Vie’s heart twisted upon itself. She looked down at Gloria in an agony of indecision. The agent’s life was slipping away beneath her hands while the man she loved was injured only feet away. She tried to peer around the edge of the seat while keeping pressure on Gloria’s wound. All she could see was Beckley’s foot.
“Where? Where have you been shot? How bad is it?”
“In my leg. I think…I think the bullet just creased the outside edge of my right thigh. It hurts like the devil but…yes…I’m all right.”
“Lots of blood?”
“No.”
“Thank God. Can you get up off the floor and into a chair?”
“Yes.”
“Recline the seat and rest. We don’t want you going into shock. When the paramedics get here, they’ll take a look at your leg. I’ve got to keep pressure on Gloria’s wound.”
“Very well.” He took a deep breath. “They’re going to have to touch me to treat me,” he said softly, moving into a better position to rise.
“I know. It can’t be helped.”
“True.”
Vie heard Beckley climb into a chair, occasionally hissing in pain as he did so. She could finally see his beloved face. His smile, probably meant to be reassuring, looked more like a grimace. Then he obediently reclined his chair part way.
Panting between his words, he asked, “How’s…Gloria?”
“I think her lung’s been hit.”
“Pink…spittle?”
“Yes,” Vie said quietly.
Beckley heard the heartsick note in her voice. He sighed and dug out his handkerchief to press on his wound, wincing. The angle of their flight changed as the jet began to descend. Vie’s bloody hand grabbed the chair arm as she braced herself. The captain must have forgotten to give them his pre-descent spiel. A little warning would have been nice.
“We’re already descending,” he murmured, frowning. “They must have gotten emergency clearance.”
Soon the horizon was visible, rushing past them at diminishing speed. He fumbled with his seatbelt and managed to click it shut over his lap.
“Hold on,” he cautioned. She nodded absently, wedging her foot against the table frame and her knee against Gloria’s chair. “As soon as we knew Julius was after her,” Vie moaned, glancing at him with regret exposed in her eyes. “I should have come up behind the chair and touched the top of her head. What was I thinking to approach her face to face?”
“That’s the type of person you are,” Beckley said, taking deep breaths through his nose and out his mouth to control the pain. “You’re a straight-shooter.” He realized what he’d just said and cursed under his breath. “Sorry, poor choice of words considering the circumstances.”
Vie didn’t seem to notice the allusion. “Even so, I should have been more devious. I’ve been sneaky before,” she assured him. “Why not this time?”
“We underestimated Julius,” Beckley admitted, grasping the chair as the jet bounced on the runway. “He’s never actually attacked directly before. I hope his mind had a brain hemorrhage trying to force Gloria to kill you.”
Vie almost fell backward against the bulkhead. She caught herself and leaned forward over Gloria, bracing her feet wide apart. Beckley glanced out the window and saw the ambulance waiting beside a hangar. A black SUV was parked beside it. Two FBI types stood waiting with the EMS responders.
“It looks like the Feds are already here,” Beckley informed her. “What are we going to tell them? We can’t say a mysterious telepathic psychopath made her shoot herself. They’d lock us up in an asylum.”
“I need to make a call,” Vie said. “Sorry, but can you stand? I want you to put pressure onto her wound.”
Beckley elevated the back of his chair and pulled himself to his feet. A wave of dizziness passed over him but he shook his head and forced his feet to work. He took the few steps to her side, put an arm around her shoulders in a quick hug and then took over the pressure so she could step away and use her phone. He had to wonder, though, how much good their efforts had done when they knew from his wound that the bullet had gone through Gloria’s body, creating a second hole in her back, no doubt bleeding profusely. His stomach clenched when he saw the gray pallor of her skin. If she made it through this it would be a miracle. Was she even still alive? He looked closely and saw her eyelids twitch. Beckley sighed with relief.
He glanced at Vie and discovered that instead of an audio call she was texting fast and furious. The jet jerked to a halt, causing them to stumble. He held onto the seat handle. Vie swayed against the bulkhead and kept texting. The door to the cockpit opened and Mr. Greisen entered the cabin so he could operate the exterior door and let down the steps. He hardly glanced their way. Vie stopped texting and tucked her phone into her pocket.
“It’s all arranged,” she promised in a low voice. “When they question you just tell them what happened without any mention of Julius.”
“Very well. Who did you contact?”
“The director of the FBI.”
* * * * *
Phil Two pulled the van over onto the narrow verge as soon as he saw smoke coming from beneath the hood. Maybe it’s just steam, he thought. Port Grange proper was about a mile back the way they’d come. They were on their way to scope out the Wanamaker house as per the boss’s instructions—according to Fred.
What a bastard. I hate taking orders from him. He smirks all the time. I never know if he’s telling me the truth or if he’s lying. I can’t take much more of his crap.
The picturesque lane, winding as it did over an old stone bridge, past a renovated watermill, was pretty. He didn’t say as much to the jerk sitting next to him. Fred didn’t care about pretty things. If he’d cared about pretty things, there wouldn’t be snakes all over his body. Phil One would have noticed, though.
Phil Two scowled. They needed a new radiator. Phil One had said as much several times recently. However, since Vancouver they’d been on the road constantly with no time to change it out. They would have to abandon the van or get a new radiator. That’s all there was to it.
“Is there any water left in those soda bottles we filled?” Phil Two asked his new partner.
Fred crumpled the potato chip bag into a wad and shoved it into the garbage bucket behind his seat. “I’ll check,” he said, climbing out of the van and opening the side door. He picked up one bottle. Empty. He dug among their duffle bags and found another container. “This one’s half full.”
Phil Two scowled over his shoulder. “I filled them up at the motel yesterday.”
“I used the water to wash my hands earlier.” Fred shrugged, grinning. “After we ate those éclairs. You saw me using it. You’re such a dummy.”
Phil Two clenched the steering wheel. Dummy? Dummy? Why do I have to put up with this guy? He’s the dummy, not me.
He glanced at his side mirror for traffic and climbed out. He tugged on the hood-release handle, then slammed his door. He lifted the hood, revealing the radiator. Steam poured out from around the cap.
Fred joined him, the half-full bottle under his arm. They both stood back, staring at the van.
“Sorry about the water,” Fred said, sneering. “How was I to know you’d need it? You should have told me the van was on its last legs.”
Phil Two didn’t believe he was sorry at all. Fred passed the bottle over. Phil Two took it and stared at him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Not enough?”
“Geez, Fred. Of course it isn’t enough.”
Fred looked around. He pointed at the millstream. “Could we use that water? I’ll just fill up the bottles with stream water.”
Phil Two rolled his eyes. “We can’t put cold water into the radiator. It will crack.”
“I knew that,” Fred assured him. “We can lay them on the dashboard. The sun will heat up the water.”
Phil Two breathed slowly and hoped for patience. Fred was so stupid. He didn’t know how the boss put up with him. Two weeks of misery until Phil One switched with him. The possibility of an assignment here in Port Grange was the only thing that soothed his temper. “We can call the local garage and get them to bring us some water,” Phil Two offered as an alternative suggestion.
“What if we’re supposed to do a job here?” Fred passed his hand over his ugly bald head.
Phil Two didn’t know why Fred’s hairless head should be ugly when Phil One’s head was not but that’s what he thought.
“Small town. People talk,” Fred added.
“True.” Phil Two had already thought of that. Occasionally he allowed Fred to think he had a smart idea. The stroking of his ego kept him happy.
“I’ll try that old house over there. The one with the waterwheel on the side? If someone’s home I’ll ask for hot water and if no one’s home I’ll break in and take it.”
Phil Two glanced over at the renovated mill house. It looked empty. And isolated. “Okay. Take both bottles, though. And if you have to break in, remember to put on your gloves.”
“I know,” Fred scowled, looking up at the sky. “You’d think this was my first break-in.”
“It’s easy to get sloppy, that’s all,” Phil Two said with exaggerated patience. “I’ll stay by the van and watch out for anyone coming along the lane. If it looks like they’re going to the mill house, I’ll flag them down and ask them to call us a tow truck. That will give you a chance to get out of the house.”
“Got it.” Fred fetched the empty bottle and headed across the road and down the drive to the stone house.
Phil Two folded his arms and waited for Fred to knock. After a few attempts to bring someone to the door, he put down the bottles on the front step, pulled on his gloves, picked up the bottles and moved boldly around the house, looking for a back entrance. A surprising number of people locked their front doors and left their back doors unlocked. All an intruder had to do was watch out for dogs, use a little gumption and walk right in as if they belonged there. After five minutes, Fred was running down the drive, two full bottles in his arms.
“We’re in luck,” Fred puffed as soon as he crossed the road. “No one lives there. It’s kind of weird, though. There’s a desk in the middle of the front hallway like someone started to move it and then decided it was too heavy. There’s lots of furniture. The fridge is empty but the electricity is still on. And there’s food in the cupboards.”
“Maybe it’s a vacation home.”
“We’ll crash there,” Fred said.
Phil Two gritted his teeth. He always thinks he’s in charge.
“We’ve got hot water now,” Phil Two pointed out. “The van will be able to run for a while. We can worry about where we’ll sleep tonight after we see if the boss needs us for something.”
“Geez, Phil, that was a long sentence for you,” Fred commented, slapping him on the back.
Phil Two wished he had a knife ready. It would slide in so nicely. He wouldn’t even see it coming. He better watch his step, Phil thought, because one of these days…
“I’m getting a rag from the back to protect my hand when I open the radiator,” Phil Two muttered.
“Pansy.”
Phil Two let that pass, starting along the driver side of the van. “Car’s coming.” He reached the back. “It’s a flashy car—a Mustang. Nice.”
The car slowed and then paused, even with the van. The side window rolled down, exposing a beautiful young woman with black spiral curls and amazing dark-blue eyes. She smiled hesitantly at them. The young male driver leaned across her and flashed a perfect set of white teeth in their direction.
“Radiator blown a gasket, sir?” he asked, looking up at Fred.
“Possibly. It’s been giving us some trouble.”
“Need some water? We can bring some back. Or, do you want us to call the garage for you? We don’t mind.”
“Thank you, we’ve got some water,” Fred said, holding up both large soda bottles. “We’re going to put it in the rad as soon as we can get the cap off. Then we should be able to make it to the garage under our own steam.”
The young driver laughed. “That’s very clever, sir. ‘Your own steam.’ Okay. I suggest you talk to Peter Green over at Green’s Garage. He’s a whiz with radiators. He went to school with my father so I know him well. Tell Mr. Green that you were talking to Rick and I recommended him. He’ll look after you.”
“I appreciate it. Thanks.” Fred nodded and raised the bottles again in salute as the Mustang drove off down the lane.
He turned and looked at Phil Two as he returned with the rag. “Those two kids look like the images the boss put in my head last night before I left him.”
“She was looking at us funny,” Phil Two complained, scowling at Fred. “And you talked too much to them.”
“I did not. You were rubbing your crotch,” Fred pointed out. “I saw you out of the corner of my eye. She probably saw you as well. I thought you didn’t like black-haired women, Phil. Maybe you hope she’s secretly a redhead.”
“Shut up. I still think they were on to us.”
“No one is on to us,” Fred promised. “How could they be? Even if Tine ‘looked’ back at you two destroying her precious cups and plates, you were wearing ski masks and the van’s license plate was covered up.”
“It’s not covered up right now,” Phil Two muttered dourly. “We should ditch the van right away.”
“Where?”
“Over there—in the garage of the stone house. We can just park it inside, walk into town when it’s dark and steal another one.”
Fred contemplated his partner for a few moments, looked down the lane after the Mustang and then viewed the double-car garage attached to the empty mill house just visible through the trees. “Okay, I’ve been thinking we’ve had this van long enough anyway,” he admitted. “It’s starting to smell. Oh right, that’s from your souvenirs,” Fred scoffed.
Phil Two opened and shut his fists and jostled the laughing bastard out of his way so he could pour the hot water into the radiator.
* * * * *
“It was them,” Arlee cried softly, rushing over to Suzy’s door and fumbling in her pocket with the key. “Right down the lane from here. I know it was them. Dark-blue van. Two big men traveling together. Oh, Rick. It was them.”
Rick took the key from her hand and calmly unlocked the Wanamaker cottage door. Buster limped over, still recovering from a gunshot wound. The boxer licked their hands and chuffed before moving off into the wooded area around the cottage to do his business.
“You know it was them, right?”
Her boyfriend drew a big, shuddering breath and nodded. “When I stopped I wasn’t thinking. I can’t believe I talked to one of them as if he was just another broken-down motorist. Do you think he could tell that I was scared to death?”
“You didn’t sound frightened at all,” Arlee praised. “I was trembling so hard I thought I’d throw up.” She looked around the kitchen. “Where’s Buster?”
“He’s still outside.”
“Quick, call him in and lock the door.”
“Buster!” Rick yelled. He held onto the door while the boxer limped through it. As soon as the dog was wriggling with happiness around Arlee he shut the door and bolted it. He took Arlee into his arms and pushed her head down onto his shoulder. He held her for a minute then kissed her lightly on the lips before releasing her to pull out his cellphone. “I’m going to call Chief Todd. Did you get a look at their license plate?”
“No. You?”
“All I could think about was getting you safely away. I don’t believe Vie is going to hire me as a P.I. anytime soon.”
Arlee pressed herself up against his side as Rick dialed. His strong arm encircled her shoulders and she hugged him. She could feel by how tight his muscles felt that he was as frightened as she was. However, his expression remained calm and he smiled at her with assurance and confidence. She loved that about him. He could always take action in spite of his fear. He was never frozen by it like her.
“Chief? It’s Rick. We’re pretty sure we saw the dark-blue van you warned us about,” Rick said, pulling Arlee tighter against him. “There were two big men with it. One bald. One with a ponytail.”
“Are you and Arlee somewhere safe?”
“Yes sir. We’re at the Wanamaker cottage.”
“I’ll be right out there.”
“Be careful, sir. They were pulled over at the side of the lane by Crooked Creek Bridge. Radiator trouble, one of them said.”
“You spoke to them? Rick, what were you thinking?”
“We didn’t realize it was them until we stopped and asked what was wrong.”
“I’ll bring some officers with me. With any luck, we’ll catch these two killers this afternoon and we can stop worrying about them. Now, Rick, you and Arlee stay put and keep Buster with you in the house. Close up all the shutters. Make certain they’re locked.”
“Will do, Chief.”
* * * * *
Fifteen minutes later, they heard a vehicle roll up the gravel driveway. Arlee sat with Rick at the kitchen table, her hands cupped around a mug of herb tea. Rick sat close beside her, a soda in his hand. They both started and turned big eyes toward the front door. With the original interior wood shutters closed, they could not see who had come up the drive. A single whoop-whoop of the chief’s cruiser siren drew relieved sighs from them both. Buster approached the door and gave excited voice.
“Hush,” Arlee cried, hurrying over, Rick right behind her. She hesitated, her hand on the difficult bolt, exchanging worried looks with him.
“We’ll wait to open it until he identifies himself,” Rick said.
The official, taught-in-every-police-academy-knock sounded at the door. Arlee jumped and gave a tiny scream.
“Arlee? Rick? It’s me, Chief Todd. It’s okay. You can open the door.”
Rick touched her arm and pointed at the window over the sink. She nodded and he cautiously opened one side of the shutters to spy outside.
“It’s only him.”
Arlee used both hands to draw back the ancient bolt. She opened the door, revealing the tall chief, who automatically ducked his head when he entered the cottage even though the action was unnecessary.
“Did you catch them?” Arlee asked in dreadful hope.
“No. Sorry, you two, the van was no longer in the lane.”
She groaned and turned away. “It’s like Uriah all over again.”
“No. Don’t be thinking that,” the chief said, placing his hands loosely on his hips. “We’re going to catch these guys so quickly you won’t have time to be afraid.”
Arlee watched Rick give the man a thankful half grin but she wasn’t convinced.
“Where’s Suzy and Jared?”
“They went up to Hartford,” Rick explained. He reached out and took Arlee’s hand. She clung to it like a talisman, turning back to face Chief Todd. “To Vie’s place. They’re supposed to be home later on tonight.”
“And Jared knows you’re keeping company with Arlee while they’re away? Alone? Here?” The chief sounded skeptical. He was only a year or so older than her father and she could imagine him being just as protective of his own daughters, when he had them, as her dad.
“We were only coming by to let Buster out. My mother is expecting us for supper,” Rick said.
“Good. The mayor’s mansion is better protected. Way less isolated as well. I’ll post a couple of officers at the house and, when Jared and Suzy come to pick you up, two different ones will follow you back to this place to stay and watch through the night—or until we catch these guys. Meanwhile, we’ll keep an eye out for that van. Did you get a license plate number?”
“Sorry, sir. But I suppose it’s possible that they went around to Green’s like I suggested,” Rick revealed.
The man closed his eyes as though praying for strength.
“I guess I should have told you that part on the phone,” Rick said quietly. Arlee squeezed his hand. He pressed their entwined hands against his thigh. She could feel a shudder pass through him. Again, no hint of his distress showed on his face. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“That’s okay.” Chief Todd took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “I should have asked you what you said to them. I’ll get someone around to Green’s right away.”
“When Suzy gets back, she can ‘look’ at the van and give you the plate number,” Arlee offered. She shrugged. “I wish I could discover it for you but my talent is too new to view that close in time. The most recent I’ve been able to ‘look’ is about three weeks into the past.”
“I was going to ask her later.” The chief gave her a twisted grin. “I’ve known The Family all my life. I used to date Suzy’s cousin Delphinia Cricket.”
Arlee eyebrows shot up. “The supermodel?”
He smiled wistfully. “Yes, that’s her. Anyway, it’s why I didn’t ask you to ‘look’. I knew you probably wouldn’t be able to use your talent so close to the present.” He blinked at them, shook his head and asked, “Are you finished here?”
“Yes, sir,” Arlee replied, discovering the chief’s revelation had changed her impression of him. Weird.
“I’ll escort you home, then,” he said, opening the door. Buster, who had been sitting in the middle of the floor, rose to his feet. Chief Todd pointed a finger at him. “You’re staying here. Guard the house.”
Buster chuffed and sat back down.