The Amulet Page 6

  “Did the records show any family here?”

  “Didn’t show any family at all,” Rich said. “He’s an only child of a single parent, Janie Grant. His name is Harlan Grant, though he calls himself Jason Peters now. His mother died of cancer while he was doing time.”

  The taillights of a vehicle came into view, the first one they’d seen going north. Rich slowed accordingly. There would be no passing on this road.

  “If he was guilty as charged, he’s scum,” Rich said. “If he’s our perp, he’s just run out of luck.”

  “No telling how he’s going to react to our little surprise visit,” Carrie said. “He might come out shooting.”

  “He could. Hopefully, he’ll just think he’s part of the routine questioning we’ve been conducting. Watch everything you say. Don’t do anything to tip him off that we know who he is. We don’t want him to run before we can get a warrant.”

  “Give me a little credit, will you?”

  “I’m just making sure we’re on the same page.”

  “By giving orders instead of discussing.”

  “You need to get used to the fact that I don’t work like Bart.”

  “I didn’t mention Bart.”

  “You don’t have to. Everyone knows how you felt about him.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. We were partners. That’s all.”

  “Sure. Let’s just drop the subject.”

  Gladly, but that made her no less angry that he’d brought it up. She wasn’t about to explain their relationship to him. Not that she could have even if she’d wanted to. She was still trying to understand it herself, or at least deal with it.

  “How much farther?” she asked, when the truck in front of them slowed even more.

  “We’re looking for Leary Road. According to my directions we should be there just about now. The sign’s too rattled with bullet holes to read, but sup posedly we’ll see the remains of a fireplace off to the left.”

  “I don’t know how you expect to see a pile of bricks in the dark.”

  Turned out it wasn’t a problem. Almost before she got the words out of her mouth, the pickup truck they were following turned off, and the headlights fanned across the bullet-riddled sign and a tree-high pile of bricks.

  Rich took the turn, then threw on his brakes as the truck jerked to a stop in the middle of the narrow road.

  “Looks like trouble,” she said, as the adrenaline surged.

  “Be ready for anything.”

  “I’m way ahead of you.”

  The man in the pickup truck opened his door and stepped out. “Are you looking for someone?”

  “Yeah,” Rich answered. “We’re looking for Jason Peters. I think he lives around here somewhere.”

  “I’m Jason Peters. What can I do for you?”

  “We just have some routine questions to ask. We’re doing that with all the hotel employees, I’m sure you’ve heard some talk about it.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  There was no sign the man was angry or armed. Rich stepped out of the car and pulled his ID. “Deputy Rich McFarland. And this is Deputy Carrie Fransen.”

  She’d already stepped from the car and taken out her ID by the time Rich made the introductions. She flashed it as she sized up the man who called himself “Jason Peters.” Harlan Grant was average height, a few inches under six feet, weight around a hundred and sixty pounds, average-looking, no visible identifying marks or scars. He was wearing a light jacket with a ski hat pulled low over his forehead that totally hid his hair.

  Nothing in his appearance to indicate he’d done time for sexual molestation, yet it was all Carrie could see when she looked at him.

  Harlan clapped his gloved hands together, then rocked back on his heels. “Been easier to talk to me at the hotel,” Harlan said. “I’m there five days a week.”

  Rich returned his badge to his pocket. “We don’t like to interfere with the workers when they’re on duty.”

  “Whatever. Best if we talk here. My cabin’s three more miles down this sorry excuse for a road.”

  Rich rested his hand on the butt of his gun. “Then why did you stop here?”

  “Mine is the only cabin on this road, so I figured you were either lost or looking for me. Hate to ask people to drive this road. Spring thaws tear it up good.”

  “Still, it must be travelable since you make it to work five days a week.”

  “Just trying to make it easy on you.”

  “We appreciate that, but we’ll take our chances on the road. It’s too cold to talk out here.”

  Harlan shrugged and walked back to his pickup truck.

  Carrie climbed back in the car and buckled her seat belt. “I’d say he definitely doesn’t want us at his cabin.”

  “Or else he’s stalling for time,” Rich said, revving the motor a few times for good measure.

  They easily kept up with Harlan for the first couple of miles, but then he speeded up, driving even faster than he had on the highway.

  Rich hit the accelerator. “Looks like our suspect is in a bit of a hurry.”

  The truck’s taillights disappeared, and Rich accelerated again. Carrie glanced at the speedometer just as Rich threw on the brakes. The car skidded a few feet and came to a stop inches from the pickup truck that once again sat in the middle of the road. This time the headlights were out, and the driver’s door was open.

  “Cover me.” Rich pulled his gun, jumped from the car and rushed to the truck.

  She jumped out of the car and stooped behind the open door.

  “He’s gone,” Rich yelled back. “Get back in the car and watch his truck. If he comes back, apprehend him. If you have to shoot, aim to kill.”

  By the time the last words were out of his mouth, he’d already disappeared into the woods in hot pursuit.

  Rich was in the thick of the action, and she was left behind. Her own fault. She could have just as easily made the decision and shouted orders at him. Now she was stuck here watching the truck.

  Rich was right. This could all be a trick. Harlan might have intended to lure them into a chase through the woods, then he’d circle back and escape.

  Gunfire echoed through the mountains. Her blood ran cold. One shot. Just one. But who had pulled the trigger?

  The woods became deathly quiet and the waiting became almost unbearable. It was always better to be in the thick of the action.

  She scanned the area. How long should she wait before she went into the woods to find out what happened? For all she knew, Rich could be bleeding to death right now. Harlan could have worked his way back to the highway and be looking for a new way to escape.

  Ten more seconds. That’s all she’d wait. She counted to five before the engine of the pickup truck roared to life and the truck tires spun into action.

  The truck hit the shoulder, slinging mud as it flew around her, headed toward the highway. Somehow Harlan had sneaked back into the truck. Unless she stopped him, he was going to get away.

  She threw the patrol car into gear and took off after him. She bounced along the road, hitting every pothole, one so deep, her head slammed into the top of the car. And still he was getting away from her.

  She pushed the accelerator to the floor. Her back tires hit a slick spot and started spinning. She tried to get the car back on the road, but it was out of control. Her head and shoulder slammed against the door and window.

  This was it. The car was careening down a steep hill, maybe the drop-off Harlan had talked about.

  And then it slammed to a stop. Something hit her in the face, choking her and squashing her against the seat. If this was what it was like to die, it was totally overrated. There wasn’t a bright light in sight and her life didn’t march in front of her eyes.

  But her shoulder felt as if someone had ripped it from her arm. And her head was pounding.

  She searched for the gun she’d dropped when the car left the road. She found it on the seat beside her. Clutching it in her hand
s, she closed her eyes and fought the pain a few seconds before she radioed headquarters to apprise them of the situation. Her head was spinning so she wasn’t sure she made sense.

  Damn you, Bart. You should have been here.

  And then she just leaned back and gave into the tears she’d kept inside since the night she got the news that Bart had been shot.

  BART HEARD the music from the Glacier Ballroom long before he reached its doors. He was arriving early tonight and he’d stay until he saw Katrina or until the music had stopped and there were no dancers whirling beneath the crystal chandeliers.

  The woman in the picture looked exactly like Katrina. The red hair piled on top of her head, the eyes, even the pendant. It was as if she’d stepped out of the photograph and into his life.

  There had to be a reasonable explanation for this, but for the life of him, he couldn’t come up with it.

  He slipped through the doors of the ballroom. They were playing “White Christmas” and thousands of glittering pseudo snowflakes danced from invisible wires suspended from the high ceiling. A woman in a blue cocktail dress smiled at him, and her full red lips parted seductively.

  He smiled back but kept walking. He had to position himself so that he could see the whole room. He wanted to know the moment Katrina stepped inside. Anticipation was strong, but something else was stirring inside him as well.

  It was almost as if someone was calling him. He looked around, half-expecting to see Carrie even though he’d seen her leave the hotel with Rich a good thirty minutes ago.

  “Would you like to dance?”

  He looked at the woman who was standing directly in front of him. She was pretty, but she wasn’t Katrina.

  “I have two left feet.”

  “You won’t if you dance with me. I bring out the best in my partners.”

  “It sounds tempting, but I’m waiting for someone.”

  “Just my luck.”

  “You may know her,” he said. “Her name’s Katrina.”

  The woman backed away as if he’d said something offensive. “Do you know her well?”

  “No, I only met her a few days ago.”

  She stepped closer, leaning in until the peaks of her breasts brushed against him. “Katrina moves in circles of danger. If you let her, she’ll draw you in.”

  “What kind…”

  The woman didn’t wait for him to finish his question before she floated across the floor and found a more cooperative dancing partner.

  So Katrina moved in circles of danger. No wonder he found the woman fascinating. To a cop, danger was the biggest turn-on of all.

  But that didn’t explain her identical appearance and dress to the woman in the picture.

  CARRIE PUT HER HANDS over her ears to block the shrill noise that echoed through her brain.

  “Looks like you’re coming to.”

  Coming to? Confusion fogged her mind, and she tasted blood. “Will you turn off that damn noise?”

  “Can’t be hurt too bad if you’re that grouchy.”

  She tried to sit up straight but sank back into the seat as it all came back to her. The gunshot. Chasing the truck. Running off the road. And then she must have passed out. She groaned as a stabbing pain shot through her left shoulder. “You better be shot,” she mumbled, “after leaving me alone to chase that lunatic. Oww…” She dissolved into a groan. “Did he get away?”

  “Double bad news. I’m not shot, and he got away.”

  She glanced at the speedometer. They were doing about ten miles an hour. “Do we really need the sirens at this speed?”

  “I was hoping someone would stop and offer you a ride to the hospital. At this rate, it will be morning before we get down the mountain.”

  He turned off the siren. The shrill scream was replaced by clanging and scraping sounds. “I must have banged the car up pretty bad.”

  “You could say that. The front fender’s slapping against the wheel and the hood looks like it was caught in a rock slide. But at least it’s running. Otherwise I’d be hoofing it and you’d be lying back there in the ditch.”

  “You’d leave me back there?”

  “Not forever. I’d send someone back for you.”

  “Gee thanks.” Her head was battling it out with her shoulder for agony honors, but she was thinking more clearly. They’d goofed up, and not just with the car. “If the suspect is on the loose, why are we driving back down the mountain?”

  “I have an injured partner.”

  “Not that injured. I just…owwww.” She tried to bite back a groan at a new stab of pain, but failed. “I can walk.”

  “Tell it to the doctor. We’re in a dead zone for the cell phone but I called in on the squawk box. The sheriff said take you to Fernhaven. He’s sending a doctor and an ambulance.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “You were knocked out. It’s standard procedure.”

  “What about the suspect?”

  “He’s sending Kirk to scour the area with me. And he’s calling some of the nearby police departments to request some manpower to help in the search.”

  That was the problem with a small department like they had and a big area to cover. They were stretched thin with routine business. When an emergency came up, they were pushed to the limits.

  This was her fault. She should have kept the car on the road. Now Harlan Grant had slipped right through their eager little hands. “He has to be the man we’re looking for,” she said, thinking out loud. “He wouldn’t have run if he wasn’t.”

  “Running isn’t evidence.”

  “It’s a good indicator.”

  “Damn good, but not foolproof.”

  “I’m surprised he took the job when he realized they were going to take his fingerprints,” she said, wishing her head would quit throbbing.

  “He probably figured they’d never run them through the system unless he got into trouble.”

  “Then abducting a woman on the property wasn’t too smart. Obviously the hotel didn’t do much of a background check on their employees, either, since Harlan couldn’t have any kind of viable background as Jason Peters.”

  “Or he could have a spotless record,” Rich said. “All Harlan had to do was steal and use the real Jason Peters’ social security number.”

  “Another use of identity theft.” Carrie found the goose egg on her forehead with her fingertips and gingerly traced the swollen flesh. She might have a concussion. Even if she didn’t, she was going to feel like hell tomorrow.

  She wondered if things would have gone differently tonight if she’d been with Bart instead of Rich. In all honesty, she doubted it. Bart hadn’t fared too well against the guy, either—if in fact this was the perpetrator who’d abducted Elora and put a bullet into him.

  A shrewd, cunning, murderous pervert. She was probably lucky to be alive. A lot luckier than Elora. But if he wasn’t apprehended and locked away, he’d strike again. She was as sure of that as she was that the sun would rise in the morning or that the mountains would sleep under a blanket of icy mist.

  IT WAS a quarter past nine when Katrina made her way down the heavily polished wood floors to the Glacier Ballroom. Sometimes she came early, but most nights she stayed away until the bewitching hour when the surreal became commonplace and magic danced in the soft shadows of the hotel’s walls.

  But tonight there was something sinister in the air, much as there had been the night the young woman had been abducted. It frightened her and put added pressure on her to do what she had to do quickly.

  And still she hadn’t been able to get the man out of her mind. She’d tried to find out his name, tried to find out why he was here and why he stayed to himself. No one knew him. No one but the old woman, and she was always so mysterious it was a waste of time to even try to communicate with her. She only talked clearly when it suited her purpose.

  Katrina wondered if the man would come looking for her in the ballroom tonight or if he’d forgotten all about her after t
heir encounter in the garden. He probably thought she was a snob. He couldn’t know that it was fear that held her back.

  Fear he’d find out her secrets. Fear she’d like him too much and let him complicate things that had to stay simple and direct. Fear he’d get in the way of the one thing she had to be certain went right.

  Anxiety surrounded her like a stifling fog as she stepped into the ballroom. She skimmed the room expectantly, knowing she’d be better off if he wasn’t there, but still hoping to see him. The band was playing a romantic ballad, and the floor was filled with couples dancing close.

  The music stopped and the couples drifted back to their tables. It was easier to see about the room now, but still she felt his presence before she saw him. It was because he was behind her, yet close, at her elbow, in her space.

  “Hello, Katrina.”

  Even his voice affected her. It was deep, male, warm.

  “Hello.”

  He took both her hands in his. “I hoped you’d come tonight.”

  “I heard the music. It lured me here.”

  He massaged the backs of her hands with his thumbs. “I was hoping I was the lure.”

  “I don’t know you that well. I hardly know you at all.”

  “You could. I’m not a mystery, not like you.”

  She looked away as the band started the next song. It was another slow one. Couples began to push by them as they made their way to the dance floor.

  “Would you like to dance?”

  She hesitated.

  “Just a dance, Katrina. Not a marriage proposal.”

  “No. I didn’t think you meant…” He was teasing. She felt a blush though she wouldn’t have thought that possible after all she’d been through. “Okay, but I haven’t danced in a long time. I’ll be rusty.”

  “I’ll chance it.”

  He took her right hand and led her the few steps to the dance floor. Once there he fit his hand about her waist and began to sway. A million sensations hit her at once, some familiar, some she was sure she’d never felt before.

  She was positively giddy. There was no other word that fit the light-headedness and the feeling that she could do this forever. She couldn’t, of course. That’s why she had to squeeze every fabulous feeling she could from this moment.