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“Sure. We’ll be in line-of-sight soon and I’ve got to talk to air control. Despite their orders, I’ll drop you at Wiz’s, then I’ll go to Missoula. I’m not going to tell them you were here, so police your brass, please.”
“Wilco.” Michael found two of the brass shell casings ejected when he fired the AR-15 at his feet, but couldn’t find the third. Then the last one landed in his lap. Deb smirked at him. He smiled his thanks and she looked away, a faint pink tinging her cheeks. But that could be from the cold wind.
They crossed the Bitterroot Valley north of Hamilton, then flew north along the Sapphires, dropping into Wiz’s property precipitously. The intercom buzzed. “Thanks for flying Amiga Airlines. Stay safe out there and let me know if you need another ride.”
“Thanks for getting us here. Safe skies.” They landed with a tiny jolt. Michael unfastened his harness and slid open his door. He jumped out, slammed the door shut, and ran around the nose of the aircraft, saluting the pilot on his way. Deb was already out of the helo, so he shut her door and grabbed her hand, tugging her to Wiz’s paved driveway and through the gate to the house. The front door of the majestic post and beam mansion was open, but every window was covered by metal shutters. Tom rested a rifle against one of the massive log and rock pillars holding up the portico roof, pointing it at the road to the house.
Once they reached the front door, Michael turned to watch the helo fly away. It shot ahead at top speed, going straight north. Tom lowered his rifle and walked to the door. “Come on in. Deb, you know where the guest house is. Pete’s watching from the top deck, so you two can drop your gear out there, freshen up if you want to, then come back for lunch. And talk strategy. Erin and Sam gathered supplies from your bakery for the wedding cake, so you can bake that here and we’ll deliver and set it up.”
Deb followed Tom inside. “Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much that means.”
Michael stopped in the doorway, gripping the frame. He’d been expecting a soaring two-story interior with exposed beams, but got a small room, already crowded with Tom and Deb inside. Coats and hats hung from pegs and boots were placed neatly below a bench. Despite the obvious use as a mudroom, it looked like a trap.
“Keep your shoes on.” Tom shook his head, probably at Michael’s panicked expression. “The entryway is a security measure. Keeps the heat from getting out in the winter, too, but the inner door won’t open until you close that one.” Tom raised his chin with a quirked brow.
“Right.” Michael forced his feet to step inside and closed the door with a solid thud. The door into the house opened, and they emerged into the space he’d expected. A huge open living room, with a massive rock fireplace dividing two seating areas from a dining table and a kitchen with commercial appliances. Luxurious living room furniture created comfortable seating areas to his right; on his left, an enormous flat screen TV surrounded by several smaller screens were mounted where a window would normally be. Gaming chairs waited in front of a low table with a plethora of game controllers.
Tom led them through the dining room—the table sat fourteen—and kitchen, to the back door. He checked his phone, then held open the door. “Take your time. Maybe take a nap and shower? We’ll have lunch in an hour and a half. Erin, Ryan, and Sam are joining us.”
“Thanks, Tom.” Deb hugged the tall cowboy. “But I’ll be right back; I have cakes to bake.”
Michael followed her out the back door. They crossed a flagstone patio, with a full outdoor kitchen, a fire pit, and two outdoor seating areas, one of them under a covered post and beam portico. “I guessed Wiz was well off, but I didn’t realize she was a multi-millionaire.”
Deb showed him the code for the guest house. “I’m really lucky to have her help, in so many ways.” The house was a smaller version of the mansion, but equally well decorated. Michael followed her through the open plan living room to a short hallway at the back. “There are two bedrooms, both with full bathrooms. I’ll take this one if you don’t mind.” She didn’t wait for his agreement, but entered the door to the right and closed it.
Michael didn’t mind, but he didn’t understand her reactions either. He shook his head and entered the room on the left. A king-sized four poster bed with a dark blue and silver comforter took up the majority of the room. A closet held drawers on the left and open shelves on the right, separated by a rod with empty hangers and two hotel-style white robes. The bathroom had a double sink, with a dark gray solid surface top, and the shower was also solid surface material with a heavy glass door. Dark blue and gray towels were neatly folded on a towel rack, and the sink cabinet contained an extensive collection of luxury toiletries for men and women.
Michael lined up his medications, and grabbed a t-shirt and track pants. A shower and a nap sounded like a winning plan. Then he could decide what to do next. He cleaned up, then alternated heat and cold on his back until he couldn’t stand it, dried off and dropped into the cloud-like bed.
Muffled voices woke him; he recognized Deb, Erin and Sam’s. He’d slept twenty minutes; the perfect amount to get him through the day and still let him sleep through the night. He felt too groggy to face the trio of intelligent women in the living room, but he’d do it anyway.
He splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth, and left the sanctuary of his room. In the living room, Deb wore her trademark pink apron with yellow sunflowers, facing a phone on a stand with an LED ring light. Alarm shot an arrow of pain down his spine. “What are you doing? No phones. They’ll track you.”
“None of us are idiots. I know how to prevent that if we wanted to, but we don’t.” Wiz stepped forward, frowning.
He hadn’t noticed her, sitting in the corner beyond Erin and Sam. He was slipping and he couldn’t do that or Deb wouldn’t be safe. But they were in Wiz’s compound, and she was far more expert with computers than he was. Once again, he’d stuck his foot in his mouth. “Sorry. I guess you do. But why risk it?”
“Strategy.” Sam drawled the word and raised her brows. “You may be an expert in the whole ‘escape into the woods’ thing, but you don’t know squat about social media. Your website is pathetic and your branding non-existent.”
He put a hand over his heart. “You’re right, but ouch.” He could and would admit when he was wrong, but he didn’t understand. “So can you explain the strategy, please?”
Deb rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m known for bright, cheerful videos of delicious cupcakes. I make one every night, showcasing the next day’s specials.” Her cheeks pinked. “I have fans all over the world, even though they’ll never taste my products. After three days went by without a video or an explanation, my supporters were asking where I’d gone. They even started a hashtag called ‘WhereisCupcakeWoman’ of all things.” Her blush intensified and she looked at the table top.
“Since organized crime thrives on secrecy, we’re going to make a fuss.” Sam buffed her fingernails on her shirt. “We’re not getting any help from law enforcement, so we’ll embarrass the heck out of Mr. John Scott and advertise what’s happening in Marcus. With enough publicity, the organization will pack up and go, because we’re not worth the risk. There’s not enough here for them.” She shrugged. “If we were a larger town, or the businesses more competitive, then this approach might not work. But once we start putting out videos, other businesses around Marcus will join us.”
Michael nodded. “I get it. But until everyone else joins in, it might put Deb in even more danger.”
Erin, wearing a pink t-shirt with a sunflower and the words “Team Cupcake Woman!” on it, put an arm around Deb. “That’s why Ryan and I already recorded a video. We’re not nearly as good as Deb, but we’re better than nothing. And we’ve set up a store to raise money for Deb, selling t-shirts, stickers and mugs.” She pointed at her chest. Michael didn’t look; he didn’t want Ryan on his case.
“I’ll be doing a video, too, exposing Scott’s background and what he’s done to other communities.” Wiz grimaced. “His name isn’t John Scott. It’s Igor Kozlov and he’s got ties to the old Soviet State Security, the KGB. He did financial analysis on enemies of the state, both foreign and domestic. When the iron curtain fell, he saw an opportunity and built a fortune. He’s an evil man, and he’s only gotten worse over the years since then.”
Michael’s sense of danger deepened. “That will make you a huge target.”
Wiz’s mouth twisted. “I’m already on their list. I’ve turned their requests for internet security services down many times, and I’ve continued to do so. Besides, if there’s any private person who can stand up to them, it’s me. I’ve already bloodied their noses. I’m fairly certain they were behind my ex’s lousy attempt to burn my house down. He owed a lot of money and I’ve tracked emails back to Scott’s organization.”
“The next attempt might be a lot better.” Michael regretted leaving the AR-15 in the bedroom.
Wiz nodded. “It might. More reason to go public with what I know. He’ll try to discredit me, just like he did during the trials, but he won’t win.” She smirked. “One way or another, he’ll lose this one.”
