An Eye for Danger (56 page)

By now, the flames were retreating, leaving tiny cinders in the air but still plenty of smoke. Just enough to encourage evacuation by Stone, or inspection by the cop.

"Supposed to call medics if there's an accident, son." The sound of Deputy Burke's voice was a salve of hope. "Already put in a call to Fire. Why don't you step out and we'll make sure everyone's alright."

"Thanks for your concern, but I'll pass." Stone gunned the engine and turned on the fans to clear the rest of the air. "Move your vehicle, officer."

I stuck my fingers through the grate as I choked out, "They've got Sam." Then coughing overtook me.

Of all cops to show up. Maybe he'd made some arrangement with Sam. Or maybe Little Miss Redhead called in the assault. Thank God I hadn't slugged her.

Or maybe he was helping Goliath.

Taking my chances, I kicked at the window. Stone would have to shoot me to stop me.

"Turn off your engine, mister." Burke came closer. "Now."

"I'm not 'mister.'" Stone held his badge higher. "I'm Detective McCarthy of the NYPD. Did you miss the light?" He tapped the roof. But his blue light strobes seemed swallowed by the SUV's battalion of red and whites.

"Anyone can have a portable these days. All that drug running up north's got us on our toes. This is tourist country. Tourists don't like drugs." He tried to get a look at me in the back, but the air was still smoky. "And no cop I know is gonna drive with their car on fire."

"I'm on deadline, officer. Transporting a suspect back to New York. Arson case." Stone's tenor thickened. "I don't have time for your country diligence."

I leaned toward the driver window. "They drugged Sam and took him—"

"Shut up and sit back." Stone glowered over his shoulder at me, then turned back to Burke. "She's a junkie, just trying to rattle your cage. Sam's her dealer. I get all the worst cases."

In the smoke film clouding my window I etched SAM FIELDS.

Burke glanced at my window while answering Stone. "Yup, I can see that."

"I should roll before she gets the shakes." Stone revved the engine again. With the haze dissipating, I could see the anger lines etched into his forehead.

"Junkie, huh? Thought she was an arsonist." Burke rested his hand on his holster, a stance he'd taken when Sam pleaded the fifth about revealing his identity.

The snap of Stone's holster broke.

"Please, he's a good cop," I whispered to Stone. Despite everything, I couldn't believe Stone was a cop killer. "Honor matters. Even to you."

Stone hesitated, his jaw squeezing out his reply. "Then don't do anything stupid, Julie."

"Suppose you found her at Mo's," said Burke. "They've had a lot of trouble with druggies after hours."

Stone huffed. "Yes, exactly. Now may I go?"

The deputy sucked his teeth. "'Course, this is my county, my jurisdiction."

"Officer, I'm in a hurry to make deadline for the DA by dawn. So if you don't mind…"

"That's Deputy Sheriff to you, son, not officer. You got papers for her? You know, you have to file with the county seat, then they process the warrants over to me. And I didn't get no warrants on any junkie. Or any arsonist."

Stone snapped, "I don't have time for this. Who's your commanding?"

Burke stepped back from the car to shine his flashlight into Stone's face. "I'm not asking you again to shut down that engine, son."

"You're making a big mistake." Stone's eyes reddened, his voice gurgling with tension as he cut the engine. "I'm calling the Chief of D's, and he'll be calling your boss. You're about to experience a very serious demotion."

When Stone reached for his radio to call the Chief of Detectives, Burke drew his sidearm.

"Now let's try this again, Detective. Step out of your vehicle. Nice and easy." Burke kept enough distance to not get slammed by Stone's flying door, though Stone creaked it open as slow as the sweat dripping down my temple. "Hands in view, son."

"You're way out of line, Deputy Sheriff." Stone set his pristine shoes into the dirt. My heart double-timed its already frantic pace. Any second, he'd pull his gun on Burke.

"And you're way out of your jurisdiction. Palms on the roof, legs wide," said Burke, removing Stone's weapon. I couldn't believe Stone was complying. "Keys?"

"Right pocket," said Stone, his voice smooth as ice now. Too cool for me to keep my eyes off him as Burke opened my door and tossed me the keys to the cuffs.

I scrambled behind Burke before I'd even unlatched my wrists.

He pointed me to his SUV. "Your friend wanted me to make sure you were safe."

I assumed he meant Miss Redhead, hoped he meant Sam, but I wasn't hanging around to ask.

Stone's eyes followed my every step to the deputy's vehicle, as if measuring the distance he'd have to run to get his hands around my throat.

Burke set Stone's weapon on the ground and kicked it into the ditch. Burke found Stone's clinch piece and tossed that, too, into the darkness.
Explain three lost weapons to brass, asshole
.

"You just flushed your career down the crapper, Deputy Sheriff."

"That sounds like a threat, Detective. County sheriffs don't like threats, even among our own kind. But I got a sure feeling you ain't my kind."

"You could get a promotion for doing the right thing here, aiding an arresting officer on a major case."

"Tell you what, son. Since you wear a badge, I won't put you in jail for threatening or bribing an officer of the law. In fact, I'll do you a solid and let you ride home. But you'll go home empty-handed. And you can explain that to your commanding and your DA."

Climbing into the passenger seat of Burke's truck, I locked my door. The engine was still running, ready to fly us out of hell. I squeezed between the seat and a computer console jutting from the dashboard to throw open the driver door for Burke, who was backing toward me, his aim steadied on Stone.

"You'll regret this," Stone yelled, facing us.

"Drive away, Detective. Before I change my mind and arrest you with your own cuffs." Then Burke turned and headed for the SUV.

Stone slid a hand between his seat and the door, and I realized in a flash he was going for another backup weapon.

"No," I yelled, and Burke started to turn.

Boom.

Burke flew toward the driver door, landing on his side. The shot echoed against the mountains. His fingers clutched the frame and I reached to help pull him into the cab, but I couldn't pull him with my bad arm.

Another explosion. Stone's second shot blew out the driver-side window, forcing my head down.

Burke returned fire in short bursts. Through the door frame I saw Stone stumble and sag against his car.

"Don't move." Burke started to stand, bracing himself with the truck's door.

A third shot, and the deputy fell flat on his back, his chest surging with blood like a breached riverbank. Red and white lights swirled over a face of shock and sadness.

"Get up!" I grabbed Burke's utility belt, forcing my grip tighter, but my arm and shoulder wouldn't cooperate. I couldn't leave him behind like this. Yet I hadn't the strength to lift a two-hundred-pound man in full gear. Then I realized his eyes were stilled.

Stone raised himself off the ground, an old-school revolver in his hand, and a murderous look my way. With a hand to his chest, and a wobbly gait, he didn't look dance-worthy, but I predicted he had a hell of a mean step in store for me.

"Drive," a voice said. I was yelling at myself.

I sat up, shifted the truck into reverse, and the truck flew backwards, slamming the driver door wide open. Stone halted, as if stunned I had the nerve to retreat. Then he lifted his revolver.

Without hesitating, I spun the truck and his shot snapped at the passenger side door. He was either shooting at me or the tires.

I opted for manual transmission, punched the gas as I shifted the truck into first gear for traction up the short incline, and slammed my door shut with the forward surge. Two more shots nipped my rear door, so I kept swerving to keep Stone from hitting my tires.

Second gear, more gas. Horns blared as I jumped out of oncoming traffic. Idiots. Considering the emergency lights still raged on the SUV, drivers should be moving off the road for me, not honking.

Adrenaline kept my senses focused, my body warm in the wicked cold air blasting through the missing window. Stay alert, stay calm, I told myself. I couldn't afford to pass out or go into shock. PTSD would have to come back later with an appointment.

Another short turn approached as I aimed for the northbound entrance to the highway.
Training, where the hell is your training? Brake on approach to a corner, gas through the curve
. By now I was riding the top of third gear's range for speed, but in the coming turn I'd lose power by braking, so I downshifted to second and tolerated the jerk and retort of the engine, then I moved my foot from the brake to the gas pedal, and then shifted up to third again.

My grip on the wheel hardened as the pull of the curve threatened to roll the SUV. Roaring into the northbound lane, I nearly sideswiped a red minivan. In my rearview mirror, I saw the van swerve and recover. And no blue cop light following me.

CHAPTER 39

Wind thudded through the deputy's truck window, nearly blowing out my eardrum and numbing my left cheek, while my right side blistered from the heater breathing fire up my dress. I couldn't let myself ice over before reaching Sam.

Police codes popped over the radio. "Shots fired near Mo's. Officer on scene. Deputy Burke, relay status." The woman's voice was tense. "Burke, respond. Are you there?" She got more personal, more anxious with repeated calls. She deserved an answer, and I thought to respond "officer down," but Burke was already dead with fire engines en route to his location. And I couldn't afford to let anyone know I was still alive.

I clicked off the radio.

From Mo's, Reynolds had driven toward the northbound freeway entrance, so I was guzzling gas to eat up highway fast. With his twenty-minute lead he could be thirty miles up the road by now, if he hadn't exited altogether.
But why north instead of south to the city?

My speed hovered around 98 mph as I rocketed down a long hill. At high speeds, air drag from the broken out window intensified the wheel shake, numbing my hands with vibration on top of the cold air slapping at me through the window. But at least the roads weren't icy.

The rolling police lights urged drivers out of my lane, but I couldn't go fast enough. Every pair of taillights I hoped belonged to my Land Cruiser, till I got close enough to distinguish a Civic from a Ford, and, disappointed, I hit the gas harder. Car after car I passed. The highway grew desperately lonely.

Leaning, I searched the cab, but found nothing useful. I couldn't pop the glove compartment for all the damned computer equipment in my way. So I had no cell phone, no gun, and no plan once I caught up with Reynolds. Even the rifle above my head was locked in place with iron clamps. Basically, I was running to a funeral.

My left shoulder slumped and my belly cramped from being landed on by a gorilla. The bruising and sprains would take weeks to heal. The rest—shit, I couldn't revisit what Stone had done. Couldn't accept a reality so inconceivable. That couldn't happen to me. No, the worst never happened, I argued with myself. Stone and I fought, I got away from him, end of story. I'd never speak of those events, and Sam would never know.

Present, Jules, get in the damn present. Or Sam won't be alive to lie to.

I picked up the radio handset to keep my head straight. The mechanic had told Sam a radio frequency James' crew used. I turned the unit back on, ran the dial to 861, and found a race-car broadcast. Hoping I'd transposed the numbers, I rolled to 681. Nothing. Maybe that was a good sign.

"SOS. Emergency." I'd no idea what call signs to use, no way to avoid being overheard. Blatant seemed expedient at this point: "They took Sam. Please respond." Over the wind I could hear the chill of pure static. I barely kept from choking my words. "Is anyone there? Somebody, anybody, please, help me."

My eyes blurred. This was no time to lose my mind.

Before I could change the channel I heard a click.

"Ten-four." He sounded like James but winded. "What's your twenty?"

"Somewhere north of Glen Falls on 87. They're gonna kill him. Jesus."
No, Jules, they're going to frame him
. But anyone who knew Sam understood the minute he awoke he'd refuse to cooperate and piss off Reynolds, who'd put a bullet between his eyes.

Static.

"Roger that," he finally said, his voice so defeated he had to be James.

"They took my truck. I'm trying to catch up, but I can't find them. Shit, I don't know where to go."

"Stand by," said James, and then he chattered with someone in the background.

"Who's with you?" I needed to know who to trust. Or not.

"M's riding shotgun. Okay, we got him."

"What do you mean?" I leaned forward. "Who the hell are you?"

"The same bastard you shoulda kicked in the balls, that's who. We got him on the GPS. He ain't the only hotshot who can track a vehicle." Chuckling ended his transmission.

Holy shit, he'd bugged my truck. I nearly released the steering wheel to wipe my face dry, but thought better of letting go at this speed. "I'll kiss you when I get back. Then I'll kick you in the balls."

"They cut off at Lake George," said Malta, her voice calmer than her brother's. "Going slow, so they must be in town. From the map it looks like they're on the east side of the lake. Wait, that ain't town. Must be the woods."

Lake George. Sam had said something to Reynolds at the hospital about a canceled fishing trip, and later told his fake wife about building a nest at a cabin. "I need you to find an address under the name of 'Reynolds.' Maybe I can get there first."

"Uh, that's a negative," said Malta. "They already landed."

***

A distant howl sounded before wind slammed the deputy's truck as the vehicle crawled down a lane to Reynolds' cabin. With Malta's GPS guidance over the radio, I'd taken a back road to find Reynolds' hideout, then cut the cop lights and cruised down the slope in neutral. Once I hit the brakes, I'd light up the forest and spoil my surprise visit, so I used the emergency brake to slow and slammed the gear into park, sacrificing the transmission.