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Chapter 17
Alex finally smiled, although it was strained. “I like the way you think.”
Gideon grabbed for the binder on the desk. Inside were pages holding menus from some local restaurants. He handed her the binder. “What looks good? We’ll get whatever you want.”
Based on Alex’s frown, she didn’t have much of an appetite. But they’d been living on crappy food for several days. Even the omelets they’d had at the truck stop in Dickinson had been greasy and unappealing.
“I’d like some fish,” she finally said. “A side of vegetables. A salad.” She scanned the menus, flipping the laminated pages past a pizza place. A burger joint. Finally she stopped. Read a menu. Nodded. “This one has trout. Locally caught.” She looked up at him with a tiny smile. “Maybe not this time of year, but they also have salmon. I’ll have that. With a side of asparagus and a garden salad.”
“Okay.” He scanned the menu and saw two other kinds of fish. Steaks. Barbequed ribs. Bison burgers. “I like what you chose. I’ll have the same thing, with a baked sweet potato instead of the salad.” He reached for his phone. “You ready to eat?”
Alex nodded. “Now that we’re talking about food, I’m hungry.”
* * *
Jerry stood at the window of his crappy motel room in Bumfuck, Montana, scanning the parking lot for Alex’s car. He was pretty sure she was heading for Seattle. He knew she’d grown up there, but they’d never talked about her life before law school. If she was running, and clearly she was, it made sense she’d go somewhere familiar. Somewhere she might still have family. Friends.
He’d looked in all the hotel parking lots at the first Livingston exit and hadn’t seen Alex’s car. He’d grabbed this motel room, knowing places to stay would fill up quickly. Once he was sure her car wasn’t here, or at the fancier hotel across the street, he’d check out the rest of the motels. A red Lexus SUV should be easy to spot in the Land of Pickup Trucks. And she couldn’t have blown past this town since the pass was still closed.
He spotted a couple of red trucks, but no red SUV’s. As he was getting ready to head out the door, his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, but the Russians had him on a short leash, so he picked up the phone and pressed the green button. “Trotter,” he said.
“Where are you?”
Jerry sucked in a breath. He recognized that accent -- someone from the Bratva. Maybe one of the guys he’d been dealing with. The ones who’d gotten caught in Boughton. He’d hoped they’d stay locked up long enough for him to get his files from Alex. Be able to make a deal with them.
Apparently not.
“In a motel along the interstate. Getting close to Washington State.” Jerry swallowed. He sure as hell wasn’t going to tell those guys the pass was closed. He didn’t want them to know how close he was to them. “Where are you?”
“On I-94. Going west. She’s in Seattle, no?”
“My best guess.” Time to go on the offensive. “What the hell happened in Boughton? I thought it’d be easy. The tracker said she was in that motel. How tough is it for two guys to take care of one woman?”
“We were…” He paused. Mumbled something in Russian to his companion. “We were blindsided by a man. He had a gun. He shot Yuri. Tied us both up, then walked away. I heard a car leaving the motel shortly after that.”
“He wasn’t one of your men?”
“Of course not.” With that withering tone, the guy might as well have said you idiot. “Why would one of our men shoot Yuri and tie us both up?”
“What’d he look like?” Jerry asked, wondering who it could be.
“Tall. Dark hair. Hard face and cold blue eyes. He knew what he was doing. Had us on the floor, tied up, quickly.”
Oh, my God. Could it have been the hitman Jerry’d hired? Protecting his paycheck?“Thank God you got out of jail,” he said, trying to sound sincere. “How’d you manage that?”
“I called our boss. He paid our bail.” His voice hardened. Became threatening. “Because you owe us a lot of money. And it’s my job and Yuri’s to make sure we get it.”
“You’ll get it,” Jerry said, pacing the motel room. Trying to disguise his fear of them. “You can head back to Chicago,” he continued. “I’ve got this. I’ll find my wife, and you’ll get your money.”
“Yes, Mr. Trotter. We will get our money. One way or another.” The Russian disconnected, and Jerry closed his fingers around his phone.
He glanced out the window. It was getting later, and soon it would be dark. He needed to start now to check all the hotels for Alex’s car. Because God knew how long it would take.
A few minutes later, he pulled out of the parking lot and drove across the street to the fancier hotel. He clenched his jaw. His bitch wife could afford to stay there. The files she’d stolen could bring buckets of money. The Russians would pay a lot for them. So would his contact at the FBI. Not to mention the FBI guys who weren’t on the take.
He scanned the parking lot but didn’t see her Lexus. He was about to drive to the next hotel when a man walked out of the hotel. Bent over and spoke to the driver of a car sporting an ‘Uber Eats’ sign.
When the guy stood up and opened the door, his face was highlighted by the vehicle’s dome light. Jerry sucked in a breath. It was the hit man. Looking just as scary as he’d looked in Jerry’s office.
