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Authors: Hannah Alexander

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BOOK: Hidden Motive
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TWO

P
aul Murphy broke surface, gasping for air in the numbing cold. Waves from the car's impact washed over him and he fought to stay afloat. He strained through the darkness for a sign of Dr. Chamberlin, but before he could call out, two sets of headlights penetrated the darkness from above.

Hampered by his down coat, Murph swam to the bank of the canal. He grasped the branches of a bush above his head, and pulled himself from the water. He started to call out, but he heard car doors closing.

In the wash of the headlights, he caught the outline of a dark form about ten feet to his right. Dr. Chamberlin. Sable. Now if only she would remain still until—

Male voices rat-a-tatted across the water's surface.

“Who was it? Did you see?”

“Had to be Chamberlin. It was her car.”

“I know that,” the first man snapped. “Who was with her?”

“Some big guy.”

“There was a Bronco in the driveway. We'll have McCann run the license plate.” The beam of a flashlight traveled slowly over the surface of the water. Murph didn't move.

“Anything out there?”

“Not yet. What brought you out?” The beam continued its search.

“Heard some rumors.”

“From that tap at the old man's house?”

There was a grunt. “Kessinger was on to more than we realized.”

“Sounds that way. We've got to keep the Feds out of it. We need that package Kessinger mailed.”

“If Chamberlin was at the house, she had to've gotten it.”

“Then it's somewhere in this canal. We find her body, or the car, and we'll have what we need.”

A new voice joined in. “Hey! I just got the call. Somebody shot the old guy.”

The flashlight beam stopped sweeping the water, redirected to the roadway above. Peering up the embankment, Murph saw three dark figures huddled together. The men's voices lowered as the conversation continued.

“Noah Erwin,” the newcomer said softly. “Got him in the head.”

There was a short pause, and Murph frowned, confused. If these guys hadn't killed Noah, then who had? Were there two factions at work? How big
was
this operation?

“Won't have to worry about that one, then,” said one of the men.

Murph gritted his teeth at the dismissive attitude, as if Noah was something to be dumped on a garbage heap.

“So Chamberlin shot the old fool, took the evidence and tried to get away.”

“Some friend she turned out to be.”

“The chief's gotta be thrilled about this one,” the speaker said drily.

Murph shivered in the icy air as the conversation ceased and the flashlight beam played across the water again. Sable was no longer visible.

The beam of the flashlight began to edge toward him. He closed his eyes, willing himself to stillness. Seconds later, he heard a scuffle of footsteps.

“Get the car out of the canal,” came a terse command. “Tomorrow we'll release the news that the fleeing killers paid for the murder with their lives.”

The light retreated, voices fading as the men walked away. When Murph heard the revving of engines, he rushed back down the steep embankment toward the spot he had last seen Sable. In the blackness of the night, he could see little; the storm had passed, taking the lightning.

Water surged directly beside him; Sable shot from the inky blackness of the canal. She gasped and choked as she struggled toward the bank.

Murph grabbed her arms and pulled her from the water.

“Are they gone?” she asked between gasps.

“They're gone.” He drew her close for warmth.

“I had nowhere to hide,” she said. “The flashlight beam was about to reach me. I had to go under, but it was so cold.”

Her teeth began to chatter. Her breath misted the air. “I held my breath as long as I could, but the c-current k-k-kept—”

“We've got to warm you up or you'll get hypothermia.” Murph helped her climb to safety on the steep bank. “Are you okay?”

“Freezing,” she said with a shudder. “I'm f-freezing.”

He opened his coat and drew her against him, wrapping her as completely as he could away from the wind. “You heard?”

“M-most of it, until I went under.”

Awkwardly, attempting to keep them both enclosed within the protective folds of his wet coat, Murph helped Sable along the bank to a muddy track.

“We've got to get out of here,” Murph said grimly. “I'm going with you to Missouri.”

Sable stiffened, her teeth still chattering. “How?”

“We can take a bus from Freemont,” Murph said. “Right now they think we're dead. We want them to keep thinking that, at least until we're away from this place.”

“D-didn't you m-move here from Wichita?” Her voice rose and fell as her whole body shook. “Give y-yourself a break and get out of this mess. You're not a p-part—”

“I'm part of it now,” he said. “And stop trying to talk. You need to focus on warming up.”

“Medically speaking, wh-whether or not a patient talks—”

“Dr. Chamberlin, be quiet.”

“L-look, I ap-p-ppreciate everything y-you're—”

“You're in no position to argue with me right now,” he said, pulling the coat more tightly around her. He
had
to go with her, whether she invited him or not.

“Do you have any money?” Sable asked. “I have an ATM—”

“We can't use credit or ATM cards. They can be tracked.”

“You don't think we could be tracked if we take a bus?” she challenged.

“Unless you want to steal a car, we don't have a choice. We can only hope they continue to believe we're dead in the canal. I have cash in the lining of my coat for emergencies.” He didn't tell her about the gun.

She looked up at him. “Why are you prepared for an emergency?”

“I'm always prepared. Let's just get to Missouri.”

THREE

I
n the early hours of Saturday morning, the Southwestern Missouri weather, known for its February fickleness, was oppressively bleak in the Ozarks. The thick layer of clouds had pursued Sable and Murph from Freemont, hovering at each stopover, threatening further delays.

Sable leaned back. She couldn't sleep, but if she could close her eyes for a few moments…

They had reached Joplin late last night, where the layover stretched two extra hours due to a storm in Kansas, which had delayed their connecting bus. Murph had made a futile attempt to rent a car while Sable had watched the doors at the station, expecting either Noah's killers or the police.

When they'd finally boarded this bus at 3:30 a.m., Sable had been jumpy with paranoia, suspiciously studying the four other passengers, including a teenage boy and a gray-haired lady.

By the time they reached Cassville, near the Missouri-Arkansas border, the temperature took another plunge, freezing rain on the windshield. These conditions could be dangerous.

Sable looked out on the wilderness of the Mark Twain National Forest as the bus lumbered around the curves of Highway 86. The engine muffled the sound of rainfall. The methodic swish of the wipers was hypnotic….

The driver's alarmed grunt startled Sable. The redheaded woman worked the steering wheel, her muscular arms taut with tension. The roads had quickly become opaque with ice.

Jerri, the driver, had held conversations with everyone on the bus. She was a good tour guide, but her driving skills stank.

Sable straightened in her seat. “We're getting close,” she told Murph. “Only a couple more miles.” She wasn't aware of her tightly clenched hands until Murph touched them.

“It won't help to try to drive the bus for her.” His steady baritone held reassurance.

In fact, Paul Murphy had been a calming influence since the day she'd met him—a good quality in a paramedic, and especially good right now.

“I'll feel better once we're off the road,” she said.

Murph nodded. “Apparently, this storm didn't show up on the weather reports or we'd still be stranded in Joplin.”

“Happens a lot in this area,” Sable said. “I just hope the rain stops soon, because we'll have to walk to my family's house.”

“There's no one who can pick us up?”

She shook her head. “I tried calling and got the answering machine. One of my brothers lives in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. My mother was planning to stay with him for a while after my grandfather's funeral.”

Fortunately, Sable had been able to persuade Jerri to let them off at the end of the quarter-mile drive to the farmhouse when they reached their destination.

“My father died when I was sixteen,” Sable told Murph. “Mom moved with me and my two brothers back here to my grandfather's place and this has been home ever since.” She instinctively grasped the pocket watch that dangled from a chain around her neck. Sadness overwhelmed her.

“You wear that all the time,” Murph observed.

“Grandpa gave it to me this Christmas. When I was little, I loved to sit on his lap, wind this watch, and listen to it tick. It doesn't tick anymore, but I still have the memories.”

“Hold tightly to those,” Murph said.

She looked up at him, her gaze drawn to the red welts on his neck. “I'm so sorry, Murph. I feel awful about—”

“That's your fourth and final apology.” He touched the scratches. “You have a few self-defense tricks, but I could show you more effective techniques, if you promise not to use them on me.”

“Just identify yourself before I strike.” She kept her voice soft. “Do you think anyone else here—” she nodded toward the others on the bus “—hails from Freemont?”

“I don't know, but I admit I'll be relieved when we make it to the house,” he said.

“Me too, but you heard that conversation at the canal last night.” She lowered her voice, gave a quick glance around the bus. “Those men will know where to look for me, don't you think?”

“Don't borrow trouble.”

“I won't borrow it, but I want to be prepared.” She glanced out the window. “If only I knew more.” She had lost the papers she'd gathered at Noah's house when she'd plunged into the canal.

“I wish we hadn't been forced to leave Noah's body the way we did,” she said, still feeling the shock of his murder.

Murph nodded, silent. She couldn't miss the taut jaw and flaring of nostrils—suppressed emotion.

“You and Noah really took to each other, didn't you?”

Murph paused. “He was special.” He looked at Sable. “He did not believe your grandfather was guilty of fraud.”

“He talked to you about that?”

“This past week everyone's been talking about it.”

“Noah was right,” she said. “Grandpa wouldn't have defrauded his friends. It's true that he'd been in debt for years, but he was almost solvent again when he died.”

The bus slid. Sable's hand closed around Murph's forearm. After an uncertain moment, the bus glided to a stop at the road's edge. Sable released her grip on Murph. Another mile or so, and they would be off this bus. She'd rather walk in the freezing rain than risk an accident on the cliffs up ahead.

“Josiah wasn't a prospector, was he?” Murph asked softly as the bus driver eased her foot from the brake.

Sable glance at Murph. She knew he was only trying to distract her from the road, but she'd overheard several comments around Freemont about Grandpa's intentions when he went into debt again to purchase the Seitz mine.

“He didn't salt that mine,” she said. “He and Noah were misinformed about the layout of the land before they purchased it. They should have checked it out, but they didn't plant ore in it later to save their necks.”

“Didn't their third partner have some input?”

“That would be Otis Boswell. Our
employer,
” she stressed. “The man practically owns Freemont, so why pull a shoddy deal like that for a few more bucks?”

“How well do you know him?” Murph asked.

Sable shrugged. “He once lived here in Missouri. His land adjoined ours. He and Grandpa hunted together sometimes. They weren't great friends, but Grandpa never turned down a hunting trip.” Her voice caught. She felt lost and vulnerable.

Murph gently patted her hand.

“Why did you come with me?” Sable asked.

For a moment, he didn't reply, and again she saw the tautening of his expression, that quiet caution.

“I couldn't let you try to get here by yourself,” he said. “What if you'd been followed?”

“You've known me, what, six weeks? Why didn't you run?”

“They'll be after both of us once they discover we didn't die in that canal. We're safer together than apart.” He glanced out the window. “How is your family home set up for security?”

“It isn't,” she said. “We've never had need for it, but the house is built over the mouth of a cave. It could serve as a hideaway if necessary.”

“At the station, you told me about some evidence your grandpa gathered. Evidence about what? About whom?”

“Good question.”

“Wouldn't he have left something like that in a bank safe-deposit box?”

“Not necessarily. He often returned home on the weekends, and if he had documents of any kind, he would've brought them.”

“So they'd be in the house somewhere.”

“Maybe. There's an old safe upstairs in the attic, but no one except Grandpa knew the combination. He could be very secretive about some subjects.” Her dear, stubborn grandfather.

“We have to find out what happened,” Murph said.

She glanced outside, studied the landmarks, and then got to her feet. “I'd better go tell the driver we're getting close.”

Murph pulled their coats from the overhead compartment and followed Sable to the front. Four rows up, a chubby man the driver had called Perry Chadwick snored softly, his arm flung out in front of him.

The bus lurched and Sable grabbed the seat beside her, earning a glare from the hard-muscled man who sat there. Simmons was his name, if she remembered correctly.

With a quick apology, Sable and Murph continued forward.

The driver glanced into the wide rearview mirror as they approached. “It's getting worse. Better sit down.”

Sable took a place beside the elderly woman seated behind the bus driver. “Jerri, you can drop us off just around the next curve, past the speed limit sign.”

The driver nodded.

Sable's seatmate flashed a smile. “You're getting off at the old Kessinger Cave?”

“You know of it?” Sable asked.

“Who doesn't? I lived in the area years ago.” She held her hand out. “I'm Audry Hawkins, and—”

The bus lurched sideways in a long, icy glide. The darkened tree line swept nearer in a smooth arc. Sable knew the ground dropped steeply here. She held her breath as the bus slid toward the precipice with almost casual grace.

Jerri's face was white as she wrestled the steering wheel and pumped the brake. The bus slowly straightened, once more parallel with the center line when it came to a stop.

Again, Sable thought about the cliffs ahead. The next time the bus lost traction, the result might not be so fortunate.

“If there was another way to get where I'm going,” Audry murmured softly, “I'd have taken it.”

“What is your destination?” Sable asked.

“My great-nephew is getting married in Eureka Springs,” Audry said. “Thorncrown Chapel. His bride wanted to be married on Valentine's Day.” She shook her head and murmured under her breath, “Far be it from me to question the girl's judgment. I'm just the elderly great-aunt.”

The muscle-bound man with the steel gaze—Simmons—came down the aisle. “In case you hadn't noticed,” he said to the bus driver in a gravelly voice, “this road is dangerous. If they're getting off here, so am I.”

“Agreed,” came the high-pitched, nervous voice of the chubby man behind them. “I don't relish plunging to an early death in these hills. Couldn't we park until this blows over?”

Jerri shook her head. “Do you folks really want to camp out here for two or three days? It could take that long before the road is cleared. I have a responsibility to get my passengers to their destinations, and—”

“Alive,” Simmons snapped. “Doesn't your license say anything about that?” He peered at the photo ID displayed at the front of the bus, then muttered a curse. “That's not your license up there. It isn't your picture. What's going on here?”

“The driver who was scheduled for this run called in sick,” Jerri explained. “I'm the last-minute substitution.”

“Have you driven this route before?” the chubby man asked.

Jerri hesitated, then said, “It's a new route for me.”

“You don't know the route?” Audry Hawkins exclaimed.

The chubby man groaned. “I didn't need to know that.”

“Let me get this straight,” Simmons growled. “It's raining sleet, we've got a road that bends like a pretzel, and a clueless driver. There's not another car on this road, unless you count the pickup in the ditch.”

Sable cleared her throat and spoke into the tense silence. “Perhaps we
should
stop for a while.” She didn't want to do this, but what other choice was there? “I know this road. I've seen cars that have plunged off the cliffs up ahead.”

“But we can't just pull over and stop, with nowhere to go,” Jerri said.

Sable closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. A few months ago, she might have allowed the bus to continue on and hope for the best, but now—due to Noah's influence—she knew she couldn't let it happen.

“Our drop-off place is only a couple hundred feet ahead,” she said, “before the cliffs. You can't tackle the cliffs on this ice.” Sable hesitated, then gave in to the inevitable. “There's room at the house for everyone.” She wouldn't be able to live with herself if five people plunged to their deaths because she was trying to save her own life.

BOOK: Hidden Motive
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