Raw Edges (7 page)

He squinted at his phone, zooming in. “Morgan’s coordinates would be directly over that second building. The brick one with all the people in it.” He glanced around, assessing their approach. “Maybe they know something. Can’t hurt to ask.”

“They’ll see us coming, know exactly who we are.” Well, at least Oshiro—no mistaking him for anything except law enforcement.

“We’re not hiding anything. Let’s see if they are.”

“If you go in and Clint’s there, you’ll scare him off.”

“And you won’t? He knows your face.”

“He won’t run. He’s not scared of me.” Exactly the opposite. Caine saw her as one of his victims, his “fish,” he called them. “I’ll go in alone.”

Oshiro’s frown tightened his face into a fearsome scowl. “No. I don’t like it. Not until we see who’s in there.”

“We don’t have time to wait for backup.” She reached into the Tahoe for her ankle holster and strapped it on, then pulled her pants leg down over it. Clint would know she was armed, but he wouldn’t care—it would probably make him laugh. “Besides, what are the odds that he’s even there? He’s been free for four days now, has most likely already been and gone. It’s info we’re after, not an arrest or capture.”

He strode back to the other vehicle, handed the binoculars to his partner, and spoke to her for several moments before returning to Jenna’s Tahoe. “Lester is going to hang back, cover the perimeter for us. Just in case.”

“Lester?”

“Monica Lester. Sorry, should have introduced you.”

“Not so much concerned about the social niceties as I am one woman covering our backs.”

He grinned. “You haven’t met Lester. Don’t worry, she’s up to it.”

They climbed back into the Tahoe and drove toward the crossroads. Jenna glanced in the rearview mirror as the SUV following them peeled off, heading cross-country to a small knoll in the center of the field, the only high ground available. “She’s a sniper?”

“One of the best.” He glanced out his window, following the trail of dust Lester’s SUV left in its wake. “That will place her at an angle where she can cover most of the pie—we’ll need to worry about the blind slice between the rear of the building and the gas station.” He waved his hand, indicating an area from around ten o’clock to eleven.

They reached the intersection. Jenna came to a stop, even though there was no stop sign in either direction. The peaked roof brick building dominated the landscape. Up close, she made out brass letters across the soffit above the entrance: Crossroads.

“What do you think it is?” she asked Oshiro. “A church?” Wouldn’t it be just like Clint to hide his ill-gotten gains in a house of worship?

Oshiro shrugged, too busy using his mirrors to scout their surroundings one final time. “You’ll want to park there, gives us cover if we need to make a strategic retreat.”

Jenna pulled the Tahoe around to park it face out where he indicated, a spot diagonally in front of the brick building, where they’d be in Lester’s sights. “You know we did have tactical training in the Postal Service.”

“Only reason why you’re here. Not that it matters, you’re staying in the vehicle.”

“Like hell I am.”

He squinted at her over the top of his sunglasses. “I could arrest you. Accessory. Material witness.”

“Good try, but we don’t have any proof that the information I gave you has anything to do with Clinton Caine, not until we go inside. Besides, it came from Morgan, not me.”

She was expecting an argument—Lucy would have argued, then ignored whatever Jenna told her and done things her own damn way. In truth, Jenna teetered on the knife-edge between adrenaline and fear, and she secretly hoped for a reason to stay behind.

Oshiro merely pushed his sunglasses back up his nose with one knuckle, hiding both his eyes and any hint of expression on his face, before finally nodding his acceptance. He couldn’t get rid of her, the twist of his lips suggested, so he might as well make use of her. “Guess that means you go in first. After I scout around back and see what we’re dealing with.”

“I’m not an idiot. But I’m also not about to be a sitting duck. You realize they have eyes on us right now.”

He glanced out the window and adjusted his side mirror. “Not just from our target building. Across the street, as well.” He nodded to the Quonset hut that filled his mirror. “Guess we do it your way. We’ll go in together. You do the talking, I’ll do the shooting.”

He was joking. At least Jenna hoped he was. But the way his face was set, all expression erased, it would have been easier to read a stone.

MORGAN THOUGHT ABOUT
running. But what good would that do her except land her firmly on law enforcement’s radar? Something she’d worked very hard to avoid. She quickly ran an inventory. Barrettes with their handcuff shims, no way the cops would notice those or her sunglasses. Decoy wallet with her fake ID was in her coat pocket hanging in the foyer. She had her knives—nothing illegal there, so she wasn’t worried—but her pistol with the serial numbers removed would need to be left behind.

As Andre revealed the damning evidence found in Gibson’s game console, Morgan sat down, slid the pistol from her boot, and nudged it under the sleeper sofa. Given the dust bunnies rustling in the wake of her swift movement, it was safe there, especially as she doubted that Diane ever let her younger kids down here in Gibson’s territory. The cops would find it, think it was part of Gibson’s stash.

“You’re wrong,” Diane kept repeating. “You must be wrong.”

Time to end this. Morgan stood and joined Andre and the distraught mother. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Radcliffe, but we need to tell the authorities.”

“What? No, you can’t. What will my husband say? And you can’t prove Gibson has done anything wrong.”

“Actually, ma’am, we can. I’m afraid your son also assisted Clinton Caine in his prison break. Federal agents are outside. They’re going to need this gaming console and access to Gibson’s computer and other belongings.” It was her ace in the hole and she hated to give it up, but the feds could trace Gibson’s online activity faster than she could. Besides, wherever he’d had them delivered, she could guarantee it was nowhere close to where Clint was now. Gibson was merely the marionette—Clint was pulling his strings, and Clint was no dummy.

Andre glanced at her, startled. Morgan took over the game controller and scrolled back to the messages she’d tied to Clint. He frowned. “She’s right, Diane. We can’t wait any longer.”

“We’ll get you through this, Mrs. Radcliffe. All part of the Galloway Stone service.” Morgan sweetened her performance by wrapping an arm around Diane and helping her to the sofa. “Mr. Stone, should we invite the agents inside?”

Andre creased his brow at her but followed her glance out the window and nodded. Together they went upstairs to the foyer.

“They’re here for me,” she whispered before he could open the front door. “But I can’t help them, not as much as the info we’ve found on Gibson can.”

It only took him a moment to put everything together. “It was no coincidence Diane called us. Your father planned all this. But why? What good does it do him if you’re picked up by the police?”

“It wasn’t Clint. I think it was Gibson himself. He knows who I am, and he wants to send me a message—that he’s better than me, that he’s the one Clint should be working with. He’s trying to prove himself a worthy partner.”

He glanced back down the stairs to the basement where they’d left Diane. “She didn’t even ask when we’d called the police.”

“I don’t think she’s the type who questions much of anything in her life.” It sounded harsher than she’d intended. She softened her tone for Andre’s benefit more than Diane’s. “I get the feeling she’s never had that luxury.”

He gave a slow nod and returned his attention back to Morgan. “I hope you’re not thinking of going out the back, because I can’t cover for you.”

“No. Wouldn’t do me any good in the long run, anyway.” Not because she intended to stay with the cops, but because she needed time to see what they knew about Clint. “You know they won’t want to let me go, right?”

“Might not be a bad thing. Couple of days stashed away in a safe house.”

“You more worried about keeping me safe or keeping me out of trouble?”

To anyone else, his expression would have been unreadable through the scars that lined his face. But she saw the smile flit across his lips. “Both.” Then he glanced at her. “You worried about something else?”

They both knew she was too smart and too careful to have ever left anything easily incriminating at a crime scene—not even her fingerprints. “Not about anything they’d find today. But I don’t like being bagged and tagged like some sort of wild animal, a trail of digital footprints waiting to catch up to me someday.”

“They don’t have anything to arrest you for. Not like you’ve been helping Caine.” God bless him. Jenna would have twisted the last into a sneer and a question, while Andre stated it as fact.

“The only way they could have known I was here was if Jenna sent them. What if she told them I helped her by giving her the locations of two of Clint’s stashes? If she finds anything there and tells the cops, then I’m an accessory. If she doesn’t and tells the cops, then I’m obstructing justice.”

“Jenna wouldn’t do that.” A trace of doubt tainted his words. They both knew if it suited Jenna’s purposes, she’d betray Morgan without blinking twice. “She needs you,” he added, his tone firm, back on solid ground. “What good would it do her to have you taken into custody?”

Leverage, Morgan thought. Not to mention the ability to use Morgan’s fingerprints against her in the future, if they were recorded in a federal database. Jenna was smart, she knew how to build an air-tight frame-up if she ever decided Morgan was a liability. Morgan didn’t hold it against Jenna—it was exactly what Morgan would do if their roles were reversed.

“It won’t come to that,” Andre filled the silence. “Just tell them what you can to help them find Caine, then you won’t have anything to worry about.”

“Except our friendly neighborhood mad bomber on the loose.” One good thing about the cops showing up at Gibson’s house, he was now their headache.

“That was smart, the way you found those messages in the video game.”

“I’m not just another pretty face.”

He smiled and she mirrored it. Not because she was playing him, but because Andre’s smiles were always genuine and well earned.

“Absolutely not. Did you see anything in there that might tell us what his target is or when?”

“Didn’t have enough time. Which is why you need to make a deal with the cops. The info we have on Gibson in exchange for them letting you stay on the case, helping them find Gibson and whatever he has planned for those IEDs. After all, it’s what we were hired to do.” And an excellent way for Andre to stay out of Clint’s sights and safely within range of well-armed law enforcement types.

He frowned, obviously suspicious of her motives, but opened the door and strode outside to greet the cops.

Morgan took the opportunity to riffle through her coat pockets and lift her wallet with the fake ID. The one thing that could get her arrested. The cops would be searching the house, looking for evidence against Gibson. She eyed the younger kids’ winter coats and hats. No, it was supposed to snow tonight and tomorrow; they’d find it too soon.

“Can I get you a glass of water, Mrs. Radcliffe?” she called down the stairs, even as she was dashing for the kitchen. With the water running, she turned the disposal on and slid the fake driver’s license down it. A few seconds later, bye-bye Devon Wilson, age twenty-two, address in Shadyside.

As she ran back down to the basement with a glass of water, she glanced out the front window. Andre was talking to one man, the other was on his cell. Calling for backup, no doubt. Maybe it was better this way. It meant Andre would be safe, working with the cops. The cops would be busy ransacking Gibson’s life. And she’d get a look at the manhunt’s operation firsthand, maybe get an idea where to look for Clint. Or where not to.

She sat next to Diane and placed the water on the table. The mother was too shaky to trust with anything she could break or spill. Diane turned to her, her face splotchy with tears. “I don’t understand any of this. What was Gibson thinking?”

Morgan didn’t really care too much about Gibson’s plans. She was more concerned about how those plans intersected with Clint’s. No way in hell would Clint partner with an amateur like Gibson without having an ulterior motive. Whatever target Gibson was planning to bomb would almost certainly be some kind of smokescreen for Clint.

Clint had already escaped custody, why would he risk being caught during some mass killing spectacle? What game was he playing?

AFTER SHOWING THE
two federal agents how to access the messages on the gaming console, Morgan left Andre behind with the still weeping Diane and climbed into the back seat of a patrol car that the agents had summoned to escort her to the command post coordinating the local search for Clint and his fellow escapees.

The two police officers looked at her with curiosity but said nothing—obviously they’d been instructed not to ask questions and simply to deliver her into the hands of the fugitive task force. They didn’t have far to go. The task force had taken over the offices of a defunct travel agency in a small strip mall on Route 22.

Morgan knew from the news that the State Troopers were running the show, with assistance from the FBI, US Marshals, and a variety of local law enforcement agencies. Made sense, Clint and the other escapees were in state custody at the time they’d escaped.

The cops had established several command posts extending in a radius from the State Police barracks in Ebensburg, near where the fugitives had last been sighted, expanding outward to areas of interest. In Clint’s case, that meant following his old trucking routes extending from Huntington past Pittsburgh, giving the task force a wide area—wilderness, farmland, suburbs, small towns, and the city—to cover.