Night of the Hunted: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 11) Read online

  Night of the Hunted

  A Reed Ferguson Mystery

  First Digital Edition published by Creative Cat Press

  copyright 2015 by Renée Pawlish

  Acknowledgments

  The author gratefully acknowledges all those who helped in the writing of this book, especially: Beth Treat and Janice Horne. If I've forgotten anyone, please accept my apologies.

  To all my beta readers: I am in your debt!

  Rick Allemandi, Maureen Anderson, Bren Bailey, Bill Baker, Pam Balog, Susan S. Barnhill, Wanda Bryant, Steve Burkett, Ed Busse, Jan Carrico, Shawn Corbin, Rick Crabtree, Vicki Cuccia, Harriet Dahlgren, Kate Dionne, Mike Donnelly, Gerry Draper, Betty Jo English, Jamie Easley, Bonnie Esson, Paige Everhart, Bill Farrell, Deb Fazzolari, Lisa Gall, Tracy Gestewitz, Chris Godwin, Suzie Glover, Susan Goldberg, Patti Gross, Barbara Hackel, Gloria Harrington Healey, Meredith Hillenbrand, Elisabeth Huhn, Valorie Hunter, JoAnn Ice, Suki Jantzen, Joyce Kahaly, Kay, Ray Kline, Cindi Knowles, Charlie Kaus, Larrold, Maxine Lauer, Patrick Lyons, Linda Marchant, Donnie McInnes, Ian McLaren, Debbie McNally, Lyric McKnight, Becky Neilson, Janice Nowlan, Suzanne Nordhaus, Louise Ohman, Ann Owen, Sharon Phillips, Yvonne Plyler, Charleen Pruett, Fritzi Redgrave, Roger Ridgley, JA Rogow, Mary Lou Romashko, Dave Sender, Tracie Ann Setliff, Marie Severns, Dave Shaffer, Lynn Short, Bev Smith, Janet Soper, Al Stevens, Joyce Stumpff, Morris Sweet, Nicole Tancgo, Stan Tanner, Donna Thompson, Patricia Thursby, Robert C. Tileston, Jo Trowbridge, Marlene Van Metre, Shelly Voss, Shawn Warnick, Barry Weisbord, Sharon Williams, Lu Wilmot, Kitty Woldow

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  Night of the Hunted

  CHAPTER ONE

  8:30 AM

  It all started with a phone call.

  “Is this Reed Ferguson, the private investigator?” The voice on the phone was female, low with an unpleasant edge to it. Definitely not sexy.

  “It is,” I said, immediately cautious. It was Friday morning and I was sitting in the kitchen, eating breakfast with my fiancé, Willie. Her given name is Willimena, and she’s been living with me ever since her Victorian-era house, which is across the street from my building, partially burned in a fire. She glanced at me, then absentmindedly played with her shoulder-length blond hair as she looked back at her laptop. Man, she was adorable. The voice on the phone brought me back to focus.

  “I need your help. Can you meet me at Trinity United Methodist Church in an hour?”

  “Let’s back up,” I said. “Who is this?”

  “Hol…Honey Bates.”

  “Okay, Honey.” I rolled my eyes. Yeah, that was her name…right. “Trinity Church? You mean the one on Broadway and Eighteenth, near the Brown Palace Hotel?” That was fairly close by.

  “Yes, that’s the one,” she said.

  “How will I know who you are?”

  “I’ll be sitting in a pew, fourth row from the back on the left side of the middle aisle.”

  “What will you –”

  Click.

  “Look like?” I said to the emptiness. I stared at the phone. “How do you like that?”

  Willie eyed me. “Who was that?”

  I shrugged. “Potential new client?”

  “You seem unsure.”

  “I am.” I gulped the last of my coffee, stood up, and put my dishes in the sink. “I’ve got to go to Trinity Church to meet a woman named Honey who says she needs my help.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Honey?”

  I smiled. “Yeah, I don’t buy it, either.” I came over and kissed her. “See you later.”

  “Be careful,” she said. “And remember, my parents come into town tomorrow and we’re going to dinner with them tomorrow night.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” I said. I was still nervous about it. I hoped her father, a former police officer, would think I was a competent private investigator, but I also wanted both of them to like me, since I was marrying their only child.

  “I’m sure you haven’t, but I know you. You’ll get going on a case, and then you might forget.”

  “Whatever I do, I won’t make any plans for tomorrow night.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “And did you forget we’re supposed to go to Castle Rock this afternoon to check out that hall? For the reception?”

  Okay, that I had forgotten. “I’ll try to make it. I know,” I said to her disappointed look, “but I need the business.”

  She sighed. “I can’t argue with that. I thought since we had the day off…”

  Willie works as an admissions nurse in the ER at St. Joseph’s Hospital, not too far from our condo just east of downtown Denver. Since we both have erratic schedules, we sometimes have trouble finding time to be together, and lately, when we do have time together, it’s getting filled up with wedding plans. And even though that isn’t a thrill for me, I was bummed that I wouldn’t get to spend some time with her.

  “I need to go,” I said.

  She nodded, the disappointment still there. “I know.”

  “I’ll try and make it,” I repeated, then grabbed my car keys and headed out the door.

  ***

  At exactly 9:30 I parked my 4-Runner in a lot across the street from Trinity United Methodist Church. I knew of the church, although I’d never been inside. With its modern gothic style fashioned with local rhyolite and sandstone, stained-glass windows, and a towering spire, Trinity Church is an impressive and eye-catching structure. Since I live just a bit northeast of it, I frequently pass it during my travels around the city.

  A few cars were in the lot, but a black SUV stuck out, mostly because a man in a three-piece black suit leaned against the hood, his arms crossed, his gaze on the front of the church. A crisp October air enveloped me as I crossed Broadway and walked up a set of steps and through patterned wrought-iron gates to a heavy wooden door. I pulled it open and stepped into a long tiled foyer. Somber silence surrounded me, a stark contrast to the traffic and noise outside. No one was around as I quietly crossed the foyer to another set of doors that led to the nave. I stood in the doorway and looked into the room.

  The nave had pews to the left and right of a central aisle and balconies on either side. But what caught my eye was a humongous organ that dominated the east wall. Over a hundred pipes towered toward the ceiling. It was incredibly beautiful, and I couldn’t imagine what it took to get the organ to work. I’ll bet it sounded incredible. I tore my eyes away from the organ and glanced around. A few people sat scattered on both sides of the aisle. Over on the left side, near the back, was a woman in a yellow blouse. Long, copper hair fell over her shoulders. She stared straight ahead. I sidled into the row behind her, sat down, and rested my forearms on the back of the pew in front of me.

  “Mr. Ferguson?” she murmured.

  “Call me Reed.”

  She turned her head and I got a better look at her. She had large brown eyes with worry lines streaking from the corners, a small nose, and thin lips. She’d been generous with her makeup, and as I studied her face, I was pretty sure she’d covered a bruise or two. With the long-sleeved blouse, she wore black pants that were perfectly pressed. A leather Gucci shoulder bag sat next to her, and I was certain it was the real thing. Her beauty was the kind that only money can buy.

  I gestured. “I’ve never met a potential client in church.”

  “This is the safest place I could think of.�
��

  “Safe from what? Or whom?”

  She drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out slowly. “My husband.”

  I waited. I’ve learned over my career as a private investigator that if I keep my mouth shut, the story will come. People like to talk.

  “He’s…not a nice man.”

  I eyed the dark splotches under the makeup. If the husband did that, I had to concur with her.

  She wrung her hands. “He keeps an eye on me all the time.” She tipped her head, just slightly, toward the back of the church. “Did you see the black SUV parked in the lot across the street? With a man waiting?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s my driver. Everyone thinks I get driven around because we’re rich and I like to be driven around, but that’s not the reason. It’s so that my husband can keep tabs on me. I can’t go anywhere without him knowing about it. He’s so possessive, and I can’t stand it anymore.” She spat out the last words. “My driver, Andre.” She snickered in a humorless way. “He’s really a bodyguard-slash-warden. He watches what I do and reports back to my husband. Andre is supposed to come and wait in here, but over time he’s gotten lax. He figures I’m in here with my women’s group or praying, so he waits outside. That’s why I knew I could talk to you here.”

  “And if he comes in?”

  “Start praying,” she said. “Sometimes his eyes are so cold,” she said more to herself than to me. Then she shuddered.

  I glanced back. I really didn’t want an encounter with the bodyguard inside a church. Something occurred to me. “If your husband is that possessive, how were you able to call me? Wouldn’t he monitor your calls?”

  She nodded. “But I had my maid buy me a disposable phone the other day. I called you on it.”

  “Smart.” I paused. “So what do you want from me?”

  “I’m going to leave my husband and I want your help.”

  I contemplated my hands for a moment. “Why do you need a private investigator to help you?”

  “I don’t have anyone else.” Her voice carried such sadness, it tore at my heart. “I have a few girlfriends, but they’re not really friends. I know them because their husbands work with my husband. And I can’t trust them not to tell my husband. I have a sister I can trust. I’m going to meet her in Loveland, but I need someone to help get me there.” Loveland is a town almost fifty miles north of Denver. She tipped her head toward the back of the church again. “I don’t think I can get a car without my husband or some of the house staff knowing, and I can’t get an airline or train ticket, either, so I need someone to drive me to my sister. That’s where you come in.” She slipped a hand into her purse and removed an envelope. She set it on the pew. “There’s five thousand dollars for you now. And another five thousand when we meet my sister. All you have to do is meet me at Pura Vida at eleven today.”

  “Pura Vida?” That was a new one for me.

  “It’s a gym and spa in Cherry Creek. On the corner of First and Milwaukee.”

  Cherry Creek fit with what I’d gathered of Honey-slash-whatever-her-real-name-was. It is a posh area not too far southeast from downtown, with lots of high-end shops and restaurants.

  “I take a yoga class there every Friday, so Andre won’t bother to come in. But instead of taking the class, I’ll slip out the back entrance and over to Fillmore Plaza, the next street over from Milwaukee, where you’ll be waiting. You drive me to Loveland to rendezvous with my sister. That’s it.”

  “Why can’t your sister come here and get you?”

  “In case something goes wrong at Pura Vida, I don’t want Andre to see her. He’d tell my husband and my sister would be in trouble.”

  “You’ve got it all planned out.”

  “Yes. I’ve wanted to get away from my husband for years. It’s taken me a long time to save this money without him knowing, but it’s time to go. I…can’t take it any longer.” She swiveled around so she could make full eye contact. “Please help me.”

  I thought for a long moment. I wasn’t working on another case, and with a wedding and honeymoon coming up, I could use the money. And who was I kidding? Just like my cinematic hero, Humphrey Bogart, I was a sucker for a damsel in distress. “Okay,” I finally said.

  “Thank you.” Relief dripped from her voice.

  “But let’s get one thing straight.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me your real name.”

  Her cheeks reddened through the heavy makeup. “I told you, call me ‘Honey’. It’s better if you don’t know my real name.”

  “Why?”

  She turned redder. “Trust me, it’s better.”

  “Trust is a big word to use in this type of situation.”

  “You know what I mean,” she snapped, then drew in a breath to calm herself. “Please, leave it alone.”

  “Who’s your husband?”

  She shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”

  “I do.”

  “Trust me, it’s better if you don’t,” she repeated. “I’m paying you good money, so let’s leave it at that.”

  “Okay,” I said. I’ll find out, I thought, but left unsaid.

  “Pura Vida. At eleven. You can park around back. When I come out, be ready to go. Andre won’t know anything. Oh, what kind of car do you have?”

  “A black Toyota 4-Runner.”

  “Good.” She picked up her purse. “I’ll see you then. Wait here a bit. I don’t want Andre to see me leave with anyone.”

  I raised a hand. “What if something goes wrong? You’ll call me?”

  “Nothing will.” She stood up, slithered down the row to the aisle, then walked out the doors to the foyer. Her heels clicked loudly on the tile floor.

  I reached down to the seat in front of me, grabbed the envelope and slid it surreptitiously into my pocket. I glanced around. No one had seen me take the envelope. Then I slid to the end of the row, stood up and hurried to the back of the church, but I didn’t go outside. Instead, I went to the door and cracked it open. The SUV had pulled up to the curb in front of the church and Honey was getting into the back seat. Then the SUV pulled away and I got the license plate number. I memorized it as I watched the SUV disappear into traffic. Once it was gone, I slipped outside and ran across Broadway to the 4-Runner. I didn’t have very long before I had to be at Pura Vida and I had things to do.

  CHAPTER TWO

  9:50 AM

  “What’s up, O Great Detective?”

  My best friend, Cal Whitmore, greeted me in his usual way. And although I was far from a great detective, he was not to be deterred in his form of salutation.

  “Hey,” I said as I started the 4-Runner and pulled out of the parking lot. “How’s it going?”

  “The usual. I’ve got a big client who wants me to test their security systems. They think it’s first-rate but I’ve already gotten through some of their setup.” Cal is a computer geek who seems to know almost everything about almost everything. He is also Dr. Watson to my Sherlock Holmes. Although, since he is way smarter than I am, he really should be called Holmes, not me. And yet the guy has so little common sense, at times it astounds me. We’ve been friends since we were kids, when a bee sting left him crying and I brought him home to my mother. As the saying goes, he’s been around ever since. He assists me on my cases, and although he sometimes isn’t thrilled with helping – namely when he has to leave his house – he never turns me down.

  He chatted about his latest client, and I listened to him talk about technology things that went over my head. When I could break in, I said, “Do you have time for a quick bit of research?”

  “Ah, a new case?”

  “Yes,” I said, then briefly explained my meeting with Honey. “Anyway,” I concluded, “I don’t buy her story and I figure the more I can find out about her before I meet her at the spa, the better. But I also don’t have much time.”

  “When do you have to pick her up?”

  “Eleven,�
�� I said.

  “You’re right, that isn’t much time.”

  “I wonder about the timing,” I said. “Why make this all happen so quickly? She obviously doesn’t want to give me any time to think about all of this.”

  “Well, better not waste any more time. What do you need?”

  “Look up a license plate number for me.”

  “Sure.” Cal is a hacker, or as he likes to be called, a Clandestine Information Specialist, and he can get information much faster than I can flatfooting around town.

  “Here’s the number.” I rattled off the plate number for the SUV and waited. I heard the sound of his fingers hitting the keyboard as he hummed.

  “It’s registered to Castro, McCullem, and Rasmus.”

  “Lawyers?”

  A pause. “Yes.” Keyboard clicks. “They’re located downtown. Want the address?”

  “Not right now,” I said.

  “I’ll shoot you an email with the information.”

  “Great. I appreciate the help.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Hey,” I said. “It should be a simple job.”

  He laughed. “It never is with you.”

  “Oh, that hurts.”

  He was still laughing when I ended the call. By now I was driving down my street, so I parked in front of my building and hurried upstairs to my place. As I walked through the door, Willie came strolling out of the bedroom.

  “Back so soon?” she asked. She’d been for a run, and she paused to wipe sweat off her brow. She did a much better job of working out than I did. One of these days, my good genes would revolt and I’d have to work out or pay the price.

  “Yeah, just to do some research,” I said.

  “Ah, you have a new client.”

  I nodded. She started to pass me on her way to the kitchen, but I stopped her and pecked her on the cheek. “If it all goes well, I just might be home in time to go to Castle Rock. And maybe we can go out to dinner tonight?”