High Intensity (High Mountain Trackers HMT 2G #2)

Chapter 27

Twenty-Seven

Wolff

“He refuses to give up the Ovando family, claims he doesn’t know who we’re talking about, but he’s happy to spill the beans on Grant Vallard.”

Stephanie Kramer stopped by to give us an update on the case. Apparently Special Agent in Charge Bellinger was taken off the case and shipped off to an unknown destination. The Bureau brass didn’t hesitate after discovering not only had a minor witness gone missing on his watch, but Bellinger failed to make a report. He didn’t take the appropriate steps and, instead of calling in resources to mount a proper search, took two agents on a wild-goose chase for hours, all in hope of covering up the fact he’d lost her in the first place.

So, Special Agent in Charge Bellinger was sent packing and Stephanie was asked to stick around to assist in finishing up the investigation. What she doesn’t know is it was Jonas who spilled the beans on Bellinger to an old friend of his, who happens to be high-up in the Bureau hierarchy.

We retreated to Jillian’s kitchen, since the dogs have taken over the living room. Hunter has earned the prime spot on the couch. She seems to be doing well after her ordeal, despite missing part of her ear. It doesn’t seem to bother her much though.

It’s been three days since the search for Hayley ended in such dramatic fashion. I’ve been kicking myself ever since. I should’ve made sure the backyard was secure before leaving Jillian and the girl unprotected. As a result, Jillian is wearing her arm in a sling, and will be for several weeks. Vallard’s attack left her with a dislocated shoulder. It was set in the hospital and luckily didn’t require surgery to repair, but it can take up to twelve weeks before she has full use of that arm again.

We were able to surmise Vallard had been hiding under the deck. There had been two sets of tracks following Jillian along the creek. Both sets were found cutting through her neighbor’s yard and around the side of Jillian’s place.

According to Stephanie, Vallard maintains his story that he was following Jeff Shapiro, his bodyguard, who he had become suspicious of. He apparently also swears he was trying to rescue his niece and mistook Jillian for Shapiro when he came at her with a metal pipe he’d found under the deck.

The only believable claim Vallard is making is when he points a finger at the Ovando family, suggesting his bodyguard must’ve been an agent for the family, and his objective was to finish the job of killing off the entire Vallard clan.

When confronted with the question of why they wouldn’t have killed him off already, Vallard came up with the suggestion perhaps they needed him to take control of the company first. In his version, of course, he was another victim.

What Stephanie just finished telling us is the bodyguard sings a different tune. He was specifically hired by Grant Vallard himself to find and kill Hayley Vallard who is the rightful heiress to not only Vallard Holdings but the entire Vallard fortune.

I’m more inclined to believe the hired goon.

“His version seems more plausible,” I volunteer. “Have you found any evidence this Shapiro is connected to the Ovandos?”

Stephanie shakes her head. “Nothing. I think you’re right. I don’t believe Vallard was ever in any danger and had no reason to need a bodyguard. The current consensus is that Grant was definitely in cahoots with the Ovandos to take out his family. We spoke with some members of the board at Vallard Holdings, who were able to inform us that Grant Vallard had been trying to push through a contract with a Bolivian manufacturer of soybean oil last year. This landed him in a major fight with both his mother and brother, who had done some research and discovered the manufacturing company was connected to the Ovando crime family. As a result of that falling out, Sarah-May Vallard, the family matriarch, had her youngest son written out of her will.”

“Ouch, that must’ve stung,” Jillian observes, as she gets up to grab the coffeepot. “Can I top anyone up?”

“Not for me,” Stephanie declines.

I hold up my mug. “I’ll have a bit more, thanks.”

“Getting written out of the will sure makes for one hell of a motive though,” Jillian states, returning us to the topic.

“Yes, it does,” Stephanie confirms. “We also have means, albeit in the form of Puma who, along with his associate, we were able to place in Whistler at the same time the Vallards were there. When he was taken into custody after trying to get away from us at the Libby airport, we found evidence in the form of text messages between him and Grant Vallard; further proof Vallard may not have been in the country, but he was definitely in the driver’s seat. From those messages we’ve been able to glean that as soon as Vallard heard his niece had survived the crash, he instructed Puma to make sure he finished the job.”

“I just find it hard to believe Puma would even take orders from someone like Vallard,” I point out. “I mean, the man is a died-in-the-wool criminal, and tightly connected to the Ovando family.”

“Not that hard to believe when you think about the millions and millions of drugs the family could pipeline into the U.S. and Canada through Vallard Holdings. Grant was the key to that pipeline and without him the Ovando family has nothing. Puma was likely getting pressure from all sides, which is why he probably went after you…” She points at Jillian. “Thinking you’d be able to lead him to Hayley.”

“Except Wolff foiled that plan,” Jillian comments with a gentle smile for me.

Regrettably, it took killing a man, but I would do it again without hesitation to keep Jillian or Hayley safe.

“Right,” Stephanie confirms. “And we know how that ended. Of course, Puma isn’t saying a word, but we’re still able to piece information together. I think the more we uncover, the more solid our case against Grant Vallard will be.”

“Good. I hope the bastard never sees the light of day again,” I grumble.

“Even if he does, it’ll only be half with just the one eye,” she fires back, immediately slapping her hand over her mouth. “Too soon?” she mumbles, her eyes wide.

Luckily, it’s Jillian who starts laughing first, breaking the uneasy silence that follows. She’s been struggling a bit with the knowledge she’d actually gouged the man’s eye out with her keys. As justified as she was, fighting for her life, the responsibility still weighs on her. Gallows humor; if you’re in law enforcement or the military it’s an often-used coping tool to deal with some of the atrocities you encounter, but it can be off- putting for the regular public. I guess it’s working for Jillian as well.

“Talking about a solid case; has she said anything yet?” Kramer asks.

I let Jillian answer that. When it comes to anything to do with Hayley, I defer to her. She fought like a goddamn momma bear, and I have no doubt she would’ve laid down her life trying to protect that girl.

Hayley has stuck to Jillian like glue these past few days and has been staying here. Given the trauma she’d already been through, no one has had the heart to mess with the status quo, not even the social worker with CPS, who showed up here yesterday. Jillian is now listed on all the paperwork as Hayley’s foster parent.

I’m sure with time there’ll be other hoops still to jump through, given the kid’s massive wealth, but for now the main concern is to try and give her the space to process and heal. Which is why Jillian has not allowed Hayley to be questioned, and has shielded her as best she can from the investigation.

“She hasn’t,” Jillian answers. “And I know you’d like to button up your case nice and tight with whatever information she might be able to give you, but unless Hayley decides to volunteer something, you’ll have to make do without.”

As if she knew we were talking about her, I hear the spare bedroom door open down the hall. Next, a parade of dogs rushes into the kitchen, heading straight for the back door, followed closely by Hayley. She hesitates for a moment when she catches sight of Stephanie.

“Good movie?” Jillian asks her.

The girl spends a lot of time in her room, usually with at least some of the dogs, so Jillian had me move the TV she had in her bedroom to the spare room.

“Pretty good.”

Hayley speaks in a soft voice. Everything about her is very subdued, which doesn’t seem to fit the courage and spirit she’s already shown, but hopefully it’s just a matter of time before those return.

She moves past us to the door to let the dogs out, just as Stephanie gets to her feet.

“I should be heading out, but I’ll keep in touch.” Then she turns to Hayley. “If there is ever anything I can do for you, let me know. Wolff knows how to get in touch with me.”

As Jillian shows the agent to the door, Hayley moves closer to me.

“Is that your real name?”

“What, Wolff? Yeah, it’s my last name. My first name is Lucas, but only my mother and sometimes Jillian call me that.”

“Oh.” She seems to think on that for a bit before she asks, “So, what should I call you?”

I smile at her serious expression.

“You can call me whatever you like.”

“I like Lucas.”

I nod. “Then Lucas it is.”

Jillian

“Does Lucas live with you?”

From the mouths of babes…

Hayley is poking a stick at some elk tracks we found on our dog walk along the creek.

“Not officially, but I guess it must look that way,” I respond.

In fact, Lucas has stuck close to my place since Monday. Leaving for a couple of hours here and there, but always coming back. With my arm still immobilized, he’s been doing most of the cooking, grocery shopping, and has even put in a load or two of laundry. Every night I fall asleep with his strong body curved around me, something I’m grateful for when I startle awake from another nightmare.

“Where does he live then?”

“He lives in a cabin at a ranch just down the road.”

“A ranch with horses?”

Her voice is as excited as the expression on her face.

“Yup. Lucas has his own horse; his name is Judge. He’s really big, but very gentle.” I grin when I see her mouth drop open. “I take it you like horses?”

I love that she’s taken to calling Lucas by his given name. As much as I think Wolff suits him, I like Lucas better, it feels more personal, even intimate.

“I love them. I always wanted one, but Dad says first I have to be old enough to look after it on my…” Her voice drifts off as she realizes what she just said.

A fat tear starts rolling down her cheek and I feel my own eyes well up. I curse my sling as I clumsily pull her into a one-armed embrace, but her two arms more than make up for it as they band around my waist.

I manage to hold my own tears at bay as I wait out hers, while the dogs crowd us, sniffing and prodding with their noses, wanting in on the action.

“You know…” I start when the dogs finally manage to pry us apart. “I’m sure Lucas would be happy to show you around the ranch.”

“Really? Would you come?”

“Sure. We can talk to him tonight when he gets back.”

Lucas left early this morning to deliver a horse to a rodeo training facility in Polson with Jackson. He mentioned he’d probably be gone most of the day.

The prospect puts a little smile on Hayley’s face, even if it doesn’t chase the shadows from her eyes. I doubt anything would be able to accomplish that.

“Would you like some hot chocolate to warm up?” I offer when we’re almost back to the house. “Maybe build a fire too?”

It’s been bitter cold these last few days. So cold my eyelashes have frost on them.

“With marshmallows?”

“I don’t know if I have any, but we’ll check the pantry.”

Once inside, Hayley takes on the task of removing the booties I make the dogs wear when it’s this cold, while I dive into the pantry to search for supplies.

“No marshmallows,” I announce when I resurface. “But…I do believe I have heavy cream I can whip to go on top of the hot chocolate.”

I find the container in the fridge and pull out a bowl and my hand mixer.

“Actually, maybe you can whip the cream while I do the chocolate?”

A few minutes later I’m at the stove, stirring cold milk into the chocolate syrup I made with real cocoa, sugar, and a splash of water, when Hayley suddenly turns off the mixer and looks up at me.

“Grandma would order me hot chocolate at the après-ski at the hotel in Whistler.”

I immediately shut off the burner underneath the pan and turn to face her.

“I’m so sorry. We can make something else,” I offer.

I can see her swallow hard as she shakes her head. “No, that’s okay. It hurts but it’s a good memory, right?”

The hopeful way she looks at me tears at my heart.

“You bet. You hold on to those good memories, because as sad as they make you now, at some point they’ll become like a warm blanket to hug you when you need it.”

She appears to think on that for a moment before nodding and switching the mixer back on.

Then I turn back to the stove and relight the burner, letting my mind drift back to the last time I made hot chocolate for Macy, and let the warm memory wrap around me.