No Place to Hide (10 page)

Elizabeth shook her head. “She’s too well trained. She’d find a way out. A way to call for help. Something.”

“Yeah.” He fell silent.

Elizabeth turned her attention to the next roadblock. “They’re not seeing anything suspicious.”

Sam snorted. “That’s because there’s no way they’d risk going through a roadblock.”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on. Think about it. They’re probably running through the woods or hiding out in a deserted shack waiting for us to give up and go home.”

“That’s why we have the dogs in the woods.”

Sam groaned. He slapped the computer shut as a king cab Ford with a horse logo on the side pulled up to the roadblock.

1:15 P.M.

Ian discovered he didn’t like tight spaces. Most especially being buried alive. No, he didn’t like it at all. At least the mask on his face blocked the odor. He breathed deep from the rebreather and felt the purified air fill his lungs. Jackie’s death grip on his fingers kept him from panicking. His mind clicked with trivia he’d learned from a scuba diving class years ago. The air he was breathing wasn’t really oxygen, it was atmospheric air that had been through a compression cycle which thoroughly filtered—

“Officer, what can I do ya fer?”

Ian blinked as Ron’s voice came through the wire. He’d affected a country bumpkin accent to near perfection.

“We’re looking for two people.” A rustle sounded. The officer showing Ron the picture? “Have you seen them?”

“Hmm . . . yep. I seen ’em.”

“Where?” Tension threaded the officer’s word.

“On the television just afore I left home. You find ’em yet?”

A disgusted sigh. “No sir, that’s why we’re stopping people and asking if they’ve seen them.”

“Oh right. Gotcha.”

“You mind if I take a look?”

“Not a’tall.” Gus barked and Ian flinched. Jackie’s fingers convulsed around his. “Eh, don’t mind Mike here,” Ron said. “He’s harmless. Unless he thinks you’re invadin’ his space. Or mine.”

“Right. Right.”

“You want me to get out?”

“No sir, I want you to stay put. Hey Ned, get over here a sec.”

Low chatter sounded. “Hold tight, boys and girls,” Ron’s whisper came through the earpiece. “We might be doing this the hard way.”

Ian’s stomach twisted and Jackie’s fingers tightened.

“All right, sir, do we have your permission to search the back of your truck?”

“A’course. You wantin’ me to shovel that manure so you don’t get them pretty uniforms dirty?”

Ian heard a low chuckle. “No sir, just let us take a quick look.”

“All righty then.”

Ian’s heart pounded. He could feel Jackie’s tension in the way she gripped his hand. It was all he could do to be still, to refrain from ripping the mask from his face and begin to dig his way out. His muscles convulsed. His breathing quickened.

Jackie’s warm palm fell gently on his face. She rubbed in slow circles, avoiding the mask over his nose and the rebreather in his mouth. Her hand traveled from his cheek to his shoulder where she dug her fingers into his hard muscles. Ian swallowed, realizing what she was doing. He could almost hear her saying, “You’re not alone. I’m here. It’s going to be all right.”

He flashed to one of the summer days they’d escaped to the lake together.

“Your mom’s going to have a cow if you don’t let her know where you are,” Jackie had said.

Ian had shrugged as only a seventeen-year-old with the weight of the world on his shoulders could. “She probably won’t even know I’m gone.”

“She’ll know.”

“Yeah.”

They lay there on the warm sand, the sun soaking into their young bones. Jackie broke the silence. “She won’t notice, will she?”

Ian sighed. “No. Probably not.”

Ian pulled himself from the past. His mother hadn’t noticed. No one had noticed that he’d spent the night at the lake on the sand under the stars. He’d come home covered in mosquito bites, but it had been worth it. Jackie had stayed with him just holding his hand and talking to him.

He remembered wanting to kiss her, but he hadn’t been able to work up the nerve.

Now with the feel of her strong fingers massaging his tense muscles, his pulse slowed, his breathing evened off. Ian closed his eyes and saw exactly the same thing as when he’d had them open. Pitch black.

He tuned back in to Ron. “Y’all about done? I got to git that there load delivered and get back to the missus.”

A grunt. Then the bed of the truck shook. Ian felt something above him, like the manure shifting. Something. An officer’s quiet voice came through. “Ned, you want to dig through that load of manure?”

“Not me.”

“Yeah. I poked around and didn’t see anything.”

“Wave him on.”

Ian felt his tension lessen by several degrees. The truck started to move.

“Hey, wait a minute.” The truck stopped again. “I just got a report there’s a dog with them. Some kind of service animal.”

Ian’s tension ratcheted back up to stroke levels. Jackie’s squeeze on his fingers cut his circulation off.

NEW YORK CITY

James Walden stood and held out a hand. “Welcome to Walden’s Mortuary. You must be the Bateses.” He studied the couple, the man’s drawn face, the woman’s red-rimmed eyes. The faint purple bruise on her right cheekbone. The yellow bruise over her left eye. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The young man in his early thirties nodded. “I’m Frank and this is my wife, Karla. I’m sorry to just drop in on you, but I don’t have many free moments during the workweek. I was able to get away and thought I would take advantage of you being here. So, sorry for just popping in and not giving you any notice.”

“There’s never very much notice in this business, I’m afraid.” James didn’t smile when he said it. He wasn’t trying to be funny. He glanced at the clock. “We weren’t scheduled to meet until tomorrow and I do have another appointment. Do you think we could take care of this later today or even tomorrow?”

“No. I’m sorry. We can’t.” Mr. Bates dropped his keys onto the desk, settled himself into the nearest chair, and crossed his arms. His wife bit her lip and shot a look toward the door.

James gripped the edge of his desk, anger firing through him. He should grab the little worm by his throat and toss him out on his rear. Instead, he lowered himself into his chair and opened the drawer next to him. He pulled a paper from one of the yellow tabbed files. “Very well. We can see what we can get done until my appointment arrives.” He looked at Mrs. Bates, who still stood, uncertain and uncomfortable. Her eyes were on the keys her husband had tossed onto the desk. “Ma’am?”

She flinched and met his gaze for a split second before dropping hers back to the desk.

“Would you like to sit?”

She hesitated a fraction longer, then slid into the chair next
to her husband. Her fingers wove the strap of her purse around and around her hand.

James adjusted the glasses on his nose. “Now, your father had everything in order. He expressed his wishes to make his passing as, uh—
easy
just doesn’t sound right, but that was the word he used—as possible for your mother and you.”

Mr. Bates nodded. “Right, right. He said the same thing at our last visit, just before he died.”

James handed Mr. Bates a folded piece of paper. “Now here is a sample of our most popular program. Your father said he didn’t need that, but I would recommend it. It lets the attendees know who the people are who are leading the service and what they meant to your father.”

Mr. Bates frowned and studied the sample brochure, then placed it back on James’s desk. “Fine. We’ll take that one. I’ll provide the information you need by tonight.”

“Excellent.” James gave his much-practiced sympathetic smile. “Now, your father also requested to be cremated and he has already paid for it.”

“Right, he told me. He didn’t want a viewing. Said if people didn’t come to see him while he was alive, they sure weren’t going to see him dead.” The young man cleared his throat. “I . . . um . . . would like to see him before you . . . you know.”

“Of course, but, uh . . .”

“What?”

“Well, he’s already been prepared for the cremation and is down in the . . . ah . . . crematorium.”

Mr. Bates flinched.

The door opened. “Mr. Walden, we’ve got a prob—” Red Peters came to a halt, his mouth snapping shut as he noticed the Bateses’ presence.

James stood. “If you’ll excuse me just a moment?”

“No.” Mr. Bates stood too. “Let’s get this done, then you’ll
have all the time in the world for your next appointment.” He looked at Red. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Red’s gaze bounced between James and Mr. Bates. He finally shot a narrow-eyed look at James.

James made sure the couple saw only his comforting smile and none of the rage boiling just beneath the surface at the intrusion. “Very well. Mr. Peters, if you’ll just have a seat outside, I’ll be with you shortly.”

Red hesitated. “But this is really import—”

James drew in a deep breath.

Red stopped. “I’ll, uh, just be, uh, right outside whenever you’re ready, Mr. Walden.” To the couple, Red held up a hand in apology. “Please excuse me.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Bates spoke for the first time.

James waited until Red left the office. He took a deep breath and turned back to the couple. “Would you like to come back tomorrow to do the viewing? I can have him brought up and presentable?”

“No. I’ll see him now.” Mr. Bates crossed his arms and stared down at James.

Mrs. Bates rose and laid a hand on his arm. “Honey, he said he had an appointment. We’re interrupting. Maybe—”

“I said I’d see him now.” Mr. Bates cut his wife a sharp glance and she dropped her head and settled back into her seat.

James motioned for the couple to follow him. “Most people don’t find it a pleasant place to be.”

“I can handle it. I want to see him.”

“All right. I understand.” James hoped he had his annoyance with the man well hidden.

Mrs. Bates hung back. “I’ll wait here if that’s all right.”

“Of course. We won’t be long,” James said.

“She’s coming with me.”

James lifted a brow. Mrs. Bates didn’t move from her seat.
“Really,” James said. “We need to do this now if you want to see him today.”

“Fine,” Frank snapped. “Stay here,” he told his wife. “I’ll deal with you later.”

She paled but didn’t move to follow.

James frowned. The man really should treat his wife better. Wasn’t his business, but still . . . He led the way to the back of the mortuary, down the set of steps, and into the crematorium.

Mr. Bates stopped at the bottom and James turned to look at him. “Is there a problem?”

“It looks different than I thought it would.”

James scanned the white tiles, the stainless steel rollers, the green plants on either side of the entrance to the retort.

The cremation chamber.

“Were you expecting something dark and dreary?”

Frank gave a nervous chuckle. “Something like that. You said it wasn’t a pleasant place.”

“I simply meant what goes on down here. It’s not for family members.”

“Right.”

“He’s this way.” James stepped over to the refrigerated vaults. “We have some of the same equipment as a morgue, we’re just not quite as big.”

“I see.”

James hesitated, his hand on the handle. “You have to understand, he’s not been embalmed, he’s not going to look like you remember.”

Mr. Bates swallowed. “I know.”

James opened the third vault from the bottom. Cold air blew out as he slid the elder Bates from the interior. He glanced at the son, who looked a few shades whiter. “Are you certain?”

The man licked his lips. “I am.”

The side door opened and two men entered carrying a black
case. They came to an abrupt halt when they saw they weren’t alone.

James straightened. “What are you doing here? You’re early.”

“Red was supposed to give you the message.”

“What message?”

“That we’re early.”

James sighed. “I’m in the middle of something right now. You’ll have to wait outside please.”

“We’re taking care of this now. You’ll have to deal with him later.”

“Excuse me,” Mr. Bates said. “My father died. I’m trying to view his body. Could you just give us a minute and I’ll be gone?”

“No, you can’t have a minute. Now get. We have business to attend to.”

Mr. Bates gaped. Then turned his gaze to James. “I believe we’ll take our business elsewhere.” His eyes bounced from one man to the next. “Something’s not right here.” He turned to go.

The
whap whap
made James flinch.

Mr. Bates’s body hit the floor with a thud. James looked at Mitch Conlan, who stuck his weapon back into the shoulder holster under his arm. “Are you kidding me?”

“Put him in the chamber and flush the remains. No one will ever know where he went. We couldn’t have him complaining about ‘something not right,’ could we? And plus, I don’t like the fact that he saw my face.”

James shut his eyes, trying to rein in his temper. This day had gone from bad to worse in seconds. “His wife is upstairs, you idiot.”

Mitch raised a brow and handed the black case to the silent man beside him. He withdrew his weapon once more. “Then we have some business to take care of upstairs, don’t we?”