Chapter Twenty-two
Thirty minutes later, JB laid out his plan to Marcy. “You’ll get in the boat by the dock and set it adrift. You won’t be able to turn the motor on, but you’ll be able to use the oars if you’re real quiet. Once you’re out of the cove, you can start the trolling motor just like when we used to go fishing.”
“I can’t go out on the water by myself… I can’t.” She shook her head, eyes wide with stubbornness. “Change your plan. Come with me.”
“You’re a good, strong swimmer. You just hit your head on the side of the boat when it capsized that day. You got disoriented. Forgot to swim for the surface. That’s all it was.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew how hard this would be for her and doubted she’d gone fishing or swimming since he’d left town, but there was no way he could change the plan. “You can do this, sugar. I know you can.”
Fear lacing her eyes, she shook her head.
“Trust me, Marcy. You. Can. Do this.” He scoured his mind for another way. There was none. “You asked about a plan, and I have one, but I need you out of harm’s way to make it happen.”
“No. I’m not leaving you here alone with the killer.”
“Don’t you see? If you’re safe, then I don’t have to worry about protecting you.” JB covered her hands with his. “I’ll keep him busy long enough for you to get in that boat and get the hell away. With you gone, he won’t have anything to hold over me. It’ll just be me and him. And trust me, I don’t go down easy.”
The look on her face said she’d go along with it. Her escape was his top priority. His personal to-do list—simple. Take the perp out. Or, if there was no other way, let the perp take him out. At least afterwards, the man would have no reason to pursue Marcy, and sooner or later, the local police would catch him.
Right now, everyone needed time. Good old-fashioned time.
“Why can’t the police GPS the sheriff’s phone? They should be able to do the same thing he’s doing to us.” She couldn’t stand being immobile anymore, so she paced the perimeter of the room.
“This guy’s a pro. Probably took him less than a minute to download the numbers. Then, all he had to do was toss the phone in the trash or the lake when he drove across the dam.” He flipped through procedures in his mind. “I would have.”
She stopped. “You still think it’s the guy who ratted you out during the last job?”
“Yes.”
“Why’d he do that?” She walked to the back of his chair and looped her arms around his shoulders. Placed her cheek next to his.
“If I figure that out, this could all be over.” He grasped her hands, rubbing them in his fingers. “So, back to the question at hand… Can you force yourself to get in the boat and leave?”
Marcy slid her palm to his chest. She caressed the Kevlar covering his heart, over the spot where the thugs had branded him. “This must have hurt a lot. How did you stand the pain?”
“I imagined your lips coming to kiss me, not the hot metal.” He pulled her down enough to brush his lips across hers. He’d never tell her the smell as the glowing shield seared into his flesh. How even the memory of their times together hadn’t been enough to keep him from passing out.
“I’ll do it. If you can stand up to that…” She pointed to the spot on his chest. “…then I can get in the boat.” She rotated around and sat on his lap. “I’ll pretend you’re right beside me and we’re out to catch Sunday dinner.”
He knew how much effort that would take for her, but she’d work it out. Analyze her weakness and get it done. “Hey, you don’t have your Kevlar on.”
“I’ll put it on when we have to leave.”
Shucking her from his lap, he pointed to the bedroom. “Now. Get dressed as if you were going outside except for the coat. When the guy comes, he’ll come hard and fast. We need to be ready.”
She followed his instructions, returning with her boots as the last thing to put on.
“Once you get those laced and double-knotted, I want you to put your coat and gloves in the bedroom. Some place easy to grab.”
His decoy phone rang. Caller ID showed Kennett.
“Tell me you got something.” He said into the cell.
“Not much. In fact, some people might think it’s a coincidence.” The rookie paused.
“I don’t like coincidences.”
“Me, neither. Hey, close the door. I’m on the phone.” Kennett mumbled something under his breath.
JB raked his hands through his hair. “Who was that?”
“Evans.” Silence came through the phone.
“He still in the office with you?”
“No, but he’s gonna ask some questions.” Kennett blew out a breath.
“Blame it on me. Now what’d you get?”
“Do the numbers 1-0-3-8 ring a bell with you?”
1038…1038. JB rolled the numbers around his mind. “No. Should they?”
The sound of papers being flipped echoed through the phone. Kennett cleared his throat. “Here goes. The shooting at the bank occurred at 10:38. From what the soda fountain clock that crashed to the floor read after the explosion, that blast occurred at 10:38. And, from what we got off the small timer on Marcy’s brakes, it looked like she had her near-accident at10:30-something. I’m betting that last digit’s an 8.”
His mind reached for anything with a 1-0-3-8 in his past. For sure, the numbers meant something.
“We don’t know what time the guy went in your house last night,” Kennett said.
“Doesn’t matter. He left a better calling card. Ten .38 bullets.” He glanced at Marcy. “Has the sheriff come out of it yet?”
“No. He’s in surgery right now.” Kennett opened the door from the sound of the background noises on his end. “If I come up with anything else, I’ll call. Just so you know,” the rookie whispered, “Deputy Evans has his arms crossed over his chest and is staring straight at me. He’s coming this way.”
“I’m hanging up for now. Keep me informed.” He paced the same route Marcy had minutes ago. “By the way, have you seen Cain around town today?”
“Once. He barely nodded then kept on walking.” Kennett grunted. “This is a private phone call, Evans.”
“JB?” Deputy Evans growled, obviously having strong-armed the phone from Kennett.
JB hated to keep him out of the loop. The man was good. “Yes, sir.”
“If you and this rookie patrolman are finished with your conversation, I suggest you take a look at a clock and figure out 1038 fast.” Evans muttered something in Kennett’s direction, then turned his mouth back to the phone. “Me and the sheriff noticed the similarity in the timeframes late last night. He gave Landon a call to have him check through your office’s FBI files for the numbers. Wanted to see if there’s a link anywhere. Trouble is the numbers don’t hold through on every incident, though.”
“Like what?”
“Like the sandwich with the note to Marcy. That was nowhere close to that time.”
JB floundered for a second. “Did the results on the food get back?”
“Yeah. Nothing. Just Joanie’s food.”
“Makes sense then. He didn’t care about the time.” JB said. “He only wanted to scare her. Show us he’s in charge.”
He could almost see the furrow on the deputy’s forehead. The one the man always got when he calculated case points. “Hey, Evans. Don’t think I’m trying to cut you out of this. I’m just—”
“Just what?” Evans’ gravely-edged voice was blunt.
“You’ve got a lot on your plate since the sheriff’s been in the hospital. Plus, have you thought about the fact that whoever took out Leon and the sheriff may know you were part of the investigation?” He wondered how long it would take for the deputy to be a target. “I don’t want to be the one standing on your doorstep telling your family how you went and got yourself hurt on my account.”
“I’m a cop. I chose to be a cop. And my family chooses to be a cop’s family. So thanks for the consideration, but let’s put it this way… How would you like it if I kept you out of an investigation because you’re married?” Deputy Evan’s voice held strong and sure. “We’re all in this together.”
The deputy hit the nail on the head. They were all in this together. Ever since the last job and the hospital, JB had tried to accept help when someone offered. A hard thing to do when you made your own way most your life. He cricked his neck from side-to-side and faced the simple fact—these people were there to help him and Marcy. “You’re right.”
Evans chuckled. “I hope this phone’s got a trace going, ‘cause I want to play those words to the unit when this is over. Now hang up, so this cop can go do his job.”
“Thanks. Let me know what Landon comes up with.” JB paused. “By the way, if you see Cain, tell him thanks for the loan of his cabin. It’s real nice.”
He ended the phone call and glanced at his wife still tying her boots. This cabin was simple and welcoming with its sunrise picture above the knotty pine headboard. The lake stone fireplace, with heavy, black andirons and three-inch, oak mantle. Smells of fried fish and bacon that wafted from the vent over the stove every time it was turned on. If Marcy and he survived, maybe they’d see about buying the property.
She finished double-knotting her shoelaces and looked up. Smiled at him along with a ta-da of her hands.
“Real nice.” He grinned at the woman he loved. “Real, real nice.”
…
Sitting at the table for what seemed like hours, but was really only about fifteen minutes, Marcy concentrated on the map JB explained for the second time. He planned to hide one of his guns, the poker from the fireplace, and an extra clip for the Glock outside the cabin. The first time he went over the placements, she lost track halfway through.
After gauging the annoyance of his sigh before he started his spiel again, she listened. Focused. Steps and yards and meters jumbled in her head. North, south, east, and west meant nothing to her. Still she listened. Focused.
He glanced up at her own deep sigh. “What?”
She bit her lip. “Nothing.”
“Then why the sigh?”
“What sigh?”
He turned the map over. “Where are the hiding spots?”
“Which one?”
With a tiny quirk of a snarl and deliberate narrowing of his eyes, he cocked his head to one side, breathed in deep, and blew out long. “For any of the weapons I just mentioned.”
“Northwest from the corner of the front porch.” Rote memory kicked in for her. “Seventy yards to the oversized, fallen branch.” There, that should make him happy.
“What’s hidden?” JB said.
“The…gun…no, wait a minute. The poker.” She beamed with a correct answer. “Under some leaves.”
“And?”
Should have known he’d expect more. He always wanted more, no matter if it were her, hot coffee, or answers. Her shoulders shrugged without trying. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
He walked to the coffee pot and poured fresh brew into his mug, then returned to the table. “I want you to tell me where the other things are.”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “And I don’t even know which way is northwest.”
“This is important, Marcy. Pay attention.” He lifted his chin slightly before his eyes narrowed enough to look at her in firm rebuke this time. Rebuke she’d never seen in him before. He was worried. “Real important.”
He flipped the map back over and started with the directions once again. North, south, east, and west. Steps, yards, meters. She listened. Focused.
“No, no, no, no, no!” She laid her hand over his. “I can’t understand what you’re saying.”
“It’s all right here on paper.” His voice sounded like an impatient father trying to help his child with homework. “Right here. You just aren’t paying attention.”
“Yes, I am. I really am. But you’re telling me your way. The lawman way. Precise and calculated.” She rose from the chair, walked to the front door. “Come over here and tell me my way. Tell me in terms I can understand.”
He grabbed the Glock from the table, shoved it into his shoulder holster, then came to stand beside her. Tension flashed in the air. Veins on his arms stood at attention as he rolled his fingers. Kept them moving. He was more than worried.
She nudged in front of him and took his hand. “Tell me where to find them as if we were out for a walk. Like you pointed to something you want me to see.”
Straight, he stood perfectly straight, unyielding and professional. She snuggled against his chest. He tried to back away, but she looped his arm around her, snuggling more. She was trying to be what a lawman’s wife should be, but he needed to help her learn the mechanics of his job. Her inner turmoil was her own to handle, and she was trying. She already knew seeing him hurt in person would be her tipping point one way or the other.
For now, she just needed to know where the weapons were hidden.
“Here.” She pointed to her cheek. “Come here and tell me. Which way is northwest?”
From her periphery, she saw a tiny smile grab the corners of his mouth. From behind, he bent and placed his cheek next to hers, pointed to the right, then brought his arm back to the left a bit. “That way. Go off the porch and walk to the tree covered in big woodpecker holes.”
She closed her eyes. Nodded.
His body relaxed against her. “There’s a downed log along side.”
“The one we saw the squirrel with a nut in his mouth run across?”
“Yep. The fireplace poker will be—”
“Lengthwise, under the leaves by the log. Next.” She leaned into his hold. “Okay. Next.”
His hold tightened around her, and he kissed her cheek, then nestled against her. “The gun. The gun will be loaded and ready to fire, so be careful. It’ll be in the bait box on the dock.”
“What if it gets wet?”
“It should still fire okay.”
Hopefully, this would all play out without her being close to the water, so that weapon wouldn’t do her much good. Besides, she had the gun he gave her tucked in her coat pocket. “And the extra clip?”
“Under a flat piece of shale by that sapling you grabbed when you were saving me.”
After turning in his arms, she looped hers around his neck. “Now see, I know exactly where everything is.”
“Don’t forget. Don’t ever forget how much I love you, either.” He lowered his head, kissing her deep and long. For a moment, they clung to each other, his breath a whisper in her hair. “And always remember, I planned for every scenario possible today. No matter what happens, I walked through it in my mind and accepted the outcome. Remember that forever, Marcy. You will survive, I promise.”
Her insides tripped. Something in his tone, his hold, his words. What had she missed? Those words sounded like goodbye. “What are you up to, JB?”
He grabbed the clip, gun, and poker, then headed for the door. “Lock up after I go out. Do not open this door unless it’s me. Anyone else comes through that door without your say-so, shoot ‘em.”
She understood. Nodded. They dimmed the lights. Funny how quick darkness rolled in during the winter. Low and fast, he slipped outside. She set the lock and waited. Overcast, moonless nights in the woods meant complete, smothering darkness. Even though the dark wasn’t something she relished, it didn’t scare her. The water plan did.
Watching JB’s brain work through the what-ifs of this situation made her see him as more than just her husband. Trained to the hilt, he possessed something else. Something she’d seen in him since the day he’d stopped Leon from taking her homework back in sixth grade. The bully never even landed a punch, because JB had turned to the right, faked to the left, and floored him.
She’d been impressed a seventh grader had stood up for her, especially the cutest boy in school. When he’d handed her the papers back, he’d grinned and told her to let him know if anyone ever bothered her again. The rest of that day had been a sheer loss of learning, because she thought of nothing but her champion, JB Bradley.
Now, like then, he knew how to anticipate the other guy’s reaction before the movement. Once this was over, the FBI would ignore his resignation. Fight to get him back. She wanted him back, too.
Maybe that’s what his words were about. He probably figured his career should be the top priority. There’d be no future for the two of them, because he planned to leave. What else could it be? Why else would he say those words in that tone? Why?
She reached for the horticulture book on the sofa. Flipped through the pages. Her husband had sneaked it into his backpack and carried the extra weight through the woods for her. Loving him was easy, so why did she always try to make things so difficult? Not this time. This time she’d never let him go…as long as he wanted to stay. She could handle him being a Crayton deputy. FBI agent? She didn’t know. But he was one damn good agent; that much she did know.
Close to thirty minutes later, JB tapped on the window, then the door, then said her name. She unlocked the door, and he crept inside. They kept the lights off.
“What took so long?” she said.
“Did a little reconnaissance of my own. Listening. Watching.” He gave one bear-shiver to shake off the cold. “The wind’s picking up. Getting nasty out there.”
“Is that good or bad?” She wanted something to be going their way. Anything.
“Neither. Is what it is.”
“Want another pot of coffee?”
He nodded. “Want to play some checkers?”
She nodded in return. Could they shove a lifetime into the next few hours? They could try.
At ten o’clock, he explained the little they knew about the 1038 numbers and their role in the sequence of violent events from the last few days. Then he locked them both back in the bedroom, shoving the chest in front of the door. His theory was 10:38 might be a trigger for the killer. If he’d told her sooner, she’d have been worried all evening. Instead, she only had to worry for the short time.
They waited. 10:15 came and went. 10:30 came and went. He motioned her behind him, and she obeyed. Then he backed them up until they were in the furthest corner from the door, the window, the bathroom. If anyone came in, JB would take the blow. He might go down, but he’d take the shot for her.
Realization thundered through her entire body. Everything from earlier suddenly made sense. The placement of the weapons. How important she knew where they were. His words from before whooshed in her mind, taking root in her heart. To reach out, touch his back, would only be a distraction to him. Put him at risk. She wouldn’t do that.
This might be the end, and all she could do was stand and watch. JB would take the blow destined for her. Go down. Maybe die in her arms. That was what the promise meant. And all he asked was for her to remember how much he loved her. She tightened the grip on her own gun. She’d never been so scared in her life.
The glow from the clock on the night table showed the minutes. 10:35. Was that the right time? Could it be off a minute or two? Was he watching the clock? No, he was tensed, every muscle cocked and ready. He glanced from place to place. Walked to the window and back. 10:36. Stepped to the bedroom door, listened, then backed up to her again. 10:37. He never looked at her. Never acknowledged her.
The minutes ticked by one by one by one.
She touched his back. “The clock says 10:50.”
…
JB made sure Marcy was asleep before he dialed. Might be two-thirty in the morning, but he needed to check in with the Crayton Police.
The clang of a phone being dropped then picked up again reverberated through the receiver. “Patrolman Kennett here.”
“Sorry to wake you.”
“Don’t worry about it. Sounds like you two made it through another 10:38.” The rookie’s voice cleared fast. Meant his brain woke on a dime.
JB scrubbed his palm over his face. He needed a shave. “Anything new?”
“Nothing. The sheriff came out of surgery good. Saved his leg. But he’s still doped up. Not making much sense.”
“Like what?”
“He’ll be talking about Landon. How the man would check in with your boss on the numbers. Then he rambles about fighting the guy in the ski mask for the phone.” Kennett’s voice sounded tired. “Says the guy has brown eyes. Next minute he says they’re blue. Doesn’t make sense.”
“Keep at it. Check with Landon to see if he ever got anything from headquarters.” JB heard the soft sounds of Marcy mumbling to herself in her sleep. At least she could rest for a while.
The rookie cleared his throat. “When I called him this afternoon, it went to voice mail. He never called back. Went to voice mail a couple hours ago, too.”
Maybe he should call Wilson instead. Why? His ex-boss was on vacation and couldn’t do a damn thing to help him. “Try Landon again. Might be he can remember something about a case I haven’t.”
…
Except for light from the fireplace glow, the cabin sat in darkness when Marcy opened her eyes. Still half asleep, she stared as the digital numbers click forward on the bed side clock. 3:20 AM. So, far she’d watched seven minutes. Each click meant one minute closer to 10:38 again. The numbers seemed to mean something to someone angry enough to kill her and JB.
Last night, the two of them played checkers, popped popcorn over the fire in the fireplace, and racked their brains to find any connection to 1-0-3-8.
The only disruption during the night had been the gentle hoot of an owl. JB insisted they didn’t turn any music on. He needed to listen, hear anything out of the ordinary. How could he hear anything through the closed door and windows? Finally, she realized he wasn’t talking about the owl’s hoot or the water’s ripple or the wind through the trees. He meant he knew other sounds. The sounds of a stalker, a shooter. Still fully dressed, she fell asleep about midnight.
The faint glow from the fireplace and the smell of scorched coffee jogged her awake. She stumbled into the kitchen, spying the grungy coffeepot in the sink.
JB shuffled cards at the kitchen table, once again his Glock within easy reach. “I made a mess.”
“Smells like it.” She looped her arms over his shoulders, nibbling his ear. “Come to bed. Lay by me.”
“We can’t, sugar. Much as I’d like to, we can’t.” He kissed her palm.
“It’s not even close to 10:38.”
“But the psycho’s been searching in the dark all night long. The dark can play with people’s minds. Push them over the line. This guy’s probably standing on the edge.” JB pulled her onto his lap.
She liked sitting there. Safe and warm in his arms. “What makes you say that?”
His overhead stretch pulled his body closer to hers for an instant, and then he relaxed again. She watched his face as his arms loosely folded around her.
“He’s missed you four times now. He lost us in the woods. And something tells me the phone didn’t help him as quickly as he’d hoped, or he’d already be here. Trust me, he’s furious. Furious at us. Furious at himself. That means his breaking point is close. Either the police will nab him or…”
“Or what?” Why had she asked? She knew the answer.
JB winked at her, then shuffled her off his lap and reached for the soaking coffee pot.
“No more coffee.” She pulled on his hand. “Come back to bed.”
He shook his head.
“Staring at the door isn’t going to make the worst happen. Come to bed and wrap your arms around me. Get a couple hours sleep.”
A heavy sigh followed his glance at the door before he followed her to the bedroom. After securing the room, he lay on the covers fully dressed as she snuggled against his side.
He glanced at the clock. Already 4:00 AM. He set the clock for 7:00 AM.