Catching heat, p.23
Catching Heat, page 23
“Did you tell the FBI that you found me?”
“No, I haven’t had a—”
“Well, don’t until we’ve had a chance to talk.”
“I really think the sooner they know, the more help they’ll be.”
“I won’t talk to them, and I won’t talk to you unless you promise not to call them.”
Luke frowned. What was up with her? “Okay, okay, I promise.” He slowed as he reached the dark park. “Where are you? . . . Oh, I see.”
There was a dark Land Rover stopped near the bathrooms with its lights on, and he could see the interior light. Luke pulled his car into the space next to it and got out. The driver’s door opened, and a man Luke had never seen before—a big man who looked like a bouncer—nodded his way, then opened the back door, gesturing for Luke to get in.
Luke complied. Victoria was there with a computer on her lap and a distorted smile on her face. There was no sign of her nurse. The door was shut behind him, and the driver climbed back behind the wheel. Before Luke had a chance to say anything, the Rover pulled away from the curb.
“Where are we going?”
Victoria turned the computer toward him, and he saw a route highlighted on a map.
“I’ve found him. I know where Stuart is. Now we’re going to catch him.”
Luke remembered what Abby had said about the prospect of Victoria actually coming across Stuart at a winery. She’d said whatever happened, it would be ugly. Was that where they were going now? To an ugly confrontation?
ABBY SLID CLOSER to the door, cupping her hands over her ear and putting them close to the corrugated metal, praying Napier didn’t hear her. The person had stopped moving. Was he still out there?
Barely breathing, Abby moved closer to the side seam, a small crack where she could feel a slight breeze.
“Is somebody there?” she whispered.
Scrape, scrape.
“Who’s there? I need help.”
“Detective Hart?”
Abby nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the answering whisper. “Yes! Who’s there?” So intent was she straining to hear someone speak she didn’t hear Napier get up until he was right next to her.
She looked up to see a gun pointed at her head.
“Shush,” he hissed as he stepped back and grabbed the door handle with his free hand and pulled. As soon as the door was up, he began firing.
“What?” Luke stared at Victoria Napier. “How could you know where he is?”
“Because I know him. When I heard about the incident here, I began searching. He would have a backup plan, a hiding place, and I found it.”
Luke sucked in a breath, working to control the seething anger within. “The incident? Orson has been shot, Abby kidnapped, and Woody has a bomb around his neck. I think that’s a little more than an incident.”
“I know, I know, and I understand your anger. Why do you think I brought you along? You get to catch him. You get to save the girl and catch the bad guy. Don’t you want that?”
“Of course I want that. But I want it the right way.”
“The right way is the way that succeeds.”
Luke stopped himself from saying any more. The look in Victoria’s good eye was bracingly cold, borderline maniacal. She held all the cards. He didn’t have any options here but to go along and pray that she was right and that they would find Napier. He wanted Abby back and safe, and Woody himself had postulated that Napier had a hiding place. Kudos to Victoria if she really had found it.
He wasn’t armed, had never wanted a concealed carry permit, and he knew that Napier was armed and not afraid to shoot. The survivalist in him looked around the car, wondering if Victoria had a plan to confront her husband.
Working to calm himself, he pointed to the computer. “Where is he?”
“I guessed that he would have an escape plan, a place to run to if he felt I was close. When he ran away with Detective Hart like he did, I knew he was not simply fleeing aimlessly.”
“And?”
“I did a public records search for property.”
“But he’d be stupid to use his name on a property purchase.”
“You’re right; he didn’t. He purchased it under the name of a fake corporation. BHL Investments. I’ve found it: a storage facility in a place called Lost Hills.”
“How?” Luke frowned. “How could you know that?”
“The facility was bought ten years ago and never used again. I’ve read through pages of records. He bought it, kicked everyone out, then closed the place but never used it for anything. He used the initials BHL, the second, eighth, and twelfth letters of the alphabet. He’s been obsessed with the numbers two, six, and four for as long as I’ve known him. Two gets us the letter B; add six, and we get H; four more and we’re at L.”
“Suppose you’re right, and he is there. What do you plan to do?”
“What I’ve told you,” she said, sounding like a teacher lecturing a dense student. “Let you rescue the girl and catch the bad guy.”
Victoria resumed studying her computer, and Luke sat back, wondering if she were certifiably 5150, police slang for crazy. He prayed for Abby, that she was safe and would stay that way until Napier was caught. Then he prayed for himself, for the wisdom to do the right thing if Victoria was, in fact, leading them to the fugitive.
THE GUN’S REPORT was deafening. Abby smelled the acrid odor of gunpowder, heard a man’s grunt of pain, and pushed herself to her feet. In the filtered moonlight she could see Napier pointing the gun at a figure on the ground, and she leaped forward, ramming both of her hands into his side, knocking him off his feet. The gun went flying into the darkness, and Napier hit the ground with a groan. Abby was more concerned about the downed man. She turned toward him as Napier flailed to get up.
It was J. P. Winnen, in civilian clothes, writhing in pain on the ground.
Abby knelt at his side, trying to determine how badly he was hurt. He cursed and moaned.
“Winnen, stop moving. Where are you hit?”
“It’s bad, I think.”
“What are you doing here? How did you find us?” She saw blood, but it wasn’t excessive. Was it possible he wasn’t hurt that bad?
He curled up in a fetal position, moaning, gasping. “I . . . I put a tracker on your car. Wanted to keep tabs. I . . . ahh . . .”
“All right, all right, it doesn’t matter. Do you have a phone so I can call help?”
Behind her she heard Napier try to start the car, but it wouldn’t turn over. Napier was going to flee.
The combination!
“Winnen, do you have a gun?” Frantically she checked his waistband but did not see a weapon. The Camaro motor was cranking over and over but not catching. She turned toward the car but knew she couldn’t leave Winnen to chase down Napier.
“Pocket,” Winnen said, voice weakening.
Abby had to lean close to hear him as the motor caught and Napier goosed it several times. The car inched out of the space. Abby checked his pocket and retrieved, not a gun, but the phone. She punched in 911.
The Camaro pulled out of the unit and accelerated by the time Abby reached a 911 operator.
“What’s the nature of your emergency?” rang in her ears as the Camaro’s taillights turned a corner, out of sight.
All she could think about was Woody on the floor with an IED around his neck and no way to get it off.
“Will you let me call someone so we have backup?” Luke asked.
Victoria glared at him. “I have all I need with me. I’m giving you the chance to be a hero. Can’t you just be grateful?”
Luke blew out a breath and said nothing. They drove in silent darkness for about forty-five minutes. Luke checked his phone for messages. There were several calls from Purcell. Even as he considered how to call the agent back, he felt Victoria’s gaze boring into him.
“You will not call the bureaucracy. They will only slow us down.”
“I didn’t call anyone. I’m just checking messages.”
“We’re almost there.”
Luke put his phone away and paid attention. They were in an industrial area; he’d seen a sign for Lost Hills a little while back and bet they were close. The driver stopped at a gate and turned and spoke to Victoria.
“It’s locked. Do you want to proceed?”
“Yes, yes, hurry.”
The driver got out and checked the padlock. Luke leaned forward to watch what the driver was doing. He retrieved a crowbar from the back of the Land Rover and broke the lock, then pushed the gate open. He was not quite back in his seat when Luke heard the gunshots. Five of them.
For the first time since he became an investigator, Luke wished he had a gun. He started to get out of the car, but Victoria grabbed his arm.
“Stay in the car.” She dropped his arm and pulled a handgun from the seat pocket in front of her.
The driver jumped back in his seat and accelerated through the gate as another car came screaming around the corner of a row of storage units. The lights blinded Luke, and he put his head down as the driver of the Land Rover cursed and slammed on the brakes. The other car was coming too fast and hit them head-on. The impact jolted Luke. Since he wasn’t belted in, he slammed into the back of the driver’s seat even as the driver was thrown back by the air bag.
The front seat recoil snapped Luke into the backseat. His head hit the headrest hard, and he blacked out for a moment. When he came to, he had to shake the fog from his mind. Victoria was mumbling, but she appeared to be okay.
“I want to kill him,” she kept repeating.
The driver was moaning and moving around. Luke stepped out of the car on shaky legs. He opened the driver’s door.
“Are you okay?” he asked the driver.
“I think so.”
“Can you call 911?”
“Yeah. I will.”
Luke left him and walked around to see who hit them. In the back of his mind he thought it must have been Napier.
The man behind the wheel of the other car was a bloody mess. He had not been wearing a seat belt and his face had shattered the windshield. He wasn’t moving, and there was no one else in the car. If this was Napier, where was Abby?
Luke knew he had to find her. He started off into the darkness, in the direction the speeding car had come.
ABBY HAD TO repeat herself three times before the operator understood what she was saying. When she finally got the message, the operator said that help was on the way. Abby put the phone down and tried to ascertain how Winnen was doing. She heard a crash in the distance but ignored it and concentrated on Winnen.
Not good. She still didn’t see much blood and knew he could be bleeding inside.
“Winnen, medics are on the way. Hang on.”
He moaned. “I can’t. . . . I have to tell you. Phone. Record.”
Abby stared at the man on the ground. She knew what he wanted. She’d asked for such a thing twice in the course of her career. Asked a dying man for a dying declaration. A confession to clear the conscience before death.
She grabbed his phone and searched for a recording app. As she searched, he started talking. “I followed you here. I was going to leave you. But I remembered the funeral. I couldn’t leave. . . . You’re a cop. . . .” He coughed.
“Take it easy, Winnen. I found the app. This is Detective Abby Hart, recording a conversation at the request of J. P. Winnen. Is that what you want, Winnen?”
She put the phone to his mouth and he whispered, “Yes.”
“Did you kill Ciara Adessi?”
“No. It was Chaz.” He collapsed into a fit of coughing, grimacing in pain. “I helped him bury her body. He said it was an accident. I didn’t want an accident to ruin his life.”
He faded out, and Abby checked his pulse. It was weak. She wasn’t going to prod him for more.
She heard footsteps rapidly approaching and looked around for the gun Napier had dropped. There was a flashlight app on the phone, and as soon as she activated it, she saw her gun and leaped up to grab it, pointing toward the sound. A dark figure appeared.
“Abby!”
“How?” It didn’t compute as Abby let the gun lower, pointing at the ground. It was Luke.
“Abby, thank God!” He grabbed her in a bear hug she couldn’t return because her hands were still cuffed in front of her. She didn’t care. She leaned into Luke as the sound of sirens rent the air, and she knew this part of the nightmare was over.
Chaos didn’t completely describe the scene in the storage yard when emergency services began arriving. Winnen was the first to get scooped up by paramedics, but Victoria Napier needed transport as well. It looked as though she’d broken her collarbone. And she barely cooperated with the medics. She was screaming about Stuart. She recognized the Camaro, said Stuart had looked at the car a few days before he shot her, but told her that he didn’t buy it. She was insisting she be allowed to chase him. Abby was convinced that if she had two good arms and legs, she’d have been off and running after Stuart.
Stuart Napier had disappeared. Even though when Luke had checked on him, he’d been out cold, apparently before the medics arrived, he’d run off into the night. But the Camaro bore witness to the fact that Stuart didn’t get off scot-free. The windshield was shattered and there was blood and hair present; he was obviously hurt badly. The local police were coordinating with the FBI on the phone and a police dog arrived to help in the manhunt.
Abby was glad when the ambulance doors were closed and Victoria was gone. But the word obsession rattled her brain. She wondered if she’d looked that maniacal to Luke when she put him on the train two days ago. She watched him handle the emergency responders, explaining everything he knew. Ramrod straight, military posture, and an appealing, confident way about him. Abby knew she loved him and couldn’t for the life of her figure out how she’d let herself be swept in the opposite direction, away from him.
We’re a team. She vowed that they would be again and she wouldn’t let anything come between them, not ever.
Besides Luke, Victoria’s driver was relatively unscathed. The Land Rover’s air bag had protected him. Abby’s wrists were treated on scene, and then a California Highway Patrol officer sent by the FBI to drive Abby and Luke back to the Dancing Purple Grape picked them up. Abby was glad it wasn’t a debate. The FBI had jurisdiction over her debriefing, and she didn’t even mind riding in the back of a patrol car. At least Luke was with her.
But worry for Woody hit her like a punch.
“How is Woody? Did you see him? Did they get that thing off?”
Luke put his hands on her shoulders. “He was fine when I saw him, tired, but the bomb guys believed that IED was stable. He was holding his own when I talked to him.” Luke shared with her what Woody had said about faith.
Sighing with relief, Abby sagged into Luke. “I’m so sorry. I should have listened to you. Maybe if I hadn’t been so preoccupied, if I’d been more in tune with the task at hand, I would have recognized Napier, stopped him.”
Luke gathered her in a hug. “Abby, don’t blame yourself. Woody doesn’t.”
“You were right. I was blind, obsessed.”
He pushed her back and held her gaze. “Forgiven and forgotten.” He kissed her cheeks as her tears fell.
“But it’s my fault. If I hadn’t been preoccupied, thinking about Mike and Alyssa—”
His kiss silenced her. “No more of the past. Only the now, and the future.” His warm hazel eyes held her and she relaxed into him.
The highway patrolman cleared his throat. “I’m ready to go if you two are.”
Abby wiped her eyes as Luke told him, “You bet.”
They climbed into the back of his white CHP cruiser.
“Have you ever ridden in the back of a patrol car?” Luke asked.
“Only with a prisoner,” Abby said, leaning against him. “I can’t imagine what Woody is going through with an explosive device around his neck. He really didn’t mind your prayer?”
“Nope.”
She was about to say something else when the officer driving them interrupted to say he’d received a radio transmission.
“The search dog just caught the fugitive, Stuart Napier,” he said. “Found him hiding in a Dumpster at a gas station.”
“Hallelujah,” Abby said. “Has anyone talked to him? Though I doubt he’ll be cooperative. He said that he would not give anyone the combination to the device unless he was free.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Luke said.
“I don’t have any more information,” the officer said.
Abby closed her eyes. She’d been praying for Woody and didn’t want to stop until he was free of the horrible device. Wisdom, Lord. Wisdom for the bomb techs to take that thing off safely.
Luke held her hand gently. Though wrapped and treated, her wrists were still raw and sore.
“I met the head bomb squad guy, Agent Van Horne. He’s squared away. I trust that he can figure that thing out,” Luke assured her.
The sun was up by the time they arrived back at the Dancing Purple Grape. Immediately they were told that Van Horne wanted to talk to Abby.
As she and Luke walked through the row of official vehicles, she hated it that she and Woody had become victims when they were supposed to be on the other side.
Luke pointed out Van Horne when they reached the operations vehicle. The man might have been an inch shorter than Abby, but she was able to look him straight in the eye. There was an aura of above-average command presence around him as he took notice of them. He reminded Abby of a battle-hardened Marine, complete with the Marine-style haircut.
“Detective Hart, glad to see you made it here in one piece.” Van Horne extended his hand and Abby shook it. “Can you tell us anything that can help us? I’ve been on the phone with the agent with Napier, and the guy has gone silent.”
“He never told me the combination. But he did seem obsessed with a number sequence.” Abby told him about the constant tapping. “Does that help?”
Van Horne shook his head. “Afraid not. I’ve studied the device as best I can, and from what I can see, there are five numbers needed to disarm it. Those three may be a part of it, but I need two more numbers.”
“No, I haven’t had a—”
“Well, don’t until we’ve had a chance to talk.”
“I really think the sooner they know, the more help they’ll be.”
“I won’t talk to them, and I won’t talk to you unless you promise not to call them.”
Luke frowned. What was up with her? “Okay, okay, I promise.” He slowed as he reached the dark park. “Where are you? . . . Oh, I see.”
There was a dark Land Rover stopped near the bathrooms with its lights on, and he could see the interior light. Luke pulled his car into the space next to it and got out. The driver’s door opened, and a man Luke had never seen before—a big man who looked like a bouncer—nodded his way, then opened the back door, gesturing for Luke to get in.
Luke complied. Victoria was there with a computer on her lap and a distorted smile on her face. There was no sign of her nurse. The door was shut behind him, and the driver climbed back behind the wheel. Before Luke had a chance to say anything, the Rover pulled away from the curb.
“Where are we going?”
Victoria turned the computer toward him, and he saw a route highlighted on a map.
“I’ve found him. I know where Stuart is. Now we’re going to catch him.”
Luke remembered what Abby had said about the prospect of Victoria actually coming across Stuart at a winery. She’d said whatever happened, it would be ugly. Was that where they were going now? To an ugly confrontation?
ABBY SLID CLOSER to the door, cupping her hands over her ear and putting them close to the corrugated metal, praying Napier didn’t hear her. The person had stopped moving. Was he still out there?
Barely breathing, Abby moved closer to the side seam, a small crack where she could feel a slight breeze.
“Is somebody there?” she whispered.
Scrape, scrape.
“Who’s there? I need help.”
“Detective Hart?”
Abby nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the answering whisper. “Yes! Who’s there?” So intent was she straining to hear someone speak she didn’t hear Napier get up until he was right next to her.
She looked up to see a gun pointed at her head.
“Shush,” he hissed as he stepped back and grabbed the door handle with his free hand and pulled. As soon as the door was up, he began firing.
“What?” Luke stared at Victoria Napier. “How could you know where he is?”
“Because I know him. When I heard about the incident here, I began searching. He would have a backup plan, a hiding place, and I found it.”
Luke sucked in a breath, working to control the seething anger within. “The incident? Orson has been shot, Abby kidnapped, and Woody has a bomb around his neck. I think that’s a little more than an incident.”
“I know, I know, and I understand your anger. Why do you think I brought you along? You get to catch him. You get to save the girl and catch the bad guy. Don’t you want that?”
“Of course I want that. But I want it the right way.”
“The right way is the way that succeeds.”
Luke stopped himself from saying any more. The look in Victoria’s good eye was bracingly cold, borderline maniacal. She held all the cards. He didn’t have any options here but to go along and pray that she was right and that they would find Napier. He wanted Abby back and safe, and Woody himself had postulated that Napier had a hiding place. Kudos to Victoria if she really had found it.
He wasn’t armed, had never wanted a concealed carry permit, and he knew that Napier was armed and not afraid to shoot. The survivalist in him looked around the car, wondering if Victoria had a plan to confront her husband.
Working to calm himself, he pointed to the computer. “Where is he?”
“I guessed that he would have an escape plan, a place to run to if he felt I was close. When he ran away with Detective Hart like he did, I knew he was not simply fleeing aimlessly.”
“And?”
“I did a public records search for property.”
“But he’d be stupid to use his name on a property purchase.”
“You’re right; he didn’t. He purchased it under the name of a fake corporation. BHL Investments. I’ve found it: a storage facility in a place called Lost Hills.”
“How?” Luke frowned. “How could you know that?”
“The facility was bought ten years ago and never used again. I’ve read through pages of records. He bought it, kicked everyone out, then closed the place but never used it for anything. He used the initials BHL, the second, eighth, and twelfth letters of the alphabet. He’s been obsessed with the numbers two, six, and four for as long as I’ve known him. Two gets us the letter B; add six, and we get H; four more and we’re at L.”
“Suppose you’re right, and he is there. What do you plan to do?”
“What I’ve told you,” she said, sounding like a teacher lecturing a dense student. “Let you rescue the girl and catch the bad guy.”
Victoria resumed studying her computer, and Luke sat back, wondering if she were certifiably 5150, police slang for crazy. He prayed for Abby, that she was safe and would stay that way until Napier was caught. Then he prayed for himself, for the wisdom to do the right thing if Victoria was, in fact, leading them to the fugitive.
THE GUN’S REPORT was deafening. Abby smelled the acrid odor of gunpowder, heard a man’s grunt of pain, and pushed herself to her feet. In the filtered moonlight she could see Napier pointing the gun at a figure on the ground, and she leaped forward, ramming both of her hands into his side, knocking him off his feet. The gun went flying into the darkness, and Napier hit the ground with a groan. Abby was more concerned about the downed man. She turned toward him as Napier flailed to get up.
It was J. P. Winnen, in civilian clothes, writhing in pain on the ground.
Abby knelt at his side, trying to determine how badly he was hurt. He cursed and moaned.
“Winnen, stop moving. Where are you hit?”
“It’s bad, I think.”
“What are you doing here? How did you find us?” She saw blood, but it wasn’t excessive. Was it possible he wasn’t hurt that bad?
He curled up in a fetal position, moaning, gasping. “I . . . I put a tracker on your car. Wanted to keep tabs. I . . . ahh . . .”
“All right, all right, it doesn’t matter. Do you have a phone so I can call help?”
Behind her she heard Napier try to start the car, but it wouldn’t turn over. Napier was going to flee.
The combination!
“Winnen, do you have a gun?” Frantically she checked his waistband but did not see a weapon. The Camaro motor was cranking over and over but not catching. She turned toward the car but knew she couldn’t leave Winnen to chase down Napier.
“Pocket,” Winnen said, voice weakening.
Abby had to lean close to hear him as the motor caught and Napier goosed it several times. The car inched out of the space. Abby checked his pocket and retrieved, not a gun, but the phone. She punched in 911.
The Camaro pulled out of the unit and accelerated by the time Abby reached a 911 operator.
“What’s the nature of your emergency?” rang in her ears as the Camaro’s taillights turned a corner, out of sight.
All she could think about was Woody on the floor with an IED around his neck and no way to get it off.
“Will you let me call someone so we have backup?” Luke asked.
Victoria glared at him. “I have all I need with me. I’m giving you the chance to be a hero. Can’t you just be grateful?”
Luke blew out a breath and said nothing. They drove in silent darkness for about forty-five minutes. Luke checked his phone for messages. There were several calls from Purcell. Even as he considered how to call the agent back, he felt Victoria’s gaze boring into him.
“You will not call the bureaucracy. They will only slow us down.”
“I didn’t call anyone. I’m just checking messages.”
“We’re almost there.”
Luke put his phone away and paid attention. They were in an industrial area; he’d seen a sign for Lost Hills a little while back and bet they were close. The driver stopped at a gate and turned and spoke to Victoria.
“It’s locked. Do you want to proceed?”
“Yes, yes, hurry.”
The driver got out and checked the padlock. Luke leaned forward to watch what the driver was doing. He retrieved a crowbar from the back of the Land Rover and broke the lock, then pushed the gate open. He was not quite back in his seat when Luke heard the gunshots. Five of them.
For the first time since he became an investigator, Luke wished he had a gun. He started to get out of the car, but Victoria grabbed his arm.
“Stay in the car.” She dropped his arm and pulled a handgun from the seat pocket in front of her.
The driver jumped back in his seat and accelerated through the gate as another car came screaming around the corner of a row of storage units. The lights blinded Luke, and he put his head down as the driver of the Land Rover cursed and slammed on the brakes. The other car was coming too fast and hit them head-on. The impact jolted Luke. Since he wasn’t belted in, he slammed into the back of the driver’s seat even as the driver was thrown back by the air bag.
The front seat recoil snapped Luke into the backseat. His head hit the headrest hard, and he blacked out for a moment. When he came to, he had to shake the fog from his mind. Victoria was mumbling, but she appeared to be okay.
“I want to kill him,” she kept repeating.
The driver was moaning and moving around. Luke stepped out of the car on shaky legs. He opened the driver’s door.
“Are you okay?” he asked the driver.
“I think so.”
“Can you call 911?”
“Yeah. I will.”
Luke left him and walked around to see who hit them. In the back of his mind he thought it must have been Napier.
The man behind the wheel of the other car was a bloody mess. He had not been wearing a seat belt and his face had shattered the windshield. He wasn’t moving, and there was no one else in the car. If this was Napier, where was Abby?
Luke knew he had to find her. He started off into the darkness, in the direction the speeding car had come.
ABBY HAD TO repeat herself three times before the operator understood what she was saying. When she finally got the message, the operator said that help was on the way. Abby put the phone down and tried to ascertain how Winnen was doing. She heard a crash in the distance but ignored it and concentrated on Winnen.
Not good. She still didn’t see much blood and knew he could be bleeding inside.
“Winnen, medics are on the way. Hang on.”
He moaned. “I can’t. . . . I have to tell you. Phone. Record.”
Abby stared at the man on the ground. She knew what he wanted. She’d asked for such a thing twice in the course of her career. Asked a dying man for a dying declaration. A confession to clear the conscience before death.
She grabbed his phone and searched for a recording app. As she searched, he started talking. “I followed you here. I was going to leave you. But I remembered the funeral. I couldn’t leave. . . . You’re a cop. . . .” He coughed.
“Take it easy, Winnen. I found the app. This is Detective Abby Hart, recording a conversation at the request of J. P. Winnen. Is that what you want, Winnen?”
She put the phone to his mouth and he whispered, “Yes.”
“Did you kill Ciara Adessi?”
“No. It was Chaz.” He collapsed into a fit of coughing, grimacing in pain. “I helped him bury her body. He said it was an accident. I didn’t want an accident to ruin his life.”
He faded out, and Abby checked his pulse. It was weak. She wasn’t going to prod him for more.
She heard footsteps rapidly approaching and looked around for the gun Napier had dropped. There was a flashlight app on the phone, and as soon as she activated it, she saw her gun and leaped up to grab it, pointing toward the sound. A dark figure appeared.
“Abby!”
“How?” It didn’t compute as Abby let the gun lower, pointing at the ground. It was Luke.
“Abby, thank God!” He grabbed her in a bear hug she couldn’t return because her hands were still cuffed in front of her. She didn’t care. She leaned into Luke as the sound of sirens rent the air, and she knew this part of the nightmare was over.
Chaos didn’t completely describe the scene in the storage yard when emergency services began arriving. Winnen was the first to get scooped up by paramedics, but Victoria Napier needed transport as well. It looked as though she’d broken her collarbone. And she barely cooperated with the medics. She was screaming about Stuart. She recognized the Camaro, said Stuart had looked at the car a few days before he shot her, but told her that he didn’t buy it. She was insisting she be allowed to chase him. Abby was convinced that if she had two good arms and legs, she’d have been off and running after Stuart.
Stuart Napier had disappeared. Even though when Luke had checked on him, he’d been out cold, apparently before the medics arrived, he’d run off into the night. But the Camaro bore witness to the fact that Stuart didn’t get off scot-free. The windshield was shattered and there was blood and hair present; he was obviously hurt badly. The local police were coordinating with the FBI on the phone and a police dog arrived to help in the manhunt.
Abby was glad when the ambulance doors were closed and Victoria was gone. But the word obsession rattled her brain. She wondered if she’d looked that maniacal to Luke when she put him on the train two days ago. She watched him handle the emergency responders, explaining everything he knew. Ramrod straight, military posture, and an appealing, confident way about him. Abby knew she loved him and couldn’t for the life of her figure out how she’d let herself be swept in the opposite direction, away from him.
We’re a team. She vowed that they would be again and she wouldn’t let anything come between them, not ever.
Besides Luke, Victoria’s driver was relatively unscathed. The Land Rover’s air bag had protected him. Abby’s wrists were treated on scene, and then a California Highway Patrol officer sent by the FBI to drive Abby and Luke back to the Dancing Purple Grape picked them up. Abby was glad it wasn’t a debate. The FBI had jurisdiction over her debriefing, and she didn’t even mind riding in the back of a patrol car. At least Luke was with her.
But worry for Woody hit her like a punch.
“How is Woody? Did you see him? Did they get that thing off?”
Luke put his hands on her shoulders. “He was fine when I saw him, tired, but the bomb guys believed that IED was stable. He was holding his own when I talked to him.” Luke shared with her what Woody had said about faith.
Sighing with relief, Abby sagged into Luke. “I’m so sorry. I should have listened to you. Maybe if I hadn’t been so preoccupied, if I’d been more in tune with the task at hand, I would have recognized Napier, stopped him.”
Luke gathered her in a hug. “Abby, don’t blame yourself. Woody doesn’t.”
“You were right. I was blind, obsessed.”
He pushed her back and held her gaze. “Forgiven and forgotten.” He kissed her cheeks as her tears fell.
“But it’s my fault. If I hadn’t been preoccupied, thinking about Mike and Alyssa—”
His kiss silenced her. “No more of the past. Only the now, and the future.” His warm hazel eyes held her and she relaxed into him.
The highway patrolman cleared his throat. “I’m ready to go if you two are.”
Abby wiped her eyes as Luke told him, “You bet.”
They climbed into the back of his white CHP cruiser.
“Have you ever ridden in the back of a patrol car?” Luke asked.
“Only with a prisoner,” Abby said, leaning against him. “I can’t imagine what Woody is going through with an explosive device around his neck. He really didn’t mind your prayer?”
“Nope.”
She was about to say something else when the officer driving them interrupted to say he’d received a radio transmission.
“The search dog just caught the fugitive, Stuart Napier,” he said. “Found him hiding in a Dumpster at a gas station.”
“Hallelujah,” Abby said. “Has anyone talked to him? Though I doubt he’ll be cooperative. He said that he would not give anyone the combination to the device unless he was free.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Luke said.
“I don’t have any more information,” the officer said.
Abby closed her eyes. She’d been praying for Woody and didn’t want to stop until he was free of the horrible device. Wisdom, Lord. Wisdom for the bomb techs to take that thing off safely.
Luke held her hand gently. Though wrapped and treated, her wrists were still raw and sore.
“I met the head bomb squad guy, Agent Van Horne. He’s squared away. I trust that he can figure that thing out,” Luke assured her.
The sun was up by the time they arrived back at the Dancing Purple Grape. Immediately they were told that Van Horne wanted to talk to Abby.
As she and Luke walked through the row of official vehicles, she hated it that she and Woody had become victims when they were supposed to be on the other side.
Luke pointed out Van Horne when they reached the operations vehicle. The man might have been an inch shorter than Abby, but she was able to look him straight in the eye. There was an aura of above-average command presence around him as he took notice of them. He reminded Abby of a battle-hardened Marine, complete with the Marine-style haircut.
“Detective Hart, glad to see you made it here in one piece.” Van Horne extended his hand and Abby shook it. “Can you tell us anything that can help us? I’ve been on the phone with the agent with Napier, and the guy has gone silent.”
“He never told me the combination. But he did seem obsessed with a number sequence.” Abby told him about the constant tapping. “Does that help?”
Van Horne shook his head. “Afraid not. I’ve studied the device as best I can, and from what I can see, there are five numbers needed to disarm it. Those three may be a part of it, but I need two more numbers.”
