Читать книгу Secret Mountain Hideout - Terri Reed - Страница 13

It couldn’t be.

Ice filled Ashley Willis’s veins despite the spring sunshine streaming through the living room windows of the Bristle Township home in Colorado where she rented a bedroom.

Disbelief cemented her feet to the floor, her gaze riveted to the horrific images on the television screen.

Flames shot of out of the two-story building she’d hoped never to see again. Its once bright red awnings were now singed black and the magnificent stained-glass windows depicting the image of an angry bull were no more.

She knew that place intimately.

The same place that haunted her nightmares.

The newscaster’s words assaulted her. She grabbed on to the back of the faded floral couch for support.

In a fiery inferno, the posh Burbank restaurant, The Matador, was consumed by a raging fire in the wee hours of the morning. Firefighters are working diligently to douse the flames. So far there have been no fatalities, however, there has been one critical injury.

Ashley’s heart thumped painfully in her chest, reminding her to breathe. Concern for her friend, Gregor, the man who had safely spirited her away from the Los Angeles area one frightening night a year and a half ago when she’d witnessed her boss, Maksim Sokolov, kill a man, thrummed through her. She had to know what happened. She had to know if Gregor was the one injured.

She had to know if this had anything to do with her.

“Mrs. Marsh,” Ashley called out. “Would you mind if I use your cell phone?”

Her landlady, a widow in her mideighties, appeared in the archway between the living room and kitchen. Her hot-pink tracksuit hung on her stooped shoulders but it was her bright smile that always tugged at Ashley’s heart. The woman was a spitfire with her blue-gray hair and her kind green eyes behind thick spectacles.

“Of course, dear. It’s in my purse.” She pointed to the black satchel on the dining room table. “Though you know, as I keep saying, you should get your own cell phone. It’s not safe for a young lady to be walking around without any means of calling for help.”

They had been over this before. Ashley didn’t want anything attached to her name.

Or rather, her assumed identity—Jane Thompson.

Putting the name she was using in some system where it could be flagged and she could be discovered in Bristle Township was a disaster she wanted to avoid at all costs.

So far, using the identification Gregor had given her had worked. She’d been too stunned at the time to question where he’d obtained the driver’s license, social security card and credit card, all with the name Jane Thompson. She suspected she wouldn’t have liked the answer had she asked. No one so far had questioned that she wasn’t Jane Thompson. She didn’t know what she’d do if the thin line keeping her safe disappeared and her true identity became known.

A shudder of dread, followed closely by a jab of guilt at deceiving the good people of Bristle Township, made her gut tighten. She prayed God would forgive her for doing what she had to in order to survive.

“I just need to make a quick phone call,” Ashley assured her landlady as the urgent drive to know who was injured consumed her.

If she could have bought a burner phone in Bristle Township she would have, but that wasn’t an option. First, none of the local stores carried one—she’d discreetly searched—and second, everyone would know about such a purchase the moment she made it.

Thankfully, Mrs. Marsh’s data plan included free long distance, as well as Wi-Fi. Mrs. Marsh’s children, who both lived in Texas, had sent her the phone so that they could communicate with her.

With phone in hand, Ashley quickly searched for the hospitals in and around the Burbank area. She called each listed and on the fourth try found the hospital where the critically injured victim of The Matador fire had been taken.

Her heart sank to have her fear confirmed that Gregor Kominski, the restaurant’s manager, had been the one hurt. Anxiety made her limbs shake beneath the khaki pants and long sleeve T-shirt sporting the Java Bean logo on the front breast pocket and the back. She had been on her way out the door for work when she’d seen the news.

Had the fire been set intentionally? Had Gregor suffered because of her?

“Are you a relative of Mr. Kominski’s?” the woman from the hospital on the other end of the line questioned.

Biting her lip, Ashley debated her answer. She didn’t want to lie, but she doubted they would give her much information if she admitted she wasn’t related to the man. Finally, she hedged, allowing the woman to make her own assumption. “I’m calling from out of town. What can you tell me? Is he going to be okay?”

“He remains in critical condition,” the woman said. “Would you like to leave a name and a number for updates?”

Ashley quickly hung up. No, she didn’t want to leave a name and number. She didn’t want there to be any trace of her reaching out for information. The call had been a risk. One she hoped she wouldn’t have to pay for with her life.

Gossip in Bristle Township traveled faster than the wind off the mountain. Ashley couldn’t help but overhear several customers of the Java Bean coffee shop talking about a detective from California asking questions about a mysterious woman.

Heart beating in her throat, Ashley spilled milk all over the espresso machine. With shaky hands, she quickly wiped up the mess and finished making the specialty drink.

Just this morning she’d learned of the fire that had destroyed The Matador restaurant and sent her friend to the hospital. Now a police officer from the same state was in town. Coincidence? Or was she on the verge of being discovered?

Ethan Johnson, a local farmer, stared at her from beneath the brim of a well-worn baseball cap as she handed him the steaming cup of mocha cappuccino. “Do you have a sister?”

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as she mutely shook her head.

“Hmm. I guess we all have a doppelganger,” he commented. His blue veined hands cupped the to-go container as if the warmth of the liquid inside was soothing to the arthritis evident in the swollen joints of his fingers.

Forcing herself to speak, she asked, “Why do you say that?”

“You vaguely resemble the woman in the photo the lawman was asking me about,” he replied with a shrug. He lifted the cup and blew through the hole on the lid as he walked away.

Though she barely resembled her old self, terror of being exposed ripped through Ashley. She’d been careful to keep her appearance understated so she could blend in better. Though the dye job she’d done right before landing in Bristle Township hadn’t turned out quite the way she’d expected. Much too flashy.

The carton of hair dye had claimed she’d end up with honey blond hair. She touched the short platinum blond strands curling around her face. Sudden sadness and anger at the circumstances that had forced her to change not only her hair color and style but also her whole life swamped her, weighing her down.

One simple distracted moment and her world had spun out of control.

Knowing things could be so much worse—she could be dead—she quickly removed her apron and hurried over to the owner of the Java Bean, Stephen Humphrey. He was a big teddy bear of a man with two teenage kids who helped out on the weekends.

“Hey, boss. I need to take a break, if that’s okay. I forgot I promised Mrs. Marsh I would help her with something.” Like protecting her from me.

Ashley’s insides twisted with guilt. She hated having to keep her true identity a secret from these people who had shown her such kindness.

She knew Stephen had a soft spot for Mrs. Marsh. The whole town did. Mrs. Marsh and her late husband had been beloved grade school teachers. Everyone who had grown up in town had been in her or her late husband’s classes. Ashley had heard so many wonderful stories of how Mr. and Mrs. Marsh had made a difference in people’s lives.

Just as Mrs. Marsh was making a huge difference in Ashley’s life. More guilt and regret heaped on her head, making her scalp tingle. She wanted to scrub the past year and a half away, go back in time and undo what was done. But she couldn’t.

The only thing she could do was run to stay alive.

“Sure,” Stephen replied. “Just be back for the afternoon rush.”

She smiled tightly but refrained from promising. It was time for her to leave Bristle Township as soon as possible. The thought pinched, creating a pang of sorrow. She liked the town and her job. She’d started to make friends, letting people into her heart. Foolish on her part.

Over the last year she’d saved up so she could afford to move on. She’d only stopped in the small mountainside community and taken the job at the coffee shop because she’d run out of the money Gregor had given her. He’d told her never to contact him again and she hadn’t wanted to put her mother in danger by contacting her.

Not that Irene Willis would have been in any position to help her only child, nor would she have made much effort if she could. Irene barely made a living waiting tables at a truck stop outside Barstow, California, and Ashley was positive her mom’s life was less complicated without her daughter to set off her temper. One of the many reasons Ashley had left as quickly as she could when she turned eighteen.

Ashley’s only option had been staying in one place long enough to earn more money to keep running for her life. She hadn’t meant to stay so long. But life had become comfortable and she’d believed herself secure in this quaint mountain hamlet. Maybe if she’d stayed in Barstow or chosen a different path, she wouldn’t be here now.

An illusion of safety had kept her here. Another mistake she couldn’t afford. And now she was on the brink of being found out. She had no doubt that the detective was hunting for her. She couldn’t let him succeed in tracking her down.

She hurried out the back entrance of the Java Bean, taking a deep breath of the pine-scented air. She crossed the town park, trying to keep a low profile. The park was filled with moms and their children too young for school. A few elderly couples strolled along the street. A horn honked, startling Ashley. She glanced around, fear slithering through her, making her muscles tense. Two cars vied for the same parking space in front of the bookstore on the main street. Breathing a little easier she hurried on, cutting through the library parking lot, and walked fast down the residential street leading to Mrs. Marsh’s place.

The trees along the sidewalk were beginning to blossom. Soft pink petals floated to the ground on a slight breeze. Ashley barely noticed the beauty today, her mind tormented with anxiety.

Managing to reach the boarding house without being seen, she gathered her meager belongings, left an apologetic note and some cash for Mrs. Marsh. Then putting up the hood of her navy down jacket to cover her bright hair, she retraced the same path she’d taken earlier and made her way to the Bristle Hotel where the interstate bus picked up and dropped off passengers.

A teenager on a bike rode by, waving at her. She had no choice but to wave back to Brady Gallo. Maybe he wouldn’t mention to his older sister that he’d seen Jane. It pained Ashley to leave Maya, Leslie and Kaitlyn—the three women who’d befriended her—without a goodbye, but it couldn’t be helped.

At the Bristle Hotel, a beautiful old building that dated back to the township’s conception, Ashley checked with the front desk clerk and learned a bus was due to arrive within minutes and was headed to Montana. She bought a ticket and then took a position behind a pillar on the wide porch to wait for the bus. There were a couple of other people waiting and she purposely ignored them. The last thing she needed was to engage in idle conversation.

She hoped and prayed she made it out of town before she was found or stopped.

The bus rolled in and she hurried to stow her bag in the undercarriage compartment, then moved to wait at the door behind a guy who needed a shower. The stench coming from his unwashed hair made her eyes water. He’d probably been hiking on the popular trails that began right on the edge of Bristle and threaded up into the mountains.

She hung back as long as she dared, allowing space between them. There were already several people onboard the bus. Seemed Montana was the destination of choice today.

The guy in front of her showed his ticket to the driver and boarded.

“Jane! Wait.”

Hesitating, Ashley warily turned to find Deputy Chase Fredrick striding toward her, undeniably handsome in his brown uniform. His sandy blond hair swept over his forehead in an appealing way and his intense blue eyes bored into her. He’d always been kind and charming when he’d come into the Java Bean for coffee.

In different circumstances, she might have been tempted to flirt with him, but there was no place in her life for a man. It was bad enough she’d made friends who were going to be hurt and disappointed by her departure. She regretted causing anyone pain and wouldn’t make that mistake again.

What did the deputy want? Dread clawed through her. Was her ruse up? Would she find herself in jail? Or worse—dead?

Desperate to get on the bus, Ashley thrust her ticket at the driver, but he didn’t reach for it as he stared at her a moment and then turned his gaze to the deputy who’d come to a halt at her side and touched her elbow.

Panic revved Ashley’s pulse. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” His blue gaze searched her face. “Why are you leaving town?”

Stiffening her spine, she replied, “It’s none of your business.”

“It is my business if you’re a criminal,” he stated in a low voice.

She drew back. Fear fluttered in her chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Turning to the bus driver, Chase said, “She won’t be taking this bus. Can you unload her bags?”

Giving Ashley a cautious glance, the driver’s head bobbed. “Straight away, Officer.”

“No! I have to go,” she protested. “I need to get on this bus.”

The driver hurried to the cargo hold and dragged her duffel out, setting it on the ground before resuming his position at the bus door.

Drawing her away from the curious gazes, Chase said, “Jane, be straight with me. There’s a detective from Los Angeles here searching for a woman wanted in connection with a murder. And I’m pretty sure the woman in the photo he has is you.”

Her stomach dropped. Fear squeezed her lungs, making breathing difficult.

“Did you kill a man?”

She swallowed back the bile rising to burn her throat. “Of course not. I could never—I wouldn’t—”

She wasn’t a murderer.

But she knew who was.

Gregor had warned her not to tell anyone, not even the police. They were not to be trusted, he’d said. “I’ve got to go. This is the only bus out today.”

“You’re not going anywhere—” Chase’s voice was hard and his eyes glittered with warning “—until you tell me the truth.”

“Last call,” the bus driver called out, sliding a cautious glance their way.

Her gaze darted from the bus to Chase. “Please,” she pleaded. “I need to leave. You don’t understand. If he finds me, he’ll kill me.”

Confusion tampered down the hardness of Chase’s features. “Jane, trust me. I can protect you. Just tell me what it is you’re running from.”

She shook her head and took a step back. “No. I was warned not to say anything. Not even to the police. I can’t trust you. I can’t trust anyone.”

The driver stepped into the bus and closed the door. The bus’s engine rumbled and a few seconds later a plume of exhaust filled the air as the bus drove away. Frustration pounded a rapid beat at her temple. Now she was trapped with no way out.

Chase snagged her hand and gently coaxed her fist open. “Jane, listen to me carefully.” His voice softened to a smooth tone that seemed to coil inside of her. Her pulse leaped. His touch soothed.

“My job is to protect and serve the citizens of Bristle Township. You are one of its citizens.” The intensity in his clear gaze mesmerized her. “I will protect you. If you committed a crime, it is better for you to face it than to run.”

Though his hands were warm and reassuring, her heart turned cold. She jerked away from him. “No. I didn’t commit a crime. I didn’t see anything. I don’t know anything.”

He stepped closer, invading her space. “I understand you’re afraid. Whatever it is, I will be with you the whole way. Please, trust me.”

She angled her head to stare at him. “Why is my trust so important to you?”

As if her words were a splash of cold water, he abruptly stepped back. “It’s my job to protect you.”

She shook her head with a dash of cynicism. “I know you want to believe you can protect me, but the type of people I need protection from don’t respect authority. They’d just as soon kill you as look at you.”

Chase stood tall as if her words had been a personal assault. “Jane, tell me what you know.”

She glanced around to make sure she wouldn’t be overheard. She hated how exposed and vulnerable she felt out in the open. She gestured for him to follow her beneath the shade of a large Douglas fir. “If I tell you, will you help me get out of here?”

“If you tell me, I promise I will protect you.”

More frustration bubbled inside her. What choice did she have? Her only option was to trust Chase and his promise of protection until she had an opportunity to run again. She had to stay vigilant if she wanted to stay alive.

Her heart raced. Her gaze darted from shadow to shadow, half expecting Maksim Sokolov to step out from behind a tree like a bogeyman from a horror movie. “A year and a half ago—” her voice dipped as the secret she’d held inside escaped like a bat out of a dark cave “—I witnessed a murder.”

Jane’s words echoed through Chase’s brain. Sympathy squeezed his heart. Ever since the detective, who’d appeared this morning without warning at the sheriff station, had shown Chase the photo of a woman with long dark hair and bangs dressed in a black dress and pumps at the back door of a brick building, Chase’s stomach had been tied in knots.

Though only the woman’s profile had been visible, there had been something vaguely familiar about the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw. And then it had come to him. The woman in the photo was Jane.

And she apparently was hiding in Bristle Township because she’d witnessed a murder. “Tell me what happened.”

She shook her head. “If the killer finds out that I can identify him...” A visible shudder rippled through her. “He will kill me and anyone else in his path.”

Her palpable fear sent all his protective instincts into high gear. She was in danger. Her life threatened by what she’d seen. Reining in the urge to comfort and assure her that she was safe, he let his training prompt him to ask, “Why is Detective Peters convinced you’re involved?”

She turned to pluck the bark off the tree. Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know.”

Was he being played? He sent up a quick prayer, asking for God’s wisdom and guidance here. Keeping his voice from betraying the anxiety her words caused, he said, “We have to get you to the sheriff’s station so you can give your statement. You need to be brave now.”

Chase hoped she would come willingly. He didn’t want to have to compel her by putting her in cuffs.

For a long moment, she simply stared at him. He could see her inner debate with herself playing out on her face. Trust him or not.

He couldn’t help her with the decision.

Finally, she seemed to deflate. “I’m so tired of being scared. I want to be brave.”

He covered her icy hand. “I’ll help you.”

Snagging her duffel with his free hand, he walked with her away from the hotel. They hadn’t gone far when a black SUV pulled up alongside them and Detective William Peters hopped out. The tall, bulky man wore a wrinkled gray suit, white button-down shirt and red tie. His dark hair brushed the edges of his collar.

There was something about the man’s gruff demeanor that had rankled Chase from the second they’d met. He chalked it up to city vs. small town. One of the many reasons Chase left the Chicago PD after only a year. He hadn’t wanted to become jaded like so many of his fellow officers.

Chase believed in good over evil, that the right side of the law would win in the end. And justice wasn’t prejudiced or affected by social status. Maybe that made him naive as some had said. He didn’t care. He had faith that he was doing what God wanted for his life.

Detective Peters’s dark eyes glittered with triumph. “There you are.” He opened the rear passenger door. “Get in. We have a plane to catch.”

Jane clutched Chase’s arm. She made no move to comply.

“Hold on a minute,” Chase told the detective. “We need to do this the right way. We go to the sheriff’s station so we can make a proper transfer to your custody.”

Peters shook his head. “No way. She’s coming with me now. I have a warrant that gives me the right to take her into custody on sight.”

Chase didn’t recall any mention of a warrant. “The sheriff will want to talk with her.”

“There’s no time for that.” Peters stepped forward and grabbed Jane by the arm, yanking her from Chase’s grasp. He pushed her inside the back passenger side of the SUV.

“You can’t just take her away,” Chase argued. “There’s protocol to follow.”

Peters got in Chase’s face. “Back off. If you have an issue, then call the brass. I’ve got my orders.”

“Chase?”

Jane’s anxiety curled through Chase. “I’m going with you. I’ll get my own plane ticket. Even if I have to fly on a different airline.” He stepped forward to slide into the back seat with Jane when Peters slammed the door shut, blocking Chase from following her into the vehicle.

Peters shoved Chase back a step and glared. “This is my collar, not yours. I’m not letting some Podunk deputy interfere with my investigation.”

Taken aback by the man’s hostility, Chase put his hand on the butt of his weapon. Drawing on a fellow officer wasn’t something he wanted to do, but if the man continued with his aggressive behavior, Chase would have little choice. “She’s a witness, not a suspect.”

“That’s for others with a higher pay grade to decide. She’s coming with me.” Peters jumped into the vehicle.

Chase grabbed the back door handle but it was locked. He banged on the driver’s side window. “You can’t just take her like this.”

The SUV’s engine revved. Peters hit the gas and the SUV peeled away, forcing Chase to jump aside to avoid being hit.

This wasn’t right. There was a proper way of doing things. Chase ran to the sheriff’s station. At the front desk, he asked Carole if she could get the chief of the Los Angeles Police Department on the line for the sheriff. Then he moved into the inner sanctuary of the station. His voice shook with anger as he told the sheriff and the other deputies about Jane and what had just transpired.

“I’ve got the Burbank Police Department on the line,” Carole called from her desk. “Should I send the call to your desk, Sheriff?”

“No, send it to Chase’s,” Sheriff Ryder replied.

Stunned, Chase stared. “Sir?”

“You’re running point on this one,” the sheriff replied.

Not about to question his boss, Chase sat at his desk and punched the blinking light. A second later a man’s deep voice came on the line. “Chief Macintosh, how can I help you?”

Chase hurriedly explained the situation, giving his protest at the detective’s manhandling of their citizen.

There was a long pause before Chief Macintosh replied, “You say this man had Detective William Peters’s identification?”

A strange question. An unsettled apprehension curled through Chase. “He did.”

“The man’s an imposter,” Macintosh said. “Detective William Peters is dead. Murdered during an undercover operation.”