Deadly Echoes (11 page)

“I don't like that idea.”

“Nothing in the information you showed me mentions where I am. You only found me because I called you. I'll feel safer in familiar surroundings. Don't think for a moment that you have a vote in this. Now drive.”

Donovan didn't argue with her. He followed her directions in what seemed like a maze of apartments. He memorized street signs so he could find his way out, only to understand that she was driving him in circles. Finally, she motioned him to pull to the curb.

“This will work. I can walk from here.” Erica popped open the door and jumped out with her bag. “Drive two blocks up this street and then turn left. You'll figure out how to get back to the highway from there.”

“Be careful. I'll be in touch tomorrow. Call if you change your mind.”

“Go.” Erica closed the door.

Donovan sped off. In the mirror, he saw her stand her ground, watching him leave. She was still standing there when he made his left turn. He'd traveled three more blocks when his phone rang. He glanced down and saw that it was Erica calling.

“That was quick,” he said as he answered.

“Someone was waiting for me. I'm running west of where you dropped me off. Oh, shit, he's coming, hurry!”

Donovan put the phone on speaker, hit the brakes, and cranked the steering wheel hard to the left. The car spun one hundred and eighty degrees. He downshifted and mashed the gas pedal to the floor. In seconds he flew through sixty miles per hour, reached the corner, switched off his headlights, and slammed on the brakes. He made the turn, downshifted, and accelerated, searching the street ahead for Erica or her pursuers.

When he calculated she couldn't have gone much farther on foot, he slowed dramatically, reached under the seat, and pulled out the pistol. He powered down his window and listened. He heard her voice, but it was coming from the phone not the night air.

“I cut north. Oh, no, I screwed up. There are two of them.”

Donovan was about to accelerate to go around the block when he heard a gunshot come from between the buildings just to his left. He grabbed the phone and the gun and jumped out of the Porsche. He began running down sidewalks and as he turned a corner, he saw Erica's bag lying on the ground. He scooped it up and kept going. He looked at the phone, the counter was running, the call was still connected. From both the phone and to his right he heard a muffled scream.

He ran toward the sound, but before he reached the corner of the building, two men came the other way, they each had an arm under Erica's, half carrying, half dragging her. A strip of duct tape had been pressed over her mouth. Donovan stopped and raised the pistol. “Let her go!”

The second the words came out, he knew he'd made a mistake.
Buck's words echoes in his mind.
If you decide to point your gun, the time for talking is over.
The man on Donovan's left raised his free hand, a pistol clearly visible. Donovan squeezed the trigger just as the man fired. The sound of both gunshots was deafening as it echoed through the apartment complex. The man went limp and hit the sidewalk hard as he collapsed into Erica. She untangled herself from him, shoving the other man just as he, too, raised his gun and fired at Donovan. This time Donovan heard the hot sizzle of the bullet whiz past his head. Off balance, the remaining man struggled to aim his weapon. Donovan was about to fire again when Erica picked up the first man's weapon and shot the final assailant twice, once in the chest and once in the head. Erica ripped the tape off her mouth, fished in the pockets of the first man who'd gone down, and extracted both her gun and his wallet.

“Let's go,” she said.

Donovan took one look back at the two men lying on the ground and with no remorse whatsoever, took Erica by the arm running with her back through the buildings to the Porsche, still idling in the street.

Donovan jumped behind the wheel, his thigh burning from the exertion. He pushed in the clutch, found first gear, and without turning on the headlights, sped into the night. Street by street Erica led him to a back way out of the development and onto a major road that fed into Highway 133 south that would take them through the canyon to Laguna Beach.

“The first shot I heard, you or them?”

“Me. I'd just put my key in the lock when the first guy showed up. I ran, but the second guy was on me before I could get off a good shot.”

“You redeemed yourself,” Donovan said. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. I watched you stand there all calm like, guns blazing, while you came to my rescue. Thank you.”

Donovan wondered what she was really feeling. He wondered what he was feeling. They'd both just killed, and he felt nothing
but relief. She seemed unaffected as well. He wondered if the shock and sorrow would come later, or if he were already so damaged that killing a man wouldn't even register above all the other stresses in his life.

“Who is he?” Donovan asked as Erica found the dome light and started going through the wallet she'd lifted.

“I don't know. All that's in this is cash and a key card. Did they look like any of the guys in the photos the FBI showed you, the ones from Hawaii?”

“They looked the absolute opposite. The crew from Hawaii were a little on the scruffy, unkempt side. The guys back there were wearing slacks and sport coats.”

“They weren't messing around. They came right for me. It was hard to miss their intent. My question is why were they trying to kidnap me? Why not just kill me?”

“They wanted to interrogate you.”

Erica looked behind them. “I hope we're not going very far. A red Porsche 911 is going to be easy to spot—you've got to think someone saw us leave the scene.”

“We'll be fine. We're headed back to Laguna Beach, but first we need to get rid of these guns.”

“Give yours to me,” Erica held out her hand. She pulled a t-shirt from her bag, ejected the round from the cylinder, dropped the clip, and then broke down the rest of the pistol. She carefully wiped down each component then repeated the process on her gun as well as the one she'd taken from the scene. “Can your gun be traced back to you?”

“No.”

“I hate to be without weapons right now, but you're right, we need to unload these.”

“Where'd you learn to shoot?”

“I'm the only child of a man who'd hoped for a son.”

He swung in behind an auto-body shop and Erica jumped out and buried the parts of the pistols in two different dumpsters.
Donovan pulled back out and they cruised into downtown Laguna Beach, finally swinging onto the Pacific Coast Highway, heading south.

Donovan's phone rang. It was a number he didn't recognize. He motioned for Erica not to say a word.

He answered as neutral as he could. “Nash here.”

“Robert,” the raspy voice began. “I wanted to give you a heads up about a new video that's going to go viral in about thirty minutes. Meredith would have really liked this one, so will you. I can't wait to see the public's reaction. You can find this one on YouTube under
bear's revenge.”

“Why try to kill me before you post another video? Seems rather counterproductive.”

“It's not your time, Robert. You've grown paranoid. I told you, I don't want you to die just yet, I want you to suffer.”

“I'm talking about your thugs twenty minutes ago.”

“It wasn't me, but if you stop and think about it, you've developed quite a few new enemies in the last thirty-six hours. People are calling for your head. It's just like old times, isn't it? Good-bye, Robert, and be safe.”

Donovan hung up the phone and looked at Erica. “That was Garrick. They're getting ready to post another video.”

“Oh, God, it is so terrifying to think that you were on the phone with him. What did he say when you asked him why he tried to kill us?”

“He said it wasn't him. According to him, it's not my time. He wants me alive for the time being, and I believe him.” Donovan started the car. “He doesn't know about you, and we need to keep it that way.”

“Well, that narrows it down. If it's not him, then it's either your wife, the CIA, or Mossad.”

“It's not Lauren, but we can't rule out the other two options, which makes this a far different game than if we were only hiding from Garrick. Take the battery out of your phone. We'll get you
another one tomorrow. We also need to get this car back where I found it. It's not far.”

Donovan pulled into the driveway and raised the garage door. He backed in and positioned the Porsche exactly where it had been. They took turns wiping down anything they might have touched.

Erica grabbed her bag and surveyed the small collection of automobiles. “Do you live here?”

“No, this is a friend's place. Follow me.” Donovan shut the garage door. He called out for William as he headed for the study, but there was no answer.

“Jesus,” Erica whispered as she took in the opulent surroundings.

Donovan made sure she followed him into the study where he found a note on the desk. William had gone to the hotel for the night, but he expected a call no matter how late it was. Donovan touched the mouse and the thirty-two-inch monitor sprang to life. He made a mental note to ask William a computer question as he quickly typed in the web address that Garrick had given him.

The image jumped badly and was out of focus, but Donovan could hear the distinct sound of someone breathing heavily. The focus sharpened, and he could see a heavyset man in his underwear running away from the camera. The scene was heavily forested. Periodically, the man would snap his neck around to gauge his distance from the person chasing him, and each time he did, the camera would get closer. The chase went on for maybe fifty yards before the man tripped and fell to his knees. He pitched forward, his shoulder slamming heavily into a tree trunk. Momentarily stunned, he shook his head and wobbled to his feet, his chest was heaving, steam rising from his overheated body. He took two steps toward the camera as if to attack, and the smooth, black barrel of a hunting rifle rose into the field of view. The image froze and another website address appeared. Donovan quickly typed and hit enter.

After the redirect, he clicked to start the next video. The cornered
man charged the camera just as the rifle roared and bucked, the bullet opened up the flesh just below the man's left clavicle. There was a plume of misted blood, as the impact spun the man around, dropping him to his knees. The second shot was at nearly point-blank range and was aimed just above his ear. Donovan flinched as the man's lifeless body fell to the ground.

Wearing surgical gloves, two hands came into view, and an incision was made across the man's stomach. The image of the intestines spilling out onto the ground was sickening, and moments later the blade had removed a round organ about the size of a plum. It was carefully placed in a plastic bag.

“It's his gallbladder,” Erica said.

The camera zoomed away from the body to a wider view, and two men wearing masks and gloves each grabbed a leg. As they turned to drag the corpse, Donovan saw that Eco-Watch was printed in bold letters across the back of their blue jackets. The dead man was dragged a short distance before he was rolled down an embankment where he came to a stop next to three other naked bodies. Every one of the men had been disemboweled. The screen faded out leaving one simple statement.

I
T'S ESTIMATED THAT POACHERS SUCH AS THESE ACCOUNT FOR 50,000 BLACK BEAR DEATHS EACH YEAR FOR THE
A
SIAN MARKETS
. E
CO
-W
ATCH WILL RELENTLESSLY HUNT THESE CRIMINALS UNTIL THE FORESTS ARE ONCE AGAIN SAFE FOR ALL OF NATURE'S CREATURES.

“Did we just see that?” Erica said. “Oh, my God, that was awful.”

“Yeah,” Donovan noticed the number of views was already climbing. “Now he's making threats on my behalf.”

Donovan's phone rang, and he saw it was Lauren. He let it go to voice mail, he'd catch up with her later. When the phone continued to ring, Donovan switched it to silent mode.

Erica pointed to the wet bar in the corner situated amongst the
bookshelves. “I don't know about you, but I need a drink. What can I get you?”

“Crown Royal on the rocks.” Donovan watched as Erica shed her jacket and boots and set them near the leather sofa. She released the elastic band from her ponytail and then ran her fingers through her blond hair. In her stocking feet she padded to the bar and began rummaging around until she found two glasses. As she filled them with ice, he saw that her hands were shaking. She found the bottle she was looking for and poured them both four fingers of Canadian whisky. She brought Donovan his drink and held up her own for a toast.

“What are we drinking to?” Donovan asked.

“I've finally decided not to shoot you.” Erica touched her glass to his then took a drink, her eyes never leaving his.

“That's good to hear.” Donovan looked away and sipped at his, but instead of savoring the smooth burn, he realized for the first time how truly beautiful Erica was, and he also understood it had been a long time since he'd been alone with such a desirable woman. He took another pull from the whisky, larger this time.

Erica reached out and put her hand on the side of his face, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Thank you for saving my life.”

Donovan took in her closeness as she kissed him again. He kissed back, feeling her warm breath against his skin.

She pulled away, cocked her head to one side, and studied him as she ran her fingers along his jaw line. “You've had work done. It's very good. Who did the surgery?”

Donovan was caught completely off guard, and he stepped back from her and turned away. His facial reconstruction had been done over twenty years earlier by a renowned doctor in Switzerland, who, like all Swiss, specialized in discretion. The multiple surgeries were the actual physical transformation from being Robert Huntington to becoming Donovan Nash. The doctor had been dead for years now, and as part of the agreement, Donovan had retained all
of the medical files. No one had ever called him on it before. He knew she was asking out of professional curiosity, but he couldn't afford to be drawn into this conversation.