Cold Pursuit (27 page)

G
rit had spent the day shaking every tree in Washington, and he found his way to the attractive suburban street where Thomas Asher lived just as the sun went down. He'd had to do a combination of bus, cab and walking to get there.

The house was a Dutch Colonial with mature gardens and shade trees. Nice place even in the November gray, Grit thought. Earlier in the day he'd been to the Bruni house in Georgetown. It was smaller but more expensive, more elegant. Law enforcement had already done their thing there, and it was quiet when Grit went by. But he figured it was probably still under surveillance and his presence had been duly noted.

Just like now, he thought as he headed up the brick walkway.

The front door of the Asher house opened, and a woman who looked to be in her early forties stumbled out and ran down the steps. She stopped abruptly and stared down at pink and white impatiens drooping at her feet along the edge of the walkway.

Grit started to introduce himself, but without acknowledging him, without even looking at him, she said, “I played hopscotch with my daughter out here when she was three. I can see her now. She was such a sweet little girl. I remember one day when Thomas came home early and joined us. We laughed and laughed. Such a simple thing.” Tears shone in her eyes as she finally focused on Grit. “We were a happy family. I don't care what anyone else thinks.”

“You shouldn't,” Grit said.

“You're one of Thomas's friends?”

“No, ma'am. My name's Ryan Taylor. I know Elijah Cameron—”

“Elijah?” She seemed confused. “From Vermont?”

“That'd be the one.”

She took in a breath through her nose and collected herself. Carolyn Asher Bruni, Grit had learned, was successful in her own right, even compared to her second husband. But she held all that in check right now, clearly exhausted and grief stricken despite her self-control. “I only know Elijah by reputation,” she said. “I've met his brother A.J. and his sister, Rose. They're lovely people. I'm sorry. I'm not myself. You're not from Vermont, though, are you?”

“No, ma'am, I live here in Washington.”

She glanced back at her former house. “I threw away a good life, Mr. Taylor. I didn't expect to come out here, but here I am. Do you know what I want right now more than anything else? Just to go back in time—to be here, playing hopscotch with my daughter.”

Unspoken was what was going on in Vermont. What had happened a few miles away in Washington. “If anyone can keep Nora safe,” Grit said, “it's Elijah. I don't know Jo Harper—”

But Carolyn Bruni wasn't listening. “I stayed home with Nora the first few years. Thomas and I never had other children. We got caught up with other things.”

“I guess that happens.”

“Alex was so ambitious, so driven. I loved that about him. Thomas is more laid-back. I thought being here…” She took a step forward, her shoulders back as if she were steeling herself against a hard wind. “It doesn't matter now. Alex is gone, and Thomas is no longer part of my life.”

“He's still your daughter's father.”

“Nora's barely a part of my life anymore, either,” she said with a trace of regret, maybe bitterness, too. “She's eighteen. She's taking a break from school right now, but she'll go back.”

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Grit said simply.

“You want to know if I have a clue as to who killed my husband.” She got combative and raised her chin at Grit. “If
I
killed him. Isn't that what everyone wants to know? I don't, and I didn't.”

“Mrs. Bruni—”

“Some days I wondered who
wouldn't
want to kill Alex. I don't mean that as an insult. He could be very intense, exacting, tough. He didn't demand of anyone what he wouldn't demand of himself.” She shook her head, some of the fight going out of her. “I'm so jet-lagged, and upset, obviously. I barely know what day it is. Maybe it'll all turn out to be just a terrible accident.” She narrowed her tired eyes on him. “Why are you here?”

He wasn't all that sure himself. “Just trying to help. Your daughter—”

“Nora knows what she's doing. She's very capable. She's young, but she'll find her way.”

“You're not worried about her going off on this camping trip by herself?”

“I'm concerned about how she's handling Alex's death, but no, I'm not that concerned about her camping in Vermont. She's very levelheaded. She and Alex got along all right, but they didn't see that much of each other. If you're wondering if she hired someone to kill him, that's ridiculous. She wouldn't know the first thing about how to do such a thing.”

“You just said she's capable.”

“In the woods, not with hired killers.” Her cheeks reddened suddenly, but she remained under control. “I should go. I don't normally pour out my soul to a perfect stranger.”

“Melanie Kendall went up to Vermont with your ex-husband,” Grit said. So far, his turning-over-of-rocks and shaking-of-trees hadn't turned up much on the fiancée and future stepmother.

Carolyn Bruni's gaze steadied on him. “Good for her.”

“Nora get along with her?”

“I have no idea. We haven't discussed Melanie. She has absolutely nothing to do with me. Good to meet you, Mr. Taylor.” Carolyn Bruni paused and gave him a cool, superior smile. “Perhaps you and Elijah Cameron should mind your own business.”

She marched past Grit, got into a little BMW parked on the side of the road and sped off.

Moose fell in next to Grit on the walkway.
“The mother's conflicted,”
Moose said.

“Well, I guess she is. She's also a Type A control freak who thinks her daughter hates her and she deserves to be hated.”

“She has regrets. Big regrets. It's tough living with big regrets.”

Grit breathed out. “Yeah. It is.”

He noted a surprising lack of security at the Asher house. He could have gotten inside in seconds. Instead, he walked down to a dark sedan parked a half block from the spot that Carolyn Bruni had just vacated. His leg wasn't hurting much today. He liked walking.

A window rolled down, and Grit said to the beanpole of an FBI agent behind the wheel, “I'll save you the trouble of trying to figure out who I am and what I'm up to. I just need a ride back to town. I took the bus, and my leg—”

“Get in the car.”

He climbed into the backseat. Up front next to the beanpole FBI agent was a very cute female FBI agent who turned a little in her seat and gave Grit a steel-melting look. “You've been talking to a lot of people today, Petty Officer Taylor.”

“You know my name? I'm flattered. You're—”

“We're the ones driving you back to Washington.”

“Guess you don't need directions to my place, do you?”

Not even a twitch of a smile. “You were outside the vice president's residence today,” she said.

Grit didn't respond. The street he'd been on was a public street, and they all knew it. He'd begun to wonder if maybe the assassins theory was just the product of a bored genius kid with an Internet connection, but that didn't feel right to Grit, mostly because of Myrtle and the Russian and the poisoned toothpaste. Myrtle didn't get bored. She didn't make up stuff.

“We appreciate your service,” the cute FBI agent said when they finally pulled up to his dump of a building. “Now mind your own business.”

“Mrs. Bruni said the same thing, except she didn't add the platitude—”

“It's not a platitude.” She seemed chagrined.

“You don't want to know my assassins theory, do you?”

“No. Good night, Petty Officer Taylor.”

One thing about his military service, Grit thought dispassionately, was how good it had made him at detecting when people were hiding things. Even those people who were good at hiding things.

The two FBI agents already knew about assassins.

The beanpole glanced in his rearview mirror at Grit's reflection. “You okay back there? Your leg…”

Grit opened the door and got out. He wasn't getting into the nuances of transtibial amputations with the guy. Besides, he'd spotted Myrtle hiding behind a sick cedar tree on the corner of his building and figured she wouldn't really want to talk to the FBI.

After they left, she stepped out onto the street and shuddered. “Holy moley. I just saw a rat the size of a raccoon.”

“Ah. Little fella.”

“Why do you live like this?”

“Like what?”

“Never mind. I'd go in, but for all I know, you have pets, and I can only just imagine.” She nodded at the retreating car. “Feds?”

“I caved and gave you up after the girl fed batted her eyes at me.”

“Are you ever serious? Don't answer—I know. You're a man of action. Words mean nothing, so you might as well be irreverent.” Her lavender eyes stayed on him a fraction longer than he would have preferred. “I did more research on you, Grit. It wasn't easy. You and your friend Elijah Cameron are a couple of ghosts, but you're both bona fide, indestructible American heroes.”

He thought of Moose, who really was a hero. “No one's indestructible.”

“Figure of speech,” Myrtle said. “You know what I mean. Let me buy you a cup of coffee. We can talk about the vice president's son, a dead ambassador, his best friend, his stepdaughter and assassins.”

“And Drew Cameron,” Grit said.

Reporter that she was, she pounced. “Who?”

“Coffee first.”

“Not here. We'll take my car,” she said, eyeing the cedar tree. “I don't do well with rats.”

S
taying low, Jo crept to the back window of the cabin. Elijah was checking the window on the side wall. Weapons drawn, they'd taken turns on watch overnight. It was first light, and the storm was over, leaving behind eight or ten inches of wet snow. The branches of the spruce trees surrounding the cabin drooped under the weight of the snow, but the cabin itself had remained dry. Even the worst of the winds hadn't penetrated its weather-tight walls.

Leave it to a Cameron, Jo thought as she noticed Nora stir. Devin was already awake, just not talking. He'd slept little and had tried several different positions before he'd found one that was the least painful, propping himself against the woodstove. He hadn't moved since.

Nora sat up, her sleeping bag twisted around her, and tried to smile. “I wish the woodstove was hooked up and we could build a fire.”

“A fire would confirm to Kyle that we're here and you and Devin survived,” Jo said. “Are you warm enough?”

Nora nodded, then gave Devin a worried look. “You okay, Dev?”

“Yeah.” His lips barely moved as he spoke. Any movement seemed to cause him pain. He was clearly miserable, but he said, “I'm fine.”

As the storm had raged around them, Nora had quietly related how she and Devin had been conducting their own background check of her father's fiancée. Both Jo and Elijah had forbidden the use of flashlights, and with the storm, there was no moonlight or starlight to help ease the darkness on the mountain. She'd heard the pain, grief and loneliness in Nora's voice as she'd told her story.

“I've made a mess of things,” she'd said, almost tonelessly. “I'm sorry.”

Elijah had spoken up at that point. “Sorry for what?”

“For putting you all in this position.”

“Did you hit Devin? Did you chase yourself into that gully? You're not the enemy here, Nora. You're a kid. If you made mistakes—hell, why should you be exempt? Put them behind you. Focus on what you can do right now.”

“I can't do anything. I'm useless.”

“You can stay warm and dry and get some rest.” When he'd paused, Jo had felt his smile as he teased. “I'll have all I can do to carry Jo down this mountain.”

Of course she had protested, and Nora had sniffled and laughed, at least a little, Elijah's comment providing the distraction it was meant to.

He and Jo both checked on Devin regularly through the long night.

A.J. knew his brother had hiked out to the north side of the mountain, and that Jo had followed him. When they didn't turn up, he wouldn't sit around for long. Neither would his family. Her paramedic sister, her firefighter brother—and her father, the former police chief. They'd all be raising hell by now.

Then there was Beth's trooper boyfriend. Jo smiled to herself as she stayed to one side of the window and peered out at the snowy landscape. Scott Thorne would just love to rescue a Secret Service agent and Special Forces soldier.

But she knew that wasn't exactly true, either. Scott would want what they all did—a good outcome. Kyle Rigby in custody, explaining himself. Devin and Nora safe. Jo and Elijah back on the lake.

“Everyone down!”

It was Elijah, intense. Jo dropped, even as a sharp crack shattered the silence and, simultaneously, the front window splintered and shards of glass crashed onto the cabin floor.

Another shot went through the same window as the first and struck the solid wood beam above the back wall of the cabin.

Staying low, Jo dived for Nora and Devin. Nora had already thrown herself onto Devin and was half dragging him, half rolling with him across the plywood floor around to the back of the woodstove.

She looked up, her eyes wide with terror. “What's happening?”

“We're getting shot at.” Jo shoved the backpacks toward them. Devin stirred, white-faced as he caught the strap of Nora's pack and pushed it at her. “Use the packs for cover. Stay behind the woodstove. Understood?”

Devin barely reacted, the pain of his injuries evident in every breath he took. Nora nodded, recoiling as a third round hit the same window, and the report of the heavy-caliber weapon boomed and echoed on their quiet hillside.

Elijah pulled the slide on his .45. He'd already raced to the front of the cabin and was positioned in the corner by the shot-out window.

He aimed and fired one round.

Crouched down, Jo ran to him, ignoring the glass shards as Elijah fired again.

Two more shots in quick succession smacked into the sturdy wood door.

Jo knew she didn't need to tell Elijah it was a heavy-caliber weapon firing at them: an assault rifle. And she didn't have to tell him it was Kyle Rigby.

He probably had a thirty-round clip. A lot of bullets.

When he used them up, he'd reload.

“He's using the trees my father cut down as cover. Right by the spruce trees.” Elijah didn't take his eyes off the spot. “I'm going after him.”

“I'll keep him from moving,” Jo said. “He wants us all dead, Elijah.”

“I can tell from the bullets.” He looked at her, his gaze steady. “We're past negotiations, Jo.”

“Yeah. Go.” Her breath caught. “Stay safe.”

He winked at her. “Be good, sweet pea.”

Moving fast, he crossed to the back of the cabin. Snow blew in as he went out the back door, shutting it silently behind him.

Nora and Devin stayed quiet and still behind the woodstove, huddled among the backpacks, as protected as possible with a madman shooting at them.

Not a madman, Jo thought. Rigby had examined his options and picked the one he'd considered most likely to get the job done. He knew what he was up against. He'd counted on Nora and Devin freezing to death up here, and when he'd realized that wasn't going to happen, he'd come up with a new plan.

The all-or-nothing approach.

She fired toward the fallen trees before he could get off another shot, ducked low and fired again from another angle. She wanted to provide cover fire and keep Rigby pinned down and guessing. He was aware he was dealing with two shooters. Let him think both she and Elijah were still in the cabin.

“Rigby, I know it's you out there,” she yelled. “Let's talk.”

“No talking. You're all dead.”

“Let's figure something out.” She moved to another spot on the window and fired again. “You're not in a good situation. I'm armed, I've got food and water and I'm warm. Bet you're frostbitten.”

Another shot.

Not frostbitten enough not to be able to shoot.

Then she heard three quick shots of a .45.

Elijah
.

She waited, poised to shoot again if necessary.

But there was silence. Finally Elijah called to her. “He's down, Jo. No sign of another shooter.”

She turned to Nora and Devin, who still hadn't moved. “I have to go out there. I'll be back in two minutes. Stay put.”

She raced out the front door and into the snow, wet and deep as it sparkled in the bright rising sun. She pushed through the tiny clearing in front of the cabin and slowed her pace as she ducked behind the felled trees and entered the spruce grove.

Elijah had picked up Rigby's assault rifle—not that there was any chance Rigby would be able to use it. But it was what Jo would have done.

She knew Elijah had checked Rigby but she felt compelled to do so herself. He was dead.

“I'm sure you gave him a chance to put down his weapon,” she said.

“Ten chances.”

Rigby had fired ten rounds.

“Don't touch anything. The police need to get here.”

There was just a hint of humor in his very blue eyes. “Sure, Jo.”

She heard a cry of pure anguish up by the cabin and turned just as Nora leaped out the front door into the snow and ran, tearing off back toward the gully where Elijah had found her.

Jo went after her, post-holing her way through the deep snow. “Nora, stop,” she called sharply. “You don't have the energy or the equipment to go far. Neither do I. You're safe now.”

But she kept running.

“
Stop.
Now, Nora.”

She fell onto her knees in the snow. “It's all my fault,” she sobbed, covering her head with her hands. “It's all my fault. I should have left well enough alone.”

Jo caught up with her and crouched next to her. She said gently, “It's okay, Nora. Come on, kiddo. We're safe. Let's go back into the cabin. Storm's over. We can get out of here.”

She dug her fingers into her hair and seemed to try to rip it out as she cried. “I want my mom, but she doesn't care about me.” She raised her head, dropping her arms as tears flowed down her pale cheeks and she shook uncontrollably. “I'm so scared. My dad—what if he's involved in whatever's going on? He's so caught up in Melanie.”

“First things first, Nora.”

She glared up at Jo. “What if he did something stupid, and now he's ruined his life? What if he's being blackmailed?”

There was no way Jo was going into all that right now. “We'll get everything sorted out. You knew something was wrong, and you were right. You trusted your instincts.”

“I never thought anyone wanted to kill me. I wouldn't have come up here. I'm so stupid.” As she spoke, she started shivering. “I'm so cold. Jo…”

“You survived. You did what you had to do.”

“Don't patronize me.” With a sudden burst of anger, Nora shook off Jo's offer of a hand and stalked back toward the cabin. But she stopped short of the front door, lurched toward a felled tree and vomited in the snow.

Jo hung back and said nothing. When Nora finished, she just silently returned to the cabin.

Elijah stepped out from the spruce trees and stood next to Jo. “Rigby had his chance to get out of here and disappear. Interesting that he didn't.”

Jo nodded grimly. “He knew he had to succeed up here. Failure wasn't an option.”

“Yeah.”

“We need to get these kids off this mountain. How much time do you figure before the cavalry arrives?”

“My guess is they're close enough to have heard the shots.”

“I can go down the trail and meet them.”

“No.” Elijah shook his head and brushed a knuckle across her cheek. “We stick together.”