CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 

 

On Frank’s third day of his stay in Summit County, he finally laid eyes on Zaluski. Frank had been almost ready to pack it in and drive back to Denver. Cut his losses and help Micah out with his damsel in distress investigation.

He spotted the bail jumper in the lobby of the Baymont Inn as Frank was coming down for breakfast. When the elevator doors opened, he heard a distinctly-European voice coming from the lobby. Then, Frank leaned out the elevator and caught a blip of Zaluski’s face before quickly darting back into the elevator.

The teenage girl who’d descended from the third floor with Frank raised an eyebrow, then she averted her eyes and strutted into the lobby.

Frank wrapped a hand around the elevator’s edge to keep the door from closing. Leaned forward slowly, inching his head out until he could make sure Zaluski wasn’t looking his way. In the pictures Frank had been given from Zaluski’s bondsman, he’d had long, flowing hair down to his shoulders. Now the head was shaved to stubble. Also, the bail jumper’s face was cut up and bruised, but there was no mistaking him.

So he had stayed in the hotel. Must have had multiple rooms to use as decoys.

He was arguing with the woman at the front desk. Roller bag in one hand, and he gesticulated in large, violent sweeps of his arm with the other. The front desk woman was nodding, clutching a sheet of paper to her chest, her brow wrinkled. Biting her lip.

Fighting over his bill, probably.

If Zaluski wasn’t careful, he was going to get hotel security called on him, then the cops. Then they would find out who he was, slap him in handcuffs, and that spelled no bounty for Frank.

Fortunately for Frank, the situation didn’t escalate. Zaluski gave up his battle and paid his bill with cash, then he stomped toward the front doors, dragging his roller bag behind him.

Frank sprung into action, keeping step with Zaluski, but maintaining a reasonable distance. Part of him wanted to snatch the jumper as soon as he got the chance, but part of him wanted to see where the guy was going. Zaluski had been holed up in this mountain town for days on end for a reason. And so far, Frank hadn’t been able to figure out what that reason could possibly be.

Out of the building, Zaluski didn’t head right toward the parking lot, he veered left, back toward I-70. Made sense, since Frank knew that Zaluski’s Lamborghini wasn’t in the lot. The luxury car had been MIA ever since Zaluski had discovered the GPS tracker Frank had attached to it.

Zaluski hoofed it along Lusher Court, the short access road that joined with Summit Boulevard, which led into the main part of town.

Frank had to be careful on this access road since there weren’t cars or nearby buildings or people to use as cover. He wrapped his scarf around his face and tried to look as if he was meandering. He was far back from Zaluski, but the jumper might turn and find Frank suspicious. That would ruin everything.

Thirty seconds into following, Frank realized he didn’t have his handcuffs or zip ties with him. They were back in the room. This morning, he’d been expecting to go downstairs and find nothing but hash browns and eggs in the hotel restaurant.

If he returned to the room, he would lose the guy. But, if he stayed on him, how was he going to apprehend him? Frank had his gun in his armpit holster, but he couldn’t pull it out anywhere near a crowd. Plus, Zaluski would probably have a gun of his own.

Some jumpers, all you have to do is flash your bounty hunter license, and they come willingly. Frank knew that wouldn’t work with Zaluski. He would have to creep up behind him, clang the handcuff on one wrist, and then drag him to the ground to get him under control. The surprise was the best advantage he had.

Going face to face with this guy, Frank would lose all of his leverage.

But he didn’t have a choice. He wasn’t willing to lose sight of Zaluski, so Frank kept on him, matching his steps and keeping a reasonable distance.

As expected, Zaluski headed toward Main Street. Frank paced with him for almost a mile, and even simply walking this much at altitude was exhausting him. Fortunately, Zaluski paused at a bus stop to smoke a cigarette, and Frank had a chance to recover. If he had to wrestle with Zaluski to apprehend him, he didn’t know if he’d be able to muster the strength.

He resumed the chase after Zaluski snubbed out his cigarette. But instead of venturing all the way down to Main, Zaluski stopped a couple blocks short, just as Summit Boulevard crossed a river. The bail jumper turned off the sidewalk and climbed down a cascade of rocks next to the bridge, his roller bag bouncing around behind him.

Frank paused. He had to let Zaluski get a little head of him first. But he didn’t walk west along the river away from Summit, he turned back east, headed under the bridge.

Frank hustled to the river, and he jogged down the slippery rocks as quickly as he could. Stopped before he got within eyesight of the underpass, then he dropped to his knees. He crept forward until he could get a look underneath the bridge.

There was Zaluski, standing with another man. Didn’t take any time at all for Frank to recognize the man as Everett Welker, the racist detective who’d been following Frank yesterday.

And even stranger was that Everett wasn’t putting handcuffs on Zaluski, even though he was a wanted man. No, Everett took the roller bag from Zaluski and shook his hand. In exchange, Everett gave Zaluski a fat envelope.

This explained some of why Zaluski had been hanging around town when he had every reason to leave. And it meant something bigger was going on. What that could be, Frank had no idea.