“That reporter was in your house. She found me, we don’t know what Dru told her. The cops talked to Becky this morning. We’re clearing out.”
“We still have another crop to cut—” the girl said.
“Dammit, Amy, leave it. If they find this place, they can’t prove we knew anything about it. It’s only Becky’s name on the title, and she hasn’t been up here in years. She’ll deny knowing about it, and no way can they prove she did. And if they don’t find it? We’ll come back in a couple months for the rest.”
The chains on the front of the barn rattled and the doors opened. She didn’t know how long it was going to take for them to clear out; she needed to get the authorities up to the mountain fast. No way could she go back using the driveway—at least not until she cleared sight of the house.
She checked the cell reception on her phone; none. That meant the pictures hadn’t been uploaded either. She’d have to get back up to Skyline in order to call the police.
She didn’t want to wait, but she also didn’t want to get herself killed. She looked around. Behind the barn was a wide, worn path that disappeared down a gentle slope into a copse of trees. She didn’t see where it led—probably to the remainder of their crop. She didn’t much like the idea of trying to get back to Skyline via the mountain side. She had no idea what kind of terrain she was looking at, but it would be uphill most of the way, some of it steep—possibly too steep to walk.
Max had one option that seemed the most viable—walk around the opposite side of the barn and into the trees, keeping to the shade, and going back up the hillside toward Phleger Road. She would be exposed for a short distance, but she didn’t see an alternative.
Ticktock, Max, make a decision.
“J. C. come here.” Amy’s voice was right on the other side of the broken window.
Her imminent discovery made the decision for her. Max moved quickly around the side of the barn and back toward the house. She grabbed her Taser and flipped it on, just in case, and stopped only when the house blocked the view from the barn. She had to wait, hoping they hadn’t seen her.
She heard commotion at the barn. Max could only make out a few words, most of which had to do with J. C. barking orders at Amy to hurry; he wanted to be out of here with or without the pot.
Then J. C. started toward the house. He unlocked the front door, Max just on the other side, her body up against the wall, making herself as small as possible. Hard to do when you were five feet ten and a half inches tall.
She heard his voice. There must be a landline inside, because Max still had no service on her cell phone.
“No, it wasn’t a fucking tree branch. The curtain was pulled out,” J. C. said. He was standing inside the house, right on the other side of the wall.
As much as Max wanted to listen to the conversation, she knew this was her best chance to get to the tree line and escape while there was still time to bring the police in to stop them.
Staying as low as possible, she ran toward the trees and up the slope.
J. C. spotted her.
“Stop!” He shouted behind her. She didn’t stop; she ran as fast as she could up the hill, her hamstrings burning.
Please don’t have a gun, please don’t have a gun.
She heard a gun go off. Of course he had a gun. But she still had distance in her favor, and she appeared to be in better shape than her pursuer. She hoped. He was ten years younger.
The slope was too steep for her to keep going in a straight line; she began to slide backward, losing ground. She turned and went up at a diagonal, using the trees to brace herself as needed. She spared a glance back and couldn’t see J. C., but there was another gunshot and Max didn’t slow down to figure out where it came from. She didn’t see the bullet hit anything around her. Was he shooting to scare her? Had he recognized her?
Max kept going at a brisk pace, even though she didn’t hear anyone pursuing. Her lungs and calves burned. Then, in the distance she heard a motorcycle, and that’s when she stopped and gave herself a minute to catch her breath.
She willed herself to control her racing heart. She took out her water, drank half of it, and bent over, taking long, deep breaths. She was light-headed and dizzy, but knew that would fade. While her run had been steep and treacherous, she’d run much longer in marathons. Too bad she hadn’t been in the middle of training for a marathon, she’d probably have been able to take the mountain with no problem. But it had been years, and it showed.
The echo in the mountains made it difficult to gauge the direction of the bike, but she guessed he was on the driveway going from the house to the road. Either he was making a run for it, or he was attempting to intercept her.
She used the sound to help her with direction. Soon she found the trees she’d marked when she first left the road, then she went through the broken fence. She no longer heard Potrero’s bike, but she sat behind a tree and listened for several minutes before she felt comfortable leaving her hiding spot.
She walked briskly up the road, toward where she parked her car, and pulled out her cell phone. She had one bar. She tried calling Santini, but the call wouldn’t go through. Instead, she sent him a text message, knowing it was easier to get one through than a call.
On Phleger Road in Woodside, heading toward Skyline Boulevard where I left my car. Found a pot farm and drying facility at Rebecca Cross’s property. They’re clearing out now. They spotted me, but I lost them. Get the authorities up here before they disappear with the evidence.
She then forwarded him the photos that she’d taken. They were going through very slow, and she pocketed her phone.
She walked fast instead of running, because if she spotted J. C., she needed to be able to sprint.
Like you can outrun a motorcycle. Just don’t be spotted.