Traveller's Refuge (4 page)

Packing didn’t take long, and once again, he was ready to hit the road. The fact that he didn’t have a vehicle to hit the road with was just one more obstacle in the path to reaching Dancer.
Oh
,
yeah
.
And someone had come damned close to killing him
. That could put a damper on things.

He gathered his belongings and left the run-down hotel room behind. Traveling on foot at four in the morning had good and bad points. The good was that there weren’t many people around to witness his movements. The bad was that there weren’t many people around so he was more likely to be spotted by the cops or his pursuers. With a light shrug, he slid into the shadows and headed for the truck stop down the road. If he was lucky, very lucky, he would be able to cadge a ride.

Just past midnight the next night, Trav thanked the Good Samaritan who had given him a ride and climbed down from the high cab. At his quiet request the trucker had pulled into the dark shadows on the edge of a lonely truck stop.

Bob studied him from beneath his dusty green gimme cap with faded blue eyes and said one more time, “I’ll be happy to take you on into town. It’s a long walk from here.”

Trav flashed him a rare smile and shook his head. “Bob, there are some really nasty people after me. I appreciate all you’ve done for me but you have to get away from me now. You’ve got a family to take care of. I’ll be fine.” With a final wave, he hoisted his belongings and walked away into the dark woods surrounding the truck stop.

It took him a while to work his way through the woods to the narrow frontage road on the other side where he dropped his bags and squatted in the shadows. A lonely dog barked in the distance. Traveller had watched Bob top off his tanks and refill his coffee mug before he pulled away. He wondered when Bob would find the packet of money he’d stuffed down next to the seat belt. He figured Bob was smart enough to keep quiet about it and he had certainly earned it. For long minutes Trav watched for followers but finally conceded that his internal alarm system just might be overworked.

Now out in the shadows, he waited for his unease to dissipate. Thirty minutes later, the hairs on his neck were still stiff with warning so he withdrew farther into the darkness and settled back to wait. Headlights flashed out on the road and then a spotlight flickered through the trees as a hefty SUV with flashing lights slowly traveled along the frontage road. Prepared for just such an event, Trav rested his back comfortably against an ancient oak tree and munched on the last of Dancer’s oatmeal bars. Faintly, he could hear the chatter of the radio from the open window of the SUV as it passed him.

When ten more minutes passed and the SUV didn’t return, he hefted his bags, crossed the road to the narrow divider and set off across the Interstate to the truck stop on the other side. A car carrier loaded with minivans was pulled off on the edge of the parking lot. He dropped down into the deep shadows next to it and pulled his tool bag from his backpack. Sometimes being a whiz with electronics could be a good thing.

His tool bag contained all sorts of useful items but just at this moment, he needed the programmable key card he’d developed. Pointing at one of the vans on the top level, he patiently punched number sequences until there was a discreet beep with a brief flash of lights. Nodding to himself, he pocketed the gizmo, grabbed his luggage and climbed up next to the van. With one last look around, he slid the side door open and slipped inside. Bags and instrument cases went in the backseat. Hunched down on the seat next to the window, he carefully studied his surroundings until he was reasonably sure no one had seen him. Then with a deep sigh, he slipped into a light doze.

Dawn was barely a hint in the overcast sky when the driver of the car-carrier pulled into a truck stop on the edge of the Washington, D.C. metroplex. Trav patiently waited until he saw the driver seated at a window-side table in the twenty-four-hour restaurant. After the man ordered and got up to find a restroom, Trav slipped out of his hiding place, dropping down next to the truck. He waited a few minutes before walking to a small stand of trees behind the collection of trash bins in back of the restaurant.

Once he was hidden deep in the trees, he slipped off his jacket, turned it inside out and slipped it back on. A collection of grimy motorcycle patches nearly disappeared against the scratched background of stained leather. Next he wrapped his head in a faded red bandana, slipped one silver skull earring through the hole in his left ear and toed off his running shoes, exchanging them for heavily scuffed black leather boots. A chain running from his jeans belt loop to his wallet completed his new appearance. As a final touch he put on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses with small clear oval lenses tinted gray.

He thought longingly of a hot breakfast complete with eggs, bacon and hash browns but the risk was too great to spend that much time around people. A quick trip to the john followed by a cup of coffee and a package of cupcakes was going to be risky enough.

“Now that has to be one of your more interesting disguises,” a soft voice drawled from the shadows behind him. “I thought Dance was good but I do believe you’ve outdone him this time.”

Trav froze, trying to pinpoint the location of the speaker. A shadowy presence coalesced out of the darkness, though he couldn’t see him clearly. “Angie?”

“That’s me.” The tall, dark-haired man stepped closer. “Boy, you have more luck than any ten Irishmen. Free’s got someone stashed at every truck stop between here and Baltimore.”

“He must be really scraping the bottom if he put my own uncle on watch. What’s the reward up to?” Trav inquired curiously.

“Two mil and counting. You don’t have much time so you better get in there and get something to eat. Shift change is in forty minutes and my replacement shows up early sometimes.” Angie squatted down on his haunches next to Trav’s baggage and gestured for him to move along. “I’ll keep an eye on your stuff while you’re gone. Make it snappy.”

Without a word, Trav turned on his heel and moved around the dumpsters until he reached the far side of the restaurant. After one last searching glance around the open spaces surrounding the restaurant, he headed for the door. The secret to being unnoticeable was simple. Don’t look around. Act like you know where you’re going. Act like you have a purpose. Don’t make eye contact.

As Trav opened the door, his eyes swept the entire area in a quick comprehensive survey. Without hesitation, he headed directly to the restrooms in the back of the small quick-mart. With relief, he saw that they were individual one-at-a-time rooms. Slipping inside, he locked the door and took care of business. Bathroom breaks were the biggest problem when a man—or woman—was on the run. It was the most vulnerable time, when your pants were down and you were unable to observe your surroundings. Guys had a marginal advantage because of the “standing-up vs. sitting-down” issue but eventually, no matter how tough the guy was, standing up wasn’t going to get the job done.

Traveller cleaned up, as quickly as humanly possible, checking himself out in the blurry mirror hung over the dirty rust-stained sink. When the toilet ceased running, he turned off the light-blower switch and leaned against the cold door listening intently.

“You think he’ll show?” The sleepy tenor voice came through with startling clarity.

“Nah, I think he’s probably in Kansas by now.” The deeper growl was more alert but clearly disinterested. “Get your coffee and we’ll go find Angelo and send him home.”

“I wish I knew what the hell this was all about.”

“No, you don’t.” Deep Voice spoke with curt authority. “You don’t want to know. You don’t want to see. You weren’t even here, Kevin. Got that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Shit, I just was thinking.”

“Well, don’t think. Go pay for our coffee so we can get out of here.”

“Can’t we take the time to get a sandwich? The restaurant sells those egg and bacon sandwiches on a bagel. I nearly starved yesterday.”

“Fine, fine. Get one. Get two. Just hurry! I’ll wait for you in the van.”

Trav listened to them walk away. Counting to three, he opened the door and slipped out, heading for the rear exit which passed the showers and bunks for the truckers. With a quick look around, he moved into the shadows of the trash bins, ducked into the woods and silently approached Angie.

Angelo turned in his direction and shot him a curious look. “Back so soon?”

“Yeah. You know someone named Kevin?”

“Shit. Yeah, he’s my replacement. You saw him?”

“Nope but I sure heard him. And FYI, he’s got company. I slipped out the back.”

“What the hell is up?” Angie demanded fiercely.

“I think that dear old Free is setting you up for a fall. I’ve got to beat feet, Uncle. Thanks for keeping an eye on my stuff.” Trav grabbed his bags and walked farther into the woods.

“Trav? What the fuck is going on?”

Turning on one heel, Traveller faced Angie and replied, “Mom and Dad. Free had them murdered. And Teacher. We’re pretty sure he got rid of Tracer and Raven. That’s what it’s all about. Go home, Angie. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes closed or he’ll add you to the list.” He turned away. “Get out of here, Ange. Don’t make them come looking for you.”

“Traveller!” Angelo softly called his nephew’s name. “You said that Free got rid of Tracer and Raven. You don’t think they’re really dead? The bodies in that burned-out car were positively identified, Trav.”

“Yeah, they were,” Trav admitted from the gloomy woods as he stripped off his jacket and reversed the purple lining with the Ravens logo so it was on the outside. He toed off his boots and slipped on his Nikes. “But it doesn’t take much to switch dental records if you have enough pull, Angie.” Yanking the handkerchief from his head, he stuffed it in his pocket and slipped on a Ravens ball cap. “I spent six months tracking down every bit of rumor, innuendo and gossip I could find. I’m pretty sure he sent them to a couple of old enemies as a bribe.”

Angelo whistled softly between his teeth. “Who?”

“Rachid Ben Omani and Gautier Deniau.”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly. Given their proclivities, I’m guessing that Tracer went to Ben Omani and Raven went to Deniau,” Trav speculated grimly. “Rachid’s preference for young men is very well documented just as Gautier’s reputation for fucking young girls is well known.” He silently picked up his bags. “I’m going now, Uncle Angie.”

Between one blink and the next, he was gone.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Angie continued his litany of curses as he made his way past the dumpsters to his car. He leaned against the hood and lit a cigarette as he considered the information Trav had piled on him. “Shit!”

Kevin’s deep blue Chevy van nosed up behind Angelo’s dented green Toyota. He readily identified Kevin’s companion and silently cursed again. Carl DeMarko, the coldest son of a bitch on the planet. If Free had set him loose on Trav and Dance, they were in big trouble.

Cautiously, he approached the other vehicle on Kevin’s side. “You’re early,” he observed with a yawn. “Couldn’t wait to be bored to death?”

“Nah. Carl wanted to get here early so he could check it out. I take it that nothing happened?”

“Two drunks got in a fight. That was about it.” Angelo pinched out his cigarette butt and tossed it into a battered rusty oil drum. “If you’re ready to take over, I’m going to get something to eat before I head home.”

Chapter Three

Two mornings later, sunrise broke across Mystic Valley, throwing beaming rays of light over the training field. Tyger and Llyon danced the deadly
Grimahr Dance
against Arano and Arturo in the pearly mist rising from the wet grass. Arturo’s first-level students stood attentively outside the marked circle, intently studying the moves of the dancers as they demonstrated the flowing combinations of individual moves the students had practiced in class. The contrast between the two teams, Ty and Ly with their flaming red warrior braids and pale green
shardas
and Arano and Arturo, dark knights with snapping black braids and dark gray
shardas
, made it easy to pick out the ways each team worked together.

Wolfe lounged against the wall of their training hall, well back from the action and absently watched the fluid movement in the circle while he wrestled with the knowledge Wrenna had dumped on him. As far as he could tell, she still hadn’t informed Dai or Llyon that she had begun
schalzina
. Wolfe struggled with the unpalatable choices he faced—to break her confidence and tell Dai himself—or accept the responsibility of serving as her healer. Neither choice was to his liking.

On the field, Arturo flung up one muscular blue arm and shouted, “Hold!” The action stopped immediately and his fellow dancers relaxed around him. After a brief muttered conversation, Ty, Ly and Arano nodded and walked off the field, heading for the bridge over the river. Wordlessly, Wolfe joined them as they headed for the main house and breakfast.

Llyon shot him a curious glance, quirked an eyebrow and waited for an answer. Wolfe shook his head in reply and broke off to go to the bedroom he shared with Hawke. He would have liked to bounce his dilemma off Llyon but Ly was no idiot. He would immediately deduce the details and how was that different from just telling him straight out? In any case, Llyon had strong feelings about Wolfe’s refusal to accept his healing skills. Certainly, he wouldn’t be a sympathetic ear.

When Wolfe and Hawke joined the others in the kitchen for breakfast, he saw that his agonizing had been wasted after all. Wrenna sat at the table sipping on
wachaz
tea, the standard remedy to suppress early
schalzina
and stomach cramping. The strong scent of the tea filled the air, nearly overpowering the other familiar odors of baking bread and sizzling
hopper
slices on the griddle.

From Wrenna’s rebellious, stiff posture, it was clear that she was annoyed to be the subject of discussion among the males milling around the kitchen. “I still don’t see where this is your business. Any of you!” she observed acidly, shaking her head for emphasis. Her loosely skewered topknot of fine red silken hair threatened to tumble down. Wolfe squelched every clamoring instinct and reached out to firmly anchor the thick braid into a neatly wrapped knot. Wrenna ignored his ministrations as she pointed out, “Not a single one of you can change the circumstances. And none of you can possibly empathize with the symptoms!”