“Listen, there was a semitrailer.” I was in a fog. “You have to tell Jake. I only saw it for a few seconds…”
Focus, Pat!
“Peterbilt extended cab.” My voice sounded faint, as if it were coming from someone else. “Maroon. Silver trailer. No distinctive markings, heading west.”
Faintly, I heard the nurse: “He remembers that after seeing it for a few seconds?”
“Yes,” Amber said.
“Have him call it in,” I mumbled just before I felt myself slip away again into a thick and timeless dream.
37
Tessa could feel her stomach churning at the smell of the bar’s greasy, fried meat. Just knowing that those animals had been ruthlessly imprisoned and then barbarously slaughtered just so they could be chopped up, fried, and eaten was disturbing enough, and now she was caught smelling the evidence of all that brutality.
But it was too cold to wait for Sean outside, and Larry had been generously bringing her free root beer and french fries, and he was so nice that she would’ve felt way rude complaining about the meat smell, so she kept quiet.
He started telling her stories about turkey hunting with “that lucky-shot uncle of yours,” and the hunting stories didn’t exactly serve to settle her stomach. She held back from sharing her views about sport hunting.
Tessa was halfway through her second platter of fries when the front door opened and Sean appeared amidst an angry swirl of snow.
He looked her way. “Hey, I’m sorry I was so long.”
“I’m glad you made it.” She stood.
After a quick hello and thanks to Larry, who still refused to let them pay for anything, Sean led her to the truck. “I need to tell you something important about Patrick.”
A tremor of uneasiness. “What is it?”
“Climb in. I’ll explain on the way.”
The money had been at the dead drop, a fact that was a bit perplexing to Alexei, considering the fact that he was evidently being set up. Now he was on the road in a new vehicle, and the duffel bag containing the cash was carefully tucked in the corner of the trunk to make room for the person he was transporting.
He was nearly to the house when he received word from Nikolai.
“The phone number you gave me, it was used to phone the American consulate in Moscow to report that…” But then Nikolai paused and seemed to rethink his decision to share the information with Alexei.
“To report what?”
A blank silence. “The death of your wife.”
“What? How do you know this?”
“We each have our methods, Alexei. But you must trust me. The number, I confirmed it with my sources.”
Alexei let that sink in. Valkyrie reported Tatiana’s murder?
That meant that, even if Valkyrie wasn’t the one to pull the trigger, he-or she-was somehow complicit in the crime.
Alexei felt his anger, his thoughts, spiral in pin-tight. “Anything else?”
“I will let you know if there is.”
“I’ll give you an additional $250,000 if you can get me a name within twenty-four hours.” After offering to transfer half of the amount now, as a sign of good faith, it didn’t take a lot of convincing before Alexei’s contact agreed.
Alexei ended the call. Electronically transferred the funds.
On Wednesday Valkyrie had mentioned his Tanfoglio. Mentioned Italy. Why even bring it up? How had Valkyrie found out about it, anyway? And why leave the remaining $1,000,000 at the dead drop?
Alexei didn’t know, but he couldn’t help but think that Valkyrie had been playing him ever since Tatiana’s murder.
Okay, change of plans.
Becker Hahn had told him to expect a call at 9:00 tomorrow night: “Not a minute before, not a minute after.” Alexei was aware that plans change, but 9:00 was also the time Valkyrie had told him earlier, so it appeared that he had a window of opportunity until then.
Alexei was confident that even if Nikolai came up short, Becker, who’d been so bold as to mention Valkyrie in the meeting earlier today, would have information leading to the intelligencer’s identification or whereabouts. Eco- Tech had something planned, but even more importantly, they were still in this area and they were connected with Valkyrie.
Alexei arrived at the cabin, gently transferred the woman from the car’s trunk to the room at the end of the hall, secured her, then pulled out his computer to review his notes about Becker Hahn and his team.
He was going to find the people who had set him up, and then go through them one by one until they told him who Valkyrie was.
I awoke.
No one else in the hospital room.
Looking around, I found my watch on a small dresser beside the bed and checked the time.
8:02 p.m.
I rubbed my head.
From the time I’d tried to save Bryan Ellory-apart from awakening briefly just after six o’clock-I’d been out more than six hours. I was off the cardiac monitor now, but still had the IV.
I felt bleary and weak and ached all over, either from the aftermath of the hypothermia or from some type of medication they were giving me. Whichever it was, it didn’t matter, my energy was gone.
Knowing that my face had been exposed to subzero temperature for an indeterminate period of time, I apprehensively slid my hand across my nose, felt my earlobes. They still stung from frostnip, but thankfully, all seemed fine, frostbite hadn’t ravaged my face. I checked my hands, my fingers, wiggled my toes. All good-but when I tried to move my ankle, I felt a jolt of pain.
I thought again of the river, of what had happened.
Ellory is dead. You let him die.
I’d barely known the man, and yet now I felt a wash of stark sadness and loss as if we’d been friends for years. He might not have been as thorough as he could’ve been in his police reports, but he was forward-thinking enough to send the Lab the tread patterns that led to the open water on Tomahawk Lake. And he was dedicated: he’d done all he knew to do at each scene, pursued the suspect through the snowstorm, and died trying to apprehend a killer.
No, he died when you let him drown.
You let him go.
Ellory was a hero, and I was the one who’d let him die.
Another voice tried to reassure me, but it was faint and distant: No, Pat, you were the one who tried to save him.
Any negative thoughts I’d had earlier about Ellory now vanished, and I felt armed with fresh fire and a deep sense of purpose to catch his killer. I was going to get the man who did this and I was going to bring him in or put him down.
Needles make me queasy, but I sat up, steeled myself, and tugged out my IV, then slid the piece of tape over the needle hole to stop any seepage.
My clothes were piled on a chair in the corner of the room. Surprisingly, all of them, even the camo coat, looked dry, and I was thankful for whoever had taken care of that little detail.
I swung my legs out of bed, paused to catch my breath and calm my dizziness, and noticed a note beside the
