With a Vengeance (26 page)

Earl would be okay. He had to be okay.

In fact, Pete and every other law enforcement officer in the tri-state area might be bearing down on them right now.

She just had to stay alive long enough for help to arrive.

The Chevy lurched again as she steered it back onto the road. Bud Kramer’s body, still not in rigor, moved like a two-hundred-pound water balloon and shifted, pinning her against the door. Her foot slipped from the gas pedal and, for a moment, the pickup slowed to a near stop.

Gabe swore, grabbed a handful of Bud’s collar, and dragged the corpse off her.

If anyone had told Zoe she’d spend an evening driving around in her pickup with a killer and a dead guy, she’d have told them they were nuts. Now she didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or scream over the absurdity of it.

“You ever seen that movie?” Gabe asked.

“Movie?” Absurdity appeared to be reaching an even higher—or lower—level. Now they were going to discuss cinema? “What movie?”

“The one where these guys are dragging their dead boss all over the place, acting like he’s still alive.” Gabe snapped his fingers. “
Weekend at Bernie’s
. That’s it.”

“Sorry. Can’t say that I’ve seen it.”

Gabe grunted. “Too bad. It’s funny. This really reminds me of it.” He patted Bud’s back. “Right, Boss?” Leaning forward, Gabe looked at Zoe. “I’d tell you to look it up on Netflix, but you ain’t gonna be around long enough.”

Her shoulders tightened.

The woods engulfed them in shadows and she reached for the light switch.

“Leave ’em off. For now.”

“Do you want me to drive into a tree?”

“You can see good enough to stay on the road. I’ll let you know when you can turn ’em on.”

Zoe brought both hands back to the wheel. “Where are we going?”

“Just drive. I’ll tell you when you need to turn.”

She continued down the narrow country road, hoping she’d meet another car coming the other way. But what would that accomplish? If she tried anything to attract attention, she’d be putting an innocent stranger’s life in danger.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “What have any of us done to you?”

“Nothing,” he said simply.

“Then why?”

She felt his gaze on her, but he didn’t speak for several long moments. Finally, he said, “This has been a long time coming. I’ve thought about it and dreamed about it for over ten years now.”

“Ten years?”

“More like eleven. That’s how long my boy’s been gone.”

Zoe struggled to think back eleven years. What had happened eleven years ago?

Gabe must have guessed what she was wondering. “Oh, you had nothing to do with it.”

“One of the others then? Barry? Yancy?”

Gabe blew a disgusted burst of air through his lips. “Hell no. They was just part of my plan.”

Something he’d mentioned earlier leapt to her mind. “You said before that Bud wasn’t part of this. What did you mean?”

In the dim twilight, she sensed more than saw Gabe shaking his head. “He wasn’t supposed to be part of it. My plan. And the others?” He chuckled, a low vicious laugh that chilled every nerve in Zoe’s body. “I guess you could call them necessary collateral damage. If everyone thought random firemen and ambulance attendants and such was being killed, they’d never figure out who I was when I kill the man I’m really after.”

Zoe glanced across Bud at Gabe and was met with a smile as evil as the laugh. “I still don’t understand.”

“Good. Then my plan is working. Now keep your eyes on the road. I need you alive. For now. But—” He nudged her again with the gun. “You can be injured and still be bait.”

Twenty-Nine

Pete sat at a rickety desk in Gabriel Webber’s living room, staring at a collection of news clippings when Baronick called out, “I found something.”

“So did I,” Pete said, more to himself than to the detective or the other officers crawling through the house.

“Do you want to see this?” Baronick asked from the bedroom.

Pete read one of the articles, trying to tamp down the urge to toss his dinner. “What is it?”

The detective appeared in the doorway, a triumphant grin on his face. “Burner phones. Three of them, still in their packaging. What have you got there?”

Pete didn’t reply, but held one of the yellowed clippings up between his gloved fingers.

Baronick took it and read it out loud, although Pete already knew what it said. “Vance Township hires new chief of police. Township board of supervisors voted unanimously Monday night to hire Sergeant Peter Adams of the Pittsburgh Bureau of Police to replace the retiring Chief Warren Froats.” The detective looked up from the article and met Pete’s gaze. “Holy shit.”

Pete shuffled through the collection. “And that’s not the oldest one. This is.” He handed over a clipping he couldn’t stomach reading. The news brief from the
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
told of a nighttime shooting in the Mexican War Streets.

Officers Adams and Delano faced down two armed drug suspects. Delano had been taken to Allegheny General. Both drug suspects had been killed in the gunfight.

One of them was Donald Moreno, son of Richard Brown.

Who now called himself Gabriel Webber.

Baronick wisely read the entire account in silence. When he finished, he handed it back to Pete. “What about the rest of those?”

Pete let the stack drop from his fingers onto the desk. “He must have saved every single thing written about me in the last eleven years. Every arrest. Every commendation. Every interview. Every goddamned thing.”

One of the county officers appeared at the entrance to a hallway. “Excuse me. Sir?”

“What?” both Pete and Baronick said at once.

The wide-eyed officer looked from one to the other as if afraid to speak to either of them.

“What is it?” Pete demanded.

“We found a gun case under the bed in the spare bedroom. One of those hard-shelled jobs with the foam egg-carton interior? It’s empty, but from the shape of the cut-out, it could very likely have contained a thirty-ought-six with a scope.”

Pete’s cell phone rang before he could comment on the find. Caller ID showed his station’s number. “Yeah, Nancy, what is it?”

“It’s me, Pete,” Sylvia replied.

He didn’t like the strained sound of her voice one bit. “Okay.”

He could hear the moist intake of Sylvia’s breath. “EOC just contacted me. They’ve been trying to reach Medic Two with no luck and were about to request backup when they received a phone call from Earl Kolter. He’s been shot. And Gabe Webber has Zoe.”

The nagging fear that had been gnawing at Pete’s gut detonated inside his head. “Where? How long ago? How bad is Earl hurt?” The questions poured from him. All but the one he really wanted to ask.
Was Zoe okay?

“They’re Life Flighting Earl to Pittsburgh right now. Reports are sketchy, but he’s lost a lot of blood and is suffering hypothermia on top of shock. As I understand it, Webber lured them into another of his ambush scenarios, shot Earl, and forced Zoe to drive him—Webber, I mean—out of there. In her truck. And Pete…there’s more.”

Pete closed his eyes. “Great. What?”

“Bud Kramer’s dead.”

Pete’s eyes flew open, and he met Baronick’s questioning gaze. “Kramer’s dead?”

“Webber used Bud’s body to lure Earl and Zoe out of the ambulance.”

“Did Earl give any indication of where Webber was taking her?”

“He reported that the last he saw they were headed north on Ridge Road. The State Police helo is already searching the area, but now that it’s dark out, he could be holed up with her anywhere.”

Pete was on his feet. Baronick already stood at the front door, once again wearing his trench coat and holding Pete’s slicker and ball cap. “I’m heading in that direction. I don’t care what hole he’s dragged Zoe into. I’m going to flush them out.”

“Pete.” Sylvia’s plaintive voice kept him from hanging up. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what he wants you to do.”

He paused. “If I’m what that bastard wants, he can have me.” He ended the call, shoved the phone in his pocket, and snatched his rain slicker from Baronick on his way past. “What he
can’t
have,” Pete said under his breath, “is my girl.”

As a kid, Zoe had heard tales about the little coal mining town of Reed’s Grove, situated at the intersection of two lightly traveled country roads. Even in its heyday, the village had only boasted a dozen houses, a company store, and a one-room schoolhouse. The houses and store had vanished before Zoe was born. She vaguely remembered someone turning the school into an antique shop, but the short-lived venture failed after a year or two. Nature had done its best to reclaim the structure, cocooning it in ivy and brambles as the paint peeled off, leaving gray wood bare to the elements.

Until this night, Zoe had thought the schoolhouse no longer stood. She rarely drove either of the roads, and even when she did, the building had become invisible unless you looked hard enough.

Apparently Gabe had.

He ordered her to pull the truck off the road against her protests about not being able to see and not wanting to get stuck in mud. He assured her the ground would hold the Chevy.

As she cut the wheel in the direction he indicated, her headlights revealed a path chopped through the thicket, wide enough for a smaller vehicle. Vines and branches screeched against the paint, slapped the windshield, and reached for her through the shattered driver’s window.

Gabe forced the passenger door open. The dome light illuminated Bud’s corpse and the blue tint to his skin. It also shined on the rifle still clutched in Gabe’s hands.

He motioned with it. “Get out.”

Saplings and underbrush attempted to hold her captive. She managed to muscle the door open just enough to slide out. Gabe clearly wasn’t worried that she would bolt.

Other than the truck’s interior light, there wasn’t as much as a star to show her a potential escape route. The wind had died down—or perhaps it couldn’t cut through the dense growth—but the cold autumn rain pattered on the leaves around and above her. Those same wet leaves slapped her face and her arms—already cold and soaked from driving with a broken window—when she moved toward the back of the truck and slammed the door.

With the dome light doused, the total darkness startled over her, and she froze in place. She patted her leg, feeling for the penlight in her cargo pants pocket, but a larger beam of light appeared from behind the pickup.

Gabe shone the flashlight directly in Zoe’s face, blinding her. She turned away and raised a hand to shield her eyes.

“This way,” he said. “Move.”

Still blinking at spots even after he aimed the light away from her, she slid along the wet truck bed. Rain-soaked brambles clawed her cheek, and she held up both arms, swatting away the grabby undergrowth.

He waited for her behind the truck and swung the light toward a spot in the vines. Closer inspection revealed a gap. He waved her toward it. “You first.”

He shone the light on the path ahead of her, and she could see where the bushes and vines had been cut, clearing the way. Someone—Gabe—had been out here before and had prepared this escape plan.

Just like he’d planned the ambushes and his previous getaways. For a moment, Zoe imagined being shot here and left to die. No one would find her. She’d rot away to bones.

Nature would reclaim her DNA the way it had reclaimed the village of Reed’s Grove and its buildings.

No. Earl would have called for help by now. Or the EOC would have sent someone to find them when they didn’t radio in. Pete was looking for her. Every cop within a hundred miles was looking for her.

The path ended at the front door of the old schoolhouse.

“Go on. It’s not locked.”

She grasped the pitted latch. It grated and released. The door swung open with a minimal groan and scrape.

“Go on,” he repeated, ramming the rifle into her back. “Get inside.”

She staggered into the dark building, hoping the floorboards would hold her. In the blackness above her head, something fluttered. Pigeons? Or bats?

Pigeons, she lied to herself. Definitely pigeons.

“Stop. Don’t move.” Gabe clomped past her. The beam of his flashlight revealed a table with what appeared to be a lamp of some sort.

Drenched and shivering, Zoe sneaked a glance back at the door. She could lunge for it. Into the rain and the dark and the jungle-like brush. If she was very lucky, she might make it back to her truck without having a bramble snag an ankle and trip her.

If she wasn’t lucky, Gabe would blow a hole in her before she crossed the threshold.

Stay alive. Give Pete a chance to find you
.

One-handed, Gabe struck a match and set the flame to the mantle of a kerosene camp lantern. As the lamp flickered and the room brightened, Zoe could see his other hand holding firm to the rifle aimed at her.

No, this was definitely not the time to make a run for it.

Gabe fumbled with a small black box lying next to the lamp. It clicked and then produced a familiar burst of static. A handheld police radio. “Just a little easy listening to pass the time.”

She rubbed her arms, trying to coax some warmth into them. Her clothes clung to her, leaching away body heat. She pinched the front of her shirt, peeling it away, but the air that rushed in was colder still.

In the flickering lantern light, she scanned the space, hoping to spot a potbellied stove like the one she’d seen in a restored one-room schoolhouse at a local historic village. But whoever had converted this building into an antique shop had removed the primitive heat source, replacing it with a now useless electric version.

Gabe dragged a single chair from the shadows. “You might as well sit down. We’re gonna be here a while.”

For a fleeting moment, Zoe thought he was offering the chair to her, but the rifle aimed her way contradicted such an invitation. She looked around for another seat but could only make out grimy shelves edging the room.

Gabe chuckled. “Pull up a piece of floor. You can sit or lay down and take a nap. I really don’t care.”

The wood beneath her feet was strewn with dirt, bird droppings, and a few feathers. Lie down and take a nap? Not a chance. Moving slowly and deliberately to avoid any mistaken notion she was trying to escape, she eased over to one wall and used her boot to scrape a spot clear of debris. Figuring that was as good as it was gonna get, she sunk onto the floor, using the wall as a backrest.

“Don’t suppose you have a blanket around here,” she said through chattering teeth.

“If I did, I’d use it myself.” Gabe tucked the rifle into the crook of his elbow, extracted something from his pocket, and approached her. Kneeling, he rammed her ankles together and bound them with what she now saw was a zip tie. “Hold out your wrists.”

She hesitated.

He poked her shoulder with the rifle. “Either give me your wrists or I’ll come up with another way to immobilize your arms.”

In an instant, she visualized knocking the gun aside. He was close enough. She could do it.

The imagined scenario continued with him slamming her across the face with the gun’s butt and shooting her anyway.

She extended her arms, hands clasped. He slipped another zip tie around her wrists and yanked it tight. She winced as the thin nylon band bit into her flesh. “I still don’t know why I’m here. What is it you want from me?”

He stood and ambled back to the chair. “Nothing.” Straddling it, he used the back to support his arms and the rifle. “Or at least nothing more than I’ve already got.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to.” He shifted his weight to one hip and dug in his pants’ back pocket.

Zoe drew her knees in. Clearly Gabe wasn’t going to volunteer any more information. But he’d already given her some. His plan. Eleven years since his son had died. “You said Yancy and Barry and the rest were necessary…”

“Collateral damage. Necessary collateral damage.” Gabe sounded pleased with the phrase he’d substituted for murder.

She tried to fight off the chill and to remember his exact words. “They were supposed to appear random, part of your plan, so no one would suspect it was you when you killed the man you were after.”

He didn’t reply, but withdrew a small item from his pocket. With the lantern behind him, she couldn’t see what he held. Nor could she see his face.

She closed her eyes, replaying the events of the last few days—and last few hours—over again in her mind. And then it clicked. Bait. They had all been bait. Gabe had said she too was
bait
.

For one man.

She opened her eyes again, trying to pierce the darkness to make out Gabe’s expression. “Oh my God,” she said. “You’re after Pete.”

Gabe grunted. “I figured Adams would show up at one of those calls sooner than he did.”

The rifle never wavered. And while Zoe was soaked to the bone and freezing, her mouth was as dry as the Mojave Desert.

“But I had to get outta there quick so I never got a shot at him like I’d hoped. I knew eventually though…” Gabe shouldered the gun and mimed firing it at the door, complete with sound effects. Then he lowered it to the back of the chair with the muzzle aimed again at Zoe. “It was getting tough. Too many cops crawling all over the place. But then—” He snapped his fingers. “You came into the garage this afternoon to pick up the ambulance. And you said you were on duty tonight. And I knew. This was my one big chance. If I got
you
, I knew I’d get Adams.”

“But why? What did Pete ever do to you for you to want to…?” She couldn’t say the words.