Cowboy Undercover (12 page)

He drove a mile or two and pulled off to the side. He tried Lily’s cell phone, but she didn’t respond.

As he figured it, these were the possibilities: she had taken off on her own and disappeared into the ether or she was still at White Cliff. If she was gone for good, she was gone. No way could he trace her again. In fact, he wouldn’t chase her even if he knew where to go. The next time she left him, she left him for good.

But that was if she left willingly. He just couldn’t believe she had, not without Charlie. And if she had Charlie, he could not believe she wouldn’t have left him a message telling him so, especially after he’d accused her of being capable of such a thing.

If she was still at White Cliff, she needed help. Those folks had not been kidding around.

He got back on the road and took off for Greenville. Once in town he made a diversion to a department store where he bought fatigues and big clunky black boots. While he waited for change, he looked on the internet for a pastor Stevens, Greenville, Idaho, and found his first name was Roger. He searched for Stevens in Greenville and came up with one: Roger. The address given was a few blocks from the old church. He picked up a stepladder at the hardware store, ate the pastries out of the sack that he and Lily had bought the day before, then parked in front of a tidy redbrick house.

A knock was eventually answered by an old man in a severe black suit. A fringe of white hair surrounded his bald head and two very black eyes seemed to absorb everything in a single glance. It was almost impossible to believe this austere old guy was Tabitha’s grandfather.

There was no time for pleasantries or subtle lead-ins to his questions, and Chance paused for a second, trying to figure out how to find out what he wanted. Too late he realized he should have just gone to city hall and looked it up.

“Yes?” the old guy said. He moved his hand and Chance saw that the book he held clutched to his chest was a frayed copy of the bible. “I don’t have all day.”

Chance offered his hand and introduced himself. His gesture was met with a stern frown and nothing else. “I came to ask you about your church,” he finally said as he lowered his unshaken hand.

“I don’t have a church anymore.” Stevens started to close the door.

Chance hurried to say something that would stop him. “I mean your old church, Pastor. Or do you not keep that title after you stop preaching?”

“I keep the honorific, yes. And the answer to your question is that the good people of Greenville turned the building into a museum a few years back.”

“The one a couple of blocks from here?”

“Not that one. That place was sold years and years ago. The buyer was very anxious to purchase it. Heard he paid a good penny and then just let it sit there and rot. The devil’s handiwork, if you ask me.”

“Do you know who bought it?”

“If I ever did, I’ve forgotten. Is that all? I have a full day of meditation planned.”

“Your granddaughter,” Chance began in order to confirm Tabitha still attended school, but the former pastor’s demeanor immediately changed. His face turned red as he pointed a finger at Chance.

“You stay away from her, do you understand me?” he growled.

“Sir, no, no, you have this wrong—”

“I’m praying for her salvation. If I see you near her I will use my gun. Now get out of here.” With that he almost slammed the door.

Chance stood there a second, the man’s anger still vibrating in his head. Obviously he was aware of his granddaughter’s exploits with the opposite sex, but did he really think Chance would be interested in a sixteen-year-old kid in that way? Man, he missed home at that moment. Gerard, Pike and Frankie would laugh their boots off if they’d witnessed this. He kind of shook himself free of the nasty feeling such an accusation can create in even an innocent man, and left. He wasn’t going to take time to find the actual owners of the church. This had been another long shot that didn’t pay off and he was antsy about Lily.

Carrying his new purchases, Chance parked around the corner from the old church, took his rifle out of the locked box in the back and hiked through the wooded property until he almost ran into the building. The stepladder gave him an easy climb to the broken window. Once inside, he hurried downstairs to the maintenance room. Pretty sure he’d come across the squished cockroaches he’d stepped on in the dark the night before, he found something else entirely. Sunflower seed shells. Not a lot, just a few...

Had they been there earlier in the evening when he’d come with Lily? They could have been. The little flashlight hadn’t picked up many details, especially on the floor, and last night he’d been moving around in the dark. He wasn’t sure what the shells told him. That the writer who stored his books in the tunnel had also come into this room? It was possible, of course, and if he had, maybe it had been to meet with the object of his desire: Tabitha Stevens. Chance had to talk to Tabitha.

He changed out of his jeans and boots and stuffed them into the empty bag from which he took the camouflage fatigues and boots. A few minutes later, he was dressed more or less like the men who had shown him out of White Cliff. He opened the closet and then the tunnel, stored all his stuff inside, closed everything up and slung the rifle over his shoulder.

It wasn’t long before he wished he’d waited to change his shoes until he’d gotten to the far end. The tunnel was remarkably straight but he fervently hoped he’d never have to come this way again.

It took a little more nerve to open the door this time. If Lily had told Maria or anyone else about this passage, who knew who or what might be waiting for him? He turned off the lantern and hung it on the hook, activated the lever and opened the door into the twilight of the daytime bunker which was lit by a small skylight he hadn’t noticed the night before. He made his way to the door and slid open the bar. Big sigh of relief. Now what? He straightened up, lowered the cap over his forehead to shade his eyes and started walking toward Jefferson Park, anxious not to be off on his own where he might draw attention.

Okay. Lily was not at her apartment, she was not at the school. Maria was not at work. Maria had left a note sometime in the past few hours saying she wanted Lily to meet with her but giving no details. Best bet? Lily was either visiting with or had been sequestered by Maria. And he knew where Maria lived.

He couldn’t afford to wait until he figured out an escape plan. Technically, they had potential access to the tunnel, the unfinished wall and Lily’s car. He would have to stay fluid and take whatever opportunity came along.

Nodding at but not making eye contact with a man dressed much as he was, Chance walked quickly to the big white house by the park. He took a sidewalk running parallel to the house and then one that took off at a right angle. In this way he was able to see the perimeter of the property. The house itself was easily as big as his father’s place on the Hastings Ranch. The backyard was filled with large play-yard equipment, all of which appeared rusty and unused as though the children who had once played on them had outgrown the need to climb and swing. The exception was a single yellow toy tractor that someone had left near a sandbox. It looked brand-new, the paint bright, the color of the sun, the color of happy. It provided a jarring note in the forgotten play yard.

He found the addition on the back where he assumed Maria’s family lived. Lily’s car wasn’t in evidence. He kept walking and found a detached garage. Next to that was a garden area where dozens of withered, dying sunflowers spilled their seeds onto the earth. He peered into the garage found a van and a truck and an equal weight of canned supplies piled on shelves. But he also discovered Lily’s red coupe hidden under a tarp and his feeling of foreboding escalated.

Wishing he’d thought to bring the handgun, he spent a moment studying the house from the cover of the garage. The back door was directly in front of him, but you had to let yourself into the play area to access it. Most likely, the kitchen window was at the back of the house as well where a parent could keep an eye on playing children and garden alike. Early on a weekday morning, the chances of someone being in the kitchen seemed pretty high. Better to try the front.

He made his way as quickly as possible to the front of the house, once more passing that bright yellow tractor. He walked up the path, keeping his head down. Once on the porch, he sidled up to the plate-glass window and chanced a quick glance inside.

Lily sat on the sofa. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the room with her. She had her eyes closed and a shot of alarm blasted through him. He moved back to the door, tried the knob. The door opened soundlessly but some sixth sense or change in temperature must have alerted Lily she was no longer alone because her eyes flew open.

The first expression in her eyes was one of profound relief. The second was anxiety. “Chance? Get out of here!” she whispered. He finally saw that her hands and ankles were tied. “It’s a trap!”

He crossed the room quickly, knelt to untie her feet.

“Go,” she said.

“Not without you. Is Charlie here?”

“I was told that he was, but I haven’t seen him.”

“Why did they tie you up?” Her feet were free and he started on her hands.

“McCord is here,” she said.

He pulled her to her feet. “Come on—”

“I can’t leave,” she protested. “Charlie might be here. I’m not going anywhere without him.”

“Neither one of you is going anywhere,” a man’s voice said, and Chance turned to see McCord standing nearby. Chance had been so distracted he hadn’t heard the man’s approach. McCord held a gun pointed at Lily. “Lay your weapon on the floor and back up,” he told Chance.

Chance looked back down at Lily, then settled the rifle on the sofa and the two of them stepped away. A younger man showed up at the front door. “Everything okay, Dad?” he asked.

“Fine, Seth. Come inside and close the door. Take the gentleman’s rifle with you. You might start a pot of coffee and wait until I call you, okay?”

“Sure.” Seth closed the front door and walked past Chance and Lily. He grabbed the rifle off the sofa and left the room.

“What have you done with Robert Brighton?” Chance asked, but even as he posed the question, he thought he knew the answer. The McCord who stood ten feet away now did not appear much like the old boxer Chance had seen smoking a cigarette after Charlie’s abduction. He must have worn lifts in his shoes at Block’s house because he was at least two inches shorter than he’d been. His voice didn’t sound as gravelly, either, and there was no trace of a limp as he moved. “You’re Robert Brighton, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing working for Jeremy Block?”

“I was undercover, just like you are now. You aren’t really Pete Reed and this lady is not your wife, Dorrie Reed. She’s Block’s wife, Lily, or at least that’s who you think she is.”

Chance glanced at Lily. What did that last comment mean? She apparently wondered the same thing. “I have no idea what he’s talking about,” she said.

“Has he hurt you?”

“No.”

He met Brighton’s gaze head-on. “What’s going on here? Where is Charlie?”

“All in good time. First tell me your real name.”

“Chance Hastings. Why did you bring Lily here?”

“To lure you. I recognized your face from the night Charlie disappeared. I saw you out by the grape arbor. And then you show up here telling lies.”

“You let me escape that night,” Chance said.

“Yes. I assumed you’d come with Lily. I hoped you might even prove to be a good diversion, but Jeremy Block never guessed anyone helped Lily escape, just as he didn’t guess that I drugged the nanny so she’d sleep through Seth and his brother climbing into Charlie’s room and taking him.”

“You took him!” Lily said.

“I arranged it, yes.”

“Where is he?”

“First things first,” Brighton mumbled. “You’ll see him soon.”

Lily’s gaze was bouncing around the room as though her maternal instincts enabled her to see through walls to find her child. “He’s been here all this time? Nearby?”

“Yes.”

She glanced at Chance and his heart ached for her. “Maria left a note on your door,” he said, hoping to ground her. “Apparently she came to see you sometime after you were brought here. Have you spoken with her?”

“No. This man was waiting for me last night when I returned to my apartment. He brought me here and locked me in a bedroom, then this morning he set this trap because he wanted to catch you off-guard.”

“At about the same time he was setting this trap,” Chance said, “someone sent a van full of armed men to escort me off White Cliff property. They said you had already left.” He looked at Brighton and added, “Was that you?”

“No. What has Maria got to do with any of this?”

“Quite a bit,” someone said from yet another door that had opened off a hallway. A woman entered with the aid of a four-prong metal cane to prop herself up. McCord immediately went to help her. With his aid, she made it to an overstuffed recliner and sat down, her ankles and legs red and swollen where they peeked from beneath the hem of her robe. Chance and Lily might have been able to make it to the door to try to escape, but Chance knew he wasn’t going anywhere until some basic questions received answers. This was as close to Charlie as they’d come, he was sure of it, he could feel it deep in his bones. And from the way Lily had tilted her chin, he was pretty sure she wasn’t going anywhere, either.

The newcomer looked nothing like Maria, though she did look faintly familiar to Chance. Of course. It was her picture in the trunk in the tunnel. Younger in the photo by a couple of years, healthier for sure, but the same woman.

She obviously had some kind of circulation issues and breathing difficulties. Her long hair was faded blond and caught in a braid down her back. Her face was unlined, her skin almost translucent. Her breathing was labored. Two little hoses fed oxygen into her nose via a portable machine she carried in a sling near her body. She looked as if she’d been battling an illness or chronic condition for a long time and it was getting the best of her. It was hard not to feel for her and for the man who stood fussing over her.