Flashover (18 page)

She didn't dare stop as she pressed her head down and sprinted as fast as she could manage.

A noise from in front made her stop short, her feet skidding. Ears straining, she listened. Another snap of branches underfoot confirmed her fears. How had he gotten ahead of her? Had he circled around the other way to cut her off before she reached the road?

Her heart hammered so hard it sent shudders through her body. She didn't know whether to try to run around him or head back the other way. The thought of heading even deeper into the woods terrified her.

She scanned in every direction, raindrops momentarily blinding her. Maybe she should risk stopping to call for help.

Ahead and to the right was a thick clump of thistles, rising in thorny splendor. If she could conceal herself there for just a minute, long enough to make one call…

After a moment more she bent low and skirted around the giant clump of green.

Fingers shaking with cold and fear she dialed. Pressing the phone to her ear, she tried to peer through the thorny branches. She was horrified to discover her phone wasn't receiving a signal. She was cut off from help of any kind.

Her mind whirled with possibilities. Go back? Go ahead? Stay put and hope he didn't find her?

None of the options sounded good. Several yards ahead came the sound of feet pushing through the wet grass. The sounds grew closer and closer until she was galvanized into action. She bolted from behind her screen and tried to circle wide enough to have a clear shot to the road.

It wasn't enough.

She heard a grunt of surprise and the figure pursued her.

“Stop,” he called.

Ivy put a hand more firmly around the cat and ran as fast as she was able until her feet hit a patch of mud. She went down on her back, fingers still cradled around the cat, the wind knocked out of her.

Her pursuer was upon her.

Rain streamed into her face as she tried to turn over and get her legs underneath her again. Blinded by the water that coursed into her eyes, Ivy knew that she would not surrender easily. If he did kill her, it would be the hardest thing he ever did in his life.

Hands gripped her shoulders.

She screamed.

H
e grasped her arms tightly, trying to understand her fear.

“Let go of me,” she hissed.

“Ivy? Ivy, are you hurt?” He looked down into her face. His wet hair dripped water onto her forehead as he knelt in front of her.

She stared at him, gasping. “Tim? Is it you?”

“Are you all right? What happened?” He looked frantically at her, searching for signs of injury. Something, anything, that would explain the terror in her eyes. “What is going on? Why were you running?”

She sat up and fell into his arms, crying, hiccupping and laughing all at the same time. He held her gently, as if she were made of delicate ice crystals, pressing his warm cheek to her forehead. He exhaled. Whatever it was, he could handle it, as long as she was safe.

“It's okay, Ivy. It's okay now. Whatever happened, it's over.” He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, chafing her arms to warm her.

“A man. There.” She stabbed a finger behind her. “He tried to grab me, but I kicked him. He was following me earlier. I saw him in town this morning, too.”

Tim stared. “He's out there?”

She nodded.

He felt an anger stir in his gut. “Stay here,” he commanded.

She grabbed his wrist. “No, Tim. He's dangerous. Don't go.”

He squeezed her fingers. “Just stay here.”

He ran as stealthily as he could, through the soggy mess of trees and grass. There was no sign of the man. He wanted to keep looking, find him and yank an explanation out of him the hard way, but he was afraid to leave Ivy for much longer.

He returned to her and put a hand under her elbow to help her up. “I don't see anyone. Just in case he's still there, let's move. Are you okay to walk?”

“I think so.”

In spite of her words, her legs were shaking so badly that Tim picked her up and made his way hastily to the spot along the side of the road where he'd parked his truck.

When the engine was on and the heater running full blast he turned to face her, trying to tamp down the anger that hummed in his veins. “What is going on? Unfortunately I was in a meeting so it took me a while to get your message. It was something about the recycling center but I didn't understand it. I came as fast as I could.”

Her cheeks pinked. “It was a stupid idea. I thought about the Cannery Row reference and how Cyril ran the recycling shack for a while. I thought maybe he'd left something here.”

“Ah, the cans. I get it. It makes sense in a weird sort of way.” He turned a stern face to her. “But, Ivy, coming out here on your own? You could have been killed. That guy, whoever he was, isn't some upstanding citizen and he's connected to Cyril's murder somehow. That was reckless and you should have known better. You're trained in risk assessment and all that, aren't you? What were you thinking?”

“I know, I know. It was stupid.”

“Yes, it was.” He turned the heating vents to direct warmth to her side.

She was convulsed by shivering, her teeth chattering. “I'm sorry.”

“You should be. When I saw you there, running, I thought…Well, I don't know what I thought.” He cleared his throat and tried to get his feelings under control. “Don't ever do that again, Beria.”

She laughed. “I think I can safely promise that. There is one good thing that came out of this, you know.”

“And what is that?”

She pulled out the tiny cat and put her on the seat. “I got to perform a rescue.”

Tim looked from the cat to Ivy and back to the cat again. He laughed, the joy he always felt at being near her amplified by the thought of what could have happened. “You are one in a million.”

“I hope you mean that in a good way.”

“You know I do.”

He didn't dare look at her as they pulled out onto the road. She did not want him, this amazing, exceptional woman. She'd made it clear, and it was getting too hard to hide it. He knew that when the crazy episode was over, he would have to let go of her for good. He could not fall in love with a woman who didn't want him. He'd thought things might change when she'd opened her heart to the Lord. He'd been wrong. The pain of it lodged in his gut.

Tim took her back to her home. He went to Moe's apartment to put on dry clothes while she cleaned up. Then he let himself back into her place and rummaged around the kitchen.

He set to work cooking two grilled cheese sandwiches and opening a can of tuna for the cat that crouched, tail swishing. The cat lapped up the fish with a tiny pink tongue.

“Hope you don't mind grilled cheese for dinner. Your refrigerator is a little low on supplies. It was either grilled cheese or a half jar of pickle relish.”

She slid into a chair and watched as Tim maneuvered around the kitchen. “Grilled cheese sounds perfect to me.” Ivy saw the cat look up from her dinner and stare at them with golden eyes. “I see you've pleased the feline customer.”

He smiled. “I'm a dog person actually, but she turned her nose up when I offered Milk-Bones and the idea of playing fetch doesn't seem to appeal to her so we went with tuna. What are you going to name her?”

“I'm not sure yet. I'm going to go with Cat for the moment.”

“Catchy, no pun intended.” Tim joined her and they munched the crispy, golden sandwiches.

“Any word on Moe?” she asked around a cheesy bite.

He didn't want to tell her. She'd been through so much already. “Indirectly.”

She straightened. “Really? What? Tell me.”

“I talked to Detective Greenly this morning. It seems a certain gas-station attendant returned from his fishing trip. He says Moe stopped by early Thursday morning and looked through all the Oregon maps on his display shelf.”

“Did he say anything about where he was going?”

“No. He asked only one question.”

Ivy's eyebrows lifted. “What?”

“He asked if there was electricity in the mountains.”

“The mountains? If he headed to the mountains, he could be anywhere.”

Tim grimaced at the despair in her voice. “I know. It doesn't help us narrow things down.”

Ivy groaned. “Oh, Tim. I'm so worried about Moe. He's got to be scared.”

“I am, too. The more we search, the farther away he seems to get. I keep going over the bits we know, the info about Medsci and Roger Smalley. The answer is there somewhere, I'm sure of it.”

“And you have an idea, don't you?”

He shrugged. “It's a wild theory, really.”

“Could it be wilder than my Cannery Row idea?”

He laughed. “No, you take the cake with that one. I've been doing some research on experimental drugs and there have been a few cases where corporate spies get their hands on research information and sell it to the highest bidder.”

“I had no idea.”

“Me, neither.”

“Do you think Roger was selling info?”

Tim stifled a yawn. “I'm not sure, but what if he was? And what if Cyril stumbled onto the information and passed it to Moe before he was murdered? He did have those medical journals Moe tried to burn. Could be he was trying to figure out how much his stolen info was worth.”

“Could he have been murdered by the people buying Roger Smalley's information?”

He shrugged. “I told you it was a wild theory.”

“After all that's happened, nothing sounds wild to me anymore.”

The clock above the gas fireplace chimed.

Ivy flopped back on the sofa. “What a day. I feel like a deflated balloon.”

Taking the cue, Tim hauled himself up. “It's getting late. I'd better go. I'll see you in the morning.”

Ivy followed him to the door. “Busy tomorrow?”

“No way. I'm sticking by you, Beria. I can't have you wandering all over creation, rescuing cats and getting into all manner of scrapes.” He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, fingers lingering for a moment on her skin.
Back off, Tim,
his mind said. He wished he could convince his heart to do the same.

 

Roger Smalley did not look right in the Jaguar, Nick thought.

Some men wore the trappings of luxury with ease, as if they were born to it. Smalley sat in the machine as if it were a camel, uneasily clinging to the steering wheel with fat fingers.

Sad, really, Nick thought as he settled into the passenger seat, inhaling the sweet smell of leather and ignoring the pain in his stomach where the girl had kicked him. A car like this one should be owned with confidence. He tried to discern if the supple leather was actually black or the deepest shade of green.

The rain pattered on the windshield. Idly, Nick wondered if the girl had seen him in the woods closely enough to identify him. He didn't think so with the storm unloading over their heads. It was turning out to be harder than he anticipated keeping track of her comings and goings, even with help.

Smalley glanced over again at Nick, his fingers twitching. “Are you listening? I won't tolerate it, the attention from the police and these so-called friends of somebody named Cyril. I worked too hard and too long to jeopardize my career. I'm done, do you hear me? Done.”

Nick let him finish, admiring the smooth lines of the dashboard. “You're obligated to finish the deal.”

Smalley blinked several times, a flush creeping over his fleshy face. “I'm not obligated to do anything. You don't own me.”

“How fast?”

Smalley blinked again. “What?”

“How fast have you gone?” He pointed to the speedometer.

“I don't know.” Smalley's tone was icy. “I keep to the speed limit.”

“Shame. That's like having a racehorse and never letting it run.”

Smalley huffed impatiently. “Listen, I've got to go. It's been peachy working with you, but it's over. Just tell your boss I'm not doing any more business with him.”

Nick peered closely at the sound system. “I don't tell him what to do.”

“Fine. Then I'll tell him myself. Get out.”

The words were bold but Nick did not miss the tremble of the man's sweaty upper lip. “Suit yourself.” He slid out of the plush seat and closed the door. It hardly made a sound.

Smalley drove off at a respectable speed.

“Shame,” Nick said aloud.

H
e was not pleased. Nick could tell by the tiny lines around his mouth.

The man had come to the boss's place of business, violated an unspoken agreement. Now he sat there on the delicate brocade chair, sweating like a hard-ridden horse.

“You should not have come here, Mr. Smalley.” His boss's tone was mild. “It was unwise.”

“Unwise? This whole business was unwise. I can't believe I ever got into this deal. What was I thinking?”

“I imagine,” he said after a sip of tea, “you were thinking about the car you would buy and the down payment on a three-bedroom home in Aspen.”

Nick smiled.

Smalley jerked as if he'd been slapped. “How did you know about Aspen?”

“It doesn't matter. What does matter is that you promised me two formulas and you have only delivered one. That is unfinished business. That is unacceptable. Tea?”

Smalley ignored the question. “I can't take any more risks with all the attention lately. I've given you all I can.”

He stirred his cup with a silver spoon. “I promised my buyers two formulas.”

“You've got smart people in your country, don't you? They can take the first one and run with it.”

How could such a stupid man wind up with a Jaguar?
Nick wondered.

“That is not the point,” his boss continued. “You have been paid handsomely for two products and you have only delivered one. That makes you, forgive me for saying it, a welcher.”

Smalley stared at him. He began to laugh with such vigor it set his jowls wobbling. “A welcher? This isn't a schoolyard game. A welcher, that's a good one. Sticks and stones and all that. I gave you what I could and I'm not going to give you the rest. I can't afford to now that the police are involved and that girl is sniffing around.”

“My employee is handling that.”

“Really? And just who is this Cyril they kept asking me about? I've never met him. What does he have to do with our deal?”

Nick shifted slightly.

“Again, that is not your concern.”

“You're right, it isn't. Nothing about this business concerns me anymore. The deal is off.” Smalley rose and walked over to the table. He peered at the collection of knives arranged neatly on the table, next to the almost-finished specimen. “I've never met a taxidermist before. Is this what you do for a hobby?”

“Among other things.”

“Weird.” He checked his watch.

Nick cleared his throat. “Going somewhere?”

Smalley gave him a quick glance. “No, nowhere. I just came in person to tell you and your boss to leave me alone and stay out of my car.”

The boss put his teacup on the table. “Are you sure you can't be persuaded to change your mind? For both our interests?”

“No. I'm pretty certain once I decide on something. I've always been the decisive kind.” Smalley smiled and extended his hand. “It was great while it lasted.”

Nick walked Smalley to the door.

“Can I buy you guys some breakfast?” Smalley said. “I don't want to leave any bad blood behind. Café across the street says they've got the state's fluffiest pancakes.”

Nick didn't answer.

“No, thank you, Roger. Enjoy your meal.”

Smalley left and the boss excused himself for a moment.

While he waited, Nick absentmindedly massaged the fingers on his left hand. They remained partially numb after the beating that had changed both his life and his father's. He pictured clearly, the man's face who had wielded the club, blank, impassive.

The man's expression was the same when he finally tracked him down twelve years later.

“Remember me?”

The man blinked, eyes slightly rheumy. “No.”

“You beat me when you were shaking down my father for protection money.”

“Oh.” More blinking. “Yes, I think I do remember that. Your father should have paid. Would've been easier. So, you've come to kill me?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. “Do it then. Don't drag things out, makes it too untidy. Always remember that.”

He did remember and it made him irate that things were untidy now. He walked to the window and watched Smalley cross the street to the tiny café, in search of his fluffy pancakes. The sun had broken through the clouds, lending a brilliant cast to the still-wet road. Smalley ran a hand over the sleek lines of his green Jaguar as he passed by, perhaps wicking away a drop of water left on the shining hood.

His boss spoke from the doorway. “You know what to do.”

 

Tim and Ivy stopped in Detective Greenly's cramped office in between search assignments. He was chewing gum for all he was worth. “We checked Smalley out. Nothing that directly connects him to any wrongdoing. As far as Medsci is concerned, he's a glowing employee,” Greenly said.

Ivy sighed. “Hmm. I sure would have pegged him for being guilty of something.”

He blew a bubble. It popped with a loud crack. “You know what they say. If it walks like a duck…”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “You have the same feeling about him we did?”

“He's living well. Very well. Nice car, nice house.” Greenly drumrolled two pencils on the desk.

“I'm sure he earns a good living from Medsci,” Ivy said.

“I'm sure he does, but last year he purchased a home in Aspen and spent three weeks on the French Riviera.”

Tim laughed. “Wow. I spent my vacation putting up drywall. Clearly I'm in the wrong line of work.”

Ivy chuckled. She remembered the drywall project. He hadn't been able to straighten his back for a week. “So where do we go from here?”

“We don't go anywhere. You two can stick to the search for Moe. I've got someone looking into Smalley's background and watching the airport.”

Ivy watched the detective blow another bubble. “Why the airport?”

“Smalley bought a one-way ticket to Portugal. His flight leaves tonight.”

She stiffened. “If he runs, we may never figure out the mystery.”

“We're on it, Ms. Beria. The police are handling that end of things. Just do me a favor and call me if you see Smalley. He's currently on vacation from work and not answering his home phone or cell. I don't have enough people to put someone on him exclusively.”

They stood to leave.

Greenly spit out the gum and shoved another stick into his mouth. “There's one other thing.”

Ivy noticed an uneasy cast to his face. “What is it?”

“County Search and Rescue is pulling the plug.”

She gasped. “What? How can they stop searching when Moe is still out there somewhere?”

“Purely a numbers game, Ivy, you know that. They're needed elsewhere. It's summer-vacation season and they've got plenty of disoriented tourists to find.”

Her heart sank. “Oh, no. How will we tell Madge they're giving up on him?”

Greenly shook his head. “It's terrible. Being in the business, you know that resources have to be spread out for the greater good.” His eyes filled with compassion. “I've got a kid myself and I can't imagine hearing that news. I don't want to give up on Moe and we'll continue to do what we can, but…”

“I know, I know.”

Tim wrapped an arm around her. “We'll keep looking, Ivy. Our luck's got to change sooner or later.”

She bit her lip to keep in a sigh. “When are you going to tell Madge about County?”

“I'll stop over there tomorrow morning. They're going to give it one more day.”

Tim nodded. “We'll be there when you tell her.”

“Okay. I've got work to do. You two kids stay out of trouble.”

Ivy and Tim stepped out into the humid morning.

“Where should we start?” Tim asked.

“I don't know anymore.” Ivy hunched down into the front seat of Tim's truck. “This searching is getting us nowhere. It's just so frustrating.”

Tim consulted his mother's list. “Moe's uncle took him up to Lake Soway last spring. That's about an hour east of here. Are you game?”

She nodded without enthusiasm. “I guess so.”

He patted her knee. “How about I stop at the grocery and get us some snacks to take along?”

Though she didn't feel the least bit hungry, she knew what he was trying to do. “Sure. Sounds good.”

He drove to a small strip of stores on the edge of town. She stayed in the truck, watching the clouds morph from one odd shape to the next. Was Moe looking at the same thing? Had he been able to find shelter from the storm? She felt the stirring again, the bitter sting of being unable to rescue him.

Her eyes wandered over the people coming and going, steeped in the business of their own lives. Would she feel happily oblivious if she was back on the line, steeped in hers? A man with a shiny bald head came out of the tiny post office and made his way to the ATM machine. Ivy sat bolt upright.

Roger Smalley.

Tim got in. “Just to cheer you up, I got us some chocolate-chip cookies, too.”

She pulled his arm. “Look, by the ATM. It's Smalley.”

The man pulled some cash out of the machine. Even from a distance it looked like a thick stack.

Tim was already dialing the phone. “It's Greenly's voice mail.” He left a quick message and hung up. They watched Smalley pocket his cash and slide into the Jaguar.

Tim started the engine and waited until the car pulled out into traffic before he fell in behind him.

“What are you doing? Greenly said we weren't supposed to get involved.”

Tim didn't take his eyes off the car ahead of them. “I'm not involved. I'm going to find out where he's headed and dutifully report it to the detective.”

She grinned. “You're getting pretty bold in your old age.”

He gave her a huge grin. “Must be the company I'm keeping.”

Her heart sped up.

They followed at a discreet distance, leaving the town behind them. Smalley took a side road, which gradually ascended. He kept the Jaguar to a precise thirty-five miles an hour.

“Where is he headed?” Ivy shaded her eyes as they drove into the sun.

“I don't know unless…” Tim's brows drew together in thought.

“What?”

“The private airport.”

“It's so small, only one strip. Wouldn't he head for the international to catch a flight to Portugal?”

“Not if he's being cagey.”

Ivy tried dialing Greenly's number again with no better result.

As they rounded a turn, Tim had to brake suddenly when a deer bounded across the road. Fortunately, the motorbike behind them slowed, too.

When Tim started around the corner again, the Jaguar was nowhere in sight.

Ivy leaned forward. “He must be around the next turn.”

Tim sped up as much as was safe until Smalley's car was once again in their sight.

“Whew.” Ivy straightened. “I thought we'd lost him.”

Tim wiggled his eyebrows. “Just call me The Shadow.”

Without warning the Jaguar sped up.

“He must have spotted us.”

Tim increased speed. “Are we that recognizable?”

“He's being cagey, remember?”

She gripped the dashboard as the truck took a sharp curve. “Keep on him.”

“I'll try, but if he speeds up much more I'm going to have to let him go.”

Ivy opened her mouth to respond when her words were stopped by a horrific explosion. As Smalley accelerated, the back of his car blew apart in a shower of flame and twisted metal. It shot off the road, down the embankment.

Fighting to keep the truck under control as bits of metal rained down on the windshield, Tim pulled to the side. Ivy grabbed the fire extinguisher and they both took off, slipping and sliding down the slope toward the wreck.

The car was topside down, the front smashed into an unyielding tree. The passenger window was so badly twisted there was no room to pull the victim out. The only hope of rescue was the door. She saw Tim use the tire iron he'd grabbed from the truck to try to pry open the hot metal.

Ivy noted the flames growing higher and higher. The heat was intense as she tried in vain to quench the flames. It was useless. Tongues of fire continued to pour out the window.

She grabbed Tim's arm to drag him away.

“I've almost got it,” he yelled, yanking at the door, sweat pouring down his face.