By Hook or By Crook (15 page)

If he did, he kept it to himself. “You’ve got a deal,” he said finally.

****

In the cabin, they waited for the pass to open. She’d viewed the cabin as an idyllic refuge when she shared it with Joe. Now, it was a prison. She stayed close to Joe, unwilling to leave his side if she could help it.

Ramirez, as she discovered the Hispanic man was named, ignored her thoroughly, but the boss never lost an opportunity to let his eyes run over her. Joe kept his hand in hers when they sat side by side on the sofa. He took care to always loop one arm around her shoulder, or put one hand on her knee. It was a primitive way of signaling to other men that she belonged to him, but she was grateful for it.

The ringing cell phone snagged everyone’s attention. Ramirez had been thorough after they returned to the cabin, seizing Joe’s handgun and searching the cabin. They’d even confiscated the cell phones.

Now, the boss pulled Joe’s phone from his back pocket and checked the display. He read the number aloud. Should she speak?

“That’s my father,” Ivy said after a moment, hoping she was right to tell the truth.

Boss tossed the phone to her. “Answer it. Tell him everything’s okay, and get off the phone as fast as you can.” He nodded to Ramirez, who lifted the barrel of his gun as a warning. “We’ll be listening.”

As if she needed to be reminded.

She took the phone and clicked it on. “Dad?” She couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice.

“Ivy, I know it’s early, but I didn’t want to wait, considering how urgent the situation is.”
You have no idea
. “I spoke to the governor’s office. They checked with the head of the Nevada DOT. They assured me that the westbound roads are finally clear.”

“So we can leave soon?”

“That’s right. Are you all right, Ivy? You sound a little strange.” A suspicious note entered her father’s voice. “Joe isn’t giving you any trouble, is he?”

“No, no trouble at all,” she said, forcing her gaze away from the ugly snub nose of Ramirez’s handgun.

“All right, then. I don’t want to keep you. If the roads are clear, you’ll want to get moving right away. You don’t have a moment to lose. If they got through the pass before the storm, Pock and Daisy could be married already.”

She agreed and said goodbye, feeling hopeless as the connection to her father, a voice outside this nightmare, ended. He hadn’t heard the fear she’d been only partially able to keep out of her voice. Intent on achieving his own priorities, he’d been deaf to the nuances that otherwise might have raised questions.

“What did he want?”

“He said he thought the passes would be open soon.”

Instinct told her to hold back her father’s exact words. Did she want them to know that her father could get the head of the DOT or the governor’s office on the phone anytime he wanted?

She weighed her choices. If they knew her father was Richard Smithson, would she be in more danger, or less? She didn’t know. She glanced at Joe, hoping she could read something in his eyes, but his gaze, steady and impassive, told her nothing. She made her decision. For now, her identity was her ace in the hole. If the situation deteriorated, she would have something to bargain with—her father’s money.

The boss and Ramirez exchanged glances. “Let’s go,” Boss said, mouth grim.

She let her eyes slide over to Joe’s face. His hand gripped hers and squeezed it tighter. She squeezed it back, grateful for the support. She could rely on Joe. And if they got out of this in one piece, she wouldn’t forget it.

****

An hour later, the 4X4 cleared the pass. Ivy barely noticed the icy mountain dawn, streaking the eastern skies with shifting shades of orange and purple.

Joe had told the men that he thought Pock might be at a Tahoe resort, but had claimed not to remember the name or exact location. Ivy admired his acting chops. “I’m not sure of the name, but I think it was something about a star, or a mountain. Mountain Star? Or a constellation. Mt. Orion, maybe?”

As Ramirez drove, the boss placed a call to his assistant on Joe’s confiscated satellite phone. He fed the assistant the various bits of conflicting and confusing information Joe provided and then clicked off in frustration. “Jerrie couldn’t find any record of a resort with any name like that. She’s gonna keep looking, though.” The boss grimaced. “You sure it had ‘star’ in the name?”

“I’m pretty sure it had something to do with stars or constellations. Or outer space.” Joe added this last new red herring with aplomb. Ivy didn’t know whether to cheer or despair over his audacity. The loaded handgun sat on the front seat, between the boss and Ramirez, within their easy reach.

Boss laid a hand on it, pinning Joe with a stare. “You’re not jerking us around, are you?”

Joe’s lifted his hands in a “What, me?” gesture. His baffled expression, so earnest, would have convinced Ivy if she hadn’t known he was lying through his teeth. “Why would I jerk you guys around? I want Pock as bad as you do.”

“I doubt that. I very much doubt that,” Boss said. Ivy closed her eyes. Maybe when she opened them, these awful men would be gone, and this whole insane episode would be over. She opened her eyes. Wishful thinking.

They weren’t gone. It wasn’t over. The black barrel of the pistol still lay between the front bucket seats, aimed right at Joe.

The ringing of Joe’s phone drew everyone’s attention. Boss studied the readout and read the number aloud.

“Don’t know the number,” Joe said. She couldn’t say why, but something about his carefully calm answer made Ivy sure he was lying.

Boss seemed to have his doubts too. After a moment, he tossed the phone to Joe. “Answer it and put it on speaker. I want to hear every word of the conversation.” He pinned Ivy with a glare, and she dropped her eyes, unable to hold his gaze. Did he suspect she hadn’t told him everything earlier? Thank heavens he hadn’t made her put her call on speaker. Her father’s easy access to the governor would have raised too many uncomfortable questions.

Joe answered the call and, at a wave of Cantor’s gun, put the call on speaker. The rich warm tones of a middle-aged woman’s voice filled the cab. “Joe, honey, Sheila here. Daisy used her credit card again. She and Pock are at a lodge in Lake Tahoe, someplace called Zephyr Cove.” The words spilled out in a torrent. She kept right on talking over Joe’s attempts to cut her short. “You can thank me later. I’m too damn good to be your secretary anymore. When you get back, we can talk about what I need to do to get promoted to investigator—”

Joe clicked the call off, but too late. Boss’s gaze had gone sharp as a razor’s edge. “An investigator?” The sudden silence rang like a death knell. Only road noise and an occasional passing car broke the silence.

Joe shrugged. “So what? I’m an investigator. A security consultant, if you want to know what it says on my business card. I never lied to you. Pock owes us money. I happen to be in a good position to get it back.”

“Because you’re a detective.”

“Yeah.”

The boss paused a moment. His face blank, measuring, he gave nothing away. Ivy couldn’t tell whether he believed Joe or not.

“You a cop?” He pointed the barrel of the gun straight at Joe’s heart.

Her own heart tripped double-time. These men could kill them. Kill them without remorse and dump their bodies by the side of the road. She knew it as surely as she knew anything.

The steep grade leveled out as they descended out of the mountains. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joe make a subtle movement with his left hand, so slow and steady, she instinctively knew he was trying to hide it. Her eyes flickered to the boss. The headrest of the front seat blocked his view of Joe’s movement. Casually, she looked again, not wanting to draw the older man’s attention.

Joe’s hand eased, and closed on the door handle for a moment. Slowly, steadily, he pulled the handle. It gave. He pushed his forearm against the door, but it did not open. It must be childproofed so that no one in the backseat could get out. Her heart thundered as her eyes flew to his face. He remained impassive, easing his hand away to rest on his knee.

“I asked you a question,
detective
.”

They were entering a more populated area now, with gas stations, tackle shops, and diners dotting the side of the road. What was Joe planning? She gazed at his green eyes, desperately wishing she could read his mind.

“I’m no cop. You heard Sheila. I’m a security consultant. She’s my assistant.”

“I’ll bet he’s a fuckin’ cop,” Ramirez grumbled. “I have a tingle in my ears about this guy, like my mama used to get when something bad was gonna happen. Cantor, I’m telling you—”

“Ramirez, can it with the woo-woo crap.” The boss turned back to Joe. “Detectives—excuse me,
security consultants
,” he said with exaggerated solicitude, “usually know a lot of cops.”

Joe shrugged again. “So what? I know a lot of accountants, too. Does that make me a CPA?”

“Wiseass, you better not lie to me again.”

“I didn’t lie to you,” Joe reminded him. “You never asked what I did for a living.”

The barrel of the gun lowered a fraction. “From now on, I don’t want to have to ask. You keeping any other secrets I should know about?”

“Can’t think of any.” Joe’s eyes, always changeable, had turned flat and unreadable.

The boss seemed to be buying his denials. Ramirez had called him Cantor, Ivy realized. Cantor grunted and lowered the gun further. “See that you don’t surprise me again. I don’t like surprises.”

He turned toward the front again after exchanging glances with Ramirez, and Ivy exhaled slowly, almost dizzy with relief. Cantor took the phone and placed a call of his own, asking someone—his assistant, maybe—for directions to Zephyr Cove. After a few minutes, he grunted an assent and clicked off.

Joe shifted once in his seat, and then shifted again. He squirmed like a five-year-old on a cross-country road trip, and Ivy eyed him speculatively. Something wasn’t right. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and took a deep breath. He rubbed one hand across his forehead, as if wiping away sweat. “I think I’m getting car sick. Can we pull over for a minute?”

Concerned, she peered at him closely. His color looked good, despite his words. He caught her gaze and held it for a moment, and suddenly she knew.

He was faking it. He had to be. On their way into the mountains, the Jeep wound around one snaking road after another, and he’d never gotten sick.

Cantor looked at him like he was crazy. “No, we cannot pull over.”

“Uh, you sure? I think I might puke. I don’t want to get it all over the inside of the car.”

Ramirez muttered something in Spanish, and Cantor rolled his eyes. “Fine. What a loser. Ramirez, roll the window down for him, and slow down, but we’re not stopping, hear me?” Ramirez complied. A frigid blast of air hit them as Joe’s window lowered. Cantor turned back to Joe. “You gotta puke, you can do it out the window, with the car moving. We ain’t got time—”

Joe’s foot shot out like a piston firing, cutting him off. He kicked the gun away and grabbed a fistful of Ramirez’s hair, slamming his head against the driver’s window with a sickening crack. Ramirez slumped in his seat.

Cantor swore and took the wheel, stretching his leg to hit the brake. The car careened wildly. Ivy gritted her teeth and braced herself. The vehicle rocked to a stop, the force throwing Ivy against her seatbelt and then back into her seat.

Cantor bent down to fumble for the gun where it had fallen on the floor of the front seat.

Driven by pure instinct, Ivy grabbed his shirt collar, yanking him back as hard as she could to keep him from reaching the gun. Joe’s foot shot out again, his boot pinning Cantor’s hand to the dashboard with a force that cracked the plastic.

Cantor screamed in pain, and Joe finished off his left hand with a twist and a last wicked thrust. Grabbing the back of his skull, Joe slammed his forehead against the dash with one fierce thrust. Ivy gasped, heart thudding. Cantor slumped out of Joe’s grip to one side.

Climbing halfway into the front seat, Joe grabbed the weapon from the floor and then rifled through the unconscious man’s jacket until he found his own confiscated weapon and cell phone. He quickly frisked Ramirez too, pulling out a weapon from a shoulder holster. In the passenger seat, Cantor groaned. Ivy stared.

“Let’s get them the hell out of here before they wake up!” Joe reached over Ramirez’s body and opened the driver’s side door. He shoved the unconscious man out into the snow with one foot and then clambered into the driver’s seat himself. “Come on! Help me get the other one out!”

Stung into action, Ivy reached through the now-open window and opened the door from the outside. The vehicle had come to a stop more or less on the shoulder. As she opened the 4X4’s front passenger door, Cantor tipped toward her. Instinctively, she grabbed his torso to keep him from tumbling into the roadside.

“What are you doing? Let him fall,” Joe ordered. He matched action to words by shoving heartily at Cantor’s shoulder.

This time, Ivy stepped out of the way and let the unconscious body tumble.

“They’re practically in the road. What if a car comes by and hits them while they’re unconscious?”

“So?” The brutal monosyllable made Ivy flinch.

“I would feel bad.”