"She is," he insisted. "But the other woman was hurt. The judge tore up one of her knees when they fell into a deep ravine," he explained. "Carrie twisted her ankle, and fractured her arm, but she was still able to drag some dead branches over them so they could hide the rest of the night. One of the police dogs found them," he added. "They were taken to the hospital, and the judge is
in surgery."
"But what about the other woman? There were three… weren't there?"
"Anne Trapp. She stayed inside the house."
"Why? Why would she stay?"
"I don't know. You'll have to ask Carrie, or maybe Knolte knows the reason now."
Avery stood and nearly tripped over her backpack and duffel bag. "How did these get here?"
"The chief called a friend. He got my car working and drove it here."
Avery was so relieved and jubilant about Carrie, she felt limp and giddy. She wanted to laugh and cry, and kiss John Paul.
Oh, she really wanted to kiss him, and a whole lot more. What was wrong with her? Maybe it was the endorphins. Yes, that's what it was.
She mentally shook herself. She needed to concentrate on Carrie now. And Uncle Tony. "Did anyone call my uncle?"
"Yes," he answered. "He's a happy man right now, but scared too. He wants to get on the next flight to Aspen."
She nodded approval. "Who's downstairs?" she asked as she knelt beside her duffel bag and unzipped it.
"FBI," he said. "There are five of them downstairs, all talking on their cell phones. They've taken over the police station, and
Chief Tyler isn't real happy about that. Tyler's an okay guy," he added. "He doesn't much like the FBI either."
She rolled her eyes. "Your prejudice is juvenile, John Paul." She pulled out a pair of khakis. "I should go down and find out
what they have so far. Any word on where Monk might be?"
"No," he answered. He was staring at her legs, noticing how long and shapely they were. One thought led to another, and
another, and before he could stop himself, he was picturing her legs wrapped around his thighs.
He looked at the wall behind her head. "You can't go downstairs like that."
"Like what? I'm going to put on slacks," she said. "And since when do you care what I look like?"
"I don't care," he answered gruffly. "But I can see through that threadbare T-shirt."
She looked down, whispered, "Oh, God," and grabbed the sheet from the cot, tugging with all her might to get the end out from under John Paul. She dropped her slacks as she wrapped the sheet around her.
"Why didn't you say something sooner?" She was blushing.
"Now, why would I want to do that?"
His grin was lecherous. Shaking her head, she said, "I need to go to Carrie as soon as possible. She must be crazed after what she's been through."
His smile vanished. "Not a good idea," he said. "Sit down, Avery. We need to talk."
His tone of voice indicated it was serious. She sat down beside him. "You don't think I should go see Carrie?"
"No, I don't. Talk to her on the phone if you need proof she's okay, but don't go to her."
"Why not?"
"Because that's what the FBI wants you to do," he said. "The agent calling the shots from Aspen told Knolte-"
She interrupted. "Who's Knolte?"
"The kid agent downstairs running the show here," he explained. "He told me the game plan. They want to put you and Carrie
and the judge together in protective custody until they get Monk, and that's not a good idea."
"John Paul, they're good at what they do."
"Yeah? Well, so is Monk," he said. "And staying together is gonna make it real easy for him."
Avery didn't say a word. She silently agreed, but she felt it would be disloyal to the Bureau to admit her reservations.
She tried to get up, but he put his hands on her shoulders.
"What are you doing?"
"Bracing you so you won't hit your head if you faint."
"Listen," she said. "Downstairs… when I lost it… that was the first time in my life I ever passed out. I'm not a weakling.
I was sleep-deprived and stressed… really stressed out. I won't faint again. Now let go of me. I want to get dressed and go downstairs to talk to Agent Knolte."
"In a minute," he promised. He tightened his hold as he said, "There's something else you need to know."
"Yes?"
He was suddenly at a loss for words. He was searching for the best way to tell her. "It's going to be difficult…"
"I can handle it. Just tell me." She relaxed her shoulders then and said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. What is it?"
"Carrie knows who the woman with Monk is." She tilted her head. "She knows her?" "Yes." He took a breath. "You know
her too." "Come on, John Paul. Stop fencing. Just tell me," she demanded.
"Jilly. Carrie said her name is Jilly."
Avery's reaction stunned John Paul. She didn't faint; she didn't cry; she didn't argue, and she didn't go into full-blown denial.
She roared.
Chapter 27
"Get me a gun, John Paul. I want a gun now. A big one."
She looked like an avenging angel as she paced around him. She stopped just inches in front of him, poked him in the chest,
and made her demand again.
Chief Tyler stood just inside the doorway of the dormitory, shifting from foot to foot as he waited for one of them to notice him.
"She'll stay dead when I get finished with her," Avery railed. "I want a gun."
The chief couldn't stop himself from trying to reason with the distraught woman.
"Now, Miss Delaney, you shouldn't be talking crazy. What if someone does shoot your mother? With you making threats, who
do you think the police will come looking for? I understand you're overwrought, but…"
She whirled around to confront the policeman. "Jilly is not my mother. She's the woman who gave birth to me, but she has never been nor will she ever be my mother. Are we clear on that?"
Tyler hastily nodded. Her wrath was blistering, and he was so surprised by the change that had come over her he didn't know
how to proceed. She'd been such a sweet, appreciative little lady when he'd first met her, but now she was a spitfire.
The chief turned to John Paul for help. "This can't be the same woman I met downstairs. She wouldn't happen to have a twin, would she?"
"Sorry, no twin," he said. "She's just got a temper." He made that comment sound like a compliment.
The chief thought it was an understatement. "Can't you reason with her? She can't go running out of here with a gun, thinking
she can shoot her moth…" He stopped himself in time. "If she isn't your mother-"
"She isn't."
"Then what should I call her?"
Avery didn't hesitate. "A frickin' maniac," she snapped. "A deviant sociopath, a psychopath. Take your pick. Just don't call her
my mother."
"Yes, ma'am."
Mollified, she clutched the sheet to her neck, picked up her duffel bag, and walked with her head held high toward the bathroom.
"John Paul?"
"Yes?"
"Get me a damn gun."
The door shut before he could answer.
Tyler scratched his jaw and asked, "What are you going to do about her?"
He shrugged. "Get her a gun."
Tyler stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. "Are you going to let them take her to Aspen? You heard them
talking. They want to put her, her aunt, and that judge in a safe house until they catch the man hired to kill them."
"Yes, I heard," he said.
"If you ask me, they're putting all their eggs in one basket, and I figure the reason must have something to do with their budget. Less manpower if they keep them together, but if this professional killer… what's his name?"