Dashing Through the Snow (7 page)

“I love those, too. My family calls them Mexican wedding cakes.”

He glanced at her and smiled. “But as Christmas approached during my tour in Afghanistan, I dreaded it. All I could think about was everything I was missing at home.” He paused and shook his head as though to clear his thoughts. “Funny, I've never mentioned this to anyone else.”

“Why not?”

“No reason, I guess. No need to point it out when I was in the service. Everyone in Afghanistan was away from home and loved ones. We made the best of it. The cooks did what they could to create a great meal, but it wasn't the same. Most of us made an effort to be cheerful, but deep down there wasn't a one of us that wouldn't have given just about anything to be home with our family and friends.”

By comparison, Ashley was feeling shallow. Dash had been half a world away while she was only a few hundred miles. He'd been in a battle zone and she was in graduate school.

“Even worse, my birthday is the twentieth, so I missed Christmas and my birthday.”

Ashley sat up straighter. “You have a December birthday? Get outta here.”

“You, too?” He held her gaze a bit longer this time, as if even he felt this strange connection between them.

“The nineteenth.”

“That's crazy,” he said.

“It is crazy. Did you have relatives who gave you combination gifts—Christmas and birthday?”

“Yes, and it was the pits, especially when I was younger. I used to feel cheated, so my mother threw me half-birthdays in June. She served half a cake with half a scoop of ice cream. She set half the table. Everything was done in halves. It was really fun. My school friends all wanted to come to my half-parties.”

“What a wonderful idea.” Ashley had already decided that she liked his mother, and this gave her even more reason to do so. She loved the inventive way she'd made Dash's birthday special.

The air between them seemed to be filled with static electricity. Ashley was convinced if she were to reach out and touch him she'd get an electrical jolt. The silence didn't help. She was the one to breach it.

“You think with everything we're finding in common that we could be friends?”

Dash grinned. “You'd think.”

“I'm willing.”

“I'll think about it.”

“Dash!” She punched his arm and he laughed. It wasn't the first time she'd heard him laugh, but there was a difference in him now. He was more relaxed and it felt as if he'd lowered a wall and had come to trust her enough to be willing to share part of himself.

“You should laugh like that more often,” she said, wanting him to know she felt more relaxed and at ease with him, too.

“Hey, Ash, are you falling for me?” he asked, teasing her.

“You wish,” she said, hiding a smile.

Agent Jordan Wilkes rode in the unmarked black Suburban heading north on Interstate 5. A sense of urgency filled him. He was taking a gamble, following the instincts and past experience he'd garnered in pursuit of Ashley Davison. She'd been on his caseload ever since the domestic incident six years ago. She was clever and devious, and Wilkes was determined to see her behind bars before he retired.

Davison had tricked him before, but he'd learned to adjust to her convoluted thinking. He felt sure that she intended to take her hostage to Seattle. By now the former army intelligence officer would most likely have figured out his plight. Wilkes hoped Sutherland would leave clues the FBI could pick up on to aid in his release, before it was too late.

Agent Buckley drove as Wilkes reviewed the collected information regarding Dashiell Sutherland.

“Army intelligence officer,” he murmured aloud, as the scenery rushed past. They had given up following the speed limit. Law enforcement would be able to detect that they were government agents and wouldn't pull them over for fudging with the law.

“That's good, right?” Agent Buckley questioned. “That means her hostage is trained. He'd know how to handle this sort of situation. Do you think he was a random captive, or was this prearranged?”

“He worked with intelligence, on the guidance system in drones. I'm guessing she had him pegged. His capture wasn't random. Whatever she's up to, she needs him. The woman may come off as sweet and endearing, but her heart is as black as they come.”

Buckley frowned, as if he had a hard time assimilating this information.

Wilkes scowled at the junior agent. “Don't underestimate this woman, Buckley. Her hostage is in serious danger. All we can hope is that we're able to rescue him before she gets what she needs from him.”

Wilkes's cell beeped, indicating he'd received a text. Reaching for his phone, he read the message as a sense of satisfaction filled him. “Just as I suspected. Their vehicle was caught on a surveillance camera heading north. They stopped at a rest stop at milepost 451. We might be able to get more information there.”

“Heading there now.”

A half-hour later they pulled into the rest area. Looking around, the first thing Wilkes noticed was a free coffee stand manned by the local VFW. The man in the booth wore a cap that identified him as a Vietnam vet. If luck was with them, the veteran might be able to provide vital information.

Once Buckley had parked the vehicle, he climbed out and headed toward the booth.

The vet regarded him closely as Wilkes approached. “Can I interest you in coffee?” he asked.

Wilkes flashed his identification. “Can you answer a few questions?”

The vet straightened. “Sure. What do you need to know?”

Agent Wilkes held out a photo of Dashiell Sutherland, taken in the airport. He'd had it blown up to show his face. “Did this man happen to stop here?”

The vet's eyes widened as he studied the photo. “Yes, but I only saw him from a distance.”

Wilkes knew it. He'd felt it in his bones. “Was he traveling with anyone?”

“A woman. What's the problem?”

Wilkes ignored the question. “What can you tell me about them?”

The vet shrugged. “Not much…well, other than the fact that they had some kind of tiff.”

Wilkes looked to Buckley. It was as he suspected. Sutherland wasn't making this easy. Sounded like his training was serving him well.

“Nice gal,” the vet continued. “Got a real soft spot for animals. She took my last puppy.”

Wilkes frowned. This made no sense. “A puppy?”

“Yes. I found a litter abandoned here when I arrived earlier today and was determined to find homes for the poor little buggers.” He looked pleased with himself. “Got homes for them all, too.”

Wilkes would need to analyze the reason for the dog. It didn't add up, but then little about this woman did. “Did you see the couple leave?”

The question appeared to unsettle the older man. “Yes and no.”

“Explain yourself.” Wilkes needed information and he needed it to be clear.

“The man, the one in the photograph, left first without the woman. He wasn't keen on taking the puppy and they had some sort of disagreement.”

“An altercation?”

“I guess you could call it that. He drove off without her.”

Buckley moved closer and whispered, “Maybe he isn't a hostage after all.”

“Possible,” Wilkes agreed, but he had to assume that the man had been an innocent bystander—otherwise, the cellphone wouldn't have been destroyed. Then again, the smartphone would have made identifying their location far easier. Davison wasn't dumb enough to keep anything on her person that would pinpoint her whereabouts.

“She sat with the puppy until the motorcycle club showed.”

Wilkes straightened. “A motorcycle gang?”

“Large group. Known as the Desperados,” the vet clarified. “People around these parts know not to mess with them. It's been a longtime suspicion that they run drugs and guns, but they've never been arrested.”

Wilkes knew these gangs often paid off law enforcement. “Did the woman connect with the gang?”

“Must have.”

“What do you mean?”

“I couldn't see much from where I was sitting, but I saw her talking to one of the bikers. Don't know his name, and I wasn't looking for any introduction, if you know what I mean.”

“We do,” Wilkes assured him. “What you did see?”

“Not much, just the two of them chatting, friendly-like. Then the man you asked me about, he returned and looked real sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“Regretful, you know. He loaded up her suitcase and they took off along with the dog.”

“What happened to the bikers?”

“Shortly afterward they loaded up and rode out, too.”

Confused now, Wilkes absorbed this information. He knew Davison had ties with the underworld—the Mafia, drug cartels, and others. That she'd connect with a motorcycle gang didn't surprise him. The question that remained was why.

“It was a scheduled meet,” he said aloud.

“Say again?” Buckley said, reaching for one of the cookies and a cup of coffee.

“She planned the hookup,” he repeated, and then looked again at the veteran. “Anything else you can tell us?”

The older man shook his head. “She in some kind of trouble?”

“Anything else?” Wilkes repeated.

“I can't believe that woman is any criminal. She's got a big heart. As soon as she saw the puppy it was like she melted. She talked about her mother and how her dog, Pickles, had died earlier in the year.”

“Classic,” Wilkes mumbled to the junior agent, turning away and walking toward the parking lot. “She could talk Santa out of one of his reindeer. The woman comes off as sweet as Christmas fudge, but beneath all that sugar is the heart of a killer.”

“What do you make of the motorcycle gang?” Buckley asked.

He was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that Davison had scheduled the rendezvous with the gang. “It was planned in advance.”

“For what purpose?”

The junior agent was new to the bureau and had a lot to learn. “You remember a few years back a man carrying a bomb was arrested at the Canadian border?”

“Yea, it was big news. He planned on setting it off in the middle of the New Year's celebration at the Seattle Space Needle. You think…?”

“It's a possibility, and my guess is the bikers delivered part of the package.”

“You mean a bomb?”

Wilkes nodded. “Makes sense. Seattle has the second-largest New Year's gathering outside of Times Square. Like I said, this wouldn't be the first time the Space Needle has been a target.” A new sense of urgency filled him. It was more important than ever that they find Ashley Davison before her plan succeeded.

“I have a question,” Buckley said.

“Sure.” They climbed back into the car.

“What about the puppy? Why would she take the dog?”

Wilkes had wondered the same thing, but then it came to him in vivid clarity and he bit down hard on his jaw. “I don't even want to say what I think it might mean.”

“Tell me,” Agent Buckley insisted.

“Trust me, Buckley, you don't want to know.”

“Sick bastards,” Buckley mumbled.

“I couldn't have said it better myself.”

“So,” Ashley said, paying an inordinate amount of attention to her fingernails, checking her cuticles. “When I spoke to your mother, she said you aren't currently involved in a relationship.”

“I believe I was the one who told you that, but only because you insisted on knowing if I was married or involved.”

“No, I didn't,” she argued, embarrassed when she realized she might have, though purely for practical purposes.

“As I recall, you took one look at me and sized me up as a serial killer.”

“Oh, that,” she said, and had to admit he was right. “I was only being cautious. A girl can't be too careful these days.” She watched
20/20
and
Dateline
religiously.

He made a low scoffing sound. “Do you feel safer now?”

“I suppose.” She made an effort to sound offhanded, as though she hadn't completely made up her mind. Basically, she had. Dash had proven he could be trusted. It wasn't every guy who would leap over a fence to rescue a puppy, and that wasn't all. This guy had gone above and beyond in every way. More and more she found herself grateful they were sharing the ride. She enjoyed his company and she felt safe with him. Protected. Besides, he was fun, and the banter between them kept her entertained.

Dash didn't say anything for a few minutes, but Ashley could tell something was on his mind by the way his fingers tapped against the steering wheel.

“What exactly did my mother tell you?” he asked in a disinterested sort of way.

Ashley wasn't fooled. “I don't remember,” she lied.

“Yes, you do. Just tell me.”

“Well, she said that by age thirty she'd given birth to both you and your sister. She also mentioned that she didn't know what it's going to take for you to find a decent girl and settle down.”

He snorted softly. “That sounds like my mother.”

“She blames the army.”

“She was against it when I decided to enlist,” he mentioned. “A lot of mothers are, and with reason, I suppose.”

“Was it a good decision?” Ashley was interested in hearing his side. Although they weren't well acquainted, she didn't think he was the kind of man to make a spur-of-the-moment life decision. She suspected something had led to it. Instinctively, she knew it was a breakup with a woman. She'd once read a story that claimed relationship breakups were the number-one or -two reason men signed up for the armed services.

“It was a good decision for me. I gained a lot of knowledge that's helping me in civilian life. It's why I was chosen for this interview. Besides computer skills, the military taught me discipline and how to work as a team. My unit became as tight as brothers.”

“What about people skills?” she asked.

“Are you suggesting I have poor people skills?” He appeared to find the question amusing.

“Not in the least…it just seems like a life skill one would acquire as part of the armed forces.”

“I'd like to think I did.”

“But there was no time for…women?”

He attempted to hide a smile, without success. The edges of his mouth quivered with the effort. “What makes you ask?”

His question took her by surprise. She wasn't prepared to answer, but quickly ad-libbed. “Well, it seems, you know, that you would be involved.”

“Why's that?”

She might as well say it. It wasn't like Dash didn't know. “You're sort of good-looking…I mean, women, other women, not me in particular, tend to notice that in a man.”

“They do?”

“Oh come on, Dash, don't be coy. You know the way women look at you, so it only makes sense that you would, you know, look back.”

“Yes, I suppose it does, but I was up to my eyeballs in work. I've only been out of the army two months. I enjoyed military life, but I didn't want another tour in Afghanistan, and the handwriting was on the wall.”

“You're avoiding the question.”

He exhaled. “No, I'm not. While in the service I didn't have time for a serious relationship, and frankly, I wasn't all that interested.”

Ashley arched her brows and turned her head to look out the window. It'd started to snow. Just a few flakes, not enough for Dash to turn on the windshield wipers—at least not yet.

“What was that look about?” Dash demanded.

Ashley didn't realize that he'd seen her reaction. “Nothing.”

Dash groaned. “I hate it when a woman says that, because it clearly is something. So don't give me that ‘it's nothing' crap. I want to know what you're thinking.”

“Fine, I'll tell you. We all make time for what's important to us, and clearly a relationship isn't high on your list of priorities.”

He took a moment to mull that over. “An interesting observation.”

“I'm right, though.” She made it a statement and not a question.

“Basically.”

She smiled, feeling good that he was willing to admit it. A man of his integrity was a rare find. Ashley found it far too easy to fall for him.

“What's your story?” he asked, turning the tables on her.

“Me?” She pressed her hand against her breast. “We weren't talking about me. Besides, who says I'm not involved?”

“Are you?”

“Not currently,” she admitted with some reluctance.

“But you were until recently?”

The falling snow started to thicken. “Sort of,” she said, hedging.

“Sort of? What does that mean?”

She wasn't going to be able to escape this inquisition, and she had no one to blame but herself. She was the one who'd opened this Pandora's box. “It means,” she said, inhaling deeply, “I was involved and so was he, but apparently not just with me.”

Dash's face broke into an easy smile.

“I don't see why you find this amusing,” she muttered. “Trust me, from my point of view it wasn't the least bit funny.”

“I bet not. How'd you find out?”

Ashley stiffened. He acted like this was all one big joke. “I'm not telling you that.”

“Come on, humor me.”

“No way.”

“Why not? It's in the past, right?”

“Yes.” She shifted in her seat; this conversation was growing uncomfortable.

“You're over him?”

Ashley wasn't sure she wanted to answer that. Her brief relationship with Jackson continued to trouble her. She didn't know how she could have been so blind. “What makes you say that?”

That smile of his was back and wider than ever. “Because you're flirting with me.”

The man was infuriating. “I am not flirting with you.” She made sure each word was distinctly enunciated.

He laughed outright. “Yes, you are.”

Ashley's back went broomstick straight. “Jackson broke my heart.”

“Unlikely.” His tone was flippant.

Now Dash was getting downright irritating. “When did you become an expert on human emotions? I was devastated. Other than classes and work, I spent hours lying on the floor, sobbing and listening to Adele.”

“How long ago did this happen?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared straight ahead. “I'm not answering any more of your questions. What happened between Jackson and me is none of your business.”

“Your pride was stung, but you didn't really love him.”

So he was determined to continue the conversation. “You're not a nice person, Dash.” She didn't really believe that, but she wasn't letting him know otherwise.

“We've already established that. Now you know the real reason I'm not in a relationship. I screw it up every time.”

Aha!
This was promising. “So you've had your own share of heartache.”

“
Heartache.
That's a woman's word.”

“All right, failed relationships.”

“Better. I've had a few.”

“Did you cheat?”

“No,” he said, as if it was an insult for her to suggest that he would.

“Forget her birthday?”

“M-a-y-b-e.” He dragged out the word, making it sound as if he'd consider that a minor infraction.

“Come on,” she said, uncrossing her arms and angling her body toward him. “Fess up. Inquiring minds what to know.”

“Apparently, women want to spend every waking minute with a guy. I can't stand a clingy woman. Unfortunately, those are the ones who are most drawn to me. I like my space. I need my space,” he reiterated. “I don't want to answer twenty text messages a day or make an excuse to have a beer with a friend.”

“Is this friend male or female?”

“Male.” He tossed her a look that said his answer should have been obvious.

“Okay, continue.” She gestured with her hand, wanting more details.

“I don't want a woman to follow me to the tennis courts and watch my match, or just happen to run into me when I'm out. It's too much togetherness. Give me room to breathe.”

“What about men?” she challenged. “They have their own set of issues, one of which is finding a way to keep their zipper in the locked position.”

“Men's zippers don't lock.”

“My point exactly.”

He chuckled. “Okay, we can agree men and women each have their own weaknesses.”

“What you said about giving a man his space is interesting.” She was willing to give him that. “I've known women like that.”

“Unfortunately, so have I,” he muttered. His hand tightened around the steering wheel, “Something else that really gets me is this incessant need to chatter.”

He was on a roll now. Ashley went quiet as she studied him. While his tone made light of the situation, she could see there was more to it.

“What?” he asked. “You're looking at me like I'm Little Blade and you want to pet me.”

She smiled. “You're acting like this is a joke, but you were hurt.” This would be much harder for him to admit.

He didn't answer for what felt like a long time. “Yeah, I was hurt, but I got over it. You were hurt, too.”

She nodded and found she didn't want to talk about her breakup. “And for your information, women don't chatter,” she insisted, righteously defending all women.

“Then tell me why they have to discuss every inconsequential detail of their lives and everyone else's lives, too. I don't care who got cut from
Dancing with the Stars,
or which celebrity couples are dating. And I'm up to here”—he paused and made a cutting motion over the top of his head—“with Brad and Angelina. If I wanted to know any of this nonsense, I'd read a tabloid.”

“That tells me you're dating shallow women. But I'm guessing they're all really pretty, which also tells me you're ruled by testosterone.”

“Excuse me?”

“Okay, I'll put it bluntly: Your brains are located below your belt.”

“That's possible.”

The snow had started coming down hard now. The car's wiper blades were hardly able to keep up. It'd grown dark and the driving was becoming more hazardous by the minute.

Concerned with the snow, Ashley gasped when the car skidded, nearly going sideways on the slick road. She braced herself, her hand clutching the door.

“It might be a good idea if we stop for the night.”

The teasing, fun atmosphere vanished. “What about your interview? It's tomorrow, isn't it?”

“In the afternoon. We'll get an early start and I shouldn't have any trouble making it on time.”

Ashley had to agree, driving conditions had become too hazardous to continue.