Forbidden (Southern Comfort) by O'Neill, Clark (free ebook reader txt) 📗

Distantly, through a haze of pain, Josh heard his phone make the connection.  Hope bloomed, even as he gave into the darkness once more.

CLAY was on the phone with Sheriff Callahan, asking him what, if anything, he knew about Rob Johns, when his phone alerted him to a call waiting.  A quick glance determined it came from Kathleen, and he excused himself to take it.  “You have a license plate number?” he asked in lieu of a greeting.

“We have a partial. There was dirt or something obscuring the last two digits on the plate, but the rest of it looks to be South Carolina tag 801-D…”

“CK,” Clay completed for her, running his fingers through his hair as he paced.  “I remember it because… well, for obvious and juvenile reasons, it caught my attention.  Shit.  I didn’t want to send you off on a wild goose chase in case I was wrong, but I saw that truck in Bentonville.  In fact, I almost ran over the driver as he crossed the street.  His name is Rob Johns, and I just got an address on him from the sheriff.”  He rattled it off to Kathleen.  “The entire Bentonville sheriff’s department is currently unaccounted for or unavailable, so we need to get somebody over there quick.  If you want to issue a BOLO, the man’s about six foot, dark brown hair, overweight… although I wouldn’t put much stock in that description.  He’s obviously proficient with disguises.  Shit.”

Across the room, Kim’s cell phone jangled, and she pounced on it and looked at the number.  “It’s Harding.”

“Kathleen, I’ll call you right back.”  Clay hung up on Tate’s cousin, because he really wanted to talk with Josh.

“Hello,” Kim said for the second time.  “Deputy Harding, are you there?”  A beat passed, and then another, and then she looked at the message window on her phone to see whether the call had been dropped.  “The line’s still open,” she told Clay, looking up from her position at the desk.  “But he’s not answering.”

Clay held out his hand and she passed him the phone.  There was the distinct, slightly fuzzy sound of an open connection, but no human noises to be detected.

Until Clay heard a soft moan.

He tossed his own phone to Kim.  “See if you can get them to triangulate Harding’s location through his phone.  Whatever happened, I’m pretty sure he’s hurt.”  And wasn’t that just great?  This day was definitely going down in the record books as the shittiest ever.

Then he pressed his mouth back to the receiver.  “Harding, this is Clay Copeland.  Can you hear me?  Are you able to tell us where you are and what your status is?”

Silence followed again, and Clay listened to it echo as Kim placed the call he’d asked her to make.  Then he looked at Maureen and quickly crossed the room.  “Listen to this,” he handed her Kim’s cell, “and let me know if you hear anything.”  Then he asked to borrow her phone, dialing Kathleen’s number at the station.

“Maureen?” she answered it as a question.

“Nope.  Clay.  We’re playing pass the cell phone.  A call came in on Agent O’Connell’s cell from one of the deputies over in Bentonville, and it looks like he might be in some kind of distress.  Did you get anything on the plates?”

“Yes, but it didn’t match either the name or the address you gave.  It came back as registered to one Alma W. Walker, Bentonville address.  Could be either the vehicle or the plates were stolen.”

Something about that just didn’t fit.  “Our man’s too careful to be driving around with stolen anything.   Alma Walker might be the pseudonym for his old lady identity.  Although if he was out around town as Rob Johns, being seen driving that truck, he had to have a plausible explanation for it in case he was ever pulled over.  Sheriff Callahan said that he was some kind of property manager or caretaker, so that might be it.”

“So which address do we raid first, the one for Rob Johns or Alma Walker?”

Clay considered a moment.  If the identity the man used for snatching Max was the old lady’s, then it was more plausible that he would have taken Max to Rob Johns’ residence, thinking it would take the  authorities a while to make any sort of connection between the two. Which it would have, if Clay hadn’t seen the man get into that vehicle.  Of course it was also entirely possible that the man had another identity, another residence, and another vehicle which they knew nothing about.

“Start with –”

“Walker!”  Maureen burst out, surprising Clay out of what he’d been about to say.  “The man on the phone just said the name Walker!”

CHAOS reigned.

Between the Charleston PD, what Bentonville sheriff’s department deputies they’d managed to locate, and the contingent of federal agents, three different law enforcement agencies were now rushing to the Walker farm.  Clay was on the phone with Kathleen, telling her to make sure the officers on her end didn’t come in with sirens blaring, because this was obviously not the kind of man who was going to give up peaceably when cornered.  In fact, Clay believed that type of situation would only make him more dangerous.

Kim, who was driving at something approximating the speed of light, talked to the Special Agent in Charge of the local RA, updating him on the situation, and on the phone he held to his other ear, Clay listened for sounds of life from Josh Harding. He’d roused himself enough to tell them he’d been shot and was lying in front of a barn on the Walker property, but for the past ten minutes Clay’d heard nothing.  No talking, no moaning, no hint of breath.

If the man was still alive, it was just barely.

After concluding her conversation, Kim waited for Clay to finish his, and then risked taking her eyes from the road to glance his way.  “You think this guy – the one who