Mistake Creek: (An FBI thriller) Read online

  Mistake Creek

  Rachel Amphlett

  © Rachel Amphlett 2015

  The copyright of this book belongs to Rachel Amphlett

  No reproduction without permission

  The names, characters and events in this book are used fictitiously.

  Any similarity to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental

  Contents

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  1. Chapter 1

  2. 2

  3. 3

  4. 4

  5. 5

  6. 6

  7. 7

  8. 8

  9. 9

  10. 10

  11. 11

  12. 12

  13. 13

  14. 14

  15. 15

  16. 16

  17. 17

  18. 18

  19. 19

  20. 20

  21. 21

  22. 22

  23. 23

  24. 24

  25. 25

  26. 26

  27. 27

  28. 28

  29. 29

  30. 30

  31. 31

  32. 32

  33. 33

  34. 34

  35. 35

  36. 36

  37. 37

  38. 38

  39. 39

  40. 40

  41. 41

  From the Author

  White Gold

  Under Fire

  Three Lives Down

  Behind the Wire

  Before Nightfall

  Look Closer

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  1

  Central Valley, California

  Kyle Roberts sucked in a deep breath of air and willed the fire in his leg muscles to ease.

  He’d been running for what seemed an age, sliding over exposed stones and rocks, all the time straining his ears to listen for signs of his pursuers.

  His jeans, dirty and torn, stuck to his legs, the ends of his shirt flapping from under a faded black leather jacket.

  He stopped and squinted over his shoulder, paranoia squeezing his gut.

  Intermittent flashes of lightning illuminated the landscape, casting an eerie purple-yellow hue across the terrain. Clouds tumbled over each other, hastening towards the valley, churning the sky into darkening shades of grey.

  They’d heard the storm warnings on the radio earlier that afternoon – news of a drought-breaker, with the accompanying instructions to secure loose outdoor items and seek shelter.

  The men had worked more urgently, the whole team desperate to keep the operation on schedule. Tempers had frayed, his real identity had been compromised, and then Kyle had found out what it was like to be on the receiving end of a sharp knife.

  His hand travelled to his shoulder and came away sticky. The wound would never stop bleeding all the time he remained in motion, but he had little choice.

  He ran a dirty hand through his hair and wondered if John had managed to get away from the men who wanted them dead, whether he was now steering the stolen car along the dirt track that ran between the farming properties across the ridge towards town.

  They’d heard rumours that the creek had been likely to flood, taking out the bridge that spanned the wide expanse of water, and in turn wiping out any hope they’d held to get help.

  They’d only managed to escape with one vehicle, Kyle choosing to jump out and send John on his way while he escaped on foot in the opposite direction, hoping to distract their pursuers.

  If he did make it as far as the highway without being caught, Kyle planned to flag down the first available vehicle and disappear in the opposite direction, over the range and away from the Valley.

  He’d ruled out heading to the neighbouring farm to raise the alarm – their pursuers would likely check there first.

  Trouble brewed over his shoulder, in the shape of an angry grey and purple storm front. The storm head billowed towards him, darkening the skies, while the rocky escarpment beyond had become a blue-grey hue.

  A flock of birds screeched overhead, their route taking them away from the encroaching onslaught.

  The air had turned oppressive, viscous with charged ozone and a stifling humidity. On the horizon, patches of pale sunlight shone through the grey clouds, attempting a last stand against the approaching storm.

  Fat raindrops began to hit the ground, the coolness hissing against the hot dirt.

  His head twitched as, to his left, half a mile below him on the incline, a dark shape lurched forwards through the gloom and began to gain height, the far-off roar of a powerful engine reaching his ears.

  They were closing in on him.

  He gritted his teeth and swore in frustration as his water-logged boots sank into the mud, slowing him down. He wrenched his foot from the soaked earth and began to stagger towards the upper part of the ridge. With any luck, he’d be able to get his bearings from there, rather than struggling over the landscape with little sense of direction. He had to concentrate, to act on his survival skills and cunning, if he was going to survive the next few hours and complete his mission.

  He paused, plunged his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a mobile phone. Holding it up, he spun round trying to get a single bar of signal to appear at the top of the screen.

  ‘Come on,’ he urged, before turning in a different direction and trying again.

  He had to warn them, to tell them he’d failed, that what they had been so desperately trying to prevent was happening, now.

  A strangled curse of frustration escaped his lips. Either the incoming electrical storm had scrambled the signal, or the emergency services were receiving so many calls from people living in the valley that the service was overloaded.

  In any event, he wasn’t going to be making a phone call any time soon.

  He swore under his breath. Everything about the plan had turned to shit. He’d spent six months setting it up, but his plan hadn’t factored in the possibility that he’d be stabbed trying to prevent a catastrophe from taking place, or that a drought-breaking storm would descend on the valley, sending his target into a panic.

  He snorted at the irony, began to put the phone back in his pocket, and then shouted in alarm as the ground gave way under his feet.

  He lashed out with his arms and legs to slow his descent, swore as the branch of a tree sapling whipped his cheek, and then slid to a halt, breathing hard.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He lay still for a moment, letting the rain wash the blood from his torn face and hands while he caught his breath, before he hauled himself up into a crouching position. He strained his ears to hear above the pounding of the rain, trying to get his bearings.

  His hand moved to his pocket, and he closed his eyes as he realised what had happened.

  He’d lost the phone.

  He raised his eyes to the tracks of his fall and searched the undergrowth, moving swiftly, left to right across the path of destruction his body had made as he’d fallen.

  Nothing.

  He clasped his hands over his head and pivoted in a circle, cursing.

  He glanced over his shoulder. The top of the ridge was now even further away from him, the tracks of his fall evident in the next blinding flash of lightning that swept across the darkening sky and illuminated the stark landscape. He couldn’t afford to waste time. If the phone was gone, then he had to escape. It was the only way.

  An engine revved, its throat
y roar filling the air.

  He spun round, searching in all directions, trying to pinpoint his pursuers.

  The hillside exploded with light as headlight beams criss-crossed the ground in front of him. Spotlights swept the mist, seeking him out.

  They’d split up, trying to catch him in a classic pincer movement.

  He turned and ran.

  Behind him, he heard a shout, and then the vehicle changed gear and began its pursuit.

  He weaved across the rugged hillside, grabbing tree branches and exposed rocks to work his way higher, away from the vehicle.

  His leg muscles aching from the swift ascent, he sucked in air as he reached the summit.

  He hauled himself over the edge, and saw the lights of the small town in the distance where, only three days ago, he’d ventured into the camping store for supplies. Through the gloom, the sickly orange glow of halogen streetlights bobbed in and out of view between swaying trees as the prevailing wind lashed the surrounding countryside.

  He groaned – it was too far.

  He checked over his shoulder.

  Below, the pursuit vehicle steadily moved across the ridge, gaining on him, the whine of its engine carrying over the wind as it climbed towards him, and then stalled.

  Kyle turned his attention back to the valley below. He was running out of time. He could only hope that John had made it to the highway, and that the creek hadn’t burst its banks before he’d made it into town.

  He squinted at the road leading from the town up to the ridge, where it joined the main highway. No traffic moved except for a single headlight beam, and he frowned, wondering if the run-off from the surrounding water catchment had already burst the creek’s banks and blocked the road.

  A faint light towards the bottom of the ridge caught his eye, and he shielded his eyes from the rain and squinted. In the next flash of lightning that shot across the valley he saw a low-set building with some sort of canopy at the front.

  He wracked his memory until he remembered a run-down truck stop, a ‘for sale’ sign across its front window.

  Adrenalin surged through his body as he realised he’d have to make a run for it and pray the building still had a working telephone.

  The tree trunk next to him exploded a split second before he heard the gunshot reverberate in his ears.

  He threw himself to the ground and began to crawl away on his elbows and knees, keeping his head down.

  The vehicle’s engine roared to life again, the headlights seeking him out. He scrambled up and slid down the ridge towards the valley, ducking behind trees and boulders.

  He tripped and curled up as he fell, gritting his teeth as sharp stones dug into his back before he slowed to a stop. He eased himself up onto all fours and lifted his head.

  The vehicle crested the ridge above him before it braked to a standstill. The driver’s door swung open, and a figure stepped out into the rain.

  Kyle groaned, his lungs aching from the exertion, and watched, helpless, while the figure leaned into the cab of the four-wheel drive and emerged, holding a rifle.

  ‘You should’ve stayed away,’ yelled the figure. ‘You should’ve minded your own damn business.’

  ‘I was,’ he murmured.

  He jumped sideways as the rifle bucked once in the figure’s hands, and then everything went black.

  2

  ‘Nina, let me do that – you’re going to fall.’

  ‘I’ll be okay. Keep your foot on the ladder and stop staring at my backside.’

  ‘It’s hard not to. It’s right in my face.’

  ‘Hold onto the ladder and keep your eyes lowered, Ross.’

  She ignored the laugh below her, the rich tones filling the air. Instead, she slid the tarpaulin over the last of the loose tin panels, adjusted her balance on the ladder, and fired the nail-gun, sealing the plastic sheeting into place.

  ‘Okay, we’re all done on this side.’

  She glanced behind. Already, the wind was picking up, shaking the corn stalks in the fenced-off field on the opposite side of the road.

  She changed her grip on the nail-gun and then descended the length of the ladder. As she reached the bottom, Ross stood aside, one hand gripping the frame. She smiled up at him. ‘See, I’m quite capable.’

  ‘Oh, I know that.’ He pushed his hat back on his head, his green eyes sparkling. ‘But I’ll bet this side comes unstuck the moment that storm hits, whereas the other side will be fine.’ He grinned. ‘That’ll be the side I sorted out, of course.’

  He laughed and took a step back as Nina aimed a playful punch at his arm. ‘Too slow, Nina O’Brien. Way too slow.’

  Nina ran a hand through her hair and raised her gaze to the roof. ‘Seriously, Ross – do you think it’ll be okay?’

  ‘Time will tell. You’re doing all you can.’ He bent and gathered up the pile of folded plastic sheets. ‘Come on, one more to do.’ He snatched the nail-gun from her hand and passed her the last tarpaulin. ‘And I’ll go up the ladder this time.’ He lowered the ladder and swung it over his shoulder.

  The sound of a hammer against wood echoed off the nearby accommodation block.

  Nina and Ross had been joined half an hour ago by Phil Allison. A long-distance truck driver, Phil had dropped off a delivery in town and had decided to call it quits for the day after hearing about a landslide that had blocked the highway leading out of the valley and through the hills towards the city. A regular customer of Nina’s father’s, Phil had been only too happy to stop and help in return for free overnight accommodation.

  Now, he was helping them prepare the property for the worst, boarding up windows on the other side of the truck stop and removing anything that could be whipped up by the wind and cause damage.

  As the storm had progressed southwards towards Mistake Creek, it had swelled rivers and streams, water-logging the topsoil until it weakened and collapsed, pulling trees and scrubby undergrowth with it.

  As Nina walked, she took in the state of the building, the paint peeling, and the accommodation block that would need tidying up – if the property didn’t get ravaged by the incoming storm. A groan escaped her lips.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Ross, concern creasing his brow.

  ‘I keep seeing more stuff that needs sorting out before I can sell this place. It’s never-ending.’

  ‘On the plus side, that means you stay longer.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Nina. ‘I need to concentrate on finding a new job and getting Dad’s treatment sorted out first.’

  Ross started walking again. ‘Well, you’re better off out of the city anyway. You could do with a bit of country air to put some colour in your face. You look as pale as a vampire.’

  ‘Some would say pale and interesting, you know.’

  ‘Is that right? What – just after they order a chai latte or whatever?’

  Nina shook her head as she followed him. He still insisted on wearing the battered brown felt hat her father had given him the last year he and Nina were in school together, although its edges were frayed, the shape only just held together by the contours of his head.

  She’d told him three days ago when she’d first arrived that her trip here had to be brief. Her job loss had been a blow, and she had to find a new employer fast. She’d calculated that her meagre savings gave her enough time to make any necessary repairs to the truck stop, put it on the market, and cross her fingers that it sold quickly so that she could pay her father’s medical bills.

  She let her gaze drift to the back of Ross’s head. He’d changed a lot since she’d left. Hell, they’d both changed a lot. In Ross’s case, the lanky awkward farmer’s son had gone. In his place stood a man who seemed strong, capable, and definitely good-looking.

  Ross dropped the tarpaulin and the nail-gun on the ground before swinging the ladder off his shoulder. Once he had set it straight on the ground, he handed the nail-gun to Nina.

  ‘Okay, pass that and a tarp up when I get to the top.’ He looked over h
er head. ‘That storm’s moving fast.’

  ‘Will your place be okay?’

  He nodded. ‘Dad’s got Tim, and a couple of the hired hands stayed to help them before they headed home.’ He raised his gaze. ‘And our roof is in a lot better condition than yours, it has to be said.’

  Nina held onto the sides of the ladder as he climbed, the frame swaying under his weight. She stood on tiptoe, passed him the nail-gun, and then let her mind wander as he worked, the punch of the steel tacks beating a rhythm to her thoughts.

  The Flanagan property was a twenty-minute drive from where she stood. Growing up, Ross and his younger brother Tim were the nearest neighbours to her home, often saving a space for her on the school bus as it belched fumes and idled at the now-derelict bus stop opposite the truck stop, the driver impatient as she’d hurried towards it, before continuing its onward journey into the town a further eight miles up the road.

  As soon as he’d heard the storm warning on the radio, Ross had driven over to her father’s truck stop, his pick-up truck laden with wooden planks and spare tarpaulins. They’d spent the morning boarding up the large floor-to-ceiling windows, moving the old plastic outdoor furniture into one of the dilapidated storage sheds behind the property, and removing anything that could become a missile in the height of the storm.

  Nina lifted her face and inhaled. The tang of ozone filled her senses as a low rumble of thunder resonated in the distance. She jumped at the sound of Phil’s voice breaking into her reverie.

  ‘You’ve got plenty of fuel for the generator, right?’

  She frowned and bit her lip. ‘I checked batteries, torches, candles, and matches. I didn’t see any fuel cans.’

  Ross snorted. ‘It’d be kind of ironic if the only truck stop for miles ran out of petrol for its own generator.’

  ‘Dad hasn’t sold petrol for weeks, Ross – you know that.’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry.’

  None of them mentioned the incident that had put paid to the possibility of her father continuing to run the business – and nearly killed him in the process.

  Nina moved to one side as a swathe of plastic rippled above her head. ‘You okay up there?’