Chapter 6
Nick knewthe exact moment when Charlie figured out she was being followed. He had no doubt that she’d also figured out it was him. But it probably didn’t matter. There was no way out once she reached Firelight Ridge. That was literally the end of the road for her escape from Hobbs Financial Services. She was smart and elusive, but she wasn’t a shapeshifter.
Charlie had done well, for someone with no experience in evasion techniques. He’d give her that. But he was a pro, so it was no real contest. The tracker he’d put on her old Buick told him she was headed for New York. He’d done the same, only to find her Buick abandoned by the Hudson River.
Temporary setback. All he had to do was figure out where she was headed and wait there for her. From his research into Charlie’s background, he knew she had a friend in New York named Molly Evans who owned a red BMW. He soon discovered that Molly was subletting her apartment.
“I have no idea when she’s coming back,” her chatty tenant had confided over an overpriced Lemon Drop. “I mean, she went to Alaska, it’s like a different planet. Isn’t it always winter there, like Narnia? And you have to take dog sleds to get anywhere?”
“I’ve been meaning to take my daughter for a trip somewhere. Maybe we’ll try Alaska. What part is Molly in?”
“Some little town in the mountains near a mine, that’s all I know. Not a diamond mine, something more boring.”
From those tidbits, he’d zeroed in on Firelight Ridge. A canvass of the parking garages near Molly Evans’ place told him a red BMW convertible had been driven away two days earlier, and hadn’t yet returned.
Bingo.
So she was driving all the way to Alaska. Badass move. That could take up to ten days. He wouldn’t mind a road trip like that, but he had to make sure he got there before her. So he flew. Into a world of endless snowy peaks sliding past his window seat. Of all the cases he’d worked, this was the first one to take him to Alaska.
He wasn’t mad about it. The place took his breath away.
In Anchorage, he bought a rig that looked very much like a law enforcement vehicle. He didn’t take a chance on going all the way to Firelight Ridge in case her friends knew she was coming and alerted her that a stranger was looking for her. Instead, he chose a spot in the tiny village of Klutna and waited patiently for a red convertible to roll past the turnoff to Firelight Ridge.
The stakeout took two days; Charlie had made good time in her journey through Canada. Time to close the trap and complete his mission.
As a private investigator, Nick generally worked closely with law enforcement, and he knew where the boundaries were when it came to “impersonating an officer.” He never claimed to be the police, and he never showed a badge. He just gave off a certain vibe, and it generally did the trick.
But with the residents of Firelight Ridge, not so much.
Somehow, between the moment Charlie stepped out of the BMW and he pulled up behind her, she’d disappeared. No tall, stunning blond to be seen anywhere in the vicinity; and she wasn’t someone you could miss.
“Where’s the owner of this vehicle?” he demanded. The group of about twenty people were clustered around a big yellow D9 bulldozer adorned with wildflowers. Okay then…Alaska weirdness, right off the bat.
A woman with dark red hair stepped forward. “That’s me. Is there a problem?” A tall man joined her, making it clear he had her back. Not that she needed it; this must be Molly Evans. Brilliant lawyer, smart as hell. He’d have to try to throw her off her game.
“We believe it’s been stolen by a known criminal.”
That “we” was doing a lot of work, making it sound as if he was part of something bigger, not just a lone investigator. “Stolen” was too. He knew perfectly well Charlie must have had permission to take the car. And then there was “known criminal.” That was certainly a stretch, but given enough time, he believed it would turn out to be true.
Molly didn’t blink an eye, but the fairy-like woman next to her gasped softly. Despite her youth, she had pure white hair that set off stunning violet eyes. And she was holding a goldfish tank. That must be Lila Romanoff. Two out of Charlie’s three best friends were in Firelight Ridge. No wonder she’d fled here.
Had Charlie really carted that goldfish all the way to Alaska? Nick had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing.
Unfazed by his accusations about Charlie, Molly claimed the car and presented her driver’s license as proof. Just to play along with his role, Nick gave her a hard time about it still being a New York license instead of Alaska. But clearly he had no chance of rattling her.
So he turned his attention to the woman holding the fish tank. Goldilocks, he remembered. Charlie had made her adoption of the fish into a very entertaining saga. “Is that a goldfish?” he demanded.
Lila jumped. “Yes, sir. This is Goldilocks. I rescued her when someone dumped her down the drain. It was a woman whose apartment I was cleaning, and I believe she had a touch of dementia, because normally she loved Goldilocks. I fished her out of the drain and decided she wouldn’t be safe in that apartment anymore. I hope you didn’t come all the way out here because of a stolen goldfish, because I really wouldn’t call it stealing, it was absolutely a rescue situation.”
Nick gave in. Lila might be freaked out by the appearance of an officer of the law, but she wasn’t going to give anything away about Charlie. At least not yet.
He needed to stick around for a while. In a place this small, it would be impossible for someone as unmistakable as Charlie Santa Lucia to hide for long. Then again…he glanced at the sharply angled mountain peaks soaring against the deep blue sky. Miles of wilderness surrounded them in every direction. If Charlie knew how to survive in the mountains, she could lay low for a while out there.
From his research, she was no outdoor survivalist. She was a traveler, a wanderer, a footloose freelancer who didn’t spend a lot of time at her official address in Indiana. A coder by profession, someone who’d run afoul of Hobbs Financial Services for reasons they didn’t choose to share with him.
He eyed the gas station behind the bulldozer. It had two fuel pumps—one for regular gas, one for diesel—and doubled as a mechanic’s shop. The peeling paint on its weathered boards suggested the building had had a rough winter. He’d bet anything that Charlie was inside somewhere.
But he didn’t have any right to request a search. Molly was a lawyer and would ask to see a warrant, or at the very least, a badge.
He needed to find a bar. Bartenders knew everything. He’d find Charlie, one way or another. “Where can I get a drink around here?”