Searching for Secrets (23 page)

So, he'd been trying to find her. When she wasn't giving herself rope burn as she tried to free herself Christa had visions of Kirk with the young woman she'd seen him with two nights ago. She started to ask about her, then closed her mouth. Not exactly the time and place. She was finding it hard to reconcile the two sides of Kirk Reynolds -- family man or self-defined stud?

"Uh, oh." Kirk gestured to the older blue Chevrolet pulling into the driveway of the house the drug dealer was in. "Looks like it's no coincidence that Freddy was in that store."

Christa felt an intense pang of sorrow. She had so wanted to be wrong about Mr. Watkins. "Maybe," she groped for words, "maybe Freddy forced Mr. Watkins to help him." She had trusted the store owner almost as much as her own father. How could he be involved with the likes of Freddy Chambers?

Kirk slunk further down in the seat, so that only his eyes and the rim of his baseball cap could be viewed from outside the car. "Maybe, but not likely. Freddy didn't exactly let you go once he had you against your will."

The garage door began to rise, and Christa assumed that it had opened so Mr. Watkins could enter. He began to, but as soon as it had risen the green sedan backed out.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

KIRK'S INSTINCTS told him to follow Freddy. If there was a delivery to be made, it was more likely to happen away from this well-to-do neighborhood. Before he had time to decide, the passenger door opened.

He grabbed for the back of Christa's coat, but she was out the door before he could get a grip on her. "Where are you going?"

With an expletive he wouldn't even use in the police station, Kirk started the engine. "Stay out of sight!" he yelled, as he pulled away from the curb.

STAY OUT OF SIGHT, she thought. It would be a lot easier to do that on a crowded city street. If she were to duck behind a hedge or crouch in a window well, someone would surely call the police to report a prowler.

Christa stuck both hands in her coat pocket and strolled away from the neatly-landscaped yard that surrounded the ranch-style house. A leisurely walk would attract less attention. She crunched her left hand into a fist around the portion of the cast that wrapped around her thumb. It was gritty with dirt from the cellar, and some of it had gotten under the cast. It itched.

She wanted a chance to examine the house and yard without attracting attention. The best way to do that was to walk toward it, and she needed to get further away before she turned around to study it. Christa glanced at the houses she walked by. Neat brick with carefully painted trim spoke of careful maintenance, probably by paid help.

The cross street loomed in front of her. Idly Christa walked to the mailbox and drew her hand from her pocket. Anyone looking would think she was simply mailing a letter. She turned to retrace her steps.

She stooped, pretending to tie a shoe, and eyed Mr. Watkins' house. Or Freddy's, she thought. The house was built into a hill, so only the front of the basement was fully underground. Beneath the main level was a full walk-out basement. The gentle slope ended at woods that Christa knew to be the boundary for City Park. No wonder Freddy was able to elude the police so easily the day he traded Amy for the hard drives. Her eyes fell on a "Neighborhood Watch" sign, which announced the residents' efforts to safeguard each others' homes. They should only know.

Christa decided the best place to be was behind the house. Few people could see her there, and she might have a chance to look in a window. She scanned the two houses on either side of the brown ranch. The one on the right had every shade open, there was a tricycle on the front lawn, and the several pumpkins on the porch announced they were ready for trick-or-treaters. Too much activity. However, the drapes were drawn at the house on the left. No one was likely to see her walk through that yard.

She hurried into the yard and down the hill. Aware of every leaf that crunched under her feet, Christa walked close to the brick wall of the house next door. She paused and studied the light that shone though the slats of a mini-blind of the house Watkins was in. The blinds were not closed as tightly as they could be. If she were careful, Christa thought she could look inside.

At the sound of a car Christa stood next to the wall of the house. Dusk was her ally now, but it was still light enough for someone to see her if they glanced in her direction. The car continued down the street, and Christa walked the short distance from the neighbor's house to Freddy and Watkins' hideaway. She crouched beneath the window, waiting to see if Watkins had detected her approach. After a minute, she stood and peered in the window.

She had only a narrow field of vision; rather, several of them. Each slat in the mini-blind was slightly parted from the ones above and below it. She squinted. Mr. Watkins sat at a card table methodically regarding first a notebook in front of him and then several small piles of supplies that surrounded him. He seemed to be cross-checking some kind of a list.

Christa could see flattened boxes, packing tape, twine, scissors, and several small boxes stacked on one another. The box size reminded her of the ones that held a dozen of the mason jars her mother used to use to can apples from the tree that grew in their back yard. Watkins turned several pages in his notebook, then tore out some blank sheets and began to copy something from other pages.

The sound of the automatic garage door opener gave her a start. Watkins noticed it, too and he stood to greet whoever was arriving. Christa ducked down. Slowly she stood and looked in again. The room was empty. She ran across the lawn to the safety of the neighbor's lot, and ran around the back of that house and up the lawn on the other side. If Freddy had returned, it might mean Kirk had as well.

She had arrived in time to see the garage door being lowered. Christa looked down the street and saw a pair of headlights coming toward her. It was almost dark now. Any minute there would be trick-or-treaters on the street. An adult without a small child in tow would look very out of place. Christa turned her head away from the car. If it were Kirk, he would recognize her.

The car stopped and she heard the electronic window going down. "Not a good place for hitch hiking," he called out, softly.

She slid in as he leaned over to open the car door. "Not much going on in there, but whatever it is, it's in the basement." She described what she had seen Mr. Watkins doing.

"So maybe they'll both stay in the same room. That would help." Kirk steered the car to a parking space two houses away from the ranch." I finally got Hadley. He'll meet us here in about 10 minutes."

"Just Hadley?" Christa was surprised.

"He'll bring back-up. If he organizes it they'll approach quietly." Hands on the steering wheel, Kirk looked out the windshield, studying the house. "I told him no sirens. All we need to do is wait and watch."

Christa hated to wait. "I could show you where Watkins was working," she offered. She watched Kirk's mental struggle, knowing he was torn between wanting to know more and feeling it was his responsibility to keep her safe. Curiosity won.

"All right. We'll see if we can get a quick look." He studied her with a half-amused look. "I don't suppose it will do any good for me to say that if I say we clear out, we clear out."

"It will do all the good in the world," Christa said, feigning sweetness.

"I thought so," he said, dryly.

They retraced Christa's earlier path through the neighbor's yard and up to the small window. Now, the scene was quite different. Freddy had put together two of the boxes and was frantically putting all the supplies and several smaller boxes into them. Watkins entered walking at a faster pace than Christa had ever seen him move. His hands were full of boxes of cold medicine. One of the inexpensive meth ingredients, as she recalled, but harder to buy in such large quantities now.

"Damn," Kirk whispered. "They must be getting ready to move faster than we thought." He looked up and down the side of the house.

"There are windows in the back," Christa said, starting down the hill toward the basement entrance.

Still stooped over, Kirk walked quickly past her. By the time she stepped onto the concrete patio that led out of the basement door, Kirk was already peering in a window on the far side of the house. He motioned that she should join him.

"They're at the opposite side of this floor. I'm going to try to crack this and then pull the glass out rather than smash it in." Using the butt of his gun and a handkerchief to muffle the sound, Kirk tapped on the glass hard. On the third try, he was rewarded with a large crack and a small hole.

Christa held her breath as a few tiny pieces of glass fell to what appeared to be the laundry room floor. She told herself that if she couldn't hear it hit the concrete floor, Watkins and Freddy couldn't either.

Kirk used the handkerchief to pull the glass out, quickly discarding the pieces on the grass. When he was done, he turned and handed Christa his gun. "Hold this while I go through. This is the safety latch." He met her eyes for a moment, and Christa saw the determination. If Freddy had really sold Kirk's nephew the drugs that killed him, he was about to regret it forever.

The window was almost four feet off the ground, so Kirk had to heave himself up and into it. He was just pulling his second leg through the window when the door to the laundry room opened with a slam as it hit the wall and the light glared. Christa ducked.

"Just who I wanted to see." Freddy's mocking tone had no humor in it. Christa looked left and right. She didn't think anyone was coming to check outside. Hadley would be there soon. Should she wait for him?

"I'm going to really enjoy getting you off my back, cop," Freddy continued.

"Not going to be that easy," Kirk said.

She couldn't wait. Christa stood and pointed the gun through the window. "I think you're the monkey on his back," she said, surprised at the coolness in her voice. Still looking Freddy in the eye, she eased the latch off the safety position. "You could shoot me, but I'd still get you, too."

Freddy emitted a low whistle. "The little school teacher took some lessons from Houdini. I didn't expect to see you again. Not alive, anyway."

He's too relaxed. Why isn't he more worried? "Drop your gun," she said. "After what you've done, I wouldn't mind shooting you." Christa paused for effect. "Not one bit."

There was a flicker of worry in Freddy's eyes, but it quickly passed. "Whatever you say, big girl." His thin lips curled into a tight grin. Slowly he lowered the gun to the floor.

"Kick it over here--gently," Kirk ordered. Eyes never leaving Freddy, he stooped to retrieve it.

As she started to lower Kirk's police revolver, which was far heavier than it looked, Christa realized she heard the garage door opening. Of course, Freddy wasn't worried because he thought Watkins would get away. Watkins and the delivery.

She turned to run up the hill toward the front of the house. "Christa, don't!" Freddy's laugh and Kirk's yell echoed in her ears as she ran through the leaves that littered the incline. The driveway was on this side of the house. She would be that much closer to the car.

Christa remembered the safety was still off the gun and she moved it further away from her side. She didn't need to shoot herself in the foot.

Watkins' car was pulling out as she got to the top of the slope. She ran up to it and banged on the side with her cast. "Ow!"

He jerked to a stop, and Christa could tell by his rapid look from side to side that he thought he had hit something.

She tapped on the glass on the passenger side. "Get out." She raised the gun so he could see it. "I said get out."

Watkins slowly hunched forward a couple of inches. Christa watched the fear in his eyes turn to resignation. She supposed she should be worried that he was armed as well, but something told her the man she had thought so highly of wouldn't shoot her. Instead, still staring at her, he put his hand on the transmission stick and put the car in park.

The front door flew open and Kirk shoved Freddy into the stream of light it shed. "Christa?"

"I'm all right," she replied. "Mr. Watkins is about to get out of his car." She kept her eyes on him as he opened the car door and eased himself out. As he walked the short distance toward the house, Christa's eyes met Kirk's. She didn't recognize the expression. Relief, maybe.

Kirk turned to Freddy, pointing the man's own gun at him. "Get back inside." He motioned to Watkins, "You, too."

Kirk held the door as Watkins and then Christa walked into the large living room. Christa sensed his excitement, and was surprised. Surely this was the kind of thing he was used to. His eyes caught hers for a brief moment and there was the same unreadable expression.

He turned his attention back to the two men in front of him. "Sit." Kirk gestured to the small sofa, one of the few pieces of furniture in the large living room.

Christa suppressed a giggle as the two men sat on the couch. From the wary expressions on their faces, it appeared they thought it would blow up when it came into contact with the seats of their pants. She glanced around the austerely furnished room and couldn't help contrasting it to the warmth in Hattie Isbell's much smaller front room. She assumed the sparse setting was simply an attempt to have it appear the house was more than a front for whatever drug business Freddy and Mr. Watkins operated.

"What are you waiting for, cop?" Freddy's sneering expression was reflected in his words. "Afraid to shoot us?"

"I'm not saying I wouldn't mind an excuse." Kirk kept the gun trained on them. "If you're lucky, my back-up should arrive in a minute and his finger may be less loose."