Dirty Deeds Page 11

Harry clicked his tongue. "A shame. You might lose this one beautiful."

  She smiled and shook her head. "Not a chance, Chief. I'll bring him back and maybe even today. I have a solid lead."

  "Do tell." He took a big swig of the Pepsi.

  "He's heading to British Columbia on a Harley. My guess is he's going to try the crossing up at Metaline Falls. It's close, small, and a relatively quick drive from here with the least amount of traffic. Paul agrees Jamie would try there because it's so much closer and smaller than the port north of Bellingham."

  Harry nodded. "Not bad, not bad."

  "I'll give you a call as soon as I have my hands on him."

  "Please do."

  Their conversation was interrupted by the screech of tires in the parking lot. Pretty impressive driving. She glanced at the time on her cell phone. Yes indeed, very impressive driving. He promised her twenty minutes and he made it in nineteen. This guy might come in handy yet.

  With the keys to the Chevelle in hand, Louie jogged out the door. When she caught sight of the brand new Mustang with Paul behind the wheel, she headed straight for it. Peppy little car and it would be almost as quick as her good old Chevrolet.

  She heard the cheerful comment about the same time the squeak of the rolling cart caught her attention.

  "He's a cute one," Meg said brightly.

  Louie turned and raced to Meg's side. "Now I'm not going to tell you again, Meg. Stop pushing this thing around and wait for me. I'll take you shopping. You know my cell phone number; all you have to do is call."

  Meg stopped, ignoring Louie's reprimand, and turned a smiling face to Paul. She gave him a wave. "Hello."

  "Hi." His brow wrinkled and Louie could almost see his foot tapping.

  She held up her index finger. "Give me a sec," she said to him. To Meg she said, "Come on. Let's get this up to your apartment." She put a hand on the cart.

  Meg pushed Louie's hand aside and put both of her own back on the handle of the cart once more. "You go take care of handsome there." Meg's head tilted to the side as she studied Paul's profile. "You know, Louise, I do believe he's the one."

  "Excuse me?" Louie blinked.

  "You heard me, young lady." Meg grinned and began to push the cart toward the staircase to the second story apartments.

  "You're crazy. He's the brother of one of Harry's clients."

  "Makes no never mind who he is related to. The boy has the shine for you. Now be off. He's itching to get away from here and you two could use a little alone time. 'Bout time you found yourself a man."

  Louie resisted the urge to argue. Time was wasting. She and Meg would have a little heart to heart about this after James McDonald was behind bars.

  "All right, I'm gone. You and I'll talk later."

  "Of course we will." Meg smiled and resumed her trek with the noisy cart to the back stairs.

  Louie jogged to Paul's car. She slid into the passenger's seat and buckled her seatbelt. "Do you know the way?"

  He looked at her and rolled his eyes.

  "Yeah, dumb question," she said. "You've probably made the trip once or twice."

  "Once or twice." He stepped on the gas and they roared out of the parking lot.

  Maneuvering through the downtown corridor and up North Division was beyond frustrating. Stoplights were plentiful and the color of choice for the morning was red. So far, their only luck was bad. Louie hoped James was having the same kind of luck. His head start was big enough that fate didn't need to give him any more of an edge.

  Finally, after what seemed like hours, the traffic broke and they were on the two-lane highway straight to the border. Traffic on U.S. 395 was light and the sun glowed. If they weren't in the middle of a dangerous mess, it would be a gorgeous drive. They were in the middle of it though, and enjoying the scenery was about the last thing on her mind.

  I do believe he's the one. Leave it to Meg to say something outrageous and leave Louie to stew about it. She couldn't get the comment out of her mind. As much as she loved Meg, there were moments when Louie wanted to wring the old lady's scrawny little neck.

  She looked over at Paul, his eyes behind the darkened lenses of his sunglasses intent on the road. He hadn't turned his head since they'd left Louie's office. What was it Meg saw in a minute's worth of time that prompted her to make such a pronouncement? Paul was cute enough and yeah, he had a body that made her hands want to learn Braille. But the one? She wasn't even looking for a good time let alone the one. She didn't want to think about the implications of Meg's bold announcement and decided to take things in another direction.

  "What happened between you and your brother?" she asked.

  Paul still didn't turn his head but kept his eyes on the road. "You have a great relationship with your brother so you wouldn't understand."

  Yeah, right—if talking to a comatose patient was a great relationship. She said, "Try me."

  After a lengthy silence, he glanced over at her. She couldn't read his expression, because the dark glasses pretty much hid his green eyes. His mouth was set in a grim line.

  "Come on, Paul. I shared my deepest, darkest secret with you."

  His laugh was not filled with humor. "If that's your deepest and darkest secret, you've led a very sheltered life."

  That wasn't quite the truth. There were other secrets in her soul and perhaps someday, she'd share them with him. Not yet though. They didn't know each other that well. "Not so sheltered. Come on, tell me what happened with James."

  "Oh, what the hell…It wasn't any one thing; it was a lifetime of everything until one day I had to walk away. It was either that or kill him, and I didn't feel like a trip to prison."

  She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. He tilted his head and touched his cheek to her hand before he continued.

  "I think more than anything I'm furious with Jamie. He was only a fair hockey player but he was a fantastic artist. He has the kind of talent we all wish we had, and he ignores it. He could have been somebody, and instead he chooses to do things like drugs. If it requires hard work, it's not for Jamie."

  "Maybe he's just confused." In her line of business, lost souls were in over-abundance.

  "He was and is confused, but big deal. Everybody goes through that."

  "Did you?" she asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "How long did you focus on being a professional hockey player?"

  She felt the flinch beneath her hand.

  "That was different."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know, it just was. I've lived and breathed hockey for as long as I can remember. Jamie was different. He couldn't focus on anything, ever. He jumped from one thing to another, always getting the hopes of our parents up, and then crushing them when he screwed up again. I tried to be supportive but that wasn't what Jamie wanted."

  "What did he want?"

  Paul said nothing for a moment. When he did, his voice was flat and emotionless. "A free ride."

  Something in his voice told her not to push any further and she respected that. She didn't have the right to push anyway. A few kisses didn't grant her a license to pry. She gave his shoulder one last soft squeeze and then reluctantly put both hands in her lap. She contented herself with watching the scenery flash by as Spokane faded away to be replaced by fields, lakes and tiny towns. Paul didn't offer anything else either.

  A couple miles shy of Metaline Falls, Paul started to slow and Louie leaned forward. Something was up ahead on the side of the highway though it was too far away to distinguish exactly what it was. Slowly it came into focus. By the time he pulled the Mustang to a stop on the shoulder, they both sat and stared. Leaning on the kickstand, one wheel missing and one rider short, was Paul's shiny Harley Davidson.

  "I'm going to kill him." He drew each word out long and slow.

  "Well, if I was to make an educated guess, I'd say he hasn't made it across the border yet."

  "Brilliant deduction, Watson."

  "I'm going to choose
to believe you're worried about your bike and your brother, and therefore assume the sarcasm was not directed at me."

  He pulled off his sunglasses and turned to look at her, his green eyes dark and flashing. "Glass half full kind of woman?"

  "Not necessarily. There are many days when the glass is most definitely half empty. Today I'm feeling more optimistic. I think we're going to get him and pretty darn soon."

  Paul gave her a look that betrayed his skepticism. "He's had a flat. After he managed to get the front stable without the tire, someone must have picked him up and taken him to get it fixed."

  It was her turn for sarcasm. "That's a big duh. I'm not blind."

  He grimaced. "Sorry."

  "We should go on into Metaline Falls. We can probably track him down at a local shop."

  Paul shook his head. "I doubt it. Tires and wheels for a Fat Boy aren't something you can just pick up. He's going to have to go back to Spokane."

  She groaned. "Okay, that I didn't know. Spokane's too far away to backtrack now. We'll play hell finding him. We could be passing each other on the highway and not even know it."

  He nodded. "Yeah, my thought exactly. I think we stay and wait."

  She looked around at the stretch of highway bordered on each side by thick pines and evergreens with mountains rising around them. For the moment, the sun was shining and the air was warm. But once the sun set, sunny and warm would be long gone.

  "Wait where?"

  He turned to look out the side window. "I saw a turnout half a mile or so back. I say we park the car out of view and hike back up here. We'll be plenty hidden in the trees. Then we wait. It's a twofer really. We wait to snag Jamie and keep an eye on my bike at the same time."

  She wasn't particularly enthusiastic about his plan. Sure, she'd spent plenty of time waiting on her bounty. Usually it meant sitting in her car down the road with a cup of coffee, some heat, and a cushioned seat. Hiding behind trees was not a tactic she had embraced so far. Not to mention stakeouts were about as exciting as watching paint dry.

  "I don't know."

  "It's a really expensive bike that I don't want to lose, and you know he's gonna bolt if he sees us," he said reasonably.

  "He doesn't know me."

  "True. But you think he's going to trust a woman who just happens to be waiting alongside the highway in a car that just happens to be the same one his brother owns? Jamie does stupid things, but he's not stupid."

  He had a point. James would be jumpy at this juncture. He was in some kind of trouble, and not only with the feds. Somebody else out there was very unhappy with James McDonald, if the murder of Kendall Stewart was any indication. If he was smart, he'd trust no one. Especially not some helpful woman who just happened to show up alongside the highway. And, it was a really pretty bike. It would be a real shame if it was stolen.

  "All right," she said, frowning at the timbered landscape. "The trees it is."

  * * * *

  Figures it would happen to him. Jamie's earlier optimism went flat just about the same time the bike tire did. He had only two kinds of luck: bad and worse. The front tire blowing out on Paul's bike didn't come as a huge surprise. If something could go wrong, it would. Now Paul, on the other hand, he'd probably ridden tens of thousands of miles on the bike without a single mishap. All Jamie had to do was get on and cover less than a hundred miles before poof: big, fat flat tire. The only good thing to happen was he didn't lose control and was able to get the bike to the side of the road without putting it down. Stealing his brother's bike was one thing, crashing it was another. If he wrecked it, he'd have to worry about Paul wanting to kill him too. He already had enough people trying to put him down.

  Jamie tried every shop in Metaline Falls, not that there were many, and not a single place could give him a replacement. Each and every one offered the same advice: check with the dealership in Spokane. He finally snagged a ride with a Spokane-based truck driver who was making his daily egg delivery loop. Jamie not only got a ride back to town, but the man, who seemed eager for company, offered to take him back up the next morning if Jamie needed a ride. He did.

  Thank goodness he'd thought to snag one of Paul's credit cards. The little bit of money he had on him wouldn't last long if he had to pop for motorcycle tires. Why couldn't Paul have a cheap import bike like most people? No, big brother had to go for the flash and get himself not only a Harley, but a custom Harley to boot. Okay, it was fun to ride, but not nearly as much fun to repair on the fly.

  The replacement for the front tire was very expensive. With Paul's credit card, it wasn't an insurmountable issue. The Golden Boy also possessed a golden card. By the time Paul discovered Jamie pinched it, the bike would be back on the road and he'd be long gone in the wilds of northern British Columbia or even the Northwest Territories. Stealing the credit card was necessary and using it unavoidable, but was another wrong that Jamie'd have to make up for. He'd find a way to make it right. He would. Maybe not for a long time, but he'd make it up to Paul.

  A little luck fell his way at last. The dealer had a tire in stock the right size for the Fat Boy. Within an hour, it was ready to go. He had to pay extra for the immediate service and Paul's nifty gold card took care of that too. Now all Jamie had to do was wait for his ride back up north and that wasn't going to happen for many hours. He'd have to find a place to wait.

  Coming into town earlier, he'd noticed a motel less than a quarter mile away from the Harley dealership, the kind of hostelry that rented for cash by the hour with few questions asked of their guests. Perfect.

  Jamie checked himself in, paid with some of his dwindling cash supply, and dropped to the bed once the door clicked shut. Exhaustion was nearly crippling. In a way, he was glad he didn't make it across the border today. He'd still be on the road and as tired as he was, that wouldn't have been safe for him or anyone else for the matter. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough. By catching a ride with Scott Aaron, the egg hauling truck driver, he'd be back at the bike and across the border before nine in the morning. Things would all still work out and with enough time for the luxury of a little rest.

  As he lay across the sagging bed, his mood deflated even more. Maybe he was being stupid, thinking he could make a run across the border and find safety in the wilds of northern Canada. Maybe the best thing he could do was call Paul, tell him the truth and beg for us his help. Paul always knew the right thing to do. Jamie rolled over and grabbed the receiver of the old olive green phone bedside telephone. He punched in Paul's number. His heart raced as he listened. After the fourth ring, it popped into voicemail.

  Should he leave a message? He slowly replaced the receiver and stared at the phone for a long moment. It didn't matter. He didn't really know what he expected anyway. Absolution? Forgiveness? What a joke. Paul couldn't help him. No one could help him.

  Jamie lay back against the flat pillows, closed his eyes, and finally drifted into an uneasy slumber.

  * * * *

  When the classic Mustang stopped, he pulled over as well, still far enough behind the two in the car to be confident they hadn't noticed him behind them. He was very good at what he did and he'd certain Paul McDonald had no idea he was being followed.

  He sat and stared at the Ford, curious as to why they'd pulled off the highway. They were still miles away from the border crossing and by stopping, they'd give the younger McDonald more time to pull ahead. But when the Mustang did a one-eighty, he noticed the motorcycle on the side of the highway propped on its kickstand with the two front forks resting on a good-sized block of wood. Now he understood.

  Little James had encountered a problem with the front tire of the big shiny bike. He smiled as he turned his own car around and began to head south. Two miles back, a dirt county access road led him far enough off the highway he could park without fear of being seen. This was going to be easier than he thought. More fun, too.

  He got out and opened the back hatch. He slipped into the camouflage pants and shirt he kept
folded and ready in the rear cargo area. A camo hat covered his hair. He had paint for his face as well and he picked it up before he put it right back down. They'd be hard pressed to see him under the cover of the thick pine trees and evergreens that lined both sides of the highway, especially when they weren't expecting company. The face paint would be overkill he didn't need. Besides it was a bitch to wash off. Better to go natural.

  Not that he intended to get close enough to McDonald or his pretty passenger to be seen. He didn't need to. All he needed was brush for cover and a clear view of the motorcycle. Neither would be a problem in this rural, mountainous terrain. Plenty of evergreens and pines. Plenty of low brush and tall wild grasses, a perfect setting for a man with his great skills and bad intentions. Excellent for cover.

  He closed the hatch and walked around to the vehicle's side. From the rear seat he took his rifle from between the folds of the navy blanket. He held it to his face, inhaling the faint scent of cleaning oil. Fresh and ready. The stock was warm against his cheek.

  He pulled his rifle down and held it out in front of him. Years of routine had him checking the load. Habits were hard to break even when he knew better. He'd never go to a battle without the proper preparation. Smiling, he caressed the stock.

  Locked and loaded.

  Into his jacket pocket, he dropped extra rounds, just in case. He wouldn't need them, never did. He did, however, believe in always being prepared though he'd never even been a Boy Scout. Hey, a good idea was a good idea. And after all, he'd been a scout, just not the Boy Scout variety. The do-good Boy Scouts were always a little tame for him. Too by-the-rules for his tastes even as a young guy.

  With the sling clipped on the rifle, he was able to hang it off his shoulder. It made carrying the precious gun easier while he hiked. From the backseat, he also grabbed a pair of night goggles. If Jamie-boy came tripping back after sunset, the goggles would prove very handy. He liked to be prepared for every contingency.

  Night was dropping fast, the woods alive with the sounds of the animals that made the forested area their home. He slipped through the trees and underbrush in near silence, a quiet predator stalking its quarry. Comfortable in the rough, overgrown terrain, he moved quickly. How much time before James returned was the only question. It could be hours or it could be minutes. He'd be in position before James came back to claim the bike.