SHATTERED (14 page)

The row of tapioca-colored garages with red roofs stretched on for what appeared to be miles, crisscrossed now and again by roads leading to other rows of the same thing. The place had a desolate appearance. The van made the first left. Sarah followed the original row until a sign directed her to turn right. The numbers 114 to 118 were printed on a door that sat in the middle of a block of buildings. She parked the truck and tried the knob, which wasn’t locked. A weak light went on, revealing four more metal rolling doors, two on each side of a ten-foot hallway. One-eighteen was the last unit on the right. She propped open the outside door with a wedge of wood that looked as though that was its intended purpose.

She could hear the buzzing of the timer light and hurried down the hall as she felt around for the paper-wrapped key in the depths of her handbag, where she’d deposited it the day before. Emerging with just the key, she closed it in her hand as she spied a piece of pink paper taped to the door. She unfolded that to find an eviction notice dated several weeks before, warning that the lock would be changed and the contents of the unit confiscated if her dad didn’t settle his bill by the previous Friday. That was the day he had been killed. She stuffed the paper in her purse.

The padlock opened easily and she rolled up the door to reveal a very cold, very dark space piled high with shadowy boxes and other paraphernalia that looked as though it hadn’t been sorted or attended to in years.

An electric lantern hung beside the door, and she flipped the switch, rather surprised when the light flickered on. Illumination did not mitigate the mess, but she did find that the boxes had been labeled with a black marker. Most seemed to hold old tax records and business papers from a decade or more before; some seemed to be her mother’s old clothes, left behind in the divorce, but eventually, in the nearest corner, she came across the boxes she remembered packing so long ago. They had her initials printed on them in her dad’s writing.

For a second, she stood there and tried to feel his presence in the tiny room, but she couldn’t. He had to have been the one to bring everything here. She found a solid box to sit on, knowing the white wool dress would need a trip to the cleaners after this, and opened the first of three boxes.

Stuffed animals, rolled posters, boxes full of cheap jewelry, a collection of old CDs. She moved the box aside and opened the next one.

Under a layer of folded sweaters from a lifetime ago, she found the letters Johnny had written her, all stacked together, tied with a blue ribbon. She knew the exact date of the one she wanted and riffled through them until she found it. She opened the letter and stared at the words, reliving for a second that May day when Johnny had slipped it into her hand.

Baby,
it began,
don’t cry. I promised you...

The resounding slam of a closing metal door banged nearby and Sarah almost fell from her perch atop the box. Still holding the stack of letters, she peeked out into the hallway, which was now heavily shadowed as the hall light had gone off and the outside door was no longer open.

Had the wind blown it closed?

Sarah stuffed the dozen or so letters into her purse and walked toward the door. She was afraid to open it because it felt as if someone was out there, waiting for her to emerge. She switched on the overhead light again and went back to relock the garage, then worked up her courage, finally opening the outside door.

The truck sat just as she’d left it, looking more than ever like a casualty of war with its broken window and line of bullet holes running down the side. She couldn’t see anyone else, but there was a feeling of being watched that raised goose bumps on her arms. She glanced toward the highway, but it appeared empty, too. The wind had come up and blew down the narrow storage-lot roads like the icy breath of a ghost.

Sarah’s heartbeat thumped in her throat as she scurried around to climb inside the truck. She locked the doors despite the missing window. Gunning the engine, she made a quick U-turn and headed toward the gate.

It turned out she did need a code to exit. Opening her window, she tried her father’s birth date on the number pad, then the ranch address and a half dozen other numbers until she actually ran up against a memory of coming here with her father when she was a little girl. He’d made a big deal out of revealing the code was Sarah’s birthday. She’d assumed he’d changed it. She popped in the numbers and watched as the gate rolled back.

She glanced at her watch as she turned onto the highway and realized this had all taken longer than she’d thought. Nate was probably wondering where she’d taken his truck. She drove faster, switching on her lights when she got to the tunnel.

It was about twenty feet long and made a curve in the middle. Sarah had driven through it a thousand times in her life and she knew you had to slow down to make the turn. The exit was also on a curve and as a kid she’d been terrified the first time she sat behind the wheel, then exhilarated as her expertise increased and it became something of a challenge to accomplish the turns smoothly.

Today she barely thought about it at all until she was aware of lights suddenly popping up in her rearview mirror. They were right behind her as though they’d come out of nowhere, dropped from above or wrenched from the roadbed. Her instinct was to hit the brakes, but that would have created a collision, so she was forced to speed up instead. The lights moved out from behind her as if to pass, and she gripped the wheel tightly because the idiot was going to be in the wrong lane at a critical moment on the curve. If someone was coming the other way, it was going to be nasty....

The larger vehicle suddenly loomed beside her. The next thing she knew, it had rammed in her door, shoving Nate’s truck against the rock sides of the tunnel. The sound of screeching metal filled the cab as pieces of the truck flew off and disappeared in a flurry of sparks.

She tried applying the brakes, but the other truck was still pressing her inward. And then with a roar, it took off and sped out of sight around the curve. Meanwhile, Nate’s truck was still ground against the wall as though it couldn’t break free. She was almost around the bend herself. The truck finally broke away and shot out of the tunnel, Sarah fighting for control as the next curve was immediately upon her. She almost made it, too, but at the last minute, one of Nate’s tires climbed a boulder, rearing like a stallion before falling back to earth in a lopsided crash. Sarah took a breath, thinking the worst was over, but it wasn’t. The truck found a passage through the boulders and took off down the slope of the ravine, gaining speed.

Her foot still on the brake, Sarah rode the truck through bushes, headed for trees, snow flying in the wake until it came to an abrupt halt. The deployed air bag pinned her back against the seat.

By then she couldn’t feel a thing.

Chapter Fourteen

By the time Nate left the editor’s office, the skies above were dark and foreboding. While inside the windowless room, he’d overheard rumors that another storm was in the offing. Now, walking into the cold wind, it wasn’t hard to believe.

He’d been called in by Gallant because Morris Denton had made an appointment to talk to the sheriff’s department and Gallant thought Nate might want to sit in on the interview. While it had been hard to leave the editor’s office at that exact moment, Nate had come, curiosity about Denton overcoming curiosity about how Stew Netters would get his giant foot out of his mouth and save face with his son.

“Now, what can we do for you, Mr. Denton?” the sheriff asked.

Denton was thin to the point of bony, with hands that seemed too large for the rest of his body. Dressed in jeans and a black sweater, he looked to be about forty, give or take a few years. Most disconcerting to Nate was the vague look in the man’s eyes. Hardly the dynamo Nate had expected. He smoothed his longish brown hair away from his brow, rubbed his bearded cheek, then folded his hands in his lap. “I heard about Peter Jacks,” he said, his gaze shifting between Nate and Gallant. His voice was soft, his speech hesitant.

“Did you know Jacks?”

“I never met him. But a couple of the counselors expressed concern about him. I guess he’s been hanging around the facility with Jason Netters. What happened to Peter?”

“I’m afraid it’s an ongoing investigation,” Gallant said. “I can’t really discuss it with you.”

Denton shifted in his chair. “Sure, I can see that. Okay.”

“Is there anything else?” Gallant asked.

Denton shrugged. “No, I don’t think so. I...I just wanted to tell you you’re welcome to come out and ask questions or take a look around—whatever. I mean, the fact he’s been hanging out up there with us and then committed a crime, well, that could look bad, and you know, we depend on the community for support.”

“I thought you were independently financed,” Nate said.

“Sure. Yeah, we are. I mean, I am. I don’t mean financial support. I mean as in goodwill.”

“Oh, I see.”

He wobbled a little as he stood. Gallant heaved himself upward in response. “Are you okay?”

Denton nodded. “I’ve had the flu,” he said.

“Are you driving back up to the mountains tonight?” Gallant asked.

“No, I’m staying in town. I’ll go back tomorrow. Don’t worry about me. Good luck on your investigation.”

The sheriff thanked Denton for coming in, then saw him out of the office. When he returned, he looked Nate straight in the eye. “What do you think of that?” he asked.

“Drugs?” Nate mused.

“I’m going to make sure the lab does a full toxicology on the Jacks boy. I’ve met Denton before, but the past five months haven’t been kind to him. Sounds to me like an official visit is overdue up at that camp.”

“That’s just what Stew Netters said,” Nate commented. As he left the office, he thought again about Jason Netters. Before he’d left the editor’s office, Nate had made a point of greeting the boy. Jason had shaken his hand but hadn’t made eye contact. But more than that, the kid had given the impression it was taking every ounce of his willpower to stay in that room and not spin away. He’d brought an undercurrent with him, or maybe his father had introduced it with that ill-advised comment about shooting Mike Donovan. All very odd, and Nate found himself wondering if the editor had any idea how troubled his boy seemed to be.

Nate tried Sarah’s phone as he parked the rental in front of his motel room, but she didn’t answer. To be on the safe side, he went inside the room to make sure she wasn’t waiting for him, but the place smelled and looked as though it had recently been cleaned, and there was no sign that Sarah had been back there since before breakfast.

He knew she wasn’t at the sheriff’s office, so he veered toward the garage, thinking maybe she’d gone to get her stuff out of her mother’s car, though why she wouldn’t answer the phone if that was the case he didn’t know.

The guy at the garage turned as Nate approached him. He was in the act of locking the front door and he winced when he saw Nate. “Oh, man, I was afraid you’d get back before she did,” he said, pocketing his keys. “I gotta get home. I don’t know what’s taking her so long.”

“Are we talking about Sarah Donovan?”

“Yeah. She wanted to run some errand or other, and since her car won’t start, she asked to borrow your truck. She said she wouldn’t be long, but it’s been, like, three hours.”

“Do you know where she went?” Nate asked.

“Out past the tunnel. Just two or three miles, she said.”

“What’s out that way?”

“Not much. A truck yard and an old mining operation. Oh, and one of those storage places.” He pulled his coat tighter around his thin frame and added, “My dad is going to kill me when he finds out I let her take your truck. I guess I shouldn’t have, but I used to go to school with Sarah.” He flashed a shy smile and added, “I had a thing for her, but she only had eyes for Johnny Pierce. Still, she’s got a way about her.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Nate said. “Don’t worry about it. Did she take her suitcase out of her mother’s car?”

“No. Did she want it?”

“Yeah. Mind getting it for me?”

“Not at all. Wait here. I’ll go in through the garage door.”

He trotted off, opened a small door behind the office and disappeared. He was back a few minutes later with Sarah’s suitcase, which he handed to Nate.

* * *

N
ATE
KEPT
THINKING
about that key Sarah had taken from her dad’s safe. She’d explained it away by saying it concerned a personal matter. She’d also talked about a locker or garage her father rented in town. He had the gut feeling this personal matter concerned that storage locker and that she’d gone there to take care of something important to her. Reason said he should give her space to deal with whatever this was. He shouldn’t intrude.

But on the other hand, she’d been gone far longer than she’d told the guy at the garage she would be, she was driving a truck with no window and it was getting dark. Plus, there was a storm coming. What if the truck had given her trouble?

Or what if another kind of trouble had come her way? There’d been so much violence in the past few days he couldn’t rule anything out. In the end, he took off down the road.

U-Lock Garages was located 2.3 miles from town and was set down a slope from the highway. It was well lit with high overhead stanchions, and as the road passed it by, the whole thing could be seen from above. There wasn’t a single vehicle visible on any of the honeycombed lanes, or a human, either, for that matter. Nate drove down to the gate, but it was locked and the office inside the gate looked empty and dark.

Sarah wasn’t here.

He drove back toward town with his high beams on. About halfway through the tunnel, the lights revealed debris on the pavement and he slowed down. As the road was part of a blind curve at this point, he couldn’t stop the truck on the off chance someone would come up behind him, despite the fact he hadn’t met a single other car for at least a half mile. He drove out the tunnel and parked on the shoulder, grabbed a flashlight out of the center console and walked back into the tunnel.

The debris turned out to be broken red plastic from what looked like a taillight housing. He also saw the sparkle of glass. He swung the light in a circle and picked up what appeared to be a side mirror with a small convex mirror lens stuck to the only unbroken piece, just like the one he had mounted on his own vehicle to increase rearview visibility. Most of the mirror was shattered, which explained the glass.

He picked up the mirror and shined the light around again, and this time he saw white paint on the tunnel wall. That made his heart skip a beat. Running now, he headed for the opening, suddenly aware a vehicle was coming, its engine noise filling the tunnel. A second later, blinding lights came up behind him and passed with a blare of the horn that about shattered Nate’s eardrums. He kept running, following the red taillights until they broke into the night and disappeared around another turn.

Using a flashlight to investigate the side of the road, he found tire tracks in the snow that careened down the slope. His hands and face were freezing by this time, and his lungs stung from taking deep breaths, but all that disappeared as he started down the slope, shining the light at his feet so he wouldn’t trip and fall, noting the deep gouges and steamrolled bushes, until the light finally glinted off a silver bumper up ahead.

His white truck, all but invisible in the snow, appeared to have hit an old stump headfirst, popping the hood and stopping forward progress. Moving as fast as he could, Nate hurried to the driver’s door and shined his light at the window, but not only was it tinted glass, it was also covered with condensation on the inside. He could tell someone was in there. He just couldn’t see in what condition that someone might be. But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who was behind the wheel.

He yanked on the handle. It was locked. He suddenly remembered he carried his keys in his pocket and swore at himself as he fumbled with numb fingers to find them and hit the auto lock button. The truck beeped and the door finally opened, triggering the cab light.

Sarah sat behind the wheel, staring at him as though she’d been asleep and had just woken. She still wore her seat belt. The deflated air bag extruding from the steering wheel covered most of her lap.

“Sarah,” he said, touching her face, her shoulders, her arms, moving aside the air bag, looking for blood or jutting broken bones. She watched him in a distracted way until finally she whispered something.

He leaned closer. “What did you say, sweetheart?”

She licked her lips. “Sorry.”

“Sorry about what?”

“Your truck.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said softly. “All that matters is you’re okay. I’m calling the police and an ambulance.”

She closed her eyes, but she’d slipped her hand into his and held on to him tightly. While they waited, Nate asked her if she hurt anywhere and she admitted her right leg ached. The crash had pushed the front end of the truck inward, pinning her inside, so there was no way he could check things out for her. He draped his coat across her body to ward off chattering teeth, held her hand and waited.

It seemed to take forever until he heard an approaching siren, but it was probably less than ten minutes. Searchlights appeared as another siren sounded off down the road. Pretty soon medics had pushed Nate aside and started attending to Sarah. When they were satisfied with her stability, the cops went to work freeing her from the mass of metal. Eventually she was transferred to a stretcher. Nate held her hand as they struggled up the hill until they reached the road and the welcome sight of the waiting ambulance.

Sheriff Gallant got out of his squad SUV. “That your truck down there?” he called to Nate.

“Yeah. Sarah was driving. She must have had an accident coming out of the tunnel.”

Gallant looked down at Sarah, whose face was as white as the blanket tucked around her body. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Of course she is,” Nate said, unable to entertain any other possibility.

But Sarah tugged on his hand. “Not an accident,” she said.

Gallant heard her and both men leaned closer. “Then what?”

“Another truck. I went off the road.”

“When did all this happen?” Nate asked.

“I looked at my watch a little while before. Around four o’clock.”

The medics lifted the stretcher and Sarah disappeared into the back of the ambulance. Nate knew there wasn’t room back there for unnecessary personnel, and he told Sarah he’d meet her at the hospital.

“You okay to drive?” Gallant asked.

Nate hurried to his rental. “Fine.”

“I’ll be by later to talk to her about this other vehicle,” Gallant said.

“Fine,” Nate repeated.

Gallant caught his arm. “Keep in mind it was
your
rental truck, and in the dark and from behind, no one could tell who was driving,” he said.

Nate nodded. The number one important thing was Sarah’s safety. Nate swore to himself. He wouldn’t rest until he found out who had done this to her.

* * *

S
ARAH
WAS
EXTREMELY
relieved when, after umpteen tests and X-rays, she was released from the hospital with little more than a mild concussion, a very sore neck and shoulders, and a sprained leg acquired when the truck floor pushed upward. She knew she was lucky to walk—well, limp—away from the crash and tried, as Nate drove toward the Motorcoach, to remember what had happened after the truck came to an abrupt standstill.

It was all blurry in her head, though. It had to have been a couple of hours that passed with her falling in and out of a strange slumber, growing colder and colder, unable to move herself out of the truck, always knowing in the back of her mind that Nate would look for her, Nate would find her, all she had to do was survive until he got there.

She hadn’t been able to tell the sheriff much about the other vehicle except it was a truck slightly bigger than Nate’s and dark in color. Judging from his deep sigh, she assumed that description fit a whole lot of Shatterhorn’s vehicles. She did point out that it was likely to have suffered damage on the right side when it had slammed against Nate’s truck. She hadn’t seen the driver, hadn’t even tried to as she’d been struggling with the steering wheel in an attempt to avoid what eventually happened.

“How are you doing over there?” Nate asked, his hand coming to rest atop hers.

“Worried about tomorrow,” she said. “Worried that we’re going to hear there’s been a senseless shooting at the Washington Monument and that more innocent people are going to die and we don’t know how to stop it. Did you call your department in Arizona?”

“Yeah, while you were in X-ray. I talked to Dan. He promised to pass on the word to his brother. He tried to assure me that the FBI would be on top of any conspiracy, domestic or foreign.”