Authors: Dee Davis
It was a pronouncement of ultimate failure, and though she'd had the same thought herself, it hurt to hear it out loud, the words hanging between them with the finality of a death knell.
"Hey guys, anything happening out there? Tate was worried when you were gone so long." Martin stood on the drive, his frown indication that despite his mention of Tate,
he
was the one who was really worried.
Simone took a step away from Reece, the distance more than just physical. "We're fine. Just trying to make sense of everything that's been happening."
"You find anything more?" Reece asked, turning toward his brother.
"Nothing yet on Mather. Tate says she wasn't exactly a spill-her-guts kind of gal. Makes finding traces of her that much harder."
"She was a linguist. But her passion was mechanics. She could take apart and put together anything. Especially cars. I remember once in Rwanda, Tate and I were pinned down in the bush. The rest of the team was about a mile away, but there were a couple hundred pissed-off guerillas in between. The truck we'd commandeered broke down. And nothing short of a miracle was going to get it going again. Honest to God, I thought we were done.
"Night closed in and we could hear gunfire everywhere. Then all of sudden, Mather comes tearing out of the bush, gun blazing like the sheriff in a spaghetti western. She had the truck running in three minutes flat. And we got the hell out of Dodge. If it hadn't been for her..."
"I'm sure you returned the favor."
Simone shrugged. "She said that, too, but some things you can't repay. Anyway, you don't want to hear old stories. The point is that if I had to call it, I'd say that Mather would have found a job that at least let her tinker with something mechanical."
"Not a bad idea." Martin turned to go, already following the new line of thought.
"What about Bea?" Simone asked, knowing full well that in all likelihood her friends were dead. Otherwise they'd have been at the rendezvous.
Already almost halfway to the cabin, Martin stopped and spun around. "Sorry. I guess I fixated on finding Mather." He shrugged. "I did find a reference to a Brasel. It was on an Internal page at the Missoula library Web site. The page is an index of computer use. Could be for employees, could be a roster of public users. No way to know for sure. And since I've only got the last name, I can't even say that it's her. But the coordinates seem to back it up. And the time is right."
"So we're heading for Missoula." It was a statement, not a question, and for the first time since their ordeal had begun Simone felt like they'd moved from defense to offense. Of course it all depended on Martin's information being correct, and then them finding Bea alive.
But hell, hope sprang eternal.
MISSOULA, MONTANA BEGAN life in 1860 as a town called Hellgate. Reece wasn't sure where the moniker had originated, but the little town located at the base of Mount Sentinel was anything but hellish. Nestled in the heart of the northern Rockies, Missoula was a thriving university town that also served as county seat. The valley was home to three rivers and a couple of national forests. Definitely not a bad place to settle after a life spent working for the underbelly of the CIA.
Of course they didn't have any actual proof that Bea Brasel had relocated here. At least not yet. It had taken the better part of two days to make their way from Colorado to Montana. After securing another car, they'd avoided the main highways, choosing instead a circuitous route that provided at least some degree of certainty that they weren't being followed.
After checking into a motel, they'd split up, Martin heading for a cyber café and a more powerful Internet connection, Tate checking in with some old contacts to try and get a bead on Ramirez's organization, leaving Reece and Simone to check out the library and its possible connection to Bea.
The building was located in the heart of downtown and, like all libraries everywhere, was permeated with the smell of good books.
"Penny for your thoughts." Simone's words broke into his reverie.
"Just letting the smell take me back."
"The smell?" Simone asked, curiosity coloring her voice.
"Yeah. Leather and paper combining with ink and a twist of the imagination. When I was a kid we spent a lot of time in the library. My mom brought us every week. It was like having my own private portal to the world."
"Now who's sounding philosophical?" Simone asked, fighting a smile.
"Hey. There's still nothing in the world I can think of that tops the satisfaction of turning that first page, knowing that adventure awaits."
"Ludlum. I remember." She laid a hand on his arm, and just for a moment he forgot the gravity of the situation and the fact that they were not a couple anymore. "But we're not here to find a book."
Her words brought reality home again, and he sighed, pulling away to walk over to a row of carrels, each containing a computer. The carrels were all occupied, the various tenants running the gamut from middle-school-aged to retirement. The gentleman on the end was obviously new at the computer game, judging from the colorful language emanating from his carrel. "Looks like Martin was right about public access to computers."
"Which actually might make it more difficult to get information," Simone said, her brows drawing together in a frown.
"It's a small town." Reece shrugged. "If we're lucky maybe someone here will remember her being here."
"Can I help you?" A middle-aged woman in a sweater and chinos tilted her head with the question, the patient smile of a librarian lighting her face.
Simone's hand tightened on his arm. "I hope so. We're looking for someone..."
"A friend." Reece finished for her. "My wife and I are vacationing in Yellowstone, and thought it might be fun to look Bea up."
"Does she work here?" The lady's smile faded ever so slightly, perplexity taking over.
"No. At least not that we're aware of. But she's mentioned using the library computers on several occasions, so when we didn't find her at home, we thought she might be here."
The librarian nodded as if it all made perfect sense. "What's your friend's name? I know most of the regulars."
"Bea Brasel," Reece said.
"Don't recognize the name. What does she look like?"
"About my height," Simone said, smoothly picking up the conversation. "Maybe a little taller. Brownish hair, probably cropped short. A few years older than me."
The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry. Doesn't sound like anyone I know." She frowned. "Might be that Janece would know."
"Janece?" Reece prompted.
"She's the head librarian. She's here most days. I'm only part-time," the woman said by way of explanation.
"Is she here now?" Reece tried to keep the impatience from his voice. Wouldn't do to antagonize the woman.
"Yes. Over at the circulation desk." She pointed to a young woman handing a stack of books to a kid in faded blue jeans. "I hope you find your friend." Her smile now was a little forced. She'd obviously decided they were a couple of oddballs, looking for their friend in the library.
They walked over to the circulation desk and waited their turn as Janece checked out books to a line of patrons. Finally at the front of the line, Reece smiled down at her. She looked to be all of about twenty, making her role as head librarian seem a stretch. "We're trying to track down a friend of ours," he said by way of introduction. "And your associate over there thought you might know if she'd been in today. Her name is Bea Brasel."
The sunny disposition disappeared into distress, and Reece ran back over his words to try and figure out what he'd said to offend.
"We're old friends from college," Simone offered. "Up here on vacation. Thought it would be a lark to see Bea, and so here we are. She told me she came to the library quite a bit. Have we got the wrong one?"
"No. Not at all. Bea came here all the time. She loved to use the computer. Said she'd never be able to get the hang of one on her own, but with me to help, she enjoyed surfing the Web." The woman was on the verge of tears, and Reece shivered in anticipation. "I don't know how to tell you this." The woman's face filled with concern. "Bea is dead."
"Oh, my God." Simone's reaction was as genuine as they came. "When?"
"Almost a week ago. I still can't believe it." The librarian shook her head, clearly upset. "She ran her car off the side of the road up near Cloudburst Creek. We've been trying to get better lighting along that stretch of highway for years. The curves are deadly, especially when there's snow. I'm so sorry to be the one to tell you." She stood up, her hands fluttering uselessly.
"Was there an inquest?" Reece tried to keep his voice casual. A stricken friend. But the authority of the attorney snuck in just the same.
Janece blinked twice, seemingly considering the question. "Don't think so. The car was badly burned. Not much left of—" She paused, wringing her hands now. "What I mean is that I don't think there was anything much left to examine. If you've got questions, I'm sure they'd be able to answer them over at the police station." Simone touched his arm, and Reece realized that the patrons in line behind them were hanging on every word. "Thank you," he said. "You've been very helpful. I'm sorry to have dredged it all up again. It's just that she's special to us, too."
The woman nodded, clearly wishing she could drop into a hole in the floor.
"Is she buried near here?" Simone asked, her voice quivering with emotion.
"Yes, out in the cemetery, near the fountain."
Simone nodded her thanks and the two of them made their way out the door. They stood in the sunlight in silence, the sound of street traffic providing a gentle blanket of normalcy.
"She seemed convinced that it was an accident," Reece said, putting voice to both of their thoughts.
"But it sounds like there was no way to be sure."
"Excuse me." The cursing man at the computer station had followed them outside. "I didn't mean to listen in on your conversation, but you were asking about Bea."
"You knew her?"
"I did. Worked with her out at the plant."
"Plant?"
"Plum Creek Timber. She's been the receptionist there for the past eight years. You were friends of hers?"
Simone nodded. "Long time ago."
"Bea never talked much about her life before Missoula. Hell, who am I kidding, she never talked much at all. Real quiet one, our Bea. But I liked her. And I don't believe for a minute she drove off the road."
"What do you mean?" Reece asked.
"I mean that woman could drive a car like nobody's business. There ain't no way she drove off that embankment. And even if she did, car shouldn't have caught on fire like that."
"So why wasn't there an investigation?"
"There was a cursory one, but no one was pushing for answers and it was just easier to call it an accident. Anyway—" he shot a nervous glance over his shoulder "—isn't any of my business, but I thought you all deserved to know."
"Thank you." Simone reached over and gave the man's hand a squeeze. "I'm sure Bea was really lucky to have you for a friend."
The man smiled, the sun lines on his face crinkling with the gesture. "I best be getting back." He turned and took the library steps two at a time, his vigor belying his age.
"So what the hell do you make of that?" Reece turned to ask Simone.
She shook her head, brushing away tears. "Burning a car is the easiest way I know of to cover up evidence of foul play. And if no one was seriously investigating, there's no reason it would be questioned."
"He seemed pretty convinced that this one had help."
"Yeah. But I'm not sure what we can do about it. It's not like I can walk into the police station and ask for the investigation report. We've already been too high profile as it is."
"I hardly think news from Corpus has traveled all the way to Missoula, Montana."
"It's possible. But even if they haven't heard about our disappearance, there'd still be questions. Why we were here in the first place. And how the hell we knew to go to the library. I think the best thing now is to head back to the motel and regroup. Maybe Martin or Tate have come up with something else."
"My guess is there's no way we'll ever know for sure."
"Probably not." The regret in her voice mirrored his own. "But given everything we know, my gut tells me that the killer found Bea before he found us."
*****
"THERE'S NOTHING in the paper. At least in the online archives. But then maybe it wouldn't be. I mean, if they listed every traffic fatality there'd be no room for anything else." Martin closed the laptop with a sigh.
"Short of demanding an autopsy, I don't know what else we can do," Tate said, his voice tight with anger. "We may not be able to prove it wasn't an accident, but I tend to agree with you, Simone. There are too many coincidences. Maurice calls us in. Maurice gets killed. Bea gets killed. And then someone chases you halfway across the country with obvious deadly intent."
"So we're left with Mather," Reece said. He was perched on the windowsill, fiddling with the blinds. Simone resisted the urge to reach over and still his fingers.
The motel they'd chosen was on the outskirts of Missoula. One of those throwbacks to the fifties with little cottages for guests. A bubbling stream ran behind it, the mountains in the distance, giving the place a scenic backdrop. Of course if one looked out the front window, the whizzing cars on Interstate 90 removed all illusion.
Still, it was functional. And for the moment that's all they needed.
"You find anything at the cyber café?" Tate asked.
"I'm afraid she's even more of an enigma than Bea. But I did find a Wilson Mather listed as working for a tool and dye in Stroudsburg."
Simone considered the possibility of Mather switching her name. "It's not inconceivable. Did you follow up on it?"
"Yeah. And the news isn't good. Wilson.. .or Mather did indeed work for the tool and dye. She served in an engineering capacity, working with their manufacturing equipment."
"So this Wilson was female?" This from Tate, who was sitting in a chair with his feet propped up, his casual pose at odds with the intensity of his gaze.
Martin nodded.
"You said the news was bad," Simone prompted, her stomach twisting. Mather had always seemed so alive. She'd been a tiny thing. No more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, but she'd been larger than life, taking on things even the guys in D-9 had hesitated over. Simone had always admired her fearlessness.
"According to the guy on the phone, Mather was killed when her house burned down. Investigators said it was the electrical wiring."
"No fucking way," Tate said, shooting out of his chair. "Mather would have checked and double-checked any wiring within a fifty yard radius. She wasn't the type to ignore shit like that."
"Things happen, Tate." Reece's tone was probably meant to be soothing, but it had the opposite effect on Tate.
"Maybe to some people, but not to Mather. Not like that."
"We don't even know for certain that it's her," Simone said, knowing damn well that it was. Mather had walked into the line of fire so many times and escaped unscathed—it just seemed so unbelievable that it all could have ended like this.
"I've got a picture. From the obit." Martin held out a faxed photograph and Simone took it, waiting a beat before looking at it, not wanting confirmation of what she already knew.
"Is it her?" Tate's voice was deceptively quiet.
Simone fought against tears. Damn it all to hell. These people had been her friends. The only family she'd had before Reece and Martin. "Yeah," she said, holding out the photograph. "It's her."
Reece took her hand, his touch comforting and alarming at the same time. Caring about people caused pain. If she'd learned one thing in this life it was that.