Viking Vengeance Read online

  “Auch, aye, lad. Let me call ye back.”

  Jim set the phone aside, his mind going back to their unwanted cargo. Where were they going to be in four hours?

  He checked the map. Roanoke. There was snow predicted in the area before nightfall. Where could he stash the hijacker that he’d be protected from the weather, warm enough overnight, if that was how long it took to find him, and guaranteed to be found sooner rather than later?

  Jim considered the possibilities. Police stations, fire stations, and hospitals were all places of refuge, but it would be hard to drive up, toss their charge out the door and drive off without attracting attention. What he needed was a place routinely open to the public.

  It took him thirty minutes of searching to find a likely prospect, a mall that boasted twenty-four hour entertainment. The entrance was in an alcove, protected by an overhanging roof and sheltered from the lights in the parking lot. If they tucked the hijacker up against the doors, someone would find him.

  Dressed in white, with the snow blowing around them, he and Charlie could drop their unwanted passenger and drive off with minimal chance of someone noticing. It would be smart to cover the license plates, too. The van was also white and unmarked. They might be no more than a ghost on the security camera footage, even if someone looked.

  It was a risk, of course, but Jim could not lug this escaped convict all over the northeast. He had to dump him.

  Even if someone asked who the mysterious people were who deposited this late Christmas present on their doorstep, what would the police do? Assume the dropper-offers didn’t want to speak to the police. Assume they knew more than they should. Assume they were on the wrong side of the law. But it wasn’t a crime to capture an escaped felon and leave him, trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey, to be found by someone else. Assuming he was alive, of course.

  Best case scenario (for the hijacker), the mall cops were paying attention and found him on their next circuit of the facility. It would take Jim and Charlie less than ten minutes to unload their burden and maybe they could move faster. As soon as they were gone, security could move in, rescue the convict, read the note Jim was planning to write, and follow up on the lead.

  Worst case scenario, no one noticed him until tomorrow when the sun came up. If he was properly padded and his airway was clear, he should be cold, but not injured. The pavement would hold some of the heat, the building would provide more.

  Jim’s phone buzzed.

  “Jim, th’ Charlottesville Homestead can tak’ ye. They prefer ye arrive afore midnight. Can ye do that?”

  “Hang on a minute.” Jim put his hand over the mouthpiece. “How far are we from Charlottesville?”

  “Five hours minimum, maybe more. It will depend on the weather.”

  Jim glanced at his watch. Twelve-thirty. No, wait. The phone said one-thirty. They had crossed over into the Eastern time zone and lost an hour in the process. Still reasonable, even with dropping the convict off and weather delays. Probably.

  “Yes. We can do that.”

  “I’ll arrange it, then. Call when ye get in.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jim put the phone away and checked on their prisoner, then moved forward to tell the others.

  “That just leaves the weather,” Ginny said.

  “Assuming they haven’t set up a road block,” Charlie added.

  “We are a very long way from Nashville. Maybe they won’t think he can have come this far.”

  “But if they have?” Charlie asked.

  Jim set his mouth in a grim line. “Then we dump him on the side of the road and pray he doesn’t die and you will have to walk from Tennessee to Virginia.”

  * * *

  Wednesday Afternoon

  Bristol, VA

  There was no road block. They paused in Bristol, on the Virginia side of the border, but did not linger. They needed to make tracks if they were going to get to Charlottesville before midnight.

  Jim was keeping an eye on the heavens. According to the weather reports, they were driving into a developing nor’easter. What they were seeing was the outlying edge of a slowly rotating storm that would intensify, moving up the eastern seaboard toward Canada.

  By the time they reached Roanoke, thick, low-level clouds blocked what remained of the late afternoon sun. The temperature had dropped twenty degrees and the wind was rising. The snow had begun, too, not very heavy, but wet, making the highway surface slushy. The roads would stay passable as long as the heat lasted, then begin to ice over.

  Roanoke was battening down the hatches, the inhabitants scurrying for home. Ginny had pulled over in an unlighted parking lot to allow the men to get into their white outerwear and to cover the license plates with white trash bags. They manhandled their still snoring prisoner into one of the sleeping bags, in preparation for the drop.

  They had no trouble locating the shopping mall and no trouble spotting the mall cops. They had to wait fifteen minutes before the two patrol cars moved off in opposite directions. The snow was definitely coming down now.

  Jim watched a handful of shoppers hurry out of the entrance, all eyes on the ground and faces bundled against the weather. When the coast was clear, Ginny drove up to the alcove. Jim and Charlie jumped out, seizing the soiled air mattress, with the sleeping bag and its occupant upon it, hauled it out of the car and deposited it in the space between the outer and inner mall entrance doors. Jim made sure the convict was on his side and breathing easily, the explanatory note pinned to the outside of the cocoon, then headed back to the van.

  “I’m driving from here,” he told Ginny. She moved over to the passenger seat and Charlie got into the back. The whole thing had taken just over seven minutes.

  “Let’s go.”

  The first chance he got, Jim pulled off the road into a deep black spot and climbed out, removing the trash bags and restoring the license plates to view.

  “We don’t want to attract any attention, especially in this storm. The authorities will be preparing for trouble. I suggest dinner and a bathroom break before we leave Roanoke, then no more stops until Charlottesville.”

  They were on their way by six, the storm warnings now making regular appearances on the radio. Jim listened carefully then settled in for what he knew was likely to be a difficult drive.

  * * *

  Wednesday Evening

  Dallas, TX

  Detective Tran tapped the hard copies on the desk, to bring them into alignment, then stapled them together and tucked them into her growing file on the Monroe case. She had requested the warrants be expedited, carefully explaining her suspicions, but was aware it might be days before she heard back.

  It might not work, either. All she had was circumstantial evidence.

  It was possible that neither Miss Forbes nor Dr. Mackenzie was colluding in Mr. Monroe’s escape, that the disappearances were nothing more than a coincidence. It was possible they were cooperating under duress, Mr. Monroe having threatened them in some way, but she didn’t believe it. If they were in danger, someone in the Loch Lonach community would know of it. The Laird would be asking for help, not being sympathetically unhelpful.

  She tucked her notebook in her pocket, gathered up her coat and headed out. No. Either she would find Mr. Monroe in Dallas, or she would find him with those two love birds, and if that happened, it was going to be most interesting to hear what they had to say about it.

  * * *

  Chapter 18

  Wednesday Night

  Charlottesville, VA

  Jim watched the road disappear under the accumulating snow. The wind buffeted the van, pushing it across the icy road and into the path of oncoming traffic, very slow moving traffic. He fought to keep the vehicle on the road and in the right lane.

  They had turned east onto I-64, cleared Waynesboro, and were approaching the outskirts of Charlottesville. The instructions called for them to turn south onto US-29, then take the second exit, Shepard’s Hill road.

 
It was inevitable that the tailored-for-Texas van would be unable to handle the snow and ice. Jim made the exit from 64 to 29, following the sharply curving roadway down the incline, missed the even sharper turn at the bottom, plowed into the already damaged guard rail, knocked it the rest of the way down, then slid off the roadway and into the ditch. The van came to a stop, nose tipped down at a six degree angle, the rear wheels still on the pavement, but only just.

  For a moment nobody moved.

  Jim had been concentrating so hard on getting down the ramp that he’d had no thought for his passengers. He pried his fingers off the wheel and turned around. “Is everyone all right?”

  The only light inside the van came from the dashboard, giving their faces a sickly green cast.

  “Yeah,” Charlie said.

  Ginny nodded. “I’m fine.”

  Jim sucked air into his lungs. “Okay. I’m going to get out and look at the damage. You two stay still.”

  Jim put on the emergency blinkers, grabbed a flashlight, zipped up his polar bear parka, and got out. He walked all the way around the vehicle, watching for traffic and making sure he didn’t step in front of the van, just in case it decided to slide further into the ditch.

  All four tires were still inflated and three were on some version of solid ground. The fourth hung out over a drop of about three feet, with the guard rail caught in the undercarriage. The left front fender was crumpled, but they hadn’t hit the rail hard enough to trigger the air bags.

  It was not possible to tell if the van would slip further forward, but there wasn’t really anywhere for it to go if it did. They had reached the bottom of the slope and the ground on the other side of the guard rail was relatively flat and covered in fully grown trees. The real danger was if the van slid sideways off the roadway, tipped over, and rolled.

  Jim approached the vehicle from the passenger side. He opened the door and motioned for Ginny to get out. Once she was on the ground, he did the same for Charlie. He positioned them away from the vehicle, assigning Charlie the task of looking for traffic coming down the ramp and handing Ginny a pair of glow sticks with which to signal.

  Once safety had been established, he pulled out his phone. It was not easy to be heard over the wind and with the snow flying in his face, but he managed. Ten minutes of effort told him everything he needed to know. He joined the other two in a huddle.

  “The tow trucks are all in use by the police, who are coordinating rescue efforts. There are no taxis or cabs running until the storm abates. The homestead crews are out helping the first responders.”

  “Should we stay in the car?” Ginny asked.

  Jim shook his head. “If it were stable and visible, that might be best, but it’s on a curve, half off the road, in danger of rolling over, and it’s white. I don’t like our odds.”

  “So what do we do?” Charlie asked. His jacket had turned out to be inadequate and he was jumping up and down, trying to keep warm. “We can’t ask the police for help. It’s too risky.”

  Jim looked at Ginny and swallowed hard. “I know someone I can call. She might be able to come get us and take us the rest of the way to the Homestead.”

  “She?” Ginny asked.

  “Sarah Sumner. My former girlfriend.”

  “Oh.”

  “Go ahead,” Charlie said. “Though I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t want to get out in this.”

  Jim found himself very nervous about this idea. He would rather not have called on Sarah. He hadn’t been especially nice to her about his move to Texas. But, if her number still worked, and she still lived here, and she still had the Jeep that used to be his, she would come. He dialed the number.

  “Sarah? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes. Who is this, please?”

  “It’s Jim Mackenzie.”

  “Jim! I haven’t heard from you since you left Virginia. To what do I owe this honor?” She sounded almost as cold as the snow falling on his cheeks.

  “Sarah, I have a huge favor to ask. I’m stranded and I need to be rescued.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the junction of 46 and 29, headed south, in the ditch.”

  “You’re here? In Charlottesville?”

  Jim heard the excitement in the question. “Yes.”

  “The police have asked everyone to stay indoors.” Was there an accusatory note in that statement? Or was she just leaving herself an out?

  “I know. I said it was a huge favor.”

  “Never mind. I’ll be there as fast as I can manage. See you soon.”

  Jim spent the time until she arrived making sure they had everything stuffed into the backpacks Ginny had thrown in at the last minute saying she would feel naked without them. Jim blessed her over-packing instinct. It was something he would never have thought of, but the packs would be a lot easier to handle than the wheeled bags.

  He watched as a pair of headlights loomed out of the storm, made their way up US-29, then came to a stop on the shoulder. A slight figure in a yellow parka got out and approached them on foot. Jim went to meet her.

  “Jim! It is you!” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Jim was required to return the salute.

  “It’s good to see you, Sarah. Thank you so much for helping us out!”

  “Us?” She turned at Jim’s gesture, seeing the other two standing on the road. “Three of you?”

  “Yes, and backpacks. Can you manage?”

  “Of course.” She gestured to Ginny and Charlie. “Come on you two, climb in!”

  They settled into the back of the Jeep, then Sarah got behind the wheel and Jim, with an uncomfortable sensation of duplicity, climbed into the passenger seat beside her.

  “Will the car be all right there?” she asked Jim.

  “We don’t have a choice. It’s stuck.”

  “Okay. Where to?”

  “Do you remember the year we went out to the Homestead?”

  “That living history place? Yes.”

  “That’s where we’re going. Follow 29, then right on Shepard’s Hill Road. They’re expecting us.”

  Sarah glanced over at Jim, then back at Ginny, seated behind him.

  “I have a feeling there’s a story here.” She put the Jeep in gear and drove carefully back up onto US-29.

  They followed the signs and were outside the Homestead gates by eleven thirty. The guard admitted them promptly, directing them to the main building where they were met and escorted inside.

  “What a miserable night!” the Matron exclaimed. “I’m Mrs. Lauder.” Jim made introductions all around. She looked at the group, then back at him. “I understood there would be three of you?”

  Jim nodded. “There are. Sarah here, lives in Charlottesville and has just rescued us off the side of the road. We will need a tow truck to get the van back, but that can wait until tomorrow.”

  “I’m afraid it will have to.” She turned to Sarah. “Would you like to stay the night so you don’t have to go back out into that storm?”

  “Thank you, no. I would like a cup of coffee, though, if that’s possible?”

  “Of course!” Mrs. Lauder had helpers. She sent the youngest, a girl, to the kitchen and directed the two boys, both high school age, to escort the party to their rooms. “But do come back down and meet us in the den so we can welcome you properly. The fire’s going so nicely. It almost makes up for the cold.”

  Jim set his backpack down in the room assigned him, peeled off his coat and hung it up to dry, then shucked his urine-stained clothing, jumped in the shower, sluiced off, wrapped a towel around his hips, and went to get clean clothes out of the pack. He found Sarah had followed him in. She was leaning against the closed door.

  “God, you look good!”

  He eyed her, then collected the clean clothes and went back into the bathroom to dress. He continued the conversation through the locked door. “So do you.”

  “How’s Texas treating you?”

  “I’ve got a good job a
t a local ER and the promise of more if I keep my nose clean.” He tucked in his shirt, unlocked the bathroom door then sat down in the bedside chair and pulled on dry socks and shoes.

  She nodded. “I’m glad of that, anyway.”

  “Sarah, we need to go down.”

  She let out a long breath. “You call me up and tell me you’re in town and my heart does flip-flops. Then I find you’re not alone, but there’s no ring on your finger.”

  Jim stiffened his resolve. It had to be faced. “I asked you to come with me and you chose not to.”

  “Can I change my mind?”

  “No.”

  “So, there is someone.”

  “Yes.”

  He saw her face harden. “Is it that pale scarecrow?”

  “Would it matter?”

  “Yes!” she exploded. “She’s not woman enough for you.” Sarah came towards him and Jim felt his mouth go dry. He had been very much afraid of this. “You need someone with fire in her belly.”

  “We need to go down.”

  “We need to talk.”

  Jim let out a breath. “Yes, we do, but not tonight. Come on.” He took her arm and steered her out into the hall.

  Mrs. Lauder had provided hot chocolate, hot toddies, hot tea, hot coffee, and hot scones. The room smelled delicious.

  Jim helped himself to a scone and a toddy, then sat down on the couch. He would have sat next to Ginny, but she had selected a recliner and there was no room for him in it.

  Sarah sat down beside him, sipping her coffee and answering polite questions from the Matron about how she knew Jim and what she did in Charlottesville.

  Jim listened for a bit, then excused himself. “I’m sorry. I’ve just remembered. I have to call Himself.”

  “Himself?” Sarah looked up at him, puzzled.

  “My grandfather.”

  Jim stepped out into the hall and dialed Texas. It was a good thing it was an hour earlier there. That made the call a little less late.

  “We’re here.” Jim explained about the car trouble. “We’ll need to stay at least two nights. I doubt if we can get the car fixed any sooner.”

  “I’ll see tae it on th’ morrow.” There was a pause on the line. “Are ye all right, Jim?”