The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 6-10 - Catherine Coulter [227]
An hour later, a smaller supply truck loaded with linens and bathroom supplies for one of the big ski lodges picked her up and began the climb to Mt. Pinos.
It was cold in the Los Padres National Forest, but down at Bear Lake elevation there wasn’t much snow on the ground, just a white veil, and the air was clear, as it had been yesterday.
The driver dropped her off in front of Snow House, a small lodge where she could wait until the stores opened. She wasn’t about to take a room. She knew they’d be tracking the card, would realize soon enough where she was.
Things had to happen soon or Dane would get to her. She sucked in a nice deep breath and walked into Snow House.
Her husband was driving up from LA a bit later, she told the desk clerk, and was meeting her here. This was where they’d spent their honeymoon and they wanted to come back. She was just here first. No, she didn’t want to check in just yet. She’d wait in the lobby area, near that roaring fire. They didn’t seem at all suspicious.
When the stores opened, she smiled toward the clerk behind the counter and walked out. She visited a small boutique, bought a cheap parka and gloves, and went to a general store at a filling station.
An hour later, she hiked to the Lakeview Home for Retired Police Officers.
She began to wonder if her great plan was going to lead to anything. She had to try it. She believed that Captain DeLoach had more answers than he’d given to them before. Now she was alone, and she knew she could get him to talk.
At least she prayed she’d get the old man to talk.
She walked straight to Captain DeLoach’s double-paned sliding doors, and tapped on the glass. No answer.
She tried the door. It was locked.
She tapped harder on the glass and jumped when she heard a querulous old voice mutter, “Who the hell wants in now? That you, Weldon? You want to finish the job on me, you little bastard?”
The curtains were jerked back and she was face-to-face with Captain DeLoach. He looked pale, sported a small white bandage around his head, but his old eyes were clear and focused.
He stared at her a moment, nodded to himself, and unlocked the doors. She watched him wheel his chair back before she opened the door and eased in. She relocked the door and drew the curtains.
She said, “I shouldn’t be here, Captain DeLoach, but I think you’re where all the action is, so consider me your bodyguard.”
“You’re a lot prettier than that idiot I kicked out of here last night. Overweight dolt, all he wanted to do was eat Carla’s doughnuts and she was getting pissed, which means that she’d carp at me. Did you see any of the cops they put around to protect me?”
“Not a soul, but I was really careful.”
“Yeah, yeah, I bet they’re all asleep. Hey, I recognize you. You’re an FBI agent, aren’t you? The gal with Agent Carver?”
“Yes, that’s right, I was with Agent Carver. I’m here to protect you. You don’t need those other cops. But you’ve got to keep my presence here quiet, okay?”
The old man ruminated on this for a good five seconds and then slowly nodded. “I haven’t had a girl around me without a needle in her hand in more years than I can remember.”
“Do you remember back for a lot of years?”
“Yep. Do I salute you?”
“Yes,” Nick said. Slowly, the old man saluted her and she saluted him back. She said, “Tell me about some of those years you remember, Captain.”
Captain DeLoach paused again, then said in a dreamy voice, more singsong than not, “You know, young lady, some of those years are so clear in my head that it’s like yesterday. I can feel what I felt then, the exhilaration, the excitement. I can see their faces as they were then, hear the yells, the screams, feel them score into me, deep, taste them, you know? I can feel all the joy and triumph, the pure sweetness of winning, and I loved that, you know?”
“No, sir, I don’t know what it is you’re talking about.”
He gave her the sweetest smile. “So many people I knew, liked, but now they’re mostly dead. All except me and mine, of course. Yep, just look who’s left. That’s a shame, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir, it’s a