Chapter Nineteen
Glenstone Village, 10:30 p.m.
Jason had been discussing the best course of action over lunch with the Drakes when the odd text had come through to his cell phone. Together, with dribs and drabs of intel from Lucas, the three of them formulated a plan preventing Whelan from setting a trap for the director at either choke point.
Noah guarded the road out and Jason guarded the road in to Glenstone. Blue had been assigned to watch the hotel where DeRossi had booked a room and otherwise keep an eye out for problems in the town itself.
Jason had sent Blue and Noah a message when he’d spotted the cab a few hours back, and Blue quickly confirmed DeRossi and the director arrived safely at their destination. As the day had worn on, Blue kept them updated, but by late evening they were all frustrated no one had spotted Whelan.
Hearing a car on the road, he hunkered back into his hiding place, prepared to take a shot. He was shocked when a familiar battered Jeep pulled off to the side, crunching deeper into the fresh snow.
The door opened and the dome light of the car revealed the distinctive red hair of the woman he’d spotted at the scene of the explosion. The woman Holt had warned him about. “Your presence is requested, Specialist Grant,” she called out.
He didn’t move.
“The wolf is sleeping.”
He refused to take the bait.
“It is too cold out here for games, Grant. Mr. Camp sent me, now get in the car.”
Cautiously, he made his way closer, wary it might be a trap, but only people he trusted knew his exact position. “Who are you?”
“Get in the car.”
With his rifle over his shoulder, he went around to the passenger side. When both doors were closed the faint glow of the dash cast her fine features into a stark relief.
“Director Casey and Agent DeRossi are no longer suspected of any wrongdoing. I wanted to tell you myself.”
“You were following them?”
“I was on assignment,” she said. “Like you.”
It felt like she was leaving something out very important. “That’s it?”
She nodded. “You received an alert that I might be a problem.”
That got his full attention. Who had that kind of access to Mission Recovery communications?
“Knowing I wanted to personally assure you I am not a problem, Mr. Camp told me where to find you.”
Rather than questioning her claim, he was too busy listening to her voice. Smooth and lush. Despite the flat Midwestern tones she was using, he got the impression she could make it bend to any accent or dialect she chose. “We’ve met before,” Jason said, instead of demanding answers he knew she wouldn’t give.
“I’m flattered you think so. Now if you don’t mind, I have other business.” She flicked a hand, shooing him out of the car. “Back to your perch.”
“You said the wolf was sleeping.”
“And it was nice of you to believe me.” The Jeep groaned as she shoved the gearshift into Reverse. “But the wolf isn’t my assignment. Goodbye.”
Still confused, he emerged from the car, barely getting the door latched before she rumbled away. Whatever she’d said, he knew he’d seen her before.
Jason climbed back into his perch as she called it and heedless of the time difference, he sent her picture out to O’Marron for an opinion.
The lady was neck deep in this...but she was a friend of Lucas’s, which was the only reason he wasn’t freaking out.
Right now he had a job to do. He would figure that mystery out later.
Chapter Twenty
Glenstone Village, Saturday, October 18, 1:05 p.m.
Thomas and Jo showed the photo of Whelan around town, finally getting another hit at a local pub at the end of High Street.
“Yeah, he was here late last night,” the bartender said. “Closed the place down. And he showed back up again just a couple of hours ago. Had the French Dip sandwich with homemade chips and a beer. Was asking about renting a snowmobile.” The bartender shook his head. “Claimed he was a photographer but I wasn’t convinced.”
Jo figured Whelan wanted to scope out the resort. She considered it a miracle he hadn’t made an attempt yet. “Why didn’t you believe him?”
“We get plenty of tourists and professionals through here. He and his buddy just looked like a couple idiots out to tear up the fresh snow. They’d be more likely to cause an avalanche rather than document the scenery. Besides—” he shrugged “—you ever seen a photographer on location who didn’t have a camera around his neck even when he was eating?”
“Good point,” Jo allowed. She caught the strain on Thomas’s face. She wanted to touch him, but knew it would be more of a distraction than a comfort in his current mood.
“Did he use a credit card?”
The bartender shook his head at Thomas’s question. “Not here. We’re cash only.”
Thomas went rigid. “We’ll find him,” she promised, but she knew the words were empty until the threat was contained and the wedding party was safe.
“You can’t possibly rent a snowmobile without a credit card,” Thomas said to Jo. He asked the bartender, “Where would he start?”
“There are a couple places to rent snowmobiles. Closest one is up one block and turn left.”
“Thanks,” Thomas grumbled.
The bartender leaned closer, lowering his voice. “His buddy’s in the back shooting pool if you want to talk to him.”
Jo grinned. Finally. They were long overdue for a break. “I’ll take the friend, you find Whelan.”
His dark look told her what he thought of splitting up, but they were running out of time. “Good hunting,” she said.
With a resigned nod, he headed for the front door and she turned back to the bartender. “Can you point out the friend?”
“Sure.” The bartender gave her the kind of smile that explained he liked helping out the ladies far more than dealing with arrogant men.
Following him to the wide archway that marked the division between dining room and pool tables, she waited, sizing up the man he said had shown up with Whelan.
She watched her target for a few minutes as he worked the table. He might pass for mid-twenties with that dark hair and youthful face, but she’d bet money he was closer to mid-thirties. Confidence shined behind an affable smile. Scanning the others in the room, she’d say his boots and jeans were too new to pass for a local. Slick, she decided, as he dropped two balls with perfect shots and botched the third.
The other spectators jeered at his miss, but she was relatively confident he’d done it on purpose, leaving his opponent with no clear play.
He was toying with his opponent, who didn’t recognize the situation. Based on the thick stack of cash held down by an empty beer mug at one end of the pool table, he enjoyed the gamble.
She tamped down the urgency needling her, sensing an overly direct approach would backfire. Whether the rest of the room knew it or not, he could finish this game and walk away with the money at any point. Instead, she caught his eye and gave him a not-quite-bored smile.
His gaze slid over her from head to toe and back up again. The slow grin that followed made her want to race for the nearest shower with soap and a scrub brush.
She modified her assessment to slick with a dark side. However Whelan had connected with this guy, she’d bet he’d been more than happy to be part of the action.
His opponent at the table misjudged his bank shot and the spectators groaned in sympathy when the ball missed the pocket by the narrowest margin.
Slick stepped up to the table, his shoulders rolled back as he chalked his cue stick and evaluated the available plays. He leaned forward, prepared his shot, then sent her a wink over his shoulder.
Jo managed not to gag or roll her eyes.
He ran the table, sank the eight ball and gathered his winnings. Then he sauntered over and leaned in close. “Impressed?”
She thought he might be if she acted on the variety of ways she could take him down. “Maybe.” She gave herself bonus points for self-control as she nudged him back with a finger to his chest rather than a fist to his gut. “What can you tell me about your friend Whelan?”
His grin was sharp now. “You’d like me better.”
“I’m sure that’s true.” She flashed her identification and his eyes went wide. “Before I arrest you for accessory to murder,” she improvised, “why not tell me your side of the story.”
“Can we talk outside?” he said, glancing around the pool room.
“Sure.” They stepped through the back door into the lane behind the pub and she was grateful Thomas and his Specialists were somewhere in the vicinity. As soon as the door closed on the music she asked his name.
“Mike Smith.”
She didn’t bother asking for ID. It would be fake. “How’d you and Whelan meet?”
“Look, I saw an ad online and I answered it, that’s all. I didn’t do anything illegal.”
“What kind of ad?”
“The dude was looking for a driver who knew the area.”
“And you do.”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I grew up in Denver.”
Jo kept her gaze locked on Slick. There was something familiar about his face, but she couldn’t place it. This guy wasn’t going to be much help and he definitely didn’t grow up around here. She prayed Thomas was having better luck picking up Whelan’s trail. The last message from Lucas confirmed he hadn’t made it to the resort yet, but it was too easy to imagine this picturesque town leveled by a crazed attempt to kill Thomas in an explosive blaze. Even worse was the idea of the wedding party going out in the same way.
“Just tell me where he is and I’ll let you off with a warning.”
“He paid me to drive him around, that’s all. Told me he was done and I could head back anytime.”
She didn’t believe him. It wasn’t innocence or fear in his eyes, but calculation. Slick was stalling her and she needed to figure out why. “You stuck it out after a car exploded at the airport and even when he opened fire on another driver in Denver?”
“What? No way, that wasn’t me.”
She propped her hands on her hips, ready to go for her secret weapon or the nine-millimeter in the back of her waistband beneath her jacket if necessary. “Nice try but I’m not buying it. Not when we’ve got your handsome mug on a traffic camera leaving the scene.”
“What? That’s impossible.”
She saw his true nature flare in his eyes, diminishing the effectiveness of the role he was trying to play. “Unless you’ve got a twin, we’ve got you cold leaving the scene of a traffic accident involving gunfire.”
Slick sighed and kicked at a snowdrift. “You don’t get it. I didn’t have a choice.”
“We all have choices.” She bet the hangdog look had worked wonders on irritated mothers and girlfriends. It only raised red flags for Jo.
“He had a gun.”
His words didn’t fit the body language or his story. It was cold out here, but a panicked man would be sweating or fidgeting. This guy wasn’t showing her any sign of nerves, only what he thought a cop would want to see.
Think!
“Forget it. You’re useless to me, but stick around. The local cops will have more questions.” Calculating the risk and the angles in the alley, she turned her back on him and started walking away.
She gave him points for stealth as she didn’t hear so much as a footfall before he threw her to the ground. The weapon in her waistband dug into her back but she wasn’t ready to go for it yet. Struggling against his stranglehold, she recognized the moves of a trained killer.
Twisting, she landed an elbow into his ear and though it was enough to startle him, the padding of her coat softened the blow too much. He recovered before she could scramble away, pinning her with a knee between her shoulder blades.
Instead of subduing her, the move only antagonized her, fueling her determination. She went limp with a small, defeated cry and when he relaxed, she flipped him, scrambling to her feet. Planting her boot into his rib cage, she pulled out the sedative disk and slapped it onto his neck. As he struggled to fight the heavy medication, she used her new cell phone to take a picture of his face.
When he passed out, she dragged him behind the Dumpster and searched his pockets. She removed his weapon and tossed it into the container. Whelan may have had a gun on him but he’d had one of his own.
“Stinking liar.” She took another picture of his driver’s license—Nevada not Colorado, she noticed. Taking his keys, she sent Jason a text about Slick’s status. She shook her head. Men always underestimated her physical strength and ability. She straightened her hair, brushed the snow off her coat and strolled back into the pub.
Thanking the bartender, she walked out of the front door as if nothing had happened and went in search of Thomas.
He was striding down the street, the afternoon sun turning his blond hair to gold. She smiled despite the dire circumstances, because there was a picture worth having. It was an image that would stay with her no matter how things unraveled in the next few hours.
Energized, she picked up her pace, jogging up the street to meet him.
“Did you learn anything?”
“He’s not a local,” she answered. Thomas’s perceptive gaze was cataloging the dirt on her coat and lingered too long on her face. Precisely where her cheekbone had hit the pavement. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, catching his arm when he started toward the pub. “He’s incapacitated. I sent a full-face photo up the line. How about you? How much of a head start does Whelan have?”
“Too much. He already has transportation.” Thomas stared up the mountain. “He could be anywhere by now. I rented a snowmobile but we might be better off with a tracker.”
“Has Lucas spotted any trouble?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Then we still have time.”
“It’s a damn big mountain, Jo.”
She’d never seen him so worried or so close to defeated. She cupped his face in her gloved hands, waited until he made eye contact. “You’re not responsible for Whelan’s actions. We’re not done until he’s in custody. We know his destination.”
“True, but the wedding party would be safe if—”
“Stop.” She dropped her hands to his shoulders and gave him a little shake. “You know better than that. You’re the director of the most elite recovery team in existence. The Specialists have a ridiculously high success rate. Think of this from the perspective of the tactical expert you are. And you’ll celebrate with your friends and family when we’re done.”
His eyes changed, lit with the fierce, cold determination she admired. “I want this bastard, Jo.”
“Then let’s go get him.”
He nodded and smoothed his thumb gently over her bruised cheek.
In a perfect world she’d have time to evaluate what his touch meant on a deeper level. “What’s your plan?”
“We need a car. Can you call Grant?”
“No need.” She pulled out Slick’s keys. “We can commandeer this one.” She pressed the key fob and the lights flashed on a compact SUV parked in front of the pub.
“Do I want to know?”
“Probably not.”
“Okay. Stay on the main road. I’ll take the snowmobile. We can flush him out, hopefully before he reaches the lodge.”
He gave her a hard kiss and once more they split up.
For all the inspiration of her pep talk, she knew the challenge was as steep as the peak itself. If they weren’t hours away from the ceremony, they might have asked Lucas to send out a patrol to push Whelan back toward Glenstone, but it would have to be enough that Lucas had quietly posted guards around the resort.
As she jogged to the car, she thought keeping their troubles from the bride seemed like the bigger tactical issue. She was grateful that item wasn’t on her agenda.
A series of loud pops interrupted her thoughts and had her skidding along with several other people as they looked for the source of the noise. Too loud for a silenced pistol, not enough for a serious detonation. More like the sound effects from a reenactment. She drew her nine-millimeter and started for the car again, wondering if she was just paranoid enough to interrupt a show for the tourists. The next series of pops was followed by an unmistakable hissing and the faint scent of orange oil. On a curse, she hit the ground and watched all four tires on Slick’s car go flat.
The whine of a snowmobile engine cut into the stunned silence on the street. Whelan. Damn it. No point racing after it. She needed a vehicle, some way to warn Thomas. On his own mad dash up the mountain, he’d never be able to answer the cell phone, even if he heard it.
Furious, tired of being jerked around, she got up and turned away from the useless vehicle. She’d find something else. No way was she leaving Thomas to deal with this monster alone. If Whelan thought to divide and conquer, to isolate Thomas on his quest for revenge, he was in for a rude awakening.
Thomas was
not
in this alone.
Jo ran back into the pub. “I’ll give you $500 if you let me borrow your car until tomorrow morning.”
The bartender gave her a withering look and kept drying glassware.
“Please.” She pulled her wallet out of her purse and slapped several bills on the counter. “Just a few hours. I’m only going to the lodge and back. The government will pay you if anything happens to it.”
After another few squeaks of towel against glass, he relented.
* * *
T
HOMAS
LEFT
G
LENSTONE
behind, keeping the trail map the snowmobile office had shown him in the front of his mind. It was a challenge to move slowly when he wanted to rush, but rushing never solved anything. He couldn’t afford to miss a sign or clue along the way.
Thinking of how the resort was situated, he put himself in Whelan’s shoes. Was the goal causing the most damage or causing Thomas the most pain? Picking his way through the trees, he crossed back and forth between the road and the ridgeline and didn’t spot any sign of either Whelan or Jo. Or any other vehicles for that matter. Then again, the lodge was rented in its entirety for the wedding. No reason for anyone else to go up there this weekend.