One Rule - No Surrender Read online

  "Yeah. I had that feeling, too. I guess some blondes aren't that dumb."

  Louis wrapped his arms around her waist and snuggled against her back. "But she could've given a more detailed description, Thal. You just got lucky."

  "Maybe."

  She relaxed back against him and closed her eyes. He kissed her right earlobe. She shivered.

  "Would you mind having dinner a little late?" he murmured.

  "Not a problem."

  LATER IN bed, Louis's laptop illuminated the room in ghostly light as he unwound by net-surfing while Thalma read a novel on her Kindle.

  "Oh, shit," said Louis.

  "Now what?"

  "Just a second."

  Maybe it was the laptop light, but Thalma thought his face had dropped two shades of color. She leaned over to see the screen. Under the caption "Dirty Harriett" a YouTube video was playing. The stars of that video were three men and two women standing on a driveway, as seen from a height and at a slight angle. The tall, dark-haired woman in the paisley summer dress punched out one guy and side-kicked another before drawing a gun on the third. The blonde girl jumped in her car and backed out.

  "No way," Thalma muttered. "No fucking way."

  She watched herself dispatch the third dude with a front kick. The German Shepherd slunk out of her path on her way back to her pickup.

  Louis zoomed the video to full-screen and they watched it again. Thalma's heart sank as the camera followed her to her pickup before jerking back to the men sprawled on the driveway. It returned again to her pickup as it backed out and drove out of view.

  "They got the license plate," she said in a flat voice.

  "Yeah. And everything else."

  Thalma found herself reliving the moment on the mountain ridge as tiny alarms tinkled in the back of her brain.

  "On the plus side, you didn't commit any crime," said Louis. "The people – even the police – would probably see you as a hero."

  "But then there's the negative side."

  "Right. The whole fucking world can watch a video of you kicking butt." Louis dragged a hand over his beard, looking at her. "You know, that's the first time I've actually seen you do your martial arts thing. I almost feel sorry for those guys."

  "That would be a waste of compassion."

  "You're kind of scary." He snorted. "Dirty Harriett."

  "Funny - I even asked the moron if he was feeling lucky."

  "Huh. That is funny." He didn't sound amused. "I should download it and really blow it up. The quality might not be high enough to make out your license plate numbers."

  "I'm pretty sure they – meaning the police – wouldn't have any trouble doing that."

  "Assuming they see the video."

  "You know as well as I do that's just a matter of time."

  Louis closed his computer and sagged back against the headboard. "So how should we handle this? And please don't tell me 'run for the hills.'"

  "I don't want to run anywhere. I happen to like it here. A lot."

  "It's way beyond just liking for me. I fucking love this place. I love what I'm doing. I love the mountains and the beautiful lakes and the way the air smells. I don't even mind the winter here. It's not as bad as South Dakota's, anyway."

  "I feel the same way," Thalma groaned. "It's not the local cops I'm worried about. Our identities would pass their superficial check. It's them I'm worried about."

  "The World Security Group people or the feds?"

  "Either one. But maybe more World Security Group International."

  "I remember how they convinced me waterboarding is my least favorite sport." Louis touched his throat. "You think they're still looking for you?"

  "Not actively looking. But I think it's safe to assume they have their ears to the ground."

  "Would that include wading through thousands of YouTube videos looking for a Kung Fu chick?"

  Thalma shook her head. There was no way of knowing. As always, the safe thing was to assume the worst. She'd tried on occasion during the last year to make inroads into discovering who Mr. Murphy's employers were, and she'd developed some theories, but she knew from experience that when you poked around in clandestine organizations they tended to poke back, so she'd stopped digging.

  "I don't know," she said. "We'll just have to keep our eyes and ears open, I guess. If someone shows up with an unhealthy interest in us, it will be time to run for those hills."

  Chapter 2

  THE TAHOE POLICE FORD Interceptor rolled to the house two days later. Thalma watched it from the basement slat windows, in the throes of a workout, while Socrates hopped up on a bench with a soft growl to eye the interloper.

  "You stay down here," she said to him. "I'll be back in a minute."

  After a quick drink of water and a toweling off, she bounded upstairs - closing the basement door - and slipped into a blouse and long jeans as the doorbell rang. Her exposed body tended to intimidate some men - or worse, generate suspicion. She needed to come off as normal as possible in this meeting.

  The officer at the door was maybe late-thirties; buff, crew cut, good-looking, possibly ex-military. He had a bit of swagger in his stance and some sparkle in his blue eyes – a dude who liked the ladies, she thought. Thalma could work with that.

  "Mrs. McDowell?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm Detective John Dahlgren with the South Lake Tahoe Police Department. I wonder if I could talk to you for a minute."

  "Come in."

  "Thank you."

  She led him into the living room and motioned to the couch.

  "Can I get you something? Coffee, tea?"

  "No, I'm fine." He smiled at her, showing some white teeth. "You don't seem surprised to see me. I take it you know you're a YouTube celebrity?"

  "Yeah. My husband spotted it a couple of days ago. I've been expecting someone from the police department to show up."

  Thalma sat in a chair across from him on the couch.

  "I have to tell you," he said, "I thought what you did was incredible. You're a hero down at the station."

  "Um, thanks."

  "They're joking about hiring you to come down and teach us some of your moves."

  "Do you guys practice martial arts?"

  "A few of us. I do." He grinned modestly. "I wish more of us did, to be honest."

  "Maybe that would make police confident enough not to be so quick with their guns. Like that officer who shot that guy in a motel last week because he 'made a suspicious move' – but turns out he wasn't armed."

  Officer Dahlgren's smile lost some wattage. Down girl. You're supposed to be a law and order lovin' fifties housewife, remember? Thalma dredged up a bland smile.

  "Yes, well..." He cleared his throat. "People don't really understand how instincts take over when your life is on the line, especially in our line of work."

  Thalma clung to her pleasant smile.

  "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that we appreciate your courage and bold action, Mrs. McDowell. However, as an officer of the law, I do need to make sure the law is being observed, even by heroes." His short laugh fell flat. "So I do need to ask about your handgun. We did check into your records – we identified you by your plate number, as you probably guessed – and found no evidence of a concealed carry permit."

  "I carry it in a locked compartment in my truck."

  "Unloaded?"

  "Of course. That's the law, isn't it?"

  "Yes." He looked relieved. "Okay. I'll just want to take a quick look at that before I leave. My main reason for coming here has to do with the case against these three men. Would you mind making a statement about what happened that day?"

  "I saw these guys in ski masks stuff this woman into her van outside the bank. I decided to follow them."

  "Not call the police?"

  "I considered it."

  "And?"

  She shrugged. "I just thought I'd follow them to wherever they were going and then call."

  "But then you decided to take on three armed men by yourself instead?"

  "When you say it that way it sounds kind of dumb."

  "I was thinking more that someone who would do that would have to be awfully self-confident."

  "Or delusional?"

  "Or that." His smile held a hint of question. "But seriously, would you mind sharing what you were thinking at that point?"

  "Just that I thought I had to do something before they took her inside."

  Detective Dahlgren stared at her, his blue eyes turning cool, reflective. Thalma knew her reply didn't make a lot of sense. Nor did her actions that day. But she saw nothing to be gained by a deeper discussion of her motivations.

  "Do you have a background in law enforcement or the military?" he asked.

  "Nope. Just done some martial arts training over the years."

  "A lot of years, I'm guessing."

  "I guess so. Is there anything else I can help you with, Detective Dahlgren?"

  "Well, yes. We may need you to testify against the three men."

  Thalma felt a sharp twitch of apprehension. "Isn't the girl and the video enough?"

  "The woman, Sandy Brewster, did not identify the three men we're holding as the men who abducted her."

  "What? I don't think I'm following you."

  "Someone obviously threatened her. We may be able to get her to change her mind about testifying, but in the meantime, we may not be able to keep them in custody without a witness who can connect them to the robbery."

  Thalma was shaking her head in disbelief. "What about the person who recorded the video?"

  "The person who recorded the video is a minor, and her parents are refusing to let her testify. In fact, they deleted the video from YouTube. Fortunately, we downloaded a copy, but without cooper
ation from the witnesses and any solid evidence linking them to the robbery..." He shrugged.

  "You're still losing me. You don't call two bags filled with cash evidence?"

  "The cash wasn't found at the scene when the first responders arrived."

  "Whoa." Thalma noted the officer's intense gaze. "Wait a minute. You don't think I took it?"

  He shook his head - but not with great conviction, Thalma thought.

  "Your truck was backing out when the video was interrupted. It resumed when the police and ambulances arrived." He showed her his palms. "You're not a suspect, Mrs. McDowell. We don't believe you intervened to steal the money, and the video did show you walking away from it."

  Thalma breathed out. Her little good deed seemed to be breeding tiny monsters.

  "Our working theory," said Detective Dahlgren, "is that someone in the house they'd pulled into ran out and grabbed the bags. Unfortunately, there's no recording of that. We're seeking the people renting the house, but haven't located them at this point."

  Thalma expelled a breath. "You want me to come down to the station and identify these guys?"

  "Well, actually, they're in the hospital. But yes, we'd appreciate that." A small frown crept onto his face. "But in all honesty, I should tell you that these...individuals belong to a gang called Aryan Nation, very big around these parts. And very dangerous. We've been trying to crack them for most of the last decade, but they got some pretty good loyalty pacts. Their members don't talk or make deals, and it's not unusual for witnesses of their crimes to develop amnesia or worse."

  Just gets better and better. Thalma leaned back in her chair, barely resisting an urge to rub her eyes.

  "I realize I'm not making a very appealing sales pitch for helping us as a witness, Mrs. McDowell, but I have to be honest with you. My sense is that you're not someone who would be easily intimidated, so I'm hoping you're willing to work with us in putting these individuals away. I believe we can get your identification without them seeing you, and can keep your identity unknown with closed testimony."

  "And if I choose not to help you?"

  He gave her a thin smile. "If you don't cooperate – again, being honest – we probably would subpoena you. I apologize for that, but I hope you can understand how we view this as a civil duty."

  "It's funny," said Thalma, touching her head. "But suddenly I'm starting to feel forgetful."

  Dalhgren's smile was uncertain. "I hope you're joking, Mrs. McDowell."

  Thalma sighed. "I'm beginning to wish I'd just called the police. But no, I can't see letting these thugs get away with this. I'm going to insist, though, that you do everything possible to keep me anonymous."

  "Of course. I head up the Gang Enforcement Team, and that's become standard operating procedure with witnesses whenever possible. That wasn't an option with Sandy Brewster, unfortunately."

  He rose. She followed him to the door.

  "About your gun," he said.

  "I know." She tugged her pickup keys from the door-side hook. "You want to see where it's stored."

  "No, that's fine. I was going to say that maybe you should consider getting a carry permit. The department would be happy to expedite that for you. We already ran a background check on you and I'm sure the department would be willing to waive our local fees, for what that's worth."

  "Thanks. When do you want me to identify these creeps?"

  "Anytime. You can follow me in right now, and I'll set it up on the way in."

  Thalma thought about that and lifted her shoulders in weary resignation.

  "Okay. I'm going to let my dog out of the basement. You should wait outside. He has a thing about people in uniforms." Especially police uniforms, she added silently.

  ANOTHER GORGEOUS Saturday at Zephyr Cove Beach. And not much of a crowd, either. Thalma and Louis had packed a picnic lunch and claimed a table under some trees and a Steller's Jay that sounded desperate for food. They strolled along the beach with Socrates mucking around in the frigid water behind them.

  After a while they headed back to their picnic table. As they entered the trees, Thalma's first thought was that she'd misplaced their location, considering the five burly men lounging on the table she thought was theirs. But then she recognized their big red cooler, which was open. And Socrates' hackles stood a mile high as he emitted a harsh snarl.

  Is that our food and drink they're scarfing down? And they appeared to be feeding Socrates' dog bone treats to a huge dog that looked to her like a wolf on steroids. A blast of hot anger burned through her.

  "What the fuck?" Louis rasped. "Am I seeing things, or are those big rednecks sitting at our table eating our stuff?"

  "Definitely not seeing things..." And then the D'oh! moment struck. Crap.

  "They're not at the wrong table by accident are they?" Louis murmured.

  "I doubt it."

  "The Aryan Nation?"

  "That would be my guess." She clasped his shoulder, easing him around toward the parking lot. "Take Socrates to the car."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I don't know. But I want you safe when I do it."

  "They could have guns, Thal. I'm calling the cops – words I never thought I'd say."

  "Fine. But I want you and Soc locked inside the car. If anyone suspicious makes a move toward you, drive away."

  "Okay. Got it."

  "Go."

  Socrates held back, stopping Louis in his tracks until she gave him a stern command. Thalma turned back to the picnic table, working on getting her temper under control. By the time she reached the picnic table her mind was calm and coolly calculating. She stopped before them: five men and one humongous wolf-like dog of a breed she didn't recognize.

  The men's smirks contracted a notch as she stood before them, her eyes shifting from man to man without losing sight of the group as a whole. The man in the center was the biggest: heavy red beard, pale, slightly freckled complexion, thinning swirls of red hair covering his large head. One pale, beefy hand clutched the wolf-dog's leash. Of the others, two were of medium height and stocky – shaved heads – the other two being a slim, wiry guy maybe six-two with a scar on his cheek and a bodybuilder dude in a muscle shirt.

  "You looked bigger in the video," said the tall, wiry guy sitting beside the red-haired monster.

  "You look exactly as I thought you'd look."

  The men had all stopped eating – a few of them wiping their hands. They were used to intimidating people. It had to be a little confusing, and maybe even disturbing, to see that they weren't having the intended effect on her.

  "Smart of ye to send yer girly boy and yer dog away," the red giant snickered. "Himmler here would eat your puppy for breakfast. Right boy?"

  The giant dog at his side regarded Thalma with dark grey-brown eyes set back in a massive, furry face. Even Thalma had to admit the dog – assuming it wasn't some form of mutant wolf – had a nasty air about him.

  "Maybe," said Thalma. "But I think he'd get a pretty bad case of indigestion if he tried. What kind of dog is that anyway?"

  "Ovtcharka. Caucasian Ovtcharka."

  "Pretty dog."

  "Uh, thanks..." He started to brighten up, but then resumed his tough-guy mask after an uneasy glance at the tall, wiry man beside him.

  "We heard the police called you in to identify some bank robbers," said the wiry guy, fingering the thin scar on his cheek, his eyes glittering within dark sockets. "And they plan on having you testify in that case. Wondering if you might consider forgetting what those boys look like."

  "Like Sandy Brewster?"

  "Yup. You know, memory's a funny thing." He tapped his temple. "Sometimes what you think you saw really ain't what you saw. You know what I mean?"

  Thalma didn't reply.

  "Anyways, we'd be real grateful if you decided not to testify," said the scar-faced man. "As a special favor, you might say."

  "You have a funny way of asking for favors," said Thalma. "I put a lot of work into packing that cooler."

  "I hear ya. Mikey, give the pretty lady a couple of fifties. That oughta cover it."

  The big redhead man tugged out his wallet with a dark scowl and stripped off a couple of fifties from a thick wad of bills.

  Thalma stepped forward. Accepting the fifties with one hand, she tore the wallet away with the other, ripping out the cash and stuffing it into her back pockets in one smooth motion. She tossed the empty wallet into the redhead's ample lap.