Head Start (Cedar Tree #7) (20 page)

A crackling noise like static sounds from the ceiling, followed by a click, and then I hear his tinny voice coming over some kind of intercom, freezing me on the spot.

“You owe me, bitch! Told you I wasn’t gonna let my investment go to waste.”

Another click and then silence, except for the steady drone of the engine carrying me farther away. My heart hammers in my throat and I frantically try to swallow the fear that threatens to paralyze me.

Time. I have no time. Panic almost overwhelms me when I belatedly realize my phone has to be in here somewhere. I still had it in my hand when he tossed me in the van. With renewed effort, but this time with a specific goal, I crawl on my knees while running my hands over the floor in front of me. At the same time, I’m trying to keep track of the stops and the turns he makes. I hear a squeal of tires sound from right behind us before the van turns sharply to the right, tossing me against the far wall. The van is veering from side to side and with nothing to hold on to, I’m tossed around. Trying to find something to grab, my fingers touch a familiar surface and my hand closes over my phone, right before I’m thrown across the cargo-hold with a sharp left this time. More tires squealing and suddenly I’m hurled back as something hits the side of the van. I realize the screams I’m hearing are my own when the van tilts sharply. An instant later, I find myself airborne when it tips over. I’m bounced around, not knowing which way is up or down. The last thing I hear is the screeching sound of metal tearing.

N
eil

“Hey Neil,” Jasper, or Jas as he was called by his colleagues, calls on me. “Did you ever get a chance to check with Ms. Schmitt to see if she recalls Cayman limping?”

Shit
. That totally slipped my mind, but before I can make my excuses, Gus jumps in. “Probably not. Neil seems to have had his hands full,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Fuck off,” I tell him before turning to the FBI agent. “I’ll get that done today.”

The meeting at the FBI Rock Point offices is taking up most of the day. We don’t break for lunch, which is a tray of sandwiches ordered in and the coffee keeps coming. Thank Christ the coffee is not the crap grade you’d normally expect in a place like this. It’s actually really fucking good, so I’ve been sucking down cup after cup.

“In fact, I’ll get it done right now,” I say to Jasper as I get up. Stepping into the hallway, I first find the restroom. Damn coffee. Then I step outside for some fresh air and dial Kendra’s number.

“
Hi, it’s Kendra. I’m sorry I can’t take your call right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.
”

Crap. Forgot she turns her sound off in the hospital. A quick glance at the time shows it’s close to three o’clock. She’ll be done with her shift in another hour. Instead of trying for a text, I leave her a message.

“Babe, it’s me. I’m still in the meeting, but there’s something I wanna run by you. Do you remember Cayman limping at all? Let me know when you get this. Lo...later,” I finish lamely. I fucking hate talking to recordings. Inevitably, two seconds after you leave a message, you realize you should’ve worded one thing or another differently, or in this case, shut up altogether. I almost blurted out something on a goddamn message that has no business coming out of my mouth. Yet. And definitely not in a message.

When I get back to the large conference room, Montezuma County Sheriff, Drew Carmel has joined the party. It’s a virtual who’s who of law enforcement in here with the FBI agents, Durango PD Operations Commander, Keith Blackfoot, lead investigator Boris Parnak from the La Plata County Criminal Investigations Unit, Gus and myself, and now Drew. Getting pretty crowded.

I’m quickly sucked back into the minutia of the case, with everyone contributing bits and pieces of information that Luna Roosberg, the newly assigned field agent, carefully records on the massive white board. The case outline on this board is massive compared to what we have in our offices.

“Has Mal had any luck with the wings?” Damian directs at Gus.

“He’s hitting an art gallery in Farmington called In Cahoots. Found the name on a Facebook page he was checking out. They showed a picture of the interior of the gallery and he thinks he spotted something that looked similar. He’s taking his drawing with him.”

“When’s he going? I’d like to send Agent Roosberg with him.”

“Probably there already,” Gus answers. “Let me give him a call.”

While Gus gets in touch with Mal, I check my phone for any word from Kendra. Nothing. I slip out of the room and call her number. Again, no answer, so I leave another message, this one a bit more urgent. When I get back, Gus is furiously writing notes and everyone else is watching him closely.

“Got something,” he says when he ends the call, checking his notes. “The gallery has a series of prints with what looks to be the same style of wings as left behind on the victims’ backs. Similar detail on the feathers. It’s from a collection called
Angels of Mercy
and the artist’s name is Casal Maryn.”

I immediately put the name in my search engine and across the room, I hear Jasper typing furiously on his laptop. “You got ViCap?” I call across the table.

“Yup.”

“Hang on, guys,” Gus jumps in. “Focus on Cortez and surrounding areas. Looks like he’s got a postal box in town!”

Luna is frantically scribbling on the whiteboard. Damian is barking in his phone and the rest are either on their phones or jotting down notes.

“Okay.” Damian slaps his hand on the table to get everyone’s attention. “Gus, you’ve got that post box number?” On the responding nod, the agent turns to Jasper. “Vicap search up and running?” A thumbs up there. “What’s everyone else doing?” he wants to know, turning to each of us.

When he gets to me, I quickly look at the screen to see if anything has popped up yet and I’m surprised when it has. “I’ve got all the information we have so far loaded into a program that looks for parallels, similarities, patterns—anything that might signify a connection. I just popped in Casal Maryn and it’s throwing out that it has the same letters as the two full names we found connected to the victims’ e-mail accounts as well as Lars Cayman’s. The bastard used anagrams as aliases.” My eyes whip to Damian. "Where is Cayman now?”He grabs his phone and starts punching in numbers.

“It’s Gomez. Tell me you’ve got eyes on Cayman.” I watch the color drain from the other man’s face as he wipes a stack of papers off the table. “Son of a—”

The ringing of my phone drowns out the rest of Damian’s swearing. A quick glance shows Kendra’s number and without hesitation I take the call.

“Kendra?”

“Uhhh, no this is Tom Bridges. I already called the ambulance, but there was an accident.”

“Where? Where is she?” I stand up, kicking my chair over in the process, bolting in the direction of the door.

“County Road D.”

I must’ve heard him wrong. She would’ve been on her way home on County Road G. “Country Road G?” I ask to clarify.

“No D as in Delta. He grabbed her from the hospital parking lot. She’s...she’s my PT,” he says, his voice shaking. “I was talking to a buddy in the parking lot and I saw this guy pull up beside her in a van. She never even saw him coming. He—”

“Hang on,” I tell him, turning around and bumping into Gus who is right behind me. “Kendra was grabbed from the hospital parking lot. There was an accident on County Road D. She’s hurt. I’ve gotta go.” I don’t get a chance to go two steps when I feel Gus’s hand on my shoulder.

“Hold up. I’m driving.” Punching numbers on his own phone, he follows right behind me out the door.

“Tom?” I prompt the kid as I rush toward the car. “Who was it?”

“I don’t know him. As I was saying, I saw him pull a bag over her head and pull her from her SUV and toss her into the back of a cargo van. I started running, but my knee...I wasn’t fast enough. He took off. I got back to my truck and followed them. When he turned off the highway, I panicked. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sure he spotted me because he started weaving all over the road. When he turned onto a dirt road, I tried to stop them. They ended up in the ditch, and by the time I got to the van, it was upside down and he was gone.” The boy is whispering by the time he gets that far and I dread asking the next question as I climb into the cab of Gus’s Yukon.

I swallow hard before I can bring myself to speak. “And Kendra?” My voice cracks on her name.
Please God, let her be alive.
Don’t finally let me get this close to her and then yank her away.

“She had blood on her. I...I found her phone clutched in her hand when I was trying to find a pulse. She’s unconscious but she’s breathing. I can see a cut on her head.” The boy starts sniffling.

“You did good, kid,” I manage. 

“I hope I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t have minutes left on my phone and needed to call 911. Otherwise I wouldn’t have touched her phone.”

“It’s fine. You did the right thing. Are you near her?”

“I’m standing next to her. The van is on its side but the backdoors must’ve opened when it rolled because she’s lying half out of the van. Maybe I should move her?”

“Don’t touch her,” I bark into the phone and immediately feel Gus’s steadying hand on my shoulder. “Don’t move her. Let the EMTs take care of her when they get there.”

“Okay.” He lets out a shuddering breath. “I won’t leave her. Even if the guy comes back, I promise I won’t leave her.”

“I’m staying right here with you, buddy. They’re on their way, just hang tight.”

I cast a glance at Gus who’s still on his own phone. Sensing my gaze he turns to me. “Joe’s already on his way. It’s possible he’ll beat the first responders. He was on his way home from Cortez. I called Drew, who is en route behind us, and was gonna get ahold of his guys. Hang tight.”

I barely notice the landscape whipping by as we’re barreling down the highway. “Hey Tom? Can you hold her hand?”

“I already am,” the boy whispers.

“Good man.” I struggle to hold on to my own emotions as fear, frustration and anger swirl in my gut. “Listen, a friend of ours might get there before the ambulance does. He drives a black SUV, a big Chevy Tahoe. You may know him. Joe Morris? He used to be the county sheriff a few years back.” I’m babbling and I know it.

“Joe wants to know east or west of the 491,” Gus asks, and I pass the question on to Tom who says west. 

“West,” I repeat to Gus.

“I see headlights. Oh, and I can hear sirens farther up the road now.” Relief is evident in his voice.

“That’ll be Joe with rescue apparently right behind him,” I reassure him. Once he confirms Joe and rescue have arrived, I let him go, leaning back against the headrest. Gus briefly squeezes my arm.

“I’ll get you there. Just breathe, have faith, and I’ll get you there as soon as possible.”

K
endra

My head is pounding.

I try to reach up with my left hand, but a pinch on my arm has me drop it again, only to try with my other hand. This time a hand closes around my wrist, stopping me.

“Don’t touch your head, honey,” I hear Joe’s voice say.

Joe?

I can tell we are in a moving vehicle and panic washes over me. Joe’s in the van with me? I struggle against the hold on my arm and my heart races in my chest.

“Kendra—you’re fine. Stop struggling. You’re in an ambulance and we’re on our way to the hospital in Cortez. You’ve been in an accident.”

An accident? I try to open my eyes against the bright lights that are a shock to my system. Steadily, my recollection of events starts surfacing. The bag over my head, the man... “The man.” My voice sounds weak and I clear my throat before trying again. “Someone put a bag over my head and threw me in a van. I didn’t see... I heard his voice. Sounded familiar but I’m not sure. He said I owed him a hike. Same words Lars Cayman had used, but something... something was off. He sounded...different.”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Joe says, and I squint against the light to see his face. “You were out for quite a stretch. I’m no doctor, but from the goose egg on your head and that nasty cut, I’d say you took a significant hit to the noggin. Let’s get you looked after first and then we’ll worry about what happened.”

“Neil...”

There is no mistaking the broad smile on Joe’s face. “He’s meeting us at the hospital. Boy was right upset by the sounds of it. Naomi owes me.” My confusion must show because Joe goes on to explain, “Last Sunday, after you called Neil about Cayman’s phone call, I said to Naomi that from the look on his face, I could tell he wasn’t gonna let you keep your distance much longer. I told her no more than a week. She was sceptical and challenged me to a bet.”

“You bet on me?”

“Sure did,” Joe chuckles unapologetically. “You forget, Neil’s my friend. I’ve worked with him for a long time. I know how he can get when he’s determined. Everyone sees him as this easy going kid, but that’s just his outside.”

I avert my eyes, recognizing I was one of those who didn’t look further than what met the eye. I think I’ve always known there was more to him. “So what did you win?” I ask Joe, turning back just in time to see a blush hit his cheeks.