Fatal Intuition Page 7

  When his nerves calmed, he climbed back down for the cot and set it over the trap door, as if that would keep his demons locked inside. It was too much like prison. Another second in that hole and he’d have lost his mind. Besides, a real man would sleep up top. He crawled onto the cot, pulled the rough blanket around his shoulders, and shivered himself back to sleep.

  When morning broke, Derek sat up and banged his head on the underside of the work bench. How the hell had he wedged himself into this tight space? It was too small for an adult, more suited for a kid. His body still trembled. He needed a drink soon, or he’d do something stupid, like turn himself in.

  Above him, dizzying pencil swirls marked the wood, and a child’s scrawl claimed the artwork. Lily. He smiled. His daughter had played here when she was little. She’d drawn a picture of herself, smiling and holding her mom’s hand. The vision of a fair-haired, happy, young girl blurred when he realized what he was looking at.

  Horrified, he pushed himself out, knocking the cot over in his haste. The little girl in the picture hadn’t been holding her mother’s hand. She’d been stabbing her with a knife, while flames swirled around them both.

  His chest was on fire, and his breath caught in his throat. No, he’d been mistaken. It wasn’t a picture of Lily and Tiffany at all. The child must have seen something disturbing on TV.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Erin Ericsson slid into a seat in the back row of the classroom. Davis looked up and gave her a nod, but she could barely blink back. She wanted to lay her cheek on her notebook and sleep for a week.

  Only hours ago, she’d kissed Allie goodbye at the airport and sent her back to Morley Falls, but it hadn’t been the romantic weekend they’d planned. Allie’s zone-out had scared them both. What if she’d really hurt herself? She said she couldn’t remember anything about the incident, aside from a pervasive sensation that Lily was up to something.

  Now Erin had to let her go, trust that she would be okay. With the end of training fast approaching, there was still so much to do. All weekend, she’d felt split three ways. The new study club, helping Davis and Garrett at the shooting range and evenings with Allie. The weekend of passion had become a weekend of worry, but she’d rather have a bad weekend with Allie than a great weekend with anyone else in the world.

  She held up her left hand. What would a wedding ring look like on that finger? Would it be such a bad thing? Wouldn’t it simply be a natural progression of their relationship? Was she overreacting because she was worried and wanted to protect Allie? Was that bad? She wanted to protect her because she loved her. More than anyone else, ever.

  And, why did the thought of getting married scare her so much anyway? She’d only had a few serious relationships in her entire life and she’d been the one to bail as soon as feelings soured. Was that it? Was she simply afraid to fail? She’d already been through a lot with Allie, and bailing out had never once occurred to her. She couldn’t believe it ever would. So what was it, then?

  She aligned her notebook until it was precisely parallel with the edge of the desk, and then she did the same with her pen. It was clear. The solid, confident Erin Ericsson was a chicken.

  “—Ericsson?”

  Erin jerked upright. Her notebook clattered to the floor and she snatched it up, placing it carefully back into position. She’d been daydreaming like a fifth-grader and had no idea what she’d been asked, but now all eyes were on her. She glanced at Davis’s blank notebook. No help there. Well, she might as well come clean.

  “My apolog—”

  “It’s pretty clear that this still falls under the Federal Kidnapping Act.” Davis slapped his notebook shut and got to his feet. “It applies regardless of whether the person was alive when transported across state boundaries.” He strode confidently to the white board and picked up a dry erase marker. When he was finished, he’d drawn an intricate diagram from Point A, to B, to C, using dotted lines and text labels, to illustrate his point.

  If only he was that confident at the range, he’d graduate with flying colors. As it was, he would have to work a little harder with the pistol. Erin smiled her thanks when he finished. With only the occasional nudge from Davis, she made it through the rest of the class.

  When she reached the driving course, her fatigue faded with the influx of adrenaline. The instructor, her favorite, reminded her of her Uncle Roger. Unfortunately, she had mentioned this to one of her classmates, and it had stuck. Now everyone called him Uncle Roger, but he seemed to like it.

  “Today, we are going to practice skid control and high speed collision avoidance,” Uncle Roger said. “For those of you new to pursuit driving, this is not like Sunday cruising in your grandfather’s Buick. Modern cars have very advanced skid-control features. We’ll practice progressive squeeze and anti-lock braking. We’ll also do an exercise to prepare you in the event that this technology fails.”

  Erin rocked on her toes. One of the best parts of driving a police cruiser was responding to emergency calls.

  Uncle Roger’s class didn’t consist of fancy digital presentations, whiteboard drawings or online research, merely a series of rudimentary diagrams scraped into the dirt with the toe of his shoe. “You see those three pylons out there?”

  They all turned and looked.

  “That’s grandma and the kids. Grandma is the big vulnerable pylon in the middle, you get the idea.” Flawless teeth caught the sunlight when he smiled with glee. “You will accelerate to a minimum speed of fifty miles an hour before you hit that second marker.” A white stake had been pounded into the side of the paved track. “Aim straight for grandma. When it’s time, the light on the portable display will indicate the direction you will swerve. Use the techniques we’ve discussed to avoid a collision. Don’t pump your brakes like in the movies. Not unless you’re driving a car built in 1970.”

  Davis tapped her on the shoulder. “Team up with me, Erin. This looks scary as hell.” The wind blew his impeccable hair into his eyes, and he smoothed it back with a trembling hand.

  “What are you talking about? You had the best score yesterday when you backed through the pylon serpentine.”

  “That was at two miles an hour. This is highway speed.” He spread out all his fingers. “Big difference.”

  “Okay.” Erin shrugged. It didn’t matter who she teamed up with. No partner could make this exercise less than fun.

  The instructor walked them to the track. “Pick your coffin, trainees.”

  “What?” Davis took a step back.

  He laughed. “I’m kidding. Unless you do something really stupid, you’ll be fine. Don’t worry, you’re with Erin. She’s done this before.”

  “Come on, Davis. It’s not that hard.” Erin snatched up the keys for the Chevy. Garrett and his partner hesitated and ended up with the battered Ford, the oldest in the fleet.

  The instructor called out as they headed to their cars. “Whoever hits grandma or the kids is buying the first round in the Boardroom tonight.”

  “You go first.” Davis opened the Chevy’s passenger door and got in.

  Erin shrugged and got in the driver’s side. “Watch how I do it. It’s fun.” She pulled on her seatbelt, started the engine, and checked the radio. “Ericsson and Davis. Ready.”

  “I don’t normally exceed the speed limit.” Davis clipped on his safety belt and tugged to make sure it was secure.

  “You’re first up, Ericsson.” The instructor’s voice answered over the speaker, followed by a hiss of static. “Proceed.”

  Erin stomped her foot on the gas pedal and smiled at the rush of excitement in her chest. The speedometer steadily rose while she talked. “The key is to maintain control. When that signal lights up, brake hard, and maintain steering control through the maneuver. The ABS system will hammer like crazy, but that’s normal.”

  “If you say so.” Acceleration rocked Davis back in his seat, a nervous grin on his lips. “This is like a carnival ride.”

  “Soon,” Erin warn
ed as the speedometer reached the target zone. Grandma and the kids were directly ahead and in mortal danger. Davis grabbed his seat with both hands.

  The right arrow illuminated on the portable signal trailer, and Erin slammed her foot on the brake. Davis’s shoulder bumped hers when she steered sharply, and her inside tire clipped one of the smaller pylons. “Oh, no!” She slowed at the end of the run and skidded around. The end pylon teetered, but they all remained upright.

  “Grandma and the kids are okay.” Davis waved at them as they passed on their return to the start. He high-fived Erin when they switched drivers. “That was a blast.”

  “You can do it.”

  Despite his initial trepidation, Davis had no trouble executing the maneuver. Garrett and his partner were not as lucky, and both men were on the hook for a round of drinks.

  “Come on, hummingbird,” Davis said when the class ended. “Let’s go get a bite to eat. You look starved half to death, as usual.” He snickered at his jibe about her quick metabolism.

  She nodded. It was true. She was usually hungry.

  “And coffee. You need more coffee.”

  When had they become best friends? “Um, I’m not so sure I should drink more than a few cups a day. I can’t afford to get as fidgety as I was last weekend. You remember the kidnapping scenario and my crazy escape stunt?” As if she needed to remind him.

  “That wasn’t from coffee, little bird. That was pure inner gung-ho, and I don’t think it’s always a bad thing.” He pulled on her arm. “Let’s skitter through the gerbil tube and we can make it back for next class.”

  Apparently they were besties. She reached up to tousle his carefully arranged hair, and he shot her a dirty look. Maybe that was too far. “I could use a waker-upper,” she said, and followed him to the glass-enclosed walkway that connected the buildings.

  Erin set her steaming black coffee beside the computer and logged in. “I would never have figured you for a sprinkles-on-your-coffee kind of guy.”

  “They’re not sprinkles, they’re dark chocolate shavings.” Davis took a sip of his foamy latte and licked his lips. “De-licious.”

  “It’s not real coffee with all that fluff in it.” Out of habit, she checked the local and nation-wide activity. For years, she’d started her work day with Briefing, her uniform pressed and boots shined. The sergeant on duty informed them of the daily BOLOS and local warrants. Change was not so easy. She missed the array of useful equipment on her belt, but it was a small trade-off for a future of possibilities.

  She slouched in her seat and scrolled through the alerts. A child abduction in Florida, a gang murder in California and bomb threats in the Capital. Minnesota was quiet today, but Montana was looking for a pair of teens involved in a carjacking.

  She clicked the link for more information. A female teen had instigated the carjacking, and had stabbed the disabled female passenger, who was now recovering in hospital. The husband had not survived. He had died of a heart attack while seeking help.

  Erin sat upright. Local troopers were in contact with Canadian authorities regarding the recent escape of two teens from the Winnipeg Youth Detention Centre. Before she reached the end of the message, she knew Allie was right. Lily was out, and she was as dangerous as ever, but what the hell was she doing in Montana?

  “Sir? I need to speak with you.” Erin motioned for her instructor’s attention. Davis raised his eyebrows and leaned over to see her screen.

  “Are you having trouble with the assignment?” The instructor looked at the monitor. “You’re on the wrong screen. You need to—”

  “I know this kid.” She pointed to the name at the bottom of the screen. “I helped put Lily Schmidt away. She’s diabolical.”

  He peered closer and scanned the alert. “You’re from a Minnesota police department, right?” He patted her shoulder. “You must be mistaken. These fugitives hopped the border from Canada. It can’t be the same.”

  “It’s a long story about what happened in Canada, but it’s her. There is going to be a body count. Look, it’s already started.” She pointed to a related update.

  “Says here the male victim died of a heart attack. Let’s not waste our time on a couple of kids who stole a van, and scared an old man with a bad ticker.”

  “Can I at least contact the agents assigned to this case? I might be able to—”

  “I’m sure the situation is well in hand. Let’s get back on task, shall we?”

  Erin swore he muttered something that sounded like Raging Ranger as he walked away. She shoved her chair back, but Davis tugged her sleeve. He silently shook his head until she sat back down.

  “What the hell is going on?” he whispered. “Is it the coffee?”

  “It’s not the coffee.” She picked up her cup and headed out. She needed to talk to Allie.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Hurry up! What the hell is T still doing? I’m already behind the wheel of the new car, but he’s still back there in the church. Maybe he’s asking God to talk me into going to California. What if I took off on my own?

  T comes barreling out the side door as I slip the shifter into drive. His hat’s on sideways, like a friggin’ cartoon, with his body going faster than his legs. He spots me and grabs at the door handle like he robbed the place. “Open the door! Open the door!”

  I hit the unlock button.

  He wrenches the door open and folds his long legs into the passenger seat. “Go! Go! Go!” This time he doesn’t get all picky about his safety belt. He watches over his shoulder until we’re clear of town and starts laughing when we hit the highway.

  “What took you so long?” It took me less than a minute to find a set of keys in a jacket in that church lobby. What could he possibly have been doing?

  “This.” T digs in his pocket and shows me a handful of fat white envelopes.

  I still don’t get it until he starts ripping them open and the money spills out. “Donations.” The tires hit gravel on the shoulder of the road and I fight the car back onto the pavement. That is the sweetest sight I’ve seen in a while. Money isn’t allowed in the detention center, and this is a lot.

  He rubs a twenty dollar bill on my cheek, and I inhale the smell of ink and paper, like they do in the movies. “Let’s party,” he says in a low voice.

  “Let’s get beer.” I’m all for getting totally drunk and passing out.

  “Yeah.” He leans back and crumples a few bills to toss at me. “We got maybe an hour before someone reports this car stolen. Let’s get as far away as we can and find a spot to hide out.”

  An hour later, we’re at a truck stop and T piles the counter high with junk food and beer. The cashier doesn’t bother to ask him for ID when he pays with wads of cash from his pocket.

  “It helps when you don’t look like you’re twelve.” T gives me a nudge toward the door. “But that’s what I like about you.”

  It’s Sunday morning, and you’d think it would be quiet, but the diner is packed full of old ladies and big men wearing ball caps. T’s eyes drift over the customers and settle on a skinny guy seated at the counter. The guy looks up and notices us standing there. He reminds me of twitchy Shonda.

  “Wait in the car. I gotta take a leak.” T heads for the washroom, and leaves me standing there with the grocery bags. I’m not surprised when the twitchy guy gets up and brushes past me to follow him.

  Twitchy guy comes out first, tucking his hand into his bulging pocket. He heads straight to the exit. Two or three long minutes later, T surges through the door. His eyes shine like wet stones, and he’s got a snotty nose that he wipes with the back of his hand. He’s high.

  “What took you so goddamn long?”

  “I had to crush them before I could…” He swipes at his nose again. He couldn’t wait five freakin’ minutes until we got out of there before he got wasted.

  I shove him and he staggers off balance. “Don’t tell me to wait in the car like I’m your pussy wife.”

  “Yeah, pussy.”
He’s a laughing idiot. I’ve never seen him sweat like this, and his pupils are like pee holes in the snow. Whatever he’s on, it’s not anything like the crap we inhaled in the juvy library.

  People are turning to stare at us, so I grab his arm and haul him out to the parking lot. I stuff him into the car and grab a beer from the grocery bags before I throw them in the back. T twists in his seat, his knees sprawled over the backrest.

  “What did you take?” As long as he keeps his grasshopper legs on his side, I can drive.

  “It’s good, Lily. So good.” He’s upside down, looking through the windshield at the sky. “I got blue ones, and pink ones, and little wee yellow ones.”

  “Did you spend all my money on mystery pills? What if I need more beer?”

  “Was that your money? I’m sorry, I thought…” He screws up his eyes as if considering what I said, but the words don’t come.

  “We have to find a hideout.” The cops will be looking for us soon, and I swear I can see his heart pounding through his shirt. As usual, I have to do everything myself. I find another car and switch license plates. Then we cruise the streets looking for a house that looks vacant. Someone’s gotta be away on holidays, or something.

  I’m thirsty for another beer, and T’s asleep by the time I find a place that looks promising. The driveway is bare, and there’s a week’s worth of unclaimed newspapers on the step. I leave him in the car a block away, and go in on foot to check it out. The neighborhood is quiet, no one on the street, and nobody peeking out the window when I walk up to the front step.

  I cut around back, check for alarm stickers, and use my knife to pop the cheap plastic lock on a basement window. When I slide it open, there’s a whiff of old people and moldy carpet. Excitement bubbles in my throat when I squeeze through and land on soft cat’s feet. Like a panther, I prowl each room. As I thought, this house is packed full of junk someone has been saving their entire lifetime. I can barely wade through the basement.