Chasing the Lost (4 page)

Part of Chase’s mind was considering the angles to the extortion, and the other part was processing the Russian mob angle. “I was in Afghanistan,” he said. “The Russian mob was running a lot of opium out of that country through the northern border. Pretty—” He paused, biting off the word ruthless. “Pretty much a formidable opponent. But this is America. How does Walter know it’s them?” Even as he said it, Chase thought back to Colorado and how the Russians had infiltrated there.

“He doesn’t,” Sarah said. “He doesn’t know for sure who it is.” She had her arms wrapped tight around her body as if she were cold. Chase took off his long-sleeve pullover and gave it to her. He only had on his black T-shirt and his MK23 was exposed, but he didn’t think that was an issue right now.

“Who else could it be?” Chase pressed as she pulled the shirt on. He heard a clatter of metal from the operating room, and figured Erin was cleaning her instruments.

Sarah sighed and leaned back in the couch. “If it’s not the Russian mob it, could be—” She paused, obviously trying to think through her emotions as the reality seemed to catch up with her.

Chase waited.

“It could be your neighbor, Peter Rollins.”

Chase remembered the man with the gun. “What? Who the hell is he?”

“Rollins is—well—” She shook her head as if to clear it. “He’s a big part of Hilton Head Island. His father was one of the first to buy up large tracts on the island, before there was a bridge. It was a quiet backwater barrier island, up until that bridge.”

Chase had come to the island for the first time twenty-seven years ago with his mother. Just two years prior to going to the Military Academy. He’d never heard of Rollins. And he was pretty sure Rollins hadn’t recognized Sarah earlier.

“How do you know Rollins?”

“I don’t know him, I know
of
him. Most of Walter’s clients are on the island or in Savannah.”

Chase shook his head. “I don’t understand. If Walter lives here and—”

“Walter and I haven’t been close for a long time. I live in New York. I’ve always made it a point to stay away from Walter’s business locales, both here and in Antigua. Works better that way.” She seemed to anticipate his next question. “Walter wanted me to come down with Cole to the house that he rents when he comes here. He comes in by private boat, and doesn’t go through customs because there’s a warrant for his arrest for the gambling site. It’s the only place in the States we can meet. We were going to celebrate after the Super Bowl.” She sighed. “Things have been hard for us the last couple of years. This was supposed to be a big step toward a reconciliation.”

“What’s Rollins got to do with what happened?” Chase walked over to the rocking unicorn and gave it a slight push.

“Oh, I don’t know for sure,” Sarah said, slapping her palm down on the couch, resulting in a dull rattle of beans. “I don’t know who did this. But it happened on the island, and anything that happens on the island, Rollins knows something about. Notice that Spanish Wells Security didn’t show up. You think nobody on that street called in the shots?”

“How would Rollins know about Walter? Is he a client?”

“Yes, and I think he’s into SAS for a lot of money.”

“I don’t see why Rollins would do something like this.” Chase glanced toward the door, behind which his long-ago summer fling had just saved his new dog’s life. There was no longer the sound of metal on metal.

“I don’t know, either,” Sarah said. “But you saw him with that gun. The man isn’t all there. And Walter told me that Rollins has been doing some questionable land deals, and Rollins is one of the biggest land speculators in the area.”

Chase felt his anger surge as he heard Erin moving about inside the operating room. Shooting a dog. That was pretty damn low. What the hell was it with people? Chase wondered as he looked about. He noticed a couple of small statues of unicorns on the counter where the receptionist would work. The unicorns stirred something about Erin, but he couldn’t latch onto the memory.

“Is Walter going to do what the kidnappers want?”

“He told me he was going to check with his business partner.”

“Who is...?”

“I don’t know.”

The door to the operating room swung open and Erin came out, pulling off her surgical cap. “She should be all right,” Erin said. “Barring infection, she’ll recover quickly.”

“Thanks,” Chase said.

“Who shot her?” Erin was eyeing the gun, which was clearly visible in the middle of his back.

“I don’t know.”

“Where are the cops?” Erin asked.

“It’s a bit complicated,” Chase replied.

Erin regarded him for several seconds. “Always getting in trouble. Nothing’s changed, has it? I’d hug you, but the blood—”

Chase stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. Two women in one night. Both with blood on them. The circumstances could have been a hell of lot better. “Thank you.” He let go of her and stepped back. He realized Sarah was watching them.

“Erin Brannigan, Sarah Briggs.”

The two women shook hands warily.

Erin turned back to Chase. “I’ve got to keep your dog—what’s her name?”

“Chelsea.”

Erin smiled, all dimples and freckles. “Chelsea. Nice. I’ll have to keep Chelsea here for a couple of days at least, for observation. She’s out right now. Should sleep at least for another six hours. Which also will help keep her from trying to scratch or chew out the stitches.”

Chase nodded. “Okay.”

“Is she up-to-date on her shots?”

“Uh. I don’t know.”

Erin frowned. “You don’t know?”

“I got her just two weeks ago, and I’ve been a bit busy in the meanwhile. I think they’re up-to-date.”

A sly smile crept across Erin’s face. “Horace Chase. Always rescuing the women. Gonna get you in trouble someday.”

Today’s the day
, Horace thought.

“I can’t take Sarah back to my place,” Chase said.

Erin stood in the doorway, keys in hand. She looked from Chase to Sarah, and then back at Chase. “Where are
you
going?”

“Back to my place,” Chase said.

“Sarah can’t go back there, but you can?” Erin asked.

“Where are you living now?” Chase ignored the question. “Still in the pods?”

Erin nodded. “My dad passed away two years ago. I got the place, but I put it on the market and just got a solid offer, so looks like I’ll be moving.”

“I’m sorry,” Chase said, realizing that explained why the old landline number still worked.

“About my dad, or that I’m still living in the pod village, or that I’m moving?”

“Your dad, of course.”

Erin shrugged. “He didn’t like you, that’s for certain.”

Chase remembered visiting Erin at her dad’s place. Just outside of Harbor Town, someone had bought a parcel of land in deep forest, and erected two-dozen flying saucer-shaped houses on top of two-story pedestals that contained a spiral staircase up to the house. While they might be safe from flooding, they were not the pinnacle of architectural design. They weren’t rentals, mostly owned by locals who worked on the island. It was one of the few relatively ‘inexpensive’ places to live on the island. Erin’s father had disapproved of their relationship, and made no effort to hide it.

He stepped outside with Sarah, and Erin locked the door behind her. As Chase stepped to the side, he noticed a group of standing objects on the side of the building, hidden in the dark shadows, and his hand started to move for his gun.

“Easy, cowboy,” Erin said. She walked over to the corner of the building and hit a switch. A spotlight illuminated a life-sized chess set, the pieces spread out over an old parking lot. The squares were painted on the asphalt. The knights were unicorns, the pawns foot soldiers with spears, the castles strangely-shaped keeps, and the bishops were wizards, but the king and queen were a king and queen, although she was slightly taller than the king.

“Looks like you have a game in progress,” Chase said, admiring the setup. Now he remembered: she’d always had a book with her, something to do with knights and princesses and dragons. Fantasy.

Erin flipped the light off. “I enjoy it.” She shifted the topic. “So are you asking me to take your friend to my place?” Erin didn’t wait for an answer. “I believe she has a voice, don’t you, Sarah?”

“I do,” Sarah said. She looked at Chase. “I think I’d be safer with you.”

Chase shook his head. “I’m going to find out what’s going on. It’ll be easier if I don’t have to worry about you.”

“I can help,” Sarah said.

Chase considered the type of help he might need, and Sarah wasn’t it. But it got his mind working.

“Horace?” Erin prodded, pulling him out of memories. Erin shifted targets. “Why don’t you stay with me, Sarah, while Horace does whatever it is he does? My partner won’t mind.”

Chase took a step back toward his Jeep. “Trust me, Sarah. It’s better that you stay with Erin.” He paused. “What happened to Doc Cleary?” he asked Erin.

She shrugged. “No one knows. He’s been gone over a year now. Since your mother passed. Sailed off, and no one knows where he is. I’m awfully sorry about your mother, Horace.”

“Thanks.”

Sarah took a step toward his Jeep. “I do have a say in what I do with my life. I’m going with you, Chase.”

Chase looked at Erin as Sarah got in the passenger seat with a finality that brooked no argument. Erin walked up and stood on her tiptoes, and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Good luck. You were never very good with women, and I mean that in a nice way.”

“Partner?” Chase asked.

“Things have changed since you’ve been gone, Horace. Times have changed, people have changed. But some things haven’t changed in South Carolina, and I still can’t get married.”

“Oh,” Chase said.

“Oh, poor Horace.” Erin laughed as she turned for Volkswagen. “Your mother and her poetry—seriously? Horace? That’s the best she could do? Stay safe.”

Chase got in the Jeep. Sarah was staring straight ahead through the windshield, arms folded across her chest.

It was still dark, dawn quite a bit off. Chase drove back to Spanish Wells, albeit slower. He pulled up to the gravel driveway, noting his house was the only one not festooned with security lights and floodlights pointing at the shrubbery and other signs of wealth. It was one of the few original one-story ranches left in a place where people bought lots, the old houses just a hindrance that had to be razed.

“Let’s check your place,” Chase said.

Sarah broke her silence. “For what? It’s a rental, and the only things in it are Cole’s and my bags.”

Good point
, Chase thought. He turned into his place, also noting that he had the only gravel driveway. He rolled down it, past several large, old trees, and pulled up to front. The front door was unlocked.

“We’ve got a couple of hours before it’s dawn,” he said as he locked the door behind them.

He grabbed his bedroll, consisting of a Therma-a-Rest pad and a bivy sack, and rolled it on the living room floor in front of the fireplace. “Why don’t you catch a couple of hours of sleep?”

Sarah stood next to the bedroll, a slim, dark silhouette in the moonlight reflected off the Intracoastal and the neighbor’s security lights. “What are you going to do?”

“Think.”

Chase walked out of the house, through the back sliding glass door, and past the pool. Down the rough lawn onto the walkway for the dock. He carefully walked over the boards, noting that a third of them needed to be replaced, to the end. A metal gangway descended to the floating dock. Chase went down, took of his boots, and sat on the edge, feet in the water. Dawn was still a few hours away. The water was chilly, but not too bad. Not the 86 degrees it would warm up to in the summer, but the Gulf Stream kept it from getting cold.

A security light on the end of Rollins’ dock was much too bright, ruining the view of the stars overhead. But it was bright enough to read by. Chase reached into his pocket and removed his wallet. He pulled out the carefully folded letter inside. It was stained with blood, Chase’s blood.

He unfolded it and read.

My Dearest Horace.

We are both at war, but I fear I am losing mine. The cancer has spread too quickly.

Fate has dealt you a final card from the father you never knew and the man I hardly knew. Don’t be like your father. Don’t be too brave. Come back from the war.

I know we haven’t spoken in a long time. I know you don’t want to hear this. I blame myself for that. But maybe someday you’ll think better about me. I hope you will.

Sometimes there are broken people. Like me. Like you. I was trying to do the right thing for you. Now I know I did wrong by giving you your father’s legacy. The Medal of Honor and the Academy appointment that came with it, and all afterward. But maybe it isn’t too late.

Even broken people should get another chance.

Be a good man.

With my dying love,

Your Mother.

PS: In my will, there’s a house. An old house. But it’s a good house in a good place. It will be yours. It’s the house we spent the summers in on Hilton Head in the Low Country. It’s from an old friend. He’s a good man. You won’t understand now, and will think the wrong thing because you tend to think the wrong thing first. It’s all I can give you now.

Chase folded the letter and put it back in the wallet. He took out the picture that he carried next to it. The father he’d never met. A faded, black-and-white photo of a young man sporting a wide smile. He wore jungle fatigues and a green beret with the old, original flash for 5
^th
Special Forces, the colors of the Vietnamese flag angled across the black background.

The father who’d earned the Medal of Honor, posthumously. And it was the earning of the nation’s highest award for courage that had gotten Chase his automatic appointment to West Point. Some guys got grandfathered into Harvard because of family connections and money. Chase had been projected into the United States Military Academy because of his father’s heroism in death.

Chase stared out at the dark water of the Intracoastal. His mother’s ashes had been spread out there by Doc Cleary. Chase had been in a hospital in Germany, recovering from the wounds, which stained the letter with blood.

Doc Cleary hadn’t waited for Chase, because his mother had told him not to wait.

She knew Chase better than he knew himself.

Sylvie, back in Boulder, had known Chase well, too. She’d upbraided him for never coming here to pay respects to his mother’s memory. Another piece of the unraveling of that relationship.

He was here now.

The creak of boards caught his attention. He turned his head and saw Sarah standing at the top of the steel walkway. She made her way down and sat next to him, close by. He could feel her warmth.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she said.

“Sorry.” Chase wasn’t sure what else to say. This was not at all what he had expected, but now he realized he’d had no expectations on the long drive to South Carolina from Colorado. His mind had been mired in the past, choices made and not made. Lives that were now gone. People that were now gone from him, whether through choice or through death.

Sarah leaned against him. He put his arm around her, awkwardly at first, but her body relaxed into his.

“I miss him,” Sarah said. “I miss Cole so badly it’s like a hole has been punched through me. Right through my heart. I didn’t know I could hurt this bad.”

“We’ll get him back.”

“‘We’?” Sarah asked. “You were going to leave me back there.”

“For your own good. But I’m going to need help,” Chase added. “I know you don’t want the cops involved, but I have to go find out what they know. I used to be one,” he added. That felt like a lie. His time wearing a badge in Boulder seemed distant, and part of a life lived one step out of sync with reality. And the cops in Boulder, other than his partner, hadn’t considered him one of the brotherhood.

“No cops,” Sarah said, but her voice was tired.

“I need information,” Chase said. “Trust me on this.”

Sarah’s head slumped into the crook of his arm. Her voice was muffled. “All right. I trust you.”

* * * * *

The first tinge of dawn, which came from behind them, found Chase still seated on the edge of the dock, carefully cradling Sarah’s head exactly where it had come to rest on his arm.

She stirred, slowly uncoiling from him. She stretched her arms, then suddenly stiffened.

“Cole!”

Chase retrieved his arm, the muscles stiff. He got to his feet. “BMNT.”

“What?” Sarah was confused as she also got up.

“Beginning morning nautical twilight,” Chase said. “The time when the sun is just below the horizon. An opportune time to attack.”

“You were military, besides being a cop,” Sarah said.

“Yes.”

“I knew you were different from the first moment I saw you,” Sarah said.

“Different isn’t necessarily good.”

“I’m sorry I got your dog shot,” Sarah said as she followed Chase to the gangplank up to the long walkway back to land.

“You didn’t shoot her,” Chase said. But when he caught who did . . .

“What’s the plan?” Sarah asked as they carefully walked along the warped planks.

“Who
is
the law here?” Chase asked. It wasn’t something he’d concerned himself with when he was a kid visiting. “The guy yesterday was from the Sheriff. There’s no Hilton Head Police?”

“No,” Sarah said as they reached the end of the walk and strode up the grass to the concrete surrounding the pool. “Not even a substation of the Sheriff’s Department. They operate out of Beaufort.”

“That’s odd.”

“That’s Hilton Head,” Sarah said.

“They’ve got to have around thirty-thousand full-timers here, and a couple of million visitors a year to the island,” Chase noted. “Weird, the police headquarters is thirty-some-odd miles away.”

“That’s the way they like it here, according to Walter.”

Chase had almost forgotten about Walter. He still felt the warmth of Sarah’s skin on his arm. “We’ll pick up something to eat on the road.”

“Whatever works for you,” Sarah said. She looked at her phone.

“Anything from your husband?”

“Nothing. If anything had changed, he’d have texted or called. Are you sure it’s smart to check with the police?”

“I’m going to talk to the cop who was here yesterday,” Chase said as they walked out the front door to the Jeep. “I have a feeling about him.”

The open top on the Jeep prohibited further conversation. Chase drove over the bridge, leaving the island, as the sun rose in the east. Traffic was already heavy, as it was a Saturday and the weeklong rentals all turned over on the weekend. Carloads of worn-out families were heading back home after a week vacation at the beach. The license plates indicated an array of states within driving distance, Ohio the predominant one. Even though it was off-season, the island was still a beacon for those from the north wanting to escape winter’s lash. Finishing up a week’s vacation was an oxymoron, because the glimpses Chase caught of the people in the cars showed sunburned men driving, looking haggard, wives next to them looking even more worn-out, and kids passed out in the back. It didn’t look like fun.

Chase turned off Highway 278, the main drag off the island, onto 170, the coastal highway. He headed north to Beaufort.

Forty-five minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of the Sheriff’s department. It was a modern building, complete with barriers to prevent a car or truck loaded with explosives from driving into the lobby. Why terrorists would target this building, Chase had no idea, but some contractor had made good money putting those barriers in. In Chase’s experience, a lot of things were built more to make someone money than for practicality. Every time he went through security at an airport, it depressed him, because it meant the terrorists had won. The top two floors of the four-story building had the narrow, hard windows that meant there were cells on the other side.