Dead Wrong (16 page)

It was nearly five. He needed to get to his phone. By now Ortega had probably worked himself into a snit. Albert chuckled. Maybe he’d have a stroke and die.

Albert pushed himself to a sitting position with his right hand when he realized his IV had been removed while he slept. After dangling his feet from the side of the gurney for a couple of minutes, he slid off the bed and stood. Other than a bit of residual grogginess from the extra painkillers he’d taken, he felt steady enough. No dizziness. No disorientation. As a matter of fact, he felt as though he’d had the best night’s sleep of his life. A cup of coffee and his pipe would make things much better.

A nurse poked her head through the curtain, then whisked it open. She pulled a package off the shelf of a metal cabinet, tore it open, and unfolded the fabric sling. Once she fastened it around his neck, the nurse patted his arm as though to admire her handiwork. “You’re free to go, Mr. Getz, but you need to keep this on for the next couple of days. Don’t drive for the next twenty-four hours. This packet contains four more Vicodin. If the pain persists beyond two days, you’ll need to see your own doctor.”

Los Angeles, California
Friday, January 24

Earlier, after Benny spoke to his tracker and identified the location of the phone Foster hopefully still had in her possession, he left three messages for Getz. His phone rang five times before going to voice mail on the first two calls. On the third, the voice mail bimbo said, “The party is not available.” Had Getz turned off his phone?

Benny had gone to bed, but he was so pissed off he couldn’t sleep. All he could think about was how Fat Ass Sammy had screwed up his operation and croaked before Benny could dish out an appropriate punishment. Along with his other business ventures, Benny ran one of the biggest check-theft rings in the country. Losing over three million bucks as a result of one stupid mistake could not be tolerated. And to have those checks in the hands of this Foster broad, who might even snoop through them and figure out where they came from, was even more of a disaster. She might turn him in. She might try for a share of the take. She might fucking blackmail him for the rest of his life . . . at least until he got rid of her.

At four a.m., before he’d even had his first cup of coffee, Benny tried to call Getz again with no success. He wondered what the reading would be if he took his blood pressure.

After room service arrived, he took his coffee to the hotel room window and looked through the glass toward the ocean. The early-morning haze seemed lighter than it had been in years past, but Benny still couldn’t see the water. He thought about Sammy again. Fat Ass Sammy Grick had been an outstanding screw-up all his life, but a useful screw-up. Benny usually hired him to do courier jobs, or to deliver a message. People who owed Benny Ortega knew all about Fat Ass Sammy and his temper. Sammy scared people. Benny liked to scare people.

Why in hell, of all the people in the world, did his stuff end up in the hands of a woman being sought for the murder of her husband, a woman who would be caught in a matter of days? He had to find her before the cops did.

Time was running out. The only way to steal big checks was to establish a network of employees in critical jobs and strike fast. Take a check (preferably not a computer-generated document), alter it as needed, transport it out of state as fast as possible, deposit it in a new account under a fictitious name, buy a commodity such as gold coins with the funds, close the account, and move on. The checks he’d sent Sammy to pick up had been delivered to his home on Tuesday evening. They should have been in his hands before the banks opened on Thursday.

It was only a matter of time before the intended recipients questioned their customers about the missing payments. Customers might blame the post office for a day or so, but eventually they had to stop payment and issue a new check. At that point, the stolen checks would be worthless.

He had to get the checks back fast. To do that, he had to get them away from Foster. Getz had to find her. Before trying the assassin’s phone again, Ortega called his tracker to find out where Foster and her little friends had gone after disabling Getz and driving away. He dialed Sammy’s cell phone, hoping to confirm what the tracker reported, but no one answered.

Before he could dial again, the phone rang. “This is Ortega.”

“This is Getz. Do you have a fix on Foster and the kids?”

“I’ve been calling you all night!” Ortega yelled. “I told you not to turn off your phone!”

Getz sighed. “I spent the night in the hospital, Mr. Ortega. They must have turned off the phone after I conked out from the drugs.”

“I don’t care if you just got off the fucking Space Shuttle. If you can’t follow orders, you don’t work for me.”

“Okay. I got it. Tell me where they are.”

Ortega wasn’t sure Getz’s tone sounded sufficiently subservient, but that would have to wait. Right now, he needed the man to track down the envelope and do what Fat Ass Sammy had failed to accomplish.

“They’re in Fort Collins,” he said. “It’s north on I-25, maybe an hour from the library where those little girls took you down. Here’s the address.”

Denver, Colorado
Friday, January 24

Albert had no intention of heading north on I-25 to Fort Collins until he’d shaved, brushed his teeth, and had breakfast. He stopped at a McDonald’s near the interstate and took his sweet time doing everything he felt needed to get done before setting out to do Benny Ortega’s bidding. The same article about Lynnette Foster he’d skimmed on the Internet at the library the day before appeared on the second page of the newspaper he read while drinking his coffee.
A person of interest. Who would have guessed?
Maybe he was damned lucky he only got a dislocated elbow out of their brief encounter.

He wondered who the other woman and the kid were. The article didn’t mention anyone traveling with Foster. He saved that section, then folded the rest of the paper and dropped it in the waste can with his trash. Sammy’s phone number still went directly to voice mail. Albert left a message requesting that Lynnette call him back. He took the on-ramp to I-25 and drove into a heavy snowstorm at a quarter to six.

Halfway to Fort Collins, the storm intensified. The wind blew the heavy snow sideways, and Albert drove into a white-out. The car tires slipped on the road. He eased his pressure on the accelerator. A bit further north, deep piles of snow lined the road. He scraped the passenger side of the car along the plowed banks that were barely distinguishable from the road before steering into the truck tracks he strained to see. An occasional abandoned car loomed before him, some trapped in snow banks. He slowed even more.

Brake lights flared a few feet ahead, tall lights that indicated he’d followed in the tire tracks of a truck, then a right turn signal flashed. Albert crept along behind the vehicle, down a curving ramp and onto a two-lane road that appeared to have been plowed at least once. Continuing to follow the truck, Albert saw the yellow hazy glare of parking area lights ahead. Then the running lights of at least thirty semis. And finally, a building lit inside and glowing through fogged-over windows. He maneuvered through the lot until he found a spot where he could nose his car up to a giant pile of snow. Seconds later he sat in front of a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, a huge cinnamon roll dripping with melted icing and a mug of coffee. He wrapped his hands around the cup and lifted it to his lips.

Glades, Florida
Friday, January 24

“Gutierrez!” Detective Prince barked.

Maggie jumped and sat up straight. After grabbing the quick nap in her car, she had returned to her desk and concentrated on her calls. Focused so intently on her efforts to locate Lynnette Foster, Maggie hadn’t heard the detective come in the door.

He stopped in front of her desk. “We got another one. I need someone to drive.”

“Another body?”

“No, an alien invasion. Of course a body. You coming?”

“Hell, yes.” She looked across the room at her partner who watched her without expression as he poured a cup of coffee. Maggie glanced at her computer monitor, refreshed the screen and confirmed she had no new emails. Grabbing her jacket off the back of her chair, she followed Prince out the door.

Near Fort Collins, Colorado
Friday, January 24

Lynnette checked on Grace and found her already asleep in Blue’s room, her head cushioned by a pillow with a pink flannel cover. Grace clutched her phone in her hand, the charger plugged into a wall outlet. Lynnette checked the display to make sure the phone was fully charged, then unplugged it from the wall and laid the cord on the bed. She closed the door and went into the darkened living room. “I should check my email before I lie down,” she said, mostly to herself. She spoke a little louder for Thomas and Blue to hear. “The guy I used to work for in Indianapolis tried to reach me. I should see what he wants.”

Thomas said a few words to Blue, but Lynnette didn’t hear. Blue walked over to the wall phone in the kitchen and punched in a number.

Lynnette leaned forward. “What’s going on? Who are you calling?”

“She’s calling CDOT,” Thomas said. “The Colorado Department of Transportation updates weather and road conditions. Teresa, get I-25 south to Denver, I-70 west of Denver through Utah, and I-25 south to New Mexico. The Utah number is in the front of the phone book.” He looked at Lynnette. “In case we have to get out of here in a hurry,” he said.

“Maybe we should split up,” said Lynnette. “You and Blue take Grace to L.A. by air. I take my stuff and split. It’s obvious Grace would be safer with you.”

“I thought the same thing at first. But after hearing your side of the story, I can’t let you go off on your own. You could get killed before you even get to Denver. And if you make it back to Florida, you’ll need a lawyer. I didn’t take the bar exam there, but I have friends who did. You’re better off sticking with me. And since we need to keep you off the grid for a little longer, we can’t buy you another airplane ticket until we’re inside DIA.”

“Will you be in a lot of trouble with the police for keeping me out of sight?”

“I will be if you’re charged with a crime. This blizzard will serve as an excuse only so long.”

“The article I read said I’m a person of interest.”

“But it didn’t say you were wanted for questioning or that you’d been charged. It merely said you had disappeared and the police hadn’t located you. They won’t necessarily issue a warrant for your arrest. We’ll check the news again in a couple of hours and see if anything has changed. If so, I’ll advise you of your next step. Until then, relax. Get some rest.”

Los Angeles, California
Friday, January 24

“They’re definitely staying put,” Ortega told Getz. “Apparently the weather up there is bad. Get back on the interstate before they start closing roads. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

He snapped his phone shut and tossed it on the desk. If he ever got his hands on Albert Getz, he would kill him. What the hell was taking him so long to get to Fort Collins? What stupid excuse would Getz give if Ortega asked the question?

What about Foster? Ortega thought about her for a minute, then reached for his cell phone again. He dialed Sammy’s number, this time waiting through the voice mail message for the beep. “Lynnette Foster, it is now seven forty-five on Friday morning in Colorado. I know you’re in Fort Collins. I’m tracking you, and I have someone following you. When he catches you, he will retrieve the things you have in your possession that belong to me. Make it easy for him, Mrs. Foster, and you and your friends will survive the encounter. If you make it difficult, my man will do whatever is necessary.”

Would she attempt to retrieve the messages? If she did, would she believe his guarantee of safety?

I-25 south of Fort Collins, Colorado
Friday, January 24

They’re less than an hour ahead, Albert thought.
About the same amount of time I spent feeding my face.
He chuckled. Ortega must be going nuts. What could Foster have that Ortega wanted enough to send an assassin after her? What was in the case Sammy Grick had inadvertently switched with Foster’s? Obviously, the laptop wasn’t important. They’d already retrieved that.

Whatever Ortega wanted, Albert wanted even more. He couldn’t imagine what it might be, but if Ortega would kill to retrieve the goods, they might be the means to nail the guy. Albert followed a semi onto the on-ramp of I-25, heading north toward Fort Collins. Alert from the double dose of caffeine and sugar, he guided his car into the wintry hell.

Near Fort Collins, Colorado
Friday, January 24

It was quiet throughout the house. Lynnette closed her eyes and tried to doze but couldn’t make it happen. She stood up and walked to the window, pulled the curtains aside and raised the blinds. The windows were fogged up on the inside. She rubbed a spot clear, but could see nothing outside except piles of snow on sagging tree branches.

She sat down, pulled her purse into her lap, and unloaded the contents onto the couch. Then she emptied her pockets.

Thomas heard and walked in from the kitchen to see what she was doing. “Housecleaning?”

“I still have all this stuff I took from the fat guy’s laptop case,” she said. “Thought I’d look through it again, see what I can get rid of.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Phone, charger, cash—”

“How much cash?”

“Twenty or thirty thousand.”

“Think he stole that too?”

“Maybe.”

“Why didn’t you give everything up to the guy at the library? Chances are that’s all he wanted.”

Lynnette thought of the checks but didn’t say anything about them. “I know,” she said. “It was stupid. I couldn’t be sure, and with Blue and Grace along, I felt I should keep something for insurance.”

She would need the phone charger as long as she carried the phone. She put it in her purse. Struggling to reach into the pocket of the jacket she’d thrown across the end of the couch, she took out Sammy Grick’s phone, loaded the battery, and turned it on. It was still fully charged. She turned it off and removed the battery again. If there were any more calls from the bad guy with the Cuban accent, she didn’t want to hear them.