Snatched Page 2

  Costello snickered. “Politicos don’t scare me. I can retire with a full pension whenever I want. But let me know anything you find out that’s useful. I should have some time to help in a couple of days.”

  When he hung up, Athena added him to her list of Feds she wanted to punch out. Even with her disabilities, she’d kept up her karate training. Her right arm and leg could put a serious hurt on someone.

  Left with no choice, Athena kept following the dark gray SUV. The highway turned east toward Bayfield and Pagosa Springs.

  -o-o-o-

  Jackie stared at the plastic barrier that kept her and Mia from seeing Rico. Their side windows had been covered up, too. Rico dictated a text to Misha on his phone, his voice laced with fury as he explained how Mia had distracted him in the store.

  Who cares? Jackie wanted to scream. So, she grabbed a chocolate bar?

  Rico obviously did. Jackie’s stomach churned as she imagined what he’d do if he realized they’d handed out the card. A cold shudder raced through her. Sliced up, was what Misha had promised.

  Jackie couldn’t understand why she’d been imprisoned in the first place. The creepy female Chinese OB/GYN at her office in the center of Durango, Doctor Wu, had told Jackie that her baby was a perfectly normal girl. Not that Jackie would get to see her after birth. Misha would take the newborn away immediately. At least, that was what he’d done to the several babies born so far.

  She tried to steel herself for that crushing disappointment. The women who’d already delivered had been devastated.

  Jackie was pulled out of her reverie when Rico unexpectedly turned right.

  Mia looked at Jackie with a pale face, her mouth forming an O. Tears welled in her eyes.

  “What’s going on?” Jackie asked. As the pregger, she was much more likely to get some answers.

  But Rico ignored them.

  The bastard drove slowly and steadily for a few minutes. This did not bode well. He’d never deviated from the normal route before. Bile rose in Jackie’s throat.

  A few minutes later, Rico made a hard right onto gravel and drove for a moment then stopped. He got out. The door locks in the back released.

  Rico yanked open Mia’s door and dragged her out onto the ground. Through the open door, Jackie spotted a dusty, falling down, wooden building in the background. An old barn.

  Mia screamed, “I’m sorry! Won’t ever ask for food again. Never.”

  Rico yelled, “We’re tired of your shit. You’re right about one thing, you’ll never ask again.”

  In one hand, he held a revolver. Mia shrieked. He shot her twice in the forehead at point-blank range.

  Her head snapped sideways under the force of the bullets. Blood and brains sprayed across the dirt.

  Jackie screamed in anger and horror. Vomit surged upward. She yanked her door open, leaned out, and hurled onto the ground. Still, some of the vomit had hit her door.

  Rico yelled at her, “Jackie, okay, okay. Don’t go crazy. This isn’t about you.”

  But it was. He could end her life just as viciously and quickly.

  She lied at the top of her lungs, “We didn’t do anything! Acted just like you said. Didn’t talk to anybody. Tell Misha that, you fucking murderer! That’s the damned truth!”

  Without a response, he slammed the back door on the right side shut. Then, he grabbed several paper towels and a bottle of water from the rear of the SUV. After cleaning Jackie’s door, he threw the towels on the ground and closed her door.

  Once he climbed behind the wheel, he tore out. Poor Mia was left to the coyotes and crows. Like so many others before her.

  Jackie couldn’t hold back her feelings any longer. She wailed and sobbed.

  -o-o-o-

  Athena was still mentally swearing at Frank Costello when Rico’s Suburban left US 160 and headed south on some obscure county road. By then, they were a dozen miles east of Durango. The houses and businesses had thinned out considerably. The highway skirted the foothills to the San Juan Mountains to the north. These plains were covered with ranches and farms and pockmarked with oil and gas wells.

  The side road Rico took was paved but filled with potholes. Most of the businesses and homes along the way looked abandoned.

  Unfortunately, there was no traffic to hide Athena’s pickup from Rico’s mirrors. If he bothered to glance back, he’d see her. Would he remember her truck from the gas station?

  Athena couldn’t take that chance. She let him get almost a mile ahead. Because he drove slowly, she did, too. Was he close to the ranch they’d mentioned on the card?

  After a few miles, Rico turned into what looked like an abandoned farm.

  Athena noticed an old, boarded-up convenience store just ahead, and she stopped there. Behind the building, a couple of old juniper trees stood alone. She parked behind them to hide her vehicle from the asshole.

  Through the branches, she could barely make out an old, two-story house and a barn ahead where the Suburban had vanished. Athena pulled a spotting scope from behind her passenger seat and attached it to a brace that clamped onto her partially rolled-down window.

  She could adjust the magnification from 20X to 60X. The scope pulled the old place up close and personal. Just an old farmhouse with broken windows, peeling paint, and a front yard full of weeds. The barn leaned over like it was about to collapse. No chance that anyone lived there, much less dozens of prisoners.

  Nothing moved up there. An occasional clicking sound that came from a loose piece of plastic on the minimart’s sign that flapped in the breeze.

  What the hell was he doing up there?

  The answer came from two shots that rang out, seconds apart. Pistol shots. She’d grown up on a farm near Cody, Wyoming, and her dad, brother, and uncles were always shooting at something. And her dad wouldn’t let her leave for college until she knew how to fire both a pistol and a rifle in self-defense. She could tell the difference between a shot fired by a pistol, rifle, or shotgun.

  Dread filled Athena. Two bullets could mean two dead women. She might’ve already failed them.

  Nothing Athena could do about that at the moment without risking being killed herself. She kept watching the farm.

  Suddenly, the Suburban appeared and sprayed gravel as it returned to the road. Rico headed her way. She put the spotting scope in its case. When he zoomed by, she set the scope and brace on the passenger seat.

  Athena remained where she was until he got a mile north of her. Then, she pulled out onto the same road and drove south to the old farm. Her skin crawled as she worried about what she’d find.

  A dry gravel driveway led behind the house. Nothing stood out until she drove behind the barn.

  Someone was lying on the ground.

  When Athena got close and stopped, she recognized the tall Hispanic woman. Rico had called her Mia.

  Athena exited her pickup but stayed clear of the body to avoid contaminating any evidence. Mia was dead for sure. She’d received two shots to the forehead that had blown out the back of her skull.

  Athena almost hurled, and she noticed where someone else already had, probably Jackie.

  Athena’s stomach churned as she imagined the horror those women had gone through, but she managed to control herself. Her hands shook with fury, and her right frontal lobe throbbed.

  As soon as she returned to her pickup, she dialed Costello then tore out after Rico.

  When the Feeb answered, she said, “So, all that matters to you are dead bodies, eh? You’ve got another one. Rico just executed one of his prisoners. Why the hell can’t you help here where we need it most?”

  The old man sighed. “I called the agent-in-charge of the Denver Field Office, Stephen Yang. He says they’re too busy to contribute anybody. Tell me what happened.”

  She did, including all the gory detail. At least, he didn’t interrupt her.

  When she finished, he said, “I’m very sorry to hear the news, Chris. But
this doesn’t change anything. I can’t be in two places at the same time. And tomorrow, I’ve already booked a half dozen witness interviews on the rez. But I can promise you to get together early the morning after, that’d be Thursday.”

  Athena had to accept his limited cooperation. Yelling at him more would only piss him off. The simple truth was, she and the women and girls being held captive needed him a lot more than he needed them.

  Trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice, she said, “Okay, but what do I do in the meantime?”

  “I do know one thing. If you go after the bastard, you’re likely to end up dead yourself. Given your serious physical and mental disabilities, you need to leave the police work to the cops.”

  “I’d really like to do that, but I’m the only one who seems to be able to follow Rico now. You expect me to just turn tail and go home?”

  “You are a civilian,” he said. “If you want my advice, returning to Durango would be the smart move. As for the latest murder victim, I’ll call a La Plata sheriff’s detective I’ve worked with in the past, Juanita Turnbull. I know she’s a straight shooter.”

  Jackie’s card had specifically told Athena not to trust the local deputies, but they couldn’t just leave poor Mia out there to be found days or weeks from now. The sheriff’s office would have to get involved eventually. “Fine, but keep my name—and what I know—to yourself.”

  “Don’t know you from anybody. I got an anonymous tip.”

  She gave him directions to where Mia’s body was getting cold and rang off.

  By the time Athena reached US 160 again, the dark gray SUV was long gone. She headed east.

  Chapter 3

  Athena drove at ninety miles-per-hour, dangerously fast for an older, high-profile vehicle, until she spotted Rico’s SUV ahead in the distance. At least, she hoped it was his Suburban. She settled in behind a sedan going about as fast as the bastard up ahead. Most of the time, she could see over the sedan and kept her good eye on her target.

  The highway stretched ahead over parched, gently rolling plains about six thousand feet high. The land was sparsely vegetated with sagebrush, pinion pines, and juniper trees and bushes. Hundreds of ranches and occasional farms were sprinkled across this section of southwest Colorado. Most of these places were remote enough from each other to serve as impromptu prisons.

  Everything looked parched. The Four Corners region had been devastated by a decade of drought. The vegetation looked like it was barely surviving. Forest fires were an ever-present danger, and several had flared up near Durango since the spring. In the last month, it’d snowed a couple of times, but not enough to significantly lower the fire danger yet.

  Athena passed too many side roads to count. Every so often, the highway crested a low hill which gave her a good view of the surrounding area. This was about as far out in the middle of nowhere as anyone could get in Colorado. How did any of these folks make a living?

  The Suburban ahead maintained a steady course east. Athena couldn’t imagine where the hell Rico was going. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She wasn’t mentally or physically equipped to chase a stone-cold killer. But all the Feds had let her down, and a lot of women and girls were praying for someone, anyone, to help.

  The bastard drove onward, passing through the small town of Bayfield. Afterward, the road returned to a ponderosa pine forest. They’d made it about halfway to Pagosa Springs.

  When Athena crested another hill, the SUV was turning north a mile ahead onto a dirt road that followed a broad valley to the north.

  Not sure whether to follow, she pulled off US 160 into a wide turnout where a fourteen-wheeler had parked. She stopped behind it in case Rico for some reason looked back her way.

  Again, she mounted her spotting scope on her half-opened window and watched the dust trail created by the Suburban. The valley bottom and the hillsides were mostly covered with tall pines. The trees blocked her view of the SUV, but she could track Rico’s progress thanks to the billowing cloud of dust.

  A moment later, though, the dirty plume stopped moving forward. It began to dissipate. What the hell did that mean? Maybe the son of a bitch had reached his destination. Or maybe he’d found another secluded spot where he planned to kill Jackie.

  Then, a small tanker truck turned off the highway onto the same road Rico had followed. Another plume billowed upward, and this one continued to proceed north past where Rico had seemed to stop. The road obviously continued onward.

  Athena sat perplexed. The thought of following him along that road didn’t appeal, not a damned bit. She hoped he’d arrived at the ranch the card had mentioned, but if so, something was weird. This area was heavily forested, not the kind of open rangeland ranchers typically preferred.

  -o-o-o-

  Athena stayed put, watching with her spotting scope, for twenty minutes. Over that time, several more vehicles traveled the same road, and all of them had continued past the spot where Rico stopped. And two vehicles came from the opposite way and reached US 160. Athena was beginning to think she’d found the secret prison, but the last thing she wanted to do was to confront a bunch of thugs guarding dozens of women and girls.

  She was still agonizing over her next step when a plume started at exactly the same spot where the Suburban had stopped earlier. This cloud of dust headed south toward the highway. Was the SUV returning? But the vehicle in question turned out to be a filthy, white pickup, one with four doors.

  Athena trained her spotting scope on the driver, but she could only catch him at an angle. He definitely looked like Rico, but the windshield was too dirty for her to be sure. Whoever he was, he stopped at the highway, turned left, and drove east at a high speed.

  What the hell should she do, so obviously out of her element and all alone?

  Rico had probably been driving the pickup, but if the cops ever asked, she wasn’t sure she could say so, not beyond a reasonable doubt.

  Whoever the driver was, he’d already disappeared east on the highway. She decided to follow and sped to catch up.

  But flashing yellow lights soon appeared ahead—some problem.

  A female road construction flagger with a deep tan and blue hair stopped her. Up ahead, a front-end loader filled her lane. The road crew had restricted the traffic from both directions to one lane. Past the roadwork, a group of vehicles moved on, including the white pickup.

  Athena asked, “How long is the delay?”

  “Only a couple of minutes.”

  It ended up being more like eight according to the clock in the Ranger, but those were the breaks.

  When Athena finally made it past the construction zone, she sped up again. The road ahead was empty.

  She drove as fast as she could for twenty minutes, way over the speed limit, and still didn’t catch up with the white pickup. He’d either been driving just as fast or had disappeared onto one of the dozen side roads she’d passed. Either way, she’d played out the hand she’d been dealt and lost.

  Athena did a U-turn and decided to return to the dirt road where she’d first seen the pickup. That seemed like a safer area to explore because she probably wouldn’t stumble upon Rico. And she might find out something helpful to Costello when he finally got involved in the case.

  -o-o-o-

  When she got to where the Suburban had turned north off US 160, she did the same. Athena followed the bumpy, winding route for a few minutes until she reached the spot where Rico seemed to have stopped. She slowed to a crawl, looking for the SUV, but the Suburban wasn’t parked anywhere along the dusty county road.

  But she found four long driveways that each led into the forest in a different direction. Mailboxes at the end of each driveway confirmed that at least one house was hidden back in the trees. From where she sat, though, she couldn’t compare any of those properties to the crude drawing that rested on the seat next to her.

  Only one of the dirt driveways showed recent tire tracks in the dust. T
hat one seemed to be the most logical place to investigate. Only one way to find out whether Rico had dumped the SUV here before taking off.

  There was some risk involved, but the odds were good that Rico had left. If she ran into anyone up the driveway, she’d play dumb, an act she could pull off with depressing success. Strangers often noticed her physical disabilities, and most assumed her brain was just as broken. And when she was honest with herself, she knew they were right.

  A falling-down barbed-wire fence lined the road on each side of the driveway. The fence contained several rusted No Trespassing signs, but the gate had been left open. She didn’t see any of those stupid warnings about the property being insured by Smith & Wesson or protected by vicious attack dogs.

  Athena followed the narrow double track as it wound through thick stands of giant ponderosas. After a couple of hundred yards, she spotted a weather-beaten log cabin through the trees. It had a green tarpaper roof, unlike the buildings on the map. Behind the house, she could barely make out a rectangular metal garage. Its roof was faded red metal. No shiny metal walls anywhere or a building large enough to house forty women and girls.

  Athena wanted to leave, but there was nowhere she could turn. And the double-track contained too many twists—couldn’t back up for long without hitting a tree.

  So, she crept forward until she found a spot where she could turn, a parking spot next to the cabin. She pulled in.

  Before she could back out again and leave, an old man with a long scraggly beard stepped onto his covered front porch. He carried a double-barreled shotgun. A snarling black German Shepherd followed him.

  The man raised his weapon. “Whoa, lady. What the hell do you want?”

  Her cover story almost fled from her mind as her right frontal lobe throbbed. After a few seconds, she remembered and stuttered, “E-excuse me, sir, i-is Francis home?”

  “Ain’t nobody named that anywhere ‘round here.”

  “I-I’m t-trying to find Francis Payton. I thought this was her place. Guess I’m l-lost.”

  She waved at him awkwardly with her bad arm so he could see how disabled she was.