Dashing Through the Snow (13 page)

The frustration was killing Agent Jordan Wilkes. He was close to making the biggest capture of his career and once again had been thwarted by one of the cleverest criminal masterminds he'd encountered in his thirty-year time with the bureau. It was no wonder Ashley Davison had eluded the law these last two years. Capturing her would be the pinnacle of his career with the FBI.

“What now?” Agent Buckley asked.

“We wait,” Wilkes told the younger agent. Patience was a key virtue when it came to being an agent, and it often paid big dividends. Agent Buckley would learn that lesson soon enough, if he remained in the agency.

“How long should we wait?”

“However long it takes.” Crime knew no holiday. Wilkes couldn't remember the last Christmas he'd spent with his wife and family. But if sacrificing Christmas gave him the opportunity to aprehend Ashley Davison, then it would be worth it. He wanted this woman's capture on his record, and he wanted it badly.

As he knew it would, his cell buzzed. “Wilkes,” he answered, doing his best to hide his eagerness to hear the latest update.

The disembodied voice came fast and furious over the line: “An Oregon state patrolman pulled them over.”

“Where?”

“Outside of Ashland.”

“Tell him to keep them in custody until we get there. Call in backup; I don't want to take a chance of letting Davison slip through our fingers again.”

After a slight pause, the agent on the other end of the line continued: “He let them go.”

“What? How in the hell did that happen?”

“This was before we realized they'd switched license plates. It was the same year and model in the bulletin. That was what caught his attention, but the plates were different.”

“Why'd he pull them over?” The officer must have had a reason. The bulletin that had gone out to law enforcement agencies said to look for a woman holding a man hostage.

“He pulled them over for expired tabs.”

So Davison wasn't as clever as she thought. If she was going to exchange license plates, she should have noticed the one she switched had outdated tabs. This was just the break Wilkes was looking for. “I want to interview the officer.”

“I have him right here.”

A short pause followed. “This is Officer Jamison.”

“Yes, Officer, thank you.” Wilkes looked toward his partner and nodded, indicating they weren't about to give up yet. His gut had told him Davison was close.

“I stopped the vehicle at Milepost 431 for expired tabs.”

“You saw the photo of Dashiell Sutherland and identified him?”

“I did,” the state patrolman verified. “I wasn't able to positively identify the woman from the photo.”

That was understandable, seeing how clever Davison had been about hiding her identity. The woman was a tease. She got her jollies from thwarting law enforcement. But her time was running out…sands through an hourglass.

“Was the woman driving?” Wilkes asked.

“No, the man was.”

It made sense that she'd force Sutherland to take the wheel. “What kind of vibe did you get from him?”

“Vibe?”

“Did he show signs of stress? Did he appear overly nervous?” Wilkes asked, hoping to get something that would help in Davison's ultimate capture.

“Not really,” the patrolman answered. “All drivers show signs of stress when pulled over.”

“Did you detect anything suspicious or out of the ordinary?” he asked next.

“No…”

“What is it, man?” Wilkes demanded, sensing the patrol officer wanted to tell him something more.

“There was a dog. A puppy. He was asleep in the backseat.”

“We know about the dog.”

Jamison hesitated. “There was something else…I don't know if it's relevant, but…”

“Yes,” Wilkes coaxed.

“The woman was overly friendly with me.”

“Overly friendly?”

“Yes, she leaned forward, offered me a big smile, and wished me a merry Christmas.”

Wilkes could picture the scene in his mind. Ashley Davison had made a narrow escape. Not for the first time, she'd managed to outsmart law enforcement, and naturally she was relieved. She hadn't been flirting—that wasn't her style—she was simply happy, riding high on her success.

She'd made a mistake, though. A big one. And she assumed she'd gotten off scot-free. She didn't know it yet, but that was about to change.

“Anything else you can tell us?”

“Yes,” Officer Jamison continued. “Later I got a call near Grants Pass. I believe I saw the car I'd stopped earlier take the first exit. There are a number of gas stations in the area, so I suspect they were looking to fill their tank.”

More good news. “Thank you, Officer. You've been a big help.”

“Glad to be of assistance,” he said, and disconnected the line. The state patrolman didn't know how fortunate he was. If he'd caught on that there was something amiss, Wilkes was fairly certain the woman would have done whatever necessary to keep him from reporting her whereabouts. Instead, Jamison would head home to his family. If luck was with Wilkes, he, too, might be able to join his own family for Christmas this year. All he had to do was apprehend Ashley Davison.

“Start the car,” Wilkes instructed his partner. “We've got the lead we've been waiting for.” He felt the adrenaline rush. He was familiar enough with the feeling that told him he was close to capturing his prize. It wouldn't be long now. Not long at all.

Wilkes and Buckley hit pay dirt at the third gas station. It was a big truck stop and sold only diesel. He'd almost bypassed it, but he was determined to leave no stone unturned. It was there that he found what he needed to know.

“Yeah.” The young woman behind the counter wore her dirty-blond hair in a ponytail. She looked at the photo again and said, “That's him, all right. He was here maybe an hour ago. Maybe it was thirty minutes. I lose track of time. He wasn't looking to fill up his car. Couldn't have helped him if he was, but he already seemed to know that.”

A trucker stepped up to the counter, and without breaking eye contact with Wilkes, Ponytail handed over the key attached to a large flat board that read
SHOWER ROOM
.

“He was looking for the name of a good mechanic,” she continued. “I told him about Stan the Man. He's a bit of an odd duck, but he's good with cars. He knows his business.”

“Stan the Man. That's the name of his business?”

“Nope, that's his name. Never heard him called anything else. Don't know his last name.”

Wilkes decided to let that pass. “Did the man in the photograph mention what kind of car trouble he was having?”

The young woman shook her head. “No, can't say that he did. His best chance of getting back on the road in a hurry, though, was with Stan the Man—”

“He was in a hurry?” he asked, interrupting her.

“Yes, big-time. I think he said something about an appointment in Seattle.”

“Today?” His heart started to race. A sense of urgency filled him. Whatever was going down must be taking place soon. Sooner than he'd anticipated. This news didn't bode well.

“I can't say when or why he needed to get to Seattle.” She shrugged, and looked like she regretted not being able to help him more.

“Okay, let's get back to the mechanic you recommended.”

“Stan the Man's the best we have, probably the best in the entire county. He knows cars better than anyone.”

“Anything else you can tell us?”

“Not that I remember.”

Agent Buckley handed her a card. “If you think of anything, just call this number.”

“I will,” she said, reading the card. She glanced up and smiled. “I've never talked to anyone in the FBI before.”

“We need to get back on the road,” Wilkes said, and grabbed the photo off the counter.

“You've been a big help,” Agent Buckley told Ponytail.

Wilkes waited until they were back in the black Suburban before he spoke. “Whatever is going down is happening soon.”

“I don't understand why Sutherland didn't say something to the clerk. Davison wasn't around.”

“That we know of,” Wilkes muttered. Agent Buckley wasn't as familiar with Davison as he was. “The woman could easily have had something on Sutherland that made it impossible for him to talk.”

“If luck is with us, he'll still be at the repair shop.”

Wilkes hoped that was the case; they'd find out soon enough.

“Should we call for backup?” Agent Buckley asked.

Thinking of the fiasco that had so recently taken place, Wilkes decided to wait. “We'll do surveillance first and then make that decision.”

They arrived at the address and circled the block. The garage bay doors were open and it was apparent they were too late to apprehend Davison and release her hostage.

As soon as they parked in front of the business, the tall, thin man in overalls walked out to greet them. He wore a big smile.

“I've been waiting for you boys for fifteen years,” he said, grinning for all he was worth as he wiped his hands clean on a pink rag.

Wilkes and Buckley exchanged glances.

“All I can say is that it took you long enough. I must have written and emailed you a hundred times and never got a response. What did it this time?”

“You're Stan.”

“Stan the Man,” he corrected. “Folks around here gave me the name because of my alien wife.”

“What country is she from?”

“Not a country, man. She's from a different planet.”

“You have a wife from outer space?” Buckley asked incredulously.

Ah hell.
Wilkes was afraid this was going to be a waste of precious time. This mechanic was a candidate for a padded cell.

“Yup, she's from a planet mankind has yet to discover. I hated to leave her pregnant and all. Been waiting all these years to get back to her.”

“We aren't here about space travel,” Wilkes informed him, doing what he could to get the information he needed. He should have taken note when the dirty-blond told him Stan the Man was a bit of an odd duck. That was putting it mildly.

“You aren't here about me and my alien wife?” Stan the Man didn't bother to hide his disappointment.

“We need to know if you've seen this man in the last few hours.” Wilkes held up the photograph of Dash Sutherland.

The mechanic studied the photo and slowly a smile slid into place. He looked up and held Wilkes's gaze for a long moment. “Tell you what. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours.”

“I beg your pardon?”

By this time Stan looked almost gleeful. “You heard me. You need my help and I need yours.”

Wilkes stiffened. “What do you want?”

“It'll be no skin off your nose, so don't go all pissy on me. I want to go up in one of those rockets the government is always shooting off down there in Florida. I want to find my woman and lay claim to my child.”

Wilkes had heard a great deal in his years with the FBI, but this was by far the most unusual request of his career.

“I tried all the normal channels to get back to my lover, but my congressman considered me a nutcase and our senator hasn't bothered to answer a single one of my requests. I'm tired of playing nice. If you boys can't help me, then I'm done answering your questions. We're finished here.” He looked expectantly from one to the other.

For one of the first times in his career, Wilkes was speechless.

“I know you have ways of making me talk, but I'm telling you right now that unless you're willing to play ball, my lips are sealed.”

It was Buckley who took the lead. “We might be able to arrange something.”

Stan's face widened with a satisfied grin. “I thought you boys would see the light. Oh, and by the way, your car needs an oil change.”