Chapter 44

 

 

Marcus thanked his lucky stars for the foresight to do all that jogging in the past few weeks, although he had to admit the air here at seven thousand feet was a lot thinner. He had a terrible stitch in his side, and by the time he’d covered the half mile to the county road he felt almost ready to pass out. He gripped the painful spot, gasping, and his hand came away with blood. Not much, and it didn’t show on his black shirt. He heard a vehicle.

Not law enforcement, he saw with relief. Some kind of old farm pickup truck that had once been white but now wore a coating of brown mud spatter. He turned his wounded side away and stuck out his thumb.

“What’s a matter?” asked the old guy behind the wheel.

“Aw, stupid me. I started out jogging and didn’t realize what a hot day it was. Can you give me a lift? I live near the gas station, the one by the intersection at 64.”

“Ya oughta carry water, you know. Middle of summer, not smart to get all dried out.”

Marcus gritted his teeth and climbed in the passenger side of the truck. He wished the old man would just shut up and drive but he didn’t dare show the pistol he’d tucked into the back of his pants or reveal his wound. Even though his shirt tail covered it, leaning back against the inflexible bench seat made the gun dig into his back.

Two Taos County Sheriff’s Department vehicles roared by in the opposite direction, lights and sirens going full bore, and the old man pulled off the side of the road to let them have plenty of clearance. Marcus pretended interest in a big tree out the side window.

Damn that Samantha Sweet. Somehow, she’d managed to get that sheriff husband of hers out to the house in the time she’d stalled him over getting the box out of the safe. And why’d the sheriff have to come walking in like that? If he’d stayed back and shouted through a bullhorn or something … well, he wouldn’t have needed to get shot.

Don’t be an ass, Marcus. The sheriff didn’t ask for it. You did it. You killed a lawman. He knuckled the side of his head to get the voice out of there.

“Here, this is close enough,” he said to the pickup driver.

“It’s just the convenience store and gas station. No houses around here.”

“Yeah, well, my neighbor works there. He’ll give me a ride home when he gets off in, uh, half an hour.” Marcus opened his door and was halfway out.

The old guy looked at him a little strangely. “Okay, you say so.”

Marcus went inside the store and bought a roadmap. At this point he just needed to get back to Colorado Springs and the private plane that would fly him to the coast, but he wasn’t sure what his options were. He sneaked a peek at his wound, relieved to see it wasn’t bleeding heavily. It stung like crazy though. He looked out toward the gas pumps.

Two people were gassing up—one a hefty twenty-something guy in a muscle shirt and baggy shorts. The other was a petite girl probably still in high school. She was chewing gum and studying the instructions on the pump. As the big guy finished and got into his truck, Marcus approached the girl.

“Need some help?” He flashed a smile.

“My mom didn’t give me her card today, so I guess it says here I gotta go inside and pay with cash before this thing will start up.”

“Um, yeah, that’s probably right. If you want to go in, I can start it pumping the gas as soon as the attendant turns it on,” he said, noticing she’d left her keys in the ignition.

“Oh! Okay, cool. Thanks.” She started for the building, tottering on platform shoes that nearly unbalanced her.

The moment she entered the building, Marcus hopped behind the wheel of her car, jammed it in gear, and roared out onto Highway 64. It was the main drag through Taos, and he could only hope he didn’t get caught up in traffic before he got to Kelly Sweet’s house. Or before this tub ran out of gas, he thought as he noticed the gauge. Sure, the girl could report it stolen, but that would take a while and by his guess local law enforcement was just a little bit busy right now.

He felt his temper rise again. Another way Samantha Sweet had screwed him. She’d locked her truck when they arrived at her house, with the box he’d taken from her daughter’s place inside. He’d debated smashing a window, but the sirens in the distance, so soon after he’d fired at that sheriff … he’d been too flustered to think straight. One extra minute and he would have had it. Was there nothing that could go his way today?

Okay, Fitch, he lectured himself. Stay cool and think ahead. At least get back to the rental car. You just need the backpack with that Facinor box—well, and the cash. That’s step one. Step two—find the quickest way to Colorado Springs, preferably on a route where there won’t be a lot of cops looking for you.

The stolen car ran out of gas a block from Kelly’s house. But that was fine. They’d chalk it up to him being a joyrider and at least no one would track him down on that little offense.

He practically tiptoed up the driveway where his rental still sat, watching her windows, although he’d tied her up solidly enough she wouldn’t be getting up off the floor anytime soon. He backed carefully out and left the short lane where she lived, making a right turn on Kit Carson Road.

He needed to pull over somewhere and study the map or check to see if his phone app actually got a signal out here in the sticks, but he sure wasn’t going to do it until that cop car behind him went somewhere else. When it turned onto the same lane he’d just left, he counted his blessings. Close, but not close enough, copper!