Hidden Summit (14 page)

“Well, he’s a good man,” Conner said. “He might get a little unhappy with me, but he’s not going to retaliate by giving my current address to Mathis. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Brie took a moment to turn her back on him as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She turned back to him. “You really thought about this. What did it? What changed your mind? Made you put together all these plans? Leslie?”

“Leslie is so awesome,” he said. “But seriously, it’s not like we’re ready to make a commitment or anything—we haven’t known each other too long and we both have some pretty kinky exes to overcome. That’s why I want more time with her—I’m not tossing this away before it’s had a chance. It was your husband,” he said. “Mike.”

“Mike?”

“Decorated police officer. According to Jack, not only a bunch of medals in the Marine Corps but a commendation as a sergeant in the gangs unit. Here’s a guess,” he said, looking at Mike. “You’ve testified against a lot of bad guys. And you didn’t go into hiding.”

Mike gave him a small smile. “A ton of bad guys. And I did keep a very discreet profile. Still do. But I do agree with you about one thing—if Mathis doesn’t stop you before you testify—I think the revenge factor is fairly slim. He might be that kind of criminal, but I’m sure he’ll have bigger things on his mind. Mathis is a businessman, not a psycho. Killing you afterward isn’t going to get him much—just maybe scratch an itch. He might be too busy for that.”

“You face the same threat every day,” Conner said. “The revenge possibility.”

“As does Mrs. Valenzuela,” he said. “She put away a lot of felons.”

“There you go,” Conner said.

“One of them escaped conviction and attacked me,” Brie said. “Remember that.”

“I’ll never forget it,” Conner said. “I’m so sorry that happened. I really am. And I still think my plan is a good one.”

“Everything changes, of course, if he somehow gets another trial and you are once again the only witness that can hurt him,” Mike said.

“I guess I’ll have to count on Max to run a tight prosecution and make it stick then, won’t I? I’ll take my chances. I’ll let you break it to Max.”

“Oh, gee. Thanks.”

“We just gotta get this over with,” he said. “Really.”

“Well, how about this compromise—wait till after the trial to visit your sister....”

He was shaking his head. “Sorry. She’s my only family. Those boys are like my sons. The risk is now, not so much after the trial. I need to see them before something…” He dropped his chin and didn’t say,
before someone gets to me to keep me from testifying.
“Now. Before the trial. Who’s gonna know anyway?”

“At least do this for me—fly out of an airport that isn’t real high-profile. A smaller airport—Redding, maybe. Avoid the big airports if possible, especially the ones near Sacramento where associates of Mathis’s might happen to be.”

“I can do that.”

Conner emailed Katie. He asked her to email him her address, using their new, secure email handles and accounts. Katie was in Burlington, Vermont. And then he called her.

“But you can’t come here, Conner! You’ve been told not to do that!”

“I’m going to slip out of here in a couple of weeks,” he said. “I’ll let you know when to expect me. I’ll spend a few days to a week with you. By then it will be time or almost time for me to go to court. After that it will be over and we can get on with our lives. But, Katie, you and I have things to talk about.
Where
we’ll get on with our lives, for one thing. There are so many things to think about. The boys being a first priority.”

With a little catch in her throat, she said, “You are so wonderful. No matter how complicated things get for you, you always put them first.”

“It isn’t hard to do that, honey. I’ll always do whatever I have to do to make sure they’re in the best possible place.”

Their conversations were always pretty brief, so after a few minutes on the phone, they said their goodbyes, leaving Conner time to think about the future. Despite the fact that it caused a little ache in his heart to think of his only family living on the other coast, if they were happy there, he’d manage. He might end up spending more on travel expenses than he could afford, but the most important thing was that his sister and the boys have a good life.

The second most important thing was that he tell Leslie the truth and give her some time to consider the fact that she was lied to. He gave himself permission to wait until the weekend, when there would be time to talk it all out. While she went to her Saturday yoga group, he went to her house, cut the grass and watered her flowers. He bought himself a steak and the sea bass he knew she loved, along with all the other dinner trimmings that would please her.

When she got home and saw what he’d done, she smiled and said, “Someone wants something....”

“Understanding, that’s what I want,” he said. “Les, I’ve never lied about my feelings for you—they’re real and they’re real powerful. But a lot of the rest of my personal history is a lie.”

“Oh, God,” she said. “Oh, Conner…what?”

“It’s actually Danson Conner,” he said.

Conner was surprised by the weight it lifted off his shoulders just to be able to tell Leslie the whole story, even though she was shocked. Stunned. Pretty much blown away.

They were seated at her little kitchen table, facing each other, because this wasn’t a conversation for bed or for the porch, where they might be overheard. When he got to the part about being the only witness in a murder trial, thus the name change and low-profile existence in Virgin River, she let her head drop to the table with a groan.

“I’m sorry, Les,” he said.

She lifted her head wearily. “It’s not like you planned it....”

“When I said I had baggage, it was more than a divorce and those trust issues.”

“No kidding.”

“You would probably be smart to cut your losses here and now.”

“What does that mean? You mean kick you to the curb?”

He gave a little shrug. “The reason no one knows where I am or who my close friends are is because I’ve been threatened. My store was burned down. And the reason no one but me and the D.A. knows where Katie and the boys are is because we can’t take the chance that they would be threatened to get to me. We won’t be going back to Sacramento, where we’ve lived almost our entire lives, because we’d make too visible a target in the unlikely case of revenge.”

“Where will you go?”

“Not sure. Katie likes it where she is, but that’s not a final decision. I like it here, but that’s not a final decision, either.”

“And after the trial? Is your life in danger after the trial?” She wanted to know.

“Always possible, if you consider revenge. But I’m not a mobster testifying against mobsters.... I’m just a guy who was taking out the trash. I’ll keep this new identity and start over, but I’m not planning to hide in deep cover like secret witnesses in a marshal’s program. You know—like never make a phone call to friends or visit them. Every witness to any crime faces the possibility of revenge, I guess. But if the guy is locked up, getting rid of me won’t help him. Might even make things worse for him. I think I’m at risk before the trial. Which is why I’m going to visit Katie and the boys before I have to go testify. While I can…”

“You should,” she said.

“It would be hard to give you up, but like I said…”

“Right—cut my losses. Well, not before you cook and serve me that sea bass, that’s for sure.”

He smiled at her. “Maybe after I finish the dishes?” he asked.

“Maybe after you finish me,” she said. “But unlikely. If you decide to go away, I won’t try to hold on to you. You’re free to go, you know that. But I’m not going to give you up just because you come with a few complications. You’re too good in the kitchen.”

“I don’t want to put a strain on you....”

“Oh, I think we’ll manage. Now before we enjoy a splendid meal and some wild monkey sex, is there anything else you should tell me?”

“You mean other than a crazy ex-wife and a murderer who could be after me? No, that probably covers it.”

Twelve

J
ack actually heard the motorcycle pull into town before he saw the biker. The Harley had a fierce rumble, like someone had poked a screwdriver into the muffler a few times. On purpose. He glanced out the side window behind the bar and saw a roadster with high handle bars parked right next to the bar. Seconds later its rider ambled in.

He was a big guy with a lot of leather and hair, long retro sideburns and a shaggy goatee. And it kind of surprised Jack to note a wedding band.

“Afternoon, pardner,” Jack said.

“Hey,” the guy answered. “Just a cup of coffee while I think about food. And while you’re pouring that, can I trouble you for the restroom?”

“Absolutely. Right through the kitchen there. Be sure you hit the one with the sign on the door and don’t make a wrong turn into the cook’s residence.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said, making his way through the door.

He was back momentarily, looking a little spruced up. His long hair, which had been a little matted down where it wasn’t wild and crazy, had been combed into a fresh pony tail; he might’ve washed his face.

“Get the bugs out of your teeth?” Jack asked.

“Pretty much,” he said, lifting his coffee cup. “It’s a beautiful day out there.”

“This place really lights up in spring,” Jack said. “Where you headed?”

“Don’t know,” he answered. “Just around. What’s good today?”

“There’s the irony,” Jack said. “There’s no choice, but it doesn’t matter—everything is good here. It’s whatever the cook dreams up. Today it’s a seafood bouillabaisse—there was a special on lobster and scallops.”

“Damn,” he said. “That sounds awesome!”

“It is. Has a coconut base and Preacher said to be sure to tell anyone who’s gonna eat it, there are peanuts in it. Not a lot, but they’re there. The way he tells it, people who are allergic to peanuts can’t take the smallest amount.”

“No problem. I love peanuts.” He looked at his watch. “Am I too early for some of that?”

“I think I can talk him out of some even though you’re a little ahead of the dinner crowd. Excuse me a second.” Jack went to the kitchen door to ask the question. “Fifteen minutes,” he said to the biker. “Can I get you some bread and butter to tide you over?”

“I’ll be okay, thanks,” he said. “But I’ll have some with the bouillabaisse, if you don’t mind.”

“My pleasure. Your bike was pretty loud coming into town....”

“Hope I didn’t wake anyone from a nap,” he said. “I have a couple of problems with the engine and muffler. I could work on it now, but it’s safe, and after I eat, I’m headed home.” He got up, took off his leather jacket and hung it on the hook by the door, ready to get down to some serious eating. When he came back to his stool at the bar, Jack couldn’t help but notice the tattoo of a naked woman on his forearm.

“Where’s home?”

“Sacramento. How long you been up here?”

“Jeez, seven or eight years now. Best move of my life,” Jack said.

“You get a lot of bikers through here?”

“Just now and then,” Jack said with a shrug.

“I’m surprised you don’t get a lot of big groups. The roads up this way are just the kind riding clubs go looking for. In fact, that’s what I’m doing—scouting. We have a group ride coming up and I’m putting together a plan for a road trip. From the mountains to the coast, challenging roads, incredible views. I don’t get this far north too often.”

“You’re welcome to spread the word, as long as we don’t attract gangs,” Jack said.

“I don’t belong to a gang and I don’t hang with ’em.”

“Some of the riding clubs can get a little wild, can’t they?”

The man shrugged. “Maybe. What’s wild?”

“Get drunk, start fights, tear up the town,” Jack speculated.

“That sounds awful,” he said. “I wouldn’t hang with a group like that. That sounds like jail time and a big fine, not to mention a bill for property damage.”

Jack grinned. “We don’t look much alike, but it turns out we think a lot alike.”

“Looks like you just got out of the service. Seven years up here, you say?”

“I guess it’s always going to look that way,” Jack said, running a hand over his head. “Twenty in the Marine Corps. You get used to combing your hair with a washcloth and it’s hard to change. You do any military service?”

“I did not,” he said. “And I thank you for yours.” He put out his hand.

“My pleasure to serve,” Jack said, shaking his hand. “I’m Jack.”

“Walt.” Preacher came out of the kitchen with a steaming bowl and basket of bread on a tray. Walt actually rubbed his hands together. “I’m really looking forward to this.”

That brought a slight smile from Preacher. “I’ve only made this once before, but it was a hit.”

“No menu, huh?”

“I can’t keep this kitchen on budget if I cater to the town. I do try to keep in mind what the hunters and fishermen like, but that’s so easy it’s almost embarrassing. It’s wet and cold—they have favorite stews, soups, chili, and of course, they want something like their kill or catch—venison stew or chili, salmon or stuffed trout.”

While Preacher talked, Walt dipped his spoon into the bouillabaisse. The first sip of the creamy broth had him rolling his eyes back in his head and humming with approval. “When’s hunting season?” he asked. “I don’t hunt, but I eat like a champ.”

“You cook?” Preacher asked.

“Not at all. The two best things about riding are the views and finding the best places to eat. There are hidden gems like this place all over California—the back roads. My wife won’t even ride with me more than once every couple of weeks anymore—she loves to eat as much as me, but says I’m making her fat.” He shook his head. “Women are funny that way.”

“I have a wife and four sisters,” Jack said. “There’s a lot of talk about butts and thighs.”

“I hear a lot about that, too,” Walt said, dipping into that bouillabaisse again. “I don’t know what she’s worrying about, but whatever makes her happy. Look at me? Am I Tom Cruise or something?” He fished out a scallop and popped it in his mouth.

“Happy wife, happy life,” Preacher said.

“Preacher, this is inspired. You have a gift.”

Jack and Preacher both watched as Walt fished a lobster tail out of the stew and halved it with his spoon.

“There’s this little hole in the wall in Paradise owned by this Hungarian guy. He and his son do all the cooking. It’s amazing—one of my favorite places. Pull up to it and you think it’s a shack, a lean-to. Inside? Crystal and white tablecloths and the best food I’ve ever eaten. Then there’s a really small restaurant in Napa I love. I think they only seat about a dozen patrons, but it’s fantastic. Fancy and pricey, but they earned it.” He chewed, swallowed. “That’s pretty much my hobby—road trips and restaurants.”

“I could get into that,” Preacher said.

Walt grinned. “Get a little more hair on you, you’d be a natural.”

“I don’t want to interrupt your meal,” Jack said. “But I’d sure like to hear about your bike club.”

“Well,” he said, chewing, swallowing. “Well, I’m associated with a few bike clubs through the shop. This group I’m scouting for—they’re a little rough around the edges—these are not IBM sales reps out for a weekend ride. They take their bikes and rides pretty seriously, and they’re safe as babies, but I think they’ll appreciate it if you act a little scared when they show up.” Then he grinned and went after the stew again.

“Might have to practice that,” Preacher said, and Walt chuckled through his mouthful. Preacher gave him a half smile. “Give him a discount, Jack. The man shows the proper reverence for my work.” Then he went back to the kitchen.

“There should be four to six of them in this group,” Walt went on. “We’ll be back about a month from now. We can camp, but if there’s lodging around here that would make for a good base, point me to it, will you? These guys are not as into the restaurant part of the trip as I am. I’m planning on spending some quality time with Preacher.”

The door to the bar opened, and Conner came in, dragging off his hat as he entered.

“There are some cabins along the river, owned by a friend of mine. I have no idea how booked he is. Conner here stays in one. Conner, meet Walt. Walt here is a front man for a group of riders, checking out the area for a road trip.”

“Hey,” Conner said, putting out his hand. “Where are you from?”

“Sacramento area. You?”

“Colorado,” he said a bit uncomfortably. “Road trip, huh?”

“We do that kind of thing a lot,” Walt said. He dove into his stew again. When he came up for air, he asked Jack to write down some directions to the cabins for him and Jack slipped down the bar a bit where he had a pad of paper and began writing.

“And what do you do when you’re not planning a road trip?” Conner asked.

“Work in a bike shop. Big surprise, huh? I’m pretty good with a wrench. You?”

“Build and remodel kitchens and bathrooms. I’m pretty good with a hammer and saw. That your bike out there?”

“Not exactly,” Walt said. “I’ve been working on that bike for a customer. Kind of a pet project. I’ll be riding my own bike when we come back up here, but I told my customer I wanted to take his bike out on the road for a long ride before turning it over. Good thing I did, too. That bike isn’t ready.” He plucked out some fish, ate it, wiped his lips and beard with a napkin. “Gave me a pretty good ride, though. I’ll give him a break on the repairs.”

Conner tried to keep the suspicion from his eyes. “I took a friend’s bike out on some back roads along the Pacific cliffs recently and I have to say—I liked that. If I wanted to buy a good bike and was willing to go to Sacramento, where would you recommend I shop?”

Walt stood up to reach inside the pocket of his jeans. He had chains around the heels of his boots, a long chain connecting the wallet in his back pocket to a belt loop and keys attached to the opposite belt loop. He pulled out a pretty limp business card, worn from a long ride in the pocket of his jeans, and handed it to Conner. It said,
Walt Arneson, Maintenance and Sales, Harley-Davidson.

“Call me at that number. I’ll meet you at one of the dealerships and show you some good stuff.” Then he put out his hand. “I’m Walt. And you’re?”

“Conner,” he said. “Conner Dan…Conner Danforth.”

“Look forward to it, Conner.” Then he turned back to the bar and put his hand out to Jack. “Thanks, man. That was outstanding. Thank Preacher for me.” He took Jack’s directions to the cabins, stuffed it in his pocket and shook his hand. Then he pulled out his wallet and put a couple of twenties on the bar.

“Whoa,” Jack said. “Put one of those back and I’ll get you some change.”

“Keep it,” Walt said. “The company was almost as excellent as the food. See you in about a month.”

“We’ll be here,” Jack said.

Walt left, and it was only a moment before the loud rumble of the cycle filled the afternoon.

“Okay, that was a little weird,” Jack said. “Your last name is Danson.”

“Yeah. Right at the last minute I didn’t feel like giving him my name.” Conner shrugged. “He looked a little, I don’t know, like a Hell’s Angel or something.”

“Yeah, he looks that way but I didn’t get a bad vibe off the guy. He’s got a job, he loved Preacher’s bouillabaisse, in fact, he was a nice guy for a big, hairy, tattooed biker. But then, I’ve gotten used to all kinds of strange characters up in these mountains.”

“Did I offend you?” Conner asked.

“Well, no. But that was a little weird. That you would be skittish like that. You got me and Preacher if you get scared.” And after saying that, Jack grinned.

Conner slapped a hand against his chest. “Oh, man, I forgot about that. Next time I’ll remember and offer the strange dude my phone and social security numbers.”

“Wiseass. You in here for a reason?”

“A beer, if it’s not too much trouble. You want ID?”

Jack served him up a beer. “You and Leslie going out to Dan and Cheryl’s this weekend for their housewarming?”

“Absolutely. I was wondering, what do you think I should give them as a gift? Do you think they’d like some good wine?”

Jack grinned. “Nah,” he said. “Dan has an occasional beer and as far as I know, Cheryl doesn’t drink alcohol.” The door to the bar opened, and the first of the dinner crowd ambled in. “Something for the house. Or something nonalcoholic. Hey, folks,” Jack greeted the newcomers. He moved away from Conner.

Conner drove down the mountain in search of bars for his phone for two purposes—to call Katie and the boys and to call Brie.

“Hey, Brie, Conner here. This is probably nothing, but I ran into a biker at the bar—big, kind of scary-looking guy from Sacramento. He said he was scouting out the area for a road trip. I got his business card—he works for Harley-Davidson. He asked my name and I fudged it a little bit.”

“Did you get the impression he was looking for you or something?” Brie asked.

“Not really. But it seemed an interesting coincidence. Can you check him out, make sure he’s not a hit man or something?”

“Finding out who he is won’t be the same as finding out if he’s a hit man, Conner. Hit men usually have a nice, legitimate cover.”