Conard County Spy (22 page)

“I'm thinking he could already be here.”

“But the storm...”

Ryker interjected then. “I had a friendly phone call from someone we know. A certain diplomat hasn't been seen by anyone since Saturday morning.”

“So your contact knows?”

Ryker nodded. “He wasn't sure, but he talked to a clerk who got shoved into the middle of this. The guy mentioned a general.”

“Then it's him,” Trace said. If he'd had time, he might have exploded, but that was a luxury for later. Right now he needed every unclouded, objective brain cell he had. His hand was pounding again, but he drew a breath and used the pain to clear his head.

“Where's Julie?” Ryker asked. “Not at home?”

“Of course not. I'm assuming it didn't take them long to put a tap on your line. They know who you've been calling. Maybe they even listened in. I told her to go to her friend Ashley's place and stay put.”

Gage picked up a radio and keyed it. “Twenty-one, this is Dalton.”

“Twenty-one here,” said a woman's voice.

“Connie, where are you?” The voice gave him a street intersection. “That's near Ashley's, right?”

“Less than a minute.”

“Get over there right now and stay with her. Julie should be there soon, if she's not already. You stay with them, but make it seem like a friendly drop-in. I want you on alert.”

He received an affirmative response and put the radio aside.

“Who's Connie?” Trace asked.

“One of my deputies. Daughter-in-law of a guy you met, Micah Parish. Anyway, she's part of that circle of friends. Ashley, Julie, Connie and a couple of others. Connie can show up at Ashley's without scaring them and keep an eye on them, okay?”

The radio crackled. “I'm at Ashley's,” Connie's voice said. “No sign of Julie yet. I'm going inside.”

Trace looked at the sheriff. “Is that a problem that Julie's not there?”

“Not yet. From here to Ashley's might take a couple of minutes longer, especially if she ran into an unplowed street, which is possible.”

“Thanks. Julie's been my biggest concern.” Then he looked at Ryker. “And you and your family, of course.”

“Me and mine are fine. Gage has given us enough protection to hold off a squad, never mind one guy. But what's the plan?”

“You're going to stay close to your family. Julie's going to stay with Ashley. And I'm going back on the grid. Where can I get a phone?”

Ryker tucked his hand in his jacket pocket. “You know, I figured that was coming. Paid cash for a burner when I was out on Saturday. But why do you want to get back on the grid?”

“So he can hunt me and leave everyone else alone. I want everyone else out of sight and out of mind.”

“You're going to need to be able to get around,” Ryker added, and tossed him a key that he caught with his good hand. “John Hayes's car. It runs reliably, but not much more than that.”

“Not Marisa's, though.”

Ryker shook his head. “I wouldn't risk that. No, it's John's car, and we were thinking it was time to let it go. This seems as good a way as any. It's parked outside.”

Trace looked at the two men, feeling everything inside him deadening, all unnecessary systems shutting down. Right now he needed to be an automaton with a brain. No room for anything else.

“I mean it,” he said again. “Everyone stays away, including the people you told to watch me. Have them watch Julie. Not me. I need to lead this guy away from here.”

He looked at the number on the phone, memorized it, then dialed a number he knew too well.

“Hey, this is Archer. Got any news for me?”

* * *

The general saw a huge wrinkle as he watched Archer's woman friend pull up at a house. There was a sheriff's vehicle parked out front. Something was being planned, and he had to interrupt it before matters grew more difficult.

Without another thought, he put his car in Park and climbed out. As the woman eased out of her car, holding a cloth bag, he approached her with his most charming smile. She glanced at him, then froze. “Can I help you?”

“Please,” he said, then took one strong swing with his fist.

* * *

Julie came to with a head that felt as if it were being jackhammered. Without opening her eyes, she assessed what she could. She was in a moving car. She was probably concussed, to judge by the headache. And she felt fairly certain she was with the general.

Moving very cautiously, a millimeter at a time, she realized her wrists were bound. Then terror slammed her. She'd been kidnapped by a man Trace had described in the ugliest terms imaginable. There could be only one reason: to draw Trace to him, away from any possible safety. Oh God, she had to do something.

But she couldn't imagine what. As her head jolted against the car's window, she opened her eyes just a bit and saw nothing but empty, snowy countryside. From the way the vehicle was jolting, she suspected they were off-road. Each bounce made her head hurt worse.

Fear was clogging her throat, causing her heart to hammer wildly, creating a desperate need for oxygen.

“I know you are awake,” said a heavily accented, deep voice. “But do not fear. You will be all right.”

Julie turned her head slowly to look at the driver. She supposed most would consider him a handsome man, with gray hair and a deceptively young face. A strong nose that balanced a heavy brow. “Who are you?”

“You know that man who has been visiting you? I am an old friend.”

“I'm supposed to believe that when you knocked me out, kidnapped me and tied me up?”

The man laughed as if he was enjoying all this. “Oh yes, you can believe. He will come for you and then I will let you leave.”

“If he's a friend, you could have just called him.”

“So sad,” said the man, shaking his head. “But he seems to have lost his telephone.”

“But who are you?”

“If I tell you that, I will not be able to let you go.”

The words struck her like an icy shaft. She dragged her gaze from her abductor and stared out the windshield. Headed for the middle of nowhere, somewhere closer to the mountains. Nothing in sight for miles and miles.

Despair filled her heart. Trace would have to come alone. No one else would be able to get within visual range. But Trace had only one good hand.

She needed to think, she realized. Think hard. There had to be something she could do to interfere with this guy. She fell silent again, and let her eyes close most of the way, testing her wrist restraints, testing her body with minuscule movements. She had to be ready when an opportunity presented itself. And if it didn't she'd have to make one.

For Trace. For the first time it occurred to her that she was as willing to die to protect him as she was to protect Marisa and her family.

Where the hell had that come from?

Gloomily, she watched the countryside pass, knowing they had probably moved out of range of her cell phone. No one would be able to track her now, and Ashley hadn't even known she was coming. No one would even wonder where she was.

Trace's attempt to protect her seemed to have put her in some serious trouble. But she didn't blame him for that, she realized. No, she blamed the man beside her. How the hell had he figured out she was linked to Trace?

Despite her pounding head, she turned her thoughts back to the drive from her apartment to Ashley's. She
had
gone out of her way, so she'd lied to Trace about that, but she didn't want to leave him on his own to walk to the sheriff's. So...had this guy followed them? Had he seen Trace get out at the sheriff's?

Had he decided that Julie was the only way to draw Trace out?

The thought sickened her, and she was already feeling nauseated enough from the blow to her head. Trace might be the goat, but she was being used as the bait for him. Desperation filled her.

God, she needed to figure out something.

Fast.

* * *

Trace made the phone call last longer than it needed to. They fed him some flimflam about having been worried when he dropped out of sight, some crap about how glad they were he was all right after his accident, and yes, the threat appeared to be real and they were on it.

He didn't bother telling them anything. The guy he was talking to probably didn't know what was going on. Just a mouthpiece. Anyway, the stories didn't matter anymore. Nobody believed anyone else now.

He gave them enough time to locate him and determine the number of the cell he was using, then pushed their hand a bit. “I got another car. I'll be hitting the road soon.”

“Denver?” asked his contact.

“I don't know. Haven't decided yet. I spent a nice weekend in this town, but I gotta head out now the storm is over. You know that. You told me to keep moving. I just don't know where yet. Yeah, I'll let you know.”

He was certain his number was already being relayed to the general. He was back on the grid, and they'd track him now. So it was time to hit the road. For real.

Then the radio crackled again. “Sheriff, this is twenty-one.”

Gage picked up the radio. “Go, twenty-one.”

“We have a problem. Julie never arrived, but her car is out front. No sign of her except the contents of a tote bag scattered on the ground.”

Trace felt as if a fist had punched him in the chest. How in the hell?

Chapter 13

J
ulie suddenly knew where they were headed. They weren't on the road, but in the end it didn't matter. She began to recognize her surroundings and knew they were headed for an unoccupied ranch, a place that had been empty for years after it had been foreclosed. Nobody would think to look out here, and there would be no one around for miles.

The place had a tragic past. A father and son had worked it together, eking out a living. Then one day the father had gone to look for his son and had found the twenty-five-year-old had been gruesomely killed in an accident with machinery. The father had had a heart attack on the spot, and by the time the mother had found them both...well.

No one knew where the woman had gone after that. She had sold off the livestock and the equipment she could in a quick auction, where her neighbors had been as generous to her as they could manage, and then had vanished. She'd packed up clothes, a few keepsakes, and taken the best of the vehicles. No one had ever heard from her again.

Just looking at the place made Julie shiver. Abandoned now for so long, as if it were cursed. No one seemed interested in buying the farmstead, and she could understand why. Some neighboring ranchers leased the grazing land from the bank, but nobody went near that house anymore, except possibly drifters and squatters. Neglect had left its mark all over the place. Tumbleweeds, some buried in snow, others just dusted with it, lined the whole house, even covered the porch. Rusting hulks of large equipment looked as if they might crumble at a touch.

Perfect setting for a nightmare, she thought acidly. Her nightmare. Perhaps Trace's. She squeezed her eyes shut and hoped Ryker and Gage persuaded him to just clear out of town. Convinced him that he could do nothing.

This was a big county, and there was no way it could be rapidly searched. She could be anywhere, and they had to make that clear to him. That there was no hope of finding her.

Because if they failed to, she feared what might happen to Trace. She didn't even begin to believe this man had any intention of setting her free.

* * *

Gage was putting helicopters into the air, possibly a dangerous thing to do given that the storm still occasionally gusted, and the winds had to be worse aloft. Pointless, probably, when they had no idea who they were looking for, or what kind of vehicle.

Trace couldn't hold still. He paced the hallway, up and down, waiting for his phone to ring. If Andrepov wanted him, then he was going to have to call him and tell him where they'd meet. Taking Julie got him nowhere, except as a means of ensuring Trace would show up. Hell, maybe he'd even seen the deputy's car at Ashley's and had concluded there was a plan hatching.

So the man would call. Trace clung to that certainty.

“Go home,” he told Ryker.

“I'm not letting you face this guy alone.”

“What makes you think he'll face me any other way? You could endanger Julie. Worse, you could put your family at risk if he figures out who you are. Go home. Please.”

But still Ryker hesitated, and Trace could understand that. It went against his grain to leave Trace uncovered. Hell, it would have gone against Trace's grain, too.

But some things mattered more.

“We've got Trace's back,” Gage said. “Go take care of your wife and family. That's the biggest help you can give both of us right now. No additional concerns.”

So Ryker departed, extracting a promise they'd keep him posted and call on him if needed. Then Trace was left alone with the sheriff.

“You have to stand down, too.”

Gage shook his head. “I can't let you go alone. I have men...”

“I know about your men. You can bet Andrepov does, too. He's probably got the agency's full four-one-one on this place.”

Gage's face darkened. “They're not supposed to...”

“Oh, give me a break, Sheriff. You know reality is often very different. Everybody in this county is cataloged somewhere, and your men, as you call them, are apt to be of special interest to Homeland Security. No secrets.”

Gage nodded and sighed. “I'd like to feel more shocked than I do.”

“We all would. And while it wouldn't ordinarily be a problem for anyone, this time it is. This time the bad guys used to be the good guys. And I no longer believe that they'd hesitate to call on all that information they're not supposed to use. How could it possibly be traced back to them anyway? My point is, if they know, then they've let Andrepov know because it's in their best interests to ensure he takes me down and then clears out swiftly. They don't want him caught. They don't want a diplomatic incident, and they sure as hell don't want to be caught pulling a stunt like this. So get your guys to stay back. I'll have to handle this.”

Gage nodded slowly.

“So tell your men to stand down. Use the sat phone. Whoever's been paying attention to transmissions from the area will hear the order.”

“You know,” Gage said slowly, “I'm not used to feeling this naked.”

“Who is? Better not to think about it. Most of the time, nobody cares at all what's going on around here. Blame me for your change in perspective.”

Gage stared at the radio for a few minutes, as if pondering. “All right,” he said finally. “But you give me one promise.”

“What's that?”

“That you'll carry the satellite phone we gave you in your car. When you get out, leave the window or door open so there's a strong signal. We'll stay out of the way, but you owe that much to Julie. If she needs help, we need to know where to look.”

Trace hesitated. Gage was right. Julie. She stood right at the heart of this through no fault of her own. What if he managed to take out the general but got mortally wounded himself? She'd be in the middle of nowhere with no way back.

“Okay. But don't act. Stay clear. There can be no transmissions from the time I leave, or they'll warn him.”

Gage picked up his own brick and keyed it. “Dalton here. Stand back. You're done except in town.”

A series of affirmatives answered him. Trace noted, however, that the sheriff hadn't told them to stand down. Well, he couldn't, not when they were watching Ryker's place. As satisfied as he could be under the circumstances, he waited for the call he knew had to be coming.

* * *

This general had apparently already scouted this house. How had he managed that? As they pulled up, Julie dared to say, “Nobody ever comes here anymore. How did you find it?”

“Friends in high places,” he answered shortly.

She understood. She wondered how much else the agency knew or could find out about Conard County. If they'd directed this man to this abandoned spot, they must know no one ever came here anymore.

“It scares me,” she said, stalling.

“What? Ghosts? Every place has ghosts.”

“Maybe where you come from.”

He snorted. “Ghosts can't hurt you. I can.”

Well, that was clear enough. He pulled the car up close to the house where it would blend better with the drifted snow. Then he urged her out of it at gunpoint.

For the first time in her life, Julie stared down the barrel of a rifle, one held by a man who would use it. For an instant she was frozen in fear, not even sure her legs would hold her. But then he waved the gun insistently and she knew she had to move or lose her chance.

After all, said the remaining part of her mind that hadn't caved to raw emotion, at this point she was still bait, dead or alive. Because how would Trace know if she was dead?

He'd still come. And lifeless, she'd be of no use to anyone.

She struggled out of the car. For the first time she got a true sense of how big and strong this man appeared. She hoped half of it was winter clothing.

Not having prepared for any extended period out of doors, she felt the chill cutting right into her each time the air stirred. It was almost a relief to stumble up the uneven steps and push her way through the tumbleweeds. The guy opened the door for her and shoved her inside. She nearly fell when her foot caught on a rumpled rug.

But at least there was no wind. Somehow the windows had remained unbroken despite all the years.

He waved her into a wooden chair. All thoughts of fleeing dissipated in about two seconds flat. If she ran out here, in the middle of nowhere, he wouldn't even to have to shoot her in the back. She'd get hypothermic before she could hope to reach any help, and she'd be found frozen to death in the snow.

He'd picked a good place for his confrontation. But Trace had warned her. He was a man who was very good at what he did. He'd risen to the top of two armies. Lots of experience and lots of intelligence, however bent he might be.

Then there was a loud
beep
. He lifted the bottom of his white jacket and pulled out a black brick that looked almost like the one Micah Parish had given to Trace.

“Da,” he said, then listened. He muttered something, then pulled out a pad and pencil from one of the cargo pockets on his pants. “Yes,” he said. “I have it. Now we will complete our business. No one else will come, yes?”

He listened again. When he put the satellite phone down, he smiled. “Your Archer is leaving town. Without you. I think we will stop him, yes?”

Julie closed her eyes, not believing for one second that Trace would simply run. But it was certainly clear that this man was getting intelligence from sources inside this country. No questions remained.

A wave of despair wanted to wash over her, but she refused to let it. Instead she focused on the room around her, seeking any means of protecting herself or taking this man out.

The previous owner had left an awful lot behind. Rats or mice had left their traces all over everything, but she didn't see anything within reach that she could use, at least not while her hands were tied. Thankfully he'd used rope, not one of those plastic cuffs. Apparently he wasn't prepared for everything, and that fueled a small spark of hope in her.

Remembering her belt buckle, she tucked her hands up inside her jacket.

He saw the movement immediately. “Pull your hands out!”

She did so, but immediately adopted the whiniest voice she could. “My hands are freezing. My fingers hurt!”

He hesitated, then must have decided that as long as he held the gun she was really not a threat. “Okay. But not for long.”

“Thanks.” She managed to make her tone sound begrudging. She tucked her hands up inside against and moved them until the rope was right over her belt buckle. At least the edges of it were thin enough to qualify as an exceptionally dull knife. Then she began to saw as surreptitiously as she could. She encouraged no delusional hopes that she would free her hands any time soon.

But then the guy made a phone call, and for several blessed minutes he didn't even look her way. She hurried her movements, prepared to stop the instant he started to turn back to her.

There was no time to waste. As she sawed, she kept looking around for items she could use for self-defense. At last she noted a poker lying on the floor by the woodstove, covered in dust and ash. If she could get to it...

Then her heart froze. The man was talking to Trace.

* * *

The call didn't come quickly enough to suit Trace. He was geared up, ready to go. Even though he couldn't use it easily, a pistol was now tucked in his jacket pocket. A deadlier sheathed knife had been added to his arsenal and tucked into his left boot. The one thing he could say about Velcro closures was that they wouldn't hamper him if he had to reach that knife. In his right pocket, he carried a flash-bang grenade, courtesy of one worried sheriff.

“We'll be tracking you from the air. Leave the sat phone on,” Gage said. “We'll stay back, but if we need to move...”

Trace nodded. Then at long last his phone rang. He picked it up and answered. “Archer.”

“At long last we will meet,” said a heavily accented voice. “You say you are leaving town?”

“Climbing in the car right now. Who are you?”

“You do not need to know. I have your friend with the red hair. If you want to see her alive again, come.”

“Come where?”

“You have GPS?”

Trace hesitated. “I can get it,” he answered finally.

“Then start driving east on the highway. I will give you direction once you are away from friends.”

With that, the general disconnected.

“We'll be listening,” Gage said. “Radio silence will be observed.”

Trace nodded. Rage boiled in him again, and this time he didn't try to tamp it down. “Keep back. I don't care if I die. This is for Julie.”

Gage merely nodded.

Trace stepped out into the bracing air and slid into the car that had been left for him. A decade-old model of four-wheel drive, it looked almost new in condition. Apparently John Hayes hadn't used it very much.

But when had Hayes ever been home?

When he was a mile out of town, his cell phone rang again.

“We will not be able to talk for long,” the general said. “You will lose signal soon. There is a road to this place. Make sure you do not get stuck. Make a left on CR 480.”

“Okay. Then?”

“Ten miles. You will have to walk up to a house on the right. Approach alone. I see one other person, your friend dies.”

“I want proof the woman is still alive. Now.”

There was a pause, then he heard Julie say, “Run, Trace!” Followed by a
click
.

The barrenness of the land gnawed at him. No cover. No place to hide. It was a good thing he'd told the sheriff to have his men stand down. They'd have had to belly-crawl their way for miles out here in order not to be seen.

But mostly he thought about Julie, prisoner of a madman. Probably certain that, no matter what happened, she was going to die. That realization hurt worse than his hand ever had. If they got through this, he'd never be able to make it up to her. Never.