Fatal Dawn Page 2

  The Lexus did a one-eighty.

  The passenger door opened. A gray-haired woman was thrown from the vehicle. She rolled on the pavement like a rag doll.

  The Lexus raced away.

  Jess braked hard. “The attackers have released Mrs. Walsh. Lexus now heading west on Simpson.”

  “Responders are thirty seconds out.”

  Jess stopped directly up the embankment from Mrs. Walsh.

  Mr. Walsh unbuckled and rushed out of the car.

  “Get in. We have a half mile to cover to get over there,” Jess called.

  Leaning over the guardrail, Walsh stared at his wife who struggled to her knees, clutching her chest.

  Jess jumped out of the car and grabbed his arm. “We have to get your wife.”

  Mrs. Walsh rolled over on her side and lay on the road.

  Her husband held out a small gray tube. “I have her inhaler.”

  Mrs. Walsh was curled in the fetal position.

  Jess grabbed the inhaler and zipped up her coat. The railing along the top of the embankment had posted warning signs. It was too steep. She couldn’t walk down.

  Mrs. Walsh thumped her chest. She was suffocating.

  Jess rolled over the guardrail and shuffled a few steps before she lost her footing. She turned sideways as she hit the ground. She held her arms and legs out to try to control her descent, but the forces of gravity were too great. She wrapped her hands around her face to protect herself as she tumbled over and over.

  Grass and rocks tore at her coat. She dodged a stick of a tree laid bare by winter.

  Her hands were stung by cuts and scrapes. Her back pounded into the concrete retaining wall at the bottom of the slope, forcing the air from her lungs in a hard whoosh.

  She climbed over the concrete above a ten-foot drop to the sidewalk. She lowered herself as far as her arms would allow and let go. Her left foot imprinted her impact on the damp ground.

  Mrs. Walsh was gasping and choking. Jess ran to her, jammed the inhaler in her mouth, and pumped the trigger twice.

  The woman strained to breathe.

  Jess pumped two more shots.

  Her breathing slowed. Still long and labored, but not wheezing.

  Mrs. Walsh put her hand on Jess, keeping the inhaler in her mouth. Her gasps turned to normal breathing. She took the inhaler in her hand.

  Jess laid her tattered coat over Mrs. Walsh. She heard the ambulance siren in the distance.

  “Hang on. Help is on the way,” she said.

  Jess looked up the embankment. Mr. Walsh was leaning over the rail. She gave him a thumbs-up. He nodded before putting his head in his hands, in tears, Jess figured.

  Mrs. Walsh gripped Jess’s arm. “You’re an angel.”

  Jess shook her head. “Shhhh. Save your breath.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Monday, November 27

  10:00 a.m.

  Denver, Colorado

  By the time Jess made it to work, her body was already complaining about her tumble down the embankment. As she approached the elevator, Thelma Baxter slipped her bony hand along the edge to hold open the doors.

  Thelma was the special assistant to the owner of Taboo Magazine, and Jess loved her to pieces. Many a time over the years Thelma’s warm heart had buoyed Jess’s spirits when it seemed like the entire world was against her.

  Thelma’s infallible memory for every story that had ever run in the magazine’s pages came in handy often, too. She knew more about what was going on at the magazine than the owner himself. Jess secretly wondered if Thelma actually ran the operation using Carter Pierce as the figurehead.

  When she entered the elevator, Thelma raised her eyebrows. “What happened to you?”

  “Carjacking,” Jess replied without thinking.

  Thelma gripped Jess’s wrist. “Are you all right?”

  Instantly mortified because she’d alarmed Thelma, Jess patted her hand and nodded. “Perfectly. I’m sorry. It wasn’t my car. I just tried to help out.”

  Thelma whistled. “And it looks like it. What happened to your coat?”

  The elevator doors opened. Jess followed Thelma out.

  Jess’s assistant, Mandy Donovan, was busy at her computer as Jess approached. Mandy did a double take, too. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Carjacking,” Thelma said, with a wink.

  “Someone else, not me,” Jess added quickly before Mandy could go into full-on alarm mode.

  “You okay?” Mandy asked.

  Jess nodded. “A little sore, maybe a couple of bruises. I fell down. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  Mandy stood and held her hand out. “Give me your coat. I’ll get it cleaned.”

  “Don’t bother. The coat’s not worth the price of cleaning now.” Jess shrugged the coat off her shoulders and handed it over. “Just toss it in the trash. But could you—”

  Mandy laughed. “Coffee coming up.” She poured a mug from a pot on her desk and handed it to Jess.

  Jess smiled. “You’re a star, you know that? Let’s ask Carter to pay you more money.”

  Mandy laughed again. “Hey, works for me.”

  Thelma frowned and muttered on her way to her office, “Based on what I hear, there won’t be any raises around here for a while.”

  Mandy and Jess exchanged knowing looks.

  Jess went to her office and settled in at her desk. Her computer monitor was covered with several sticky notes that served as today’s to-do list. She was more than a little behind schedule, and the carjacking stole a couple of hours. But for now, the spirit of the past Thanksgiving weekend reminded her to be grateful that she hadn’t been seriously injured and both Mr. and Mrs. Walsh would be okay, too.

  Thinking about the long weekend carried her to memories of Peter again. She’d only spent two Thanksgivings with him before he was abducted. He was twenty-three months old then. He would be fifteen years old now.

  Feelings of guilt, sadness, and loss invariably overtook her during the holidays, which was one reason she seldom accepted the invitations she received from friends and co-workers to join their family celebrations.

  She pulled up a spreadsheet with a long list of names and dates. She scrolled right. Addresses with street names and apartment numbers were listed in the area where she and Peter had lived.

  She’d run down to the basement, started her laundry, and run back up to her apartment. Not more than five minutes. Probably less. Peter was sleeping when she left. He was gone when she returned.

  Although he’d never climbed out of his crib even once, she’d wasted precious minutes looking everywhere inside the small apartment, growing more frantic by the moment. But of course, Peter wasn’t there. Some part of her had known that from the start but refused to accept reality.

  She’d chased around her apartment building in ever-widening circles until she’d ended up waking all the residents. She’d knocked on doors and stopped pedestrians on the street. Neighbors had joined her. They spread out around the streets and alleyways.

  No one could believe Peter had simply disappeared. When she’d finally faced the truth, she’d called the police. A cruiser arrived quickly, and the officers organized a more efficient search.

  Peter was gone without a trace. How could that be?

  There was only one answer. Peter couldn’t have run away. Some bastard had taken him.

  The night was cold, but more than the temperature chilled her heart. She was nineteen back then. A teenage mom. Her life was a precarious balancing act between caring for Peter, classes, and a part-time job. Peter had been everything to her and still was. From the moment he was conceived, her entire life had revolved around him and always would.

  Jess’s phone rang. She saw the caller ID. Her boss. “Hi, Carter.”

  “I’m in New York, but I just heard about your heroics this morning. Nice job.”

  “Carter—”

  “You’re about to tell me it was nothing?”

  “It didn’t end v
ery well. Mrs. Walsh was terrified, and so was her husband. The carjackers got away.”

  She heard the pleasure in his voice as he said, “CCTV is a wonderful thing. The thieves are in custody right now.”

  “That’s something, at least.”

  “Mrs. Walsh wouldn’t have made it until the ambulance arrived if you hadn’t helped her, Jess.”

  “So the medics said.”

  Carter paused.

  Jess knew why he’d called. Just as he knew she only tolerated the personal spotlight as a means to an end. When the glare of media attention helped her search for Peter.

  He said, “Denver Broadcasting called. You know the owner’s a friend.”

  Jess sighed. “Uh huh.”

  “He said you’d turned down a spot on Denver PM. I know what you’re like and I know the last thing you’d want is hero worship, but—”

  “Carter—”

  “Just listen to me, Jess. We need it. The magazine. Our star reporter is caught on camera saving a life, and…well. We need all the positive publicity we can get.” He paused to let his begging soak in, and when she didn’t relent, he said, “It’s not for me, Jess. I’ll be fine if Taboo Magazine goes under. My ego will be bruised. I don’t like failure. But we employ a lot of people. Your friends and colleagues. This kind of publicity could really help. Can’t you do it for them?”

  Jess sighed. Everything he said was true. The magazine was failing. Online competition was strong. Demand for print magazines had fallen dramatically, but the production costs remained the same. Carter was wealthy. The complete collapse of the business wouldn’t cause him much hardship. But the employees? Mandy and Thelma? All of them would be looking for new jobs, which were not easy to find these days. And her search for Peter would be a lot harder without Carter’s support, too.

  “I really wish you’d reconsider, Jess. They promised to do a short segment. They have surveillance camera footage from a hotel nearby, and they’ll ask a few questions. Personal questions are off limits unless you want to talk about Peter. That’s up to you.”

  Carter was right. She could help Taboo. After everything Carter and Taboo had done for her. Not to mention Thelma and Mandy. Taboo had been her only real family, helping her when she needed it. She shouldn’t even hesitate.

  “Don’t make me beg, Jess. Please.” His tone was downright pitiful.

  She laughed, as he’d meant her to do. “I’m sorry, Carter. I was just preoccupied. I’m glad to do anything I can to help. I hope you already know that.”

  “Thanks, Jess. I owe you one.”

  “That’s crazy talk. You owe me nothing. I should have volunteered in the first place.” She frowned. “But is the magazine in seriously bad shape? Should I be looking for a new job?”

  “Let’s just say we need to keep our foot on the gas. I’ll make the call,” he said before he disconnected.

  A few minutes later, an assistant producer from Denver PM called and rattled off a list of instructions for her evening appearance.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Monday, November 27

  11:00 a.m.

  Humboldt, Kansas

  Shane Hallman stepped out of Humboldt prison dressed in the same clothes he’d worn when he entered. It had been summer then. The late November cold seeped through his jeans and T-shirt in moments.

  He resisted the temptation to rub warmth into his bare arms. The guards were watching, he knew. They’d be laughing at him as he tasted his first freedom in five years.

  “Here’s your stuff, Hallman,” the guard said, tossing the paper bag. Gleefully, he said, “The next bus into Kansas City’s in two hours. Miss it, and you’ll sleep outside on that bench ’til tomorrow. Forecast tonight is near freezing.”

  The wait meant nothing to him, though. He’d breathe free air. That’s all he cared about.

  The last guard unlocked the inner gate and taunted, “See you again soon.”

  Inmates spent years thinking about how they would respond to that last jibe. He refused to give them the satisfaction. He simply turned his back before the guard finished speaking.

  Hallman walked away from the looming bulk of the prison, down the long road to the outer perimeter fence. He glimpsed a surveillance camera turn to follow his progress, but he kept his attention on the road.

  The outer perimeter guard house was expecting him. They took his thumbprint and made him wait outside in the cold while they compared it to a stored version to verify him as the right inmate to be released. The heat inside wafted out as the door opened and closed.

  Comparing prints was a quick process. They were flashed up, side-by-side. The computer returned a score on how well the prints matched in milliseconds.

  But the guards made him wait because they could. Sick bastards.

  He relaxed. Shoulders down, arms dangling by his sides. He gazed around the prison grounds, ignoring the building behind him.

  The cold turned from unpleasant to bitter. The joints in his fingers stiffened. He whistled aimlessly, making up random tunes and rhythms, to show they hadn’t broken his spirit. A guard eventually pointed him to the gates through the two layers of barbed wire that ringed the prison.

  It was an airlock system. The inner gate opened and closed before the outer gate opened. He waited as electric motors whirred and finally, finally strolled out to freedom.

  The prison was miles from the nearest town, yet the velvety blacktop ran arrow straight in both directions. Along one side of the road was a sidewalk, equally smooth and equally black. It dead-ended at the bus stop, open to the air, topped by a small canopy to keep the rain off the benches.

  He reached the canopy as raindrops began to fall. The air was cold and the icy rain even colder. The pelting rain bit through his jeans and shirt as he squeezed himself into the corner of the bus stop for as much shelter as he could get.

  A black BMW SUV with dark windows approached and stopped. Hallman stepped forward, hoping for a ride.

  The window lowered. The driver didn’t lean out. Instead, he spoke from inside the SUV’s warm, dry cocoon. A deep voice said, “Well, well. If it isn’t Shane Hallman.”

  He recognized the driver. Henrik “Snap” Metcalfe.

  Snap earned his nickname playing football in high school because of what he did to the bones of his opponents. Later, his brute strength won him a lucrative job as an enforcer using the same methods. Later still, he took over the business after the owner mysteriously disappeared. Metcalfe bragged about killing his former boss whenever his clients seemed unwilling to pay.

  Hallman knew Metcalfe would show up once he got out of prison. He hadn’t expected Metcalfe to materialize out of thin air the moment he was released, though.

  He nodded, ignoring the icy rain. “Metcalfe.”

  “Figured you’d be out of there two years ago,” Metcalfe said.

  “Me, too.” Hallman shrugged. “Guy picked a fight before my parole hearing.”

  “Bad news for you,” Metcalfe grunted. “Because of your debt.”

  Hallman eased back an inch. “Yeah. Twelve grand.”

  “And five long years interest.” Metcalfe laughed derisively. “We’ll just call it fifty. That’s a nice round number. Easy to remember.”

  Fifty. Hallman’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t have fifty pennies, let alone fifty thousand dollars. Arguing would no doubt be absolutely fruitless and result in a few snapped bones, at the very least.

  Metcalfe had to know there was little chance of getting that kind of money from Shane Hallman. He wanted leverage. To keep the debt running and growing.

  But Hallman had a plan. All he needed was a little time.

  And to keep Metcalfe off his back until he finished.

  He swallowed hard. “I… I don’t have that much.”

  “You’ve had five years to think about it. You’ve come up with a payment plan in all that time, I’ll bet.” Metcalfe raised his eyebrows. “You’ve got friends. Family. They’ll help you out. When you explain the
consequences.”

  “They don’t have—”

  Metcalfe beckoned him closer with a crooked finger. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care about you or your pathetic excuses. I want my money. Fifty. Tonight. And you can keep your limbs intact.” Metcalfe pointed to Hallman’s arms and legs, one at a time like he was defining the order. “All four of them.”

  The BMW rolled forward and the window began to close.

  Hallman held out his hand. “Wait.” He took a deep breath. “A month. Give me a month. Two months is better.”

  The SUV stopped, the window half open. Metcalfe looked at his watch. “You’ve got one week. Monday morning. Ten a.m. Fifty grand.”

  Hallman finally drew a breath.

  “Not a minute late. Otherwise, I’ll let you choose the first bone I break.” Metcalfe pulled a baseball bat from under his seat and brandished it before the BMW drove off.

  Hallman glanced around. The prison was still. The guards were inside their security hut. No one was standing on the sidewalk or in the bus shelter. The road was devoid of traffic.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. No one could have possibly overheard. More important, he’d bought himself some time. Metcalfe wouldn’t leave him alone for a week. But with luck, he’d have a few days, which could be enough if he handled things right.

  He pressed himself back into the corner of the cold shelter. By the time the bus arrived, he was shivering uncontrollably. He handed the driver a standard issue prison travel ticket good for the ride into Kansas City and huddled in the rear of the bus for warmth.

  The journey took two hours. He spent every minute working on his plan. The secret he’d learned in prison had been burning a hole in his belly. He couldn’t use the secret while he was locked up.

  But now he was out.

  It was time for action.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Monday, November 27

  1:30 p.m.

  Kansas City, Kansas

  Hallman rode the bus all the way to the terminal in downtown Kansas City.