Authors: Debby Giusti
M
icah arrived at Police Headquarters shortly after Clay. Together, they drove back to the scene of the murder, looking for anything that might have been missed last night. A thorough search of the motel room and surrounding area revealed nothing new.
Returning to headquarters, Clay phoned Violet, but the call went to voice mail. He had told her not to talk to anyone on her cell. Knowing Violet, she probably realized the call was from him and had folded her arms over her chest and cocked her hip with a but-you-told-me-not-to-use-my-phone attitude.
“Ah, Violet, you are too much.” A smile twitched his lips. He’d never take her for granted. She always had something new up her sleeve.
Chuckling, he called the safe house. Mrs. Jones answered.
“Could you put Violet on the line?”
“She’s sleeping in, Clay. Catching up on the rest she missed last night.”
He glanced at his watch. Almost 10:00 a.m. Pouting in her room was probably more accurate. He’d check on the guards to ensure everything was going smoothly.
“Any problems?” Clay asked when the agent in charge answered.
“None at this house.”
“Meaning—?”
“Someone called in a fire alarm down the road. Two engines answered the call. They couldn’t find the fire or the person who phoned 911.”
“Has anyone checked on Ms. Kramer?”
“She’s sleeping, sir.”
Clay’s hand gripped his cell. He spoke slowly and distinctly. “Ensure she’s still inside.”
The radio squawked as one of the rear guards checked the house before the answer came back. “Ms. Kramer is not in the house, sir.”
“Find her,” Clay ordered. “Canvass the property and surrounding area. Check with the neighbors. See if anyone saw a vehicle about the time of the fire alarm. Somebody must have seen something.”
Clay passed the information on to the chief.
“I’ll dispatch every officer I can spare to search for her.”
“What about Jimmy Baker?” Clay asked. “Have you hauled him in for questioning?”
“He’s out on a story but due back at the paper by early afternoon. We’ll pick him up then.”
Clay would feel better once that loose cannon was interrogated. “What about the other people on staff?”
“Like who?” the chief asked.
Clay sighed. “Forget it. I’ll call the editor.”
But before he called Stu, he needed to tell Jackson what had happened. Clay left the chief’s office and moved into a vacant conference room to place the call.
“Where would she go?” the agent asked after Clay explained the situation.
“Knowing Violet, back to The
Daily News.
Have you had time to run a check on the staff at the
Daily News?
”
“The only one with an Illinois connection was Quinn Smith. He grew up in Chicago. I don’t know when he moved West, but he’s been at the Missoula paper for some time.”
“Would you mind circulating Quinn’s name on the street? Doubt we’ll get lucky, but you never know.”
“I’m heading out for a little
tête-à-tête
with Cameron Trimble. I’ll run the name by him. If there’s anything to learn about Quinn, we’ll get it for you.”
“Thanks, Jackson.”
“Listen, Clay, I need to ask. If Cameron comes forward with anything, he may want to plea bargain. After what he did to Sylvia…?” Jackson paused. “It’s your call.”
For so long, Clay had wanted to make Cameron pay for what he’d done to his ex-wife. Now, with Violet in danger, vengeance didn’t seem so sweet. Clay couldn’t forgive Cameron, at least not yet, but he would agree to a plea bargain. “If he’s got information to share, do whatever it takes.”
Once he disconnected, Clay plugged in the editor’s number.
“What’s going on?” Stu asked when he got on the line. “The police were here earlier, looking for Jimmy. Violet never showed up for work. Is she in trouble?”
“Have you heard from her?”
“Not this morning.”
“What about the others on staff?”
“Quinn hasn’t shown up, either.”
Chief Howard stepped from his office, phone pressed against his ear, and motioned to Clay.
“Hold on, Stu.” Clay approached the chief. “Yes, sir?”
“One of the neighbors saw a woman matching Violet’s description get into a car outside a country market about half a mile from the safe house.”
“Did the person know the make and model?”
“This gal’s the type of citizen a cop likes. She copied down the license. We ran a check. The car belongs to Jimmy Baker.”
Clay pulled his cell back to his ear. “Stu, tell me everything you know about Jimmy Baker, starting with his home address.”
Driving toward Back Mountain Road, Violet filled Jimmy in on the basics. A woman had died. Violet had found her body and was being kept in protective custody for her own safety.
The e-mail today had been an unexpected surprise. A person passing through Missoula had information about Lettie and wanted to talk to Violet.
The mountain road intersected with Interstate 90 that ran from Spokane to Missoula to Chicago and on to the East Coast. The person had probably looked at a map for a private spot to meet not far from the highway.
The turnoff on Back Mountain Road lay just ahead.
Violet’s cell rang. She glanced at the caller ID. Clay West.
She couldn’t talk to him now. Clay would say she’d acted irresponsibly, first by calling in a false fire alarm
and then by eluding the guards who were working hard to protect her.
In her mind’s eye, she saw his furrowed brow, dark eyes and look of disappointment that she would have done something so terribly foolish. Later, when she had the information about Lettie, she’d call him back and beg his forgiveness.
As soon as Gwyn’s murderer was apprehended, Clay would leave Montana and head home to Chicago. No reason for him to hang around any longer.
She glanced at Jimmy. He’d always been there to help her out. “I’m sorry I got you into this,” she said as he turned into the clearing.
“And I’m sorry I acted like a fool. I’ve been jealous of that cop from Chicago. The way he looks at you, I knew there was something going on between you. Something special.”
Maybe there had been at one time, but things had changed. Violet had to steel her heart to the reality that she and Clay didn’t have a future together. He was a cop who had a job to do in Chicago. She would stay in Missoula to help where she could here.
Jimmy braked to a stop.
An SUV sat parked in the distance. Slowly, it eased forward. Tinted windows made it impossible for her to see the driver.
The vehicle pulled next to them and stopped. When the driver climbed out, Violet was more confused than ever. She opened the door and stepped on to the pavement. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
She saw the knife in his hand, realizing too late she’d made a deadly mistake.
Clay arrived at Jimmy’s house ahead of the three squad cars. He parked down the street and made his way through the rear of the property to the back porch. He wanted to crash through the door and grab Jimmy, but he needed to be cautious. He couldn’t do anything that would cause Violet harm.
If Jimmy hurt her, Clay would show him no mercy.
Two Missoula cops sidled around the corner of the house, headed for the front door. Two more officers joined Clay on the back porch, weapons drawn. His fingers itched for the service revolver under lock and key back at Chicago P.D. Being unarmed was one of the complications of administrative leave.
Clay nodded to the officers and opened the door. He slipped inside, silent as a cat, glancing right then left. Dining room straight ahead, living area beyond. The front door opened, and two officers entered, guns raised. One man headed for the back bedrooms. A second man moved to the basement door and slipped into the darkness below.
Clay was drawn into the main room like a moth to flame. Oriental rug spread in front of a stone fireplace. Leather couch and love seat. Glass coffee table. In the blink of an eye, he took it all in.
His eyes turned to study the walls covered with framed photographs. A heavy dread settled over his shoulders.
The person captured in each picture was Violet Kramer.
V
iolet tried to scream, but the rag stuffed in her mouth and held in place with duct tape kept any sound from escaping.
She saw the top of his head in the driver’s seat. Hooded sweatshirt. Baseball cap.
Back at the clearing, he’d shoved Jimmy’s car over the drop-off with Jimmy in it. When she’d struggled, he’d struck her face, knocking her out. She’d come to bound and gagged and lying on the backseat of his SUV. Her head was jammed against the door handle.
She tried to get her bearings. All she could see out of the passenger window was the overhead cloud cover and gray sky. She blinked against the glare and struggled to rise off the seat.
The sound of the tires hummed along the pavement. The driver decelerated, easing the car into a turn. Using her elbow as a prop, she inched up, her eyes even with the window. Straining, she pulled up even more and glanced down.
Her stomach roiled.
The world shifted.
Chest tight, she couldn’t breathe.
The car was racing along the mountain road just inches from a steep drop-off. Far below, she saw a tiny village nestled in the valley.
A moan rose from within her. One slip of the tires, and they would hurl down the side of the cliff and crash on to the craggy rocks below.
Clay stared at the photographs of Violet. Many of the shots appeared to be taken without her knowledge. Some were of a younger Violet, holding books in her arms.
Jimmy had been obsessed with her since college.
Now he had her.
The cops were combing the city.
Clay looked at her beautiful eyes and smiling face. The curls and curves and exquisite smile were all he’d ever wanted. If only he could spend the rest of his life holding her in his arms.
Oh, God, help me.
Clay raked his hands through his short hair. He had to find her. Had to find her alive.
Lord, I’ve turned my back on You for so many years, but if You are a loving God, give me a break. Provide a clue that leads to Violet.
One of the officers stepped into the living room, a cell phone pressed to his ear. “Yes, sir. We’ve searched the house but didn’t find anything or anyone.” He paused. “He’s right here.”
The cop held out the cell to Clay. “Chief Howard wants to talk to you.”
Clay took the phone. “Sir?”
“We found Jimmy’s car. Went over the turnaround on a mountain road.”
“Violet?”
“She wasn’t in the car.”
“What about Jimmy?”
“Survived the forty-foot drop. He’s in bad shape but alive. They’re taking him into surgery.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He was unconscious, Clay.”
“Maybe Violet wasn’t with him.” Perhaps this had all been a terrible bad dream.
“We found her cell phone in the front seat.”
“Could she have survived the fall and gotten out? Maybe she’s wandering along some mountain path?”
“I’ve got a team searching the area.”
“Give me directions. I want to help.”
“The weather’s changing, Clay. A storm’s rolling in. Let my men handle it.”
“Chief, please. You said you could use me.”
His plea worked. The chief gave Clay directions. The mountain road wasn’t far from the safe house.
Clay covered the distance in record time. Violet could be wandering around the mountain injured. Temperatures were dropping. The wind had increased, and from the looks of the gray sky, Mother Nature was about to do her thing.
As he drove up the side of the mountain, a light drizzle began to fall. The precipitation increased with the elevation. By the time Clay pulled into the clearing, the rain had turned to sleet that froze against his windshield.
If Violet was in those open-toe heels she always wore and her cute lightweight coat without a hat or mittens, she’d freeze to death. He had to find her.
An ominous sense of dread settled over him. Violet
was good and pure and innocent. She didn’t deserve to be sucked into this terrible situation.
Had he been the reason? If he’d said no to Jackson and stayed in Chicago maybe none of this would have happened. He’d interfered and tried to solve everything his own way. Once again, it hadn’t worked.
He glanced at the darkening sky, feeling the cold penetrate the car. He shoved the defroster to high to clear the ice from the windshield, but even the wipers couldn’t keep up with the heavy winter mix.
The wheels slipped in the freezing slush.
Nearing the turnaround, his cell rang.
He flipped it open.
Jackson’s voice. The words were tumbling out one after another. “Cameron spilled the beans on a guy who used to be a regular in some of the clubs the mob ran in Chicago. Thought he was a high roller. Got used to the nightlife but gambled away everything he had in savings. Said he’d make good on the rest of it. Not too long ago, the mob pulled in the chips. Told him to take care of a little problem in Missoula and they’d call it even. I notified Chief Howard. He sent a patrol car to the guy’s house, but he’d cleared out.”
“Yeah?”
“He’s got a cabin. Higher elevation. At the summit of Dead Man’s Peak.”
“Are you talking about Gwyn’s boyfriend?”
“No, the other guy you mentioned. The reporter from the
Daily News.
”
Clay tensed. “You mean, Jimmy?”
“No. I’m talking about Quinn Smith.”
V
iolet’s eyes opened when the SUV stopped. She moaned. Everything was starting to come back to her in bits and pieces.
Jimmy had struggled to protect her from Quinn. The two men had fought. Quinn knocked Jimmy out then shoved him back into his car. She’d tried to stop Quinn, but he’d raised his hand and struck her. The last thing she remembered was Jimmy’s car, with him in it, crashing over the edge of the steep drop-off.
Violet had blacked out and awakened crumpled in the backseat until her glance out the window had slammed her into darkness again. She blinked and tried to get her bearings.
The wind howled and icy snow hurled against the windshield. A small shack sat huddled against the edge of the mountain.
The car door opened. Quinn grabbed her arm and yanked her from the backseat. Her foot caught on the door. She fell, crashing to the frigid ground.
He jerked her upright. She looked toward the edge of the cliff. Her head swam and her stomach roiled.
She gagged.
He ripped the tape from her face and pulled the wad of fabric from her mouth. She retched again.
Thrashing against his arms, she tried to get free. He caught her hands, his grip as strong as a vise.
“Control yourself, Violet.”
Snow and sleet stung her face. “You’re a madman,” she screamed into the wind. Her hair swirled around her face.
He pinned her against his hip and shoved her around the car.
“You never had information about my aunt.”
“No, but I saw your Web site and knew you’d do anything to learn how she’d died. Even meet me on the edge of the mountain.”
“What do you want from me?” Violet demanded.
“I want your boyfriend. Someone needs to teach him a lesson.”
“You killed Gwyn.”
“I had to. She recognized me and knew I had ties to the mob.”
Violet tried to make sense of everything that had happened. “You followed me to the coffee shop.”
“The mob told me to get rid of you. But I wanted to give you a chance, Violet. That’s why I tried to scare you. Fool that you are, you didn’t take the hint.”
“You were the man standing in my kitchen, and you deleted my files at work. Did you steal my home laptop, as well?” She knew the answer before he spoke. “How’d you get into my house?”
Once again she realized her error. “You lifted my keys from my purse when I was at work. Easy enough
to make a wax impression and have a new one made from the mold.”
“Now you’re thinking like the mob, Violet. I’m sorry you could never write that story you wanted. I’ll write one, talking about how a bad cop from Chicago, who had beaten a guy almost to death, played up to you. Jimmy tried to save you but died when he went over the edge of the turnaround. Clay pulled you into his car. He thought the mountain road intersected with Highway 90. The weather was bad and his car—with you in it—skidded into the mountain and went up in flames. I’ll torch Clay’s car with both of you in it so the police will buy the story.”
The man was deranged. “You won’t get away with it, Quinn.”
“I know the cops. I’ll explain how Clay had been jealous of Jimmy. Clay brought you up the mountain, never realizing it was a dead end at the top.”
Quinn moved her closer to the edge. “Maybe I should shove you over now and get rid of you that way. Then I’ll wait out here for Clay and handle him when he gets here. The mob wants him out of the picture. He got too close in Chicago, throwing his weight around, beating up one of their men, infiltrating their operation.”
Her head swam. Her knees went weak. She had to fight to save herself, but Quinn held her in a death grip.
She screamed as the ledge crumbled underfoot.
Clay clutched the steering wheel, white knuckled. The back tires skidded dangerously close to the edge of the road that dropped off into oblivion.
The steep mountain peak loomed above him. Quinn would be waiting at the top. Would Violet still be alive?
Clay had to get to her in time.
The temperature plummeted with the increased elevation, freezing everything into a sheet of ice. Up ahead, Clay watched as a portion of the road broke off and slid down the mountain, leaving only a tiny edge too narrow for a car to navigate.
Clay braked to a stop and forced the door open against the wind. He’d have to travel the last hundred yards on foot.
Oh, God, help me. Let me get to Violet while she’s still alive.
He blinked against the sleet that fell like shards of ice and froze to his face, chapping his lips and stinging his cheeks.
He glanced ahead.
One last switchback. The cabin was perched around the final turn where he’d find Quinn.
The only way to surprise him would be to leave the path and climb up the rocky side of the mountain. Approaching from the rear, Clay might be able to get a drop on him.
Clay grabbed the rough rock, found a foothold and hoisted himself up, then searched for another crevice so he could climb higher.
He glanced down the sheer drop-off. Vertigo rolled over him, throwing his equilibrium into a tailspin. He clutched the rock until it passed.
Wind whipped around him. The frozen stone numbed his hands. He started out again, gaining a foothold, then another. Inch by inch, he crawled to the
top and hoisted himself over a final cluster of boulders. Flattening himself against the side of the small hovel, Clay peered around the corner.
His heart dropped.
Quinn held Violet around the waist while her legs dangled over the edge of the mountain.
Violet screamed. Quinn stepped back. Her feet touched ground again. She almost fainted with relief. He laughed and pulled a hunting knife from the sheath on his belt.
Her heart stopped. She had to get away.
“Quinn?”
Clay’s voice. He stood at the side of the cabin.
“Watch out!” she screamed. “He’s got a knife.”
With one arm around her chest, Quinn pressed the razor-sharp blade to her throat, nicking her flesh. Drops of blood trickled down her neck.
She struggled, trying to get away.
“Let her go.” Clay raised his hands and stepped forward. “Take me instead, Quinn. I’m not armed. I can’t hurt you.”
“You don’t understand,” Quinn said. “I have to kill her.”
“It has to do with your gambling debts, doesn’t it?” Clay’s voice was calm.
“They told me the slate would be wiped clean if I got rid of Violet.”
She shivered from the biting cold and raw fear that made her gasp for air.
“Cameron’s back in Chicago,” Clay said. “He told the cops about you.”
“You’re lying.”
“They’ll find you, Quinn. Jimmy’s alive, but only barely. If he dies, you’ll get Murder One.”
Clay glanced at Violet. His eyes conveyed strength and determination. “Let her go and it’ll be easier for you.”
Quinn sneered. “You’re trying to fool me.”
He took a step back, dragging Violet along with him. She looked down. Another few inches and they’d both tumble over the edge.
“Violet?” Clay’s voice was reassuring. Instinctively, she knew what he wanted her to do. Somehow, she had to distract Quinn. But she couldn’t. She was too frightened.
She needed Clay. She’d always needed him.
“Help me,” she whimpered.
“Remember we’re a team,” he said with conviction.
A team meant she did her part and Clay would do his. For once, everything didn’t rest on her shoulders. She didn’t have to be totally in control.
Quinn’s hands shook. The cold was affecting him. He glanced over his shoulder.
Violet shoved her weight against him.
He lost his balance. The knife dropped through his fingers, and his hold on her eased ever so slightly.
She swiveled out of his grasp then started to fall. Clay grabbed her hand and pulled her to safety.
Quinn’s arms flailed.
Clay lunged for him. The two locked grips before Quinn slipped over the edge. His legs pedaled the air. A cross draft caught him, ripping his hand free.
Throwing himself down on to the frozen ground, Clay grabbed Quinn’s coat, catching him just in time.
The weight pulled Clay forward.
Violet screamed, slapping at Clay’s leg, trying to stop the fateful fall.
His foot locked around a boulder.
Straining, Clay dragged Quinn up and over the edge.
Violet reached for the discarded knife and shoved it into Clay’s hand. Holding the blade to Quinn’s neck, Clay forced him to turn over then tied the reporter’s arms behind him, using his own belt. Once Quinn was secure, Clay pulled Violet into his arms.
She trembled in his embrace. The terrible nightmare was over. She’d almost lost Clay. Nothing had terrified her more.
Far below, shouts from the police sounded.
“We’re up here,” Clay yelled. “Everything’s under control.”
Violet heard Clay’s heart beat in sync with hers. Wrapped in his warmth, she felt life flowing back into her trembling body. The mountain, the ice, the cliff, nothing mattered except being in Clay’s arms.