A_Wanted Man - Alana Matthews (18 page)

Misdirection and manipulation. Controlling the dialogue and knowing how to get people looking at your left hand when they should be watching the right. Which is why, as Marshal Cole slapped these cuffs on one wrist, Landry was busy using his free hand to pick the Marshal’s pocket.

Quickly, deftly and accurately.

And by the time the cuffs were snapped shut behind him, Landry had clipped the key between his fingers in a way that would make his hands look empty. It was a trick old Harry used to do before they locked him in a trunk and dumped him in the river. Or turned him upside down and stuck him in a tank full of water.

Ropes and knots had never been a challenge for Landry, so once the cuffs were off, everything else was gravy. And five minutes after they’d left him behind, he was on his feet and headed for the trail.

People might think he was dumb, all right…

But he was nobody’s fool.

T
HEY SMELLED BURNING WOOD
long before they reached the cabin.

They were close to the second outcropping when smoke wafted in their direction, and Harlan help up a hand, signaling for Callie to stop. Crouching low, he moved to the tip of the outcropping and peeked over the edge of the largest stone.

Callie moved up next to him. With the darkness came the cold, and she could feel it seeping in through the fabric of her jacket. They stayed close, sharing their warmth.

There was a clearing ahead, the cabin sitting about three hundred yards away, looking almost exactly as it had in the archive photo but larger than she had expected. The only thing missing was a desperado staring intently into the camera.

Without cell phone reception or electricity, Callie felt as if she had been thrown into the past, to a simpler, more primitive time. It was the same feeling she’d gotten as a child, when she and Nana Jean had visited a ghost town near Parkerville which had remained untouched since its abandonment a century before.

A saloon. A blacksmith’s shop. A general store. A large old mansion that the tour guide had referred to as a “house of ill repute”—which, to nine-year-old Callie, had sounded like a hospital of some kind.

Like that old town, there was calmness to the air here. A peace. And she suddenly understood why Jonah liked coming here.

“Someone’s home,” Harlan whispered.

A kerosene lamp hung from a hook in the front window, its yellow light flickering. They watched intently for a moment, then saw movement in the light. A shadow passing through it.

“There’s bound to be a back way in,” Callie said, then looked at the mountain walls surrounding the clearing. There was some exposure here and there, but plenty of cover, too, which would allow her to work her way around to the rear of the cabin. “Give me about three minutes.”

She was about to go when Harlan stopped her.

“No,” he said, “Let me do it.”

She shook her head. “You’re too big of a target.”

“And if they spot you, they won’t hesitate to shoot you. I won’t have that on my conscience.”

Callie frowned. “We’re both professionals, Harlan. I can handle myself. And since I’m probably half your size, there’s less chance they’ll spot me.”

She could see from his expression that he knew she was right, even if he didn’t like the idea. She heard the reluctance in his voice.

“Three minutes,” he told her. “Then I’m going in.”

“I’ll be there.”

“You get yourself shot, I’ll never forgive you.”

“If I get myself shot, don’t expect me to be as stoic as Mercer. I’ll be crying like a baby.”

“All the more reason not to,” he said.

She grinned at him, then climbed down from the outcropping. Staying low, she carefully edged her way past it, keeping her eyes on the cabin as she darted across a narrow stretch of the clearing to a cluster of rocks on the other side.

She hunkered down behind them, eyeing that flickering light, looking for any sign of life in the window. Satisfied that no one was watching her, she stood up again and made another dash, moving laterally toward another group of rocks.

From here she knew it was just a matter of climbing up a small, rocky hillside and around to the rear of the cabin.

Checking the window again, she made her way up and over the rocks and began to climb, moving as quickly as she could, leaping from stone to stone and hoping she wasn’t making too much noise.

Less than a minute later she stood in a cluster of trees, looking down at the rear of the cabin. It seemed much bigger up close, with at least two or three bedrooms. There was another window back here, and she knew if she could get close enough, she’d be able see inside.

Checking for signs of movement, she moved into a crouch and slowly worked her way down the hillside until she was only feet from the cabin. She heard voices inside, angry voices, but the sound was muffled, and there was no way for her to identify them.

She made a last quick dash now and was directly below the window. The voices were louder, more distinct. Steeling herself, Callie slowly edged her head up past the window sill and peered inside.

What she saw froze her to the spot.

There were two men and woman in the room. Megan, of course, sitting in a chair by the fire, rocking back and forth like a little kid who had just been severely traumatized and was trying to block out the world.

One of the men was pacing, a kid of about twenty-two or so, the kid from Harlan’s surveillance photos—Billy Boy Lyman. The other man was seated at a table, Billy Boy waving the business end of a shotgun at the back of his head. But he wasn’t the one called Brett, and Callie couldn’t quite fathom what she was seeing here. It put the lie to everything she’d believed about this case since yesterday afternoon.

“Come on, you old fart, I’m losing my patience. Sign the paper and I’ll kill you fast. Otherwise you’re gonna think I’m the devil himself.”

The man in the chair said nothing. Didn’t move. Just looked defiantly at Billy Boy.

Which didn’t surprise Callie in the least.

The old man in the chair was none other than Jonah Pritchard.

Chapter Twenty

Billy Boy was becoming more and more restless. This wasn’t going at all the way he had hoped it would.

Meg had promised him that the old man would cave the minute Billy threatened to kill her. Said he had a soft spot for her. All Billy had to do was play his part, and Pritchard would give them anything they wanted.

Unfortunately Meg had underestimated her influence over the old man. Turned out he wasn’t so anxious to be cooperative after all.

Their plan, such as it was, had been hatched days ago, back when Billy first got the news that the judge in Colorado Springs had decided to ship him up to Torrington while he was waiting for trial. This was shortly after he got tagged for the bank robbery—another one of Meg’s brilliant ideas—and Meg and Brett came to visit him at county.

“We’re gonna bust you out,” she told him. A proclamation that Billy had greeted with some very sincere skepticism.

Meg Pritchard was one of hottest women he’d ever known. Wore that body of hers like it was some kind of weapon, and she was an expert marksman, that was for sure. Shortly after he met her, however—and boy did he remember
that
night—Billy had to admit to himself that not only did Meg have a crazy streak, but was probably not the brightest planetary star in the galactic empire.

The idea of actually breaking someone out of jail sounded like something you’d see on a television show, but Meg was so freaking lovely to look at you couldn’t help but give her a listen, even if what she was saying didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

“And how do you plan on pulling off this big escape?” he asked. They were sitting across from each other in the visiting room and the guard on duty had made Meg put on an oversize T-shirt for fear that what she was wearing would rile up the inmates. Billy didn’t doubt that it would.

“Easy,” she told him. “When they transport you up to Torrington, they’ll have to take the main highway, right?”

Billy nodded. “I guess so. Most direct route.”

“Well, there’s a stretch along there that’s deader than the moon. Only thing around for miles is this little gas station mini-mart place, stays open twenty-four hours.”

“So?”

“So that’s where we do it. You pretend you’ve gotta use the facilities, and we’ll be there waiting for you the minute you step foot in that store. Bing, bang, boom, you’re free.”

Bing, bang, boom, huh?

Billy thought about this genius plan, and knew there were just too many things that could go wrong. “What if the guy doing the transporting don’t wanna stop?”

“You’ll just have to convince him. Keep talking to him the whole ride, try to get on his nerves. Trust me, he’ll be happy for the break.”

Billy’s skepticism hadn’t waned. “I don’t know. Sounds pretty dumb to me.”

This was when Meg had started to pout. She always looked cute when she did it, but Billy hated it. She’d get all grouchy and start holding out on him and eventually he’d have to give in to her anyway.

He looked at Brett, who had been sitting there silently the whole time. Probably because he was twice as dumb as Meg. They’d all met in juvie a few years back and had been friends ever since.

Billy said, “What do
you
think of this idea?”

Brett shrugged. “Could work, I guess.”

That was about as much of a commitment he’d ever get out of the guy, and Billy figured it was enough. Besides, what did he really have to lose?

“All right,” he said to Meg. “Let’s do it.”

Even if it hadn’t worked out, the expression on her face had been enough of a reward. Lord, she was hot. If this lamebrained plan had even half a chance of getting him close to what was under that T-shirt again, it was well worth the effort.

And surprise, surprise, Meg had turned out to be right.

The problems started when Billy found out the rest of the plan. This didn’t happen until they’d knocked the Marshal out and hit the road in Brett’s Malibu. Brett was driving while Meg and Billy got frisky in the backseat—no T-shirts this time—and man oh man, she was looking better than ever.

When they were done, Billy wanted to know where they were headed, where they’d hide, and Meg informed him that they were going to her grandfather’s house.

“Now why would we want to do that?” Billy asked.

“Two reasons,” she said. “He worships me and he’s the guardian of my trust fund.”

This was news to Billy. “Trust fund?”

“Fifteen million dollars. Enough money to get us out of the country and then some. Maybe head to Barcelona. I always wanted to go to Italy.” Then she offered him a smile so dazzling he had to plant a kiss on those ripe red lips of hers. Of course the sudden revelation that she was the richest woman he’d ever met might have had something to do with it.

Question was, if she had all this money waiting for her, why on earth had she convinced him and Brett to rob a freaking bank?

This chick really
was
crazy.

“So what does this mean, your gramps being guardian of the fund?”

“Means I can’t get the money without his signature.”

“Will he sign it over?”

“Hah,” she said. “Not likely. Not without a little convincing.”

“You said he worships you.”

“Which is why he won’t sign. Figures it’s in my best interest to make me wait until I’m thirty before I can collect it.”

“Thirty? What’s the point of that? Half your life is over.”

“Tell me about it,” Meg said.

“So how do you plan on convincing him to sign?”

She smiled again, as if what she was about to reveal was the most brilliant scheme any human being on the planet had ever come up with.

“Piece of pie with chocolate ice cream,” she said. “We make him think you’re gonna hurt me if he doesn’t.”

Now this was when Billy realized he had a major problem on his hands. Because this was, without a doubt, even dumber than her plan to help him escape. Except
that
plan had managed to work out just fine.

So should he be listening carefully now?

“We show up at the ranch,” she told him. “Introduce you as a couple friends of mine. So far so good. Only once we’re inside, we make it clear to the old coot that I’m actually your hostage and unless gramps does what you tell him to do, you’ll waste me right there in front of him.”

“Doesn’t making him sign the money over to you kinda give you away?”

“Who cares, as long as I got my money? Besides, it won’t much matter at that point.”

“Why?” Billy asked.

“Why you think?” she said. “We’re gonna kill him.”

Billy considered this, and the thought of fifteen million bucks might have been clouding his judgment a bit. “And you really think this is gonna work?”

“He’s got all the paperwork right there in his study. He’ll sign it in a heartbeat if he thinks he’s gonna lose his precious little Megs.”