Jeff Abbott - Trust Me

Jane hung up.

He fumbled on the phone. There was no call log; it had been disabled. No way to call back.

Henry drank the whiskey, very slowly. The shaking in his hands stopped. He drank another, neat. Then he poured the rest of the bottle down the sink.

She might be killing Luke right now. Right now, while you stand crying over a sink, whiskey on your breath, and you have caused the death of the one remaining person in the world that you care about, Henry thought.

The phone rang. The phone he used only with Mouser. Mouser’s voice sounded raspy, hard, tinged with fury. ‘Luke identified Eric Lindoe as his kidnapper.’

‘Is Luke okay? Tell me you have him.’

‘Oh, I’ll get him back for you. He stabbed me in the leg and he ran.’

‘Why did he stab you? I told you not to hurt him…’

‘He knows we came from you, Henry, and you’re on his shit list. Watch your back. Your boy is pissed and apparently able to fight.’

The warning coasted over Henry’s ears. Luke was alive. And out of Jane’s clutches. Or maybe she had recaptured him after he escaped Mouser? ‘You sure someone else didn’t grab him?’

‘Not sure, but he was free as a bird last time I saw him.’

Then Jane was bluffing. He had to fight back, he had to find this woman, find out who she was. And destroy her. ‘I don’t understand. Why would Eric Lindoe turn against us and target Luke?’

‘Luke says some Brit bitch named Jane used him as ransom for Eric’s woman. This Jane thought you could deliver the fifty million, but Eric must have already hidden it. If he hasn’t given it to her, then Eric has it. We have to find him.’

Henry wiped sweat from his jaw. ‘Eric lied to us all. Including this Jane. She made him kidnap Luke to force my hand, and he did it to cover up that he had taken the money. She must have asked him for it originally and he convinced her he didn’t have the access. That I did.’ Oh, Christ, Luke’s life destroyed by a single lie. ‘Eric hasn’t given Jane the money. She just called me, thinking I could get it for her.’ Henry sank to the couch. ‘I don’t understand. Luke stabbed you?’ Luke, fighting two nutcase extremists with experience in murder and combat? He could not picture the scene.

‘I wonder, Henry, how well you know Luke. He seems far more capable than you gave him credit for.’

‘I… I don’t understand.’

‘It’s simple. He’s loose. He is a danger to us.’

‘No. I can take care of him.’

Henry thought quickly. ‘I’m going to put tracers on every friend Luke has, anyone he might turn to for help… the police will do the same, but we must be smarter than the police. And faster. We have to find Eric. And we have to find Luke. I can make Luke understand.’

‘That I doubt.’

‘I can.’ Henry raised an eyebrow. ‘And if he’s been as smart as you say, he might be very useful to us. Listen, I’m sorry he stabbed you. Are you all right?’

‘Yes. But I’m not happy. Find where he’s at and I’ll bring him back to you. Maybe in one piece.’

Luke, running. With Mouser and Snow and now that bastard Drummond all after him. What would he do? Come here? No. Washington was too far. And he wouldn’t trust Henry now, and he might believe the police were watching Henry, waiting for Luke to show. How else would he try to clear his name?

Eric. Eric, if forced to confess, could clear Luke’s name of murder.

‘He’ll go after Eric.’ Just like he chased after his father’s ghost, all the way down to Cape Hatteras. ‘We find Eric, we find Luke.’

Henry felt charged with the fire of battle. He could win. He called a Night Road hacker, ordered him to find any records in the airlines or credit card databases that indicated where Eric Lindoe or Luke Dantry had gone. Over time, he had found hackers with backdoors into such valuable databases. If they were not motivated by Night Road-style ideology, they were motivated by money.

His hunters, either on the ground, or electronic, would find Luke, and faster than Drummond could. He did not need to worry about warrants and permission. He did not want to think about Luke not believing him, and what awful sacrifice he might have to suffer. All he had to worry about was telling, and selling, the greatest lie of his life.

For twenty minutes Luke ran, walked, ran again through the woods. He crossed open fields, cleared for cattle or horses, and he felt vulnerable and alone in the open. The pine trees, when he could stay in their dense growth, were like having a shield. He stumbled out onto a road, close to a bridge on the river. He had no idea where he was and he kept glancing over his shoulder.

He saw a teenage boy in a yellow slicker then, trudging up from the swollen riverbanks.

‘Hi,’ the boy said. ‘Which search team were you with?’

‘Oh,’ Luke said. ‘I got separated from my search team. I’m a friend of the Olmsteads, staying at their place on the river for a few days.’ He tried not to talk too fast or let his nervousness seep into his words. ‘Just thought I’d help. But I’m useless, I don’t know the country around here.’

‘Well, I can give you a lift back to the search base.’

‘Thank you.’

He followed the kid along the thin stretch of paved road, thinking if this kid’s been involved in the search for the trucker, then maybe he hasn’t seen the rest of the news with my face on it. He couldn’t dwell over-much on the trucker. If he did the guilt would overwhelm him and he’d make a mistake and be caught or dead. He could not bring the trucker back to life if he hadn’t made it out of the river. But he could be sure that Mouser and Snow paid for what they did.

A red truck sat at the edge of the road. The kid offered his hand and said, ‘My name’s Dumont.’

‘Hi, Dumont, I’m Warren,’ Luke lied. Using his dad’s name felt easy and right. He shook the kid’s hand. They got into the truck.

‘I feel bad for this gentleman’s family. Wondering when we’re going to find him.’ Dumont wheeled the truck south – away from the house where Luke had hidden. He tried not to sag against the door in relief.

‘You look exhausted, man,’ Dumont said.

‘Didn’t sleep well. The storm kept me up.’ He stared out the window. Mouser was out of play for maybe just a few minutes, unless Luke had hurt him worse than he thought, but where was Snow? And how on earth was he going to find Eric?

They turned onto a main road that headed toward the town of Braintree and a Mercedes shot by them. He could see snow-white hair at the wheel and thought she might notice if he ducked suddenly. So he stayed put and rubbed his face with his hand.

‘You sure you okay?’ Dumont asked. He sounded as though he were doubting his decision to offer this odd stranger a ride.

In the rearview he watched the Mercedes vanish over a rise in the road. No glow of brake lights, no indication she’d spotted him. ‘Yes, I’m fine. Just tired.’ He had to get out of this area now. He needed to know where Eric and Aubrey had gone. There had to be a clue in something Eric and Aubrey had said or done. Something he’d seen. He began to blink past his exhaustion and tried to replay every nuance when Eric spoke from the beginning.

The truck pulled into a parking lot of a small motel, filled with police cars.

Police. His face had been all over the news, and there was probably an APB out on him.

To one side stood a news crew associated with a Houston station – a single reporter, a cameraman – interviewing rescuers. The media was more of a threat – they for sure would have seen his face on broadcasts.

‘Thanks, Dumont,’ Luke said. ‘I appreciate the lift.’ He opened Dumont’s truck door and stepped out into the rain.