Читать книгу Rocky Mountain Revenge - Cindi Myers, Cindi Myers - Страница 10

Chapter Five

Jake parked the rental car amid the jumble of vehicles at the auto-repair shop and began walking the few blocks toward Anne’s house. The old joke about small towns rolling up the sidewalk when the sun set must be true; no one else was out and the only traffic was the occasional car on the central thoroughfare that connected with the state highway. Here on the side streets, it was as silent as a tomb. A quarter moon and the occasional glow from a porch light illuminated his path. The crunch of his footsteps on the unpaved shoulder of the road sounded too loud in the profound stillness.

For a man who’d spent all his life in the city, the silence felt vaguely threatening. He studied the shadows the trees and buildings cast, anticipating an ambush, but nothing moved.

He kept one hand wrapped around the gun in his coat pocket as he walked. Maybe he was being overly cautious and he and Anne had nothing to fear in this sleepy little town. But who was the man who’d been asking for her at the gym? Jake wouldn’t leave her alone until he found out. He’d failed at protecting her from her father and his thugs before; he wouldn’t let them near her again.

He approached the house from the back, though he doubted any of her neighbors were watching. He kept to the shadows along the side of the house, moving quickly toward the back steps. Maybe they should have agreed on some kind of signal, so she’d be sure it was him when he arrived. As he turned the corner toward the back of the house he froze, heart pounding.

The back door to Anne’s house was open—not wide open, but cracked a few inches, sending a shaft of bright light onto a patch of trampled snow at the bottom of the steps. Jake drew the gun and sidestepped toward the door, keeping to the deepest shadows against the wall of the house. When he was sure the coast was clear, he took the steps two at a time, moving silently, and paused on the small landing at the top, holding his breath, listening.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” The man’s voice was nasal, the words clipped and staccato.

Anne’s answer was unintelligible, but the terror in her voice made the hair on the back of Jake’s neck stand on end. He nudged the door open a little wider with the toe of one shoe and leaned in.

“I worked for your father, but you never noticed me. You were too high and mighty to pay attention to the help.”

Jake heard a scraping sound, as if someone had shoved a chair out of the way. He decided they were in the living room, just beyond the kitchen. Was it just Anne and this man, or had the intruder brought along help?

Jake slipped silently into the kitchen, keeping close to the wall, out of sight of the doorway between the kitchen and living room. “You deserve to die for what you did to your father,” the man said.

“No!” Anne cried out and Jake rushed forward. He burst into the room and saw Anne struggling with a burly, dark-haired man. He aimed his pistol, but there was no way he could get off a clean shot without risking hitting Anne instead.

Anne’s attacker wrapped one arm across her chest and pulled her against him, crushing her rib cage, lifting her off the ground. She writhed in his arms, kicking out. The man still didn’t know Jake was in the room. That gave him a slim advantage, but he didn’t yet see how to use it.

Anne kicked out, knocking over a table, on which sat a lamp. The glass base of the lamp shattered, and then the lightbulb exploded with a shower of sparks. Anne wailed—whether in pain or frustration, Jake didn’t know, but the sound enraged him. He aimed the gun again, determined to get off a good shot.

Anne beat her fists against her assailant, who held her with one hand now while he groped in his jacket pocket, probably for a weapon. If he drew a gun, Jake would have to fire, and pray Anne was not in the way.

But just then, Anne leaned over and bit her attacker on the hand, hard enough to draw blood.

The man howled and released her, and Anne whirled and landed a solid punch on his chin. Her attacker reeled back, but in the same moment he drew a gun from his coat. It was the last move he ever made, as Jake shot him, twice, the impact of the bullets sending him sprawling across the back of the sofa.

Anne screamed, then stood frozen, her hands to her mouth, her face the same bleached ivory color as the wall behind her. “Is there anyone else?” Jake asked.

She shook her head, still staring at the dead man draped across her sofa. Jake pocketed his gun and dragged the man onto the floor and laid him out on his back. He was a burly man in his forties, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt and wearing a new-looking ski jacket, hiking boots and a knit cap. Anyone seeing him on the streets would have taken him for a local, or a visiting tourist.

Except most tourists didn’t carry a Glock. Jake checked the weapon; it hadn’t been fired. He slipped it into his other coat pocket and took out the man’s wallet. “Robert Smith,” he read the name on the driver’s license.

“That’s not his real name.” Anne’s voice was shaky, but surprisingly calm, considering she had a dead man laid out on her living room rug. “His name’s DiCello. Some of my father’s men called him Jell-O. He hated that.”

“What’s this on his jacket?” He tugged at a laminated tag hanging from the zipper pull of the jacket. “It’s a lift ticket, from Telluride Ski Resort. Dated for yesterday.” Had Mr. DiCello decided to take in a day on the slopes before driving over to Rogers to do a little business with his boss’s estranged daughter?

The loud jangling of the phone surprised a cry from Anne, who immediately put a hand to her mouth, as if to hold back further cries. Jake stared at the ringing instrument. Had someone heard the shots? “You’d better answer it.”

She nodded and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

She listened a moment, then forced a smile. “How sweet of you, Mrs. Cramer, but everything’s fine....Yes, I heard it, too. It must have been a car backfiring.”

She hung up the phone and looked at him. “The neighbor lady, checking on me.”

“You did great.” Better than great. She’d sounded perfectly calm and reasonable. As if thugs got shot up in her living room every night. “That was quite a punch you landed,” he said.

She massaged the back of her hand—she’d likely have a bruise there tomorrow. “I’ve been taking boxing lessons. So I’d know how to defend myself. But it wouldn’t have saved me. Not if you hadn’t come along.”

He moved toward her, intending to comfort her, but she stepped away from him, and hugged her arms tightly around her waist. He swallowed his disappointment. It didn’t matter if she hadn’t forgiven him; she still needed his help. “Your father’s found you. You have to leave.”

“Maybe my father didn’t send him. Maybe he came on his own.”

“Anne, look at me.”

She met his gaze, and the anguish in her eyes cut him. He wanted to hold her close, to tell her again that he would protect her. But now wasn’t the time. “You don’t really believe this man, who you know works for your father, came here without your father’s knowledge, do you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Is there some place near here we can go that might be safe—just until we can make a plan?”

She straightened, visibly pulling herself together. “There are some cabins in the mountains about fifteen miles from here. The area is remote, on National Forest land. In the summer, a few people live there, but in the winter they’re closed up. There’s a gate over the road, but I know the combination to the lock.”

She hadn’t hesitated with her answer; she had all the details laid out. “You’ve been planning for something like this.”

“I always knew I might have to leave. I didn’t want to, but...” Her voice died, and her gaze dropped to the man at their feet.

“Pack a few things you’ll need and we’ll go. Now.”

“What about him?”

“I’ll drag him out back and hide the body under a pile of firewood. As cold as it is, it could be a long time before anyone finds him. If the police come looking for you, they might inadvertently lead your father to us.”

“You think he’ll send someone else after me?”

“You know he will.”

She nodded. “Yes. What about the blood?”

“I’ll clean it up. Now go.”

Without another word, or a glance in his direction, she went into her bedroom and shut the door.

Jake stared at that shut door; it wasn’t half as solid a barrier as the one she’d put around her heart. Fine. She could hate him all she wanted. Maybe he even deserved her hate. But that wouldn’t stop him from protecting her. And it wouldn’t stop him from finding the man who’d caused her so much pain, and making sure he could never hurt her again.

* * *

ANNESHOVEDUNDERWEAR, a change of clothes and a few cosmetics into an overnight bag. She added a phone charger and a box of ammunition. The thought of needing those bullets made her shake, but if forced, she would defend herself. She wouldn’t hide behind Jake; she wouldn’t trust her life to him alone.

Her own father wanted her dead. She’d accepted the truth of this intellectually, but in her heart she’d nurtured a kernel of hope that he would never follow through on his threats.

Tonight had destroyed that hope. If she let herself think too much about what had just happened, she might fall apart. So she clung to anger and nurtured that instead. A man had invaded her home—her sanctuary—and tried to destroy her. She wouldn’t let that happen again.

Even if that meant depending on Jake in the short term. She needed him—and his gun—for protection right now. But as soon as she had a plan that would keep her safe, she’d say goodbye to him. She didn’t need—or want—him in her life again. In his own way, Jake was as tied to violence as her father had been. The fact that he wanted revenge, even though he wasn’t in law enforcement anymore, proved he was still a part of the violence. She was done with living that way, with danger and bloodshed as commonplace as Friday-night pizza or Sunday drives for other families.

When she emerged from the bedroom with the overnight bag and her coat, DiCello’s body was gone. Jake had cleaned the floor and thrown a quilt over the back of the sofa to hide the bloodstains. “I’ve done the best I can,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll take my rental car. It’s parked just down the street.”

“What kind of car is it?” she asked.

“A Pontiac Vibe. What difference does that make?”

She shook her head. “It isn’t four-wheel drive. We’ll take my Subaru.”

She could tell he wanted to argue. Jake liked to take charge, to have every situation under control. But this was her plan and she’d thought it out very carefully. “We’ll need the four-wheel drive on the Forest Service roads,” she said.

“Then give me your keys. I’ll drive.” He held out his hand.

She wrapped her hand more securely around the keys. “I know the way to the cabins and I’m a better driver in mountain snow than you are.” And focusing on driving would keep her from brooding over the man who had attacked her, and the images of him dying right before her eyes. Though her father had been responsible for many deaths, the only other one she’d seen close up had been Jake. She moved past him, out the door.

She expected him to argue more, but he didn’t, he merely slid into the passenger seat as she started the car. “You should call your friend Maggie, and tell her you’re going out of town for a few days. Tell her your mom is sick or something.”

“All right. I need to stop for gas. I’ll call her then. And I’ll call the U.S. marshal assigned to my case and let him know what’s going on.”

“Don’t tell him you’re with me.”

“Why not?”

“I’m supposed to be retired. They’ll see my presence as interfering.”

“You are interfering.” She gripped the steering wheel so tightly her fingers ached. “I was fine until you showed up.”

“It was a coincidence that your father’s goon showed up right after I did.”

“A pretty big coincidence, if you ask me.” She turned onto the main highway out of town. A few cars filled the parking spaces in front of the town’s only bar, but there was no one outside to see her car glide past, or to wonder what the teacher was doing out so late.

“Where is this gas station?” He changed the subject.

“About five miles, by the lake. It’s closed this time of night, but the electric pumps will take a credit card.”

“I suppose we’ll have to risk it. I’ll stay out of sight of the security cameras, so it will look like you’re alone.”

“Why do I need to look like I’m alone?”

“If you’re really on your way to visit your sick mother, why do you have a strange man with you?”

Right. She’d already forgotten the cover story he’d concocted. Not that she expected anyone to believe it. But maybe it would buy them a little time, and if anyone came around questioning Maggie, she’d have something to tell them.

Jake hid in the backseat while she fueled the car; then she parked around the side of the building, out of sight of the security cameras, and dialed Maggie’s number. A sleepy voice answered on the fifth ring. “Hello?”

“Hello, Ty? I’m so sorry to bother you this late. This is Anne. May I speak to Maggie?”

“Sure, Anne. Everything all right?”

“It’s fine. I just need to talk to Maggie a minute.”

After a few seconds of fumbling with the phone, Maggie came on the line. “Anne, what’s wrong?”

“I just learned my father is in the hospital in New York. I need to go up there and see him.” She was surprised how smoothly the lie rolled off her tongue. She felt like an actress, delivering a line in a play.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. What’s wrong?”

“His heart. It...it doesn’t look so good, I guess.” Her father didn’t have a heart where she was concerned, but as far as Anne knew, his health was fine.

“You never talked much about your parents before.”

“My mother died when I was little.” True. “My father and I aren’t particularly close.” Also true.

“I understand. You want to try to patch things up before it’s too late. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll call Mr. Strand first thing in the morning and explain.”

Anne had been hoping to avoid a phone call to the principal. Lying to her best friend was bad enough; the more people she spoke with, the greater the chance of getting her story mixed up. “Thanks. I’ll call you again when I know when I’ll be home.”

“Don’t worry. Have you told Jake?”

“Jake?” She glanced at the man in the passenger seat and he sent her a questioning look. “Why would I tell Jake?”

“He’s from New York, isn’t he? He could fly back with you. Then you wouldn’t have to be alone.”

Maggie made it sound so romantic—the old flame comforting her in her time of need. In some ways, having Jake with her was comforting; at least he knew the truth about her. But she shouldn’t trust him, and being with him complicated the situation even more. “I haven’t seen Jake. He never knew my father, anyway.” More lies. She hoped her friend would forgive her one day for her deception. Not that Anne would be around to accept that forgiveness. Now that her father had learned her identity, the Marshals office would give her a new one. If she kept this up, she wouldn’t even remember who she was.

“I have to go now,” she said. “I’ll talk to you soon.” She hung up before Maggie could ask more questions.

“Do you think you convinced her?” Jake asked.

“I think so.” She scrolled through her phone directory until she found the number for U.S. Marshal Patrick Thompson.

He answered on the third ring, his voice as crisp and alert as if he’d been expecting her call. “Anne. Is something wrong?”

The concern in his voice brought a knot of tears to her throat. Marshal Thompson had always been kind, gentle even, treating her the way a caring big brother would look after his little sister. He’d done his best to make a horrible situation better, and the memory of that came rushing back at the sound of his voice. She struggled to rein in her emotions. Now was no time to break down. “One of my father’s men, a man named DiCello, broke into my house tonight,” she said. “He’s dead and I’m leaving. I thought you’d want to know.”

“Did he say how he found you? Did he say where your father is now?”

“No. We...we didn’t talk much.”

“You shot him?”

She hesitated, and looked again at Jake. “Yes.” When they found the body, they’d probably figure out she’d lied; DiCello had been shot from behind, with a different gun from the one she owned—the gun Thompson himself had most likely given her. But none of that mattered now. “I’m headed to a place where I think I’ll be safe, at least temporarily.”