Stone Cross (Arliss Cutter #2) - Marc Cameron Page 0,107
direct threat. Still, as Cutter pointed out, once the Marshals Service went up on a protection detail, they got blamed for every hangnail or sunburn that happened to the protectee. It was their responsibility to protect their charges not only from harm but from embarrassment as well. If Daisy Aguthluk or anyone else so much as threw a pie, a tub of seal oil, or whatever the hell they threw out here—the marshals had failed in their mission.
Lola had hoped to get Markham on the return trip to Bethel along with Ned Jasper—but the troopers weren’t able to land. The judge was packed, grudgingly sitting on his bag now in front of one of the book stacks. Nobody liked to be told they were too fragile to hang around—least of all someone with a level-ten ego like the judge. Still, Lola felt sorry for him. She’d been sent to the rear of plenty of warrant services as a baby deputy—and it sucked. Markham held his ceramic mug in both hands, hunched over slightly, staring into the coffee as if it could tell him his future. Lola had seen her dad do just that many times when she was growing up. He called it brooding with his brew.
She looked at her phone. Three minutes gone. How long did it take to unlock a door and grab a handful of creamer packets?
This standing around was about to make her climb the walls. She’d wanted to stay and help with Ned Jasper’s medical care, but the judge had a tendency to offer nonstop advice. Some of it was even good. In the end, Lola decided the cabin was too small for everyone and took the judge back to the school before he got on Daisy Aguthluk’s last nerve and she made good on her threatening letter. Aguthluk, her daughter, and Tina Paisley were still there, along with Melvin Red Fox and a stoic Mrs. Jasper. Ned was stable, but in dire need of a surgeon in order to save his leg. There were a lot of arguments about the use of tourniquets—tissue damage and limb loss—but the truth was simple. If Cutter hadn’t applied the RATS when he did, Jasper wouldn’t be alive long enough to argue about any of them.
Lola checked her phone again. Two minutes left. Stuff that, she thought. “I’m going to go check on Jolene,” she said on the way out the door.
“Stir sticks if you find them!” she heard Ewing say, demonstrating his priorities.
Lola reached the gym in half a minute, groaning inside when she found the storage room door wide-open—and no Jolene. She stopped and listened. Whispered voices came from somewhere, but it was difficult to tell in the echoing gym. There were two exits other than the double doors from the interior hall. One was at the northeast corner under the scoreboard, the other, hidden from view, was at the far end of the bleachers. The voices had to be coming from there.
Lola inched sideways a half step at a time, bringing the area behind the bleachers slowly into view. Cutting the pie, they called it. If she did it right, she would see danger before it saw her.
She caught a glimpse of black hair—the back of Jolene’s head. She was just standing there talking to someone in the shadows and didn’t appear to be under duress. Lola continued to move, bringing Sascha Green into view. He looked older than she’d expected, tall but slightly stooped, a considerable amount of gray at the temples of his short, military-style haircut. Prison could do that to you.
“Hey!” Lola barked. She’d inherited her father’s command voice and it carried easily across the gym. At half-court now, she was still over fifty feet away from the doors.
Sascha’s head snapped up at the intrusion, his face a twisted mixture of surprise and disdain. He took one look at Lola and bolted, flipping her off over his shoulder as he hit the doors.
Lola sprinted to catch him, reaching the doors before the hydraulic closer pulled them shut. She pulled Jolene behind her, then leaned out slightly, pistol in her hand. “Sascha Green!” she shouted over the storm, fighting the wind for control of the door. Driven snow stung her face. “I know you’re hiding out there in the dark. Next time I see you, you’re going to jail.”
She pulled the door closed and turned to Jolene, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes.