this might be the perfect time for you to take that vacation. The case is pretty much over now, probably be good for you to clear your head a little.”
Kelly sat up straight in her chair, all traces of sleepiness banished. “Is this a vacation, or am I suspended?”
McLarty chuckled. “Don’t be so paranoid, Jones. You’re one of the best agents I’ve got, I’m not letting go of you that easily. The fallout from this is going to attract media attention for weeks. It probably couldn’t hurt to wait things out on a beach somewhere.”
“Is that better for me, or better for the Bureau?” Kelly asked.
McLarty paused again before saying, “Let’s just say it’s better all around, okay? For now, refer all media inquiries to me, and lay low. Take another day or two to wrap up the paperwork and loose ends, then get out of there.”
Jan drew a deep breath before pushing open the door to the station manager’s office. He was a bald guy, fat, who always let his eyes trail from her hips to her breasts before meeting her gaze with a slow smile. Not today, though. He frowned as he looked up from the desk and saw her standing there. Jan’s heart sank at his expression. “Close the door,” he snapped, and she slowly complied.
Not that she wasn’t prepared. She’d taken the time to go home, shower and change. She’d devoted even more attention than usual to her hair and makeup, and wore her light blue suit, the most expensive one in her wardrobe. It had set her back almost a grand, but was worth it for the way it framed her tits. Saline drops had dispersed most of the redness in her eyes, though they still felt cracked and raw. She’d been up most of the night chasing the tail of the story with Mike and Joe, arriving at each scene only to discover to her enormous frustration that they’d just missed all the action. They’d been scooped by almost every other station, both local and national. All her hopes of yesterday were dashed. She felt like a fool.
The station manager swiveled in his chair and regarded her, face blank, absentmindedly scratching at something inside his ear. Sweat marks stained his armpits and he’d taken off his shoes and socks. The smell of feet mingled with air freshener and permeated the room. “We’re going to be sorry to lose you,” he said casually, knocking the wind out of Jan’s lungs.
She struggled for a minute to remember the speech she’d rehearsed on her drive in. “But sir, there was no way to know…”
His eyebrows shot up. He listened to her, lips pressed in a smug line as she enumerated everything she’d done for the station over the years: all the good stories she’d dug up; how she’d poured her heart and soul into everything she did. She concluded with her best line, “If we can just forget these past twenty-four hours, I promise you I will be the best field reporter you’ve ever had. I’ll work twenty-four/seven. I won’t rest until I prove myself again….”
Jan’s voice trailed off. The station manager just sat there, watching her with an odd expression on his face, as if he was in on some private joke. She was distracted by a movement over his right shoulder, her eyes drawn to his computer. An image danced across the screen. It was an animation of Marilyn Monroe in her famous white dress, but this time when the wind blew it up she didn’t hold it down coquettishly, instead her arms waved in the air. And apparently she’d been unable to find panties. Jan looked away. Maybe she could get a sexual harassment suit going. It wouldn’t be easy, not in this backwater, but times were changing. If she hired a good lawyer and lucked into a female judge…
“Twenty-four/seven, huh? That does sound tempting,” the station manager said, rapping his knuckles against the armrests of his chair. His face split in a wider grin as he said slyly, “But you’re not fired, Jan.”
“What?”
“Nope. You’ve been called up. There’s an open chair at WFXT—they finally decided to mothball the girl they had there. She had another kid, never lost the weight, I guess. Anyway, they want a fresh young face. And based on some of your recent reports—” he jabbed a finger at her “—they decided on you.”
“WFXT? In Boston?” Jan’s mouth hung slightly open. For the first time in a long time, she was speechless.
“Yep. An anchor chair, too. Just like you always wanted. It’s the morning show, but still. Could work out well for you, play your cards right and don’t fuck up again.” He sounded almost jovial as he leaned forward and tapped her on a bare knee. “We’re gonna miss you around here, though. Don’t forget us little people, right?” He guffawed.
Jan recovered herself and smiled back at him, white teeth flashing as she joined in his laughter and said, “Forget you, Bob? Never.”
Dwight scrubbed his hands in the diner restroom. He’d already ordered the full lumberjack breakfast: ham and eggs and sausage and toast. His mouth watered at the thought of it, he was starving. The Captain had a wad of Canadian cash in his wallet, more than enough to get Dwight where he wanted to go. The waitress said truckers came through pretty regularly, if he stuck around he could probably hitch a ride north.
It had taken longer for the Captain to die than he’d anticipated—the guy turned out to be pretty tough. In spite of himself Dwight felt a pang of admiration. He’d sat on a log and watched as the Captain’s wheezing gradually slowed and stilled, the steady raising and lowering of his chest easing to a halt. The Captain’s eyes gazed upward toward the trees. They’d been darting around all day and then, suddenly, they went blank. Dwight wished he could have taken longer with him, but out in the open it was too risky and he couldn’t chance someone interrupting him. It had been slow enough, he figured. Ma would be pleased.
He splashed some water on his face and rubbed at the dirt on his cheeks, eyes squeezed shut. Keeping them closed, he reached out with his left hand, groping for the paper towel dispenser. His hand brushed something rough, and he squinted open one eye. Someone was handing him a paper towel. He twisted around, but the arm had already wrapped around his neck, locking him in a vise. He struggled, kicking back as his feet lifted off the floor and stars danced in front of his eyes, hands fighting to release the chokehold. After a minute he blacked out.
“Hello, Dwight,” Jake said, releasing his grip and letting him drop to the floor.
Forty
“Where the hell have you been?” Kelly demanded angrily, arms crossed in front of her chest.
“Why, you miss me?” Jake leaned forward and planted a kiss on her brow. “I sure as hell missed you.”
They were standing in their room at the B and B. Kelly had awoken from her nap to find Jake settled into the rocking chair in the corner, watching her. She’d forgotten to pull the shades before falling asleep, and night seeped in through the windows, the room lit only by a small lamp on the bedside table. She jolted to her feet at the sight of him, one half of her wanting to clasp him to her chest, the other demanding that she beat him senseless.
Kelly jerked away from his kiss. “I’m serious, Jake. You vanished, and stayed out of radio contact for almost a full day. What the hell happened?”
He shrugged. “Went after the bad guys.”
When he didn’t continue, she pressed, “And?”
He avoided her eyes. “And now I’m back. How’s the kid?”
“Still iffy, but he’s alive. I guess every hour he survives, his chances get better.”
“I bet he’ll be fine,” he said reassuringly. “Now come over here, plant a kiss on me.”
“I still want an explanation for why you went AWOL,” she said firmly.
“Hey, you were the one who said I was only along in an unofficial capacity,” he reminded her. “So technically, I didn’t go AWOL.”
Kelly’s cell phone rang. She marched over to the bedside table and grabbed it. “Yes?” she said sharply. Her eyes widened as she listened, then she said, “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll come by as soon as I can.” Snapping it shut, she turned back to Jake. “Apparently Dwight Sullivan just turned up.”