Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN JASON BURIED
For several seconds, I thought I had misunderstood her.
“The tanker driver?”
Erica nodded.
“Walt.”
“You knew Walt before the accident?”
“No.”
“Then why would you hand a stranger evidence that could destroy a company?”
“Because he was the only person standing near me when I realized I was being followed.”
Alvarez shifted beside the window.
“Followed by who?”
Erica looked at her.
“A man named Mason Trent.”
The name meant nothing to me.
It clearly meant something to Alvarez, because she took out a small notebook.
“Describe him.”
“Late forties, maybe fifty.”
Erica closed her eyes briefly.
“Six feet, broad shoulders, gray at the temples, dark wool coat, no luggage.”
She opened her eyes again.
“He works private security for companies that do not like calling it private security.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Because Ridgeway hired him twice while I worked there.”
“For what?”
“To investigate employees.”
Her mouth tightened.
“Mostly employees who complained too loudly.”
I felt something settle in my chest that was colder than anger.
“What happened at the rest stop?”
Erica leaned back against the pillow.
“Our bus stopped outside Idaho Springs because traffic was stacking up and the driver wanted to check conditions before pushing farther east.”
She took a careful breath because of her ribs.
“I went inside for coffee.”
“Mason was there?”
“Not at first.”
She looked toward the ceiling, reconstructing it.
“I saw him through the window while I was paying.”
“He was standing beside a black SUV watching the bus.”
“Did he see you?”
“I think so.”
“What did you do?”
“I walked toward the restroom, then turned down the side hall and went out through an employee exit.”
“Why not call police?”
“My phone had one bar, and I had spent three months being told by attorneys that every fear I had was paranoia.”
Her expression hardened.
“I also knew Mason would leave the moment uniforms appeared.”
“So you found Walt.”
“He was smoking beside the fuel pumps.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“He was smoking beside a tanker?”
“Not beside his tanker.”
For the first time, Erica almost smiled.
“He had parked in the commercial lane and walked halfway across the lot because his wife had been trying to make him quit.”
“That sounds like Walt.”
“I asked if he was headed east.”
“He said he was.”
“I asked if he would do something strange for a stranger.”
“And he agreed?”
“He told me strange favors were the only interesting kind.”
That also sounded like Walt.
Erica’s expression became serious again.
“I gave him a small silver USB drive inside a paper receipt envelope.”
“I wrote a phone number on the envelope.”
“Whose?”
“The federal investigator I was supposed to meet.”
“Did you give him your name?”
“No.”
“Did he know what was on it?”
“No.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That if I did not find him again in Denver, he should call the number and say he had a package from E.B.”
I looked at Alvarez.
She had stopped writing.
“Walt was trapped in that tanker for almost two hours after the crash,” I said.
“If he still had the drive, it may be in his clothes, his cab, or somewhere along the highway.”
“Or somebody may already have it,” Erica said.
That was the problem.
Captain Ellis arrived twenty minutes later and listened without interrupting while Erica repeated everything.
He did not dismiss her.
He also did not treat every accusation as fact.
He asked dates, names, locations, and whether she could identify Mason Trent in a photograph.
When Erica said yes, Ellis sent the name to another trooper.
Then he looked at me.
“Major, Walt Harrison is at St. Anne’s trauma center.”
“I know.”
“He was sedated after surgery.”
“Is he stable?”
“For now.”
“His personal effects?”
“Bagged by hospital staff.”
“His truck?”
“Still on scene pending hazardous-materials clearance.”
Erica gripped the blanket.
“You need to secure both.”
Ellis nodded.
“We will.”
My phone rang again.
Dad.
This time I stepped into the hallway before answering.
“Claire.”
His relief sounded almost theatrical.
“I’ve been trying to reach you all night.”
“I was working.”
“We saw the news.”
“I assumed you did.”
His voice softened.
“Are you all right?”
I looked through the glass panel at Erica’s bruised face.
“I’m fine.”
“What you did out there was incredible.”
I said nothing.
He cleared his throat.
“Everyone here was stunned.”
“I’m sure Jason enjoyed that.”
The silence that followed was immediate.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“This is not the time.”
“For what?”
“To turn Christmas into a family argument.”
I almost laughed.
“You called me.”
“I called because Jason is worried about you.”
“No, he isn’t.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because he has left me five messages telling me to stay away from Erica Bennett.”
Nothing moved on the other end of the line.
Not a breath.
Not a chair.
Not even background conversation.
Then Dad said, very carefully, “Why are you talking to her?”
There it was.
Not Who is Erica?
Not Is she alive?
Not How do you know where she is?
Why are you talking to her?
I looked down the empty hallway.
“How did you know I was?”
“I didn’t.”
“You just asked why I was talking to her.”
“Jason said she might try to contact you.”
“Why?”
“Because she has been trying to hurt him for months.”
“That is his version.”
“It is the truth.”
“Have you ever spoken to her?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because I know Jason.”
The answer came too quickly.
Too confidently.
Exactly the way it had for years.
Jason said something, and Dad treated it as evidence.
I said something, and Dad treated it as an argument.
“Did Erica email you?” I asked.
Dad’s breathing changed.
“What?”
“Did Erica Bennett email you before Christmas?”
“I get hundreds of emails.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I do not remember.”
“She says she wrote three times.”
“Well, if she did, I probably deleted them.”
“Without reading them?”
“Claire, she was fired for stealing company information.”
“According to Jason.”
“According to Ridgeway.”
“Were you expecting her at the house tonight?”
“No.”
His answer came fast enough that I knew he had been waiting for the question.
I closed my eyes.
“Dad, I need you to think very carefully before you lie to me again.”
“I am not lying.”
“Then tell me why Jason knew I was with her.”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me why he told me not to take anything from her.”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me why you asked me to stay away from Christmas three days before she planned to show up at your house.”
His voice rose.
“That had nothing to do with her.”
“Then what did it have to do with?”
“I already told you.”
“Jason’s promotion.”
“Yes.”
I stared at the snow pressing against the dark hospital windows.
“That explanation sounded cruel yesterday.”
I lowered my voice.
“Today it sounds convenient.”
Dad went quiet.
Then he said the sentence that ended the call for me.
“Please do not ruin this for your brother.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear.
“Goodbye, Dad.”
“Claire, wait.”
I ended the call.
When I returned to Erica’s room, Captain Ellis was speaking with a detective from the state police.
The detective introduced herself as Lena Park.
She had the calm eyes of someone who noticed everything and reacted to almost nothing.
“We confirmed Mason Trent exists,” she said.
Erica nodded once.
“Is he in Colorado?”
“We do not know yet.”
Park turned to me.
“But we found something else that may interest you.”
She held out a printed call log.
I took it.
The log showed an incoming call to a county emergency information line at 10:41 p.m.
The number belonged to Jason Mercer.
My stepbrother.
“What did he ask?”
Park glanced toward Erica.
“He asked whether the passenger list from the overturned bus had been released.”
My stomach tightened.
“He was told it had not.”
Park continued.
“Then he asked if there were any fatalities.”
“That could be normal concern after seeing the news.”
“It could.”
Her eyes stayed on mine.
“Then he asked whether anyone named Erica Bennett had been transported to a hospital.”
The room went completely still.
I looked at the timestamp again.
10:41 p.m.
The national broadcast that showed Erica in the background had not aired until after eleven.
“How did he know she was on that bus?” I asked.
Detective Park did not answer.
She did not need to.
May you like
Erica stared down at her bandaged hand.
Then she whispered, “Because he knew my route.”
