The Secret of the Stones (20 page)

The
two old friends exchanged knowing glances as Joe headed toward his own
bedroom.
 
“That is a whole other
story, my dear,” he replied.

“Yeah,”
Sean continued, “maybe later.”

“I
hate inside jokes,” she pouted and shut the door in Sean’s face.

He
couldn’t help but laugh.
 
“Good
night, then.”
 
The smile was still
on his face five minutes later as he drifted off to sleep on the sofa.

Chapter
31

Atlanta,
Georgia

Detective
Morris woke from some of the deepest sleep he’d ever had.
 
Sunshine poured through the bedroom
window of his condo as his eyes struggled against the bright light.
 
On the nightstand, his cell phone was
ringing and vibrating in the odd, circular dance that phones do when they’re on
hard surfaces.
 
He reached over and
grabbed it, glancing at the caller ID to see who’d awoken him at such an early
hour.
 
Whoever was calling him was
doing so from a number he didn’t recognize.

“This
is Morris,” he answered groggily.

The
voice on the other line sounded extremely fatigued.
 
“Hey, Trent.
 
It’s Lynch.”

“You
been working all night?”
 
The sound
of Lynch’s voice woke him up a little.

“Yeah.
 
I’m actually on my way home.
 
Just didn’t want to call from an office
line at this time of morning.
 
A
few too many ears around, if you know what I mean.”

Smart
kid.
 
A common misconception was
that cell phones were monitored more closely than land lines.
 
When cell phones were monitored, it was
usually specific suspects who were already being watched by the police.
 
The lines in the office, however, could
be permanently tapped.
 
Trent had
asked Lynch not to let anyone know what he was investigating and so far, the
young cop had done well.
 

“So,
what you got for me, Lynch?”

“A
couple of things,” he answered promptly.
 
“First, Hartsfield said the IAA jet is still in its hanger and has been
for nearly a week.

“Also,
all the airlines report not having a Sean Wyatt on board.
 
It is possible that he has some kind of
fake passport or documents as an alias, but I doubt it.”

“That
means he probably didn’t leave the country.”
 
A good sign, but the fugitive could still be anywhere.
 
“What else did you get?”

“There
are a few people here and there that he runs with, but for the most part, he’s
a loner.
 
I guess when you live
most of your life in foreign countries looking for ancient artifacts, you can’t
have much of a social life.”

Trent
rubbed his face.
 
“So no real
associates other than Schultz?
 
No
girlfriend?
 
Nothing?”

“No.”
 
The voice on the other line
paused.
 
“Can’t say I blame him for
the girlfriend thing, though.”

“What
do you mean?”

“Well,
several years back, when Wyatt was in college, he was in a motorcycle
accident.
 
His girlfriend was on
the back.
 
She died on the spot.
 
He only had a few scrapes and
bruises.
 
That’s gotta mess with
your mind for a long time.”

This
was new information.
 
“What
happened in the accident?”

Lynch
was glad he at least had something to share after working all night.
 
“Apparently, they were on their way to
the movies and passed through a busy intersection.
 
Some moron shot right through a red light and smacked into
the bike.”
 

Morris
contemplated the story.
 
“How was
Wyatt not hurt?”

“Just
one of those weird things.
 
The car
barely missed hitting his left leg, but hit her square on.
 
Wyatt was thrown about twenty feet, but
left the scene with only minor injuries.
 
The report said she was killed almost instantly.”

“Ugh.
 
That’s rough.”

“Yeah,”
Lynch went on after yawning.
 
“At
any rate, Wyatt finished college and disappeared for a few years, as I’m sure
you know.”

He
did.
 
“So, there’s no one else connected
to this guy?”

“Nope.
 
Except some guy up in
Cartersville.
 
He’s a park ranger
up there at that Indian mound state park, Etowah or something like that.
 
Found a few pictures of them together
and looked him up.
 
Name’s Joe
McElroy, in his mid fifties.
 
He
and his wife have a cabin in the woods up there about twenty minutes from the
park.”

Trent’s
mind snapped awake instantly.
 
“You
have the address of that cabin?”
 
His voice had lost its scratchy sound.

“Yeah.
 
I got it here somewhere.”
 
There was a silent moment as the cop on
the other end of the line was busy looking through what Trent imagined to be a
small pile of papers in the passenger seat.
 
A few seconds later Lynch came back on, “You ready?”

Morris
wrote down the address quickly with a pen and notepad from the nightstand.
 
“Anything else I need to know?”

“No.
 
I don’t really think that this McElroy
had anything to do with what’s been going on, though.
 
He was on duty at the park all day yesterday.”

“You
checked?”
 

“Of
course.”
 
The young cop’s tone of
voice made it sound like it was a routine thing.
 
Good kid.

Lynch
continued, “From what I can tell, McElroy is probably your best bet.”

“Probably.”
 
Morris agreed while getting out of bed
heading toward the bathroom.
 
After
a quick shower, he would be on his way north.

“Should
I get a unit out there to the McElroy place?”
 
Lynch broke into Trent’s thoughts.

“No.
 
I’m already on my way there.
 
Just get some sleep.”

“Alright.
 
Sorry I couldn’t find anything else,
sir.”

“You
did great, Lynch.
 
Thanks.”
 
Trent hit the end button on his phone
while he turned on the water.

He
showered quickly and threw on some clothes, barely drying off.
 
A few minutes later, he was out the
door and in his car, flying down the street toward the interstate.

Chapter
32

Blue
Ridge Mountains

The
highway from Cartersville to the Track Rock State park is a rolling and twisty
stretch of road, bending in and around the Blue Ridge Mountains.
 
During the warmer months, motorcycle
enthusiasts frequent the area in search of the fantastic mountain views and
curvy asphalt that make for a spectacular ride.
 
Autumn in the area also provides some of the most vibrant
colors in the country with trees of red, orange, and yellow spiking the color
spectrum of the forest.
 

Joe,
Allyson, and Sean had arrived in the mountainous region only thirty-five
minutes after leaving his cabin, and the sun was shining brightly in the
mid-morning sky.
 
Joe had gotten up
early and made an enormous pancake breakfast for his guests.
 
Sparing no thought to gluttony, he made
eggs, a bowl of fresh fruit, hot maple syrup, and turkey sausage to accompany
the flapjacks.
 

Allyson
and Sean had barely taken the time to chew the delicious food.
 
They’d been extremely hungry, not
having eaten a meal since the previous day’s breakfast.
 
Sean had slept well on the soft couch,
insisting that Allyson take the guest bed.
 
Of course, Joe had said he would sleep on the couch, but
Sean couldn’t allow his friend to follow through with that generous offer.
 

Most
of the drive so far had been spent in silence; the three companions were either
too tired to talk or still in a post-breakfast coma.
 
After looking out the window at the passing countryside for
a while, Allyson broke the quiet.
 
“Thanks again for the food, Joe.
 
It was amazing.”

“You’re
more than welcome.”
 
He grinned
across the center console at her.

Joe
continued guiding the truck through what the locals called, “God’s
Country.”
 
With the amazing views,
the passengers in the truck could understand why.
 
“I wonder why more people don’t visit this area,” Allyson
remarked.
 

“We
do get a fair share of visitors coming through here, but it certainly doesn’t
get a lot of the publicity state parks in the West get, or even as much as the
ones in the Northeast.
 
Can’t say
that I mind that, though,” Joe looked over at her in the front passenger
seat.
 
“I kinda like it quiet up
here.
 
Too many people comin’ and
goin’ might take away from the beauty of the place.”

“I
guess,” she returned to staring out across the rolling valleys from their high
vantage point.
 

In
the back seat of the truck, Sean had been checking his voicemail messages for
the last few minutes.
 
Odd, he
thought, that Detective Morris had called several times trying to get a hold of
him.
 
Morris should have gotten the
hint.

Looking
in the rear-view mirror, Joe noticed the perplexed look on Sean’s face.
 
“What’s goin’ on, buddy?
 
You okay?”

“Yeah,”
Sean slid his phone closed, “just checking my messages.”

“You
sure everything’s alright?”

“Everything
is fine.
 
A detective from Atlanta
PD called a few times.
 
Said he
wanted to ask me some more questions.”
 
Sean stared at his phone.
 
“Not sure what’s going on.”

Allyson
turned around.
 
“Was it the same
guy you talked to the other day?”

“Yeah.”

Joe
had a serious look on his face.
 
“I
wonder if they heard something from the people that took Tommy.”
 
His country accent seemed to get deeper
with the grave tone that accompanied the statement.

“Maybe,”
Sean contemplated.
 
“Or he still
thinks I had some part in his disappearance.”

“I
can’t believe this cop thinks you had something to do with it.
 
Tommy’s your best friend.”

McElroy
listened to the conversation patiently.
 
He understood exactly what Sean was saying, and it made sense.
 
The thought that the police were probably
looking for them caused him to speed the truck up a little.

“I
know,” Sean said with resolve.
 
“But right now, I guess I am the most logical suspect to the cops.
 
That just means we have to figure this
thing out so we can find Tommy and whoever has done this.”
 

Behind
the wheel, Joe was increasingly becoming more nervous.
 
Maybe it was paranoia from the thought
that he could be aiding fugitives, but he could swear that the silver sedan
behind them was tailing them.

Allyson
had turned back around to face out the front of the truck.
 
She ended the conversation by saying,
“Well, I don’t think you as a suspect makes any sense.”

Sean
appreciated the confidence she had in him.
 
He decided not to continue the talk.
 
It was probably better that he not
mention some of the other evidence that the police were inevitably looking
at.
 
The main motive the cops
probably had was that if Tommy died, Sean inherited control of the entire IAA
and the enormous fortune that went with it.
 

Detective
Morris had more than likely thought of that before anything else.
 

Looking
up in the front seat, Sean saw that Joe was noticeably uneasy.
 
He leaned forward and put his hand on
the driver’s shoulder.
 
“What’s the
matter with you?”

McElroy
was busy checking both mirrors.
 
The sedan that he’d thought was following them had gotten closer and was
only a few car lengths behind.
 
Sean didn’t need a response.
 
His friend’s eyes told him exactly what was going on.
 
Just as he was turning around, he saw a
black barrel held by a gloved hand extend out of the passenger side of the
silver vehicle.
 

Instantly,
his mind cleared of all other thoughts and his years of training kicked
in.
 
“Get down!”
 
He shouted at Allyson who had certainly
not seen the danger in the car behind.
 
To make sure she obeyed, Sean grabbed her head and shoved it
downward.
 

“What
are you doing?”
 
Allyson started at
him, angry at the gruff behavior. Then she saw him pulling the gun out of his
jacket.
 
She risked a peek in the
side mirror just as the glass exploded.
 
The sudden blast brought a scream from her mouth.

“Stay
down!”
 
He barked again.
 
This time, she did as told while
another round of bullets thudded against the tailgate of the pickup truck.
 
Then, two hit the back window, sending
a spider web across its surface.

Joe
didn’t say anything.
 
His focus was
on the curvy road ahead.
 
He
swerved the truck back and forth across the lanes, trying to give the attackers
a more difficult target.

With
the chase speeding up, both vehicles were reaching speeds that were certainly
unsafe on the dangerous, tight turns of the mountain road.
 
Guard rails ran along the side of the
highway, but they hardly seemed enough to stop a few tons of metal from
blasting through and into the chasm beyond.
 

Sean
rolled down his window and bent his body sideways, bracing his back against the
front of part of the door.
 
With
two arms extended, he squeezed off a salvo of bullets at the pursuers, sending
a few through the hood and another grouping into the windshield.
 
The driver of the car slowed down
slightly and duplicated the maneuvers Joe had used a few seconds before instead
of keeping the car steady.
 

“You
get ‘em?”
 
Joe yelled as Sean
climbed back into the seat, ejecting the empty clip and replacing it with a
practiced ease.

“No,”
Sean’s breathing had hardly changed at all.
 
He’d no sooner spoken than the clinking sound of more
bullets hitting the truck interrupted him.
 

Allyson
remained tucked away in the front passenger seat, unsure of what she should be
doing.

Sean
slid across the bench seat to the other side and lowered the window.
 
With quick precision, he released the
clip from his gun, replaced it with a full one, then braced himself again and
leaned out into the wind.
 
The
shots he fired this time were at the gunman, shattering the mirror at the man’s
waist. Sean had hit his thigh.
 
Momentarily, the assailant leaned over, grasping his now bleeding
leg.
 

Pulling
himself back into the cab, Sean shouted at Joe.
 
“Mac, I got an idea.”

“Do
I wanna hear it?”
 
Another volley
of projectiles pounded the truck, one missing Joe by mere inches, piercing the
windshield.
 
He reacted by lurching
the truck to the right.
 

“When
I tell you, slam on the brakes and let them hit us!”

“What?
 
Are you crazy?!”
 
His beady eyes were wide with doubt.

“Just
do it,” Sean insisted.

“Alright,”
Joe mumbled.
 
Then he raised his
voice, “But you’re buyin’ me a new truck!”

Without
acknowledging the comment, Sean reached back out the driver’s side rear window
again, this time only peppering a few shots at the car.
 
He turned his head around to look at
the road ahead, the wind blowing hard in his face.
 
Joe steered the car around a sharp corner, edging over into
the other lane, the force nearly pulled Wyatt out of window. The road
straightened out briefly, but another curve approached rapidly about a hundred
yards ahead.

“Mac,
just before you get to that turn, hit the brakes!”

Joe
didn’t say anything.
 
He didn’t
need to.
 
Sean arched his body out
the opening again and launched a few more bullets.

“Hang
on, buddy!”
 
Joe shouted back.
 
He looked over at Allyson who was
bracing herself for the collision.

Joe
slammed on the brakes.
 
Sean braced
himself against the back of the seat as the truck quickly lost velocity.
 

The
driver of the pursuing car did not expect the brash move and swerved
immediately to avoid the stopping pickup.
 

Instantly,
Sean turned out the window unleashed a flurry of bullets into the exposed and
now off balance gunman of the passing car.
 
Crimson liquid erupted from his neck as he slid back in
through the window, grasping pointlessly at the wounds.
 

Suddenly,
another gunshot resonated from the front seat of the truck.
 
Sean saw the bullet hit the driver in
the shoulder, causing the attacker to jerk the steering wheel left.
 

The
feeble guard rails gave way easily to the head on force of the speeding
vehicle.
 
There was a brief sound
of metal grinding on metal as the car vaulted over the edge of the mountain and
disappeared from site.
 

Joe
eased the truck to a stop, feeling very awkward at the moment.

Sean’s
face was stunned as he peered into the front seat.  What he saw
was Allyson sprawled across his friend’s lap, arms extended out the window
holding a Glock 9mm.

“Journalist?”
 
He asked with an eyebrow raised.

She
was busy trying to pull herself off of Joe, who just stared at her with
his mouth agape.
 

“Well,”
she said sliding her gun back into a concealed jacket pocket, “I may have
hidden a few details.”
 
She
shrugged and gave a flirty smile.

Sean
just shook his head.  “You mean, like, all of them?”  He couldn’t
help but chuckle as he reached for the door handle.

The
three simultaneously opened the doors, got out of the bullet riddled vehicle,
and stepped over to the now mangled railing.
 
Just beyond it, the mountain dropped off down a steep cliff.
 
At the bottom, probably five hundred
feet below, the undercarriage of the smoking car lay motionless, facing the
sky.
 

Mac
snorted, “In the movies, don’t those things usually blow up?”