Deadly Alliance (14 page)

Chapter Eleven

Thanks to Finn’s relationship with Dolly’s niece, Georgia, Amy had help today.

“Nifty arrangement over there!” Georgia nodded toward her sewing corner. “Just a filing cabinet, two legs from IKEA, and a wooden table top with a cutout for the machine.”

“My brother made that.” It occurred to Amy, her brother always said yes. Barry was bound and determined to do for others.

“If he’s single, he’s a guy I’d like to meet,” Georgia said with a smile.

“You two might have a lot in common.”

She smiled and ran her hand over the wood. “Clever how he combined a work table with a file cabinet.”

“The file cabinet holds everything.” Good designs and dirty secrets. Amy eased onto a stool across opposite Georgia, the artsy tomboy at her counter-height project table. “If you need any supplies, you’ll find them in these drawers and cubbies.

“Very handy.” Georgia’s expert hands connected the dots. Sewing perfect seams meant knowing where the dots, tabs, and darts should be.

“Are you sure I can’t pay you?” Amy asked.

“I’m sure.” With a knee on a chair, Georgia grappled with the fabric. She didn’t look up until she’d finished transferring pattern markings. “I’ve missed this stage of artistic muddle.”

Amy hoped her shorts design didn’t muddle over on Kira Radner. She picked up shears and cut out notches to be used for matching pattern pieces later on. “Just so you know, I’m treating double and triple notches as one.”

“I noticed.” Georgia’s tone was as dry as her bleached pixie with side bangs. “It’s faster to cut them together.” She left pins intact around the miniature pockets.

Amy learned Georgia was offered a dream job at the gallery at the Saddleback Inn. She left LA behind and grabbed her chance to manage it. Amy cut fabric with long strokes. “Where are you living?”

“I’m renting a cottage on York Lane. It’s a cul-de-sac off Tallmadge Road.”

“Tallmadge Road?”

“I met a guy who lived on that street.” Georgia cocked an eyebrow. “Sean Rourke before he was arrested.”

“No! Guess you know how to pick them.” Humor was her best option.

“Hardy har har.” Georgia narrowed her eyes. “I won’t be making conjugal visits to his prison cell.”

“Didn’t think you would.” Amy squeezed the scissor handles with an effort to keep a lid on questions leading to more questions. No sense feeding mind-invading trolls.

“Why did I like him?” Georgia’s eyes were filling with tears, and she wiped them with a scrap of fabric. “Why, I ask myself.”

“I saw him. He drove the van. Except for his behavior, he had a clean-shaven appeal.”

“You kidding me? Sean could really rock his long beard. When I was with him, his beard was long. Everything else about him was ultra-neat.” Georgia talked a while longer about guys who visited him. “I met a man named Omar al-Anbari. His beard looked like a bird’s nest.”

Amy seized an opening. “The owner of that wild, bushy beard is the leader.”

“I know that now.” Georgia repositioned her feet, and the stool creaked. “I saw a spark of creativity in Sean.” She blew out a breath and went back to marking lines with a tracing wheel, this time pressing harder. “Omar asked Sean for a map.”

Amy covered her anxiety. Maybe it was a different map. She decided to go with a side comment. “Sean
was creative.”

“Dangerously creative.” Georgia reached over and gave her a hearty backslap. “You have no idea.” She dropped back onto the stool.

“Maybe I do.”

Georgia’s white teeth flashed at her witticism. “Yes. Finn Donahue. Bet he’s interesting.”

“So interesting.” Outside, the wind howled through the trees making a wind chime noise.

The tissue paper pattern in front of Georgia lifted. “It’s blowing up out there.”

“Where the heck is the draft is coming from?” As Amy walked down the hallway, she heard a cracking sound above her. She tipped her head back to see a branch caught in the skylight. Nothing to worry about. The bad guys are behind bars.

Not wanting to alarm Georgia, she walked back to the dining room and said, “My skylight is loose. I’m going to notify the management.” She sent a text message to Finn and Byron.

Within minutes a fingerprinting team jumped all over the roof.

Finn appeared at her door. “The team will run prints. Compare these with fingerprints taken so far. Remember the gloves?” He looked upset, protective, and on the verge of tearing his hair out.

She wanted to tear his clothes off. He didn’t need to know that. “That’s a terrific idea, running prints on the gloves.”

“How are you and Georgia doing?” He found a way to connect with her, be close in a supportive way. One of the many talents at which he excelled.

“We’re making splendid progress. Georgia is great.” Her face grew hot. Her temper flared knowing she was among many falling at his feet.

“Can I check around your sewing room?” As he brushed his way past her, sexual tension hummed, winding her nerves tighter and tighter. He marched down the hallway to her sewing room.

Amy followed and glanced upward, through the skylight. Cops were huddled in their coats as they dusted and took prints. The sky looked ready to spill snow, and it wasn’t even Halloween. That was Lake Arrowhead for you. “Please don’t snow.” She didn’t need a blizzard on top of it.

When she joined Finn and Georgia, no introductions were necessary. At some point they’d exchanged talk of his dad and Dolly’s wedding.

“Wedding stuff, man, oh man.” Georgia shrugged. “Counting down to the big day. Dolly and I are both busy.” She checked the gold watch on her wrist. “Look, I’m sorry, Amy. I’ve got to run. I have a meeting in twenty minutes.”

“With a saxophonist,” Finn said.

Amy said, “Go now or you’ll be late. Thanks so much for your help.”

Georgia slid off her chair and grabbed her bag. “See you next weekend?”

“If you’re available, great.” Amy liked Georgia, a young woman doing what she wanted. Maybe still struggling with man-disappointment, but loving her work at the gallery and having fun with her aunt.

“I know my way out.” Georgia dashed down the hall and out the door as quickly as she could.

Finn said, “She’s a little quirky but nice.”

“Very talented and so sweet. Kind of scary she’d dated Sean Rourke.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “That case is closed.”

“Yeah. He wore a long beard when she was with him. Omar and his underlings visited. Georgia said Sean discussed a map.”

* * *

Amy lifted her chin, tossed her hair back from her face. “My copy is missing.”

Angry thoughts raced through Finn’s mind. Omar al-Anbari’s underlings were arrested, but the infamous swordsman was at large. He had the map.

She said, “I scanned it in.”

“Good.” He wasn’t surprised she’d planned ahead. Underneath, she wasn’t the shy, unassuming type. She had a synchronous nature.

As if suddenly remembering exactly what to do, she sat at the computer. As she typed, her head moved and her long hair lifted and settled over her shoulders. The printer chugged. “Here it is.”

He reached out, covering her hands with his as he took the hand-drawn map signed by A. Rourke. “It has a compass on it.”

“Do you need one? I keep a compass in my backpack.” She took a deep breath which did great things to the horizontal striped sweater she wore.

“Aidan Rourke was no cartographer. Doubt if it’s drawn to scale.”

“Probably not.” She turned her attention to the map and pointed to the log chute. “It’s marked to give us perspective. The trail ends right there.” She ran a finger over a cluster of rocks.

“It’s labeled,” he said. “Old silver mine entrance.”

Her mouth dropped open. “See the X? Looks like a drawing of a waterfall. Doesn’t make sense. We’ll phone your dad. The stash should at the spot marked with an X. It looks to be between these steps and the mine.” She glanced up at him.

He said, “Hiking in a remote area isn’t a hundred percent safe. Worse at dawn and dusk.”

“It isn’t yet noon. Anytime, though, there are wildlife issues.” She uncrossed her legs and turned. “I can run fast. Seriously.”

He glanced over at her. “Seriously, don’t try that. You can outrun a wild turkey. But bears, mountain lions, and bobcats like chasing. If you run, they mark you as prey and can run faster.”

She sighed. “You’re right. I know what to do. Clap my hands. Bark like a seal. Make any kind of racket.”

His plan worked to get her mind on animals rather than the mammal he expected to meet. “We’ll drive to the cascade base.”

“Sounds good. We’ll need footwear as rugged as the terrain. The next seven miles up will be through a pine forest. It’s a miners’ trail. We’ll need my compass and flashlights.”

His mind raced and jumped from weaponry to weather conditions. “Snow will make it harder. I’ll go. You stay here. Work on your sewing.”

“No way!” She wasn’t like other women he knew. Her spark was contagious.

“If you’re game,” he said. “We’ll make it up and back before tonight. Throw on your ski gear. Put your cute feet in your beefy hiking boots.”

She gave him a how-about-you look. “Let me guess. Army Ranger foul weather gear sits in your trunk.”

Along with guns, knives, and a broadsword, but he didn’t mention those. He cupped the curve of her ass and pulled her close. “I worry about bringing you.”

“Too bad.” She grimaced. “You can’t un-invite me.” She headed to the kitchen to fill up her backpack with food.

* * *

Two or more hours passed while Finn caught Amy up on details. Conversation kept them trudging against the blizzard, worse at high elevations. Scowling, Finn turned his face into the icy, gusting wind. Within him was a beast that snarled and strained without relief, directed at Omar al-Anbari.

Finn held Amy’s gloved hand and took another step. His cell pinged with a message. He paused, glanced at the caller ID. “This is from McGill,” he told her and stepped in front of her. He pulled her close to block the wind and held his cell for both of them to read. “Prints from inside the black gloves match those on the skylight and belong to Sean Rourke. No match against the Takbir gang arrested at Cantina Miguel.”

“Let me get this straight,” she said. “Sean Rourke posed as a recruit. He broke into my condo, got the map, gave it to Takbir.”

“Correct,” he said and repeated the second part of the text. “Prints taken at the cantina are not on record.”

“Someone is out there. He has the map.” Amy brought her gloved hand to her mouth.

“Yup.” He didn’t share his suspicion as he moved his fingers on his cell. His message referred to the missing map and ended with, Amy and I are on Fuller Ridge. I see the cabin, Sean’s cabin.

“Brrr. Time to get inside.” Amy hunched deeper into her thick ski-coat, and they pushed into the wind.

He put his arm around her and steered her up wooden steps to the door. He twisted the knob. “Unlocked. Stay just inside the door. Any movement, bolt. Let me check around first.” He worked his way through the one-room cabin, checking the bathroom, and a closet where he found Sean’s cellphone and bagged it as evidence. He took his time until absolutely sure he hadn’t missed anything. “Clear. I’ll walk the perimeter.”

“Be careful.” Her voice broke.

He shut the door behind him and crept outside. He held his handgun at waist level, his arms taut, and scanned the ground for footprints. He swept the gun from side to side. Listened for movement. Nothing. He rounded the cabin, waiting and listening at every turn. Silence. He returned to the front door and pushed it open.

Her eyes lit up when she saw him. “Glad it’s you.” She looked so pale. “If I wasn’t scared as shit, I’d like this Hobbit Hut.”

“Babe,” he said. “I’m sorry I brought you here.” He studied her face, the shadows under her eyes.

“I’m fine.”

“Like hell.” He shot out his hands and grabbed her shoulders.

“Just a dizzy spell,” she said. “I haven’t eaten today.” Her head fell forward, and he pulled her close.

“Okay. Sit down.”

She blinked. “Do we have time for a break?”

“Let’s get food in you.” He pulled apples and water from his backpack.

She drained a water bottle and took a bite of a Granny Smith. “The place is primitive.” She glanced around. “I’m surprised it’s as neat as a pin.”

A tiny corner served as a kitchen, and they sat at the table. There was a bed against the wall. Puddles of late afternoon light fell across the pine floor. He leaned back and hit a switch. A ceiling light came on.

“The light makes me feel better,” she said, appearing to pull herself together.

“How do you feel about neon lights?” He tried to cheer her.

“I have a new appreciation. The more garish the better.” She grinned. “Obviously this hut has a generator.”

“For electricity,” he said, but his gaze fixed on a cast iron potbelly stove. “I’ll get that going.”