Crossfire Creek Page 11

  “What are those?”

  She slid the pages inside the bag of art supplies without giving them a glance. “Pictures of boots, if I had to guess.”

  “How’d you know they’d be there?” Luke asked.

  “Lucky guess.”

  She hung the tote bag over the crook of her left arm and the laptop bag off her right shoulder, then reached for the duffel bag.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not a pack mule,” Pat muttered. He grabbed the duffel, and Luke gestured for her to pass him the toiletries case.

  “Thanks for the hand, gentlemen.” She breezed through the open door and made a beeline for Luke’s Jeep with her bags.

  “Hold up. Put those in my vehicle. Ranger Painter has to go to another location in the park.”

  She scrunched up her forehead and pursed her lips as if she planned to object, but she didn’t. Instead, she nodded and adjusted course, tossing the bags in the back of his Jeep. Luke added the toiletries case, then he grabbed her backpack from the footwell on the passenger side and swung it toward her.

  She caught it one-handed. “Thanks.”

  “Good luck.” He nodded toward Pat. Then he jumped into his Jeep and pulled out.

  From behind the wheel, Pat watched her take a deep breath and steel herself before she slid into the passenger side of his vehicle with a final rueful glance toward Luke’s Jeep as it disappeared around the bend.

  16

  Aroostine settled into the passenger seat and tried to think of something to say to the mercurial special agent that wouldn’t agitate him. Finally, she figured direct, polite, and short was the way to go.

  “Thank you for agreeing to help the Glassers. Marlene’ll be so relieved.”

  He glanced over at her. “You’re welcome.” He turned his attention back to the winding road. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I was—am—suspicious of your interest in this matter. But I appreciate that you brought the information to me and, at least, so far, haven’t asked for compensation.”

  She abandoned her to plan to avoid ruffling his feathers and laughed. “That’s what you think? That I’m going to shake you down? Newsflash, Special Agent Banks, I don’t need the government’s money.”

  “Well, from what I’ve seen of Marlene Glasser’s finances, she’s not paying you. And if her friends who hired you have deep pockets, they sure haven’t shared the wealth with her.”

  “Nobody’s paying me,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “Must be nice.”

  “Not really. My husband was killed in a car accident over the summer. I have a lot of insurance money now, but I’d rather have him.”

  She kept her eyes ahead, but felt his glance on her profile as it raked over her.

  “I’m so sorry. I … didn’t know.”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded. Of course he didn’t know. How could he?

  But why was she getting so choked up? Her emotions were simmering close to the surface, just as they’d done after Joe died. Wasn’t part of the point of looking outside herself and helping other people to keep moving forward, keep living?

  She didn’t think she’d ever not miss Joe. But she couldn’t allow herself to be caught in the swirling currents of pain. She’d get sucked under.

  “Luke lost his wife,” the special agent blurted.

  “Luke?”

  “Uh, Ranger Painter. She was out hiking and lost her footing. She plunged eighty-seven feet to her death.”

  She gasped. “That’s horrible.”

  “It was. I don’t know how he can bear to let Rory out of his sight after that. But he says life belongs to the living.”

  She sneaked a peek at him. That sounded an awful lot like something Carole, or her grandfather’s spirit, or Joe’s spirit, would say.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “Don’t be. It’s true.”

  They lapsed into silence. She shifted her focus back to the scene outside the Jeep. The cloudless afternoon, the sun-dappled trees, the birds, the white-tailed deer bounding in and out of the woods, and the plants swaying in the breeze.

  After a moment, he cleared his throat. “I’ll need to get approval from my ASAC—oh, sorry, that’s the assistant spec—”

  “Assistant special agent in charge. Yeah, I know.”

  He gave her a sidelong look. “You used to be a lawyer? Were you a federal prosecutor?”

  “Only for a blink of an eye.”

  “Aren’t you kind of young to be … retired?”

  She should’ve kept her mouth shut. About all of it. Practicing law, losing Joe. None of those things were Rue’s story.

  “I guess. So, you were saying you’ll need approval?”

  “Right. I’ll need my ASAC to authorize a protective detail for the Glassers. After we’ve had a chance to hear Joy-Lynn’s story, we’ll figure out if we can make witness protection or relocation happen. But for now, I’d like to move them to a vacant ranger cabin. It’ll be easier for me and Ranger Painter to keep tabs on them, and harder for anyone else to stumble across them like you did.”

  She hadn’t stumbled across them, but she didn’t correct him. Instead she said, “I’m sure they’ll be on board,” even though she wasn’t at all sure Marlene would go along with his plan.

  “So you find people. Now that you’ve found the Glassers, what will you do?”

  “Probably go home to P … Iowa until someone else needs my help.”

  She caught him raising an eyebrow at her near slip of the tongue, but he let it pass without remarking on it. She really, really needed to get her act together.

  She cleared her throat. “One more thing. Joy-Lynn wants to go to the Qualla tonight to say goodbye to her art teacher, her counselor, and the woman who runs the cultural center.”

  “Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous for her to be running around while there’s a killer out there looking for her.”

  “He’s not looking for her. He’s looking for Marlene.”

  “Even so.”

  “She just wants to say goodbye. I’ll take her over while you get Marlene set up in the cabin. She’s the one who can’t risk showing her face.”

  “No, Ms. Jackman.”

  “I don’t think this is negotiable for the Glassers. Besides, if the killer is in the park, you could try to smoke him out while Joy-Lynn is safe on Cherokee Nation property.”

  He slammed on the brakes and she threw out an arm to brace herself.

  “Are you suggesting I use a civilian single mother as bait?”

  “I ….” That was exactly what she’d been suggesting, but his horrified tone filled her with a hot rush of shame.

  “No! I just thought … look, Joy-Lynn can’t recognize the man. Marlene can’t recognize the man. The only way you’re going to solve this case is if he comes to you. And you have a limited window to make that happen if the Glassers are going underground.”

  She could tell by the way he twisted his mouth that she was right and he knew it.

  After a long silence, he said, “Do you think she’ll go for it?”

  Aroostine shrugged.

  Pat’s anger and self-disgust simmered just beneath the surface. How could he even have considered using Marlene Glasser as bait to entice the shooter into showing himself?

  The idea ran afoul of his duty to protect and serve the people of the United States, not to mention common sense and about forty-eight separate federal regulations.

  He glared at his passenger. This was her fault. What kind of woman was Rue Jackman?

  “What?” She’d caught his angry look and threw it right back at him, eyes blazing.

  “I’m not using a mother to flush out a murderer.”

  “Suit yourself. It was just an idea.”

  They rode in silence for several moments. Then she dug through her backpack and pulled out a cheap flip phone. It screamed ‘burner phone,’ confirming every impression he had of her as shady and secretive … and dangerous.

&
nbsp; Ignoring him, she pulled up a phone number and made a call. He made no effort not to overhear her end of the conversation.

  “Ellis, it’s me. I found them; they’re both fine.”

  A pause.

  “In the woods.”

  Another pause.

  “Well, I’m with a special agent from the Investigative Services Branch right now. Marlene’s willing to talk to them, and they’ll provide a protective detail and a secure location for them.”

  She nodded along to whatever this Ellis person was saying. Then she looked Pat full in the face and said, “Joy-Lynn would like to say goodbye to you, Joel Pine, and Boyd Caine. I can bring her to the center while the ISB agent gets Marlene set up in a temporary safe location.”

  Hadn’t he just told her no? What was this woman’s deal?

  “Oh … I guess that could work. Yeah. Okay. Bye.”

  She pressed a button to end the call and tossed the phone back into her bag.

  “You can’t take the girl to the Qualla.” He gripped the steering wheel so hard that he went white-knuckled, but to his own surprise he managed to keep his tone even and calm.

  “Special Agent Banks—”

  “Pat is fine.”

  “Special Agent Banks, have you ever been an eleven-year-old girl?”

  The break in her voice froze his flippant response in his throat. Instead, he simply said, “No.”

  “Well, I have. And I’m telling you, you have to let her have this. Especially because you’ll need her, not Marlene, to make your case.”

  “What case? At this point, even if I had the shooter, I don’t have—”

  “Look, a halfway decent prosecutor can get a conviction with the weapon and a matching shoeprint. Oh, and motive.”

  “No eyewitness description, huh?”

  “Just a vague description. Which Joy-Lynn can give you. She can testify that she saw a tall, thin, white, blond man pull the trigger. That’s all I’d need to nail this guy to the wall if I were trying the case. ”

  She was right. The knot of worry in his chest loosened, just a bit.

  He nodded. “The hard part will be finding him without a solid description.”

  “I agree—which is why you ought to consider smoking this guy out. Half the white dudes in the state probably fit Joy-Lynn’s description. Heck, you fit it.”

  She laughed, but out of an abundance of caution, he alibied himself.

  “It’s true, I do. Lucky for me, I was about eight hours away breaking up a loggerhead turtle poaching ring on an island off the coast of Georgia when Costa was killed.”

  “Wow, you have an amazing job.”

  “Sometimes.”

  Other times, like now, he had to make impossible decisions on the fly.

  He flashed his badge at the ranger who was checking for parking passes at the entrance to the campground and followed Rue’s directions to a spot that held a beat-up pop-up camper and an aging but well-cared-for pickup truck with Iowa plates.

  He parked beside the truck, killed the engine, and turned to her. “Here’s the deal. This evening, after the center shuts down for the day, you and Joy-Lynn have a one-hour hall pass so she can say her goodbyes or get closure or whatever. I’ll get Marlene set up in the cabin. There will be no attempt to lure the killer.”

  She gave him a bright, wide smile that seemed to reach right into his chest cavity. “You’re the boss, Special Agent Banks!”

  She hopped out of the Jeep and filled her arms with bags. He grabbed the ones she couldn’t manage, grumbling about her refusal to use his first name.

  17

  Aroostine glanced around the cramped camper. Marlene and Joy-Lynn were squeezed side by side on the couch, with Rufus wedged between them. Special Agent Banks occupied the lone chair. And she leaned against the wall.

  The special agent cleared his throat. “Ms. Glasser, the ISB is prepared to protect you and your daughter as long as Joy-Lynn agrees to cooperate, to the best of her ability, with our investigation.”

  Marlene frowned. “But, she—”

  “Ms. Jackman has explained Joy-Lynn’s condition. We’ll work with her, but again, all we ask is that she cooperate to the best of her ability.”

  “Am I in trouble for lying?”

  Banks set his lips in a thin line. “Interfering with or hindering a police investigation is a crime, ma’am. However, in this case, because the county police did not have the authority to investigate a crime on federal property, there is no valid investigation. So, long story short, I can’t see the county district attorney trying to prosecute you on the basis of your statement to Chief Wagner. And, if he did, we’d be prepared to take that position with a judge on your behalf.”

  Marlene blinked at him.

  “He’s saying no, Marlene. The answer is no, you’re not in trouble for lying.”

  Banks turned to glare at Aroostine for the interruption, and she flashed him a smile. “I’m a tracker and a translator of legalese. No thanks needed.”

  Joy-Lynn took her mother’s hand. “So, we don’t have to move to California?”

  Banks coughed. “At this point, relocation seems to be premature. For now, we’re moving you to a vacant ranger housing unit and the park police, under the direction of Ranger Painter, will provide protection. I’ll be heading into the office shortly to make a formal requisition request to get a team of U.S. Marshals. I expect that request will be approved.”

  “Special Agent Banks?” Aroostine asked sweetly.

  “Yes?”

  “Could you remove the stick from your bum and just answer the questions in English? She’s eleven.”

  He shot her another dark look but turned back to Joy-Lynn, who was now desperately trying to smother her giggles.

  “No, Joy-Lynn. You don’t have to move to California. At least not now. You probably do need to skip a few more days of school. You don’t mind playing hooky for another day or two, do you?” He grinned at her and winked.

  Aroostine felt her mouth curving up. Underneath his gruff, all-business exterior and fifty-cent vocabulary, Special Agent Patton River Banks was a human being, after all.

  “But you don’t really need to go to the Qualla,” Marlene said.

  “Why not?”

  “If we aren’t going anywhere, you don’t need to say goodbye to anyone.”

  Marlene had a point.

  But Joy-Lynn burst into tears. “You said I could.”

  “I did. But the situation’s changed, now. And … it’s dangerous. Right, Special Agent Banks?”

  Banks rubbed the scruff on his chin and thought it through.

  After a moment he said, “Well, you’re in more danger than she is, Ms. Glasser. Right now, the killer believes you saw him. Based on the bootprints we saw in the woods and the fact that the alarm you rigged up was tripped, we believe he’s out there, somewhere nearby. But he’s looking for you, not Joy-Lynn. To be frank, she’s probably safer if the two of you split up for the next few hours, until we can get you set up in the ranger cabin with a security detail.”

  Joy-Lynn’s eyes widened and she gripped her mother’s hand more tightly.

  Marlene, in contrast, visibly relaxed. Her shoulders eased down and her brow, which Aroostine had assumed was permanently furrowed, smoothed. She exhaled slowly.

  “Well, then, I guess there’s no harm having a short visit. I think it would do you good to talk to Mr. Caine, anyway. As long as Special Agent Banks will be with you the whole time.”

  “Actually, ma’am, Ms. Jackman will escort Joy-Lynn to the Qualla Boundary. Ranger Painter will get you settled in the cabin. I have to take care of arranging that security detail and some other paperwork.”

  Marlene gave Rue a small smile. “That would be fine, I guess. Ms. Jackman seems pretty competent.”

  “Yes, ma’am, she does.”

  Joy-Lynn bounced off the couch, displacing Rufus in the process. “Ranger Painter? Rory’s dad?”

  “That’s right,” Aroostine told her.<
br />
  “Can I see Rory, too?”

  “After you’re set up with a protective detail,” Banks said firmly. He glanced at Aroostine, “That’s nonnegotiable.”

  She nodded. “It’s for her safety as well as yours, Joy-Lynn.” To stave off any moping, Aroostine unearthed Joy-Lynn’s tote bag from the pile near the door. “I brought the rest of your art supplies.”

  The girl’s face lit up and she grabbed the bag. “Thank you! Come on, Rufus, I’ll do your portrait.”

  Rufus followed her obligingly to a clear spot on the floor.

  Marlene cleared her throat. “Thank you. Both of you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Banks nodded and reverted to his police officer persona. “Just doing my job, ma’am.”

  18

  Pat said his goodbyes to the Glassers, Rue Jackman, and her dog and let himself out. To his dismay, but not his surprise, Rue was on his heels.

  She caught him before he reached the Jeep. “Wait a second, Special Agent Banks. I have a couple questions.”

  Of course she did. “Of course you do.”

  She arched one eyebrow—a skill he admittedly envied. His mother had perfected what he thought of as the oh, really? eyebrow raise during his teenage years. Whenever he tried to approximate it, he looked like the victim of a Botox procedure gone terribly wrong.

  “If you want me to bring Joy-Lynn straight to the cabin from our visit to the Qualla, I need to know where it is.”

  “Fair point.”

  He reached for his radio to call for Luke. He reconsidered and stowed the radio, opting for his cell phone. He simply didn’t trust Rue Jackman. He wasn’t sure what it was about her, but his misgivings were undeniable—there was a tightness, a wariness, in his gut. And Pat made it a point to trust his gut. There was no need for her to hear Luke’s side of the conversation.

  He angled his body away from her and placed the call.

  “Luke, how are we coming on a unit for our friends?” he asked without preamble when Luke picked up the call.

  “I’m leaving the office right now with the keys. Are you at Ms. Jackman’s spot?”