Sandra Brown - Smoke Screen

He reached beneath his seat and, to her startlement, produced a pistol. “I’m surprised the guy searching the truck didn’t find this. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t want me to know he did.”

It was a revolver. A big, evil-looking thing with a long barrel. He released the cylinder and checked it. From where Britt was sitting, she could see that each chamber was loaded. He snapped the cylinder back into place.

“They’re under the assumption that we don’t know about their visit,” he continued. “That we’re unsuspecting. They could be waiting at the main road planning to pull out behind us, follow us until we reach a convenient spot, and do another hit-and-run that would look like an accident. We’d be found dead, end of story. No one would suspect murder.”

They were fast approaching the intersection he was concerned about. Raley told her to lie down on the seat. “I want you to keep your head down. Understand?”

She nodded, but apparently he didn’t trust her to do as instructed. His hand was firmly planted on the top of her head when he barely slowed to check for oncoming traffic, then shot out onto the road and jerked the truck into a turn so sharp, the tires squealed and smelled of burning rubber.

He kept his hand on her head for several more minutes, until he was convinced that no one was following them. Then he told her she could sit up, but he still drove fast, his whole aspect alert and tense, his eyes shifting often to the mirrors. She was relieved when he replaced the pistol under the seat.

“Would you have shot at them?”

“If they’d tried something like they did last night? You bet your ass, I would’ve.” His tone left her with no doubt.

“Then I’m glad they weren’t waiting to follow us.”

“Now I’m thinking that maybe they didn’t need to,” he said. “The guy searching the truck could have put a tracking device on it. They’ll take us out when they get the go-ahead from their boss, and it’s convenient.” He ruminated for a moment, then looked over at her. “Is there anybody you can go to?”

“Go to?”

“Stay with. Till it’s safe for you to come out of hiding.”

“No.”

“Family?”

“No.”

He looked at her dubiously.

“No, Raley. No one,” she said. “My parents are dead. Both of them were an only child, and so was I. No siblings, no aunts, uncles, nobody. Okay?” Realizing she sounded defensive, she changed tones. “Even if I had a clan of kinfolk, I wouldn’t involve anyone else in this. I’m a fugitive. Besides-”

When she broke off, he looked over at her. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“I’m onto a huge story. I’m not just reporting it, I’m living it.”

“Living it,” he said with scorn. “Yeah. For the time being.” Then, angrily, “Jesus, Britt, this isn’t a game. Five minutes from now you could be dead.”

“I realize that. I was the one in the flooded car last night, remember?”

“I remember. Do you?”

“Your life is on the line, too. Would you give up your investigation?” she demanded. “Well?” she prodded when he didn’t respond. After several more seconds of stubborn silence, she continued. “I’m not giving up my story, either. And I’m not going into hiding. That’s that.”

A mile whizzed past. Maybe two. Finally he said, “You could surrender to the police. You’d be safe in police custody.”

“No I wouldn’t. If Fordyce and/or McGowan can’t kill me, they’ll make dead certain I’ll be convicted of killing Jay. You said so yourself. They’ll make sure I look so guilty that no one would believe anything I told them about Jay, the fire, nothing.

“You should know. They stopped just short of having you charged with Suzi Monroe’s death. If it hadn’t been for your friend Candy’s influence on Fordyce, he probably would have seen you tried and convicted of something. Not premeditated murder, but something where you would have been muzzled and put away for a long time.”

When he muttered a heartfelt goddammit, Britt knew she’d won the argument. To seal it, she added, “Unfortunately, I don’t have a Candy running interference for me.”

“I hate to call and ask a favor. It’s been five years since I’ve talked to her. Besides, she’s busy with this Senate confirmation thing.”

Britt’s jaw went slack with disbelief. “Are you…Is…Your Candy…Candy Orrin…is Judge Cassandra Mellors?”

“Yeah. I thought you knew that.”

“No!”

“Oh.” He shrugged an apology of sorts. “I always think of her as Candy. She hated Cassandra when we were kids. Wouldn’t answer to it. Said it made her sound stuck-up. Now, I guess it sounds more professional.”

“Judge Mellors is your friend,” Britt said, trying to wrap her mind around this startling revelation.

“A friend I haven’t talked to in years. I started to contact her when her husband died but figured she didn’t need me crawling out of the woodwork when she was trying to cope with her personal tragedy.”

Britt knew from the background research she’d done for her feature story on the judge that she had been married less than a year when her husband, some kind of software developer, had been killed in a ferry accident in New York harbor. He’d gone there on business and was calling on clients on Staten Island. His ferry had been struck by another vessel and sunk rapidly. He’d perished along with twenty-four others.

“I know her,” Britt told him. “I did a piece on her, and we got along well. I tried to contact her…actually it was the day you kidnapped me. I was trying to line up support from influential people. Anyway, I called her office, but she wasn’t available to take my call. But she might now, especially if she knew I was with you.”

“I hope I can get her to myself for a minute or two at the funeral. Gauge her thoughts on Jay without coming right out and asking for her help. She put her career on the line for me once before. I don’t think she’d want to do so again, not before the Senate vote anyway.”

Britt understood his reasoning, but having Judge Mellors in their corner certainly couldn’t hurt. Lost in that thought, she gazed out the passenger window. Nothing looked familiar. It wasn’t the route he’d mapped out for her last night. “Are we headed toward Charleston?”

“Ultimately. But we’ve got to have new wheels first. Just in case the truck’s got a transponder on it. Even if it doesn’t, we can’t drive around in this. They know it now.”

Noting the severity of his expression, she said, “They really and truly are after us.”

“They really and truly are.”

“Then why didn’t they do something at the cabin?”

He frowned. “I can’t figure that. Maybe, as I said, they get off killing people in their cars. Or maybe their contract was just to locate me and now they’re waiting for further instructions. Maybe they want an advance on their fee before committing a double murder. Maybe what the guy found in my cabin threw him for a loop.”

“He didn’t find your files.”

“But he found you, and he thought you were dead.” She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, he asked, “How’d you recognize the guy? Did you get a clear look at him?”

“Through the window in the bathroom. He looked out. His face was perfectly framed. He was there fifteen, twenty seconds, searching the area at the back of the cabin.”

“He didn’t see you?”

“I’m sure he didn’t, or he would have reacted. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I was frozen with shock because I recognized him instantly.”

“You’re sure? You’re positive you saw him at The Wheelhouse?”

“It was like one of those flashbacks you described, except it stayed fixed in my mind. I remember seeing him the moment I arrived. He was seated at the bar, near the door. When I walked in we made eye contact.”